"Wanted Grayson Fuller, a street fighter, at just the age of fifteen," the news reporter spoke, no sign of emotion on her face. That wasn't surprising. Grayson seemed to be on the news far more than anyone else. Florence didn't understand. He was fifteen, how awful could the boy be? He had heard about the doings of the older, but it didn't seem to affect the people around him.
"Once more, Grayson Fuller, fifteen, wanted for the beatings and molestation of Rose Bosz, age twenty seven." It was finished then. Finally, Florence thought. He hated that someone as young as fifteen could be doing such horrible things. Usually, you heard about these things with people who are at least legal adults.
Florence didn't usually have negative impressions of people, but Grayson was a different story. He lived a few towns over, fought with a gang of six. The "gang" was assembled back in two thousand and six. Grayson was only four at the time, born in two thousand and two. He had turned fifteen just recently, actually. He, according to news articles, has been fighting since just the age of three, and had officially been brought into the group at the age of seven. He hadn't been there for long before he became their "leader". The others practically worshiped the boy. He was their youngest, the other five being in their twenties to thirties.
"Grayson Fuller, the childhood trouble maker," a voice spoke, displeasure clear. "How can a fifteen year old manage to be in so much trouble all the time?"
"I'm not sure," Florence answered, simply staring a the blank television set, which had been turned off by his father, who was obviously sick of hearing about the criminal. "Where are his parents?"
Parents. That's one thing no one knew about Grayson Fuller. No one knew about his parents, if he even had them present in his life. They had never been mentioned, but many presumed they had to exist, at some point, at least.
"They may no longer be alive," the man spoke, clearly uninterested in the subject that seemed to be a reoccurring conversation in the Eliot household, which consisted of Florence and his father, Arthur. The two seemed to end up with this same subject nearly every night. "What strikes your interest in this boy, Flo?"
"I'm not sure. He's interesting, different. It's not that I'm interested in him, I'm just simply interested in what he does. And why." Florence didn't want to admit to being interested in Grayson. He wasn't his type, per-say.
"Sure doesn't seem that way," Arthur mumbled, standing from his seat and collecting the plates he and his son had just eaten off of.
"I'll be back in a bit," the fourteen year old spoke, sweetly. "I need some air."
Florence stuffed his phone in the back pocket of his black jeans, pulled a jumper over his head, slipped on his vans, and was on his way to his place. He and Finley's spot. The young boy pulled his phone from his pocket, typing a quick text, telling him he was here.
Here was a beautiful field, full of flowers and trees. It was peaceful, a place only the two knew of. "Hello, love," a voice spoke into the cold, arms wrapping around Florence's waist, pulling him into a warm embrace. "Nice to see you."
"You too," Florence giggled, snuggling close to the taller.
"Have you spoken to your father about our plans as of late?"
"I have been leaving subtle hints, but I doubt he understands what I am getting at, he is not the most clever."
Finley smiled, kissing the younger's head and sitting down. "Have you heard the recent news on Grayson Fuller? How much more can he get away with? He has been nearly arrested multiple times."
"I'm not sure, I don't typically keep up with criminals. How old is he again? Fourteen? Fifteen?" Fin questioned, laying back as his boyfriend created a crown of flowers, threading the leaves between the braids of stems.
"He turned fifteen recently. He has been charged of assult and molestation as of late. I believe her name was Rose Bosz, age twenty seven, if I'm not mistaken. I'm not sure what more he can get away with," Florence spoke, quietly. He placed the finished crown upon Fin's head, smiling proudly at his work.
"Rose Bosz. She sounds familiar, yeah? Isn't just me?"
"I thought the same, but I can't seem to figure out where the name is from."
Finley hummed, threading a hand through Florence's. "You have such an interest in this boy. I hope you aren't thinking of replacing me."
"Never," Florence promised, sealing it with a kiss to Finley's hand, which was still intertwined with his. "Don't worry."
••
a/n: hello, hopefully everyone enjoyed the first chapter. i have a few more written out but i'm waiting to post those until they're completely edited and ready to go.
please leave your thoughts and ideas in the comments. thank you :)
-ais
