"I walked through rain, not to find shelter—

but to prove I still exist."

—Nil

Thunder split the heavens. Rain hammered down in silver sheets, boots sinking in sucking mud.

"June..."

"It's June..."

"Too cold..." His lips trembled, voice lost in the storm.

The alley narrowed, walls streaming with water. He hunched, arms locked tight over his ribs.

"...already walked this far. No way back."

"No shop. No light."

"Niloy."

Lightning split the sky. His face went pale, eyes wide with terror. Breath caught sharp in his throat.

Wind whipped his shirt flat against his thin frame, every shiver betraying weakness he could not hide.

"...don't know if I'll see the sun again."

He stumbled, knees threatening to give.

Rain blurred his vision. Eyes, restless and fierce, scanned the storm.

Then—the weight of a presence. Colder than rain. Unrelenting.

"Niloy."

"You shouldn't be here." His hands curled into fists.

"I cannot fall. Whatever it is—I'll endure."

"Come on, Niloy," he rasped, teeth chattering. "You must."

A whisper clung to his lips: "Keep believing..."

Nil's breath stuttered. Footsteps—or just the storm? He spun around—

Nothing. Empty rain, empty street.

He pressed a hand to his chest, forcing a laugh that rang hollow. Hallucinating. I must be...

He turned to walk again—

Rain hammered his ears, drowning every sound. Yet beneath it, a faint stir—too close, too human.

A breath.

Then a hand shot from the dark, iron-strong, seizing his arm and wrenching him sideways. His boots skidded over slick stone; breath caught, sharp and ragged.

The alley closed in.

"Let me go!"

The man only grinned, voice rasping: "Golden skin. Bet you taste sweet."

Niloy hit the ground hard, breath knocked from him. Mud splashed; stone cut his back.

The attacker's weight crushed him. Wrists slammed above his head, ribs pinned. A hand pressed lower, heat forcing through wet cloth.

A tongue dragged across his cheek. Niloy convulsed, bile rising.

"Soft," the man muttered. "Warm. Let's see you break."

Teeth sank into his neck. He bucked, legs kicking in vain.

"Don't scream," the man sneered. "No one will come."

Niloy clawed at his face, drawing blood. The grip held.

His fingers brushed stone.

Instinct struck—palm lashed out, stone meeting flesh with a sharp crack. The man jerked back, blood streaming, cursing.

Niloy twisted free, staggered up, chest burning, neck raw. He ran without looking back.

Behind him, a roar split the storm.

Niloy ran. Heart hammering, lungs tearing.

Out of the alley. Into the night.

The Ping spread wide and silver under the rain, swollen and furious. He stumbled onto the muddy riverbank, water thrashing at his feet.

There—walking along the edge—was a figure.

Tall. Alone.

He moved as if the storm belonged to him. Steps fluid, deliberate. Jeans clung to his hips, soaked; white shirt plastered to his frame, translucent in the downpour.

"Wait..."

"Help..."

Niloy froze, mud streaked across his skin, chest heaving. His mind grasped for a name. Nothing—only this.

A stranger.

The word ripped out of him, raw and desperate.

"Stranger!" His voice cracked. "Stranger—stop!"

The cry cut through the rain, but the figure did not turn. Black hair clung to his nape; jaw sharp as steel. He walked forward, unhurried, radiating cold danger.

Niloy's urgency overrode reason. "Stranger! Please—help!"

Behind him, a howl split the night—the wounded predator.

The attacker froze, caught sight of the newcomer, and vanished into darkness with a curse: "I'll find you again, golden whore!"

Niloy turned his head. Gone.

Only he and the stranger remained.

Their eyes met.

Silence rang louder than the storm. Wind tore at the man's soaked shirt, revealing glimpses of pale, wet skin.

They stood at the river's edge, black water thrashing beside them. Rain lashed like needles, stinging.

Niloy looked up. Dark, piercing eyes met his—cold, solitary, carved from ice. No warmth. Only distance. Yet the stranger saw him too: wide-eyed, trembling, terrified—a deer frozen in a hunter's shadow.

The moment shattered.

The stranger moved—sharp, sudden. He shoved Niloy.

He teetered at the river's edge; heels grazing black water. Instinctively, he grabbed the stranger's collar.

They fell.

Niloy did not scream. Cold filled his mouth before sound could form. Chest seized; he could not swim.

The current dragged him down.

Then—an arm locked around his waist.

The stranger hauled him up, crushing him into a hold that left no space between them. Wet bodies pressed together; air vanished.

Breath ripped from Niloy, shallow, ragged. Hearts collided, shivering from cold and shock. Through half-lidded eyes, he glimpsed the stranger's face—sharp planes, rain-slicked, silent, unyielding.

Niloy lay sprawled on the bank. The stranger knelt, dark hair plastered, rain dripping from jaw to chest. Eyes sharp, cold, watchful.

Niloy wasn't breathing.

Mud streaked his golden skin. Eyelashes wet. Lips pale. Shirt clung to ribs, water pooling at the throat.

The stranger pressed palms to Niloy's belly—press, release. Nothing. He shook his arms. Cupped his face. Still nothing.

A frown deepened. For a heartbeat, he froze. No one else. No footsteps. Only wind, rain, and the hard edge of cold.

The stranger leaned closer, lips brushing Niloy's—soft, hesitant. Pulled back for a heartbeat, then pressed again, deliberate. Slowly, they traced Niloy's mouth until they found his teeth, puffing gently inside, careful and precise.

Niloy did not respond.

Again. The stranger forced air into him.

One minute. Two.

Then—eyelashes twitched. Chest lifted, shallow, shuddering.

The stranger eased back, watching.

Niloy's eyes opened—not wide, just slits, dark glass behind rain-damp lashes. Breath staggered, ragged. Something soft pressed at his mouth: warmth.

Memory struck like lightning—the night before. Weight, breath, touch—fear flaring, bitter and raw.

Niloy lurched upright with a strangled sound, shoving the figure away. His palm whipped across the stranger's face, sharp, searing.

The stranger's head jerked. Eyes widened, glinting—so brief, a hand might have risen.

"You—" His voice low, dangerous.

Niloy trembled, rain clinging to lashes, lips pale, exhaustion sagging every limb. He drew a shuddering breath.

"You dared!"

His rigid posture slackened. Remorse softened his face; shame bloomed faint and hot. He bowed his head, whispering, "I'm sorry... I thought—"

"Thought what?" the stranger cut in, eyes narrowed.

Words lodged in Niloy's throat. He looked away, humiliated, fearful. The stranger watched too closely.

He rose, expression taut, anger simmering beneath cold restraint.

"—I'd touch you?"

Niloy flinched, forcing himself upright, knees wobbling, rain-matted hair clinging to his brow.

The stranger's gaze held him—unblinking. Lips pressed into a thin line. No words. No backward glance. Only the deliberate pivot of the shoulders. Then he walked away.

Niloy staggered after him, mud sucking at boots, arms flailing.

"Wait—don't—leave!" He gasped, chest heaving. "W-What's... your name?"

"Stran... strangerr..."