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sheerfreesia007 · 1 month ago

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Dandelions

Pairing: Lee Know x Reader

Word count: 5,252

Content warnings: Arranged marriage, fluff, mention of sex, suggestive but no actual smut, pining idiots

Summary: You and Lee Minho have been childhood friends due to your fathers being close. When your family falls into a large debt with no way to pay it off Minho decides to step in and help. But when your father proposes an arranged marriage in exchange will you be able to survive it or will you get your heartbroken?

Mindeulle: Dandelion, Jagi: Sweetheart

“So apparently there’s a lot of drama going on with the Choi clan. Did you hear that Jongho is now seeing the Candela’s oldest daughter? She just recently got divorced from her ex husband. It was a quick divorce too.” Jisung rambles on as he lounges on the long sofa in Minho’s office while tossing a tennis ball up into the air and catching it.

Every week Jisung would come and brief Minho on all the gossip that he heard throughout the week and update him on anything that he heard through the grapevine. Minho for the most part doesn’t really care for the gossip but he knows it’s beneficial to know so he lets Jisung come in and just relay it all to him. “And apparently San still hasn’t confessed to the love of his life and he might lose his shot at her since there’s a new upcomer on the scene lately. Oh! I also heard the Yun clan aren’t doing so well lately.” Jisung says in an almost regretfully absent minded tone and Minho immediately raises his head. The clan name catches Minho’s attention and he turns his head away from his computer screen to stare at the younger man taking up space on his sofa.

It’s been a long time since he’s heard that last name, in fact five years to be exact. The last time he saw any member of the Woo clan was at his father’s funeral five years ago when he had stepped into the role of head of his family while grieving the loss of the most important man in his life. And you, the Yun’s only daughter, had been there at his side holding him up as his grief tried to consume and overtake him. But with just the mention of the name Minho is instantly transported back to his childhood, where he would run wild with you at his family’s vacation home each year during the hot summers where he was free to be who he truly was without having to wear a mask. You had never tolerated anything but his truth whenever the two of you were together, it was freeing being with you during those summers.

“What’s going on with the Yun clan?” Minho asks curiously as his eyes focus on the back of Jisung’s head as his thoughts clear from his memories. His assistant slash partner turns to look over the couch and smirks softly at his friend with a knowing look on his face.

“Why are you so curious about the Yun family?” he teases Minho who frowns darkly at him in response. Jisung grins widely at him from the couch before turning back to face away from him and continue to toss the tennis ball into the air. It was no secret that Minho had grown up with you during his childhood since both of your fathers had been close friends. You had been there for every important milestone of his and he was there for all of yours. But ever since his father had passed away and Minho had stepped into the role of head of the family your relationship had grown distant. He hadn’t meant for it to but more often than not he would be too busy to respond to any of your texts, calls or letters that you sent. “I heard that they’ve fallen into a large amount of debt and are having a hard time getting out of the hole. Plus they’ve been in talks with the Song family though no one seems to know about what.” Jisung says with a shrug of his shoulders.

Minho stares at him from his desk as his mind begins to worry about you and your family wondering how bad it has gotten for you and why you haven’t reached out to him about it. He silently mulls over the knowledge that Jisung had just presented to him and he’s reminded of a summer that you both had spent at his family’s vacation home away from the city and the busy hectic life. You both had been out in the fields that surrounded his home just walking around talking about whatever came to mind as you diligently collected flowers for his mother to put in a vase in the kitchen. You were in a pretty flowing lilac dress that fell to your knees in a soft flutter of fabric, your hair had been braided up out of your face and your eyes were bright with your happy laughter ringing through the air. It was the year you had both turned thirteen, an age that Minho insisted was unlucky but you had proved him wrong that summer. That was the summer Minho had realized he was in love with you.

But as you both made your way through the field you hadn’t noticed the rock nestled in the thick grass until you were tumbling feet over head. He had quickly rushed to your side and found you gritting your teeth as you inspected your bruised knee before asking him to help you up. When he had offered to carry you you had indignantly refused insisting that you were big enough to take care of yourself.

A soft fond smile graces his face as warmth fills him with the memory as he grows nostalgic for a time that’s been long gone. Of course you wouldn’t have reached out to him about your family’s debt, you’re too proud to ask for help when you know yourself to be capable. He knows that you’ve been working in the advertisement business ever since a year after his father’s funeral and you had excelled at your job garnering an impressive career to back up your work ethic, he has a feeling that you’ve probably been working yourself to the bone to try and help alleviate the debt. But he knows with the way the loan was probably made that it would take you much longer to make any significant dent in it. He wonders how long you’ve been dealing with this issue on your own and how large the debt is if Jisung is hearing about it now. A frown darkens his face as the worrying thought that you’ve been dealing with this for far longer than you should have been crossed his mind.

“What’s going through that head of yours? I’ve just seen at least five different emotions cross your face.” Jisung calls out as he peers over the sofa arm. Minho’s eyes dart over to his friend and he furrows his brow slightly before he starts to plan out his next steps.

”I need to have a meeting with Yun Hak-Kun. And you need to find out everything you can about this debt for me.” Minho says solemnly and Jisung smiles brightly at his words as his eyes twinkle with a teasing light.

”What are you planning?” Jisung asks knowingly as he turns to face away from Minho. Grabbing the stress ball that he always left on his desk Minho launches it at the back of Jisung’s head and smirks triumphantly at Jisung’s loud squawk of distress.

*-*-*-*

The restaurant is dimly lit as Minho steps into it and stands to the side of the door, he adjusts his suit jacket on his frame as his eyes roam the dining room of the restaurant. There’s a woman standing at a podium looking at him with expectant eyes and he shakes his head at her before she nods once and busies herself with something else. He finally spots Yun Hak-Kun sitting at a booth near the front windows gazing out of it, a look of worry and concern on his face as a bowl of soup sits in from him with steam coming off of it.

Taking in a deep breath Minho begins to walk over to the table, his emotions are all over the place as his eyes take in the older man. It’s been at least five years since he’s last seen the man and within that time it looks as if there has been so much change if the dark circles and wrinkles on his face are any indication. He wonders idly how much you have changed since he last saw you at his father’s funeral, he hopes that it wasn’t too much of a change as his mind conjured up the last image he had of you. When he comes to stand at the side of the table he bows elegantly to the man who looks over at him with surprise written on his face.

”Minho-ah?” The man asks confused as his eyes dart around behind Minho trying to see if there was anyone else with him. Obviously the man has come to distrust mostly everyone around him thanks to this debt that he’s fallen into, the knowledge of that pains Minho and guilt fills him as he wonders if he could’ve stopped this from happening if he was around more.

”Good evening Hak-Kun, how are you?” Minho asks kindly as he stands to the side of the table.

”Please, come sit. I will order you some food.” The older man rushes out as he gestures to the other side of the booth for Minho to sit. He then turns to call one of the waitresses over so that he could place an order for Minho. Minho unbuttons his suit jacket before he slides into the booth and gratefully takes a seat across from the man. “How are you son? Is everything alright? Is your mother alright?” asks the older man worriedly and Minho smiles at his concern, it had always been that way when he was growing up. Both families would be the support and guardian of each other, it was partly the reason why he felt so guilty to have to hear from Jisung that your family was struggling. He hadn’t been there for you or your family like he should have been and he knew his father would’ve been disappointed in him for that.

“My mother and I are just fine. I came here tonight because I’ve heard that you’re not doing well.” he said softly, not wanting to offend the older man. He watched as the man furrowed his brow as a soft frown fell over his face, before shaking his head adamantly.

“We are fine. Where did you hear that?” Hak-Kun asked with a deep scowl on his face. Minho nodded once at the older man before gazing at him earnestly watching as Hak-Kun shifted slightly in his seat before sighing softly. “How much do you know?” he asked knowingly and Minho twisted his lips in thought wondering how much he should tell the older man that he had looked into their situation. He didn’t want to completely offend him and make him distrust him as well but he needed to be honest with him.

“I know that you trusted the wrong person and they took advantage of your kind spirit.” Minho said softly with a soft frown before looking down to the table and tapping it gently with his index finger. “I know that you’re now in a lot of debt that will take you years to get out of if you keep paying them like you are now.” Minho explained and Hak-Kun looked at him with wide worried eyes before he sighed loudly and tiredly as his head hung heavily.

“We’re drowning.” Hak-Kun admitted and Minho nodded his head at the man’s words. The waitress came back with the soup for Minho and he nodded his head at her in thanks before waiting until she left the table to speak again. He didn’t want anyone else to hear what they were talking about, he didn’t think it was right to air this man’s troubles to everyone.

“Let me help.” Minho said softly and Hak-Kun snapped his head up before quickly shaking his head.

“No, no I couldn’t ask that of you. We are working on a plan, Mindeulle has agreed to choose a husband and I am in negotiations with the Song family.” Hak-Kun said softly and regrettably. Minho flinched back at the man’s words when he mentioned your childhood nickname, Dandelion, and then the knowledge that you had chosen Song Mingi as a husband made his blood boil with anger and indignation.

“What?” Minho asked on a soft gasp as his chest tightened at the thought of you being married to another man. Hak-Kun nodded his head solemnly as he sighed softly.

“She’s aware of the debt and has chosen to help in this way. The Song family want their son Mingi to marry and settle down and are willing to help us with part of the debt. They have agreed that Mindeulle would make a lovely wife for him and her career will help further their family’s standing in society.” Hak-Kun explained softly and Minho shook his head quickly as he scowled softly at the table. He couldn’t allow this to happen, he couldn’t let you slip through his fingers like this when he was so close to being with you once again. He knew he was being selfish in his way of manipulating your father into getting what he wanted, you. But he was eager to finally be with you after loving you silently for so many years.

“I’ll marry her.” Minho said softly with a determined tone in his voice.

“What? Minho, son.” Hak-Kun said surprised as he looked over at the boy that he had practically helped raise.

“Cancel the negotiations with the Song family. I’ll pay the debt off in full.” Minho said firmly and Hak-Kun looked over at him with wide surprised eyes before he smiled softly at the boy. “It’s better if it’s me, I have her best interests at heart and will make sure to always protect her.” Minho says adamantly as the look Hak-Kun’s face softens at how insistent he was being.

“You always were in love with her weren’t you?” Hak-Kun asks softly and Minho stares at him surprised before bashfully ducking his head as Hak-Kun chuckles softly. “She was sad when you pulled away after your father’s funeral but she understood it. She knows how crazy and hectic life can get. I will set up the meeting between the two of you. I have no complaints if you married her, even without your help I would be happy to officially call you my son.” Hak-Kun says fondly and Minho smiles softly at his kindness before nodding his head. The two of them then began to eat their soup in a peaceful quiet as they enjoyed each other’s presence.

*-*-*-*

Your eyes widen when you step into the living room of your parents’ home, your father had called you to come over because he had found you a husband who would be able to help take care of the debt that your family had fallen into. Ever since it had happened a year ago you had been working as much as you possibly could to help send money to lessen the debt but no matter how much money you sent over it was never enough to make any change. You had agreed with your father’s proposition of marrying into a wealthy family who would be able to help with the debt much more than you ever could, he hadn’t given you many specifics on who it was he was in talks with but you had heard some rumors that he had contacted the Song family.

Which is why when you spotted Lee Minho sitting comfortably on the sofa with his ankle crossed over his knee talking and laughing with your parents you were shocked to your core. Your eyes raked up and down him silently as you stood in the doorway and almost as if he had felt your eyes on him he turned his head slowly to gaze at you with a wide familiar smile on his face.

“Mindeulle.” he greeted you softly as his eyes squinted with warmth at you. You were instantly transported to the summer of your thirteenth year where you would hide with Minho in the field of flowers that surrounded his family’s vacation home. The two of you giggling to each other as you shared your deepest secrets with each other while lying in the tall grass letting it completely hide you from view of the world.

“Minho.” you say on a gasp as you’re suddenly pulled from your memories as he stands from the sofa and moves towards you. You don’t think as you rush towards him and launch yourself into his waiting arms as he chuckles softly at you while tilting his head down towards yours.

“Hi Mindeulle.” he said softly into your hair and you grip him tightly in response as a smile falls brightly on your face. Suddenly your father clears his throat and you regretfully pull away from Minho to look over at your smiling parents who are watching the sweet reunion between best friends. You duck your head slightly as your cheeks flush brightly at being caught hugging Minho so tight and he chuckles into your hair as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his side bemusedly.

“I know you’ve heard the rumors about me being in talks with the Song family about arranging a marriage between you and their son Mingi, but Minho has graciously stepped up to help our family.” Your father explains in a soft fond tone as he watches the two of you stand before him. “In thanks to his help he has agreed to an arranged marriage between the two of you. Your mother and I are more than happy with this arrangement, we know Minho will take good care of you. He always has.”

Your face flushes prettily at the knowledge that Minho had consciously offered to help your family and agreed to an arranged marriage with you. Your mind raced with the possibility that maybe this marriage wouldn’t be considered a burden to him. Your eyes dart over to your mother and she smiles beautifully at you before nodding her head once in silent acknowledgement of the marriage between the two of you. Minho squeezes your side before tugging you further into his side and you look up at him with a soft grateful look on your face as he smiles fondly down at you. Your thoughts are racing as you continue to gaze at him silently, you’re wondering if he’s happy with this arrangement and if his agreement to this was out of familial obligation.

“Mindeulle, do you have any protests?” your father asked you softly and you felt everyone’s eyes on you as you stood pressed to Minho’s side.

“No, no protests or complaints.” you said warmly to your father before looking up at Minho as your hand came up to rest against his chest feeling his muscles underneath your palm. Your eyes widened slightly at the strong feeling of the muscle underneath your palm before you quickly shook your head and smiled softly up at him. Minho’s eyes were sharp as he regarded you silently before his eyes dipped down to your hand, your lips parted on a silent gasp as you felt the muscle flex underneath your hand and Minho’s answering smirk made your body flush with heat and desire for him.

“Good, then let us leave you two to catch up.” your father said kindly and you nodded blindly at him as your eyes darted around Minho’s smirking face. His eyes moved to watch your parents leave the room and he nodded his head once at them before he turned back to gaze down at you.

“No protests or complaints?” he asked softly still with that smirk on his face and you smiled warmly up at him before tilting your head to the side.

“Well, I mean it’s you.” you began and his eyes sparkled with a challenge in them as he waited for you to continue. “Even if I protested, would it make a difference?” you asked knowingly in a light teasing tone. Minho’s smirk widened on his face as he slowly wrapped his arms low around your waist and pulled you flush against him, your hands immediately going to lay flat on his chest feeling his muscles flex once again under your palms.

“Glad we’re on the same page Mindeulle.” he husked out at you and you shivered in his arms as his eyes sparkled delightedly. “You’re mine now, Jagi. I promise to always be by your side from now on no matter what. I won’t let anything harm you or your family.” he whispers softly to you and you can feel tears beginning to prick your eyes at his solemn promise that he was making. The whiplash of emotions was almost too much for you as he went from seductive teasing to sweet solemn promises. “I know I wasn’t there before for five years but I’m here now.” he told you and you felt one tear slip down your face before he caught it with his index finger.

“I don’t blame you for being busy taking care of your family after your father’s passing.” you confess to him softly. “I’m just happy you’re back in my life now.” Minho smiles adoringly down at you as his hands come up to cup your cheeks and he pulls your face close to his until he brushes his nose gently against yours.

“I’m going to always be in your life by your side.” he whispers to you before he tilts your face up to his and presses a soft chaste kiss to your lips. You hum softly into the kiss as your eyes flutter shut and let yourself feel all your love and affection that you’ve held within your heart for him pour out into the kiss.

*-*-*-*

The wedding was beautiful and you couldn’t help but feel such a grand emotional connection to Minho on the day. He was handsome dressed in his tuxedo as it stood at the altar waiting for you while your father walked you down the aisle towards him. And when he had handed you over to Minho with a warm affectionate smile and a deep bow to the younger man that had both you and Minho tearing up at the significance of the deep bow. Even Jisung had burst into tears half way through the ceremony causing Minho to roll his eyes while softly scolding him and you chuckling softly before handing him your handkerchief.

When it had come to saying your vows you both had surprised the other by having handwritten vows for each other instead of using the generic vows the officiant had at ready. You had gone first with a shaky voice telling Minho that he had been with you through every important moment of your life and that you were so proud to have him by your side during the most important moment in your life now. You confessed to him that your heart beat for him now and would forever beat for him. Closing your vow with the promise to always love him the way he should be loved by another.

Minho’s vows had shocked and surprised you with his own love confession stating that he loved you back when he had just realized what love was and he would love until he couldn’t love anymore. He had admitted that he had lost his way after his father passed away but he had never stopped loving you in that time apart. And now that you were back at each other’s side he had no intention of ever leaving you again. Both you and Jisung had tears coursing down your faces at the end of his vows and Minho had jokingly teased that the two of you were crybabies.

