Ping told himself he was just passing by.
That was all.
The basketball court was loud-shouts overlapping, laughter ringing out, the dull rhythmic thud of a ball hitting concrete again and again.
Sweat, sunlight, movement everywhere. It was the kind of place Ping usually avoided. Too crowded. Too noisy. Too many eyes. Yet his feet had carried him here anyway.
He stood at the edge of the court, half-hidden behind the fence, fingers curling nervously around the strap of his bag.
He told himself he would leave after one quick glance. Just one. But his eyes found Keng immediately. It surprised him how easy it was now, as if his gaze had learned where to go on its own, drawn without effort or hesitation.
Keng was playing basketball. He moved with an ease that made everything look simple-running, jumping, laughing with his friends as though the world bent naturally to his rhythm. The sunlight caught in his hair, damp with sweat, and for a brief moment Ping forgot how to breathe.
"So this is how he looks like when he's not looking at me"
The thought made something twist quietly in his chest.
Ping watched, unnoticed, as Keng caught the ball, pivoted smoothly, and shot. Cheers erupted around him. Someone slapped his back. Someone else laughed loudly. Girls at the side of the court whispered and giggled, their eyes following him everywhere.
Ping finally understood why people were drawn to Keng .
He wasn't even trying.
Ping shifted his weight, suddenly aware of how out of place he felt. His uniform was neat, his hair carefully combed, his presence small compared to the energy of the court.
"Maybe I shouldn't be here."
He turned slightly, preparing to leave-
"Ping?"
The voice startled him so badly he flinched. He looked up. Keng was already walking toward him. Somehow, he'd noticed.
"What are you doing here?" Keng asked gently, stopping in front of him.
His eyes flicked briefly around the noisy court, his brows knitting together.
"It's crowded here. Are you okay?"
Ping opened his mouth, then closed it again. Words tangled in his throat.
"We should go," Keng added, reaching out without thinking. His fingers brushed Ping's hand.
Ping froze-and instinctively pulled back a little, his heart racing.
"I-" His thoughts scattered.
"You... you like basketball a lot?" he blurted out instead, surprising even himself.
Keng blinked. Then he laughed softly.
"Is that what you wanted to know?"
Ping nodded quickly, embarrassed, his ears warming.
"Yes."
"Yes, I like basketball," Keng said after a moment, smiling.
"A lot."
Ping hesitated, then looked up at him properly, gathering courage.
"Then why do you always ditch your friends anytime they ask you out to play?"
The words came out innocent, almost childish. He looked at Keng the way a child might look at his mother after being denied ice cream-genuinely confused.
Keng didn't answer right away. His gaze stayed on Ping, steady and calm, as if the noise around them had faded into nothing.
"Because it's you," Keng said simply.
Ping's heart skipped so hard it hurt. He looked away quickly.
"What else do you like doing?" he asked, too fast, trying to pretend nothing had happened.
Keng leaned closer, eyes playful. "Why?"
he teased softly. "Do you want to get to know me?"
Ping swallowed.
"I... I just wanted to know," he muttered, staring at the ground, biting his lip as if scolding himself for asking.
Keng smiled at his reaction.
"I also like seeing you, little Ping."
Before Ping could respond, a sudden shout cut through the moment.
"Oi, Keng!" One of Keng's friends threw the ball-too hard, too careless.
Ping barely had time to react. But Keng did. In one swift movement, he caught the ball mid-air and stepped in front of Ping, placing himself between them without hesitation.
"What's wrong with you?" Keng snapped, turning sharply.
"Watch where you throw."
The court went quiet for a second. His friends froze, instantly realizing what they'd done.
"Sorry," one of them said quickly, guilt written all over his face.
"We didn't mean to."
Their eyes shifted to Ping.
"Sorry, Ping."
Ping nodded, flustered. "It's okay."
Keng turned back to him, his sharp expression melting into concern.
"Are you hurt?"
Ping shook his head, but his mind was racing.
"His gaze... it's different."
" He looks at me differently...."
"Oi, why am I overthinking this"
"Ping?" Keng lifted a hand and gently touched Ping's forehead, brows knitting together.
"You spaced out. Are you sure you're okay?"
The warmth of the touch pulled Ping back instantly.
"I'm fine," he said too quickly.
***
Later that day, Ping carried a small container in his bag. He had hesitated all morning. His mother had packed his favorite dish-and an extra portion. He hadn't explained why, but she had smiled like she already knew.
When Ping finally saw Keng, his steps slowed.
"Maybe this is weird."
"What if he doesn't like it?"
"What if-"
Keng noticed the container before Ping could hide it.
"What's that?" Keng asked, already taking it from him naturally.
"W-wait!" Ping panicked.
But Keng opened it anyway.
"This is for you," Ping said quietly, his cheeks warm.
Keng took a bite without hesitation. Then another.
"I like it," he said simply.
Ping stared.
"He took it.
He really took it."
A quiet warmth spread through his chest.
He didn't need to say anything. Watching Keng eat, watching the way his expression softened, Ping realized something new.
It wasn't just Keng's smile. Or his voice. Or the way he protected him. It was the little things.
And Ping was noticing all of them.
Extra:
Ping hummed all the way home. When he stepped into the living room, his mother looked up at him knowingly.
"So?" she asked.
"P'Keng likes the food," Ping said, already hopping toward his room, still humming.
His mother laughed softly. I might have to make this dish every day, she thought.