He was quiet.

The world itself was quiet.

Looking on from this distance, if not for the luster of the lunar streaks on his coat and hair, the shadows would engulf him and take him from us without a word spoken or a sound made.

But I was sure a few tears would be shed.

From the vast expanse of the city, slow notes began to ring as a delicate strumming commenced from the lakeside—silver tones beneath a silver glow as the melody was light in tone but heavy in grief. I began to walk, not needing to check the ends of the street for oncoming traffic because I could tell without glancing that we were alone.

My crisp steps landed on laminal frost, synchronizing with the delicate but rhythmic tunes of his hazelwood instrument—back still turned as I closed the distance in complete silence.

What would I say? What was there to say? A reassurance? A question? A demand for an apology? A request? For who was I speaking? For myself or for them?

I was no more than five paces from him now, the air gradually warming as I approached another body in the cold, light-filled city enveloped by wintry fog and dull moonbeams. I readied myself to speak, but it was not my voice that filled the space, "To be honest, I already knew..." He began, a voice as deep as the hues of his clothes and the water beneath his gaze, "It just...Hurts to be reminded, I guess." And while few and short, his lyrics finally let a realization dawn on me.

The reason as to why I saw him in such a gentle light.

I could no longer attribute it to the sheen of his eyes or the charmingly small stature he held, even if that was what my mind tended to wander to. Perhaps part of it was also pity, remorse, and empathy mixing and seeping into my perspective. But now, I was sure.

We were kindred spirits.

Similar to a merit and fault. Stubborn but considerate, loud, and adventurous when annoying, silent and ignorant when it mattered. But more than anything, sick with love.

If that was the case and we were similar, a rush of ideas flooded my busy mind as I took in a breath to organize them.

It meant we could want the same things.

We could wince in pain at the same sights.

Learn to love the same kind of people.

Feel regret for the same missed chances.

Tear ourselves apart for the same mistakes.

And strive for the same goals.

I exhaled a mist and walked closer, placing myself atop a pillar beside him as a cold breeze came from the water dotted by celestial radiance. I turned to Gale, his gaze lowered as his matte eyes reflected the fluid mirror, and his fingers tended to the strings of his guitar—flourishes and strums rippling the surface ever-so-slightly, never quite breaking the tension that held it still.

I had to do the same, I thought. I had to exercise the same kind of care I saw in front of me to ensure that I would not shatter what was already broken. I prepared my words, scrutinizing them till my mind went blank, tearing them apart till each word held an essay's worth of meaning, and refusing to mince them in any way that would degrade from the weight I wanted them to carry. My throat tensed as something began to well up from inside it.

"You know," I started, keeping my voice reserved as a song of no words underscored it, "I don't want to seem presumptuous or pandering, but..." Or perhaps the music was there to allow my words to serve as the lyrics, "That kind of thing, I can't help but relate." But upon speaking again, my statement overpowered the melody as it came to a brief halt and a quiet mhm to acknowledge me.

"Do you know? About my whole ordeal?"

He took a shallow breath, playing his chords once again but at a slower tempo, "Fable told me a few times. She explained why and how you began working as a surveyor—that promise you've decided to keep regarding your former partner."

I kept quiet, knowing there was more to come, for that recollection was sure to elicit more.

"...It's why I can't even begin to believe what you just said." His voice quivered, but the melody remained as steady as the moon above, "Because someone like you, despite everything I thought from our first meeting- I can't possibly..." Emotions astir, they ate away at him like the darkness did our bodies, "...I can't imagine doing anything like that...Or maybe I don't want to. It just sounds so...heartbreaking. So impossible."

It was praise, yet just listening to it stung acutely and familiarly. Or maybe it was judgment? I wouldn't blame him. Even now, it lingers in the back of my mind and makes me toss and turn in late nights and empty midday moments.

"For you to be able to pick your pieces back up like that and instead use the rest of your strength to rebuild someone else- someone who's no longer in your future."

"Gale..." I didn't even notice my mouth move, the words exiting without thought as his expression remained downcast.

"I want to tell you something about myself. It's a part of me I've been arguing with over the past few months." He began, brown-gold locks falling like curtains onto his gaze, "I believe that people die twice."

