5 p.m. arrived sharp—and Rhea didn't.
Ling checked the clock once. Then again.
Her jaw tightened, irritation masking the relief that Rhea still didn't come.
At 5:07, the gates opened.
Rhea walked in, dropped her bag near the sidelines and stepped onto the field.
"Late," Ling said coolly.
Rhea stretched her calves, slow and deliberate. "You didn't say punctuality was part of the deal."
Ling tossed the ball at her harder than necessary. "Warm up."
They started drills.
Ling stayed close—too close. Correcting Rhea's stance with her foot near hers. Brushing past her shoulder instead of going around. Leaning in when she spoke, voice low enough that the field swallowed it.
Rhea noticed. Of course she did.
"You're hovering," Rhea muttered, trapping the ball under her foot.
Ling stepped in, chest nearly brushing Rhea's arm. "You're sloppy."
Rhea scoffed. "You're distracted."
That did it.
Ling moved without warning—one sharp maneuver, stealing the ball, forcing Rhea back. Step by step, pressure precise, relentless. Rhea resisted, jaw set, but Ling was stronger, faster, more controlled.
The goal net hit Rhea's back.
She barely had time to inhale before Ling's hands came up—one braced beside her shoulder against the net, the other stopping the ball inches from Rhea's thigh. The mesh bowed behind her, caging her in.
Ling leaned in.
Not touching.
Close enough that Rhea could feel her breath.
"Eyes on me," Ling said quietly.
Rhea's chin lifted in defiance, pulse betraying her. "Or what?"
Ling's gaze dropped—to Rhea's lips, then back to her eyes. Calculated. Dangerous.
"Or you lose," Ling replied.
The field went silent around them.
Rhea's hands curled in the net behind her, fingers tightening. For a fraction of a second, something flickered—heat, confusion, anger too sharp to name.
Then Rhea smiled. Slow. Provocative.
"This is training?" she asked. "Or is this how you intimidate everyone?"
Ling leaned closer, voice a murmur meant only for Rhea. "Only you."
That broke the balance.
Rhea shoved forward just enough to create space, slipping sideways under Ling's arm. She reclaimed the ball with a sharp kick and stepped away, heart racing but posture flawless.
"Careful," Rhea said lightly, walking backward. "You're forgetting who's supposed to fall."
Ling straightened, control snapping back into place like armor. Her eyes burned—frustration, hunger, something she refused to name.
"You're quick," Ling said, circling her. "For someone who wastes energy arguing."
Rhea shot her a glare. "You talk a lot for someone who claims discipline."
Ling hummed. "You bring it out in me."
They played until the sky bruised into orange.
Ling pushed harder now—shoulder checks disguised as strategy, footwork too close to be professional, praise wrapped in insult.
"You hesitate," Ling said as she stole the ball again. "That's cute."
Rhea scoffed, breath uneven. "You talk like you're winning something."
Ling glanced at the scoreboard she hadn't bothered to turn on. "I already did."
She leaned in when Rhea bent to retrieve the ball, voice brushing her ear without touching it. "You stayed."
Rhea straightened sharply. "Don't flatter yourself."
Ling only smiled—slow, knowing, already satisfied.
The final whistle echoed empty across the ground. Rhea wiped sweat from her neck, irritation sparking when she realized Ling was still watching her like the game hadn't ended at all.
"Same time tomorrow," Ling said lightly, already turning away as if it were inevitable.
Rhea opened her mouth to refuse—
"Oi."
Rina's voice cut through the air.
Both of them turned.
Rina stood by the fence, grin sharp with curiosity. Her gaze flicked between Ling and Rhea, lingering a beat too long on how close they still were.
"Dadi's calling," Rina said. "Tea. Now. Apparently you've been 'neglecting the elders.'"
Her eyes danced. "Both of you."
Rhea frowned. "Me?"
Ling answered before she could. "She means you."
Rhea shot her a look. "I didn't agree—"
Ling stepped past her, already walking. "You don't say no to Dadi."
Dadi was seated in the garden, perfectly at ease, like she'd been expecting this exact scene all along. Teacups arranged. Biscuits untouched. Her sharp eyes lifted the moment they arrived.
"Well," Dadi said, folding her hands. "If it isn't my favorite athlete and her… training partner."
Ling stiffened. Rhea didn't.
"We were practicing," Ling said flatly.
Dadi smiled. "Of course you were."
Her gaze slid to Rhea. "You look tired, child."
Rhea lifted her chin. "She talks too much."
Dadi laughed, delighted. "Ah. So she's already bothering you."
Ling shot Dadi a warning look. "Dadi."
"What?" Dadi sipped her tea. "I haven't said anything."
She leaned back, eyes twinkling. "Though I must say… Ling never brings anyone for tea after practice."
Rina hid her grin behind her cup.
Rhea glanced at Ling sideways. "Do I feel special?"
Ling didn't look at her. "Don't."
Dadi watched that exchange closely—too closely. Then, casually, she said, "Careful, Ling. People you train daily tend to leave marks."
Ling choked on her tea. "Marks?"
Rhea smirked. "I'll survive."
Dadi's smile widened, satisfied. "Good. I'd hate for either of you to pretend this is nothing."
Silence settled—thick, deliberate.
Ling stood abruptly. "We should go."
Rhea rose too, unbothered, but her eyes met Dadi's for a fraction of a second—and something knowing passed between them.
As they walked away, Rina leaned toward Dadi and murmured, "She's doomed."
Dadi nodded, amused. "Already is."
They had barely taken three steps away from the garden when Ling spoke again, as if the thought had been waiting patiently for permission.
"My clothes," she said casually. "You still have them."
Rhea didn't stop walking. "I'll send them to you."
Ling's stride slowed—then halted completely.
"No," she replied. Calm. Certain. "You'll give them back."
Rhea turned, irritation flashing. "What is your problem with—"
She didn't finish.
Ling reached out and caught her by the waist, fingers closing with deliberate familiarity. Enough pressure to stop her. To remind her exactly where she stood.
Rhea froze.
Her eyes widened—not in fear, but in shock. The kind that came from being touched by someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
Ling stepped closer, invading her space unapologetically. Her gaze was open now, unguarded in a way it had no right to be.
"You look se*y," Ling said, voice low, almost conversational.
"In sweat. After playing hard."
There was no rush in her tone. It wasn't a compliment meant to soften—it was meant to provoke.
Rhea shoved her.
Hard.
"Pervert," Rhea snapped, breath uneven, cheeks flushed with something dangerously close to heat.
Ling stumbled half a step back, then laughed—soft, under her breath. Not embarrassed. Not apologetic.
"Relax," Ling said, hands lifting in mock surrender. "I'm just observant."
Rhea glared at her, pulse still racing. "You cross lines like they don't exist."
Ling tilted her head, eyes dark, studying her like a puzzle she enjoyed breaking.
"You notice," she replied. "Yet you keep coming."
Rhea turned away sharply, pride snapping back into place. "Don't flatter yourself."
She walked off without looking back.
Ling stayed where she was, fingers curling slowly as if still remembering the shape of Rhea's waist. Her smile faded into something quieter—more dangerous.
"Tomorrow," Ling murmured to no one.
"Five p.m."
And somewhere ahead of her, Rhea Nior told herself the shove had meant nothing—
while her skin burned exactly where Ling Kwong had touched her.