The footbridge started where the campus ended, closer to the boathouses than the main bridge. Pedestrian only. The planks worn smooth by years of rowers crossing between worlds. In the mornings it was busy. At night it was empty.
I stepped onto the wood. My footsteps echoed—hollow, rhythmic, the sound carrying across the water.
The bridge was maybe forty meters long. Wooden railings on both sides, weathered grey. No overhead lights—just the lampposts on each bank, their glow reaching toward the center but not quite meeting. The middle of the bridge lived in shadow. A pocket of dark between two lit worlds.
Liam was already there.
Leaning against the railing on the Riverside side. Hands in his pockets. His body a dark shape against the slightly less dark sky behind him. He was looking down at the water—the river moving beneath us.
He heard me coming. Turned his head.
He was wearing the flannel.
The green-and-white check from the thrift store. The one I'd bought for him because the green would bring out his eyes. Top two buttons undone. The way I'd asked him to wear it.
The sight of it stopped me mid-stride. Because I knew what it meant. Liam didn't do symbols. Didn't do gestures. He did concrete things—drove across town, held your wrist, showed up at the boathouse before dawn. He didn't wear a shirt to send a message.
Except tonight he did.
He was telling me something without saying a word.I remember. The best day. The bridge with the dog. Your hand in mine for thirty miles. I remember all of it and I'm standing here in the proof.
He kept showing up for me.
I started walking again. Five feet between us. The shadow of the bridge wrapping around both of us. The river underneath. The cold November air sharp enough to sting.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey."
His face was half-lit—the Kingswell lamppost behind me catching the left side of his face, his cheekbone, the edge of his mouth. The right side in shadow. His eyes were dark and steady and tired in a way that went deeper than sleep.
Silence.
The river underneath us. The bridge creaking. The distant sound of a car on the main road. Neither of us knowing how to start.
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
Liam shifted against the railing. "So—"
He stopped.
More silence. Longer this time. Painful.
Liam looked away. The looked back and threw his hands up.
"This is—" I started.
"Yeah."
"We've literally been texting until 2 AM and now—"
"I know."
"Okay." I took a breath. "I'm sorry."
Liam's breath fogged and disappeared.
"Not for being angry about Braden," I said. "You shouldn't have gone after him. I meant that." I took a half step closer. "But the rest of it. What I said. That we were a mistake—"