The rest of the evening had been nothing but love filled light moments and towards the end of the night you had found yourself caught up in all the emotions and love that filled the reception hall. You couldn’t help yourself when Minho had tugged you onto the dance floor for one last final dance of the evening, you had rested your head against his chest pressing your ear above his heart listening to the steady thumping of it. Your body had heated with all the love and desire you held for this man and you found yourself desperately pulling him into a kiss that shocked you down to your bones. Minho eagerly returned the kiss as everyone in the room cheered and hollered with delight at your sweet display of affection for each other.

That night the two of you had fallen into bed together exploring each other’s body with soft caress and sweet whispers. Minho’s attention to every detail about you and your body had you singing for him in moans and whimpers that he committed to memory. Any and all sounds that Minho makes nestle into the fabric of your entire being and live under your skin now just waiting until the next time you can get him alone like this.

The morning after you’re greeted to a litany of bruises and love marks all over your body from your newly appointed husband and you can’t help but cherish them as you gaze at them in the mirror. You both then fall into an easy routine where you share sweet fleeting moments together during your busy schedules often crashing together at night in your shared bedroom to create a loving symphony of noises and movements that mirror each other.

Married life suits you it seems as you find yourself more at peace with the world at Minho’s side but there’s still that nagging thought in the back of your brain that he might still view this marriage as a familial obligation since your families were so close while growing up. You try not to let that nagging thought take over your mind but there are some days when you’re unable to stop it from doing so. On those days Minho seems to pay extra attention to you with his soft touches and sweet words, he may not understand what it is you’re thinking or what’s plaguing your mind but he knows that something is off and he tries to alleviate it or assure you that the two of you are just fine. You try to just enjoy your new found life with him as his wife and bury any doubt that you have.

*-*-*-*

The sun is warm on your skin as you lay back in the tall grass field surrounding Minho’s family vacation home, well now your family vacation home. You smile to yourself as you consciously correct yourself before stretching like a lazy house cat disrupting the dozing man on your stomach. Minho had proposed spending your first year wedding anniversary at the vacation home where you had spent your summers as kids. You had eagerly agreed knowing that a trip down memory lane was long overdue for the two of you, not to mention the two of you had been so busy with your careers that it was time for a much needed break.

There’s a light breeze that rushes through the fields and you hum softly as it ghosts across your heated skin and ruffles your loose hair. Suddenly there’s a large shadow that covers you and you blink your eyes open to stare up at Minho who’s hovering over you with a curious look on his face.

”What is it Minho?” You ask softly as one of your hands comes up to cup his cheek gently. He leans into your touch smiling happily before pressing a kiss to your palm.

”Did you ever think we’d ever be here? Married to each other back in the place where we grew up together?” He asked softly and you smiled softly at him as your heart thudded in your chest.

”I had hoped.” You confessed to him softly and he looked down at you with a slight furrow in his brows questioning your soft saddened tone. “I’ve been in love with you since we turned thirteen Minho. It was here during that summer that I figured it out, when you would lay in the field with me just like this talking about everything that came to mind.” You whispered to him still cupping his cheek and smiling softly up at him. “I never imagined that you might feel the same for me. And I still don’t believe it, I keep thinking one day you’re going to wake up and tell me that this isn’t love but familial obligation.” You confess as your breath begins to come in soft gasps. Minho looks down at you with soft saddened eyes as he begins to shake his head in response to your confession.

“Mindeulle” he coos softly at you before smiling brightly at you. “I’ve been in love with you since the same summer. I realized it when you spent the whole summer trying to convince me that our thirteenth year wasn’t unlucky.” He confessed softly and you stared up at him as your lips parted in a gasp remembering that summer vividly, your eyes searched his and found only love and affection sparkling within them as he gazed down at you. “I love you Mindeulle, I think I always have. It just took me thirteen years to figure it out. But I promise to always love you until I can’t anymore.” He admitted, his words reminiscent of his vows on your wedding day.

You cried out happily before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to press your lips to his sweetly pouring all of your love into the kiss hoping he would receive it well. Minho hummed softly against your mouth as his hands trailed down the outside of your thighs before hooking under your knees and dragging your legs to cradle his hips. You gasped into his mouth as he smirked and you chuckled softly at his intentions.

”Minho” you scolded softly and he pulled back with a look of faux shock on his face.

”I am doing nothing but kissing my beautiful wife. I don’t know what’s going through your pretty little head.” He teased you before kissing you again. You hummed against his mouth as he shifted you under him making you cry out with desire as he brushed against you. “But if you want to share your thoughts I promise to be open minded.” He teased darkly and you chuckled at him. Just as you were about to open your mouth to respond to him there came an excited cry from the house and Minho sighed softly as you chuckled delightedly.

”Aye! Lee family! Where are you hiding?!” Jisung’s voice rang out from the house and you couldn’t help but chuckle as Minho rolled his eyes at his best friend’s excitement.

”Why did you invite him again?” You ask teasingly and he glowers at you for a second before rolling his eyes once again.

”I didn’t! He invited himself.” He huffs out as you chuckle at his predicament. But then Minho’s face turns devious and you suck in a harsh breath knowing exactly how his mind worked after all these years. ”You think he’ll be able to find us before I have you whimpering underneath me?” He asked sultrily and you gasped as he put his thought into practice racing his best friend’s curiosity.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin

#my writing #stray kids #skz x reader #skz #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #lee know #lee minho

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tinytennisskirt · 3 months ago

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Let It Linger

Summary: When post-canon divorced! Art goes back to high school for a fifteen year reunion, he’s met with strong memories of the his estranged best friend, the girl he loved those fifteen years ago. He gets caught in a rally between his past and present. A whirlwind of past yearning, casual touches, meaningful conversations and pining rushes back to him like the time never passed when he sees her again for the first time in fifteen years. Turns out not so much has changed.

Warnings: mentions of sex, alcohol, marijuana. casual touching, pining, yearning, MEGA SLOWBURN, a longer fic with time skipping between MRTA! art and POST CANON! art. AU.

Art wasn’t sure how to feel about this. He was parked outside, in some dress shirt he’d owned far too long and the black dress pants he wore for when he did pre-game press. His hands on the wheel, lips pressed into a straight line. This would be interesting, he knew it would be. He was sitting in the parking lot outside the smaller gym of Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy and he could hear the music through the walls of the car and through the open gym door, he could see a purple cast of light from inside.

It had only been fifteen years. That wasn’t much time in perspective, but fifteen years felt like a lot when he remembered who he was that many years ago.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“My mouth, my mouth!” You called, opening your mouth and slowing your running to walking backward. Patrick tossed a marshmallow and you caught it in your mouth as the three of you ran down the hill, Patrick with a bag of marshmallows, you with the chocolate, and Art with the graham crackers.

Both boys cheered loudly and you jumped, triumphantly raising your hands above your head. Art nearly ran right into you with the momentum from the hill and you all ended up laughing way too hard at it, even with the marshmallow in your mouth. Art tried to catch his breath, his hand sliding over your waist as he passed you, trying not to stumble the rest of the way down the hill. Patrick just laughed. “I had no idea my aim was that good,” he said, teasing.

You swallowed the marshmallow, “You’re kidding? Your aim? That was all me.”

Art grinned, “I think it was a joined effort…” He played mediator. You hit him in the upper arm gently. “No, all you. All her, Patrick. Sorry.”

Patrick threw his arms up in forfeit. There was no winning against you. They both knew that. You giggled and shoved a marshmallow right in Patrick’s mouth before skipping down the rest of the hill, leaving both boys behind you. Art watched, a huge grin on his face. The three of you had found a great way to sneak out of your dorms at night. It was 11:42 and you were heading toward the back of the grounds with the ingredients for s’mores, a lighter, and matches for good measure. And maybe the remainder of a pack of cigarettes.

What good was your last year at the academy if not the one you rebel just a tiny bit? You were down the hill humming Groove Is In The Heart by Deee-Lite in your big Mark Rebellato sweater and yoga pants just happy to be out at night. You were fun, carefree, and bright, even in the dark of the edge of the property, away from all the fuss of the school. “You’re so slow!” You called out to them. Both Art and Patrick jogged to catch up to you, finding your regular spot between a few trees.

You sat on your regular log and pulled the blanket from your bag before getting up to drape it over. Patrick got to collecting the twigs from the stash and put them in the hole you three dug the first time you snuck out. Art took the seat next to you on the log, “Crazy, you have like seven tennis balls in here.” He laughed. You shook your head, nudging him just a little while he grabbed the three marshmallow skewers from your bag. He grabbed one of the balls out and threw it at Patrick.

“Can take the girl out of Mark Rebellato but can’t take the Mark Rebellato out of the girl,” Patrick said, catching the ball and throwing it back at Art. He got the fire started and lit one of the remaining cigarettes off of the growing flame. “You guys ready for that test on Monday?”

“Since when are you an academic?” You chuckled, putting a marshmallow on the end of Art’s stick.

“Since he found out Lydia Jennings is into smart guys,” Art said. You chuckled, biting your lip just gently. Art noticed.

Patrick blew smoke out the side of his mouth, “No- okay, she said she liked smart guys we all know there’s no way in hell I’m becoming a straight-A student like this one over here,” he gestured with the cigarette between his fingers to you. “She’s hot, she’s not drop-everything-and-study hot. I’m talking about the test on Monday because I know that with you two and Stanford, you’re obsessed with your grades… I am… not ready.”

You shook your head, looking up at him, “She is so drop-everything-and-study hot, you’re just picky. And I’ll lend you my notes tomorrow if you want- Art and I worked on them together, they’re pretty extensive.”

“They are good.” Art nodded, dangling his marshmallow over the embers. “You’re actually worried about it? I mean, the year is almost half-done, you’ve got time.”

He nodded, “I know, but I have to graduate to be free of this place for good. No way I’m doing that GED thing.”

“My mom did the GED thing.” You said. “She’s doing just fine. It was only a setback. Plus, if you plan on truly going pro, it won’t be a big thing. Just player trivia.” Art laughed at that, pulling his stick back to pull the marshmallow off. You had already prepped his graham cracker and chocolate and pulled the marshmallow off between them for him. Patrick watched how you two worked so wordlessly- wasn’t his focus. “I will lend you all of my notes tomorrow, it’s just a matter of reading them a few times a day and you’re set.”

Patrick shrugged, grabbing himself the things he needed for a s’more. “Thanks.”

Art nodded, “You’re lucky you’re good with a racket.”

“Rude!” You said, shoving him backward off the log. He landed on his back in the leaves and it was all-around laughter again. The dynamic was this. Shoving, pushing, insults in good fun, but caring all too much. Art knew there was nobody in the world who cared more about anything than you did. He was, as your friend, able to enjoy just how passionate you were about the things and people you liked. He pulled himself back onto the log, shaking his head at you as you dusted him off and removed the leaves from his hair. You smelled good, like fall, vanilla, and chai, almost, but with a sweetness that reminded Art of the caramel apples from the fair. He shut his eyes as your hands picked the last little bits from his hair. You pat his cheek when it was done and the conversation moved onto the new tennis coach’s really bad toupée.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art got out of his car, shut the door, and locked it, car keys sliding into his pocket. He stared out over the grounds, past the outdoor tennis courts, and to the point in the field where it dipped down into the big hill. He wondered if they’d ever found your makeshift fire pit, filling it with dirt, moving the logs… He glanced at himself in the side mirror of the car, remembering when his hair was longer, more golden. Part of him wondered if he would even see you tonight. Maybe he’d see Patrick, which was a more likely occurrence, Patrick wouldn’t miss something like this.

If only they made it less of a surprise who you’d run into at one of these. He guessed it would be his class, a few extras, people who had settled down bringing their fiancees, partners, husbands, and wives. He wondered if he was too dressed up? Dressed down? And he was nervous, for some reason, when he shouldn’t have been.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“I know I shouldn’t be deciding on a dress this late but I can’t tell if this dress is too much?” You said from inside your dorm room. “I’m afraid Mark Rebellato himself will come to smite me for how much boob this dress shows off.” You spoke through the door.

Art and Patrick grinned at each other. “I’m sure it’s fine!” Art called back. Both boys had spent about twenty minutes tops getting ready for the mid-term formal. One of many formals the school so unfortunately had. “Can we see?”

“It’s not the right dress!”

“How would we know?”

The door to your room unlocked and you opened it, standing looking very unimpressed in a gorgeous purple dress. Both boys stood, a little dumbfounded for a second. “Too much?”

“No.” Both boys said in unison, gazing at you, your hair perfect, your makeup perfect.

Art blinked hard to snap himself back to reality, “You look… beautiful.” His eyes lingered a little too long on the slight shimmer to your eyelids and the gloss on your lips. Your eyes softened and you looked down at yourself again.

Patrick agreed. “Damn.” Both boys had themselves forgetting you were the same girl they called their friend on a day-to-day basis. “Mark Rebellato is rolling in his grave.”

“Is he dead?” You asked, laughing. Art didn’t find anything funny when you were standing there looking like that. He thought you were gorgeous, he could say that as your friend of a good few years, but this was breathtaking. You were.

The dance was more fun than both Art and Patrick anticipated, but you made anything fun. Patrick nudged Art’s arm as they stood off to the side with cups of punch. “She’s different this year.” He said. Both boys were watching you dance with one of your girlfriends. You were so free and you were once again the brightest thing in the whole room, purple and pink light cascading over your face and you were laughing.

Art hardly heard him. “Hm?” His eyes didn’t leave you.

“Exactly.”

Art nudged him back, seeing what Patrick was getting at. “Fuck off.” He grinned. “She’s just pretty. She’s always been pretty.”

Patrick nodded, sipping his punch, watching your dress swish around you as your friend spins you. “Too pretty.”

“Mhm,” Art sighs. The way he watches you is different from Patrick's. There’s something buried in what he feels, but he’s never acknowledged it much. Aside from when you met at twelve in a co-op game and you made fun of his ears. It honestly hurt his little feelings but Patrick found it absolutely hilarious that someone so funny-looking could say something so mean to someone else. Art laughed when Patrick defended him. But you, always so smart, nodded. And you smiled, which both boys didn’t expect. Then you apologized to Art and introduced yourself like nothing even happened. Art forgave you. There was something about you that both he and Patrick knew would make a good addition to the duo they’d formed over the first week. And it had been that way ever since. Didn’t make it easier when you stopped looking so funny and disproportionate when you turned fourteen but, being friends, it was ignorable. For the most part. They were only boys.

When presented with a slow dance, you excused yourself from the floor and came to stand with the boys, taking Patrick’s cup of punch right out of his hands and downing it. Patrick went to grab it but it was too late. You pulled a face, “Seriously?” You scrunched up your nose and Art laughed as he pieced it together.

“Didn’t give me a chance to warn you,” he chuckled. You felt the warmth spread down your throat- he’d spiked his own punch. Of course. Art, mouth agape, placed a hand on the small of your back without thinking. You just giggled and shook your head at him. Patrick took his cup back from you, sipping the very last drops. The couples and wannabes behind you continued to dance closely. “Awful, right?”

“So bad,” you giggled. Art twisted his mouth to the side, trying not to laugh too much. Your hand closed around Art’s wrist and pulled it up over your opposite shoulder and you kept talking about how gross it tasted, making fun of Patrick for spiking it so badly. If anyone sniffed it, they would have immediately known it was mostly alcohol. Art’s arm stayed around you, the perfect place for it, so it made sense to step a little closer. It’s only worth noting as something that happened because Patrick, who was used to your casual displays of closeness like this one- saw the angle Art kept his hand at so that his hand wouldn’t rest too close to your boobs. He laughed just a bit. Art just shook his head at Patrick and flipped him off with that very hand.

By the near-end of the night, you’re danced out and you asked the boys to come back with you, but Patrick had taken to chatting up Lydia Jennings, of course, so Art obliges. Patrick didn’t need a wingman, he would do fine on his own. Art holds the door for you as you leave and you’re immediately laughing as you cross the parking lot. “Fucking insane,” Art laughs, running a hand through his hair. “I always forget it’s not a school dance until Patrick sneaks in two shooters.”

“I had at least one whole shooter in that punch,” you said, knocking against him as you walked. The cool autumn air hit your bare skin and it was harsh. “It was disgusting.” Art felt you shiver just a bit beside him and he was already taking off his jacket to give to you. “He could have gone with vodka or something, spiced rum, and fruit punch is one of the worst things I think I’ve ever tasted- thank you.” You said, taking his jacket with a smile and pulling it over your shoulders.

“It was spiced rum?!”

“Yeah!” You laughed with him, still leaning against him as the two of you walked. “He ends up with Lydia Jennings she’s going to hate, hate, hate his breath. I brushed my teeth in the bathroom,” you said, pulling a pink toothbrush out of your bag. Art couldn’t help but laugh at the thing.

“Smart,” he grinned wider as you showed him the travel-sized tube of toothpaste that went with it. Art just flashed you his pack of mint gum in return and you narrowed your eyes at him. Art shoved it back in his pocket along with both of his hands. “So… you had fun tonight?” He followed up.

