Basketball trials were a charade for Akira. 

It was the coach's attempt to cast Akira into the lowest rankings, as a punishment for being forced on him. So Akira would likely spend the season on the bench, cold-shouldered out of the team. Well, that was fine as long as he was toe-dipping distance from the paint.

From here, the court was like the underbelly of a city. The squeak of shoes tearing up the polished wood, and the collision of sweat-drenched bodies, were like any tussle on the streets. A hip check, a foot tripping, and a swing of an elbow into an opponent's gut were child's play. Just as long as the referee had deniability. 

Akira was minding himself on the bench when he spotted Masami entering the gym, and felt a flush of embarrassment for being so obviously side-lined.

Masami instantly strode over to demand, "Hey, have you played at all?" 

"Of course." 

"Not by yourself after hours. I meant, have you played with the team in an official practice?" 

Akira gave a half-shouldered shrug. "I'm a late addition to a team of seniors. It's better if I just watch."

"That's not why I recruited you, Malay." Before Akira could protest, Masami was lifting his hand and signalling the coach. Then he quietly told Akira, "I wasn't expecting this to go well, but I want you to be stubborn about being on the court. Don't forget that I hand-picked you. You can use my name as leverage whenever it's necessary."

He never would. After all, this time was different. His high-school team didn't even treat its members like human beings, so while Akira was certainly not welcome here at college, he was at least allowed to watch them play without earning a fist in his face. 

"Malay," the coach reluctantly called. "Sub for Dassin. 10 minutes."

Akira leapt to his feet, bounding onto the court, and hardly paid any attention to the looming giants circling him. 

He relentlessly scored points, until the players had to double-mark him, and even then, he encroached on their basket. 

When Akira sprung off the sweat-splattered court, Otsuka appeared like a wave before him, effortlessly surging upwards to tower between Akira and the basket. But the ball still sunk perfectly through the hoop an instant before he caught Otsuka's elbow in the cheek, and went crashing to the ground. 

Akira's hunger for more practically had him salivating as he staggered onto his feet. He was numb to his stinging cheek. He wanted so badly to out-manoeuvre every grasping hand reaching for the ball, and to push and push, until everyone faced him with everything they had. 

There was not an inch allowed on this court for doubt. But Akira was only allowed 10 minutes.

Before he knew it, he was slumping onto the bench with too much energy and no outlet for any of it. 

Then practice was over. The coach wrapped up the briefing while the players stretched, then dismissed them to the shower. But Akira went to the gym's storeroom, and brought back the mop and buckets. 

"Malay, come here for a second," the coach sighed. "I didn't ask you to clean up."

"Oh, but –is it okay if I lock up again?" Akira asked. 

"I haven't had any complaints about how you've been leaving the gym, so sure." The coach shifted his weight with obvious discomfort. "You're registering too late to be assigned to a dorm, right? Don't stay here too long that you miss the last bus." 

Akira was beaming, hardly paying any attention after getting permission to have the gym to himself. 

There were a number of CCTVs here, so obviously the coach must've seen enough of Akira's late-night sessions to know Akira was only interested in the court. Not in breaking into the lockers nor any late night parties. Even if he was, all the people he knew from work would rather be bending someone else over a table than playing basketball with him.

Initially, Akira would enjoy staying late at Hanseol High because it kept him out of the house for longer, but now he loved it for what it was. He liked to work until his limbs were aching and he was short of breath. The added bonus was that here, unlike at home, there were showers with running hot water. 

If he had to complain about anything, it'd be that the campus buses were supposed to run until late, but more often than not, the drivers clocked out early. Today was the same. There was not one bus in sight as Akira  crossed the main road. 

He settled down on the icy bench at the bus stop, bundled up in his jacket. 

The parking lot became busier as parents fetched their kids from soccer practice. Cars hummed to life, swinging the light of their headlamps over the snow-laden block that was him.

His fragile hope that the bus would arrive died at exactly midnight. But he'd brought a spare change of clothes for registration tomorrow, so as long as he could shower after running the track, no one would be able to detect his rough living situation. He just had to survive this frigid night. 

He just had to survive, full stop.

After Akira dropped out of high-school just 6 months before graduation, his basketball career was in shreds. Yet Masami had still hounded Akira every day at work. Going so far as to bring donuts and coffee to bribe Akira's colleagues.

And Akira was undeniably weak to basketball. So even though they both knew he had no future with it, here they were, pretending he did. 

Even if it meant freezing his butt off on this bench at midnight, he'd do it just to be allowed those 10 minutes on the court. Even if it had him munching on handfuls of snow to ease the worst of his hunger, he'd do it for basketball.

Basketball, and well, to scratch this insatiable itch of wanting to see Surya again.