You’re slouched in a chair, looking around, completely bored as you wait for your father to finish his important police work so you can go home.

A phone keeps ringing and you shout inwardly for someone to please answer the fucking phone.

“Dad, can we go now?” you ask tiredly as your father hurries past you.

He halts only for a second, just long enough to answer you curtly, “No.”

You scowl at his back as he turns away and continues his journey. You get no explanation, but you don’t ask either. Knowing he will not provide you with one. He expects you to sit in the chair until he’s ready. Only then will you be allowed to go home.

You exhale loudly, to show your annoyance but there is no one around to hear it or even take notice of it.

The swing-doors leading into the main floor of the police station, slams open and you watch with hooded eyes as two officers lead a prisoner inside.

You have seen this before, as your father drags you with him to the precinct every chance he gets in the hopes of sparking your interest in police work. It’s a waste of time though because you already know what you want. And this isn’t it. You are just too chicken to tell your father you want to be a writer, or it’s because you already know without a doubt that he won’t accept anything other than you going into the force.

You don’t exactly have a clear view of the person who’s lead to a chair beside one of the desks scattered around the floor, but you’re really not interested. You still stare though, for a lack of having something better to do.

The officer, you should know the name of but really don’t remember, steps to the side after he deposits the person in the chair. You sit up straight at once as you finally get a clear view of the prisoner.

Your sudden movement catches the boy’s attention and he has a similar reaction as his eyes land on you. He tries to stand up but is pushed down by the officer that hadn’t quite moved away yet.

You stare back at him and debate what you should do, but before you can do anything the officer is demanding the boy’s attention and he looks away from you.

Silently, staring out in front of you, you sit in your chair. Your heart beating a mile a minute, your mind racing as you debate what to do next.

There really isn’t much you can do. And so you sit and wait. When one of the officers moves away and leaves the questioning to his colleague, you push yourself onto your feet and make sure you meet the officer halfway as he moves to his own desk.

“Hey,” you start and scramble for his name, it hadn’t been important before, you hadn’t really cared, but it matters now. You stop yourself from looking down quickly at his name tag, knowing the man will notice. “Marc,” you finally come up with out of nowhere, trying to keep the surprise and excited exclamation out of your voice, trying to make it sound like the name just rolled off your tongue.

He eyes you suspiciously nonetheless, but you ignore it.

“What is it, Josh?”

He knows you want something, because you never speak to him otherwise, you hardly acknowledge him or anyone else at the precinct for that matter. It wasn’t them, it was what they represented, his future if his dad got his way.

You swallow and stop your train of thought, “I was just wondering, the boy you brought in, what did he do?”

You wonder if you succeeded in making your question sound nonchalantly, but you doubt it. As Marc raises his eyebrows pointedly, you know for sure.

“Why do you want to know?”

Squirming under the inquiring gaze, you reply, “He’s in my class, I’m just wondering if he’s in any kind of trouble.”

“He’s here.” Marc reminds him, the duh apparent.

“I know but…” you stop yourself abruptly, suddenly annoyed, “Can you tell me what he did or not?”

Marc sighs, shrugs, “He stole from the grocery store.”

Your eyes flicker over to the prisoner, Justin. The guy you’ve had a crush on for nearly six months, ever since he transferred here from another school, is sitting in a chair with his hands cuffed in front of him. He listens to the officers questions, occasionally providing an answer when necessary. You stare at him and don’t notice Marc has already moved on.

Justin’s head turns slowly and then his eyes meet yours. For a moment you stare at each other before he dips his head and turns back in the direction of the officer.

You move back to your seat, in a daze. The shame and fear in Justin’s eyes had been apparent, no matter if he’d only seen it for a few short seconds. It had been clear.

Suddenly, you are in no hurry whatsoever to get home. You are fine right here.

Your father is taking a lot longer than usual, but this time you’re actually grateful. You keep your eye on Justin as he is questioned and as he is lead away, you keep your eye on the door he disappeared through.

But you’re attention is momentarily pulled away as your father rushes by. You hold your breath, hoping he won’t say he’s ready to go home and you exhale in relief when he doesn’t. He disappears from sight without another word and you slouch down a little further in your chair.

You redirect your gaze back to the door, but your eyes land on something else on the way. Justin. His head is low and he’s following someone closely. A scabby looking man, with a stormy face. You actually want to jump up and ask if Justin is okay. But you don’t. Not sure if Justin will appreciate it.

Your eyes continue to follow your crush and it only takes half a minute before he’s aware of someone eyes on him and looks up carefully. He meets yours dead on.

You suck in a breath as you gaze into his eyes. He looks defeated, beaten, and still ashamed. As he turns his eyes away from you, you wish you could reach out and make him look at you. So he can see he doesn’t have to be ashamed.

But you watch powerless as he walks out of the precinct behind, what you can only assume is his father. His very angry father.

Once he disappears from sight, you sigh and lean back in your chair. Disappointed, you close your eyes. Wishing it could have gone differently.

“Josh,” a quiet voice, suddenly addresses you. Your eyes fly open and you see him. He came back! You can’t help but smile as you say, “Justin,” realizing he knows your name!

You realize the man he’d followed is nowhere to be seen, but you don’t want to ask why.

You don’t really know what to say and so you wait for him to speak. He doesn’t meet your eyes and it leaves you with the opportunity to study him from up close; the golden curls, the soft cheeks, full pink lips, and long lashes that hide his beautiful baby blue eyes.

“I, um, thought that was you,” he stumbles, obviously having wished it wasn’t you, here, witnessing his humiliation.

His words startle you briefly, but he hadn’t caught you staring and so you take in a breath to collect yourself and nod in answer to his question, “I’m here with my father.”

He nods, but offers no explanation.

“Are you um, okay? I mean are you in trouble?” you can’t help but ask.

He finally meets your eyes and you see the sadness in them.

“I’m ok,” he replies, avoiding the second question. He sighs, debates assumingly whether he should ask his next question, “Josh?”

“Yeah?” you respond curiously.

“Can you um, please, not tell anyone?” he asks quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor once again.

You want to know more, but you don’t ask. Instead you nod and agree not to tell.

The smile he gives you is more than worth it, you decide on the spot.

Telling anyone hadn’t really crossed your mind yet and now that he asked, you don’t intend to either. For a moment you wonder if that’s the only reason he came back. But you dismiss it, it doesn’t really matter. You just want to know what’s going on with this beautiful boy. However, he apparently doesn’t trust you enough to share.

You can’t really blame him and you don’t push for answers. Instead you smile back and say, “I’ll see you at school.”

He sighs at the mention of school but nods, “Yeah, bye.” He turns away from you and makes a quick escape from his humiliation.

It had been the first time he has said anything to you. The first time he smiled, the first time he actually acknowledges you. It’s not like he is popular, far from it actually, but he keeps to himself so strongly it’s hard to approach him.

You watch how he hurries to the exit, and you slump back in your chair, following him with your eyes until he’s out of sight.

A small smile slowly spreads across your face as you realize that for once coming along to the precinct wasn’t a complete waste of time.