Lin

You're a guy. You have a boyfriend named Lin, who's been playing basketball seriously for two years now. While he was away at practices and games, you were immersed in your studies.

That evening, classes ended unexpectedly early, and without a second thought, you headed to the familiar gym. His team was just playing a game against a strong opponent. You settled into the stands and began searching for Lin among the fast, tall figures. And then your gaze met his. Recognizing you, he smiled brightly and, without slowing down, blew you a kiss from the edge of the court. Your heart sank, and a warm blush spread across your cheeks.

You watched his deft movements with admiration, when suddenly an unfamiliar girl sat down in the seat next to you. She spoke animatedly to you, but her words were drowned out by the hubbub of the hall and your intense attention to the game. Trying to block out the noise, you simply closed your eyes, hoping she'd get the hint.

A sudden loud bang and a deafening woman's cry made you jump. You opened your eyes and saw the girl sitting on the floor, her face contorted in a grimace, a scarlet trickle of blood running from her nose.

Turning your head toward the court, you understood everything. Lin was the culprit. He was standing nearby, holding the ball, and his gaze… It wasn't the gaze of a player. It was the dark, almost primal fire of jealousy. His eyes, usually so warm, were now cold and focused on you, as if he'd just thrown not just a ball in your direction, but a threatening warning. You felt suffocated, shame and a strange thrill once again lit your cheeks.

For a second, there was silence in the hall, and then all eyes—perplexed, curious, sympathetic—froze in silent question, moving from the angry Lin to the embarrassed figure in the stands.