The rain came down in sheets, turning the city into a blur of steel and shadow. From the rooftop, Riven could see the neon lights flicker across the wet streets below—a perfect night for disappearing and hiding.

His earpiece crackled.

"Target confirmed. Eliminate and extract."

He didn't need the reminder. Orders were all he had ever known.

Across the alley, a figure emerged through the darkness. Black coat. Confident stride. A ghost he'd been chasing for months and unknowingly became the other part of his soul was standing right in front of him.

Kael.

The operation was supposed to be just like any other mission. Chasing the enemy country spy, pinning him down and eliminating him from the face of the earth without anyone finding. But in this mission, he wasn't supposed to smile like that—lazy and all known figure, as if he'd already read Riven's next move. They weren't supposed to whisper promises in the dark, embracing each other to comfort themselves under the blanket or make a man question which side of the line he stood on either sexually or in his responsibilities and duties.

Tonight, none of it mattered.

Their guns were raised at the same time.

Their eyes locked. Both were prepared to sacrifice themselves for each other.

"Do it," Kael said, the voice almost amused, almost broken.

But only a single shot split the air. Kael betrayed. He didn't fire. Rather he couldn't.

And somewhere between the sound of the gunfire and the shattering of glass, Riven realized two things:

He had lost the game. The game of love, life.

And he had just killed the only person who had ever made him want to win it.

He then raised his right hand and pointed the gun in his temple. He had such a pleasant smile and a calm expression... Such a serene scene.

There was no more meaning for him to continue. He completed his mission and now he needs to complete his only last wish.

The echo of the second shot hung in the air longer than it should have, as if the city itself refused to swallow it. For a heartbeat, all was still—the rain falling in endless sheets, steam rising from the rooftops, neon bleeding across shattered glass.

Riven’s body crumpled beside Kael’s, two shadows tangled in the downpour. The world kept moving—sirens somewhere in the distance, footsteps rushing below—but up here, on this rooftop, time fractured.

His gun slipped from his hand, clattering against the concrete. His blood spread quickly, mingling with Kael’s until the rain washed them into one stream, indistinguishable.

This time Riven didn’t feel like a weapon. He felt human. Weak. Broken.

And yet—peaceful.

As his vision blurred, a face leaned in through the haze of rain and neon. Not Kael’s. Someone else. A figure cloaked in black, features hidden, eyes burning with an otherworldly recognition.

The stranger knelt between their bodies, fingers brushing over the mingled blood as though tracing the outline of a forgotten story.

“Again,” the figure whispered, voice low and ancient. “Always again.”

Riven’s breath rattled out of his chest, and in that final moment he understood—this was not an ending. It was a cycle. A curse.

Darkness claimed him, but his last thought was not of death. It was of Kael’s smile, the one that had undone him more completely than any bullet ever could.

And as the rain drowned the rooftop in sorrow, the city wailed with him.

The morning air buzzed with the kind of energy only the orientation day could hold. Freshmen streamed through the gates of Northbridge University, cluttering suitcases, holding campus maps, and talking too loudly so as to prove their excitement. The old buildings witnessed over it all, their stones watched over the decades of new beginnings.

Riven adjusted the strap of his backpack, shifting it higher on his shoulder. He preferred to walk with his hands free, but after watching two separate pickpocket attempts in the span of five minutes, he had gripped one hand to the zipper like his life depended on it. Which, in a sense, it did.

Normal. That was the whole point of coming here. People like him didn't belong in chaos, but college was supposed to be the one kind of chaos that came with rules. You study, you make friends, you mess up a little, and at the end of it, you leave better than you arrived.

At least, that was what the glossy handout promised.

He dodged a pair of skateboarders and glanced at the map on his phone, frowning. The Journalism Department was away at the far edge of campus, away from the main buildings, like the univeresity itself wasn't quite sure if it trusted journalists near the rest of the population. Fitting, really.

"Lost already?" a voice teased behind him.

Riven didn't bother turning. He'd already humored three voices in the last thirty mins asking variations of the same question, all dripping with fake helpfulness.

But then someone bumped his shoulder—a girl with bubblegum-pink hair—and whispered a quick "Sorry!" before disappearing into the crowd.

His eyes followed her instinctively, scanning for a threat. Nothing about her seemed suspicious, but something about her gait—a little too light, like she knew how to disappear—made him uncomfortable.

And that was when he saw him.

Leaning against a low brick wall, Kael looked like he had been dropped straight out of an advertisement for college life. Sunlight caught in his chestnut-brown hair, glinting gold at the tips, and his posture radiated the kind of careless ease that came from someone who didn't have to try to be noticed. Around him, a pack of freshmen laughed at something he said, their attention circling around him naturally.

