Arin kept his distance after that. He convinced himself it was just a coincidence. Rian had offered his umbrella because he was there, nothing more.
But the truth was harder to ignore. In the cafeteria, Arin felt Rian's gaze on him across the room. In the hallways, Rian always seemed one step behind him, like a shadow that refused to disappear.
Rian lived in a world of excess—expensive cars, silk ties, a circle of admirers who laughed at every joke. Arin lived in a one-bedroom apartment above a bakery, where the walls were thin and the nights smelled of yeast and sugar. Their lives couldn't have been more different.
And yet, when a teacher announced a group project and paired them together, Arin felt his stomach sink.
"This is going to be fun," Rian said, sliding into the chair beside him with a grin.
Arin didn't look up from his notebook. "It's not supposed to be fun. It's supposed to be work."
"Same thing," Rian replied.
The evenings that followed were strange. Rian began showing up at Arin's apartment, chauffeured car parked carelessly on the street below. He always complained about the size of the place, but then he'd sit cross-legged on the floor, eating instant noodles with an expression that was half amusement, half wonder.
"You actually live like this?" he asked one night.
Arin narrowed his eyes. "What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing," Rian said quickly, softer than usual. "It's just… warm."
And for the first time, Arin realized that Rian wasn't mocking him. He meant it.
Working together blurred the lines between them. Nights once filled with silence were now colored with conversations—about books, about music, about the loneliness hidden in their very different lives.
One evening, as rain pattered outside again, Rian leaned back against Arin's desk chair, staring at him intently.
"You don't care who I am, do you?" he asked suddenly.
Arin blinked. "Should I?"
"Everyone else does," Rian said with a bitter laugh. "They see money. They see a future they want to tie themselves to. But you… you look at me like I'm just a boy sitting in your cramped apartment."
"Because that's all you are right now," Arin replied simply.
For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken. Rian's expression softened—vulnerable, almost fragile.
"Don't ever change that," he whispered.
From then on, their bond deepened. They shared secrets that neither had spoken aloud before. Rian confessed his fear of becoming nothing more than his father's shadow. Arin admitted his fear of dreaming too big, of reaching for something he could never hold.
Their worlds were still apart, but their hearts were slowly finding the same rhythm.
The night of the school dance arrived. Music thundered through the decorated gymnasium, lights flashing like stars. Everyone watched Rian, waiting to see which perfect girl he'd choose as his date.
But halfway through the night, he slipped away.
On the rooftop, Arin stood alone, gazing at the glittering city below. The cool breeze tugged at his shirt, the faint hum of music drifting upward.
"Why are you always hiding?" Rian's voice broke the quiet.
Arin turned. Rian was there, breathless as if he'd run, eyes locked only on him.
"Why are you always chasing me?" Arin asked softly.
"Because you're the only thing real in my life," Rian admitted. His words carried no arrogance now, only raw honesty.
He stepped closer, hesitating for the first time. Their hands brushed, tentative, trembling. Arin didn't pull away.
The city lights shimmered around them, but in that moment, neither saw anything but each other.
Two worlds—so different, so impossible—collided like stars in the dark sky. And once stars collide, they burn brighter than anything else.