The morning sun spilled softly over the cracked tiles of the rooftop, catching on the faded edges of drying clothes and the rusted tin awning of the building next door.

"Yunhao, help me move the crates!" his mother's voice called from below, muffled but familiar through the open kitchen window.

Li Yunhao wiped his palms on his shorts and lifted the plastic tray of onions, placing it beside the others near the small entrance of their convenience store. Their tiny grocery shop sat tucked between a pharmacy and a run-down bakery on the corner of the street—a place where everyone knew each other's names, and time seemed to move a little slower.

Inside, his little brother, Li Yutong, was already munching on cold grapes, swinging his legs while perched on the rooftop ledge. He was supposed to be getting ready for primary school, but instead had declared it his “grape break.”

“Yutong!” Yunhao climbed the rooftop ladder, his hands still sticky from handling produce. “Ma said to get ready. Your bag is downstairs.”

Yutong pouted dramatically, stuffing another grape in his mouth. “I don’t wanna go today. Too hot.”

Yunhao rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling. He plopped down beside him for a second, letting the breeze cool his face. Below them, the narrow streets were beginning to fill with life—bikes whirring past, carts creaking under the weight of morning vegetables, and the occasional honk from an impatient van.

And then—he saw him.

A boy in a white short-sleeved shirt, sleeves loosely rolled, hair catching the wind as he glided down the slope on a blue bicycle. He wasn’t particularly flashy. In fact, he looked quite ordinary—except for the way he smiled. Open, carefree, like the world had never given him a reason to frown.

Yunhao’s breath hitched.

He didn’t know why.

Maybe it was the sunlight.

Maybe it was the way that boy rode without fear.

Maybe it was just him.

Zhao Yichen.

He didn’t know his name yet, but somehow the image of that smile was carved into his memory, as if he’d always been waiting to see it.

The boy didn’t look up. He passed by the store, by Yunhao, by the rooftop. The bicycle’s wheels hummed softly until the sound faded into the street's chatter.

Gone.

And yet, something inside Yunhao stirred—something new, something quiet but insistent.

---

Downstairs, the world was still turning.

Their mother handed a stack of freshly printed flyers to Yutong and said, “Give these to the neighbors and tape a few to the poles, okay? We have a discount on rice and oil this week.”

But Yutong shoved them right into Yunhao’s hands.

“I have homework. Big homework.” He made air quotes. “Gege, you do it!”

Before Yunhao could argue, Yutong dashed into the bathroom with his tiny backpack and slammed the door shut.

“Yunhao—” their mother began, raising her brow.

“I’ll do it,” Yunhao said quickly, stuffing the flyers into a small plastic bag. His heart was still beating a little too fast.

Maybe… just maybe… if he walked the streets now, he might see that boy again.

Zhao Yichen—though Yunhao still didn’t know his name.

Not yet.

But fate had already begun to write their story.

---

💙 Li Yunhao

Li Yunhao looked like the kind of boy who blended into the background so effortlessly, you might miss him even if he was standing right in front of you. With his slouched posture and clothes that always seemed a size too big, he carried himself like someone trying to shrink from the world. His black hair, usually unkempt, hung over his eyes, and his round glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he walked—always with his head slightly lowered. There was nothing striking about him at first glance; he had the tired, faded look of someone who had learned not to expect attention. His skin bore the marks of teenage stress, and his quiet demeanor only added to the way others dismissed him. But in quiet moments—when the wind brushed his hair back, or when he looked up at someone with sincerity in his eyes—there was something oddly captivating about him. Not beautiful in the way people spoke of beauty, but in a way that felt real, unfiltered, and heartbreakingly gentle.