You smiled at him with those perfectly glossed lips parting to show teeth. “I did. However-

“There’s a however?”

“However…” You grinned, taking his hand and walking backward. You lowered your voice, pretending to be extra serious. “You need to dance more so you can dance with me.”

“You didn’t like the nodding I did? I feel like that was a lot, too much, even.” He held the door open to the other building and you mouthed another thank you as you passed him again. ”How much more do I need to do to dance with you?”

“You can always dance with me. I promise it’s a lot more fun when you’re not feeling centered out.” You told him, heading up the stairwell. It’s still early in the night so the girl’s dorms were mostly empty. “I knowww, I know how you get with it, but-”

“I’d dance with you.” He nodded, but squeezed your upper arm, “You didn’t ask me. I would have.”

“Okay then. Swear on your life right now that if I asked you, you’d say yes.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, fighting that neverending grin that lived on his face when you were around. “For what?”

“All future purposes.” You replied, stopping outside your room and leaning against the wooden door. “Where dancing is involved.” You held out your pinkie finger and Art took it before he got to question any more. You grinned and jumped a few times. “You just made the craziest promise, I’m going to make you hate me with that one.” Art just grinned.

You talked a bit more just at the door until both you and Art were wary about someone seeing him on the girl’s side of the dorms. You opened the door to your room and stepped just inside, about to say goodbye, but just one more thing before he left, you asked. For him to help you unzip your dress. Art should not have felt the way he did when you handed him back his jacket and turned around while lifting your hair. Your bunkmate had zipped it up before you had left and you had no idea when she’d be back, you explained.

Art wouldn’t say no to you. Who could? He stepped closer, met with the closer, stronger scent of your perfume and you still smelled sweet. You always smelled sweet. With gentle fingers, he took the small zipper and slowly unzipped the back of your dress. The sound of the zipper being the only thing in the empty of your room and he wouldn’t forget how when the zipper hit the bottom of its track, his finger grazed the bare skin of your back. Soft, softer than he could have even imagined. And you turned so that he wouldn’t be faced with the bare of it all, braless underneath, he could tell, and you thanked him for the night, for his jacket, for his help. Said you’d see him tomorrow. Usually, you’d hug him goodnight, but with your dress about to slip off you just smiled, making fun of the promise he’d made to you just thirty minutes ago before a real goodnight.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art looked over at the dorm building across the lot, looking at the exact path between cars you and him would have walked that night. His hands shoved themselves into his pockets, habit. He decided not to stand out in the parking lot anymore, swallowing hard as he allowed himself through the door and into the smaller gym, which was decorated just like the regular school dances. There were streamers and early 2000s radio hits and so many people.

It was almost immediately people recognized Art. He was possibly the most successful of the graduating class, though he hated to think it. He wouldn’t put himself above anyone. He was already getting pats on the back and he started in some small conversations but he was a little distracted.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“They have parties at Stanford?” You said, looking at some Stanford webpage on Art’s mom’s computer. “Frats, too. Insane. Hey Art, you should join the frat.” You chuckled. Art and Patrick were playing Jenga at the coffee table, two or three of the blocks wet from falling into the eggnog.

Patrick ruffled Art’s hair, “Frat boy Art Donaldson?”

You spun in the chair, “I could join a sorority, they have those too.”

Art grinned, “Yeah? You think they’d take Patrick?”

Patrick pushed Art into the couch and the Jenga tower toppled over once again. You laughed, watching him shake his head and reach for his eggnog, once again pulling a Jenga block out of it. You came and sat next to Art on the couch, sitting on the arm. His hand mindlessly wrapping itself around your ankle as your foot rested on his thigh. Gentle, like letting you know that he’s there despite the readily available knowledge that was your being. Something sweet. Patrick took a seat on the floor in front of you both. “I think they’d take me, but you have to be a Stanford student, so you know, it’s too bad.”

“Their loss,” You smiled. “Do you think I’m pretty enough to rush a sorority when we get to Stanford?” You asked. Both boys looked at each other.

“...Yeah,” Patrick said, nodding just a little. You narrowed your eyes.

“Yes.” Art said firmly. He squeezed your ankle just a little. You smiled at that. Art’s mom called you to dinner, christmas dinner, and in seconds both boys were bolting to the dining room. You exchanged a look with Art’s mom when you got there. She was lovely and she was letting both you and Patrick stay for the holidays. Her food was amazing and the conversation was Stanford, mostly, and your tennis plans for after graduation. The application process, the fuss of getting a dorm room there, and how excited she was for you and Art to be going to the same place. She loved you, his mom. She called you her daughter when the mailman came around during the holiday season and to whoever asked. She’d been in a household of boys for far too long.

The post-dinner conversation laying on your back on Art’s bed next to him while Patrick was laid at the foot of the bed was on exactly that. “Art, I think your mom likes Y/N more than you.”

“I know,” Art replied, hands folded on his chest. He turned his head to look at you, giggling.

“I can’t help it,” you replied through your laughter. “Everyone loves me, it’s not my fault.” Nothing about that statement was false- everyone did love you. And who wouldn’t? You were kind and sweet and loving and so warm to everyone you met so of course they all loved you. There was nobody like you so everyone who crossed paths with you would never be able to forget you. Art’s smile fell, looking at your freshly glossed lips and that unforgettably beautiful smile. He’d zoned out so when you rolled onto your side, nearly onto him, his eyes widened just a bit.

“You’re jealous?” You beamed.

“Not even,” Art scrunched his nose, using a gentle hand to push you away but you returned, giggling. “She’d go insane having a real excuse to go to sales at the mall.”

“Sugar mommy,” Patrick remarked. He had way too much pie, he was half-asleep. Art just kicked him with the foot that rested closest to his chest, eliciting an ‘oof’ noise from Patrick that you giggled at.

“You’re so jealous your mom likes me more, it’s crazy, it’s crazy,” You giggled, grabbing his upper arm. Art twisted his mouth to the side, eyes flickering from the gloss on your lips, to your eyes. “Don’t worry, when she comes to visit me at Stanford, she’ll probably have enough time to see you as well. I’ll make sure of it.” You teased.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Art said, pushing you back again and you just laughed madly, a laugh that was so room-filling and contagious and completely perfect. Art turned his head to look at you. You were more than sorority pretty. Who wouldn’t think so when you laughed like that?

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art found that Lydia Jennings had three kids now. Three in fifteen years, which was a little crazy. She, of course, had pictures with her. Spitting images of her bright blonde, big-mouthed self and Art pretended to care, more than he cared to admit. There was no sign of Patrick. Lydia Jennings asked Art about his divorce, asking about his own daughter, but he had to real interest in talking about that sort of thing. Not with her. He excused himself, raising his head above the crowd to scan for anyone else he knew.

He ended up talking to an old friend who was already balding with his pregnant wife at his side. It was good to see just how well people were doing. Settling down, having quit tennis or only pursuing it on the weekends, some of them with kids in tennis classes already. Art was continuing to be congratulated on his career by even the partners of these past classmates.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

You were dancing to some Tal Bachman song and Art was internalizing every lyric. “What song is this again?” He asked, leaning back against the tree. The light from the fire was flickering around your face that was nearly hidden by the winter jacket you had on.

“She’s So High,” you replied, spinning in circles. Patrick locked eyes with Art from across the fire, giving a knowing smile. One, because you were high, so was he, so was Art- Two, because Art was completely zoned in on you, the way you moved, the way you looked. And he couldn’t help it, you were the most fascinating thing around and he’d smoked quite a bit. It was like the song was written for you, he thought, out of his mind and red-eyed. You were dancing alone, like you hadn’t even though twice, the music coming from your little portable music player thing. Art met Patrick’s eyes and Patrick raised his eyebrows, nodding at you. Art shook his head, but Patrick jumped over the fire to sit next to him anyway.

“So are you telling her or am I?” He teased, ruffling Art’s hair and Art bat him away, huge grin on his face. “So when’s the wedding?”

“Shut the fuck up, she’ll hear you,” Art chuckled, shoving Patrick over just a bit. Patrick came back laughing. “It’s not like that.”

“You really think I’m fucking stupid, huh?” Patrick chuckled, pulling Art into a bit of a headlock in return. “I’ve known you both how long?”

“Too long,” Art laughed, trying to wriggle out of Patrick’s grasp, finally escaping just to shove Patrick all the way over. He was glad you were minding your business, occupied with the song. “It’s not like that.” He repeated, still keeping his voice low.

Patrick pulled himself back up, “Tell that to your dick,” he said, taking a shot at Art’s groin that he gladly blocked just to sock Patrick in his. Patrick doubled over just for a second and Art laughed a bit too hard, the fry of the weed that burned his throat making him cough. Patrick couldn’t stop laughing at the coughing and being high, everything was a lot funnier. It took a minute for them to stop laughing over the stupidity. Patrick sighed heavily, looking over at you still dancing mindlessly to a song by Avril Lavigne, then back at Art, who was trying to regulate his breathing, also staring at you again. “Maybe not always your dick but definitely your eyes. I’ve never seen anyone with bigger heart-eyes, it’s sickening.” He said.

Art looked at Patrick and twisted his mouth to the side. “I don’t think so. She’s just…pretty.” His eyes gazing back to you, spinning in your fluffy winter coat, swaying, firelight flickering over your face, defining your features in shadow.

“Uh-huh… You really think I don’t know?”

“There’s nothing to know,” Art replied, pulling his eyes off of you again.

Patrick shook his head, adding more to the fire, hand still over his groin as the pain continued to die down. He kept his voice low, “Fuck off with that. It’s bullshit. I know it, you know it. You spend more time with her than me, she’s your partner for every co-op game, your mom loves her, you look at her like I’ve never seen you look at anyone.” He chuckled, “And you so want to fuck her.”

“Not as much as I want you to fuck off,” Art chuckled. “Okay, well, I mean- I might. She’s gorgeous, yeah, but I don’t think I could ever tell her anything. She’s perfect, too perfect and we’re friends. We’re her best friends, it would fuck everything up.”

“So you don’t even try? I’ve seen you ask for girl’s numbers within forty minutes of knowing them, it’s unlike you to not even try.”

“She’s different,” Art replied, looking down at his hands. “I couldn’t. I make a move and she doesn’t want it, we’re fucked forever.”

“And you don’t make a move and you’ll never know,” Patrick replied. The weed made him oddly thoughtful. “I’ve seen you two with my own eyes there’s something there, I swear to god there is. You can’t just let things play out, you’re going to miss your chance. Think about Stanford next year, all the college guys hitting on her and you know they will, she’s Y/N… Fifteen years down the road she’s married to some frat guy she met at a rager and you’ll be wishing you told her while you could.”

The silence between them was filled by your music and humming. Art looked at you, eyes closed, lips glossy, boots in the dirt. And for the first time he let himself think that he could never want anyone more than he wanted you. He would never see past you, he wouldn’t ever feel this way about anyone else and in the moment, through the weed, it felt real. You, perfect, gorgeous, here.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art glanced around the room, feeling some familiar fire burning in the pit of his stomach. It felt oddly highschool, it felt oddly familiar. He wondered if you had kept up with tennis, he wondered if you had a husband and kids, he wondered if you’d gained weight, lost weight, changed your hair, were going just a little grey, even. He was nervous- that’s what he was and he could place that. It was then that he saw Patrick, coming in through the door across the room.

Art, over Tashi, had put her in the past, including what Patrick had done. Him and Patrick didn’t keep up much other than a few texts and meeting at the bar a few times, but the hard feelings were pretty much gone. Art started making his way over to his old friend just to be grabbed by another ex-classmate who wanted to catch up. He was faced with more pictures of kids and meeting someone’s wife and Art wasn’t so bothered to talk about his own daughter, he’d always take that opportunity. She was the best thing he currently had.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

You and Art sat on the bleachers in the gym, just having finished a co-op game, having won, of course. You both showered and got dressed again and met back up. The air was warming up, mid-spring and Art had still not told you yet. He decided he would at the end of the year and see if you’d make the first move, just to be safe. It didn’t weigh on him- he’d been friends with you for ages, liked you for ages, so it was a secondary thing.

“Hoping my tennis career is enough to buy an old victorian home,” You said, packing your things into your gym bag.

“I remember you saying that,” Art said, hauling your bag onto his shoulder along with his own. It wasn’t abnormal to have him carry your bag. It was sweet. “You want a blue one. Well, blue-grey.” He said. You looked at him, a little surprised he remembered the blue-grey thing. “With the white trim. I remember things.”

You nudged him just a little bit as you passed him. “I’m surprised, after so many tennis balls have hit you in the head.”

“And whose bad aim is at fault?” He teased back. You held the door for him and went out into the early afternoon sun.

You rolled your eyes at him with that gorgeous smile. “Bad aim, uh huh. Who’s to say it’s not on purpose?”

“Y/N!” Your girl friend called, bounding over. “My hair tie broke and I can’t go all the way back to the dorms in time for scrimmage, do you have an extra?” Art watched your full attention go to this girl, linking hands with her and everything. He watched you take the hair tie off of your wrist, the purple glittery one that you swore was your favourite. “Hi, Art.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, noticing him standing there. Art just raised his hand in a subtle wave.

“Of course,” you said, pulling the purple sparkly hair tie off and giving it to her, no questions asked. “Do you need anything else? I have a redbull in my bag if you wanted that before your scrimmage?”

“Really?” She asked. Art lowered your bag for you and you unzipped it, pulling the redbull out and handing it to her as she finished tying her hair up. All Art could wonder was how could anyone not love you when this was who you were? Art knew that purple hair tie was your favourite and you gave it up, just like that, and didn’t even ask for it back later. And your redbull that Art watched you go through your coins for six miinutes counting literal dimes and pennies to get it from the vending machine was in this girl’s hand just because you thought to offer it. You were kind and beautiful and Art moved the date up a little in his head- the date that he’d tell you how he felt. For now, he dug his free hand into his pocket and pretended like you weren’t absolutely perfect.

Saying goodbye to the girl, you and Art resumed your walk back to the main building. “You know Abbey, right?”

“Her?”

“Yes, her,” you giggled. “Don’t tell her I told you this, but she keeps asking me about you. Your favourite colour, song, movie, all of it.” You explained, gesturing with your hands and leaning against him as you two walked. “She likes you.”

Art was only half-surprised. But was more surprised at you bringing it up. “Likes me how?”

“Exactly in the way you think,” you replied. “I’m always down to play wingwoman, but I did tell her all the wrong information.” Your smile turned into a bit of a cringe. Art liked that even in your full care and support, you were just a little evil. Plus, what harm was it really? Art was only seeing you. He couldn’t spend a second on anyone else. Seemed impossible. “She thinks you’re a huge fan of Green Day.” Art couldn’t help but grin.

“Yeah?” Art set down your things at a table in the cafeteria and the two of you got in line for food. “Playing interference?”

“Uh-huh,” you said, bowing so your head nudged his arm. The smile that pulled at your lips was one you appeared to want to suppress. A strand of your hair, wet, fell in your face and Art wasted no time moving it behind your ear. Your eyes met his as your smile broke into full action and your eyes fell back to the ground. Sometimes… just sometimes, he felt maybe you were worth ruining the friendship.

Your lower lip between your teeth, you grabbed a tray for him before you grabbed your own.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art finally made it over to Patrick, who looked decent. He shaved a bit, cleaned up just enough. Art thought about how strange it was to be back here with him after all this time. It almost felt right, was just missing you. “Hey, man.” Patrick said, reaching forward and locking hands with Art in a quick greeting.

“Hey,” Art replied. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” Patrick replied. “See anyone worth talking to?”

“Not really. Lydia Jennings has three kids now, in case you were looking forward to that,” he chuckled. “She doesn’t look bad though. I didn’t check for a ring either, so.”

Patrick chuckled, hands in the pockets of his dress pants, wearing virtually what was the grey version of Art’s outfit. “Not for me.” He said. “I actually- I ran into Y/N in the parking lot. I thought maybe you’d be looking for her tonight.” Patrick added. Art hated the way his stomach did a little flip as if he wasn’t a full-grown man with a failed marriage and a daughter.

“She came?”

“Yeah, she headed in here before me. She’s good, she hasn’t aged much, it’s weird. You know what they say about the way good people age…” He added. “She’s in purple, said we’d talk more later but she was excited to be here.”

Art swallowed hard, “I’ll keep an eye out. Thanks, man.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

When Patrick left early to hang out with Lydia Jennings, swearing he was going to ‘get some’, it left you and Art in the boy’s room. How they’d been bunkmates for six years running you had no idea, having been room with at least four different girls. Their room was decorated with sports posters, tennis awards and medals, and Star Wars memorabilia. You weren’t supposed to be there, but oh well. “You think purple is my colour?” You asked Art, going through the nail polish you had in your bag, buried under the bag of cheetos you brought over.

