Gerard Butler Imagines

Lost Boy 👦🏻Mike Banning

"Miss, can you help me? I can't find my dad."

I look up from the novel I had previously been sucked into, only to find a small boy around the age of seven peering at me with big, grey eyes.

I close the novel, shifting forward on the park bench. Giving him a small smile, I nod.

"Of course! What does he look like?" I ask, rising to help the boy.

"He has brown hair and a scratchy chin when he kisses my cheek," the boy answers. Taking this into consideration, I look around, seeing many men with these attributes.

"What colour shirt is he wearing?" I ask, beginning to follow the young male as he leads me in a certain direction.

"He's wearing a grey shirt and jeans. He also has a hat on," the boy says, still looking around frantically. I hum in thought, still seeking the father of the boy.

After circling around the park a few times, the boy begins to look extremely worried, tears pooling in his eyes. I hear him sniffle, wiping snot and tears on his sleeve.

I stop searching, and I crouch down, looking into his sad eyes with a concerned gaze.

"Hey, we'll find your dad. There's no need to worry. I'm sure he's just as worried about not being able to find you," I say. The little boy still sniffles, big tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Are you sure? What if we never find him?" He asks, beginning to breathe heavily.

"We'll find him, okay? How about we take a short break, and you can tell me about yourself and your dad. Any details can help me find him more easily," I say, nodding in the direction of the same bench as before.

The boy sniffles slightly, giving me a nod.

"Okay."

I give him a small smile, and I head to the bench. The boy slowly follows me, wiping his tears with his sleeve.

"What's your dad's name?" I ask as the boy sits next to me.

"Mike. He has a really cool job. He gets to be with the President," the boy says, a smile growing as he talks about his dad. In return, my smile grows.

"What's your name?" I ask, placing my novel next to me, as it had previously been in my lap.

"Oh, my name is Carter. I'm seven!" His eyes light up as he exclaims his age.

"Wow! So Carter, where did you lose your dad? I never asked you that."

"Oh, I was right over there," he says, pointing to a group of parents pushing their toddlers on a swing set.

"I was playing over there. I was going to tell daddy that I wanted ice cream, but I couldn't find him," Carter says, his eyes turning sad.

The boy's gaze falls to my book. He picks it up, looking at the front and back covers.

"What book is this?" He asks, flipping through some of the pages. I smile, reaching for it.

"This is a little book called The Hobbit. It's one of my favourites," I say, turning to the first page.

"It starts out 'In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit.' Perhaps I'll read the rest to you if we meet again," I say. Carter grins widely.

"You will?" He asks.

"Sure! That is, if we meet again," I say, closing the book once more. Carter's grin dims slightly.

"Carter!"

The boy and I turn at the call of his name. A man donning a grey shirt and a pair of jeans runs to the boy. Carter's eyes light up, and he jumps up from the bench. The boy runs to meet his father, who picks him up and pulls him into his chest.