Flashback Original 〈Free Access〉
Alex had inched forward. Not to the edge, but closer. Leo was the only person who could do that—pull him out of his own cautious orbit. They’d been friends since freshman year, a mismatched pair: Alex the accountant-in-training who color-coded his notes, Leo the art major who painted murals on abandoned buildings.
That was the moment. The one Alex would replay a thousand times. The moment he should have said more. Should have closed the two feet between them. Should have told Leo that the reason he never jumped, never risked, never spoke was because the only thing he truly wanted was standing right there, and losing that was a fall he’d never survive.
Then he typed another, to the community art center downtown: “I’d like to apply for the teaching position. I don’t have a degree in art, but I know someone who did. And I can learn.”
The rain on Alex’s face felt different now. It wasn’t cold anymore. It was just water. flashback original
“The fall’s better, too.”
“Come on,” Leo urged, patting the space beside him. “The view’s better from the edge.”
“I’m not going to jump,” he said to the empty air. Alex had inched forward
“It’s a cage,” Leo had replied, not unkindly. He pointed downstream. “See that? The water doesn’t ask for permission. It just goes. Be the water, Alex.”
“You’d catch me,” Alex whispered.
“I’m serious about the job,” Alex had said. “It’s stable. It’s safe.” They’d been friends since freshman year, a mismatched
The afternoon had been golden and lazy, the kind that made you believe nothing bad had ever happened or ever would. Leo was perched on the bridge’s edge like a bird, all sharp elbows and restless energy, while Alex sat a cautious two feet behind him.
Leo had laughed so hard he nearly lost his balance, and Alex had grabbed his jacket sleeve. For one electric second, their eyes met. Leo’s were the color of the river—deep green-brown, full of things unsaid.
The voice that answered wasn’t there. It was in his head, a ghost from a Tuesday three years ago.