Chapter Text
When was the last time you came to the park?
You barely remember.
Your last memory, though, it’s a birthday. A picnic. The birthday of the person who used to be your best friend, along with the people you thought were your closest friends.
All of them, gone now.
Perhaps with your last boyfriend. You broke up three years ago. He was the last person you had sex with, one month before you part ways.
Your last kiss was drunk at a club you went to a couple of times with your workmates. A random guy you never saw again.
Soon after, your workmates started ignoring you. Your boss told them you were a troublemaker. You were just underpaid and bold enough to ask for a raise. Other people said you were too gloomy. Like you had a rainy, gray cloud over your head, and that’s the only thing you could give to anyone close to you.
You really thought working with politicians would solve your financial issues, but you were wrong. And a PR job is the most awful shit you’ve ever experienced.
There was only one friend there for you. Your closest colleague, Camille. The only person who understood the shit you were going through. She, actually, liked you. You were as important to her as she was to you. Saw you as a wise, funny person. The person you actually used to be long ago.
When your family asks you how you’re doing, or the few friends you have left, your answer is: “I’m fine. Just tired.” But you try to avoid them as much as you can. And you succeed. You isolated yourself enough so you can feel like you’re independent. You don’t need affection to be happy. You don’t even know what you need at this point.
But most of the days, it was you at home. Only you… and weed.
You were broke, but the money for weed was part of the monthly budget. You make up excuses for yourself, call it a coping mechanism, shelter, even girl dinner. But you knew the truth.
When you get home you don’t want to do a single damn thing. Weed helps you to motivate you to do things. Awful, but true. So every time you get high, you think of it as a russian roulette: what will you want to do? What are you eating after? Every day is a different idea.
Today, while you're seeing the smoke floating at your apartment, your russian roulette stopped working. You felt trapped in four walls. The silence, the solitude, the emptiness. You started replaying inside your head the words your boss told you today when you went to his office to apologize for something you knew wasn’t your mistake.
“You should be like Camille. She does her job without complaining. She’s not depressed here all the time. You knew where you were getting into when you accepted this job. Why can’t you do as you’re told like everyone here?”
Yeah, Camille isn’t depressed. Camille has a higher income than yours even if you do the damn same thing. You’re not even jealous of her, you’re just mad at your own situation.
But you have no choice but to do as you’re told.
You also recalled your workmates talking shit, ignoring you, and every single thing you were avoiding turned into giants, trying to chase you. The furniture at home looked like it started moving, about to devour you, the music turned into loud noise, the smoke into fog.
Shit. A bad trip, happening right fucking now. You needed to do something. You needed some fresh air, but deep inside your heart, your only thought was:
I want to feel alive again.
Tears started running through your face. You barely were able to take your keys to leave the apartment, running away from the monsters haunting you at the place you should call home.
Looking at yourself in the mirror, you see your red eyes, your pale skin, the bags under your eyes, and you look down your sweatpants, a hoodie, the first sneakers you saw. Luckily, you look kinda casually good. If only your face wasn’t a mess…
You walk through people trying to not look like you’re having the worst bad trip you had in years. You don’t have a single damn idea of where the fuck you are, until you see the park.
You’re not the kind of person who hates to see people happy. You see couples kissing, kids playing, friends hanging out, and you smile. You think it’s good that there are people out there being happy on your behalf. You just need a better job, or that’s what you think. The rest is irrelevant. Loneliness is already a place inside of you, and that’s fine.
But today couples, kids, everyone, everything feels overwhelming. But not because of them being happy: you feel they’re moving too fast. They’re so noisy. The world is too fast, too rushed, too imposing for someone who feels so insignificant to everything and everyone. So you just lie on the grass looking at the sky, a sky that doesn't have a single cloud to find shapes on it. Just a light blue, endless roof, welcoming and soothing you while you’re still crying without moving a finger, completely silent. After a while, the sun starts to move towards you, and you narrow your eyes, resisting the idea of looking away or closing your eyes.
“Hey, are you okay?”
A figure covers your sight. A man. It’s funny, because since the sun is behind him, his head looks like it has a halo.
You force your eyes to see his face better. You barely can distinguish a pair of blue eyes and the sun touching his hair, mixing what seems to be a dirty blonde with golden strands illuminated by the sunlight. You look at his broad shoulders and you notice a white, sporty t-shirt. His skin is glowing with sweat.
That’s when you try to hold your laughter, because you came up with two theories: he could be an angel or a jogger. No in-between. You just smile widely, without any explanation, of your own stupid joke unfolding inside your head.
The man doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. You think he must be confused by your reaction.
“Wow, looks like I’m a walking joke. A running joke, in this case.” He sounds like he just made the most reasonable deduction possible to this situation.
That’s when you actually lose it and let out a laugh. But you can’t explain to the guy what you’re actually thinking, so you just apologize.
You can see the guy is carefully studying you. You just realize you’re still crying, and you’re also shaking, so it doesn’t make any sense to lie or give him a lame excuse. And he’s a stranger, after all.
“I’m not okay, but that’s not like breaking news. Thank you for asking, though.”
