The labored breathing Wynter felt was catastrophic for her lungs. They were being filled with heaves of air only for said gasps to be ripped from her chest, leading to an almost collapsing foundation in her body, always repeating in the same span of seconds. She didn't even get through a single tree.
She lay against the chipped wooden wall of the park station, almost curled up in a ball, as Boulevard's height -- even when he tried to give her more space -- still had his gargantuan legs take up all the room to her sides. He looked at her with confusion. Most definitely because Wynter actually accepted his job listing. But he seems to have lived here a long time, and she needed a good word to stay at the beach. She hasn't even allotted the time to sunbathe.
Boulevard really delivered, though. Two salmon, some sardines, and a juicy bass in between, topped off with a drizzle of white wine was presented in front of her. But she needed to rest a little before she dug in. Wynter would choke and make a mess with this creaky breathing, which wouldn't be pretty.
The hermit didn't really make a good first impression. While Wynter is an airhead, she isn't stupid. The thoughts of Boulevard being like her and them becoming instant buddies was unrealistic, but he wanted nothing to do with her. At first. What made her follow Boulevard was that he wasn't hostile in the slightest. He may be snappy (and have thrown Wynter off of his boat), but she detected no malice or nefarious intentions in his movements, speech, and eyes.
So Wynter decided to make her case. And now he's here, eating raw fish in a cramped box with her, so that's progress!
He sucked down a small sardine like a spaghetti noodle. One second, Wynter was looking at the dead fish's eye, and the next, it was nowhere to be seen. It made her squirm. But no judgment was passed. People (she learned through hesitantly watching) didn't get infected when feasting on Glutton flesh, so Boulevard's sloppy style was just fine by her standards. As long as she didn't need to eat anything nasty.
A cold breeze coming through the cracked window made Wynter shiver, so she placed Iggy around her whole body and watched her dinner companion continue to eat. This may be a stupid question, but Wynter thought it wouldn't hurt to ask. It's really just a personal preference. "Do you have any utensils?"
Boulevard spoke while perfectly maneuvering little bites around unpreferable parts of the bass' body. "Like for construction of some sort? Or your video game?" She laughed.
"No, silly. For eating!" He voluntarily blinked and looked away. Wynter felt kind of bad. As much as she wished for the opposite, this was a very awkward situation. A brash hermit and a loquacious traveler having a little apocalyptic get together would need some workarounds, to be sure. Boulevard worked hard to lug his food to her when he totally didn't have to and of course he wouldn't have sporks. It seemed like she was a little ungrateful – to Wynter anyways. Boulevard looked flushed.
To desperately try and rupture the glacier sized ice that closed in on the two, Wynter came up with small talk off the top of her head. "What did you want to do before all of this nasty stuff with the world started? Like a job or something. You seem like you'd be a pretty good fire watch."
"I was born at the beginning of the apocalypse. The exact day of the virus' rampage, as a matter of fact." Boulevard placed his plate down and looked at her, waiting for her to answer. Wynter didn't really know how to continue. Would it be a sensitive topic? To talk about his childhood?
"Wow, I'm older than you by five years, huh? That's wild... What's your birthday?"
"September 21, 2019. I recall? I can't recollect much from my lack of a childhood. My parents are a forever unsolved mystery to me. My first memory was inside of a backpack, looking at an abandoned intersection. I never stopped moving back then. Ironic, considering the age I began to walk was above the former average." Boulevard took a drink from the lemonade he brought like one would down a shot. That reminded Wynter she had some drink, too. She placed both her hands around the wine glass and waited to continue hearing his story.
Boulevard spoke in monotone most of the time with a spice of confidence, conveying he knew what he was talking about. It was akin to giving a presentation to some company bigwigs. Wynter was always attentive when Boulevard spoke because he knew so much that she didn't. He didn't speak again. A sharp breeze was the only noise in the small station. "In a VHS I watch titled The Young and the Caressless, dinners are supposed to be a back and forth. Maybe some development. Like, fast paced. I think." He stated.
In contrast, Wynter also knows stuff Boulevard doesn't. "We don't have a time slot, bro. We can take this slow. You can leave since you're done if you want. I'll finish my food later." Wynter smiled at him to show that – even if this was an uneventful night – the fresh meat was much appreciated.
"I don't want to leave yet." He said. Before Wynter could respond, he talked directly after. "Where did you want to be socially in the old era?"
"Oh, I didn't want to climb the ladder, if that's what you're asking." She took a drink of the lemonade to cleanse her dry throat. Wynter's tongue recoiled. It wasn't bad, but it's best to be treated like it was in a shot glass. It's way too sweet.