“Hm?” Art slid off his bed and onto the floor where you sat, your back to the edge of his mattress. “Yeah. The medium one, though. Not the dark one.” He said, pointing to the bottle he liked better. You shot a small smile his way before grabbing that one.

“I haven’t painted them in ages,” you said, doing a bit of a jazz hand really close to his face and then pressing your hand to his cheek. Annoying, or trying to be, but casual. Art scrunched his nose and batted your hand away, though he really didn’t want to. “So about Abbey.”

“Your friend?” Art adjusted the way he sat. His knee overlapped yours.

“Mhm,” you replied,beginning to paint your nails. “Did she end up talking to you after class yesterday?”

Art thought back to after class when he was on his way to his next class to meet up with you and Patrick. She had come up to him, but he almost immediately shut her down. “Was she supposed to?”

You smiled, “Yes. I told her to ask you about your favourite Star Trek episode.”

Art grinned, you were still playing interference. He wondered why. “I brushed her off… I didn’t think anything of it I was on my way out.” He grimaced a little and you looked up from your nails, trying not to laugh. “I don’t think I was too rude…”

“Where were you off to in such a hurry?”

“You- And Patrick.” He saved himself. “I had someplace to be! Plus, she’s not really my type.”

“And what is that type? Girls with purple fingernails, maybe?” You laughed- Art wondered what you meant by that because at this very moment there was nothing you said that had ever been more true. “Your future girlfriend is going to hate me.” You followed up. Art’s heart sunk just a little at that. You then mumbled something under your breath that Art didn’t catch.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art caught up a bit with Patrick, who was interested to hear that his daughter was just getting into tennis, but really liked ballet. Patrick himself had still not settled down, but he’d landed a good job adn was now making decent money, enough to find himself a good apartment. He talked about this girl he’d met at the mechanic and Art didn’t mind the tale of it all, but he did glance around every few minutes to see if maybe you’d be nearby or even come to speak to them. They way you’d left things he wondered if you’d say anything to him at all.

It’s not like you left things horribly… But he knew the way things went just weren’t ideal and that was the problem. It was the lack of grace in the process of losing touch.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“Patrick held both envelopes up. “Saw these on the mail piles, grabbed them before mail day.” He said. You, who had been mindlessly playing with Art’s curls on the couch in the corner of the library, and Art, who was pink from just how intimate the feeling had been, both perked up. Patrick shot a look additional to the excited expression he wore and Art just flipped him off. “They’re yours.”

You and Art looked at each other, Art tilting his head back to do so. Both of you scrambled from where you sat to grab the envelopes Patrick held, huge grin on his face. “Stanford Tennis,” you breathed. Art pressed his lips together. “Acceptance letter?” You questioned. Patrick shrugged, but continued to grin.

Art shook his head, “Should we open them? I mean- same time? Or?”

“I feel sick,” you said, words overlapping his. “Oh my god.” You pressed your hand to your stomach. “I knew they’d be here soon but this is so… late. I was getting scared I wouldn’t get anything, we got something… We got something.”

“Yeah,” Art nodded, big crooked grin on his face. “Together?”

You swallowed, sitting back down, then standing right back up again. “No, you first.”

Patrick sat on the couch, ready to watch both of his friends excitement, arm up on the arm of the couch. “Hurry up!” He kicked Art in the back of the knee and Art didn’t even feel it, opening the big envelope. He narrowly avoided a paper cut. You paced a short distance, back and forth, back and forth anxiously. He unwrapped the papers, eyes scanning over the letter.

“Fuck yeah!” He exclaimed, all too loud for the library. He didn’t care though. “I’m in!”

You gasped and your grin was the first thing Art looked for. Your arms up and around his neck, so excited for him. “That’s amazing, I’m so so proud of you!” You exclaimed, also so loud. Art’s arms around your waist, squeezing you tight as you kissed his cheek enthusiastically. Patrick was there to clap him on the back, hugging Art when you let go. Art was glad for it- it helped hide how pink he went from just the kiss on the cheek. You were jumping up and down and you were beautiful and you were happy. It would be one of the last times Art saw you so happy.

“What about you?” He gestured to your envelope and you looked down at it like you’d forgotten you were holding it.

“I- I can’t, one of you has to do it,” you said. It was for sure. You’d met with the faculty there, the coaches, you were scouted two years ago when you weren’t even old enough to apply and the second you knew you loved tennis you knew Stanford was the best place for you. Patrick took your envelope for you, opening it as you nervously bit your lip, swaying into Art, letting your fingers intertwine with his just to have something to brace yourself. He squeezed your hand, smiling at his own acceptance, knowing that if anyone had it in the bag was you. But Patrick read it over and there wasn’t a grin- in fact the smile he did have fell just in the slightest. Art felt your hand squeeze his harder.

“What is it?” You asked. Art looked at Patrick, who then looked up at you with sorry eyes. “Patrick?”

“You’re- um-” he paused another moment and handed you the papers. “Waitlisted. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Art watched your colour drain. The obvious bright light you brought by just entering a room dimmed as you read it yourself. Art could feel the slight tremor in your fingers, so he squeezed your hand as hard as he could, just so in the new wave of overwhelming sadness, you’d know he was still there. He felt guilty for celebrating so soon.

“I’m waitlisted.” You repeated, monotone. “And not even until next semester. Next year. And even then there’s no guarantee.”

Art didn’t wait another second, he used the hand he held to pull you in. You didn’t resist, you couldn’t, you felt limp as Art wrapped his arms around you. Patrick’s hand on your back for just a moment, but Art’s hand on the back of your head and the other running up and down your back. His crush on you was unaffected by this hug because he knew that you needed it more than anything. You were the one with the plans, you were the one who knew exactly how things would play out and Stanford was the first step on every path you’d imagined. Knowing you so long, both boys knew you were right to cry.

Art held you, standing, for as long as you needed- his arms around you stayed tight and didn’t waiver once in the thirty minutes you stayed there. He was quiet, Patrick was just cursing Stanford for being fucking stupid and though Art agreed with him on that, because who in their right minds would look at your grades and your tennis stats and say they didn’t want you? Who wouldn’t want you?

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

When Art saw you from across the room it felt like he was eighteen again. He’d anticipated feeling nostalgic for a time, but you were there and you were in purple, like Patrick said and he knew it was you from the smile you wore, reuniting with what looked to be a very-pregnant Abbey Campbell. Good for her, Art though, seeing past the bump and looking at you. Patrick was right- you’d aged like fine wine or whatever that saying was, but you were still youthful and you were still… bright.

“You should talk to her,” Patrick said, noticing where Art’s eyes had landed. As if he hadn’t been watching Art scan every five minutes during their conversation. “You haven’t seen her since…”

“September 2006,” Art replied, looking at Patrick.

“Have you kept in touch at all, or?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well fuck.”

“Yeah,” Art nodded, eyes not leaving you. You were different, older, for sure but not in ways noticeable. Many of the men in the room had grown into bigger bodies and were either unfortunately balding or had already gone bald for some. Mid-thirties you wouldn’t think it, but it was there. And you were there, looking youthful and bright and you were still one of the prettiest girls in the room. Women… in the room. He gestured to you, eyes not leaving you, scared to lose track of where you were. “I’m going to-”

“Good luck.” Patrick pat Art on the back to send him off and Art, drink in hand from his stop by the food table, walked over to you, ignoring everyone who wanted his attention this time.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“You’re not telling her at graduation? You’re fucking joking.” Patrick said, shoving Art back onto his bed as the boys got dressed for one of their last classes at MRTA. “How fucking stupid are you, you can’t just not tell her.”

“I tell her and I ruin our friendship while I get to go to Stanford in the fall. I can’t do that to her.”

“You sound like a fucking idiot,” Patrick said.

“Okay, yeah, maybe, but even if I tell her and it goes well, we would only have the summer before I move all the way to fucking California. You’ll be on tour and this whole… thing would just be broken. And fucked up. I don’t want her for a summer, Patrick. I want her all the time, every day, like it was supposed to fucking be. I don’t want her for just a summer.” Art huffed, looking at his hands. The whole waitlisting bullshit threw a wrench in everything. Everything.

“You’d rather not have her at all?”

“I-” he flailed his hands around, “I don’t know! I don’t know how to tell her something like that and then move away.”

Patrick shrugged, “Could just kiss her.”

Art opened his mouth to speak and a knock on the door cut him off. Art pulled his shirt over his head as Patrick lunged to open it. It was you. Who else?

“You guys want to cut class?” You asked, arms folded over your chest, mouth pulled a little to the side, standing in your shorts and tank top, not dressed for class at all. Your hair was behind your ears, your lips just slightly glossy and you had that slight sparkle to your eyelids, but it was never too much. He would never get over just how beautiful you were, never ever. “I don’t feel like going today and I just want to do something fun or maybe even nothing?”

“That sounds great, but I actually was looking forward to doubles today…” Patrick groaned, putting a hand aside his head. Art knew him well enough to know Patrick was not looking forward to doubles. “But Art already has all his credits, I think he can stay. I’ll come back before dinner though?”

You nodded slightly and looked to Art, who still had his mouth a little open at the sudden position he was in. “Would you? I really don’t feel like going but I can just skip and meet you guys for dinner?”

Art nodded back at you, slowly. Patrick was playing wingman with expectations this time. ‘Could just kiss her,’ echoed around his head. He made eye contact with Patrick who, out of your line of sight, shot Art a telling look. He was giving Art a window. But skipping with you, being alone with you wouldn’t change the fact that when September came you’d be states away, alone, probably. The long distance would be hard and he knew he could maintain the friendship, but if he confessed and it went well, the long distance of a new relationship would probably kill him. And you. “Yeah, I’ll stay.” Art said.

When Patrick left for class, you came into their room and sat down on Art’s bed, next to him. You weren’t exactly yourself, the way you sat with your arms crossed and lacked that gorgeous smile Art looked forward to every day. You sat so close he could smell the sweetness of your perfume. “You okay?” he asked, looking at you with his head a little tilted, smiling gently.

“I can’t get the Stanford thing out of my head,” You admit. Art nodded. You’d been good about it. It upset you, he knew that it absolutely killed you, but you didn’t talk about it much- for Art’s sake, not wanting to depress him and Patrick with your delayed dream. “I know it’s stupid, I’m only waitlisted a year, but it was supposed to be different. They said I was a shoo-in, how could they say that and not mean it?” You vented. Art heard every word.

“They’re missing out for sure.” He said, hand sliding over your knee to rest just above it. “And Patrick is right- they’re fucked in the head and you deserved that place in the program more than anyone else.”

“Even if I deserved it, even if they’re fucked in the head, I’m still not going and that’s whats killing me.” You said, looking at him with sad eyes. He missed when they were full of light and happiness. “You know, it was supposed to be us. And now it’s not and I don’t know what I’m going to do without you- And Patrick.” Was Art mishearing or was there a pause? And us? Us. “I just feel so stupid and I’m suddenly so lost? I knew exactly what was coming and then it just stopped coming. And I’m terrified that I’m going to lose you both when we all go separate ways.”

“Couldn’t lose me.” Art said, eyes locked on yours. “I might be in California, but I have a phone. And it has a ringer and we have email and facebook and I don’t think I’d even know how to go a day without talking to you, so you know if you didn’t call, I would.” He said, admitting a little too much. “Patrick too, I bet.”

“I love that,” you smiled just a bit. “I just… I was so ready for things to change, but now I’m not. Even if I call you a hundred times in a day, would it feel the same?”

Art looked at the hand he had on your leg, at his thumb as it moved back and forth over your skin. “Probably not… But it would be the best thing until you come and visit. Or when I come home on holiday. It would just be to fill the spaces between, you know that the distance would mean nothing once we’re all together again.”

You looked down. “I know. I just don’t want it.” You sighed, leaning your head against Art’s shoulder. Art could smell your shampoo, it was soft and just as sweet as your perfume. “I’d just... I hate the idea of having to miss you. Distance fucking sucks.” You added. He agreed. Distance would suck. But right now you were here, next to him. He wouldn’t kiss you, he knew that. Not now.

But he turned his body just slightly and wrapped his arms around you, your head moving to just under his chin, resting against his chest. And he held you tight, he always would. And he didn’t resist his other urge, slowly tilting himself back so that he was laying down. You didn’t protest, you just held onto him tighter, laying next to him. Like most things between you two, they went unspoken. You in his arms, in his bed, god it was so telling but you didn’t say a thing. And neither did Art, aside from, “I don’t want it either.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

You didn’t seem to notice when he approached. You were heavily invested in your conversation with your friend, laughing and gesturing and you were even more beautiful up close. He could admit it to himself, he was amazed by how well-preserved you’d been. He maybe was expecting a bit of a grey streak, he remembered your mom being fully grey when you were only a teenager, but your hair was perfect. He was just a little bit to the side, in Abbey’s line of sight and she saw Art first, she looked happy to see him, he noted. Too happy for someone with a baby on the way. She put her hands up in the air like she meant anything to him and you looked over at him, seeing what Abbey was so delighted to see and for the first time in fifteen years, you locked eyes with Art.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- interlude

Art remembered the last time you looked at him. Confused eyes, sad ones, the ones he hated seeing, the ones he knew he caused. It wasn’t supposed to be the way it was. Your best friend felt like he just… wasn’t that anymore. Missed texts to missed calls after promises of hundreds in a day felt like lack of care. And it wasn’t on your end. When Art missed your calls, you stopped looking at your phone so much and you missed his. You visited him twice at Stanford, within the first few months and it was the same but he was so busy. So distracted, it seemed. You met Patrick’s girlfriend, Tashi Duncan and the only thought in your mind was that she looked at Art strangely. So when things unravelled, you asked him things and he answered honestly, leaving out the part that he knew went against his character. He was looking at you, thinking about how he should have kissed you at the airport before going to California but he was looking at a girl who wouldn’t kiss him. Not anymore.

And he missed you like he missed no one- when you stopped responding to his emails and Facebook posts. Your last post was October 4th, 2006, and it was a picture of you at a coffee shop you were beautiful, but Art was so lost on the guy next to you. He should have kissed you at that airport but he was tangled in this mess of Tashi who he had admittedly used to try and not miss you so much when you posted with one of your new guy friends, who you did not like romantically. But Art didn’t know that. He didn’t know how badly it hurt when you traveled to California to find him completely happy and distracted in a new life with new friends and forget that you were coming to visit. That hurt. He should have kissed you at the airport when he could before all of these things crashed and collided and brought you down. He was at fault, but you forgave him, you just didn’t speak again.

Patrick said it was fine, you’d come around. Art’s mom told him that you called to check in on her, but that growing apart does happen. He would ask himself how in the world did he end up growing apart from you. You of all people, but admittedly it was his own fault. These things just happen, distance ruins things.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

But there wasn’t much distance now. You were standing in front of him. Your expression didn’t change- it was a gentle smile upon laying eyes on him. Abbey asked him how he was and just like years ago, he brushed her off with a ‘would you excuse me?’ and passed her, sheepishly walking over to you.

“Hi, Art,” you said, head slightly tilted, lips pulled into that smile he hadn’t seen in years. Art felt shy around it, he hated that, but he was happy to see it. And you.

“Hi,” he replied.

You gestured to Abbey, “Reminds me of something.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” he replied with a small chuckle. “I-um… How are you?”

“I’m doing okay,” you nodded. Art found himself glancing for a ring on your finger or maybe a baby bump he missed, but nothing. You were doing okay. “Oh, no ring.” You said, holding up your hand. “Wasn’t so lucky. How are you?”

He shook his head, still a little dazed that you were here in front of him, talking to him like you hadn’t gone fifteen years without doing so. “Not so bad.”

“That implies that there’s some bad,” you nodded, leaning against the wall. Your dress reminded him of another you’d worn. “Not so bad?”

“I’m okay…” He said. “Just… I didn’t think I’d see you tonight.” As if he hadn’t spent every moment since RSVP-ing thinking about seeing you again. Finally seeing you again.

“Oh,” you nodded, understanding. “No, I get that. I didn’t think you’d come. Thought maybe you were busy winning some grand slam, too far ahead than the rest of us. It was a good win, your last big game in Chicago.”

“You kept up,”

“I couldn’t not. I’m not me if not nosey and that aside, your name all over everything tennis-related- billboards, even. You and Tashi.”

“You must have heard about the separation, then?”

“On the tennis new channel, surprisingly. Fuck them for making that public, and I am sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He replied, eyes not leaving yours. “It just wasn’t working out. She cheated.” He admitted, which he hated. Something about your eyes was a well-working trap for him to fall back into the exact boy he used to be in your presence. He wanted to tell you everything, he forgot what it felt like to be around you. But you weren’t different at all. You were still that same warm, caring girl you used to be.

“Art, I’m so sorry, that’s terrible. Nobody deserves that.” You said, eyes soft. Beautiful.

“It’s in the past.” He nodded again, looking at the ground. They hadn’t changed the gym floors since you’d left, he noted. They were the same. “Thank you, though. I actually, um, I have a daughter, though.”

