Morning broke soft and gray, clouds still clinging stubbornly to the mountains. The students were groggy as they packed their bags, stuffing damp clothes into plastic liners, trading instant coffee packets like treasure.
Han Rui kept his head down, methodically folding his jacket. He hadn't slept much after the courtyard walk, thoughts looping endlessly. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard Li Wen's voice again: Then I hope they weren't painful.
It was unbearable, how gently he said it.
By the time the group set out for the next trail, Han Rui's nerves felt scraped raw. He stuck close enough to blend into the chatter, but Li Wen's presence at his side—steady, unshakable—made it impossible to breathe easy.
---
The hike wound upward through mist and wet leaves. The path narrowed until students had to walk in single file, boots slipping against the mud. The forest seemed endless, an endless tunnel of green and gray.
At one point, someone up ahead tripped and laughed it off, the sound echoing too sharp in the quiet. Han Rui flinched anyway.
"Careful," Li Wen murmured at his shoulder. "You're tense."
Han Rui glanced at him, startled. "I'm fine."
But Li Wen's brow furrowed as if he could see through the words. "You always say that."
The reply struck too close. Han Rui bit his tongue, eyes fixed on the path. His chest tightened with all the things he couldn't explain—storms, fire, loss. A thousand times of not fine.
Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out, raw and trembling.
"What if I'm not?"
Li Wen halted mid-step. The line of students stretched ahead, unaware, but here on the narrow trail the world seemed to shrink to only the two of them.
Han Rui's breath hitched. He hadn't meant to say it. He wanted to take it back, to bury it. But Li Wen's gaze was already on him—steady, startled, searching.
"Then," Li Wen said softly, "you don't have to pretend."
The air lodged in Han Rui's throat, thick and heavy. He wanted to laugh, to scoff, to throw the words away. Instead, what came out was a whisper he couldn't catch in time:
"You always say that, but you don't know—" He broke off, heart pounding.
Li Wen tilted his head. "Don't know what?"
Han Rui's hands curled into fists. The truth screamed inside him, threatening to tear free: I've lost you before. I can't lose you again.
But the others were just ahead, voices drifting back, and the weight of the world pressed down hard. He shook his head violently, forcing his voice into something rough and final.
"Forget it."
For a long moment, silence hung between them, thick as the mist. Then Li Wen let out a quiet breath, something like resignation threading through it.
"Alright," he said, with that same infuriating gentleness. "I'll wait until you're ready."
Han Rui's chest ached. He nodded stiffly and walked on, but inside, the thread between them pulled tighter than ever—so taut he could feel it tremble with every step.