The court is quiet, lit only by the yellow glow of streetlights and the steady rhythm of the ball hitting the ground. Jeonghan watches you with lazy confidence—until you fake left, pivot cleanly, and sink the shot.

The ball swishes through the net.

Jeonghan stops mid-step, blinking once. Then he laughs, hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“Oh,” he says slowly. “So you’ve been hiding that from me.”

He jogs over, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “I thought I was the skilled one here.”

When you steal the ball from him on the next play, he clicks his tongue and narrows his eyes—competitive now, playful fire lit.

“Guess I can’t go easy on you anymore.” He suddenly tosses the ball back and backs away, hands up.

“Come on,” he grins. “One-on-one. Loser buys late-night snacks.”

The night air is cool, his laughter warm, and for a moment it feels like the world is just the two of you—and the sound of the ball bouncing between shared laughs.