The sound of basketballs slamming against the court echoed through the gym.
Kyle's focus wasn't really on the game, even though Rod had already scored twice on him. His movements were sharp but distracted, his mind clearly elsewhere.
"Yo, man, what's wrong with you today?" Rod called out, bouncing the ball off the floor before sinking another easy shot. "You're missing like crazy. That's not the Kyle I know. You look like your brain's buffering."
Kyle caught the rebound lazily, running a hand through his hair, his shirt clinging to his skin with sweat. "I'm fine."
Rod snorted. "That's what people say right before they spiral into emotional crisis. Talk to me. What's up?"
Kyle tossed the ball back, hard enough that Rod barely caught it. "Nothing, alright? Just didn't sleep much."
"Uh-huh. Didn't sleep much. Because of what? Exams? Nah, you don't care enough about those." Rod smirked. "So what's her name?"
Kyle froze mid-step, eyes flicking up sharply. "What are you talking about?"
Rod grinned. "Please. You got that look—like a man who just kissed trouble and doesn't know if he should regret it or do it again."
Kyle looked away, jaw tightening. "Drop it."
"Ah, so it is a girl." Rod chuckled, spinning the ball on his finger. "Let me guess—Raye."
Kyle's silence was loud. He picked up his towel and wiped his face, not even denying it.
Rod's grin widened. "Bingo."
Kyle threw the towel over his shoulder, walking to the bleachers. "It wasn't—whatever you're thinking, it wasn't like that."
Rod followed him, leaning casually on the railing. "Dude, I literally didn't say what it was. But now that you said that, it definitely was like that."
Kyle sighed, sitting down, elbows on his knees. His hands clenched together so tightly his knuckles went white. "She was crying, alright? Everything's been a mess for her since that stupid incident. I just—"
"You just what?" Rod pressed, dropping down beside him.
Kyle's jaw flexed. "…I told her not to cry. Then she asked why I even cared."
Rod raised an eyebrow. "And?"
Kyle's voice came out lower. "And I said something stupid. Something I shouldn't have."
Rod grinned. "You confessed?"
"No." Kyle's tone was sharp. "It wasn't a confession."
"Then what'd you say?"
Kyle hesitated, eyes fixed on the floor. The words echoed in his mind again — the way her voice had trembled, the warmth of her hands when they brushed against his.
"I told her that… she doesn't deserve to cry over people who don't matter. That I'd rather see her angry than broken."
Rod blinked. "Damn."
Kyle exhaled, running his fingers through his hair. "Then she kissed me."
Rod's head whipped toward him so fast it was almost comical. "Wait—she kissed you? Like actually kissed you?!"
Kyle groaned, leaning back against the wall. "Yeah. She climbed onto my lap and everything."
Rod dropped the basketball; it rolled away slowly. "You're telling me that the girl who supposedly doesn't like you, straddled you in your house, and you're sitting here acting like you failed a math quiz?"
Kyle shot him a glare. "Because it was wrong, man. She was upset. She didn't know what she was doing. I shouldn't have let it happen."
Rod folded his arms, skeptical. "And what about you? You didn't know what you were doing either?"
Kyle didn't answer. His throat felt dry, and he hated the way his chest tightened at the memory—the softness of her lips, the way her fingers had trembled slightly when they rested against his neck, the sound of rain pounding outside.
He hated that he liked it.
Rod nudged him. "So what now?"
Kyle shook his head. "I don't know. I dropped her off. She barely said a word. Didn't even look at me. When I asked if we were gonna talk about it, she just stared out the window like I wasn't there."
Rod let out a low whistle. "Yeah, that's rough."
"It's better that way," Kyle muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. "She doesn't need my mess in her life. After everything with Danielle… she deserves normal. Peace."
Rod looked at him for a moment, then smirked. "You know, for someone trying to convince me he doesn't care, you sure sound like a guy writing a sad song in his head."
"Shut up," Kyle muttered.
Rod laughed, standing up and tossing the ball back at him. "Hey, man, just saying—sometimes 'peace' isn't what people need. Sometimes they just need someone who actually sees them. Even if it's messy."
Kyle caught the ball, staring down at it for a moment before shooting it toward the hoop. It went in perfectly.
But his chest still felt heavy.
When practice ended, he stayed behind, sitting on the empty bleachers. His phone buzzed once— a new message
Raye: "Thanks for last night."
No emoji. No explanation. Just that.
Kyle stared at the text for a long moment before typing back something he'd delete three times.
Finally, he put the phone down beside him, whispering to no one in particular—
"…Yeah. You're welcome."
Then, quieter—almost like an admission he didn't want to hear himself say—
"I'd do it again."