The rain didn’t bother Theo. Not really.

He stood leaning against the same lamppost he always claimed when waiting for him — the one directly across from the college gates, where he could watch without being swallowed by the crowd. His hood was pulled low, shadowing most of his face, though the rain had long since soaked through the fabric, plastering strands of black hair to his neck. Water dripped steadily from his sleeves, his boots heavy with the weight of it. He didn’t move.

People rushed past him, their footsteps quick, umbrellas clashing in the narrow space of the sidewalk. No one lingered in the rain unless they had to. Theo had to. Not because anyone told him to, but because leaving before him felt wrong — like breaking something sacred and unspoken.

Two hours. That was how long the gap was between the end of Theo’s classes and the end of his. Some people would go home, change into dry clothes, maybe eat something warm, then come back. Theo couldn’t. He wouldn’t. The thought of putting more distance between them than necessary made his chest tighten.

Every time the heavy iron gates creaked open, Theo’s eyes flicked up. Just for a second. Sharp green scanning each face — not him. Not yet. The rain turned the street into a patchwork of shifting reflections, broken shards of streetlight and neon. He caught himself staring, wondering if he would think it looked beautiful, or if he’d just wrinkle his nose at the puddles.