---

❤️ Zhao Yichen

Zhao Yichen, on the other hand, was the kind of boy who made people turn their heads without realizing they had. There was something effortless about him—from the way his shirt sleeves were always casually rolled up to the easy way he moved, as if the world naturally made room for him. He rode his bicycle like he owned the road, his posture relaxed, a subtle smile playing on his lips as though life amused him in quiet ways. His skin held a natural glow from afternoons spent outside, and his dark hair always looked like it had just the right amount of breeze running through it. People were drawn to him, not just because he was handsome, but because he had presence—warm, open, and quietly confident. He had the air of someone who never needed to try too hard, yet always left an impression. To Yunhao, watching from rooftops and shadows, Zhao Yichen seemed untouchable—like sunlight in motion, too bright to look at for too long.

---

Flyers rustled in Yunhao’s arms as he made his way through the neighborhood, weaving past fruit stalls and snack shops. The late morning sun was sharp, and sweat trickled down his neck, but he didn’t complain. This wasn’t the worst chore his little brother had dumped on him—and besides, a small part of him hoped he might see that boy again.

Zhao Yichen.

He didn’t know the name then, not officially, but he had heard it whispered around enough times at school gates and through the corners of conversations in nearby tea stalls. “Did you see Zhao Yichen play yesterday?” “He scored again—of course!” “He’s like the sun on court.”

Curious and heart pulling him forward, Yunhao’s steps naturally drifted toward the open basketball court near the school’s old gym.

Laughter and shouting echoed before he even reached the gate. Students, mostly in their summer uniforms, had gathered—some leaning against the fences, others sitting cross-legged on the concrete wall, snacks in hand. Cheers burst every now and then, accompanied by the thud of a ball against the court.

And there—moving effortlessly between players, passing, turning, jumping with grace—was him.

Zhao Yichen.

His white shirt clung to his back from the heat, hair damp with sweat, and that familiar smile on his lips as if the game was just another casual joy in his perfect day. The crowd adored him. Every time he scored, a wave of applause followed. His teammates bumped fists, and his opponents laughed in frustration.

Yunhao lingered at the back at first, clutching the flyers to his chest, heart beating faster for no logical reason. But then, drawn in, he took a few steps closer to the court, slipping between two taller boys just to get a better look.

It happened fast.

The ball—a rogue pass—bounced off a hand and came flying straight toward the edge of the crowd.

Straight toward Yunhao.

He barely had time to flinch before a hand shot out in front of him. The ball stopped midair with a sharp thud.

Startled, Yunhao’s eyes widened. Just inches from him, Zhao Yichen stood, arm outstretched, catching the ball like it was nothing. He turned his head, and for the briefest second, their eyes met.

His face was close. Too close.

Yichen’s hair clung lightly to his forehead, his breathing heavy but even. He looked at Yunhao—not in a way that said “who are you?” or “get out of the way”—but simply with quiet acknowledgement, like Yunhao wasn’t invisible in that moment.

“You okay?” Yichen asked casually, the kind of question he probably threw around a dozen times a day.

Yunhao blinked, words caught in his throat. He managed only a small nod.

Yichen gave a small grin, nothing showy—just that same easy warmth. “Watch your face next time.” Then he jogged back into the game, ball spinning in his hand, the crowd already surging with new cheers.

Yunhao stood frozen, flyers slightly crumpled in his hands, heart pounding against his ribs.

He touched the ball… that almost hit me.

He looked right at me.

He… spoke to me.

Just then, his phone buzzed.

It was a message from his little brother.

[Yutong]: “Gege! Buy strawberry ice cream on the way home or I’ll eat all your candy!”

Yunhao looked at the court one last time. Part of him didn’t want to leave. Not yet. Not when the sun was falling just right on Yichen’s figure, casting a golden glow around him.

But reality tugged him back like it always did.

He turned, hugging the flyers tighter, and walked back toward the shop. The sun still shone bright on his back, but his chest felt a little warmer—like something had shifted quietly inside him.

Zhao Yichen might forget this moment the second the game ended.

But Yunhao wouldn’t.

Not for a very long time.