“Lily,” you smiled. “I’m nosey, I told you. Is she much like you?”

“I think so.” He smiled back. You knew his daughter’s name and you knew about the divorce yet he had no idea what you’d been up to. “So, are you… working, are you…”

“I am.” You nodded. “I teach children with special needs how to play tennis, it’s a great job. Lots of fundraisers and events. It’s really lovely.” Art remembered when you were younger. You’d mentioned something of the sort- doing that. He couldn’t help but wonder if you had joined a company or made one. But he wouldn’t ask, the small talk was already killing him. “About your daughter though, I’d love to know more.”

He wanted to know more about you but he liked to talk about Lily and her hobbies and habits. It felt good to talk to you again as you engaged with him as if fifteen years was three months. It was strange, but the feeling of being around you and your light again, it was easy to brush it all off. Like he was eighteen and you were an addictive happiness. You were smiling as he spoke about his daughter. You were smiling so much that he had to stop at one point, unable to hide his own smile. “What?”

Your eyes went a little wide, but you kept smiling, shaking your head. “Oh, nothing. I just… I always knew you’d be a girl dad. And you seem like a good one.”

“Always knew?”

“Oh yeah, I think I first thought about it in grade ten… A girl knows these things.” You said. Your body language changed slightly, you tilted your head to the door. “Hm- Do you still smoke?”

“Do you?”

“When I need to.” You said. “It’s not a habit, it’s an occasional thing. Come with me?”

Art was surprised by the offer. But how could anyone say no to you? He nodded and followed you out. You stopped outside your car, a decent distance away from the building and hopped on the trunk, sitting like you would so many years ago. Your car was nice, so you must make good money, he noted.

“How are you really?” You asked Art, eyes genuine as you lit the cigarette. Art, focused on you, didn’t know how to answer that. He was wondering how you weren’t someone’s wife or mother because even after all these years, he couldn’t find flaw in you. Not one. You were still sweet and kind and lovely and you looked amazing, so how did nobody find you and keep you? You asked him how he really was as if you still saw through him. “You’re really doing okay?”

Art took the cigarette as you passed it to him. “I’m okay. It wasn’t easy- any of it, but it happened and it’s in the past.”

“That’s good.” You said, watching him take a drag. The soft wind blew your hair around your face. “I am sorry about what happened, it sounds awful. I had to check in, really check in. But that aside, you’ve really made a name for yourself out there. Big games, high stakes and a good reputation.”

Art nodded, eyes on the ground as he inhaled again and passed the cigarette back. Something about being here with you was surreal. You’d kept up and he had no way to do the same. “Thank you. I planned on retiring three years ago, but second wind came around. I plan on retiring next year, thinking about starting to coach.”

“You’d be a good coach,” you nodded, smoke blowing out from between your perfect lips.

“Maybe…” He started. Silence.

You nodded, “You’re thinking about the elephant in the… parking lot.” You said, looking around.

“I might be,” he replied, straightening himself out. “It’s been fifteen years and you’ve not said a word to me since… And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it. I’ve had a lot of time to.” Art rolled up his sleeves. You watched. “Fifteen years.”

“I know,” you replied, quiet. “But you have had an amazing career and you married the girl I was so worried about, had a daughter. Your life has been exactly what you wanted, that’s amazing. Could it have been the same with me in it?” Art wished it was you in it. “So I let time be time and do it’s thing, I know it’s been fifteen years.”

Art shook his head, “It couldn’t have been a space thing. Maybe I needed the space, but it was bound to exist anyway. We were best friends, you, me, Patrick- and Stanford changed things but you didn’t have to walk away. My life has been my life but it’s not that way because you walked away.”

You chuckled, “I know that. And I am beyond proud of you either way, but me, eighteen years old and in love with you? Showing up after a month of planning and you forgot I was even coming? Just about broke me. And of course, there was Tashi and-” You had more to say but Art felt all of his thoughts come to a halt. His fingers felt cold. He interrupted you-

“In love with me? You were in love with me?”

You laughed, so genuine, the sound was something he had missed sorely. “That’s even a question? Oh, I was so young, but I was very much in love with you. Patrick would never let me forget it. I had such a crush on you. You… you didn’t know?” You covered your mouth as you laughed, but Art felt a little bit frozen, but it was easy to laugh with you.

“I didn’t know, no.”

“So the fifteen years is because after you broke my little eighteen-year-old heart, I took the time to recover and I just… never did.” You admit, handing him back the cigarette, which he took without looking at. He was only seeing you. Part of him was kicking himself hard, angry that he hadn’t confessed when he had planned, knowing now, so many fucking years later than if he had said what he wanted to, he might have had you. There were the complications, but if he had you, there wouldn’t have been a Tashi situation. And in his mind he watched the possibilities unravel his life as he knew it- knowing that it could have been you. It could have been you. “As sorry as I am about it, I don’t regret it. You have an amazing-sounding daughter and the life that you and I used to talk about, going pro… And I have a job that I only got through staying on this side of things. If I was in California, I wouldn’t have met the sweet lady who started the company I own now.”

He hated that you were right. But he hated it more that he could have had everything he really wanted- the things you and him talked about- and it could have been with you. A house, a marriage, a child? The things he really wanted. He couldn’t bring himself to feel regret, but it was something close to the feeling. “I understand. I just- you liked me? Patrick knew?” His whole adult demeanour was destroyed by your youthful smile.

“He would play wingman,” you said. “It was awful, but it was still fun. And I think I should tell you, though it feels wrong, that I missed you. And I am sorry I didn’t reach out. It was too much.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he nodded back. “I missed you too. A lot. It took a while to get over what happened, but it’s been good…”

“I’m glad,” you replied. The cigarette was almost at it’s end. And for a while you just stared at each other. The words unsaid filled the air until it was almost suffocating. He could have had you. If he had said something. If he’d kissed you at the airport. Tashi might have been Patrick’s. Art hated to think about a world without his daughter but it was you. It was always going to be you no matter how many years passed. “I hate to ask this for the sake of my phrasing, but… no hard feelings?”

Art smiled down at his feet, hands back in his pockets, “No, no hard feelings.” He replied. “And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you too.”

You smiled that beautiful smile, the wind blowing your hair a little more. There was something so painting-like about this moment. It could be frozen in time, he wished it could be, and he made a mental note to engrave this image of you in his mind. You were just as gorgeous as the day you left and sure, it hurt to think about a little bit, especially all of the ‘what if’s, but you were here now. And there were no hard feelings. How could he ever have any toward you? It was you.

“You want to head back in?” You asked, digging a foldable toothbrush out of your purse along with a tiny tube of toothpaste.You truly not changed much in your ways. Art wondered if you remembered the last time you’d brought a little toothbrush and toothpaste out. He dug in his own pocket and pulled out his pack of mint gum. He noticed the way your eyes widened at the parallel. But then you just grinned, starting to laugh as you half-brushed your teeth, half giggled. Art chuckled too, popping a piece in his mouth. And the laughter lasted a while. It was like you were the same giddy teenagers who wouldn’t tell each other their biggest secret. But eventually it died down and you headed back inside.

The moment you were inside, he noticed the song playing. So did you. You stood there for a moment, not looking at anyone but him. The Cranberries playing loud over dusty speakers. The only Cranberries song you ever liked, Art remembered. You couldn’t stand the voice cracks in the one about zombies… He was a little confused when you held your hand out, but when you smiled, he remembered. In the spirit of parallels, you were asking him to dance. He remembered the promise he made you, he wouldn’t forget it. He had pinkie promised and you swore to make him regret it, but he never got the chance to. You never gave him a real reason to.

“You pinkie promised.” You said, tilting your head just in the slightest. “You swore.” You said it a little sing song. Fifteen years forgotten- they didn’t exist. You were here and you were asking him to dance with you.

“I did,” he said, smiling, hands still in his pockets. And he did take your hand and with a youthful giggle, you pulled him to the dance floor. It was one of those songs where you could scream the lyrics, you could spin and you could maybe even jump, but you just stayed close. Art wasn’t sure what exactly to do, but it was okay. You led at first, swaying just a little to get him into it. He grinned, unable to stop it. Fifteen years felt like seconds, like you never even left. Like you were those same young best friends dancing around your feelings, your truth. And you were so beautiful, spinning and swaying and your dress following you as you did. You laughed and it was melodious, you were so unaware of the eyes on you, of Patrick’s eyes. They met Art’s from across the room and a knowing smile spread up his old friend’s face. He raised his drink in their direction and Art nodded back.

Time might have made Art a little bit harder, colder, but you made him right back into who he used to be before life existed. Your light was brighter than the strobes spinning the walls of the room. You got him into it with a nearly-sixteen-year-old promise. The music loud, but just dull enough to hear you. Art was drawn back into you like you were a magnet. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have you. That he didn’t get that life with you. But you were here and you were still so perfect.

The dancing had somehow melted itself into something slower, though the pace of the song didn’t change. It was almost a hug, the way his hand slipped around your waist. It felt familiar and you… smelled the same way you used to. So sweet. Your arms around his neck, close to him. It wasn’t even a thought in either one of your brains that you ended up this way, but it felt right and you just did it, so that’s how you were. Swaying, like a slow dance, and the end of the song rolled around, the music dulling to only an instrumental.

You pulled away just a little, your faces just a little bit close. “I think it’s best we went our separate ways. It would have killed to me to stay your friend and watch you and Tashi’s life in person rather than in pictures.” You said quietly. “And if I’m honest I think I might still be a little bit in love with you.”

Art met your eyes at your confession. You looked like you regret what you said, but the concern in your eyes changed, eased. You could still read his expression. “I did love you too, you know.”

“I know.” You smiled. He grinned a little sheepishly, his grin still the same. His eyes were soft and he looked at you like he always did. Such a familiar gaze. “And I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“For still feeling the way I do. After what I did.”

“You’re not alone in it.” He admit with a small chuckle. And you giggled. And it felt like nothing else existed in the entire universe. Just you. Just him. He wasn’t blunt, but it was definitely still said. It really could ever only be you, no matter what. Even with Tashi, it was always you. A first love that could never truly be erased, despite the countless mistakes and sins of youth. It hadn’t worked, but looking at you now, he had that hope again. That it might.

You just continued to sway to the music. The promise to dance whenever you asked fulfilled. There was peace in saying what was left unsaid for so many years. There was peace in feeling it still. Feeling how he did about you was the most consistent thing in his entire life. He wasn’t who he had to be with Tashi, he was who he truly was with you. His big career in hindsight, his past with Tashi, his life that didn’t include you was behind him.

Patrick did wander over when the song ended. He came and stood beside you both, the lip of his bottle resting against his mouth. You and Art shared a look before you left the position you were in, hands slipping back to your sides. He was grinning a sly grin. A familiar one from back in the day. Knowing.

You just tsked, “You need to shave.” You said. Patrick just grinned, laughed.

“You too.”

“Really?” You laughed. “Okay, I see how it is.”

Art chuckled. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss this. As much as he wanted just you and him, the three of you together were something entirely different. Who wouldn’t miss the better days? The three of you got a little more caught up, Patrick was free to reveal his position as a double agent in your teenaged slowburn that never really fizzled out… You and Art didn’t mention anything said during that dance, but he knew without being told. Everyone who knew you both knew that you belonged together. The night was still young, but Patrick lowered his voice. “I have an ounce in the car.” He said, shrugging. The three of you shared a look and in minutes the three of you were hiking across the schoolyard. Adults. Stupid adults with stupid nostalgia, laughter echoing across the empty courts as you all walked down the hill.

Art moved the dead leaves and under it was still that circle of rocks. The dirt had somewhat filled it, but it was still a bit of a divot. And the logs had thinned out but they were still there. You sat next to Art like you always would. You turned your body to face him and you just looked at him, studying the way his face had changed, his hair… but it was still very much so the boy you’d loved years ago. He looked over at you and he smiled and it was a reflection of so many years ago. The exact same spots, the exact same people, the same reason to sneak away.

You had hoped you hadn’t overstepped. You didn’t come to the reunion to say what you said, but it was right. And you knew Art felt the same. He said so. The three of you stayed and talked for hours like nothing ever changed. Time could never truly change the three of you. No matter who fucked who, who married who, who went where, who did what. It was always you. It would always be you. And that aside- you and Artwould figure that out- it would always be the three of you. Proven by your very own lives.

taglist: @swetearss @lalalandofive @xoxog0ssipg1rl @bayleequits @reallycreativeusername @kaaaiiaaa

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ofjunemoment · 2 years ago

Text

let me teach you how to smash | park jisung

In the list of sports, ranked from most to least sexy, badminton would be found at the very bottom if not ranked last. But why is it that when Jisung plays the with a feathered shuttle your heart flutters?

OR: Jisung helps you improve your badminton skills.

pairing — badminton player!jisung x fem!reader

genre — sports!au, university!au, (one sided) enemies to friends to lovers, slight slow burn

wc — 22k (😀 huh)

content — university/sports class setting, humour, fluff, the tiniest bit of angst, idols mentioned, very heavy on the dialogue/backstory at one point sorry babies <3, smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

smut tags — making out, fingering, switch!jisung and reader (there's no strong dynamic tbh), protected sex, pet names (jisung gets called a good boy), lmk if I missed anything!

a/n — YAYYY i can finally share this with u guys!! i have been cooking this for some time and im actually so excited to release it!! I'm a badminton enthusiast so I went a bit ham on the descriptions and back story sorry (not rlly),, I hope this is a good readdd I read through it so much to fix it up and now Im a bit sick of it oops BUT its a story I've been wanting to write so here you go <3 enjoy!

sfw version here!

You enjoy sports.

You liked dancing sometimes — which is certainly a type of sport — and you dabbled with different sports at one point in school, but you don’t actively go out of your way to do any intense exercise. It can be sweaty and painful and maybe it’s a little like hitting the gym, but in most sports you need sportsmanship, and why would you be kind to the person who not only won but is rubbing it in your face?

You once yelled at Taeyong for kicking the ball in the wrong goal when your group of friends went out of their way to play makeshift soccer to bring back memories. You yelled, at precious Taeyong, who flinches at the sight of a fly

Okay, so you tolerate sports.

But in an effort to have your resume look pretty after finishing your degree, your friend Juda had shed light on this one program that has you do a bunch of extracurricular activities and in turn, you’ll gain extra credit. Seamless and effortless, you didn’t need to pay anything towards the program as most of the work was volunteering; like reading to kids or helping clean up lecture rooms now and then. What Juda failed to mention was the other extracurricular required of you, which was to go to a sporting class set up by the university.

Sporting classes; two hours a week minimum.

They were kind enough to provide you with options, but it still wasn't easy to choose whether you wanted two whole hours of HIIT fitness or football, which caused you to almost give up on the whole thing. Until you saw the word ‘badminton’ printed in the faintest ink, almost as if it was a mistake.

So here you are, in the campus’ sports equipment shop with Chenle, looking through what seems like badminton rackets.

“Do you think this is good?” You pick up a racket that has a mix of matte white and mint around the frame, with the string sporting the shade black, testing the weight in your hand.

“That’s a tennis racket stupid.” He goes to ruffle your hair but instead gets his hand slapped away and a frown etched on his face as you scoff at him. “I knew that,” You scowl.

“Well then don’t be an asshole about it, asshole.”

“I wasn’t being—” Both of you jump at a sudden sound that pitched in between your shoulders, as your hand flies to your chest in shock while Chenle’s eyebrow hitch up.

“Sorry?” It was Chenle who said that to the person who snuck up behind you two, his arms crossing defensively and landing on his left chest, as he positions himself subtly a little closer to you, almost as if he’s instinctively shielding him.

“Ah, sorry for surprising you; I just came to ask if you guys needed help with anything?” It was when the employee raised her ID card that was hanging on a white lanyard around her neck that Chenle’s defence began to soften as you brought your hand down, replacing the confused look on your faces with one of realisation.

“Ahh, uhm, I was wondering if you could recommend a badminton racket, nothing too fancy, maybe something to last a good two years.”

“Two years?” Chenle was the one that turned to you with a look of disbelief. The employee merely smiled and gestured her hands towards the very other side of the store and quickly turned to guide you.

“Hold on, you’re doing this stupid thing for two years? Half of your courses years? You’re just gonna voluntarily stress yourself with even more work?”

“ . . . Yes? I don’t know what to tell you, that’s my main intention. That’s why I joined this program. You’ve asked me multiple times like I’m going to miraculously change my mind and thank you for it like you’re a rich person, giving me, a homeless person, a piece of bread and then barely look at me as you record the whole thing for your livestream.” You huff while going to lie down on your back on the floor around your newly bought badminton equipment; a set of badminton rackets and some cylinder packets full of shuttlecocks, the feather ones because the plastic ones suck ass, the employee had smiled at you.

You sit up just as quickly as a dull pain shoots up your back. The motherfucking shuttlecocks.

“That’s one way to make up an analogy,” Chenle’s eyes land on the shuttlecock you had freshly crushed, now looking all squashed and disoriented. Poor thing didn’t even last a minute.

