She heard him approach; his footsteps resonant on the wooden planks. They slowed, stopped before they met her and in that action revealed identity. She didn't need to turn and look, her personal bubble was clear and unchallenged. Her breath circled above her in a white cloud, dancing like the northern lights. The night air had numbed her small nose and her eyelashes dripped. The sound of rain hitting the water below, the bridge, his leather jacket, it all moved together to create one melodic, mellow sound. The river looked so dark, so far below, so consuming. She stared at it to keep from looking at him. He was watching her, calculating and she felt it. She wanted to tell him to stop and her fingers fidgeted in her pockets as she struggled to stay quiet. She wasn't ready to go yet.
Stepping forward she leaned her chest on the wet railing and looked down. She looked as if searching for something. Anything. He made no move, no sound, barely breathed, and that made her nervous. The events of the evening pushed their way to the forefront of her thoughts. It hadn't gone the way she'd thought; the way she'd planned. There had been so much yelling, so many things uttered that neither of them meant. He'd pushed too far though, with an arrow both barbed and poisonous. Thunder like an angry monster grumbled above their heads, startling her, but he didn't move.
She turned her head a little to find him focused behind her. It was then that she acknowledged the irregular gait, already close, and as she swung her head toward the sound he moved swiftly, protectively beside her. This agitated and relieved her as the other man approached, an orange glow attached to a tall figure. The man took a heavy drag and blew it out in her face while swaggering quickly past. Coughing once, she raised a hand to push the lingering smoke away and then grab his sleeve as he jumped aggressively toward the retreating form. He paused, turning dolefully to face her lowering eyes. She focused on his shoes as she dropped her hand, but before she could slip it back into her warm pocket he had enclosed it in both of his.
He warmed her frozen hand and then, reluctantly, let it jerkily withdraw into folded arms. Glancing around him she could still see a small orange glimmer that shone every few seconds. As she tried so hard not to look at him, tears forced their way out, and she was thankful for the mask of rain. When he spoke it seemed so out of place; she had taken refuge in the silence.
"I'm sorry," he said gruffly. Sincerely. She knew his eyes searched for hers but she refused him, purposely targeting everything else. They took turns sniffling because of the temperature until he sighed heavily and finally moved. She stiffened in the expected advance but it didn't come. He walked away from her and she panicked a little as she watched him go. His wet hair was plastered to his head, his jacket visibly soaked and his hands stuffed deep in his jean pockets.
He took long, slow strides, resigned almost. Her body relaxed as her hands lowered to her sides. She glanced at the body of water on her left before taking a step. Two, three, and then she was chasing. He never slowed, simply slid to the right so there was room for her on the narrow boardwalk. She trailed nervously behind him before moving to his side. He almost towered above her and she felt safe. Linking her arm through his she shivered from the cold and as they subconsciously matched strides, he knew he was forgiven. The full moon shone above, secluded by the thick, grey clouds that drip, drip, dripped.