“Well, at least you smiled for a few seconds. Looks like a win, doesn’t it?”
You smile at the guy, again.
“It’s just that you look weird from this point of view.”
“Figured. I’m not a young guy, so this position is also a torture for my poor joints. May I sit here next to you? I’m done with jogging today. Just if you want, of course.”
“Sure. This is a public space.”
The man sits on the grass. You’re still lying down, not in the mood to look someone in the eyes, not even in the mood to talk. But when you glance briefly at him, it feels like he understands, because he’s also looking at the sky, without saying a single word, like he also found something special in the nothingness of today’s light blue.
After a while, he breaks the ice.
“I don’t usually run in the daylight. I do it at night, It’s less noisy and chilly. But I have a business trip and I’m leaving tonight.”
“I don’t usually come to the park.”
“There you go, that’s breaking news.” His tone is reassuring, like he’s trying to find something to make you feel better.
You smile again. Something about him makes you feel like he’s not a creep or anything. So it’s nice to hear him talking… or talking to him.
“I just felt overwhelmed at home. Had a bad day. Needed some fresh air. It feels good the daylight too. Looking at the sky was good, even if there are no clouds today.” You say.
“Yeah. Guess you never know how nice the daylight can feel sometimes. And the sky always looks good, with or without clouds.”
The sun started to set, and the sky started turning its colors to a golden, pink and blue gradient. You were just looking at it, in silence.
“My name is Leon, by the way.”
You finally sit back, and tell him your name, because whatever, and add a grateful “nice to meet you”.
Now, you give him a better look, and hey…
People always think of angels like little kids, blonde, curly hair, smooth and pale skin. But now you have a middle-aged angel sitting next to you. The patron saint of dilfs.
His white and slightly tanned skin is lined with some soft wrinkles, his dirty blonde mixed with some gray hair with a stubble in the same tones. He’s ridiculously ripped and huge. Everything about him is as if God assembled him and threw him to Earth. You thank Him® for sending you one of his children during one of the worst days of this year (not like you’re having good or better ones, anyway).
You remember telling Camille that you were done with guys your age. Is this a signal? You didn’t even pray for it, but perhaps you were listened to anyway.
“Nice to meet you too. Are you feeling a little better?” His tone is slightly warm. You can tell he was genuinely concerned, and you wonder how bad you looked minutes ago to the point that a stranger approached you.
“Yeah, I’m just… hungry. I’ll buy something at the food truck.”
Fuck. That’s right. You left home with only your keys.
“...or I guess I won’t.” You say, after checking your pockets.
“You’re only bringing your keys?” He raised his eyebrows, curious.
“Didn’t think too much and just rushed outside.” You sound embarrassed, to say the least.
“Don’t worry, I’m not judging you. Just hope no one worries too much. I mean, I assume you even left your phone at home.”
You stare into emptiness and don’t say anything. You don’t think someone will be worried about you on a Friday. Leon looks at you, like he’s trying to connect the few dots he has about you right now.
“Wait here,” he says, and goes to the food truck, coming back with two coffees and a muffin.
“I should’ve asked you what you liked. Well, I can go back and buy something else.”
You’re not in conditions of rejecting anything. At this point, you’ll probably pass out on your way back home.
“I like both things… Thank you so much.” You look at him, comforted.
“It’s nothing.”
Once you start eating, it’s like your soul comes back to your body. Couples, kids, people, they look good again.
“I like it. People-watching.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah. Sometimes I make up stories about them inside my head. Not bad stories, though. I like people.”
“Never done that before, but sounds good. Part of my job is to analyze people. But never considered inventing a story. Sounds like a fun hobby.”
“Are you a psychologist or something?”
“No… I just, well… Hard to explain.” He sounded slightly overwhelmed.
“It’s fine. You don’t have to explain it to me.”
Feels like your words sounded like a relief to him, because he instantly relaxed again.
“So, invent a story about them.” Leon points at a couple. They’re walking, but not holding hands. The woman has a book on her hands and a nice bag, and the guy is carrying a tote bag that looks heavy.
“The guy wanted to meet her to lend her that book as an excuse to see her. Or perhaps the other way round. They’re on the date but they didn’t want to give it the real name.”
“Makes sense. What about the bag?”
“It’s your turn now.”
“Well, the bag… eh…”
Leon stops looking at them, as if that helps him to think harder.
“That’s her bag. He’s carrying it for her, since it’s too heavy.”
“Oh, sounds like a good theory. What does the bag have inside?”
“Your turn.”
The couple are far enough from you, so you can’t see what the bag may have. But your brain is mush. Too much crying, too much weed.
“More books?”
“Why would she carry more books if he’s lending her one?” He sounds subtly amused with the exercise.
“Uhhhh… Why not? Ok. My brain stopped working.” You say, defeated.
“Guess I won.”
“I never said it was a competition!”
“I say it is and I won.”
You just laugh about it for a second, while he’s smiling. It’s a shy, almost unnoticeable, but kinda cocky smile.
After a while, a thought comes to you.
“It’s interesting.”
“What?”
