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If someone had never met him they'd assume Louis was menacing while prowling the playground. (As menacing as a seven-year-old could be anyway) He never joined in any games, barely ran around. Occasionally he'd sit in the shop window under the slide and set up a row of fun shaped stones and wood chips. All the kids would line up to see what he had. It got overwhelming quickly. He'd hand his goodies out in a rush and then leave to pace the perimeter again.
His circling stopped when someone fell over. At the sight of blood, Louis would rush over. Leaning in close to the graze, then the other kids face, he'd wait until they pointed into the crowd of parents. Then, faster than any other kid he'd run over and grab the hand or bag or shirt of the adult and drag them through screaming children and kicking legs on the monkey bars to the now quietly sniffling kid. He'd press a rock into their hand from his pocket and scamper away.
And so regulars of Oak Hill Park were shocked to see Louis approach a very quiet boy. His hair was long and brown and a light blue medical mask stood out against his tanned skin. He was just laying sticks in the dirt, not even close to the other kids. He shed no tears, bore no scrapes, and seemed somewhat content.
Still, Louis sat beside him. "What are you making?" he asked in his whispery gentle way. "I like drawing too."
The boy stayed quiet.
"Is that a maze?" Louis leaned over his shoulder to look at what had been done so far. "It looks good!"
Slowly, the boy nodded. He set the last stick down.
Louis pulled out a pebble from his pocket. "Can I solve it?"
He shrugged but kept his gaze locked onto Louis.
"It's okay if you don't want me to," Louis said. The rock hesitated at the entrance, pinched between his pale fingers. "Who is it for?"
At this, the boy bit his lip. Slowly, but moving nonetheless, he lifted a leaf and revealed a hole with a beetle inside.
"Who's that?"
Silence.
"Is that your friend?"
He nodded. Gently he nudged the shiny orange insect towards the entrance barred by two longer wood chips.
"Does he have a name?"
Again, he nodded.
"What is it?"
The boy paused. He took a breath. Hesitant and quiet, he finally spoke. "Bruno." His voice was a little raspy and quite solemn. With one finger he stroked Bruno's elytra.
"Bruno is a nice name." Louis said. He didn't copy the motion. "Mine is Louis."
"I know."
"Oh! Uh-" Louis stammered. "What's yours?"
The boy hummed, watching Bruno bump into the door. He creaked the entrance open with two fingers and the beetle rushed inside. "Are you going to make fun of me or scream?" he said in lieu of answering Louis's question.
"Wha-? No! Of course not," cried Louis, taken aback. "You just- I- uh- I wanted to see what you were doing. The other kids are a bit too noisy for me and we don't get along super well. Why would I do something like that?"
His gaze was locked onto the insect now encountering ants trapped in the maze. The beetle reared up and skittered back the way it came. The boy shrugged. "Everyone else does." He pulled up his sleeve exposing dry and flaking skin along his arm.
"Well that's really mean."
"'Nd I'm not contagious or anything! It's just how I am and they don't- they don't-" he broke off with a sniffle.
"I promise I will never ever in two hundred basquillion years make fun of you or scream or be mean," said Louis. He pressed one hand over the right side of his chest.
"How much do you promise?" the boy said. He held up his pinky tentatively.
Louis smirked. "I can do one better than that." He fished a safety pin out of his pocket. "I've read about blood pacts. They're s'posed to be the most un-break-able ever."
"Okay!" said the boy. Eagerly he presented his hand.
Louis pricked the tip of his ring finger, then the other's. He turned his palm to face the ground and pressed the pads together. Satisfied with the exchange he put the finger in his mouth.
"No don't!" shrieked the boy and he reached for Louis' arm, too late.
Slowly, Louis removed the digit. "What?"
"Germs!"
"It's okay," said Louis, patting the boy's arm. "Dirt is good for you."
The boy wrinkled his nose. He didn't copy Louis as he put the beading blood back in his mouth until it stopped. Instead, he wiped it on his pants.
The pair sat in silence, nursing their matching wounds. A breeze rustled the trees overhead. A red leaf drifted down and landed between them.
It wasn't Louis who broke the quiet moment.
"Owen."
"What?" Louis' head jerked up.
"My name is Owen," the boy repeated, fidgeting with a button on his shirt.
Louis broke into a grin, brighter than anything Owen had ever seen. "It's nice to meet you Owen," said Louis.
Owen smiled back, small, shy, and unpracticed, but there.