Riven froze mid-step.

There was no reason to notice him more than anyone else, but Riven's gut twisted. It wasn't attraction, but something else. It was recognition. Except that was impossible.That's what his mind told him.

Kael's head turned as if he'd sensed the weight of that stare. Their gazes collided, and felt like the time has stopped for a moment.

In that moment, it was just the two of them, locked in a silent exchange which neither of them understood. Riven didn't believe in deja vu, but this felt heavier than that. Not a memory exactly, but a shadow of one, like a scent you can't exactly place but know you've smelled before.

Kael's smile faded...just barely, then returned with practiced warmth.

"Hey!" Kael called out, pushing away from the humming crowd. "You lost?"

Riven considered lying, but his throat betrayed him. "Maybe."

Kael closed the distance with long strides, his presence somehow filling the space around him . "Lucky for you, I'm excellent at saving people from freshman doom. Where you headed?"

"The journalism department," Riven said, puting his phone away.

Kael's grin widened. "Perfect. I'm headed that way."

They started walking, Kael talking like he had known Riven for years, Riven listening like he was trying to figure out Kael's voice onto something he couldn't quite remember.

"You a freshman?" Kael asked, though the answer was obvious.

"Yeah."

"Cool, me too. Theater major. Big mistake, according to my parents. What about you?"

"Journalism, as previously said."

Kael whistled low. "So you're either going to expose government conspiracies or write vlogs about '10 Types of Roommates You'll Meet in College.' Respect either way."

Riven didn't laugh, but the corner of his mouth bended—a betrayal Kael seemed to notice.

"That was almost a smile," Kael said. "I'm going to count that as a win."

Riven shook his head, focusing on the buildings around them. They passed the science block, its glass windows reflecting the crowd like a funhouse mirror. Further down, the arts building stood painted in cheerful colours, students already grouped across the lawn with sketchbooks.

Everything about the campus screamed freedom, but Riven's instincts refused to engage. He noted the security cameras at every intersection, the blind spots between them, the rhythm of the security guards' patrols. It wasn't paranoia. It was survival.

And yet, for reasons he couldn't explain, walking next to Kael made the world feel a fraction less sharp.

"Where you from?" Kael asked.

Riven hesitated. "Nowhere special."

"Cool," Kael said easily. "I'm from everywhere. Dad moves a lot for work. I learned early that if you walk into a new place like you belong there, people believe you do. That's my secret talent."

Riven glanced at him, curious despite himself. "And what happens when they find out you don't belong?"

Kael grinned. "Then you make them wish you did."

There was something about that answer...a hint of sharpness beneath the charm...that made Riven's chest tighten. It felt too familiar, like Kael wasn't just talking about college anymore.

They reached a division in the path. To the left, a bridge arched over a pond glitering in the sunlight. To the right, a narrow trail cut through a grove of oak trees, quieter and darker.

Kael gestured left. "This way's prettier."

Riven nodded toward the trees. "That way's faster."

Kael tilted his head, studying him for a moment. "You always pick the fastest route?"

"Always."

"Guess I'll follow you, then," Kael said, falling into step beside him again.

The building was smaller than Riven expected, almost minimal compared to the rest of campus. Posters lined the bulletin boards near the entrance...calls for writers, debates about censorship, exposes about cafeteria food quality.

Kael stopped at the door. "Guess this is where we part ways, stranger."

Riven nodded. "Guess so."

But neither of them moved immediately. Kael's gaze lingered a second too long, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

"You know," Kael said finally, "you don't seem like the type to get lost."

Riven shrugged. "Maybe I wasn't."

Kael grinned at that, as though it were the most interesting thing he'd heard all morning. "See you around, journalism guy."

"Riven," he said, before he could stop himself.

"Kael," the other replied, his smile turning almost smirk. "Now we're not strangers."

From across the corridoor, a man in a gray coat leaned against a lamppost, blending into the background like a piece of forgotten furniture. His gaze followed the two boys as they separated.

He pulled out a phone and typed a single message:

They've found each other.

A reply came seconds later:

Good. Don't lose them this time.

The man's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"Not this time," he murmured.

Kael liked first days. They were easy. Everyone was trying too hard, and when everyone was trying too hard, it was simple to stand out by not trying at all.

Smile enough, make a few jokes, and people would assume you belonged. That was the thing he did the best—fitting in anywhere.

But that guy from the jornalism? Riven. He wasn't trying to belong. And that made him interesting.

Kael dropped his bag on the bed in his dorm and stretched until his shoulders cracked. The room was nothing special—two beds, two desks, white walls that begged to be covered in posters—but it had a decent view of the yard.

