The sun was high now, its heat pressing against my back as I dribbled the ball with more precision than skill.
Ken was across from me, grinning in that irritating way, calm and teasing, letting me make my moves but reading me perfectly.
"You're predictable," he said, leaning forward, palms ready.
"I'm not," I snapped, though my voice lacked the bite it usually carried.
"Mm-hmm," he hummed, blocking my next shot easily. "Predictable and stubborn."
I scowled and lunged at him, grabbing the ball.
My sneakers squeaked against the worn asphalt, my hoodie sticking to my damp back.
The burn in my legs and lungs was real, but I ignored it.
Ignored everything except him, the ball, the game, the rhythm that seemed to exist just between us.
"Watch your feet," he warned, stepping aside just in time as I tried a fast pivot.
I narrowed my eyes on him. "Don't act like you didn't enjoy that."
"I did," he admitted, voice low, calm, teasing. "But you also need to learn, you can't just charge blindly and expect the world to bend for you."
I paused, catching my breath.
His words weren't just about basketball.
I knew that, though I didn't let him see it.
"Maybe I like charging blindly," I said softly, almost under my breath.
His eyes flicked to mine, a subtle spark I couldn't place.
Something quiet, unspoken, but heavier than the summer sun on our backs.
We kept playing.
Passing, shooting, laughing when one of us missed, teasing when the ball bounced into the wrong hands.
My arms brushed his occasionally, accidental, fleeting and my pulse responded before I could stop it.
He didn't flinch.
Didn't pull away. J
ust played as if it were natural.
And somehow, that made my chest tighten.
After a while, we both slowed, leaning on our knees, hands on thighs, sweat dripping down our faces.
"You're… surprisingly good," he said finally.
"I'm better than you think," I replied, tone sharp but failing to mask the pride in my voice.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "And yet you're still hiding behind that cold armor."
I froze slightly, ball in hand.
Armor.
Cold.
Distant.
Words he shouldn't have been able to see into my chest like that.
"Maybe I like it," I said, tossing the ball lightly to the side.
"Maybe," he said softly, not pressing, just… letting it hang there.
We sat on the edge of the court then, legs dangling, letting the rhythm of our breathing slow.
The quiet around us was different from the apartment, different from the streets, different from the city I had left behind.
Here, there was air between us, real space to exist without pretense.
And I noticed something else, subtle, fleeting, but undeniable.
I wasn't reaching for my phone.
Not once.
Not thinking about the messages I should have answered, the calls I should have returned.
Not thinking about Drake.
I liked that.
I liked that silence.
I liked that… him.
"Ysabelle?" Ken said quietly, breaking the comfortable stillness.
I glanced at him, eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes?"
"You've changed," he said, careful, measured. "Since you arrived here. Something's different. You're… lighter."
I wanted to deny it.
I wanted to lash out, to hide behind the cold walls I had spent years building.
But I couldn't.
"Maybe," I said finally, voice low, soft.
He studied me for a long moment, then smiled faintly.
That smile, quiet, almost invisible, it made something inside me loosen.
Something dangerous.
After the sun began to dip, painting the court in pale gold, Ken suggested we walk back.
We walked in silence, side by side, shadows stretching long along the cracked asphalt.
My hoodie stuck to my back, cap low over my eyes, yet I couldn't hide the awareness I had of him, of the space between us, of the way our shoulders brushed occasionally when we adjusted our steps.
He didn't comment.
He didn't need to.
He just walked, calm, steady, letting me exist beside him without pushing, without intruding, without trying to understand me too quickly.
And somewhere in the quiet, I realized —
I wanted more.
—
Back at the apartment, I sank into the couch, hoodie damp, hair sticking to my forehead.
The court, the sun, the rhythm of the game, it lingered inside me like a memory I hadn't had before.
I glanced at the mirror across the room.
The reflection staring back was different again, not just in appearance, but in presence.
The same sharp, cold eyes.
The same distant posture.
But the girl inside them had shifted.
She wasn't fully here.
Not fully in this world.
Not fully in that one either.
But she was… starting to belong.