A Pact Made in Smoke and Silence

The photo in the murky water was too distorted to confirm what Soren suspected already—but he knew. He knew the moment the call came, the moment the words "he almost didn't make it" reached his ears. Some things didn't need confirmation; they hung like smoke in the chest, thick, unavoidable to breathe out.

Soren rested against the railing, cigarette wedged between his teeth. The ember burned in the blackness, tiny golden halos ringing the night sky before vanishing. He drew a jagged breath that shuddered in his lungs. "You dumb fuck," he rasped. His voice was rough, stripped bare by things he didn't wish to speak but couldn't hold his tongue on anymore. The smoke encircled in curling fingers, ghostly fingers trying to pilfer his words before they solidified in the cold night.

Behind him, Bear muttered under his breath, so low his voice barely more than a murmur over the city's throb—the whine of cars, the yell of somebody on the street, the squelch of police radio static somewhere below. He cupped a bottle of beer sloppily against his lips, drinking as if the stuff would wash out the water still stuck in his lungs.

Soren turned sharply. He grabbed the bottle from Bear’s hand and smashed it against the balcony floor. Glass shattered in an explosion of sparks under the streetlights, scattering like fractured stars at their feet. “I’m not blind, Bear,” Soren said, his jaw set tight. “Varsity swim team doesn’t drown without a cry for help.”

Bear's eyes—blurred blue with a blend of shame and exhaustion—snapped to meet his for the duration of a heartbeat. Then they drifted away, fleeing into the horizon, or maybe in the flashing red-and-blue lights that covered the buildings on the other side. "There was a note," Bear stated, his voice cracking over the word. "I sent it.". It'll arrive. just be patient." His fingers trembled as he caressed at his jaw, as if talking had drained him more than he was accustomed to.

There was silence between them, tar-heavy. It hung on the air, wrapped around their shoulders, shoved against their lungs. Soren threw his cigarette, and sparks danced into the void beneath. He thought about how close it had come—how, if the pond had swallowed Bear, today would have been the day they'd buried him. Tuesday. They buried people on Tuesdays.

"That's… a hell of a correction," Soren finally said, his tone level, bitter to his own taste.

".Soren." Bear's voice cracked on the name, twisting it about with grief so that it was almost unidentifiable. He coughed, the raw, racking sound doubling him up. When he spat over the railing, the wet splat landed on concrete with a harsh smack. "That water… it got in my lungs."

Soren didn't utter a word. He just stared at the smoke from his cigarette, at how it twisted and curled, rose up into the air like it was so desperate to escape. He thought about all that hadn't been said—words they'd pushed further down than that dark pond, secrets unspoken, secrets unconfessed, fears buried beneath laughter and inebriated late nights.

He finally spoke, his voice low and threatening. "Don't you dare leave this place."

Bear flinched as if struck. His wide, bright eyes, set in the pale light of the dim streetlamp, searched Soren's face for any sign of softness, any sign that the request was a request and not a demand. "You can't tell me what to do," he breathed, vulnerable and tense at once.

Soren stepped in closer. The cigarette burned low, the smoke twisting up into Bear's face like a dare. "One month," Soren replied, his voice iron. "Just one month. You stay here, with me. No running, no drinking, no disappearing. We get this figured out together." He hesitated, then added, almost in a whisper: "At least I'll let you smoke."

Bear blinked, a shivering spark of relief behind the fatigue in his eyes. His fingers quivered as he pulled out a crumpled pack from his pocket, with difficulty lighting one of his own. The flame shook in the wind, caught fire, and then steadied into a comforting light. For the first time that night, he stood nearly upright as well.

Night lay out before them, the balcony a small island above the city's chaos. They sat on frigid concrete, knees tucked up, smoke rising in wispy threads. Below, sirens wailed, carrying news of other tragedies. But here, at least for an instant, time stopped.

“You ever think,” Bear said finally, staring at the glowing tip of his cigarette, “that maybe it’d be easier if I’d stayed down there? Just… let go?”

Soren's heart tightened. He wanted to lash out, to fling the words back at him in a bitter, hard voice. But he checked himself. He looked at Bear, at the furrows on his face too deep to be his age, at the drooping of his shoulders. And he knew he could not save himself tonight with anger.

“No,” Soren said quietly. “I think it’d be easier for you. But for the rest of us?” He shook his head. “We’d drown, too. Just slower.”

Bear swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. The smoke curled between them, a fragile bridge that neither wanted to cross but both clung to anyway.

Minutes passed. The cigarettes burned low. The glass shards at their feet caught faint reflections of streetlight, like tiny constellations.

“You really mean it?” Bear asked at last. His voice was small, but not empty. “One month. Just… stay.”

Soren nodded, grinding the butt of his cigarette against the concrete. “One month,” he repeated. “You give me that much, and I’ll fight like hell for the rest.”

Bear closed his eyes, inhaling smoke and night air, both clutched in his fist like a rope. And for the first time since the pond, he didn't think he was drowning.