“What’s she moping about this time?” Juda’s voice echoed from the door as she places the tote bag she had brought down next to the shoe shelf.

“I’m not moping; I never mope. What do I even look like when I mope?”

“She’s just crying about the fact that she has to do this thing program for another two years.” His words elicit a shout and the gradual flinging of a nearby couch pillow from you. Chenle’s neck cracked as the pillow hit his head downwards.

“Did I kill him yet,” You voiced your disinterest, sitting up on your elbows briefly to analyse Chenle’s face before giving up and laying back down. Chenle stayed in that position for a while before getting up in a fury, ready to avenge you. Juda stopped him with a kick to his leg.

“Such disrespectful words, is it hard to show some courtesy around here?” You huff and go to lie down once more, not before feeling around the surface for any stray shuttlecock.

“When it comes to you, yes,” Juda throws Chenle a Yakult, and she flings you one straight at your stomach. You attempt not to flinch.

“Here’s to either two more years of moping about this stupid badminton class every week, or two months of hardcore whining from both of you until you break and drop out.” Juda raises her Yakult bottle and clinks it with yours — that’s still on your stomach — and against Chenle’s who was drinking out of it the moment she did so, spilling what little there was of it on his face. Chenle recovers and yells out offensively, causing Juda to squeal as she stands up and goes behind the couch, using it as her shield.

You inhale and try to tune them out.

Chenle smiles as you giggle at him, the loud music of EDM mixed with Kidz bop playing in the background as the sound of metal basketball hoop clanging echoes just enough for it to have a rhythm. He looks determined to beat the high score of this stupid basketball game, as Juda and you take turns watching him play the game and criticising his moves, even when none of you know much about basketball as he does. It’s been a few weeks since the start of the semester and hence, the beginning of your program. The kids you read to are either sleepy or disinterested as you start early in the morning, and the cleaning of lecture rooms is bearable at most times.

So things are going great at this point.

That was until Chenle called out to you: “How’s badminton going?” and, you’re not gonna lie, that did dampen your mood just by a bit, but you give your best attempt at masking it and smiling through; you didn’t want them to pick up on the fact that it’s been one lesson and you’re already sick and tired of it (or, at least sick and tired of one certain person). But Juda’s just too smart and catches on too easily with anything that you and Chenle try to brush under the rug. She raises one eyebrow at you before retorting: “What, are you whinging about it already?”

“Am not!”

“Then what is it?” Juda says at the same time that Chenle swears, a little too loud for a kids arcade, but it’s around 8 PM and the only kids that are here probably do some sort of drug or something if they have parents who allow them to be out this late.

“Nothing, okay? The coach is great and the other people who are there are fine too, and I actually learnt a lot —”

“But?” Juda’s lips are pink as she wraps them around a straw poking out from her slushie cup. You lean back in retaliation, back pressed against the basketball machine as you try to find a leeway.

“. . . But.”

You’re late. And you can’t even use the excuse that you woke up late because it’s seven p.m. and you’ve scoffed down your early dinner two hours ago. You simply decided to just procrastinate to the next level in an attempt to gauge if you truly want to continue with this program or not. But now here you are, on a bus that’s severely delayed due to the evening traffic and running frantically to make it to class on time.

Minkyung is a 50-year-old dad who coaches this class; he was also at the office where you had submitted your form for the program, and was over the moon that you had decided to try out his class, hence asking you questions about your knowledge of badminton, and went on this spiel when you had made the mistake of being truthful.

He now looks at you with a kind and wrinkly smile as your shoes squeak against the floor, one hand to your rib in an attempt to not show how much out of breath you were. “Don’t worry,” his voice was quiet enough for you to register only. “You arrived on time, I just finished the information briefing that you heard from me some time ago.” His smile was tight-lipped but genuine. Trying to even out your breathing, you set down your equipment and quickly join the rest in a circle. A clap echoes throughout the quiet hall as the coach drops his hands and clears his throat while letting out a puff of air, his eyes grazing by everyone’s heads in what you assume to be his way of counting the participants of the class.

“Glad to have everyone here today, I hope with this class you guys would not only learn about badminton but also be able to learn about its sportsmanship and benefits,” His eyes dart around the rather small circle. You expected the hall to be filled with as many students as that one Zumba class you were forced to attend in high school, but it was a rather tame class.

The coach hums, thinking about something deeply as the other students shuffle around, shifting their weight from side to side in the silence engulfing the court. He looked up and clapped again softer this time. “I’ve decided to treat you like my children’s class.” He concluded, “I want you guys to introduce yourself to each other. Now don’t be shy; everyone's new in this class. Maybe you can find a friend in this class to learn better and more quicker. Okay, let’s start with you.” He pointed towards a guy that was to his left, who looked back at him with wide eyes. He looked around and smiled sheepishly yet brightly. “My name’s Haechan, and uh, I’m 22?” He finished it off with bound lips as he refers to the person after him to begin.

And as you all finish introducing yourselves to each other, with a girl named Minji being last, the introductory circle ends, meaning the coach can now start the stretching and warm-up exercises. But he hasn’t.

“Uh, coach, are we gonna—?” Minji stopped halfway as the coach whips his head to look at the gigantic clock on the wall next to the hall’s equally huge entrance. You crane your head curiously towards the direction of his vision, straining both your ears and vision to see what he was looking for, as everyone around you catches on and seems to do the same. It isn’t long after till the squeaking of shoes against the rubber ground echoes throughout; soon enough, the coach screams ‘fourteen minutes!’ as another person steps into the hall, wide eyes darting around everyone as he swallows in an attempt to simmer down his erratic breathing. As the guy's breathing evens out enough for him to probably mutter an apology, your breathing picks up.

“First day and you’ve already fallen for someone? Very on brand for you,”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” You scramble to hit Chenle with his golden pokemon card folder he brought to the arcade. Juda calmly stops you using her right hand, as her left hand picks up her drink to take another sip from.

“She didn’t even finish her story, Chenle. Go on,” Juda set her slushy down as her grip loosens from around your wrist, signalling to continue the story.

“Thank you, Juda, for you’re my favourite of them all—”

“Are you gonna finish your story?” Her grip tightened.

“A-as I was saying,”

You like to analyse people to some extent, thinking about how body language is cool and how it can depict everyone's different life, contrasting drastically from one another yet sometimes being so similar even with all of our different circumstances. This is why you tried analysing everyone in your class of busy people attempting to hit the shuttlecock in a streak longer than ten, as your eye flitting around the court and landing on your next target, the new guy, simply because that’s in your nature.

(“In your nature? Or was it just the mysterious guy that came into the class so suddenly, panting and out of bre—“

“Shut up? Anyway,” )

“Ah Jisung, this is the latest you’ve been,” The coach nodded innocently towards the guy, as if he hadn’t scared the piss out of all of you when he shouted.

He’s a bit stiff with his walk, and his shoulders seem to harden like a board when his eyes scan around the class and its participants. With wide eyes, he looks like a lost puppy with the way he looks back at the coach in some sort of silent confirmation of something. It’s probably his first time having a general class with coach Minkyung, you realise as you see Jisung bow sheepishly to his teacher.

“Sorry,” his voice was hushed, rumbling as he talked. His eyes scanned briefly once again across the now sparked class doing forehand and backhand practices that the teacher has instructed them to do. You locked eye contact with him from afar and quickly looked away, ears feeling a little bit hotter than it was a second before.

Soojin leans in towards you and Ryujin a bit and whispers, “Do you think he’s new? Like . . . All of us?”

You and Ryujin glance at each other for a quick second, before you smile profusely as Ryujin places her hands on the pole that holds the badminton net, her racket clenched fist supporting her chin as she ponders. “Not at all.” She says rather flatly, a cheeky smile following up after. Solely looking at him doesn’t give you any insights on his level of badminton playing, which is weird, because till now he could pick up on some people's skills; you’ve so far guessed correctly with a few of the participants (including yourself, you think you’re an average player in this class) so you feel a bit stumped.

He stands stiff as he talks to the coach, keeping his gaze stern on his coach. He seems to be wearing normal trackies and only has a very slim back for his racket.

“He’s obviously a beginner, his bag is so thin compared to Coach and even Haechan, he also doesn’t look like a long-time player” Jaemin pipes in.

“Who are you to say? You said you’ve been playing for how long and you’re still this bad?” Soojin smiles as she dodges Jaemin’s hand by a fraction. But Ryujin isn’t having any of it as she breathes in with her teeth clenched, hissing out a sound of suspicion.

“Coach seems to know him, which makes me think he’s either been here before, or he’s just the coach's nepotism offspring.”

“Okay!” The coach claps his hand, forcing everyone to act like they were practising. “Gather around; we’re gonna do a basic skills test for this lesson, then I’m gonna split you up into groups and we’ll get to work with the people with the same skills. Cool?” He throws two thumbs up as everyone stays silent, with one of the two people nodding. You watch as he sees the coach's enthusiasm die down a little.

“Cool?” The coach had yelled now, startling everyone else in the second round of heart attacks; everyone else yell back this time, the word ‘cool’ echoing around the grand sports court. You notice that everyone’s responded to the coach's request except for Jisung.

“Oh girl . . .” Juda now has her manicured hand placed on your sulked shoulder of realisation.

“I know, I’m so sorry, Juda.” You look into the distance of the arcade, feigning sorrow; or maybe it’s not much of a feign.

“The fuck,” Chenle turns to see both of you huddled in what looks like a cry fest. “Did someone fucking die?”

“Watch your tongue,” An old woman wearing a neon orange vest belonging to the arcade staff points at Chenle, who bows down as he murmurs ‘sorry’, with you two trying your best not to laugh, following and bowing your heads down too when the seething woman’s eyes meet your figures.

“How dare you anger the poor lady, her blood pressure is probably already high enough,” Juda picks at Chenle, who is now quietly trying to slip in the token to play another round.

“I wouldn’t have if you guys didn’t just suddenly go emo for no reason. What the f—” Chenle’s eyes waver back and see the woman’s eyes (Are they naturally red? Or is it the arcade lighting?) glaring back at him once more. “Frick. What the frick happened.”

“Oh Chenle, we must mourn for her. She’s fallen for another mysterious guy who barely has any personality.”

“Oh my god,”

“Oh my fucking god, what—”

“Fuck,” Jisung sighed when he missed the shuttlecock by just a hair's width. Everyone was standing in a line-like formation, at the tip of their toes against the line that made the distinction between the playing court and outside. Jisung and the coach were having a match, the first test that the coach had implemented to determine who goes into what group according to their skills, and when no one volunteered, Jisung silently centred himself on the court as the coach's face broke out into a glow.

Although his face was adorned with wrinkles even when still, and his skin did seem to look just a smidge pruney all the time — the I’m growing old look he had on his face was impossible to miss — the coach’s never looked sharper and younger than he does now, zipping through his side of the court like a bees race. Jisung on the other hand, seems to have a calm demeanour, quietly and tranquilly stepping forward and back, delivering lobs and clears, limbs outstretched to effortlessly hit the shuttlecock back even if it seems that his position doesn’t allow such moves.

In the cold of Autumn, the stiffness of everyone's bodies was just the tiniest bit evident after a round of stretching, but two right in front of you look as if they’re playing in the heat of the summer, arms and legs effortlessly moving around the court. You try not to look too intently into the thin glisten of sweat forming on Jisung's neck.

Soojin raises her hand without taking her eyes off of the two people playing intensively in front of her, as Jaemin reaches in his pockets to place ten thousand won into her open palm, not letting his gaze wander away from the game either. “Thank you for your service.”

“I can’t believe he’s that good, I should’ve known from his cocky demeanour.” Haechan sighs, his fist resting against his cheek, hoisted up by his other hand. Everyone looks in his direction.

“You would think that it takes one to know one,” Minji almost barely whispers as she looks away from him by her side, looking back at the game with everyone else following.

“Ah, fine. You won.” Coach drops his racket down from its first stage position, going towards the net with an open palm. Jisung barely takes a step forward before he’s lifting his hand too, shaking hands over the net as everyone claps behind them.

“Okay then, who’s next?”

You spend half the lesson just like that, with everyone playing against the coach followed by him then instructing everyone to get into the key badminton positions. You suspect that this is the core of learning badminton as the coach guides you from the way you hold your racket to the way your feet are positioned, but all you’re really thinking about right now is how badly you just want to go home.

“Okay!” The coach claps, as people gather around him in a semi-breathless state, just from being told to carry out a few sets of actions that badminton has. You don’t know why badminton necessarily needs ladder crossovers, but you barely get to give out a sigh before your eyes catch on Jisung’s seemingly calm composure. He’s done so much and maybe even a round extra, but he’s barely breaking a sweat.

Why does he look so good? Show off.

“Believe it or not, we’re done already! I now have an understanding of what level each one of you is in and will put you into groups.” You keep trying to wipe at your face to keep the sweat away, but an even coat of sweat is now settled on your hand after wiping it many times, so it only feels like you’re spreading it evenly.

All while mysterious Jisung barely lifts his shoulder to have the cloth of his shirt wipe away the bead at his temple.

How utterly gross of him. You wonder if he’s single.

“So I will see you all next week and give your level, thanks for joining!” And everyone disperses, spreading around the hall to get to their bags and start packing. You are standing above your bag, packing it and taking your bottle out to take a sip when you see Minji and Soojin whisper shouting, which defeats the whole point of whispering in the first place.

“How much do you wanna guess that he eats and sleeps here?” Soojin is practically bouncing in her place, taking multiple obvious glances at Jisung’s figure, who’s seemingly roaming around in his bag instead of packing it like everyone else, his racket placed neatly on top of his bag instead of inside.

“Nothing, because at this point it almost seems like a fact.” And with that, you shoulder your bag and head for the door, too tired to function.

“And you have no muscle aches? Impressive.” Juda pipes, her eyes glued to the road as she drives them back home.

“Oh no, I do. I just plastered a few KT tapes.” You say from your position in the passenger seat, elbow resting against the rolled-down window with your hand against your forehead, getting a nice breather from the wind outside. Chenle who’s sitting in the middle reaches his hand forward and pulls your sleeve up from behind to reveal your arm and shoulder lined up with tapes of blue and green.

“A few huh,” Juda smiles and Chenle retorts, as you tch at them both.

“I didn’t want to risk it, okay?” You say, yanking the cloth back down and slapping at Chenle’s hand, facing forward once again with your hands crossed defensively and gaze set outside again. The car lights up in the yellow of the street lights, as Juda drives through the night.

“So when’s your next class?”

“And group A has . . . Jisung. Just Jisung”

“No, bad dog. Stop taking your anger out on Chenle’s biceps,” Juda attempted half-assedly to swat at your hands while her eyes were still glued to her phone, as you retell what happens with your next class.

“It hurts, Juda. Make her stop!”

You were furious. Group C? You knew you were better than that, having played almost every other sport growing up, even if occasionally, you’d gotta be good at badminton. Why is Jisung the only one in group A? Yes, fine, maybe he plays well, but it also means that you’ve been ranked down a group just because he was too perfect. Why does he attend the class if he’s already so good?

Subconsciously, you try to convince yourself to not take this whole grouping thing quite literally, as the coach had said that they’re not ranked or anything; but how can you not take it personally when the people you thought you were on par with were in group B. It takes all of your willpower for your scowl to not be displayed, but you soon find that you don’t have to try too hard as the coach assigns you all to your positions.

“Lighter on the feet,” Coach ordered, the squeak of shoe soles rubbing against the floor echoing throughout the sports hall. You, Soojin, Jaemin and Minji go through what the coach calls fundamental steps; right foot northeast with a forehand flick, right foot northwest with a backhand flick. It helps with the basics of the game, which everyone forgets, but you don’t think half an hour of the same steps helps with remembering either.

While group B, which consists of Haechan and Ryujin, go through the same phases with some extra steps added to strengthen their posture while playing. It’s not that you think your play better than the people in your group or group B, but mainly your irrational annoyance stems from the fact that you’re position in the class is gonna be recorded into your progress report, and you know for a fact that if Jisung wouldn’t be participating this dead class, you would be in group B. Yes, it’s still the last group out of two, but you can say that you’re merely ranked second. Instead, you’re last out of three.

As the steps turn repetitive, you let your eyes wander around mindlessly, your feet carrying you throughout as your hands attempt to do the actions in a somewhat muscle memory process. Your gaze eventually settles on Jisung, whose back is facing you as he smacks the shuttlecock against the wall, which bounces back only for him to smack at it again, repeating this one-man game he seems to have made up for himself. You glare lasers into his back, thinking about how maybe you’re not into this whole mysterious demeanour as you thought you were, seeing him just making up his own moves as the coach merely bounces back between the two of your groups, only checking in on Jisung after a few rounds of lecturing your moves and correcting your mistakes.

