Ping found himself at the old pavilion again, the familiar wooden floorboards creaking softly beneath his careful steps.
He stopped at the entrance, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag as memories surfaced uninvited.
Last time… last time he had run.
He had turned his back on the quiet, on the warmth, and on Keng.
Ping swallowed, heart thumping faster than usual.
This time, he told himself, he wouldn't run. He didn't want to. Even if fear still lingered in his chest, there was something stronger pulling him here—something stubborn and hopeful.
He stepped inside.
The pavilion was just as peaceful as ever. Sunlight filtered through the leaves above, casting soft shadows across the wooden bench. The air carried the faint scent of trees and earth, grounding him.
Ping sat down slowly, placing his bag beside him.
He waited.
He told himself he wasn't waiting for anyone in particular. But a small, quiet part of him hoped.
And then—
Keng appeared. He stood at the edge of the pavilion, casually leaning against the railing as if this had always been part of his day. His posture was relaxed, but when his eyes met Ping's, something softened instantly. It was the kind of look that made Ping feel seen—every nervous habit, every careful movement—yet never judged.
Keng froze.
He hadn't been sure Ping would come back.
After yesterday, he had half-expected Ping to avoid this place, to avoid him. But there he was—quiet, patient, sitting in the shade like he belonged there.
"Hey,"
Keng said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Ping's throat tightened. For a moment, words refused to come. He managed a small nod instead, his fingers curling against his notebook.
Somehow, just seeing Keng there made the pavilion feel warmer.
They sat together without speaking. The silence wasn't awkward—just gentle.
Ping's thoughts tumbled over themselves, wondering what Keng was thinking, how he had known Ping would come, whether he should say something now before courage slipped away again.
Slowly, the words surfaced.
"I'm sorry… yesterday, I—"
Ping meant to apologize for running away, for leaving without explanation, but Keng interrupted him gently.
"It's fine,"
Keng said, smiling softly.
"They scared you, didn't they?"
Ping blinked.
"…Mm," he murmured, nodding.
Keng's smile didn't fade. If anything, it grew more understanding.
"So,"
Ping continued after a moment, gathering courage,
"you… come here often?"
Keng tilted his head slightly, eyes bright with quiet amusement.
"Yeah. But I already know you do."
Ping's ears flushed instantly.
He opened his mouth to protest—to say that Keng didn't really know him—but the words never came. There was something about the way Keng said it, like he had been paying attention for a long time.
Just as Ping began to relax, familiar voices echoed from the path leading toward the pavilion.
"Tao! Jinn! Bank!" Keng muttered under his breath.
Ping stiffened.
Before panic could take hold, Keng stood and gently placed a hand on Ping's arm, stopping him from retreating.
"Hey," Keng said calmly, "these are my friends."
Ping blinked, caught off guard.
The trio approached with easy smiles and relaxed confidence, the kind that made Ping's stomach twist with nervous energy.
"This is Tao, Jinn, and Bank," Keng said, introducing them.
"Hi," Ping mumbled, unsure where to look.
Tao leaned forward with a wide grin.
"So you're the one who stole our friend, huh?"
Ping froze.
Keng's hand rested lightly on Ping's shoulder—grounding, protective, reassuring.
"Not stolen," Keng replied with a teasing smile. "I came on my own."
His friends exchanged glances, nudging him playfully.
"Yeah, yeah," Jinn said.
"You're still ours too. But you're pretty sneaky."
As they moved closer, still playful but a little too much for Ping's comfort, his heart raced. He wasn't sure how to react—whether to laugh or shrink away.
Keng noticed immediately.
He shifted slightly, moving Ping closer to himself without making it obvious.
"Don't scare him,"
Keng said lightly, though there was a clear warning beneath his tone.
The friends laughed and stepped back, hands raised in surrender.
"Okay, okay," Bank said. "We get it."
The tension melted away.
Conversation flowed easily after that. Tao cracked jokes. Jinn teased Keng. Bank laughed too loudly at everything. Ping listened more than he spoke, but when he did, his voice didn't shake as much.
At one point, he even laughed—soft and surprised at himself.
As the chatter softened into something quieter, Ping shifted slightly on the bench, still close to Keng. His heart fluttered—not with fear, but with something gentler. Without thinking, he leaned just a little toward Keng.A small, unconscious gesture of trust.
Keng noticed immediately.
His hand brushed lightly against Ping's—not gripping, not demanding—just a brief, gentle touch that lingered long enough to make Ping's chest tighten pleasantly.
Ping's eyes widened for a moment. Then he let out a quiet, embarrassed laugh. Keng smiled, calm and steady, leaning back just enough to give Ping space while keeping that subtle connection alive.
For the first time, Ping realized something important.
Being seen didn't have to be frightening.
Being close to someone who understood him didn't mean losing himself.
The pavilion was no longer just a hiding place.
With Keng—and even with his teasing friends—it felt warm.
Alive.
And for the first time, Ping didn't want to run.
He wanted to stay.
Just a little longer.