The afternoon sun was unforgiving, baking the asphalt of the Engineering courtyard. The training session had officially ended, and the students were dispersing. Pete stood near the exit, his face cold and indifferent as he watched the freshmen limp away. He had already turned his back, ready to head towards the senior lounge with Sky, but his feet felt like lead.
He hadn't looked at Wave once after the ankle incident. He had forced himself to walk away, to ignore the small gasp of pain that was still echoing in his ears.
"Let's go, Pete. Gao and James are already at the cafe," Sky said, adjusting his bag.
Pete nodded, taking a few steps forward. But then, he stopped. A strange, suffocating feeling gripped his chest. He looked back at the empty training ground. Everyone was gone except for a small, lonely figure sitting on the stairs of the workshop.
It was Wave. He was trying to stand up, his face pale and glistening with sweat, but his injured ankle gave away. He slumped back down, clutching his foot, his lips trembling in silence. He didn't call for help. He didn't cry. He just sat there, looking small and broken.
Something inside Pete snapped. The years of discipline, the "Head Hazer" rules, and the wall of silence—everything crumbled in an instant.
"Go ahead, Sky. I forgot something," Pete said, his voice tight. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and ran.
Wave was staring at his swollen ankle when a shadow loomed over him. He looked up, expecting a janitor or a stray student. Instead, he saw Pete. Pete was breathing hard, his eyes dark with an emotion that Wave couldn't identify—it looked like pure, raw fear.
"H-Head Hazer?" Wave whispered, startled.
Pete didn't say a word. He knelt down, his expensive trousers hitting the dusty ground. He reached out and touched Wave's ankle. Wave flinched, a small hiss of pain escaping his lips.
"Stay still," Pete commanded, but his voice wasn't cold anymore. It was trembling.
Before Wave could protest, Pete turned around and gestured to his back. "Get on."
"What? No, I can walk—"
"I said, get on!" Pete barked, but then he took a deep breath and softened his tone. "Don't make me ask again, Wave. You're hurt, and it's... it's my fault."
Wave hesitated, then slowly wrapped his arms around Pete's neck. Pete stood up effortlessly, hoisting Wave up. He didn't carry him like a burden; he held him like something precious, something he had almost lost.
The walk to the university medical center was silent, but the silence was different now. It wasn't the silence of ignoring; it was the silence of two souls finally breathing the same air. Wave could feel the steady beat of Pete's heart against his back, and the warmth of his skin.
Inside the infirmary, Pete didn't leave. He sat on the edge of the bed while the nurse bandaged Wave's ankle. He watched every move, his brow furrowed in concentration. When the nurse left to get some ice, the room became deathly quiet.
"Why did you come back?" Wave asked softly, breaking the tension.
Pete looked at his hands, his knuckles still white. "I couldn't leave you there."
"But you ignored me all day. You acted like I didn't exist."
Pete finally looked up, and for the first time, Wave saw the cracks in the armor. Pete's eyes were red, filled with a ten-year-old pain that had never healed.
"Because looking at you hurts, Wave," Pete whispered, his voice barely audible. "Every time I see you, I remember the boy in the rain. I remember the promise I couldn't keep. I thought if I ignored you, the memories would go away. But they just got louder."
Wave reached out, his fingers hovering over Pete's hand. "I never forgot you, Pete. I kept the thread. I kept the memory."
Pete looked at the white thread on Wave's wrist. He slowly reached out and covered Wave's hand with his own. His palm was large and warm, fitting perfectly against Wave's.
"I'm sorry," Pete said, the words heavy with regret. "For today. For the library. For everything."
Wave smiled, a small, genuine smile that reached his eyes. "It's okay. You came back. That's all that matters."
For the next hour, they sat there, talking—not as a senior and a freshman, but as two people rediscovering each other. Pete stayed by his side, helping him sip water, adjusting the pillows, and making sure he was comfortable. The "Head Hazer" was gone; only the boy from the rain remained.
Far away, in the campus garden, Gao watched them through the glass window of the medical center. He saw Pete's hand on Wave's. He turned to James, who was busy eating an ice cream cone, unaware of the drama.
"The fortress has fallen," Gao murmured.
"What did you say, Gao?" James asked, tilted his head.
"Nothing," Gao smiled, wiping a bit of cream from James's cheek. "Just that some storms are meant to bring people together, not tear them apart."