Hey, Blue

13 - The Listening

Emma liked this park, so when the two of them met up, this park was usually where.

It wasn't the biggest in the city, but it was sprawling enough to feel open, with wide stretches of green and towering oaks that provided just the right amount of shade. It was tucked away from the busy main streets, connected to the popular dog park that always bustled with excited pets and their owners. The park was practical, too—just a few blocks from her apartment, close enough to the neighbourhood convenience store, and a quick left past the dog park brought you to a cosy line of shops. All in all, it was convenient.

Marley figured that's what she liked about it—the proximity to everything, the ease with which she could slip in and out, like the park was a natural extension of her everyday routine. Maybe it was the peacefulness too, the way the hum of distant traffic faded behind the sound of rustling leaves and the occasional bark of a dog. She always seemed more relaxed here, more herself.

Or at least, Marley assumed that was why she liked it.

He'd never actually asked.

The bench they were sitting on had clearly seen better days. The wood was worn, the edges splintered, and it still carried a faint dampness from the rain the night before. Every time one of them moved, it creaked in protest—a groaning, wooden sound that wasn't exactly pleasant but felt fitting for the park's slightly overgrown charm. Marley winced a little every time the bench let out a squeak, so once he had awkwardly folded his legs beneath him, trying to sit in a makeshift cross-legged position, he forced himself to remain still. If he didn't move, maybe the bench would finally stop complaining.

Emma, on the other hand, didn't seem bothered by it at all. She shifted again, twisting her body to face him more fully, her denim jeans already dotted with grass stains and darkened patches where the wood had soaked through.

She tilted her head at him.

The bench creaked again as she leaned back, her arm brushing against the backrest, eyes still fixed on him as if waiting for him to say something. But the sound didn't seem to break the moment for her. Marley, on the other hand, couldn't help but notice it, the slight awkwardness that settled in the silence. He'd tried so hard to make himself comfortable, only to feel slightly more tense with every shift of the old wood beneath them.

He sat quietly, his gaze drifting to the path ahead of them, where the occasional jogger or couple with a stroller passed by. He was used to these silences with Emma, liked them–even, the way they could just exist together without the need to fill every moment with conversation. But today, something felt different. He couldn't quite place it at first—not until he glanced sideways and caught Emma watching him, her eyes focused, as if she were studying him rather than simply sitting beside him.

Her gaze wasn't judgmental, but it was intense enough that it made him shift a little in his seat, the bench creaking in protest once again. He raised a brow and squinted at her with suspicion.

Before he could say anything about it though, a large, spotted dog came trotting by, its leash pulled taut by an older man hurrying to keep up. The dog's fur was a swirl of patches, black and brown mixed in a way that almost looked like someone had splashed paint over it. Emma's attention snapped to the dog, her lips curling into an easy smile.

"Look at that pattern," she said, smiling widely and pointing like she hadn't just been trying to dissect him with her mind. "Isn't it gorgeous?"

Marley let out a soft laugh, grateful for the distraction. "Yeah," He tilted his head, watching the dog's mismatched coat ripple as it padded down the path. "Do you ever notice how dogs with coats like that always seem to stand out more? A black dog almost mowed me over the other night because it just blended in."