He lay back and replayed the morning in his head. Riven had this way of looking at him, like he wasn't impressed, but he wasn't dismissing him either. Most people didn't look at Kael that way. They either liked him or they didn't. Riven looked like he was studying him.

Not in a creepy way. In a deliberate way.

And Kael wasn't sure he liked being on the other side of that.

The door swung open and banged against the wall.

"Yo! You Kael?"

Kael sat up to see a tall guy with curly hair wrestling a suitcase through the doorway. The suitcase got stuck on the threshold, and the guy muttered something under his breath before spotting him.

"That's me," Kael said, jumping off the bed. "You need help?"

"Yes, please," the guy said with relief. Together they put the suitcase inside, nearly tripping over each other in the process.

"I'm Jordan," the guy said, pushing his curls out of his eyes. "Theater major. You?"

"Same," Kael said, flopping back onto his bed.

Jordan grinned. "Good. I was hoping for someone I could actually talk to. You into acting or tech?"

"Acting," Kael said. "You?"

"Acting too. Though if I embarrass myself at auditions, I'm switching to sound design and never speaking on stage again."

Kael smirked. "That's a solid backup plan."

Jordan laughed and started unpacking, narrating his entire life story in bits and pieces—where he grew up, how his high school drama club was "tragically underfunded," how his mom cried when he got into Northbridge.

Kael half-listened, throwing in the occasional "yeah" and "that sucks" while hanging up his own clothes. But his mind kept drifting back to Riven.

Orientation was what he expected: long speeches, too many icebreakers, and an overly enthusiastic senior yelling about "Northbridge Pride!" on stage. Kael did what he always did—charmed his way through it. He made people laugh in line for name tags, joined a group photo he wasn't supposed to be in, and ended up with three phone numbers before lunch.

Still, he kept scanning the crowd.

When he finally spotted Riven—standing at the back of the auditorium, arms crossed, looking like he'd rather chew glass than sit through another speech—Kael felt something like relief.

He made his way into the seat beside him.

"Fancy seeing you here," Kael said casually.

Riven didn't glance at him. "It's mandatory."

Kael grinned. "So is breathing, but people still find ways to enjoy it."

That earned him the faintest twitch of Riven's mouth. Not quite a smile, but close enough that Kael considered it a victory.

"You always this talkative?" Riven asked.

"Only when I'm awake," Kael replied.

As the dean rambled on about "leaders of tomorrow," Kael leaned back and studied him out of the corner of his eye.

Riven didn't look nervous like most freshmen did. He wasn't bouncing his leg or fidgeting with his sleeves. He was scanning the room, quiet and focused, like he was memorizing it. Kael recognized the habit because he did the same thing, though he'd learned to hide it behind jokes and smiles.

"So, journalism," Kael whispered. "You planning to expose corruption, or are you more of a 'top ten worst cafeteria meals' guy?"

Riven gave him a sideways glance. "Why not both?"

Kael grinned. "Ambitious. I like that."

After orientation, Jordan dragged Kael to the cafeteria.

"This place is huge," Jordan said, staring at the buffet like it was holy. "Do you see this? They have three types of fries. Three."

Kael loaded a tray and scanned the room. Riven was sitting alone at a corner table, reading something on his phone.

Jordan followed his gaze. "Friend of yours?"

"Working on it," Kael said.

"Ah," Jordan said, smirking. "You've got that look. You're gonna bug him until he likes you, aren't you?"

"Pretty much," Kael said, heading toward Riven's table without waiting for permission.

Riven looked up as they approached, his expression immediately guarded.

"Mind if we join you?" Kael asked, already setting his tray down.

Riven hesitated, then shrugged. "Don't think that my opinion matter."

Jordan dropped down too. "Cool. I'm Jordan. Theater major. And Kael's annoying, in case you haven't noticed."

Kael smirked. "He means charming."

"Sure," Riven said flatly, but Kael caught the tiny flicker of amusement in his eyes.

They ate mostly in silence, Jordan filling the gaps with stories about his disastrous high school Shakespeare production, which apparently involved a collapsing set and an allergic reaction to fake snow.

Riven didn't laugh, but his shoulders seemed to relax a little.

That night, Kael stood by the dorm window, staring across the yard. The opposite building was lit up with squares of yellow light, little glimpses into other people's lives—someone dancing, someone studying, someone crying on the phone.

And then he saw him.

Riven, standing by his own window, staring out like he was thinking too hard.

On impulse, Kael raised a hand in a small wave.

Riven didn't move at first. Then he stepped back, and shut the curtain.

Kael chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

"Alright, journalism guy," he murmured. "Guess I'll figure you out the hard way."