That night, after dinner and chores, Yunhao lay sprawled on his mattress, his phone lighting up in the dark.

[Yunhao]: “Hey… I think I have a crush.”

[Best Friend – Lin Jie]: “OHHH FINALLY. Who?! 😏”

[Yunhao]: “Someone older. I don’t think he even knows I exist.”

[Lin Jie]: “Is it a girl?”

[Yunhao]: “No.”

There was a long pause.

[Lin Jie]: “…I see. Do you want to talk about it?”

Yunhao stared at the screen for a long time before typing his next words.

[Yunhao]: “I think I like boys.”

The moment the message sent, a tightness in his chest broke open. Not fear exactly, but vulnerability. Raw and cold.

Lin Jie replied after a few minutes, but it felt like hours.

[Lin Jie]: “Thanks for telling me. Really. That’s brave, Yunhao. I’m still your friend, you know?”

[Lin Jie]: “Also… is this about that basketball boy? 👀”

Yunhao laughed softly into the night, hugging his phone to his chest.

But when he came out to his family, it wasn’t laughter he received.

---

It happened around the kitchen table. He had spoken quietly, eyes on the chipped bowl in front of him, hands twisting the hem of his shirt.

“I… I like boys,” he had said. “I think I always have.”

The silence that followed was sharp. His mother froze mid-cut of vegetables. His father’s brows drew together. Even Yutong blinked, confused.

His father was the first to speak—voice low, restrained but shaking. “Are you joking?”

Yunhao shook his head.

Voices rose. His mother cried. His father stood up. Yutong left the room.

Yunhao didn’t fight back. He didn’t explain. He just stood there, heart hollowed out, letting their words crash over him like cold water. But eventually—hours later, after tears and slammed doors—his mother came to his room with a glass of warm soy milk.

“I don’t understand it,” she whispered, placing the glass by his bed. “But I’ll try. You’re still my son.”

Later, his father didn’t say much—but he didn’t shout again. Yutong sat beside him and quietly asked if he still liked cartoons. Yunhao smiled and nodded.

They didn’t fully understand. But they didn’t throw him away.

And for now, that was enough.

---

The next morning arrived with haze and new uniforms.

Yunhao stood stiffly in front of a new blackboard, feeling the eyes of the class like spotlights on his back. The teacher, a tall man with glasses and a tired expression, tapped a finger against his attendance book.

“This is our new transfer student,” he said. “Li Yunhao. Be respectful.”

Yunhao cleared his throat. “I’m… Li Yunhao. Nice to meet you.” His voice was soft, almost lost beneath the hum of the fans.

No one clapped. No one sneered. Just stares and scribbles.

“You can take that empty seat in the third row,” the teacher said, motioning with his pen.

Yunhao nodded and made his way to the desk, heart thudding. The seat was next to a boy leaning back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, eyes closed. Asleep? Ignoring the class? Or just pretending?

He sat down slowly and glanced at him.

That boy had sharp features, long lashes, and a relaxed aura even in sleep. Yunhao hesitated, then tapped him lightly on the elbow. “Sorry… do you mind sharing your textbook?”

No response.

Yunhao tried again, a little louder this time. “I forgot to bring mine.”

Still nothing. No movement, no irritation, not even a twitch of acknowledgment.

He gave up, turning his eyes back to the board. The chalk squeaked, but he wasn’t paying attention anymore. His thoughts drifted back to the basketball court… to that boy with the smile.

He didn’t notice the desk mate smirk slightly in his sleep.

---

When the bell rang for break, the teacher handed Yunhao a small form.

“Go to the admin office and register your name in the student record. Take the hallway to the left.”

Yunhao took the paper and stepped out of the classroom. The hallway was quiet, lined with open windows. For a moment, he felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

Why did that sleeping boy look oddly familiar…?

He shook the thought away and continued walking, unaware that behind him, the sleeping desk mate had opened his eyes—and was watching him leave.

---