Low Tide Lovers (Peter x Reader)

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

⛤⛤⛤

𝐈 sat on the old park swing, watching the sky turn dark. I enjoyed it like this. The breeze, warm and gentle, brushed my hair across my face. I scrunched my nose.

My mom was working now. She had a job at the pawn shop. That's where most of her time was spent. My time? I spent the majority by the pier, or at this very park. The boardwalk was fun, too, but I never had anyone to go with. I would sometimes go and get some fair food, spending small portions of my now non-existent allowance. I only had about a hundred left. I should start saving. That was what my mom said. But I never followed her rules anymore.

Since my dad had passed, it was almost as if I didn't exist. He was on a ship; a storm caught him. He drowned, that's what they said. I looked out to the horizon. Every time I saw a fishing boat coming towards the coast, I hoped it was him. It never was, of course.

A soft voice broke my thoughts. I glanced to my left.

"Hey," he said, taking a seat in the other swing next to mine. 

"Hey," I replied, shifting my feet on the sand.  It was quiet, save for the rush of waves. Tide was coming in. 

"You like it out here, alone?" he asked. I nodded. This boy... his name started with a P. I think he was in my math class one year. I saw him at the pier nearly every time I went. He stood at a sad little folding table selling porgy.

"Yeah, it's nice. I like the quiet," I finally said, standing up. I bent down to grab my sandals, still damp from when I stood in the water not too long before.

"Going home?" he asked, his voice hushed. I nodded again. It was odd, to me, to have a conversation. In school, I wasn't one to talk. During Summer, I always had my nose in a book, or in my pillow, taking a long mid-day nap.

"I can walk you back. If you want," he stammered out. "It's... it's getting dark, anyway. Oh, and I'm Peter." He stuck his hand out for me to shake. I chuckled to myself. Kind. Awkward. Like me.

"Yeah, sure. I'm Y/n," I replied, taking his hand.

The walk back to my little home was usually quick, but we took our time. I don't remember a time, ever when I skipped the small talk. We began talking right away. About anything, really. He told me lots of little things worth remembering; his favorite color, his childhood dog. I held my gaze in front of me. My porch was twenty paces away.

"Here," I said, pointing to the door. My dad had it painted a nice bright, beachy blue. "So you'll always want to come home," he had said. That was my favorite color. Of course, it always drew me inside. My lanyard clip hit the door with a small smack as I turned my key and opened the door.

"See ya around sometime?" he asks, smiling. I flash that same toothy grin and reach my hand over to the phone desk, grabbing a small pad of lavender sticky notes and a pen. I scribble down my name and phone number and fold it into a neat little square, pressing it into his hand.

"Got it."

I shut the door and watch through the lace curtain as he trails down the sidewalk. I watch until he turns and disappears down a different street. Milo purrs against my leg. I reach down and pet him.

"I'll make a friend soon," I whisper. It's what Dad would have wanted.

⛤⛤⛤