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墨書 Inktalez
He took off his school jacket, revealing a simple black sports T-shirt that outlined his smooth and powerful physique. Dribbling, breaking through, and shooting—his movements flowed seamlessly, captivating everyone watching. A crowd of girls gathered by the sidelines, their excited screams rising and falling.
I lacked any athletic talent, so I found a bench under a tree and took out my sketchbook, starting to draw the vibrant scene before me. Lu Xingyan's figure inevitably became the focal point of my artwork.
Just as I was getting into it, a basketball suddenly flew uncontrollably in my direction! It was coming fast, and I braced for impact.
“Watch out!” someone shouted.
I instinctively covered my head and closed my eyes, preparing for the pain.
However, the expected collision never came. After a few seconds, I cautiously opened my eyes to see Lu Xingyan standing in front of me, holding the offending basketball firmly in one hand. A light sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, and his chest rose and fell slightly as he breathed heavily, clearly having run over quickly.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves above him, casting a halo-like glow around him, making it hard to read his expression.
“Th-thank you…” I stammered, still shaken, my heart racing.
He didn’t say anything; he merely glanced at me before looking down at my sketchbook. His brow furrowed slightly before he tossed the ball back to the apologetic boy on the court with an icy tone: “Aim properly next time.”
The boy kept apologizing profusely.
Lu Xingyan ignored him and turned to head back to the court.
“Wait!” I mustered up the courage to call after him.
He paused, slightly turning his head with a questioning look in his eyes.
“Your hand…” I pointed at the hand he had used to catch the ball. The impact had left a noticeable red mark on the back of his hand, and there was even a bit of blood seeping from a small cut.
He glanced down at it but seemed unconcerned. “It’s fine.”
“How can it be fine? You’re bleeding!” Almost instinctively, I pulled out a Band-Aid from my pocket—an old habit from when I often accidentally cut myself while drawing.
I stepped closer to him, nervously raising the Band-Aid in my hand. “If you don’t mind… can I help you put this on?”
He looked at the cartoon-patterned Band-Aid in my hand (featuring a silly little bear) and fell silent for a few seconds. All eyes on the sidelines were now focused on us, creating a somewhat tense atmosphere.
Just when I thought he would refuse and I prepared to awkwardly retract my hand, he reached out toward me.
His fingers were long and well-defined, with a broad palm. Carefully, I tore open the Band-Aid and gently placed it over the wound on his hand. My fingertips inevitably brushed against his skin—it felt warm.
I sensed his body stiffen momentarily.
“All done.” I quickly withdrew my hand, my cheeks slightly flushed. The little bear Band-Aid looked particularly… mismatched yet adorable against his fair skin.
He glanced at the "bear" on his hand; an almost imperceptible flicker of an indescribable emotion crossed his eyes—so fleeting it felt like an illusion.
"Thanks," he said, his voice softer than usual this time.
Then, without lingering, he turned and returned to the court.
I watched his back as he continued to play with the little bear Band-Aid on his hand, a feeling I couldn't quite describe swelling in my heart. The moment he blocked the ball for me, and when he extended his hand for me to put on the Band-Aid... it felt as if this iceberg before me had quietly melted a small corner.
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