"What did you want to become, then?" Boulevard inquired, like he was taking notes in his head. Wynter never thought of jobs or school when the world still had those. Her parents were a pair of free-spirited hippies. They had the stereotypical big van that they lived in and they went to all kinds of rallies and concerts. Wynter's first memory was of flashing rainbow lights above a big stage with a group of long haired musicians called a rock band. She can still remember the change from a red to a blue to a yellow shine, sweeping through the crowd. And the contact high. Her two oblivious but caring parents rushed away from the crowd when Wynter's slurred, drug induced words said the color purple sounded like a tiger's roar.
She only did one thing before the Gluttons took over. And that's what she's been doing to this day. "I like to travel." Boulevard seemed to perk up at those words. Wynter wondered why he was so curious about that concept. "When you were little, going from wherever to wherever, what did you like the most?" She asked.
"Whenever I peeked from my false haven, I only saw road. Maybe the rare occurrence of a big building, shade of trees, or a clear sky, but nothing of worth. I always stay put nowadays. For my sake and... the sake of some others, I suppose." He spoke.
Wynter wondered what he meant by that, but decided to let it go for the sake of this conversation's now smoothing flow. Indulging in this back and forth with Boulevard was beginning to be fun. No blame goes his way for thinking some aspects of life are like the TV shows he watches. The world is a horror thriller.
"Well, this big, old planet is full of monuments. Like statues and craters and geysers. I want to see them all. No admission fees, no problem. Unless society gets back to the way it was. So that's why I got to move now!"
Comedically timed, Boulevard pulled out an actual journal made of black leather with hundreds of laced in pages. "The world. Is there any war anymore?" He asked, his fingers clenching around the double-sided pencil. How long has Boulevard remained dormant on that beach? His tense wrist, ready to write away, showed he was itching for some sort of closure.
"I went across three states to get here and I never heard a gunshot. I think the fighting is over?" A vigorous scribbling sound came from Boulevard as he wrote a lot more than she thought he would. A whole page worth.
"Aren't pictures sufficient in your quest in seeing the world's offerings? I'd like to see an asteroid belt, but that will never happen in my lifespan. Photos are good enough, I think?" Boulevard said. Even through his smarty-pants wording, Wynter was able to answer his questions just fine. But this one stumped her. Like trying to tell someone what a color looks like, she knew, but she didn't know how to explain it. There are just some things words cannot fully describe.
"You'll just have to find out!" Wynter exclaimed.
There was a snap of a branch outside. Wynter placed her hand over her mouth and Boulevard tensed up, his ankles and wrists moving like he was a lion, ready to pounce on a gazelle. She never noticed how towering the mysterious recluse really was. Not just in his height, but in his big chest and chin, giving off a gentle giant aura. He stared at the doorknob. Boulevard placed a finger to his lips.
The wind picked up again. It was louder this time. A condensed sound like a whistle that could cut glass. It even went at a consistent, rhythmic tone like an actual song. Wynter shivered. She didn't want Boulevard to go out there and investigate. His eyes were jerking from the window, to the door, and then to her in a loop. If he got injured, that would be on her needing to be protected. That's the only thing Wynter can't stand above all else. Someone getting hurt so she wouldn't be.
After a minute of varying suspense and the sound dying down, she fell over on her side, hitting her head on the desk leg. Such stiff joints preface a little tumble. Boulevard stood over her and asked, "Are you hurt?"
That stance he was in, with a leaning back, a hesitant hand, and wide eyes analyzing her body for scrapes or bruises made the aura Wynter described Boulevard with so much more real. From the exchanges the two of them had – over the whole span of their time together tonight – one thing was clear. Boulevard was more than he let on. He was more of a person than he showed to Wynter.
"If you would be so kind, Boulevard, could you stay for a while and keep watch? I don't like those monsters outside. You don't have to if you don't want to. Don't do it just for me." While he probably preferred to leave, Wynter feared the odd breeze. She mentally scoffed at herself, as when her eyes left Boulevard, they began to quiver. Her body sunk under that reliance.
Boulevard didn't question anything, however. He just nodded, sat back down, and stared out the cracked window. He would probably get bored as Wynter slept and the commotion outside fizzled out, so that needed a solution.
Wynter reached in her right jacket pocket and tossed Boulevard her handheld. "You mentioned it before, so you can take my game for a spin. It's a simple one. You seem like a learn by doing type of guy, so it should be easy breezy." His eyebrows narrowed and he showed the screen like a secret agent would flash a badge.
"Floofelpoof is dead."