The Distance Between Us
By the end of the first week, Han Rui began to understand that college life was not built out of grand events, but out of small, ordinary routines.
The hum of fluorescent lights in the dormitory hallway. The muffled sound of someone showering behind thin walls. The endless shuffle of slippers against linoleum floors when students wandered down to the vending machines at midnight.
Han Rui tried to lose himself in that ordinariness. He thought if he drowned in daily details, maybe the unease that clung to him would loosen. Maybe Li Wen's presence wouldn't loom so heavily in his chest.
But fate seemed determined to strip away that fragile distance.
It began with the dormitory laundry room.
Han Rui had timed it carefully—late evening, after most people had finished, when the hum of the machines would be low and the air less stifling. He carried his small bag of clothes down the narrow stairs, the dim yellow light flickering overhead.
When he pushed the door open, he froze.
Li Wen was there, leaning casually against a machine, sleeves rolled up, scrolling through his phone as he waited. The sound of water sloshing inside the washer filled the silence.
For a moment, Han Rui considered retreating. He could come back later. Pretend he had forgotten something. Anything to avoid the twist of recognition in his chest.
But Li Wen glanced up at that exact moment. Their eyes met. A slow smile spread across his face—unhurried, warm, as if this coincidence was nothing but natural.
Han Rui muttered something under his breath and moved to the farthest machine, trying to ignore the way his pulse quickened. He busied himself with detergent and buttons, though his hands fumbled clumsily.
The room was quiet except for the steady churn of machines. Too quiet. Han Rui could feel Li Wen's presence like a weight in the corner of the room, not heavy, not oppressive, but inescapable.
When the spin cycle started, Han Rui sat stiffly on the plastic chair by the wall. His gaze wandered, unwilling yet unable to resist. Li Wen's profile was calm, the glow of his phone reflecting faintly against his skin. His lashes cast delicate shadows. His shoulders rose and fell in an easy rhythm, as though he had not a single worry in the world.
Han Rui dug his nails into his palm and looked away.
Later that night, he dreamed again. Snow falling soundlessly. A hand gripping his, warm despite the cold. Li Wen's voice, breaking on words Han Rui almost caught this time. Almost.
When he woke, his chest ached with the weight of something lost.
The second week of classes brought the first group assignment.
The professor, with little sympathy, divided the students at random. Han Rui sat frozen as names were read out, heart stuttering when his own was followed by Li Wen's.
The universe was laughing at him. He was sure of it.
They met the next day in the library to discuss the project. Their group of four clustered around a table near the window, laptops open, papers scattered. Conversation flowed awkwardly at first—introductions, half-hearted jokes, reluctant suggestions.
Han Rui tried to focus on the notes before him, but Li Wen's presence pressed close, warm at his side. Every time Li Wen leaned over to glance at the outline, every time his sleeve brushed Han Rui's, memories stirred—echoes of strategies whispered over maps, of plans made before battles, of the heavy silence that followed failure.
It was unbearable. And yet, he could not pull away.
When one of their group members excused themselves to take a call, the silence between Han Rui and Li Wen deepened. Li Wen tapped absently at his keyboard, then glanced sideways, his expression unreadable.
Han Rui's throat tightened. He pretended to read, though the words blurred. He could feel the weight of Li Wen's gaze, steady, quiet, as if trying to peel back layers of memory.
When the others returned, the moment dissolved, leaving Han Rui shaken.
Days blurred into each other. Classes. Cafeteria food. Dormitory noise. Yet the thread between him and Li Wen only grew tighter.
Sometimes it was in small things. Passing each other on the path to class, Li Wen's smile lingering a beat too long. Sitting across the cafeteria, their gazes colliding before either looked away. Even something as simple as exchanging notes after class carried a weight Han Rui couldn't explain.
He told himself it was nothing. Coincidence. His imagination. But deep down, he knew.
The dreams grew sharper. Longer. The snow stung against his skin. The battlefield reeked of iron. And Li Wen's voice—always there, always breaking on a promise Han Rui could not quite hear—pulled him deeper.
One evening, Han Rui found himself in the dorm lounge, textbooks spread open, trying to force his brain to process formulas. His head ached. His eyes blurred. He pressed his hands against his temples, groaning softly.
A shadow fell across the table.
Li Wen dropped into the seat opposite, a bottle of water in hand. He didn't speak. He simply slid the bottle across the table. The gesture was simple, almost careless. But Han Rui's heart thudded as though struck.
He stared at the bottle for a long moment before muttering a quiet thanks. Li Wen only leaned back, opening his own book, as if this was the most natural arrangement in the world.
They studied in silence, the faint rustle of pages the only sound. Outside, the night deepened, the glow of campus lights spilling faintly through the window.
Han Rui tried not to look. He tried not to notice the way Li Wen's brow furrowed slightly when concentrating, or how he tapped the end of his pen against the margin when thinking. But the longer they sat there, the more he realized something terrifying.
This wasn't just fate dragging them together. This was something else. Something more dangerous.
Because despite the fear, despite the weight of memory pressing against his ribs, Han Rui wanted to stay. He wanted to sit there in the quiet, listening to the soft sound of Li Wen breathing, pretending for just a moment that they were nothing more than two ordinary students on an ordinary night.
And that want was the most frightening thing of all.
When Han Rui finally stumbled back to his room past midnight, the lounge lights dimmed behind him, he knew one truth with painful clarity.
The distance between them was collapsing.
No matter how hard he tried to run, no matter how much he told himself it was safer to keep away—
The thread had already wound tight around his heart.
And this time, he wasn't sure he would survive if it broke again.