BURN ✶ M. Verstappen

001 || ghosts of the past

When you grow up traveling around the world on a weekly basis with no sense of stability to your life, you learn to make connections with the people around you. Deep, profound connections that could not be explained to the average person.

Most would call this being codependent or trauma-bonded, but Cielo Cruz just knew it as having friends.

She was only ten years old the first time she'd met him, he had been hiding—from what she'd later learn was his father—behind one of the garage walls, in a secluded little alleyway that was cool and damp from the constant rain.

Whether it was the sense of uneasiness that had shot through her or the sound of sniffling emanating from the alleyway, something had compelled her to walk toward the isolated area. What she saw just about broke her young heart.

There sitting on the dirty floor, drenched in rainwater, was a young boy about her age. He was pale–although his cheeks were dusted a rosey red with the cold–with light blonde hair. She couldn't see his face due to the fact that he was hunched over and trying to curl up into a ball, but she could see that he was shivering.

"Estas bien?" she called out softly, her unruly curls frizzed up and damp from the humidity in the air falling into her face as she leaned forward to get a better look at the boy.

He didn't respond and it took her another moment to realize that he probably didn't speak Spanish.

So she tried again, "Are...you...okay?"

Cielo wasn't sure if that was grammatically correct or pronounced properly, but it got him to lift his head up from in between his knees and look at her with bright blue eyes, so she counted that as a win. Then she tried for what she hoped was a friendly smile, but by the way he just stared at her, she supposed she had failed.

"What are you doing here?" his quiet voice echoed through the empty alley. There was an accent to it, so Cielo guessed that his first language wasn't English either, but there was also a bit of a slur to his dictation, like a lisp of some sort.

Cielo thought it was adorable.

"I hear you crying," she wrinkled her nose at the sound of her own speech. That was definitely not correct, but it was the best she could muster up with the limited lessons she's been given so far. "I came to see. Are you okay?"

"Fine," he said shortly, minutely glancing over her shoulder. He seemed to be looking out for something.

"I'm Cielo," she gave a little awkward wave as she went and took a seat across from him in the narrow alley. "Como te llamas?"

The boy's head tilted to the side and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He looked like a cat, curious but cautious. "What?"

Cielo pointed at him and simply said, "Name?"

He opened his mouth, most likely to respond to her question but the sound of loud and heavy footsteps echoed around them and he immediately huddled back into himself—trying to hide.

Cielo said nothing, only watched in childish curiosity as two adult women walked by and the boy sighed in relief. Instantly relaxing, he loosened his posture enough for Cielo to make out the name on his race suit.

"Max," she whispered, causing the boy—Max—to look at her with an intense gaze. Much older than a ten-year-old should have.

"How did you know that?" Max asked, but Cielo couldn't understand him because he spoke in a language she didn't know.

Now it was her turn to do a confused head tilt, although if she were to be honest, she would label herself as more of a lost puppy than a curious cat.

"What?"