A part of my memory jumpstarted when I heard him. It recalled a particular place within four dim corners in a time warmer than now where I found myself in a similar role, with my ears providing purchase to the whispers of someone who felt lost.

"There's, of course, the general death. When your heart stops moving, and your brain shuts down for good, the biological kind and the one that comes second to the first." The young man's inflections steadied as he composed himself, letting the hollow notes merge with his voice.

"And the one that comes before that?"

"It's a more figurative demise, but I think it's also the more important of the two."

Ah, it's that. Of course, it's that.

"When you wake up and look at yourself in the mirror, staring at the uneven and scattered pieces that masquerade as whole." Even if he didn't finish it, I already knew what he'd say next, the knowledge surfacing from the recesses of my conscience, "And you think that you can't change anymore? You're as good as dead." Even so, it ached the only way an old wound could—deep, mellow, and bitterly familiar as it ran from the pit in your stomach to the front of your mind.

That stings like hell for me as well, y'know?

I bared it to the best of my ability, keeping an overt show of empathy, but keeping composed was crucial if I was to deal with this. I shouldn't have acted so affected. I had to ensure-

"...I think I've already died once." Words cut through my thoughts as the feverish hum collapsed under the weight of his words and the sight of crystal droplets welling beneath his matte irises.

Could I really bear with it?

I was right in admitting I couldn't conjure confidence from thin air, but the way things were going, what could I really do for him?

Listen, Bridger. Let him speak and then act accordingly. There's no need to panic.

A demand rang out from a still rational part of my system, urging me along with a voice that didn't quite match mine as it brushed through my mind with a wintry chill and cold comfort. I did as asked, freezing my doubt in place and thawing my frozen inaction as I lent my ear to the one who kindled an ember of regret whose warmth was like mine.

"Hey...Tell me, Bridger." I moved not, letting music and words flow seamlessly into me, no matter the weight, no matter the pain, "How can a dead man walking like me possibly stand next to her? What right do I have to be by her side..?" Echoes trembling, reflecting not off the tall buildings but the wall that placed itself ahead of the young man's path, "All of my lofty ideals and look at me, collapsing under the weight of my own headstrong stupidity." It felt like the aftermath of a storm, a moment where I could do nothing but look out into the expanse in quiet reflection in search of an answer, "Looking back at it now, I can't even recall where the hell I managed to get all of that blind confidence from." Perhaps that very blindness was why it felt so easy to lose sight of it, why the guise of conviction only melted when it was within hairsbreadth.

It hurt to be reminded.

A string of words that was slowly being buried beneath his confessions continued to gnaw away at me as I could do nothing but agree. He was right. No matter what, it was an agony that refused to rid itself so readily. It remained like a phantom and bit down on you like a vice. I knew it hurt. Being so enamored by the future and gripping the present so tightly that your fingers would bleed, all of it distracting you from the sight of the world you swore to protect melting from within, leaving you with less than nothing—as nothing could be replaced, it could be filled, but this was a sorrow that was immovable, unchanging, and impossible to hide like a shadow in the corner of your vision that never dissolved.

"And now all I can do is run off- Like a goddamned coward who can't even face the housefire he decided to light." He struggled against his own breath, choking on the words that he slurred into the night, "I hate it..." And yet the words that came after were clear and so sure of themselves, "...I hate myself." Assured without room for protest.

And that's okay. Some things shouldn't be protested against.

"...You're right. It hurts like hell, and you come to hate your own guts," He didn't budge, taking it in sorrowful stride, "But that's fine." Yet I finally caught a glance upon my following line.

Ah, they really do have such a gentle color to them.

"You see," I wondered if even a fraction of that hue clouded my own eyes as I spoke with words riding bittersweet nostalgia, "You're absolutely right. It hurts a whole lot more than what feels fair, right? It stings every time we get an update on how they're doing, the moments they've shared, and the shape that their love began to take. There are days I have to fight myself while working and wonder if, for my sake at least, I'm doing the right thing." It never stayed long, but it was chronic, and it hurt in a place I could never reach.

