When the Rain Fell
The university scheduled the freshman orientation retreat for the third weekend of the semester.
It was supposed to be fun: a day trip to a nature park on the edge of the city, group activities meant to "build bonds" among students. Professors promised teamwork games, hikes, and plenty of free time. The announcement earned scattered groans across the classroom, but no one dared to refuse.
Han Rui hadn't wanted to go. Crowds pressed too tightly, noise always left him drained, and lately his dreams had been too vivid for him to face cheerful group activities with ease. But attendance was mandatory, and so he boarded the bus with the rest of his class, bag slung over his shoulder, headphones tucked into his ears as if they could shield him from the world.
The trip passed in a blur of chatter and the dull hum of the engine. He kept his gaze fixed on the window, watching the city fade into greenery. But when he glanced sideways—just once, unwilling but compelled—he saw Li Wen a few rows away, leaning against the glass with his eyes half-closed, sunlight flickering across his features.
Han Rui looked away quickly, heart thudding in the silence only he seemed to hear.
—
The park sprawled wide, paths winding through trees that glowed faintly gold with the first hints of autumn. Students scattered quickly, chasing after friends, exploring the picnic areas, snapping photos by the lake.
Han Rui followed the group reluctantly, trying to keep to the edges. The games were harmless enough—relay races, team puzzles, a scavenger hunt—but he felt detached, his smile practiced, his laughter muted.
It wasn't until the scavenger hunt paired him off with Li Wen that his carefully built walls began to crack.
The professor announced partners at random, names echoing across the clearing. When Han Rui's was followed by Li Wen's, he stiffened, stomach sinking. He almost raised his hand to protest, but the words stuck in his throat. By the time he looked up, Li Wen was already walking toward him, that easy smile tugging at his lips as if this were the most natural arrangement in the world.
Han Rui's pulse stumbled.
They set off into the woods with the list of items to find: a maple leaf, a smooth stone, a feather, and several other small tokens scattered across the park. The path was narrow, sunlight filtering down through the canopy, air alive with the faint rustle of wind.
Li Wen hummed softly as he walked, glancing around with quiet interest. Han Rui kept his gaze fixed on the ground, scanning for their targets, though his thoughts scattered uselessly.
He didn't want this. He didn't want to be alone with Li Wen in the hush of the forest, where silence felt heavier and every breath seemed too loud. But at the same time, some part of him craved it, clung to the stillness between them as though it were a fragile thread that might snap.
They found the maple leaf first, red and curled against the roots of an old tree. Li Wen picked it up carefully, holding it to the light.
It's beautiful, he said softly, more to himself than to Han Rui.
The sunlight painted his features gold, shadows falling gently across his face. For a moment, Han Rui saw not a student in casual clothes, but the faint outline of someone else—the same expression, centuries ago, beneath a sky filled not with leaves but with smoke.
His chest ached. He looked away.
They walked farther, silence broken only by the crunch of leaves beneath their shoes. Han Rui found the stone by a stream, smooth and cool beneath his fingers. Li Wen crouched beside him, their shoulders brushing as he leaned close to inspect it. The touch was brief, accidental, but Han Rui flinched all the same.
Li Wen glanced at him, brows faintly furrowed, but said nothing.
The last item on the list proved more difficult. A feather. They searched the undergrowth, followed paths winding deeper into the woods, but found nothing. Clouds drifted overhead, dimming the light.
By the time they reached the edge of a clearing, the air had shifted. The wind picked up, sharp and cool, and the first drop of rain splashed against Han Rui's cheek.
He looked up. Dark clouds rolled quickly across the sky.
Within minutes, the rain fell in earnest—sharp, cold, unrelenting.
Li Wen grabbed his wrist without hesitation, tugging him toward the nearest shelter: an old wooden pavilion half-hidden among the trees. They stumbled beneath it, breaths quick, clothes damp from the sudden downpour.
For a moment, the world narrowed to the sound of rain hammering against the roof, the air thick with petrichor and the faint echo of thunder.
Han Rui's wrist still burned where Li Wen's hand had held it. He stepped back quickly, pressing himself against the railing, trying to steady his breathing.
Li Wen shook the rain from his hair, laughing softly. His smile carried no weight, no hesitation, only warmth. But when his gaze slid to Han Rui, something in his expression faltered—just a fraction, a fleeting shadow.
You're shaking, Li Wen said quietly.
Han Rui startled. He hadn't realized it himself, but his hands trembled faintly, knuckles pale against the railing. The rain, the thunder, the sudden chill—it all blurred together, pulling him back into memories not fully his own. A storm. A siege. The sound of arrows against shields, too much like rain. The blur of Li Wen's hand gripping his, steady even in the chaos.
His vision swam.
Han Rui—
Li Wen's voice cut through the haze, steady and grounding. Han Rui blinked, the present rushing back in a rush of damp air and wooden beams. Li Wen stood close now, not touching, but near enough that warmth radiated through the narrow space. His gaze was sharp, searching, as though he could see the cracks beneath the surface.
I'm fine, Han Rui forced out, though the words trembled.
Li Wen studied him for a long moment. The rain roared on, drowning the silence. Then, softly, he said: You don't have to be.
The words struck deeper than Han Rui expected. He turned away, clutching the railing as though it might anchor him. His chest ached with the weight of everything unsaid—the memories, the recognition, the unbearable fear that history would repeat itself.
Yet beneath the fear, something else stirred. A dangerous, fragile want.
He wanted to lean into that warmth. He wanted to believe that maybe this time, things could be different.
But he didn't move. Neither of them did. They stood there in the shelter of the pavilion, the rain falling heavy around them, silence pressing tighter than words.
When the storm finally eased, the sky fading into gray drizzle, the path back to the group was slick with mud. They walked side by side, close but not touching, the unspoken weight of the moment lingering between them.
And though Han Rui told himself nothing had changed, he knew.
Something had.
The thread binding them had drawn tighter.
And there would be no escaping it now.