"People?"
"Yeah." I smiled faintly, looking back out at the void. "Everyone thinks their life is the center of the universe."
"And you don't?"
"Not really." I paused, pulling my dress down, against the chill. "Hopefully not." I looked at him sideways. "Maybe I just like remembering that everyone else is trying to figure their shit out, too. And they all have issues as important as mine. Or bigger."
He looked back at the dark water. "That's a depressing reason to like a bridge."
I laughed, the sound clipping in the wind. "You'll like it too, once you try it."
Another silence settled between us, but this one lasted longer, stretching out into the dark.
Then I noticed his hands. They weren't resting flat on the railing anymore; they were curled around the iron edge, gripping it so tightly his knuckles showed white under the dim starlight.
I followed his line of sight across the river. There was a building over there. It was completely dark, a massive black block against the sky, and he hadn't looked away from it once.
"Do you know someone over there?" I asked softly.
His fingers loosened slightly. "No."
It came out too fast. A dead giveaway.
I didn't say anything to call him out, giving him space to breathe. He swallowed, a tiny muscle in his jaw twitching in the shadows.
I looked back at the building. "Then why are you staring at it?"
He didn't answer right away. The wind moved between us, carrying the heavy hum of the river below and the distant rumble of a lone car passing somewhere behind us.
Then, his voice dropped. "Sometimes it's easier to look at a place than to go there."
I turned toward him, but he still wouldn't look at me. I didn't ask what he meant. For once, I actually understood. Even if it was just a little bit.
Instead of pushing, I leaned my elbows back against the railing. "Oh okay."
He glanced over, surprised. "Okay?"
I shrugged. "You don't have to explain everything."
Something in his face shifted, barely a fraction, but I caught it. His shoulders dropped. His hands completely loosened, his eyes drifting back to the dark water. And this time, standing there in the blackout, he didn't look quite as alone. At least not to me.
Neither of us said anything for five minutes. Maybe ten.
Then, he bumped his shoulder against mine. Just a light, brief nudge. "Your bridge is depressing," he murmured.
I looked at him, a grin tugging at my lips. "There you are."
"What?"
"The guy who keeps pretending he doesn't like me, or this view."
"I don't like you."
"You're standing on my bridge."
He fully turned to face me now. "As if you built it. Also, you literally dragged me here."
We were standing close enough that I could feel the faint warmth of his breath against the cold air. Smiling, I said, "Exactly." I pushed off the railing. "Come on."
He let out a heavy sigh, though he didn't hesitate to step away from the edge. "Where now?"
"You'll see."
"You've said that at least four times tonight."
"And you've followed me every single time."
He stared down at me. "Maybe I've just started to develop poor judgment."
"Definitely," I laughed, walking backward a few steps. "Wait, actually, you've always had that."
We ended up at a tiny street-side stall tucked tightly between two brick buildings. The charcoal grill was still glowing amber, sending curls of white smoke into the night air. The rich, savory smell of grilled meat hit us before we even reached the plastic table.
Before I could dash over, he caught my sleeve. "This place?"
"Yes."
"These are the famous meatballs?"
"The absolute best."
He squinted at the grill. "They look questionable."
"You look questionable," I shot back, flashing him a sweet smile. "Sit."
He sat.
I went up to the stall and ordered a mountain of fresh food all hot from the fryer—meatballs, meat lollipops, nuggets, and sausages. When I came back with the tray, he looked at the spread, then up at me.
"You didn't even ask what I wanted."
"You're getting what I'm getting."
"That isn't how ordering food works."
"It is tonight."
"I can pay," he offered, reaching for his pocket.
"I didn't say you couldn't," I shrugged, already tapping my own card against the vendor's little battery-powered reader.
He shook his head. "You're very controlling."
I gasped, pressing a hand to my chest. "Generous, you mean."
"Bossy."
"Same thing."
"No, it's not."
"Thank you, sir," I smiled at the old man serving us, then set the heavy tray between us.
"Eat," I commanded, immediately grabbing a grilled sausage. He just sat there, watching me take a huge bite. "What?" I mumbled around the food. "Eat. You're supposed to tell me what you think."
"You're the one who ordered it."
"I'm asking for your professional opinion."
"On food I didn't choose?"
"Yes."
He sighed, a defeated sound, then finally picked up a golden-brown meatball. He took a small bite.
I watched his face like a hawk, tracking his expression. He chewed slowly, swallowed, and then looked me dead in the eye. "It's fine."
I stared at him, genuinely offended. "Fine?"
"Yes."
"You're actively insulting me."
"It's a meatball, Lisa."
"You're supposed to say it's absolutely delicious. Which it obviously is."
"It isn't."
I gasped again, leaning back in my plastic chair.
He tried to force his face back into a serious expression, but he failed miserably. A genuine smile broke through.
I pointed my half eaten sausage at him, other half still in my mouth. "You smiled!"
"No."
"You did."
"You imagined it."
"Gosh, you're terrible at lying."
"So I've heard," he muttered. He looked down at his plate, but the smile stayed firmly on his face.
We kept eating, though he was being incredibly proper and careful with his portions. At one point, I spotted the last sausage and reached for it, but his hand shot out and got there first.
I lightly slapped his wrist. "Those are mine."
"You weren't eating them."
"I was thinking about eating them."
"That doesn't count."
"Of course it counts!" I frowned, pointing firmly toward my chest. "It counts emotionally."
He stopped, staring at me with total bewilderment. "Emotionally?"
"Yes."
"Firstly very trash nonexistent logic and second that is absolutely not how food works."
"You're very rigid," I nodded my head, continuing dejectedly, "and lifeless."
"And you're very strange. Absolutely insane"
"I know you mean pretty," I said, dramatically flipping my hair over my shoulder.
He let out a helpless, amused sigh. "And you just keep proving me right."
I smiled, feeling triumphant, but in the next second, he quickly popped the sausage into his mouth.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
He chewed anyway, completely unbothered.
"You're horrible," I muttered.
"You'll survive."
I tried very hard to look deeply offended, but I couldn't hold it. I ended up laughing instead, and after a second, he did too.
Not loud, just a quiet, rough chuckle that warmed the space between us. By the time we stood up to leave, my cheeks actually hurt from smiling so much.