The court was loud.
Shoes squeaked, the ball echoed sharp against the floor, voices layered over each other in noise and adrenaline. Ling stood at center, captain's band firm on her arm, face calm, posture disciplined.
She did not look at Rhea.
She had decided that before the whistle even blew.
Ling kept her eyes forward.
Focus.
The whistle cut through the air.
The game started fast. Clean passes. Sharp pivots. Ling commanded the court with clipped gestures, voice controlled, authority unquestioned. She didn't look at Rhea—not once.
Until she did.
It wasn't intention.
It never was.
Her eyes betrayed her before her mind could stop them, drawn like instinct to heat. Rhea was already watching her.
Not casually.
Directly.
Steadily.
As if the entire court had narrowed down to just the space between them.
Ling's breath hitched for half a second—just half—before she caught herself.
Rhea's lips curved.
Not a smile.
A promise.
She lifted two fingers briefly, a small, reckless salute—then winked.
Ling's heart turned traitor.
Her grip tightened on the ball as something sharp and familiar twisted in her chest. Heat climbed her neck, uninvited, unwelcome. She turned her head away immediately, jaw setting hard, eyes snapping back to the game.
Do not.
She pushed the ball forward with force, sprinting down the court like speed could outrun feeling.
Rhea watched her go, pulse steady, expression unreadable—except for the satisfaction flickering briefly in her eyes.
She still sees me, Rhea thought.
And Ling, running hard, refusing to look back, hated herself for knowing—
she always would.
Game ended.
Ling didn't stop walking when she reached the corridor.
Sweat still clung to her skin, jersey damp at the collar, breath not fully settled from the match. Her stride was sharp, controlled — captain until the last second. She unlocked her private room, stepped inside, and turned—
The door closed behind her.
Click.
Ling froze.
Not because she didn't know.
Because she did.
She didn't turn around. She didn't speak. She stood there, back straight, hands slowly curling into fists at her sides.
Behind her, Rhea leaned against the door for a heartbeat, watching.
Watching the rise and fall of Ling's shoulders.
Watching the way discipline was being held together by sheer will.
Rhea locked the door.
The sound echoed louder than it should have.
Ling closed her eyes.
Just for a second.
To gather courage.
To steady herself.
To remind her heart that it had no authority here.
"Why are you following me?" Ling asked quietly.
Her voice didn't shake.
Rhea crossed the room in three unhurried steps.
She didn't answer.
Ling felt it before she saw it — the shift in air, the heat too close behind her. Then Rhea's hand hit the wall beside Ling's head, palm flat.
The other followed.
Ling was pinned decisively.
Her eyes opened.
Rhea was close enough that Ling could smell jasmine and something sharper underneath — resolve, maybe. Or denial.
"You wouldn't look at me," Rhea said softly. "All game."
Ling swallowed.
"That was the point."
Rhea's lips curved, not smiling — assessing.
"And yet," she murmured, leaning in just enough, "you still did."
Ling didn't answer.
Her body betrayed her first.
Her breath caught.
Rhea noticed.
Always did.
Her hand slid—not urgently, not greedily—but deliberately, beneath the edge of Ling's jersey, fingers pressing briefly against warm skin, testing reaction more than territory.
Ling went still.
Not because she wanted to.
Because her mind stalled.
"I—" Ling started, then stopped. Her voice failed her, breaking into breath instead of words. "I… iii—"
Nothing came.
No command.
No warning.
No retreat.
Just silence — loud with everything she wasn't saying.
Rhea watched her closely now.
This wasn't conquest.
This wasn't teasing.
This was reassurance — or the lie of it.
"I'm here," Rhea said quietly, almost gently. "You keep acting like I disappeared."
Ling's eyes flickered toward her, conflicted, shining with something dangerous.
"You shouldn't be," she said, barely audible.
Rhea's jaw tightened.
Her hand stilled on Ling abs.
"That's not what your heart says," Rhea replied.
Ling finally turned her head, just enough to look at her — eyes full, guarded, aching.
"You don't get to decide that anymore," Ling whispered.
For a moment, something real cracked through Rhea's composure.
Something she immediately buried.
She leaned back, creating space — but not distance.
Not yet.
"Then stop reacting like this," Rhea said, voice cool again, controlled. "Because I will notice. Every time."
Ling was still pressed to the wall, breath uneven now, control fraying in quiet places she refused to acknowledge.
Rhea tilted her head slightly, studying her.
"Don't you feel anything?" Rhea asked.
Not teasing.
Not cruel.
Almost… searching.
Ling's jaw tightened.
"No," she said at once.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
Rhea smiled faintly — not because she believed her, but because she didn't need to.
She leaned in and kissed Ling.
Not deep.
Not demanding.
Just enough.
Ling's eyes flew open.
Shock flashed first — then something far more dangerous. Her hands lifted instinctively, hovering like she didn't know whether to push Rhea away or hold her there.
Rhea pulled back immediately.
"I won't come now," she said quietly, as if making a promise to herself more than to Ling.
She turned toward the door.
Ling didn't think.
She reacted.
Her hand caught Rhea at the waist, firm, grounding, stopping her mid-step.
"—You mean it?" Ling asked, voice low, unsteady despite herself.
Rhea froze.
She didn't turn back.
Ling's grip tightened just enough to be felt.
Rhea finally turned her head slightly, not enough to meet Ling's eyes.
Ling stepped closer.
Her thumb pressed briefly, deliberately, against the bare skin at Rhea's waist — a silent question, a reminder, a boundary crossed and reclaimed in the same breath.
Rhea inhaled sharply.
Just once.
Ling leaned in and kissed her.
This time it wasn't surprise.
It was decision.
Not desperation.
Not surrender.
Choice.
For a moment, the world narrowed to breath and closeness and everything they refused to name. When they separated, Ling rested her forehead briefly against Rhea's, eyes closed.
"This is why I said no," Ling whispered. "Because I can't lie to you."
Rhea didn't answer.
Her hands trembled — just slightly — before she stilled them.
She stepped back.
Unlocked the door.
Left.
Ling stayed where she was, heart loud in her chest, thumb still warm where it had touched her, knowing with terrifying clarity—
denial was no longer protecting her.
And Rhea, walking away down the corridor, pressed her palm flat to her stomach like she could calm the reaction there.
This is reassurance, she told herself.
But the truth followed her, relentless and quiet:
She hadn't stayed because she had to.
She'd stayed because she wanted to.