Gale knew this, but not to my extent. He still had time. He wasn't stuck in the after-credits cleaning up. He was still left with a choice, "...But that's all just fine." I shifted from my seat, standing with arms behind my head as I paced around and continued to speak.

There was more to the world and my actions than just anguish and malaise, and focusing on that without losing sight of why the pain existed in the first place was how I kept myself standing—how I kept my promise from waning.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"It's about learning to grow despite there not being a clear path forward, picking yourself up because you'll always be better on the move than left on the floor." My steps echoed with my words—both light and unrestrained, "You don't have to stress over so many semantics when it's as you said, change is inherent. Come hell or high water, the world spins, and we do cartwheels to follow. You don't have to scare yourself with a massive leap if a hundred shorter but easier steps will do the trick." And I finally settled once I reached the bollard to his left, setting myself down in a spot that looked similar—but one that was undeniably a motion, a successful dice roll and progression along the game of life.

...This one's wet with river water. Guess I'll wash the pants before I return them to Lily...

I cleared my throat and ignored the creeping, cold feeling down my legs, "I've seen a lot of it here in my stay at aiAI. Ten-hour shifts from Monday to Friday over the course of half a year will show you a lot of weird, downright perplexing, but surprisingly profound things." I explained, leaning back and letting my eyes and the stars reflect off one another, "And it's not just 'cause Myla was my partner." He fidgeted at her mention but nevertheless remained in melodic stasis.

"I know we're in different positions and that all I have for you are words, but I want you to know that everyone struggles through the same things you do, and some struggles you've yet to see or maybe never will see." My mind began to string together memories, each connected by a silver thread that bundled up into the message I wanted to deliver to Gale, "I want you to believe again—not just in yourself but in the love that's been trying to claw its way out of your chest for so long now." I could see him quietly raise his head the tiniest bit, locks still curtaining his eyes whose muted gleam could not be seen.

But I knew they were there, and I knew the person who held them was listening to me, and I had to make sure I could complete this call and response.

"Just as you did, I've seen how two people can take a part of themselves and share it with the person they cherish. How far their smiles curl when they fall in love with them for the second time as they explore a world carved from a space within their heart." I recalled a peculiar pair of eccentric blonde and energetic fire-orange whose heart-driven hobbies were alight with passion, "Or how someone can break free from their bubble of peaceful monotony all for the sake of fulfilling their desire to experience love, finally getting a hold of it to nurture and grow that blissful feeling until they could declare it as their own with confidence." The visage of an aloof but well-meaning man appeared behind my eyes, locks of dark brown that whistled with a mellow voice that I could trust with what was once my greatest treasure, "And the strength and dedication it takes two people to accept one another's faults but never let it hold them back—to promise that they'd never abandon each other and to work hand-in-hand, side-by-side towards mutual self-growth." The images of a pair whose imposing figures belay their endearing dispositions flashed, intimidating but caring, silent but compassionate, both striving for one another with one another.

This time, the response was more transparent—his mouth subtly cracked open as if to speak, and his head turned in an intent wordlessness as I assumed his musical progression neared its crescendo.

"And even beyond those things, I've seen firsthand the drive of someone who's practically hellbent on making sure that kind of love is fostered and protected, the closest thing I've seen to true altruism—kindness beneath cold effort despite the thorn-laden path." For her, my mind invoked no portraits, no voices, instead the viola scent that coated my wrist became palpable in the dry air, "...And how even when stuck beneath the weight of your world collapsing, your present life flipped inside out and turned upside down, and your future vanishing with scalding traces, you can still pick yourself back up and keep loving because you know that's what you do best." For my final anecdote, I recalled eight years in the embrace of the one who was no longer there, but the warmth and touch of which continued to wrap around and linger on the edges of my core, "So no matter what, I want to keep loving."

The music stopped.

The world was once again quiet.

But he was not, "...That's you, right?"

I only smiled, a tear threatening to seep from my wide-open eyes.

"Despite how much it hurt, I never once saw my love as something to regret. But as for my lack of initiative to take the risk and do better? Now that, that is something I do lose sleep over." I boasted, making light of it as I stifled the sadness with humor and a friendly tone, "I do lament it quite a lot- I really do. I'm just a lot better at hiding it, especially at work." I centered myself again, peering right through the matte-blue orbs that reflected my diminutive form, "Well, until I met you, and I became such a blabbermouth, no?"

