What are we? (Frerard)

My special place is shared.

On my way home I took a small detour to hang out at my special place. Kind of a childish name for it, but I don't care. It's a small forest, more like a small patch of trees about a mile from my house; equal distance from Mikey's house.

When I was younger I would spend hours here. I would climb trees and have fun. It'd make me forget how lonely a kid I was. My imagination would run so wild I'd have no need for a friend. My only true companion was my mother. My father hated me, he still does. He hated me even more when my mother asked for divorce. She packed up and left, took me with her. Everything was perfect. It was me and her. The only reason I'm back here is because my mom is dead. Court forced me back here.

My vision clouded with tears as I thought of her. She would have loved the sky this afternoon. She always appreciated nature, even if it was the smallest most insignificant thing. I stopped walking and slumped against a tree. I shook my backpack off my back and heard the leaves crunch as the new mass was applied to the ground.

I sniffled and rubbed my eyes as water began to blur my vision. I wiped my wet hands on my jeans and tried to control my breathing.

"Allergies?" A unfamiliar voice asked. I looked over to see a boy with striking red hair sitting on the ground with his back against a tree. He stared off into the distance while holding a cigarette in between his thin pink lips. He took a long drag before making eye contact with me.

"Uh no." I replied. He nodded and looked away from me.

"Why are you upset?" He mumbled then took another drag. His voice was oddly calming.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but why do you care?" I really wasn't in favor to venting my life story to a stranger. He shrugged and stood up. "Well, I mean you're a stranger and I highly doubt you really are itching to know why some weird stranger is crying in the forest." I added. It came out more sarcastic than I wanted. He stood with a muffled groan and brushed the dirt off his pants.

"And if we weren't strangers? Would you tell me?" He came a little closer and I was able to focus on his facial features. His hazel eyes easily captivate you and his skin looked soft. His vibrant red hair looked like it hadn't been washed in a while but it was still perfectly red.

"It depends on how well we know each other and how much you genuinely care..." He nodded in understanding.

"So are you implying that a stranger can't care?" He put the cigarette in his mouth and held it between his perfectly shaped chapped lips.

"No. I'm saying someone who is a stranger would care less compared to friends and family."

"Hmm, and do they care?" He asked. His tone slightly arrogant like he was trying to make a point. Which isn't possible because he knows nothing about me.

"Um...." The answer was no, but I didn't want to tell him that. I don't want to give him the satisfactory of being correct. My dad doesn't give a shit that I'm still morning over my mom. He sees me as a burden more than anything. I'm what she left behind to haunt him, nothing more.

"Your hesitation tells me your deciding wether to lie to me or not. Is that because I'm right?"

"Are you trying to say that you as a stranger care about why I am crying?" I question, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Not exactly, but as a human I feel obligated to ask of your health. Growing up we are trained to do the polite thing, you know?"

"Not really. Your entire argument was that you as a person can care deeply about a stranger."

"No my argument was that a person in general could, and they can. This conversation is not about me."

"Whatever. So do you come here often?" I asked. Desperate to change the subject. I wanted to know more about this guy. He's kinda interesting. Though, he seems kinda insolent and conceited; I find him mysterious. He gives off all these mixed messages leaving you to figure him out while he just smokes a cigarette.

"Yeah. I like the scenery. It's peaceful. Do you?" He to a drag and blew a small puff of smoke in my face. Is it bad that I kinda liked it.

"Yes I do. I've been coming here for years. Just not recently cause I moved away then moved back." I explained.

"How long exactly?" He leaned against the tree with his shoulder. "I was like seven." I was a little unsure. Maybe I was eight.

"How old are you now?" He rolled over so his back leaned flat against the bark. He shoved one hand in his pocket and used the other to hold his cigarette.

"I'm 17. I moved away for three years."

"I'm 20." He said while blowing out some smoke. I watched it swirl in the soft breeze.

His cigarette was almost finished and I couldn't hold it back anymore. "If you don't mind. Could you not l-leave your buds here. I don't wanna burn- this place means a lot to me." I finished.

He smiled a little then said, "I would never. I respect this place. More than I respect most people. In a way it's like....my special place." He paused then looked over at me before adding. "Our special place I guess." For some reason those words made butterflies explode in my stomach even if he said it emotionlessly. What was the guy doing to me? I want more of him, but at the same time I want him to leave.

Besides, he's trouble. I'm not one to judge right away but this was different.