Secret Silver | hiatus

xvii. heroes

The water of the Tiber River danced quietly beneath our feet as we stood upon the Ponte Sant'Angelo, a beautiful bridge that had somehow beckoned to us in the late hour of the night. We shouldn't have been there; we needed rest for the week ahead of us. There was a lot resting on our shoulders, and a lot to do, but something about being out in the night in the presence of the Tiber was enticing; it felt natural.

We'd found ourselves a spot to sit down on the edge of the bridge, staring out into the iridescent lights of the city that seemed to be long asleep, save for the occasional sounds of cars driving by or the light music that was filling the air from a bar not too far away.

I glanced at the curly-headed boy next to me, his body seeming more like a shadow from the way that his black clothing hid him from the night. His curls were unruly, and his jaw seemed more structured from the first time I'd met him. I realized that the man sitting beside me was not the same one I'd met weeks ago.

He'd seen things—heard things—about me and my life that many people would scare any normal person away, and through it all, I couldn't help but think he was a little bit stronger. He came into my life stuttering and stumbling, and now found himself a home somewhere in the mess.

"Silas," I started, waiting for his green eyes to meet mine, "Why are you still here?"

He cracked a grin, playing with the watch on his wrist. He hadn't taken it off once, even though the brown leather strap was torn at some places, the edges fraying. He seemed to give the question some thought before he faced me, his features illuminated by the street light directly behind him.

"Before you met...sorry, ambushed me outside of Mr. Miller's bookstore that night, I'm guessing you did some research on my life, right?" His eyes shined in the night, brighter than the stars, as he skillfully avoided my question.

I nodded sheepishly. "I had to."

He chuckled and shook his head. "I don't care, there isn't much to find. Anyway, you probably saw that I don't live with my father."

He was right; this information was already known to me. It was him, his mother, and his younger sister; his father was missing from the picture.

"My dad left my mom and me when I was six years old and my mom was pregnant with Charlotte..." Waves of pain surged through his eyes and across his expression as he shared with me a piece of his life that felt too personal. "He was never kind to her, and one day, he just got up and left, and we haven't seen him since. He was also our only source of income and we didn't have much in my mom's name. My mom was so... broken. She ended up working three jobs just to try to support us.

"My dad was supposed to be my hero. Someone I could look up to, and someone my mom could trust. And growing up, I lost myself in a world of comic books and made-up heroes in hopes that I could maybe be like one of them one day."

He shook his head and laughed solemnly. My hand found its place to rest on top of his and I squeezed his fingers lightly, encouraging him to continue.

"When I met you, I kind of saw my chance. It's like I finally have the ability to make a difference, and that counts for something, right? I never wanted to go to university or work at a bookstore or be the way that I am. But with you, I feel like I can be the person I've always wanted to be. And I may not be as strong as you or a good fighter--"

"Silas," I interrupted him, daggers of pain from regret and guilt piercing my stomach. "You are a hero. For your mom, your sister. For me."

His gaze found mine, and his expression screamed gratitude, but also surprise. "You don't have to lie," he laughed.