Three consecutive claps echo around the tall indoor court, as everyone drops their rackets at their bags and gather around the coach in a circle, somewhat holding some sort of formation with Ryujin to his right and Jisung to his left, and with you positioned almost opposite of him. “Good job everyone, now it’s time to cool down, exactly how we warmed up,” Clueless, most of you follow the coach’s steps while he urges each person to take turns counting, counting up to eight in a clockwise direction. Your eyes can’t stop fleeting to Jisung, the star of every badminton night, as your petty envy prevents you from minding your own business. Throughout the whole night, you’ve seen him take only warming up and cooling down somewhat seriously, as he crosses his arms and holds up a good posture, compared to the rest of the class who simply just slump over, wanting the session to end and finally catch a break.

One final clap and you’re all free to go. And you don’t waste a second, grabbing all your essentials and bag and quickly darting for the door, ready to go home and wash up and just not support your whole body weight on your feet. As you bid everyone goodbye and bow your head lightly to the coach, you watch as Jisung strides up to the coach in a meek manner, as his eyes fall on your retreating figure just slightly before softly calling out the coach's name.

It’s nine p.m. on the dot when you step out of the court and breathe in the cold air.

Juda’s on the couch when you step into the apartment, toeing off your sports shoes as you rest your badminton bag against the shoe shelf, at hand for your next trip to your class.

With a mouth full of chips, Juda barely takes her eyes off the screen before asking “How was class?”

“Same old,” You shrug.

“Same old? You’ve only been twice. How in tune are you with the coach for it to—” Your groan stops her teasing, as she smirks at your tired form squatting against the floor, hands clutching at the door and your hair in frustration.

“Could you have at least let me get home first before frying my brain?” Your hand falls to your face, and that’s when you feel the residue of your sweat from earlier, having turned into oil. The urge to shower now tenfold, you attempt to raise yourself and pass out in the shower.

“I’m gonna wash up now, and probably go to sleep,” You mutter just loud enough for Juda to hear, to which she hums while you retrieve a towel.

“Oh wait, before you go,” She calls just as you inch towards your room, “Do you know where my umbrella went? I’m going to campus tomorrow and I think it’s gonna rain again. I tried calling you but I don’t think it went through,”

“Oh yeah, It’s by the door.” You recall taking the umbrella to class today, as the forecast has been filled with rain symbols with the Autumn weather. Digging in your bag, you push past your essentials in order to find your phone which Juda’s called. “That’s weird, my phone is not here.”

“Did you take it with you today?” Juda mumbles as she munches on a few more chips, rubbing her fingers against her pants after every serving.

“I’m sure I did,” You ponder out loud, as you remove your hands from your bag in favour of patting at your pants and jacket resting on the clothing hanger, in case you somehow shoved it in your pockets without knowing.

“Did you forget it?” As soon as the words leave your roommate's mouth, you are met with a vivid picture of your phone, abandoned on the bench in the badminton court you left in a hurry. You sigh, placing your towel on the bathroom counter briefly before grabbing your house keys while putting your shoes on.

“I’ll be back Juda,”

“Good luck,” She waves.

You’re beyond tired, and a little frustrated at yourself for being impatient and forgetting your phone. You can’t risk losing such a thing, hence you’re glad that the lights were still on when you arrived at the building, giving a wave to the receptionist.

Stepping onto the court, you immediately zero in on your phone which is perched on the bench, the black shade of the screen a contrast against the silver metal bar. But a squeak of a sole against the floor earns a squeal out of your mid-march, as you clutch your shirt next to your heart and turn towards the perpetrator.

“Oh my god,” Jisung’s gaze is what you’re met with as you let out a sigh of relief, the man in question only turning around as you mutter under your breath.

“Sorry,” That’s the first time you’ve heard his voice all day, and there’s something about the tone of his voice that calms your heart down just a bit.

“What are you still doing here?” Your curiosity gets the best of you, your forgotten phone laying there, continuing to be overlooked as you question the presence of your classmate.

His eyes squint ever so slightly at your question, as his eyes ghost over you, as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “I’m practising,”

Practising? After two hours of badminton class, he didn’t seem like he did much then, but he’s still staying back to practice. You hum in slight adulation, rocking back and forth on your feet as he turns back around and runs through steps you’re unfamiliar with. As you inch towards your phone, you think more about his prominent presence in the court; is he too shy in class? Or maybe he gets private classes from the coach?

But as you scan your eyes around the court, you’re met with a near-empty court, as the only thing in sight is his bottle and slim bag. You’re not sure exactly what you’re waiting for as you hold onto your phone, fidgeting on your spot as your eyes follow Jisung’s swift movements. He seems more tired now than he ever was in the two classes you’ve shared with him, as his shoulders ride up more with an attempt of regaining stability with his breaths.

You’re not sure how long you’ve loitered around, but it must be a long amount of time for Jisung to look at you with disdain and shock.

“. . . Why are you still here?” He seems more reserved — something you didn’t know could happen — as he asks you this question, holding his racket subconsciously closer to his body. Your eyes widen at the prospect of being caught, as you shake your hands vehemently, stumbling back a bit.

“Sorry, I wasn’t—” You didn’t know how you were going to explain yourself, but one glance at the door of the court is all you need.

Bowing your head as quickly as you can in a lieu of a goodbye, Jisung could barely apprehend what you did before you’re bolting out of the badminton court.

A week later, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to face Jisung with your awkward encounter, and it is evident that the incident has been plaguing your mind as you stand at the door of the sports centre, both hands gripping the strap do your bag.

“What if he thinks I’m a weirdo for just standing there and stalking him?” Your wandering mind does nothing to help ease the situation, as more arbitrary scenarios flow after one another. Maybe he told the coach how much of a creep you are and now when you step in, you’ll be banned from class.

“Oh dear god,” You let your head fall forwards, trying to tip over the thought out of your head. Closing your eyes, you try to think of the things you can do once the class is over when a tap on your shoulder brings you out of your reverie. You turn to look behind your shoulder, fearing that it's someone robbing you or worse— Jisung; only to see coach Son, smiling at you with a hint of worry laced on his forehead.

Your shoulders sag with relief. “Hi coach,” you wince internally at your response, voice coming out high-pitched as you clench your grip on your bag.

“Let's go in and start some warm-ups, yeah?” And as you follow the coach to the class, you make sure to subtly hide behind him in case you catch s glimpse of Jisung anywhere, not wanting to run into him. As you quietly peek your head over his right shoulder once and his left shoulder next, you feel like a secret agent sneaking up on your target. A clearing of someone's throat snaps you out of your act, as your shoulders bunch up and in shock and you quickly turn, only to be met with the feared man of the night.

It seems like he’s been trying to go up to the coach and maybe say hi, but your lurking figure both stopped and perplexed him, not knowing why you were just peeking your head around like a mole rat.

“Sorry,” You mumble slightly, eyes wide as you back away towards the closest wall, wanting to blend into it and live with the bricks. Maybe you’ll face less embarrassment that way but knowing you, anything is possible.

“It’s okay,” His voice is as unassuming as always, eyes looking anywhere but you now that he’s caught your attention. You think his shyness is quite cute, but not for long as you think back to being scared of him from last week to being jealous of him, also from last week. That’s a lot of emotion for you to process.

He pulls up his hands, now shaped into a fist and looks past you, but you know he’s talking to you when he mutters, “Fighting,” before fully facing away and walking past you as if the mortification of his action has caught up to him. You barely contain your shocked expression behind your hand.

“Good job today guys, now we all have a basic grasp of the initial steps and our skills when it comes to badminton.” You brace your hands on your knees, just having done a set of wall squats as a way to build stamina, or so you’ve been told. You thought that maybe a month into these classes and you would’ve had some sort of energy stashed away in you when attending class, but it’s week five and you’re fighting for your life three seconds into a plank.

“Now I don’t wanna treat this class academically, but for those of you who truly care, there will be an assessment in the midst of this course to reevaluate your standing and see if you can advance from your group! But other than that, remember that this class can be solely for fun reasons too . . .” The rest of coach's words were white noise to your ears. Reevaluation? Does that mean that you can advance? That you’ll have a shot?

“Are you okay?” Soojin leans in toward you, whispering while pointing to what you assume would be the shock on your face. You turn to her, drawing a thumbs up to reassure her. And before you know it class is done and you’re pulled to do a series of cool-down moves. You eagerly follow through, now somehow charged with motivation to stay back and go over your moves a few times. You figure that the least you can do to move up a rank is to spend an extra hour going over your moves, even when you sometimes think about the significance of them.

You tread up to the coach and ask in your kindest voice if it was possible for you to stay back. “Of course, are you gonna go through the steps again?” He questions as he shifts his bag from one hand to another. You give a nod and wave goodbye, watching as everyone litters out of the court.

Well, almost everyone.

You can feel, more than anything, Jisung’s gaze piercing your figure through the hood of his jumper, while you give your best attempt at stretching. You’re not sure really what stretches best help with reducing the ache in your muscles the day after, but you figure the endeavour of reaching your toes should do.

Even after a few minutes of trying to appear mellow, Jisung’s presence alone makes you feel on edge as if you’ve stolen his territory. But you figure that nothing will change and that all you can really do right now is, well, practice.

The squeak of your shoes echoes every now and then, followed by a whip sound of the racket you’re flinging in the air. If you do this quickly enough, surely your skills will improve, right? From what your coach Son demonstrated earlier, you realised that as he would start off the steps slowly for your group to get a hang of, he was able to transition the speed to his liking, doing each step quickly and efficiently.

“Okay, should be easy,” You’re careful not to speak too loud in the almost quiet hall, giving yourself words of encouragement. Hand braced in the first position, then in the second, then a slight step back, and then your hand straight and quickly bend.

You finish the routine with its final step of hitting the imaginary shuttle as fast and as straight as your hand can go with such speed. With one round done, you brace yourself in the initial position to do it again. One, two, three and four.

You only get to pump out four, maybe five rounds of this pattern before a clearing of someone's throat scares the daylights out of you. With a barely contained shout, you’d forgotten — however briefly — that you weren’t alone. You’re looking at Jisung, who seems shocked at accidentally shaking you up so much, before he says something to you.

“What?” Even with the stillness of the court, the man’s words were barely comprehensible, as yours echoed slightly throughout the court.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Oh, so the first comment he ever mutters to you are words of criticism. You furrow your brows, head tilting slightly out of habit as you encourage him to go on.

“When you’re recoiling from hitting the shuttle, your racket still faces forward instead of down,” He explains, but none of it makes sense to you and it must be evident in your face, with Jisung looking slightly frustrated that the words did not register in your head.

“If you keep your racket facing forward, the ball isn’t going to go down but head straight, which allows your opponent to retaliate better.” He continues, and you somewhat understand where he’s getting at, but he’s not really helping you at all. All he did was point out your mistake, which makes you feel that he’s just trying to show off his knowledge.

“Well, what should I do then?” You can’t help but seem a bit agitated, as you slump your shoulders and let the racket settle by your ankles, your hold on the handle tightening ever so slightly.

“Hit it face down,” He raises his arm and demonstrated the step to you, causing the head of his hoodie to fall, shining the light of the court on his face. You’re briefly stuck looking at his face instead of his step, but were reeled back in when he makes eye contact. You clear your throat as he goes through the step again, which you think were exactly the steps you were doing a second ago.

“But, how was I any different?” You say as you mimic his steps, bracing yourself in the positions without much thinking, and hitting the imaginary shuttle right as when he does.

“No- see, you did it again,” He steps a bit closer as he gestures to the racket in your hand. “You’re hitting it straight on. You’re supposed to go down.” You sigh as he says this, feeling a bit irked that a mere student is trying to tell you what to do. He is in the top rank, so maybe he has a point.

Attempting to set your implicit annoyance aside, you intently look at his hand and the way he moves his wrist at the end of the step, trying your best to imprint this into your head. He looks a bit flustered with how much your gaze is focused on him, but still goes on two more times before nodding his head at you, encouraging you to try once more.

You look at the position of your hand this time instead of him, going through the initial steps and tweaking your wrist to face more downwards this time than your last few attempts, before your eyes quickly flit towards Jisung, looking for some sort of confirmation with your try. The subdued purse of his lips assures your suspicion, which is that you’re doing it right this time round.

“Good, did you kinda find out what you were doing wrong?” The words come out on reflex, and you don’t think twice this time about him being in the same class as you and yet trying to coach your steps, as you ponder on his question.

“I mean, I found out I was doing something wrong when you pointed it out, but I’m not quite sure what you meant when you said I was hitting it straight on.”

“Wow, you were really into him weren’t you?”

“Shut up Chenle, I was into the badminton technicality.”

Jisung steps forward a little bit and is about to say something before he hesitates. You look at him sceptically, waiting to see what he was gonna say before he shakes his head and seemingly snaps himself out of it. “Can you go back to the third position?” He asks of you, which you raise your hand and assume the position. Your racket and arm are raised pointed straight to the ceiling, while he positions his fisted hand in front of you. Your questioning look doesn’t go unnoticed, as a slight smile appears on Jisungs face before he nods at you, saying, “Okay, now gently go down like you would and stop at my hand.”

You do as you’re told, with Jisung’s eyes settled on your concentrated face following his orders, as the face of your racket meets his fist, the white of his knuckles colouring for a bit.

“See, you’re hitting the front of my knuckles, but that will send the shuttle forward.” He demonstrates by pulling his fist back, “That will give the other player a better opportunity of retaliating.” He then readjusts your racket by the throat, having the net hit the top of his fist. “This gives you a better chance.”

“But like, how am I giving them a better shot?”

You’re not sure what was funny or amusing about your question, but it seems that there must be something there for Jisung to sport a cute small smile, as he picks his racket back up and moves to one of the set-up nets, and funnily enough, you find yourself following him subconsciously. He picks up a shuttlecock on his way to the net and positions himself, as you stand at his side.

“See, let’s say the shuttle is coming at you this way,” He holds the shuttle with one hand as if the opposing player had shot it at him over the net. “If I hit it the way you had— actually, why don’t you try receiving the ball.” And so you shuffle over, standing opposite of his ready stance with your arms crossed, intrigued.

“I’ll throw the shuttle back to you and try seeing if you can hit it back.” You realise that this is the most you’ve heard him speak in the past five weeks that you’ve attended the class together. You bring your hand up and stand in the ready position you remember coach telling you about when initiating a game, and Jisung takes that as a sign that you’re ready and hits the shuttle at a moderate speed. You hit the ball back with ease, as it goes over back to Jisung’s side, who catches it with his other hand. You let out a long ‘ahh’ sound of understanding, hand clutched at your side.

“You’re right, that was hell easy,” You brood aloud, but not before asking one of your other endless questions. “But then, how would the other way be any different?”

From the looks of it, Jisung seems over the moon that you asked such a question, holding back a smile by biting on his lips lightly and quipping his head to the side. He holds up the shuttle and looks at you, gauging to see if you’re ready to receive the ball once again. As you regain your ready position, you see the ball suspended in the air briefly before Jisung hits it at the ‘better’ angle, which is seemingly from the head of it, but before you can process anything else a zip sounds past you and the ball has landed behind you.

Your gasp resonates through the hall as you look behind you to where the shuttle has landed, with a hand coming to your mouth as you look at Jisung. The latter contains his smug smile behind his own hand, as you point at the ball and look back and forth. “What did you just do?”

“Ah, that’s a technique that's called smash.” You falter slightly.

“That’s a weird fucking name I’m not gonna lie,” You glance at the ball once more with a look of disgust, before shaking yourself out of it. “Oh my god, that was so cool.”

You didn’t think that you would be getting a one-on-one lesson when you decided to stay behind today, but you’re quite surprised with how he was able to spot such a little detail so quickly. And that gives you an idea.

“Jisung,” You call his name for the first time since you met him five weeks ago, which surprises the said man, as you see his eyes startle and a few strands of his hair jerk. “Do you stay after class every week?”

He’s a bit quiet for some time, processing your question thoroughly. He nods his head briefly, but not before a bit of hesitation.

“Is it . . . Can you help me improve?” You’re a bit shy now that you voice your question out loud, but you’re determined to move up at least one rank and land second place; or even just have a good academic score, even in badminton.

Seeing the blank face that Jisung is now sporting, you think about the unfair offer you’ve just made to him. Why would he spend his extra time after class to teach you, his potential competitor, without getting anything out of it? You’re not sure what you can offer him, maybe some sort of payment? But before you can ponder even more, you catch a slight nod of his head from the corner of your eye.

“Is that . . . a yes?” You lock eye contact, as he nods his head once more but with more vigour and confirmation.

“Why?” It’s your turn to look at him with confusion.

“Are you asking me?” He points to himself, as he slightly tilts his head as if he was going to look as if you were talking to someone else. You shake your head quickly once he asks the question, raising even more questions.

“Actually, no. I take back what I said. You said yes, right? You can’t change your mind. Or, I mean you can but like I would be pretty bummed about it because you already said yes but I’d respect your choice.” You take a deep breath in once you finish, looking at him and clasping your hands together a bit too harshly.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll help you with what you need.” Relief washes over you and you can’t help but smile in thanks.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing too.” Jisung hums for you to continue, as he goes towards his bag and retrieves his bottle to take a sip.

