Chapter 9: Reflecting
The concrete of the parking garage roof was still warm from the day’s sun, holding the heat against the gathering evening chill. They lay side by side on the hood of an old, rust-speckled sedan, a blanket from Symphony’s dorm spread beneath them. The orange and purple sky was streaked with the contrails of departing planes, and the city below began to sparkle, light by light.
The plastic bag from the pharmacy rustled softly against the tire next to them. A tangible, almost absurd monument to their new caution.
Leo’s arm was going numb where Symphony had her head pillowed on it, but he didn’t dare move. Her question still hung in the air between them, softer than the distant traffic hum.
“Lyria,” he repeated, testing the shape of it. “Like the constellation.”
“Lyra, technically,” she murmured, her finger tracing an invisible pattern on his chest. “But Lyria sounded… stronger. A girl who could bite back.”
He smiled at that. “And Silas.”
“Silas,” she said, and her voice changed. It wasn’t the sultry confidence or the shattered panic from earlier. It was contemplative, almost wistful. “It means ‘of the forest.’ I liked the idea of a boy who was quiet, but solid. Like an old tree.”
Leo was quiet for a long moment, watching the first star pierce the deepening blue. The weight of the names, of the phantom future they’d briefly carried, settled over him. It wasn’t frightening now. It was just… profound.
“They’re good names,” he finally said, his voice low.
“They were,” she corrected gently, but there was no sadness in it. Just finality.
She shifted, rolling onto her side to face him. In the half-light, her features were all stark lines and soft shadows. The last traces of her earlier meltdown were gone, replaced by a calm exhaustion. “You know, for three days, I had entire conversations with them. With Lyria. I’d be walking to class and think, ‘Okay, if she has my temper, we’re going to need a reinforced timeout chair.’ Or, ‘Silas would probably hate soccer. He’d be one of those kids who just wants to collect rocks.’”
A laugh escaped Leo, short and surprised. “You thought about timeout chairs?”
“I thought about everything,” she said, her eyes gleaming. “School districts. Pediatricians. Whether a bassinet would fit next to my bed. It was like my brain opened up this alternate reality file and just started populating it with data. It was the most terrifying and detailed thing I’ve ever done.”
He turned his head to look at her. “And where was I in this alternate reality?”
Her gaze softened. “You were there. You were always there. Bringing me weird snacks at 3 a.m. because I’d have cravings. Looking scared shitless but trying to build a crib with instructions only in Swedish. Falling asleep on the floor next to the bassinet because you were listening to her breathe.” She paused. “You were good at it. In my head, you were really good at it.”
The honesty of it stole his breath. He hadn’t been a ghost in her fear. He’d been a partner. The realization was a warm, heavy stone in his chest.
“I would have tried,” he said, the words simple and utterly true.
“I know,” she said. And she did.
A cold breeze snaked across the rooftop, making her shiver. Leo sat up, sliding off the hood. “Come on. It’s getting cold. And we’ve officially skipped an entire day of our lives.”
She sat up, stretching her arms overhead with a groan. “Ugh, Professor Garris is going to murder me. My absence is not a mysterious aesthetic choice this time.” She hopped down, landing lightly beside him.
He grabbed the pharmacy bag, the box inside rustling with promise and pragmatism. As they walked toward the stairwell door, a hollow, metallic echo reverberated from the floors below—the sound of a distant pipe or a piece of loose sheet metal banging in the wind. It was a lonely sound.
Symphony’s hand found his in the dark of the stairwell. Their footsteps clattered down, a chaotic rhythm in the concrete silence.
“So,” she said, her voice echoing. “We’re okay?”
He squeezed her hand. “We’re more than okay. We’re… informed.”
She barked a laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls. “Informed. I like that. We are two freshly informed idiots.”
They emerged onto the street, the sudden noise and light of the city a sensory shock after the garage’s tomb-like quiet. They walked, not toward campus, but aimlessly, letting the neon signs of closed shops and late-night bodegas paint their path.
Passing a narrow alley, Symphony slowed. She tugged his hand, pulling him into the shadows. The alley smelled of damp brick and garbage, a sharp contrast to her sandalwood scent.
“What?” he asked.
She didn’t answer with words. She pushed him gently against the wall, her body aligning with his. Her hands came up to frame his face, her thumbs brushing his cheekbones. She studied him in the erratic glow of a faulty streetlamp.
“I’m not going to break,” he said quietly.
“I know,” she whispered. “But I might.”
Then she kissed him. It was different from all the others. It wasn’t hungry or demanding or celebratory. It was deep, and searching, and unbearably tender. It was a kiss that held the echo of Lyria and Silas, the ghost of a fear they’d faced down together, and the solid, present reality of his lips on hers, his hands on her waist, pulling her closer against the chill.
When she finally pulled back, her breathing was uneven. She rested her forehead against his. “Just needed to do that. Now. Here.”
“Okay,” he breathed.
She stepped back, a familiar, sly smile touching her lips. “Also, we have that jumbo pack. And my roommate is at her parents’ until Wednesday.”
Leo felt a grin spread across his own face, the last of the day’s emotional gravity lifting, replaced by a warm, specific anticipation. He held up the bag. “Informed idiots,” he reminded her.
“Exactly,” she said, taking his hand again and leading him back out into the light of the street. “So let’s go be informed. Very, very thoroughly informed.”
Their laughter mixed with the city sounds, a private melody against the urban noise, as they walked quickly now, with shared purpose, toward the dark sanctuary of her dorm, the plastic bag swinging lightly between them.