I'd said it.

Everything I wanted and needed, and maybe a little bit more, too.

Time to activate customer-support mode then.

"With all that being said, it goes without saying that Fable's right, but I'm not gonna chastise you. You've done that to yourself plenty, and what you need right now is to find your own strength to speak and listen to that murmur in the back of your head telling you to live—telling you to love." I placed a hand on his back, and despite his height, it was broad and firm, one that could still support a life worth fighting for, "To push through despite how tough things get and to treasure and tend to those emotions with every last drop your heart has to offer." I did the same, hoping with all I could that these words would reach him and that a songbird's reply would arrive.

I knew I was wrong.

As to when I came to know, I'm still unsure.

Then again, this kind of conjecturing doesn't really matter now, huh?

But I do enjoy reminiscing, so bear with me.

I was always noted for my adventurous propensities. Be they sycophants or authority figures, rascal friends, and nagging parents, my desire to explore and experience more was what defined me. It drove me to take things with my arms wide and my eyes agape, let me play music with a freedom that felt like I was atop clouds and away from the glum of the real world. I was dynamic, free-flowing, like a river that was still carving its way towards the ocean where it could liberate itself further.

And then I met Fable.

Suddenly, I had someone I could fly up with and who would take one of my free hands in their own and entertain my silly complaints and reservations about the city and life. She'd listen to my songs with a smile that curved like the hook of an eighth note and laugh in a tune that resembled a harp of silver strings played with velvet fingers.

I didn't want things to end. I wanted to protect not just her but the world we'd crafted together with our hearts as the foundations. I couldn't let go of that world. Even if it started to crack and crumble, how could I?

And so it was too late that I realized the part of me I once held like a nameplated medal had slipped off my neck in my ragged sprint.

I lost that part of myself.

The part that Fable loved.

The part that I loved.

And yet, as my sight falls upon the figure beside me, clad in aged wine reds and a look of ripened sorrow—like clay hardened and polished and rich in color on his smooth face, beneath shimmering jet-black ribbons of charcoal, I felt that part of myself that tumbled into the recesses of my being was being dragged out with a hand clenched on its wrist.

What a meddlesome idiot. Then again, if that's the case, what does that make me? Just an idiot?

I removed my instrument from my lap, letting my fingers loosen as I held it in one hand and let it droop low. Just for me to stand up in a blazing encore that could melt the ice sheets, sending a single wave-like strum down the six wonderfully hot strings.

The string of notes began to bounce from the water's edge to the buildings' peaks, sending fright down his face and into his legs, "You're weird as hell, you know that? Dumping your entire life story on me unannounced and somehow contorting it into advice, now that's efficient!"

"Eh?" Bridger exclaimed, matte-gray eyes agape, "That's not the thanks I was expecting..."

"And who said I had to thank you, huh?" I retorted, shooting him a grin.

"Because counseling appointments have an attached fee."

"Oh. Well, I didn't know that."

"Yeah, we forgot to mention it last time. Sorry."

"Anyway, before any of that," I put a momentary pause to our comedy routine, letting my guitar hang on my neck and lowering my head in a bow, "I'm sorry."

He was at first surprised before the expression gave way to one that looked relieved and at peace, "For all the moping, and all the dumb decisions and outbursts, and for nearly losing myself like that." I apologized with an expression halfway between mournful and assured, "And before you tell me, I'll say all of this to Fable and so much more. I promise." There really was a lot, a dozen sorries, a few promises, and three words I'd tirelessly repeat ad eternum.

He looked at me with a sweetness, having released his unease and letting a warmth don on his visage beneath the moonlight, "That's good to hear, but you know..." He heaved a deep sigh, practically collapsing onto his arms behind his back, outstretched, "You really made us work for this paycheck."

I laughed, throwing a light punch onto his shoulder, "Like hell you did. What happened to this being more than a job and instead being some bizarre form of absolution?"

"One of these days, I'll send you a picture of our salary, and you'll see what I mean."

"Is it really that big?" I asked, puzzled.

