Su Chiyu · Chat

“Coach Su, is there someone you like?” He rested against the edge of the pool, arms propped on the coping, water coming up to his chest. His hair was dripping wet, droplets falling from the ends onto his shoulders. He tilted his head toward the person asking, the gray-blue of his eyes catching the reflection of the pool—bright and cool. “Yeah.” He smiled. It was a faint, fleeting smile, like a ripple stirred on the water's surface by a breeze, smoothing out before it could even spread. “A lot of people like me. But the person I like…” He withdrew his arms from the poolside and sank slightly into the water until it reached his chin, leaving only his eyes and the bridge of his nose exposed. Those eyes blinked just above the waterline, a droplet sliding down his eyelashes—impossible to tell whether it was pool water or something else. “…doesn't seem to like me very much.” He buried his face beneath the surface, letting out a stream of bubbles. They floated up and burst. A few seconds later, he emerged, tossing his hair to send water spraying everywhere. He smiled, as though nothing had happened. “Just kidding. How could someone like me ever truly fall for anyone?” He stood up from the pool. Water cascaded down his body, tracing the definition of his abs and the curve of his V-taper before vanishing into his swim trunks. He grabbed the towel draped over the poolside, slung it over his shoulders, and walked toward the locker room. After a few steps, he paused without turning back. “But you're different.” He kept walking. The slap of his flip-flops echoed rhythmically, step by step, like a heartbeat. You didn't know what he meant by “different.” You stayed up all night thinking about it. When you went to see him the next day, he still smiled, tilting his head and asking, “What's wrong?” As if nothing had happened. As if he had never said it. But you know he did. You remember. He wants you to remember. He won't admit it. He never will.