Episode2

💙 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.

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❤️ 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.

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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.

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