Ping's class was dismissed earlier than expected.
A free period.
The word alone brought him a small sense of relief, like a knot loosening quietly in his chest.
While some of his classmates cheered and immediately began planning where to go—cafeteria, courtyard, someone even mentioned sneaking to the court—Ping quietly packed his things.
He zipped his bag carefully, making sure nothing was out of place, then slipped out of the classroom without drawing attention to himself.
He already knew where he wanted to be.
Somewhere quiet....
Ping walked past rows of classrooms, his footsteps light against the tiled floor, his mind already drifting toward the familiar calm of the old pavilion.
It was a slightly hidden spot behind the main building, shaded by tall trees and often forgotten by most students.
Few people went there unless they truly wanted to be alone, and that was exactly why Ping loved it.
As he passed by one of the final-year classrooms, he didn't notice the pair of eyes that followed him.
Keng did.
Ping moved differently from everyone else—unhurried, careful, like he was always trying not to disturb the world around him.
Keng leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes narrowing with mild curiosity as he watched the younger student disappear down the hallway.
"Where is he going?"
Keng wondered
The bell hadn't rung yet. A teacher was still speaking at the front of the room.
Keng forced himself to stay seated, fingers tapping lightly against the desk. His gaze flicked once more toward the door Ping had exited through.
Patiently, he waited. When his own free period finally came, Keng stood up immediately, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He didn't know why he was doing this. Only that he wanted to.
"Oi, Keng!"
He turned to see three familiar faces near the stairs, one of them spinning a basketball lazily on his finger.
"Basketball court," the boy said.
"We're short one player."
Keng glanced toward the court briefly—then toward the hallway leading to the back of the school.
"Not today," he replied.
His friends blinked.
"Since when?" another asked.
"You never skip."
Keng adjusted his bag strap.
"I've got somewhere to be."
"Where?" one of them pressed, clearly confused.
Keng paused, then shook his head lightly.
"Just… somewhere."
Before they could say anything else, he walked off. The three boys stared after him.
"Did he just turn down basketball?"
"…Yeah."
"That's new."
The old pavilion was quiet, just as Ping hoped it would be. He sat on the wooden bench, placing his bag neatly beside him, letting the soft sounds of nature replace the noise of school. Leaves rustled gently overhead. Somewhere nearby, birds chirped lazily, unbothered by schedules or bells.
Ping adjusted his glasses and exhaled, shoulders finally relaxing.
Then—
"Ping."
His heart jumped violently.
Ping looked up too quickly, breath catching in his throat.
Keng stood a short distance away, hands tucked casually into his pockets, expression calm but unreadable.
The sudden appearance made Ping's thoughts spiral wildly.
"Why is he here?"
"Did I do something wrong?"
"Why would a senior look for me?"
"O-oh—hia," Ping said quietly, standing up before he even realized he was doing it.
The word slipped out on instinct. The moment it registered, his soul nearly left his body.
Keng blinked, then smiled faintly.
"You don't have to stand."
Ping sat back down immediately, mortified, fingers curling tightly around his notebook.
An awkward silence followed.
Keng broke it by sitting beside him—not too close, but close enough for Ping to notice. Very close.
Ping's thoughts scrambled. His shoulders tensed. His breathing turned shallow. He adjusted his glasses again, a nervous habit he couldn't stop.
Keng noticed everything.
"You came here to avoid the noise?" Keng asked softly.
Ping hesitated, then nodded. "I… don't really like crowded places."
"Yeah," Keng replied calmly.
"I figured."
That surprised Ping.
"You did?"
Keng shrugged lightly.
"You always look more comfortable when it's quiet."
Ping didn't know what to say to that. No one had ever paid attention like that before.
The silence returned—but this time, it wasn't uncomfortable. They sat side by side, listening to the breeze, sharing the quiet without trying to fill it.
Ping's heartbeat slowly steadied. The tension in his shoulders eased, just a little.
It was strange. Being alone felt safe. But being here—like this—felt… different.
Ping glanced at Keng, just once.
But Keng was already looking at him.
Their eyes met.
Ping looked away immediately, cheeks warm, heart racing.
Keng smiled to himself.
Quiet conversations didn't need many words. Sometimes, just sitting together was enough.
The bell rang faintly in the distance, muffled by the trees.
Ping stiffened. Reality slowly crept back in.
"I… I should probably go," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
"Your next class?" Keng asked.
Ping nodded. "Yes."
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Keng stood up first. "I'll walk you back."
Ping's head snapped up.
"You don't have to—"
"I know," Keng said gently.
"But I want to."
That single sentence made Ping's chest feel tight.
They walked side by side through the quiet pathway, steps naturally falling into the same rhythm.
No one spoke, yet the silence felt lighter now—almost comfortable.
As they reached the building, students began to appear again, laughter and chatter filling the air.
Ping slowed.
Keng noticed.
"Crowds again?" Keng asked.
Ping nodded, fingers curling nervously.
Keng stopped walking.
"You can take your time," he said softly.
"No one's rushing you."
Ping looked at him, surprised.
"…Thank you," he murmured.
Keng smiled—not the charming smile everyone knew, but something softer.
Something real.
Before parting ways, Keng spoke again.
"If you ever need somewhere quiet," he said,
"the old pavilion is a good choice."
Ping hesitated, then nodded. "I like it there."
Keng paused, then added, "Me too."
That was new.
Keng gave Ping a gentle pat on the head.
Ping froze.
"..."
He watched as Keng walked away, heart beating strangely fast. For the first time, the quiet didn't feel lonely. It felt shared.
Extra :
Ping stepped out of the bathroom, hair still dripping, when he suddenly froze.
His wide eyes practically screamed
"Nooooo…"
And then it hit him—the horror, the ultimate cringe.
He had called Keng
"Hia."
Ping whirled around, pressing both hands to his burning face as if he could erase the moment from existence.
How could he call him... Hia?!
They weren't even close! His cheeks burned hotter than the shower he'd just escaped.
Somewhere deep down, a tiny voice whispered:
"Keng probably heard… and he's definitely judging me."
Ping groaned softly. He might never recover from this.