“The things that we do to get close to other people. You want to share something with another person to have a reason to be with them. You look for something until you finally find it.”
He doesn’t say anything for a while, thoughtful, until he replies something that clicked inside of you.
“Or sometimes we need an excuse to help other people to not carry too much weight in life.”
You sigh, still emotionally weakened by the bad trip.
“It’s been a while since the last time I experienced something like that. So I don’t remember how it feels. I’ve been carrying the weight alone.”
Yes… You’re opening up your feelings to a stranger, but you don’t mind. You don’t think there’s any chance of seeing him again. And there are already a lot of people thinking you’re a pitiful being. What difference does it make to one more person?
Leon’s gaze was still following the couple, now almost completely out of sight.
“I don’t remember either. Both situations.”
Oh.
Somehow, you weren’t expecting it. You thought this was a couple lighthearted comments to make you feel better. But he just sounded as lonely as you are.
You just keep looking at people, without saying anything else, until a full moon is already shining in the sky. You both look at the moon, like it was something important to you both, something you’re not addressing right now.
“I should go home. It’s getting late.” You say and stand up.
Leon follows you.
“Do you want me to accompany you?”
“No, I live nearby, don’t worry.”
You look at each other.
“It was a nice conversation. And people-watching was a fun experience. I even won.”
“I had fun too, even if I still think it wasn’t a competition,” you smile, “but made me feel better among all the stressing things I’m going through. Perhaps I just… needed to talk.”
“Don’t worry, I’m glad you feel better.”
You both looked like you wanted to say something.
That’s when you remember what your ex therapist once said: “If you have nothing and want something, you have to try. If you don’t get it, you still have nothing. So you have to try anyway, because that means you have nothing to lose.”
Yes, there’s something you really want right now: seeing him again.
Sometimes, people say that it’s easier to tell your problems to a stranger. They give you some unexpected, neutral advice and they just become a memory, a funny anecdote of someone who helped you just because in a random situation. And you never see them again.
But him… it was something warmer, more meaningful. Something that brought you back a faith you thought you lost: the feeling that some things happen for a reason, a mysterious force that brings people who need each other together. A stranger who followed your silly little and loner game, saw your smile as a win with an attitude that felt like he cared, someone you felt you were able to understand instantly, like it was second nature. It sounded like crumbs, but his presence was soothing, comfortable, like he’s always been there and didn’t have any reason to leave. You didn't care he was older than you. It was way more important the effect he had on you.
Of course, it was absurdly romantic. It was hopeless. It wasn't completely right.
But for once in your life, you wanted to claim it like it was yours. Like it was true.
“When are you coming back from your business trip?”
“Next Friday. In the morning.” Leon's answer came faster than you expected.
You took a deep breath, still unsure, but the more time you think about it, the weirder the situation becomes.
“I think I’ll start coming to the park more often. If you come to jog earlier again, perhaps we can meet. At the same spot.”
He stared at you with an expression hard to read. It was like he was puzzled, but still trying to hide something. You already realized that this guy is not too expressive: his smiles are subtle, his gaze lingering, but mysterious. You could feel he thinks more than he speaks, but it’s fine. It’s the way he is.
“Eh… Sure. See you.”
You weren’t sure if his words were awkward or he was uncomfortable. You better not think about it now.
“See you, Leon.”
You look at him and wave goodbye, and you leave faster than you wanted.
***
Days went by and your insecurities made you feel already rejected. It was good, you needed some fresh air, the conversation was worth it. But… You kinda tried to flirt with a hot old man and he just said “Sure”? He didn’t even ask for your number. Not like you had your phone with you though.
You already think it’s a bad idea to go to the park next Friday, and do the same. Will you go and wait for him? He for sure won’t show up.
“You should go anyway! What if he DOES show up?” Camille says on Monday, rooting for you.
“Cami, I was really vague. I mean I have no idea how much time passed when he approached. I don’t even know at what time I left home.”
“You have nothing to lose, my friend. I mean, you already told him. And anyway, it’s good for you to go have some fresh air from time to time.”
One of your nice workmates enters the office and hears part of your conversation.
“No way you have a date?!” She says your name, evidently thrilled, but for the wrong reasons. She couldn’t believe it. Someone like you?
“Yes, with a sugar daddy.” Camille says, enthusiastically. You know she doesn’t have any bad intentions, but you can’t say the same about the other girl.
“It’s not a date and he's not a sugar daddy,” you rush to explain, telling her the story. You know you will regret this decision. Sometimes you feel your plans are already ruined by just telling your workmates. Like they’re cursing you beforehand, waiting for you to fail.
“Ok, whatever, here the important question: is he hot or is he just a grandpa? Never thought you'd get to the point of trying that.” Her tone was incredibly derogative. Is she telling you're desperate?
Fuck. You hate her guts so fucking much. He’s a fucking bitch. That’s the nickname you have for her inside your head: bitch coworker. No one knows, of course.
“He’s fine.” You respond, looking at Camille. She understands the message: don’t say anything else.
To prevent associating the park with Leon, you started to go to the park almost every day. Just a little walk, avoiding that spot.
Until Friday.