"Just these six months alone have given me enough to last until next year, all cooped up in my room," Bridger answered, exasperated as I attempted to calculate just how much such a lifestyle would cost.

How in the heck does he make that much? Or maybe it's something else..?

"...Oh, it's 'cause you're singl-"

"Shush."

We shared a quick look before bursting out in soft laughter that felt like a spring-born wind, "Thank you, by the way." I professed, resuming my playing with a campfire medley, "You went above and beyond your station for me and Fable. I really don't know how to thank you enough."

He only nodded and gave a tiny shrug, "I'd say it's all in a day's work, but I'm about ready for the month's work to be over. Still, I couldn't help it, or more accurately, I couldn't stop myself from helping." He admitted with a slight furrow in his brow that sat awkwardly above his smile, "If my selfish little promise can lead me to save a few people, I'll do my best, right?" A surveyor, a friend, a heartbroken idiot who was just trying to climb the mountain he tumbled down from, a gentle face that hid a Spartan burden, "Oh, and don't forget to thank Myla too, okay? She's saved your ass twice now, and we're both getting earfuls from her later." But when he mentioned his partner, something else washed over his countenance that felt so much lighter and genuine.

Whatever the case, he was right. Myla, Alex, and now Bridger extended a hand to the both of us even when it seemed things could only go south when the house was already ablaze, and I was the one with the match in hand and the one on their knees with eyes swelling with tears.

And they still reached out to me.

I think it's about time I put out my own fires.

"You don't ever wonder if helping so much might actually make some couples complacent, do you?" I asked, kicking my feet in the air over the still water.

"Been there, thought about that." The surveyor in red quickly answered, placing a hand on his nape, "I've decided that it's fine as long as we keep meddling to just advice and guidance. At the end of the day, every couple needs autonomy." He picked up some chipped concrete beside his seat, throwing it and letting it skip thrice, "But I also think that if Amanda and I were given some help, we probably could've worked through things, so I guess this is my way of affirming that belief."

I stared at him for a while as he gazed at the cascading ripples, "You were quite the romantic, huh?" I questioned, probing into his love life as he did mine.

And he gets paid for it. First student loans, now this. Capitalism is strange...

"I still am, I think. I wouldn't be going this far if I had a cold heart, now would I?"

"Guess not." I accepted, but his choice of words struck me with an idea, "By the way, before we return to the two, you mentioned something earlier that's still stuck in my head." He threw his eyes to me, a slight head tilt accompanying it.

"Go on?"

"You mentioned you still wanted to fall in love, right?"

"Loving in general, but I'm not opposed to it. Why do you ask?"

"Is there anyone on your mind?" I asked teasingly, letting my teeth show with a grin.

His face twisted into mild disgust, "What's with the high schooler-like question? Act your age, Glenn."

"What the- Right back at you, dumbass." I returned fire, seeing him snicker, riling me up, "Fine. I'll go suggest someone. What about Myla?"

Bridger's face went from zero to a hundred, almost stumbling off his seat before his emotions turned to a simmer, and hints of a red glow appeared on his face, "Nuh-uh. Nope, nope."

"Did my question take away your literary ability?"

"What I mean is it's a professional relationship. We make a good team, and I don't mind her as a close friend, but that's the extent of it." He clarified, clearing his throat and settling himself, "Plus, I'm far from what I expect her type to be."

Oh? What's this?

I once again felt my mouth twist into quite the arc as I held back a laugh, "So you have thought about it?"

"Well, I've also thought about resigning because of her. Multiple times, may I add." A matter-of-fact reply left his blank expression.

"Sure, but you haven't quit yet, right? So, what does that imply?" I did similarly—a straightforward follow-up as a retort.

"...Shut up, man." That was all he could muster to counterattack.

I snickered to myself, the bashful but brave Bridger Blaithe quite the charming sight.

And so it was that in the middle of a cold October night, where the lights of the concrete expanse and unreachable cosmos melded together and beside a river reflecting an aurora of brilliance, I accepted that I could take my first steps onward.

I was able to sing.

My fingers slowed to a stop as my song reached its end, prompting both of us to stand and look back at Tre Venti.

One step at a time. A few steps in a day. A better destination for this lifetime.