Ping's so-called admirer didn't fail him that morning.
As usual, a drink hung quietly on the door handle, accompanied by a small note. Ping read it once, then twice, his lips curving into a smile he didn't bother hiding. He went to school lighter than usual, almost happy.
That was until dark clouds began to gather overhead.
By noon, the air felt heavy. Rain threatened from every corner of the sky.
Ping was packing his things when a senior stopped him.
"Ping, can you help pass a message to Keng? He's at the theatre art studio."
Ping stiffened. "I'm busy."
The senior frowned. "It won't take long."
Ping turned immediately to Rain. "You go."
Rain's eyes lit up. "I would love to—of course I want to see senior handsome—but I have an errand to run."
Ping sighed, annoyed. "You're useless."
After a long pause, he grabbed his bag. "Fine. I'll go."
The theatre art studio smelled of wood, paint, and familiarity.
Ping stepped inside, already planning to drop the message and leave. He barely glanced at the group gathered inside—until he heard his name.
"Keng, seriously," Jinn said, unaware of Ping's presence. "Don't you think Ping will be furious when he finds out you live next door to him and you're the mysterious sender?"
Ping froze.
"…What?" he said, stepping forward.
The room fell silent.
Ping's gaze locked onto Keng, disbelief flooding his face. "So it was you," he said quietly. Then louder, sharper—"Why are you doing this to me again?"
Keng took a step toward him. "Ping—"
"You disappeared," Ping cut in, voice shaking. "You hurt me. And now you come back just to play with my feelings again? Haven't you toyed with me enough?"
Without waiting for an answer, Ping turned and stormed out.
"Ping, please—I can explain!" Keng called, panic in his voice.
By the time Ping stepped outside, the rain was pouring.
Heavy. Relentless.
He walked straight into it, ignoring the cold soaking through his clothes.
"Ping!"
Keng ran after him without thinking, grabbing his wrist before he could go any farther.
Ping tried to pull away. "Let go."
"Please," Keng said, breathless. "Just listen to me. Do you hate me that much? I know you're angry—but let me explain. After that, if you don't want to see me again, I'll accept it. I promise."
The rain beat down on them, blurring the world around them.
Ping stopped struggling.
"…Say it," he said flatly.
Keng swallowed. "I didn't want to leave you. I had no choice. I tried reaching out when I was abroad, Ping—I really did. But everything went wrong. When I came back, you wouldn't even look at me."
He stepped closer, rain dripping from his hair. "I moved next door because I missed you. I left those things because I didn't know how to face you… but I wanted you to feel cared for. I wanted you to know you weren't forgotten."
Ping's chest tightened.
He could see it now—the exhaustion, the regret, the pain in Keng's eyes. But he forced himself not to soften.
Keng reached out hesitantly, brushing wet hair away from Ping's face.
"I missed you," he said quietly. "I know I hurt you. I'm sorry."
The rain continued to fall, washing over everything—anger, longing, words left unsaid.
Ping said nothing.
But he didn't pull away.
Ping tried to stay tough, but his eyes kept drifting to Keng—soaked, shivering slightly under the rain.
"…You're going to catch a cold," Ping muttered.
Keng looked at him, surprised.
Ping brushed Keng's hand away, then added quickly, "L-let's go somewhere else. I don't want to catch a cold either."
A small smile betrayed him.
Keng noticed it.
Ping turned first, leading the way back to the dorm. He took keng to his room. Rain wasn't home—the room was quiet, warm, familiar.
Ping shoved the towel toward Keng. "Dry your hair."
He grabbed the towel and started rubbing at his own hair, movements rushed and uneven. Water still clung to the ends, dampening his shirt and dripping onto the floor.
Keng watched him for a moment, then sighed softly.
"You're terrible at this," he said quietly.
Ping shot him a look. "I'm fine."
But before Ping could pull away, Keng reached out and gently caught his wrist. The sudden contact made Ping freeze.
"Let me," Keng said.
He carefully took the towel from Ping's hands, his fingers brushing Ping's knuckles as he did. Standing closer now, Keng dried Ping's hair slowly, deliberately, as if afraid to rush the moment away. He adjusted a few strands near Ping's forehead, his touch light, familiar… and achingly missed.
"It's been a while since I looked at you this close," Keng murmured. "You're even cuter than the last time I saw you."
Ping's face burned instantly. "W-what are you saying—"
The door creaked open.
"—OH MY GOD."
Ping shoved Keng away so fast he nearly tripped. He cleared his throat, refusing to look at either of them.
"You—! You should go. You're still wet. Change your clothes."
Keng smiled, amused rather than offended. He stepped closer again, lowering his voice.
"You too. Make sure you don't catch a cold."
He reached out, lightly touching Ping's hair once more.
"Little Ping."
Then he turned and left—leaving behind one very shocked Rain and one very flustered Ping.
Rain blinked. Slowly. "…Did I just interrupt something?"
Ping's ears were red. "Come inside."
Rain dropped his bag dramatically. "PING. Isn't that senior handsome?"
"Stop exaggerating," Ping said too quickly. "He's not that handsome."
Rain grinned. "Then why are you blushing?"
Ping turned away, mumbling, "You talk too much."
"Oh no," Rain gasped. "You have a lot of explaining to do. I love stuff like this, Little Ping."
Ping spun around. "Seriously, Rain—did you hear that?....Be quiet!"
"Little Ping. Little Ping," Rain teased.
From the hallway outside, Keng paused for a moment.
And smiled hearing Rain tease ping.