Calen stayed quiet for a long time, letting the silence thicken around them.
Not forcing it.
Not filling it.
Finally, he spoke.
Calen:
(softly)
"You miss him."
Noah laughed — a sharp, broken sound.
Noah:
"Yeah, well…
missing doesn't fix anything."
Calen:
"It doesn't have to."
Noah looked at him sharply.
Noah:
(bitter)
"You don't get it.
I let him take the fall.
I didn't just lose a friend.
I betrayed him."
His voice cracked, raw and bleeding.
Noah:
"And you don't come back from that."
Calen shifted slightly, letting the lantern rest against his knee.
Its flame flickered stubbornly against the gathering dark.
Calen:
(quietly)
"Maybe not all the way back.
But maybe forward."
Noah scoffed.
Noah:
"Forward to what?
Pretending like none of it happened?"
Calen:
"Forward knowing it happened.
And choosing to live anyway."
Noah shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched.
Noah:
(low)
"I don't deserve to move on."
Calen tilted his head, studying him.
Calen:
"Maybe not.
Maybe none of us do."
He tapped the side of the lantern lightly.
Calen:
"But we move anyway.
Not because we deserve it.
Because life keeps pulling us forward whether we want it to or not."
Noah rubbed his face again, breathing raggedly.
Noah:
(whispering)
"What if I forget him?"
Calen smiled sadly.
Calen:
"You won't."
Noah looked skeptical.
Calen leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
Calen:
(soft)
"Because even guilt is a kind of memory.
Even missing someone is carrying them."
Noah dropped his gaze to the cracked wood beneath them.
Noah:
(broken whisper)
"I just…
I just want to say I'm sorry."
Calen:
"Then say it."
Noah shook his head furiously.
Noah:
(harsh)
"He's not here."
Calen's voice was steady.
Calen:
"Doesn't mean he can't hear it."
The wind shifted, stirring the loose boards, carrying the scent of the river and rain and earth.
Noah sat rigid for a moment.
Then, slowly, he uncurled himself.
He rose to his feet, shaky but determined.
He faced the broken bridge — the wide gap he could not cross.
And he spoke.
Not loud.
Not polished.
Just a boy's heart, breaking open.
Noah:
(hoarse)
"I'm sorry, Ezra.
I was scared.
I was selfish.
I should've stood with you."
His voice cracked on the last word.
He stood there, fists clenched at his sides, breathing hard.
Noah:
(whispering)
"I miss you, man."
The river answered in its quiet way, murmuring around the bridge supports.
Calen stood too, the lantern casting a soft halo around them both.
For a long while, they said nothing more.
Then Noah wiped at his face roughly and let out a shaky breath.
Noah:
(gruff)
"That…
didn't fix anything."
Calen:
(softly)
"Maybe not.
But it freed something."
Noah let out a bitter laugh —
but there was something lighter in it now.
Something less chained.
The bridge groaned softly in the wind,
its broken boards rattling like old bones.
The river below whispered and rushed past, uncaring, unchanging.
Noah stared at the gap for a long time.
Then he turned back to Calen.
His eyes were still red, but clearer somehow —
like the storm inside him had passed, even if the ruins remained.
Noah:
(gruff)
"You one of those weird angels or something?"
Calen laughed softly.
Calen:
(smiling)
"Not even close.
Just someone carrying a light."
Noah nodded slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.
Noah:
"You're weird, man.
But…
thanks."
Calen:
"Don't thank me."
He pointed toward Noah's chest, just above his heart.
Calen:
"You carried it the whole time.
I just held the lantern for a bit."
Noah barked out a rough laugh.
Noah:
(grinning crookedly)
"You sound like one of those fortune cookies."
Calen shrugged.
Calen:
"Good fortune's better than no fortune."
Noah chuckled again —
a real laugh this time, not sharp or broken.
He stooped down to grab his muddy skateboard and slung it under one arm.
Noah:
"Guess I should head back."
Calen:
"You could fix the bridge someday."
Noah snorted.
Noah:
"Yeah.
Me and some duct tape."
Calen smiled faintly.
Calen:
"Sometimes you don't fix everything at once.
You just start."
Noah looked at the hole again —
then at the far side of the river, blurry and distant.
He nodded slowly.
Not a promise.
Not a grand vow.
Just a beginning.
Noah:
"Maybe I'll start tomorrow."
Calen:
(softly)
"Tomorrow's a good day for beginnings."
They stood together for another minute, breathing in the damp air, the sound of the rushing river below.
Then Noah gave a mock salute with two fingers and turned down the path toward town.
Noah:
(calling over his shoulder)
"Good luck, Lantern Boy!"
Calen raised his hand in quiet farewell.
Calen:
"You too."
He watched until Noah disappeared behind the trees,
a battered skateboard bouncing against his leg,
the weight he carried a little lighter than before.
Calen adjusted the lantern's strap on his shoulder.
The flame inside burned steadily, stubbornly — a soft defiance against the coming night.
He looked once more at the broken bridge.
At the gap too wide to cross —
for now.
Then he turned,
stepping back onto the road,
the light swinging gently at his side.
The path ahead was long.
Winding.
Unknown.
But Calen walked it anyway.
Because somewhere out there,
someone else's night was waiting.
And the lantern was still burning.