When Death Loved The Wind

Chapter 1

Korbin slammed the bathroom cabinet shut hard enough to rattle the mirror. He tugged on his hoodie, black over black, the sleeves frayed from nights spent in places he wasn’t supposed to be. His foster mom shouted something from the kitchen—probably about school, probably about not getting expelled again—but he ignored it. He was seventeen, old enough to know she’d give up on him sooner or later, just like the others.
He slung his battered backpack over one shoulder and grabbed the beat-up bat leaning by the door, the one with chipped paint. Technically, it wasn’t allowed on school grounds. Realistically, no one stopped him anymore. He walked out into the morning air with that wired energy buzzing under his skin again, the one that made it hard to sit still in class, the one that always pushed him into trouble.
School was a drag, but it was also familiar. And familiarity was the closest thing to safety he had.
Rune tugged his gray shirt over his head before putting on his jacket. He shook out his messy light– almost white– blond hair that fell into his eyes no matter what he did. His mom had already left for work, leaving a note and a muffin on the counter. He took the muffin, read the note, and smirked to himself before shoving it in his pocket. She always worried too much.
Walking out into the crisp morning, he didn’t hurry. Rune never hurried. He strolled toward school like the clock didn’t matter, hands shoved in his pockets, the faint chill of the early wind brushing against his skin like an old friend. People would probably call him lazy—or careless—but Rune didn’t care enough to correct them. Let them think what they wanted.
At school, he’d walk through the hallway, half-listening, half-daydreaming, maybe exchanging a grin or shrug with someone if they caught his eye. Life just… moved around him, and he let it.
They knew each other. Not well, not enough to call it friendship, but enough to nod in the hall or hear their names paired on group projects. Korbin thought Rune was too cool for his own good, drifting through life like nothing stuck. Rune thought Korbin was lost maybe, all sharp edges and restless fire.
And that was the extent of it—two boys with lives that barely touched. For now.

Korbin kicked open the side door of the school, his bat stuffed down in his backpack just enough to look like a crooked spine sticking out the top. The fluorescent lights inside buzzed overhead, too bright, too sterile. He shoved his hood back and dragged himself down the hall, ignoring the looks from teachers already circling like vultures. Trouble, that was the word that followed him everywhere. Trouble with fists. Trouble with words. Trouble with silence.
Rune was already inside, leaning against the row of lockers with that casual slouch of his, earbuds dangling but not playing anything. He wasn’t in a rush to class—he never was. Rune had perfected the art of drifting: showing up late enough that people noticed, but not late enough that anyone bothered calling him out. He spotted Korbin coming down the hall, dark and stormy as ever, and gave the smallest nod.
Korbin caught it, slowed just enough to glance back. “Mornin’, Frostbite,” he muttered, the nickname slipping out before he thought about it. Rune was pale, cold-looking—like he belonged in winter more than spring. Korbin never said it to his face before, but today it slipped, half a tease, half a defense mechanism.
Rune smirked, tilting his head. “Better than looking like you just crawled out of a grave,” he shot back, voice easy, unbothered.
Korbin huffed out a laugh, short and sharp, but he didn’t fire back. He just kept walking, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a grin.
Rune watched him go, still leaning on the lockers. It was the most they’d said to each other in months. Funny thing was, it didn’t feel like nothing.
For Korbin, it stuck. Rune’s smirk, his voice, the way he hadn’t flinched or brushed him off like everyone else usually did. For Rune, it was just another morning—but for Korbin, it was the start of something he wasn’t ready to admit yet.

By third period, Rune was in his usual place: back row, slouched low in his seat, hood up just enough to look half-asleep. He had a pencil twirling loosely between his fingers, eyes fixed somewhere out the window where the trees swayed in the breeze. The teacher droned on about something—history dates, maybe—but Rune wasn’t listening. He rarely did.
The door banged open, and Korbin strolled in late, hood down, backpack hanging off one shoulder. The teacher pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, but didn’t bother scolding him. At this point, everyone knew it was pointless. Korbin dropped into the empty seat two rows up from Rune, slouched forward with his arms crossed, like he dared anyone to comment on him showing up half an hour late.
Rune’s gaze flicked to him, not long enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for him to catch the faint scowl that seemed permanently carved into Korbin’s face. He almost smirked. Almost.
Halfway through the period, the teacher called for paired work. A ripple of movement filled the room as kids shifted seats, pairing off with their friends. Rune stayed put, waiting to see who’d be left. He didn’t mind. Whoever it was, they’d do the work and he’d coast. That was the deal.
Except this time, Korbin turned, eyes narrowing slightly as the teacher announced: “Rune, Korbin—you two together.”
Rune raised his brows but didn’t move, waiting for Korbin to come to him. Korbin, jaw tight, grabbed his notebook and stalked over, dropping into the seat beside him like it physically pained him to do so.
“Guess you’re stuck with me,” Rune said, voice lazy, almost teasing.
Korbin muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Could be worse.”
Rune leaned an elbow on the desk, studying him for a second longer than was polite. Korbin felt it—his stomach twisting, that stupid warmth crawling under his skin. He shifted, pretending to focus on the worksheet.
They worked in silence for a while, Rune scribbling half-hearted answers, Korbin impatiently correcting him. Their styles clashed—Rune careless, Korbin sharp and precise—but for once, neither of them seemed inclined to bolt.
By the end of class, Rune shoved the paper toward Korbin. “See? I pulled my weight.”
Korbin snorted. “Barely.”
Rune smirked, pushing up from his chair. “Still counts.”
It was small, nothing more than a classroom pairing. But when Korbin left the room, there was an unfamiliar, restless ache in his chest. Rune had gotten under his skin without even trying.