Newt tapped his foot. Glanced up at the big clock tower, then down at his own wristwatch. A whisk of wind wrapped around him, fluttering his scarf against his face. He scrunched nose up and bit his lip. His foot kept tapping on the concrete gravel. He checked his wrist watch again.
Three minutes ticked by before the church door was slammed open. Nicely dressed ladies and men came pouring out, talking and mingling mindlessly. Newt shuffled out of their way as they descended the granite steps, ignoring him completely. As the last women filled out and the door closed Newt went to sit on the steps, his foot tapping and fingers tangling and untangling together. He breathed out, then in.
The minutes ticked away on both the clock tower and his wrist watch, his foot tapping increased, and his fingers kept playing their game. The wind picked up and the temperature dropped. Newt was shivering against his navy coat. It was old and picked, but loyal and warm. It would have to be shredded to pieces for him to not wear it.
“Stop by the fish market, get a pound of carp then come home.”
The church doors were slammed open and the clicking of heels and dragging of feet echoed off the concrete. A lady with a plain face and modest clothes was talking in a sharp voice to a hunched over boy. Two girls, one older with a thin face and the other younger with blond curls, were trailing behind. They were both very pretty, Newt thought, but his eyes lingered to the hunched over boy.
He wore shabby old clothes and old shoes with thin soles. His hair was black and thick. It would’ve been beautiful if I wasn’t for the haircut. Round and ugly. Newt still saw beauty in it. His face was pale and sucked in. His cheekbones prominent and his eyes hollow. They held emotion of fear, pain, and angry.
Newt was intrigued, as always. The boy turned away from women, his shoulders hunched and feet shuffling. Newt waited until the women turned the corner before picking himself up and following after the boy.
“Credence!” he whispered, not wanting to call attention to them. The boy didn’t hear him and kept walking.
“Credence!” he tried again, his voice louder.
This time the boy turned sharply on his heel, a panic expression filtered through his face before he saw who was calling. A thin, wiry grin grew on his face. He stepped forward carefully and Newt took a giant step forward. Grinning awkwardly.
“Newt,” whispered Credence. They were standing forehead to forehead. Credence swallow quick breathes against Newt’s warm and slow ones. Their hands were barely touching, they wanted to clench onto each and never let go.
“Hi.” said Newt.
Credence let out a giggle. He was a totally different boy. He was blushing, his face looked fuller and his eyes were happy.
“Walk with me?” asked Credence.
Newt grinned, even more, his skin stretching and wrinkles showing. Credence rarely asked for things. Hugs were never given from him, kisses never started with him, and meetings were always set my Newt. And when Credence asked him for something it meant he really, really wanted it.
“Yes.” said Newt.
Their hands touched gently, and then froze. Newt could feel Credence quivering, wanting. Wanting to hold onto his hand, to feel the callused fingers and strong grip. Newt waited, he always did. Seconds ticked by. Credence didn’t take hold. Newt sighed softly, maybe it was only internally, and reached for his hand. Credence held tightly, his hand was sweaty and small.
They walked towards the fish market, Credence glued to Newt’s side, listening to Newt talk about his animals. He nodded along and occasionally butted in, but mostly he listened. Newt was a talker; he liked to talk about his animals and plants. He liked to talk about bright and happy things. Credence liked listening. People talked enough for him, he’d decided at a young age, so he listened and stored the words inside his head. He liked Newt’s stories and liked to hear him talk.
They bought the fish and started walking back. Newt wanted to wonder around, show Credence things and talk some more, but he knew that Credence wanted—needed to get back. He followed Credence, quick pace and all.
When they reached the corner before the orphanage, they stopped. This was where Newt walked back into the city and Credence entered the orphanage, already praying for their next meeting.
“Bye, my love.” said Newt.
“Bye—“
“Credence!”
A loud female voice was calling from the orphanage, her hands cupped around his mouth and her hair curled around her ears. The wind whipping here scarf and coat around. She called again, louder.
“I need to go,” said Credence, with urgency. The girl was coming closer, her boot clumping on the hard, wet ground.
“I know,”
“By—“
Newt leaned forward and pressed his lips to Credences. It was sweet and chaste. Quick and simple, nothing more. When he pulled back Credence was smiling softly, his face pink. Newt turned on his heel, foot digging into the icy ground. He heard Credence turning around his feet shuffling and shoulders hunched.
Until next time, my love.