Chapter 4: The Sound of the Rain

...Daniel POV...

I don’t leave. I’ve never been good at leaving when I know something is wrong. I lean my shoulder against the art lab door, the paper bag in my hand crinkling. I can hear him in there—his breathing is shallow, just on the other side of the wood.

"I’m leaving the sandwich on the handle, Az," I say, my voice low so the few students passing by don't hear me. "It’s turkey. From that deli you like."

I wait. Five seconds. Ten. Finally, the lock clicks.

The door opens just a crack. Azreal looks exhausted. His hair is a mess, and there’s a smudge of charcoal on his cheekbone that makes me want to reach out and rub it away. I don't, though. I’ve learned that lesson.

"Thanks," he mutters, reaching for the bag.

"Can I come in?"

He looks like he wants to say no. He looks like he’s searching for an excuse, but then he sighs and steps back, leaving the door open. I slip inside. The room is dim, the windows streaked with the first drops of a sudden afternoon downpour.

I walk over to his desk and look at the drawing. It’s dark. Chaotic. It doesn't look like the beautiful, precise landscapes he used to draw when we were kids.

"What is it?" I ask, gesturing to the paper.

"Nothing. Just a mess," he says, grabbing a cloth to wipe his hands.

"Doesn't look like nothing. Looks like how I feel during finals week." I try to joke, but the humor falls flat. I turn to him, my heart doing that weird, heavy thud again. "Az, seriously. Talk to me. Is it Evelyn? If she said something that bothered you—"

"It’s not Evelyn, Daniel!" He snaps. His eyes flash with a sudden, sharp intensity that pins me to the floor. "Stop blaming her for everything. She’s fine. She’s great. She’s your girlfriend. Just... leave it."

The rain starts to hit the roof harder now, a rhythmic drumming that fills the silence. I feel a surge of frustration. I’ve known him for seventeen years. I know the shape of his silence, but this? This is a wall.

"Then what is it?" I step closer. "Because I feel like I'm losing my best friend and I don't even know why."

He laughs, but it’s a dry, hollow sound. "You're not losing me. I'm right here. That’s the problem."

He turns away to look out the window at the rain. I want to grab him. I want to shake him until the truth falls out. But I also want to just pull him into a hug like we used to do when we were little and the world felt too big.

"I miss you," I whisper.

He doesn't move. He doesn't even look back at me. But I see his fingers grip the edge of the windowsill until his knuckles turn white.

...Azreal POV...

I miss you.

Three words. Just three words, and I’m nearly on my knees. How can he say that when he’s the one who fills every room he’s in? How can he miss me when I’m standing five feet away from him?

The rain is blurring the world outside, turning the parking lot into a gray smudge. I wish I could just dissolve into it. I wish I could be as simple as a rainstorm.

"You have practice," I say, my voice steady only by some miracle of willpower. "You should go before it gets too heavy."

"Practice was canceled because of the lightning," he says. I can hear him moving behind me, his footsteps heavy on the linoleum. "I have my car. I'll drive you home."

"I have my own car, Dan."

"It’s in the shop, remember? Your dad dropped you off this morning."

I close my eyes. I forgot. I was so caught up in my own head that I forgot I was stranded. That means twenty minutes in a confined space with him. Twenty minutes of his scent, his voice, his proximity.

"Fine," I whisper.

We walk out to the parking lot under his large, black umbrella. He holds it over both of us, but because the wind is blowing, he pulls me closer so I don't get wet. His arm is firm against mine. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, the solid strength of his shoulder. It’s the kind of closeness that makes my skin prickle and my lungs feel too small.

He unlocks the car and we jump in, the sound of the rain instantly muffled by the roof. The air in the car is warm and smells like his sports bag and citrus air freshener.

He doesn't start the engine. He just sits there, gripping the steering wheel, staring through the windshield.

"I don't like it when we're like this," he says suddenly.

"Like what?"

"Like strangers." He turns his head to look at me. The rain is casting moving shadows across his face, highlighting the straight line of his nose and the curve of his lips. "I feel like I have to watch what I say around you lately. Since when did we start having secrets, Az?"

I look at the dashboard, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Since I realized I’d rather die than see you marry someone else, I think. Since I realized that every time you touch me, it feels like I'm breaking.

"Everyone has secrets, Daniel," I say softly. "Even us."

"Not me," he says, and he sounds so sure. So innocent. "I tell you everything."

I look at him then—truly look at him—and the sadness that washes over me is so profound I can almost taste it. He thinks he knows himself. He thinks he knows us. He has no idea that he’s living in a house with a foundation that’s already crumbled.

"Drive," I say, turning my head back to the window. "I just want to go home."

He sighs, a heavy, disappointed sound, and turns the key. The engine hums to life, but as we pull out of the lot, the silence between us feels heavier than the rain outside. It’s the kind of silence that doesn't just fill the air—it changes it.

And for the first time, I think he feels it too.

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