“Can you teach me how to smash?” And maybe you should’ve waited for him to be done with that bottle first.

You think you’re quite good at being subtle and on the low, no matter how much Juda and Chenle counter that argument. You can be sneaky if you put your mind to it, and it's been proven many times in high school when you would sneak your favourite snack during the middle of the class without your strict teacher finding out.

So you’re not sure where you went wrong when you held out a snack bar in Jisungs direction, only for the whole court to look at you weirdly. You merely strutted up to him with maximum placidity and poked out the bar from your hand into his torso, looking away and hoping he would get the memo and take from you as with a mutter of something that sounds really close to the word ‘thanks’.

But it’s been a solid fifteen seconds and not only is the bar still in your hand, but everyone in the class has slowed down their activities in favour of looking at you two. Even coach’s staring as if he’s trying to solve a very complex puzzle.

“Is this . . . for me?” Jisung’s voice comes out as a rumble, not knowing if he should whisper or talk normally, sounding out something in between instead.

Of course this is for you, idiot. Why am I holding it in your direction??

You ignore his question and shake the bar in your hand with a bit more intensity, hoping that he would finally get the memo. It isn’t until ten more seconds pass that you lose all hope and turn to him, grabbing his hand and placing your gratitude in his open palm, closing his fist around the energy snack.

You stomp your way to start your warm-ups before Jisung could say anything.

“When you aim your hand, you’re not really looking at the shuttle,” Jisung starts after a few rounds of one-on-one games you’ve started after class. “Your eyes are just hovering around it for a few seconds before you look around and put yourself in position. You’re supposed to go in position without looking, it should be intuitive.” You huff at his explanation, dropping your hands by your sides.

“How do I ‘look’ at it more, then?” You’re grateful that Jisung is helping you, but it’s just the tiniest bit unnerving for him to recognise your every move and be able to point out your mishaps. He moves back from the net, creating a decent amount of space in his playing circle. He starts throwing the shuttle up with his badminton racket, the distance from the shuttle and its net growing with each hit.

“Practising this move helps,” He says as he works through what you remember the coach demonstrating the first few classes. As the shuttlecock goes higher and higher with each impact, your eyes catch on the silver of skin poking out as Jisung lifts his hand to meet the shuttle, his shirt rising for a few seconds every time.

“I think it would be better if you looked at the shuttle?” His words catch you off guard, as you look up and meet his gaze already settled on your, eyes gleaming as he pokes at his cheek with his tongue.

“Shut up,” You look away, flustered that you got caught, before attempting the moves, refusing to look back at him.

The condensation of the electrolyte drink is addled with the dampness of your hand, as you make your way to class the week after. You see Ryujin talking to the coach as you enter, and Jisung at his bag, seeming to ruffle through it in order to retrieve something. You strut your way up quietly, not wanting to attract any awkward attention by giving gratitude in the form of a drink to your unofficial instructor. As you open your mouth to call Jisungs name, the tall man turns around and gives you the faintest hint of a smile, before his eyes land on your hand.

“Hi, here.” You spout, as you extend your hand straight towards him, some of the condensation dropping on the floor and finding solace in the gaps of your fingers. His hands feel dry and warm as it brushes against yours, retrieving the drink from your grasp.

“You didn’t have to. Thank you; for last time too,” Your cheeks heat up at his words as you avert your gaze away, opting to look at the playing net instead. “Don’t mention it,” Your damp hand wrings against the dry one behind your back, as you slowly let your gaze wander back to Jisung, who’s now looking at the blue bottle in his hand.

“Did you know,” He twists the drink in his hand and looks at what you think is the nutrition information. “Electrolyte doesn’t actually help when you exercise.” Your expression sullens as he continues to look at the drink you gave him. “Your body loses more water than electrolytes when you exercise, and so there is no use consuming more electrolytes. Water helps way more in comparison,” The scowl on your face makes Jisung stop in his tracks as he looks up after finishing his bite-sized lecture.

“Well, if you’re so ungrateful—” You reach your hand out to snatch the bottle from him but are stopped short as his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you. “No!” He exclaims and a chuckle slips past as your struggle to get the drink, reaching out your other hand before he captures that too, now both of your wrists trapped in his hand. Your eyes widen, with your wrist bound and fighting up a struggle, all impaired with Jisung’s hand wrapped. Before your mind can wander to what other scenarios can result in him bounding up your hands, he continues; “I’m very grateful. You don’t have to give me these things just because I give you a few tips after class.”

You pause your struggle, letting your hands be weighed down. “Well, I don’t think I’ve been helping you at all. Sometimes I even set you back, so it’s the least I can do.” You say truthfully. You do sometimes feel like a burden when Jisung gives you a tip and you don’t adapt immediately, sometimes it takes you maybe two after-class lessons until you can successfully cast back the shuttle over the net with a short distance. The only way you could think about paying him back was through these pick-me-up snacks.

“Okay, how about this,” You miss the warmth and pressure of his hand against your wrist as soon as he lets go to put the drink down behind him and straightens back up, looking away as he slowly grows flustered with what he’s about to say next. “Treat me to ice cream maybe?”

You smile at his antics, happy to have been told how you could repay him. “Deal,” He visibly deflates with relief as you zealously agree, putting your bag down next to his as you both start to unpack.

You shuffle to the bathroom as soon as practice is over, giving Jisung a quick point towards the direction you’re going to ease his worries about you running away. Once inside, you’re met with the cool breeze and a mirror that reflects your spent figure. Oh god, how were you gonna go out like this? Is this what you looked like this entire time? Shuffling to the sink, you shoulder your bag back as you lean over the sink and lightly dab at your face with some water, before cleaning yourself up and dabbing the paper towel against your face.

You don’t know why you were so nervous to do this; it’s truly just some ice cream with your temporary and unofficial coach. But you truly wanted him to see your gratitude, and soon enough you’re thinking if ice cream isn’t enough, and budgeting how you can come up with enough money for an all-you-can-eat buffet at this time of the night. But before you could even add up the numbers on your fingers - it was a two in one hand and three in another, not quite sure what they meant - the sound of the door opening echoes in the bathroom, jumping you out of your reverie.

Turning around, you just catch Minji stepping in, looking taken aback at your shocked expression, as if you weren’t expecting anyone to enter this public bathroom. “You okay?” She calls after you, and you can only hope that the smile on your face is convincing enough.

“Yup! Just . . . tired,” You cringe a bit at the overused excuse, but your shoulders slump when she just smiles back at you.

“It’s okay, maybe your date with Jisung would cheer you up?” You feel something lodge in your throat, coughing out in surprise.

“No!” You retort, hands coming out from behind you as if to stop all ideas from forming. “We’re- It’s not like that. He’s just-” Minji looks at you with amusement, as she shifts her weight and crosses her arms, urging you to continue. The mind blank you’re sporting is not at all helping with a way to express what you truly are doing with Jisung, and so you try: “I just owe him something for smashing his racket.” And that was the best you could do.

Minji’s smile falls, as her arms drop at her sides. “You . . . smashed his racket?”

You don’t know why her voice was laced with such concern, but you figure that you have to finish what you started. “Yeah, to pieces actually. Sometimes the adrenaline truly gets to you, right?” You chuckle a bit, trying to find a gap in the conversation where you can squeeze back out of the bathroom.

“Well, I’ll see you next week,” You clench the strap of your bag and exit the bathroom, ready to dart out of the place. As you turn a sharp right, you are immediately met with a sheet of white, which suspiciously looks like the colour of the shirt Jisung was wearing today. Hands are placed at your shoulder and you’re quickly set back half a step from the wall, or at least enough to recognise that it wasn’t a wall, but rather Jisung’s tall figure.

“Sorry,” you mutter, eyes flicking from his own to the arms stretching to your shoulders, catching a few veins adorning his forearm. A clear of his throat has you looking entirely away, as you grab at his wrist and start tugging towards the exit.

The white lights of the LED sign of the ice cream place illuminate most of the dark street, with most businesses having closed earlier in the day save for a few convenience stores littered with tired college students like yourselves. You eye the shop and its extravagant decor, sceptical about being brought to such a high-end ice cream shop.

“You know, when you said ice cream, I thought you had wanted me to buy you some popsicles from some convenience store. Not someplace about exorbitant ice cream with fifty years of craft in making,” You nudge your elbow a bit to Jisung’s side, to which he responds by twisting his head in your direction.

He splutters, “Oh, I’m so sorry I forgot that, you know you were gonna pay,” You notice his hands move as he speaks, something you’ve picked up from when you would talk to him or notice him talking to coach; it’s as if his words are spelt with his hands first and then brought out through his lips, now adorning a pout as he tries explaining himself.

“. . . I thought we were just, going out.” Your eyebrows raise a bit in surprise at his words. Going out? As in, going out on a date?

You wonder if your thought bubble is something he can see, as he quickly puts out his hands again, shaking them vehemently. “Not on a date! It’s just, I didn’t know what-”

“Jisung, it’s okay. I was just messing with you,” You decide to put him out of his misery, reassuring him before continuing, “I’ve never been here but I’ve been meaning to try it out, so I’m glad you suggested this place. Let me treat you to something good,” And without thinking, you link your arm through his and push through the door, the cool of the interior washing over both of you. The shop was mostly white, with white tiles placed as half-walls as well as the flooring, the only hint of colour being the green of a few plants and of course the various ice creams. The employee, who seems to be the only person in the shop, straightens up ever so slightly at the sight of the two of you entering, before slumping back down when you head towards the self-serve ice cream booths. Picking up two cups, you hand one to Jisung who’s at your right, before you pick up the scooper from a mini bucket of water, waving it around your choices.

“Tell me which flavour you want me to pick out for you,” You eye the various flavours of ice creams, seeing if you can find your favourite. You look at Jisung to see if he’s doing the same, only to see his eye zeroed in on one bucket which is contrastingly fuller than the different flavours around it.

“Mint chocolate ice cream?” Your question has JIsung nodding his head as he looks at you sheepishly. “I can’t believe you would choose the most controversial ice cream. You’re so original.” You tease, to which Jisung nudges you in retaliation.

“It’s a good flavour, if people stop comparing the mint and the chocolate and instead choose to see how much they complement each other, we would be one step closer to world peace.”

“That’s a bold claim, what’s your source?” Jisung grabs the scoop out of your hands with mock aggressiveness, opting to scoop his serving of the mint chocolate ice cream. “Your references? Where is your citation—” He cuts you off by placing his hand on your mouth after taking a scoop of his ice cream, as his chest meets your arm.

He shushes you, “Just get your ice cream, yeah? I’ll go get my toppings,” He nods and lets go of your mouth, missing the way your cheeks heat up from his proximity and touch on your face. You bring the back of your hand to your face, prying the heat to go away as you shake your head and pick the scooper back up, reaching for your favourite flavour of ice cream.

Meeting Jisung at the counter, you place your cup of ice cream next to his on the weigh and fish through your bag as you wait for the person behind the counter to calculate your total. However, as soon as you probed your wallet out of your bag, the sound of a completed transaction peals out, making you turn your head up just to see Jisung putting his wallet back into his sweatpants.

“It was supposed to be my treat,” You insist, looking towards Jisung’s direction to generate some sort of guilt for his action. Instead, the man avoids your gaze, picks up two spoons, and places them in your cups, grabbing yours when he spots you not budging from the corner of his eye and turning to head for the door. You grab at his sleeve to force out his reasoning but are slowly pulled with him as he heads out, quickly turning around and bidding goodbye to the staff before he opens the door.

“Well, maybe you can pay next time,” At the mention of another time of you and Jisung hanging out, your initial sorrow washes over by a wave of giddiness.

“Then give me your number,” You propose, fishing your phone out. “So I can see when you’re next free and make it up to you,” With wide eyes, Jisung’s hands hesitate as they reach out for your phone; before either of you can second-guess yourselves, he takes the phone and smiles shyly, typing in his details. Handing the phone back to you, you take a look at his contact before pocketing your phone as Jisung starts to speak.

You scoop a spoon of your ice cream into your mouth to hide your smile, but from a light chuckle that emits from your left side, you don’t think your efforts amounted to much.

You stretch your arm to reach the end of your leg, warming up your body before the mass class warmup, more so to have something to do instead of staring at Jisung who’s also here early and is also doing his own unique sets of warm-ups.

Nothing about badminton is sexy; there’s nothing sexy about moving your wrist just in time to deliver some sort of groundbreaking delivery with the shuttlecock. Even the word shuttlecock grosses you out, as you suppress the urge to shiver at this very moment.

So you’re not sure why the act of playing badminton with the wall is such an attractive sight to you; as Jisung grunts every now and then, seemingly surprised and unprepared by his own backhand delivery against the wall, which makes him take quick steps back and forth and side to side to meet each hit. His quick movements allow for his loose clothing today to move around freely, exposing toned skin every now and then. It takes a lot of your willpower to have you not to drool right then and there, as if you were back in high school once more.

One hit, in particular, bounced off high and far from the wall, the sound of the shuttlecock smacking against the wall echoing louder as it heads for Jisung’s left side, a direction that you’re situated in although with a safe amount of distance. The tall player retaliates by turning his body a whole hundred-and-eighty degree, facing away from the wall and essentially towards you as he tries to continue his streak of hits. Briefly, you see his eyes look at you and back at the shuttles descend, but his focus on the said thing falters when he looks at you again, realising that you’ve been watching him play.

The shame of being caught should’ve arrived by now, as your shoulders stiffen with being onslaught by Jisung’s intense gaze. But before the chagrin could fully settle in, Jisung has completely passed the point of positioning his racket, causing the shuttle to fall and bounce off of his head and onto his feet. Gently clasping your hand at your mouth, you stop your giggles at the warning glare that Jisung sends to you; although his flushed cheeks aren’t making it any better.

“Say something and see what happens,” He points at you with the tip of his racket. You remove your hand and open your mouth, curious to see where this goes.

“Are you really gonna say something?” He steps closer to your figure, which is now sitting cross-legged on the ground with both hands placed on top of one another in front of you. He drops his racket on the ground, as if it doesn’t cost a limb, and instead places his hands right above his knees, looming over your figure. You can’t help it this time when your gaze follows towards the gap in the collar of his shirt, showing the sharp cut of his collarbone peeking through. It’s when your gaze is caught on his chain necklace dangling from his neck that the sound of a basketball bouncing echoes closer, as both of you look towards the direction it’s coming from. Not long after, a boy no older than ten shuffles in with his shoes squeaking against the floor, looking shocked at the fact that the two of you are here.

The ball lightly hits Jisung’s calf, who simply picks it up and passes it back to the boy who’s seemingly frozen in place. As soon as the ball arrives at his own feet, he quickly picks it up and dashes out of the place.

“Do you wanna bet to see who can reach past their toes?” Your question snaps Jisung out of his thought. The boy chuckles and sits down to your right, stretching out his legs and shaking them out as a form of warm-up.

“You’re so on,”

Your hands are clasped behind your back as you strut up to Jisung, who’s at his bag, taking out his needed items. With a tap on his shoulder, he turns to face you, giving you a smile as a greeting before scanning you.

“What are you doing this time?” You gasp in mock offence.

“This time? I haven’t even done anything yet?”

“But you’re going to,” He points his fingers at your hidden hands. “You’re either gonna scare me or pull the lamest prank ever known to date.” Your smile drops and a scowl replaces it instead.

When Jisung fully turns to face you, you smile once more and lean your shoulders in. “I actually brought you something to thank you. Again.” You shift the item from your left to your right hand, feeling nervous and embarrassed for saying it all out loud. “Because of you, I can hit a backhand serve and not smack myself.” The boy stands taller with your gratitude, a blush sporting on his face as his eyes look anywhere but at you. You must look like high schoolers confessing to one another with the way you’re both flustered and shy, which isn’t a thought you’re fully opposed to.

He nods his head, still avoiding looking directly at you, as he reaches his hands out, ready to receive what you’ve brought for him. You giggle slightly as he shuts his eyes and shakes his hands in anticipation, “Since you said electrolyte drinks don’t really help, and you like your proteins after class, I thought of a better third option and brought you,” You reach your hands out and place the gift on his palms, urging him to open his eyes.

Cold and dripping with condensation, the plastic water bottle perched on his hands seem small as his hands close around them to keep from falling. His eyes fall as he looks dimly at the bottle in his hands, and you look away briefly to keep from laughing straight in his face.

“Now I know what that kid felt like when he got gifted an avocado for Christmas.”

“Wait,” Chenle plops down next to Juda as he says this, but is quickly shoved to the other end of the couch with a complaint ‘It’s too hot for you to stick your gross body next to me’.

“What’s his deal then?”

“What?” You turn to look at Juda first as if to check that you’re the only one confused. The furrow of the girls’ eyebrows proves the fact that you aren’t alone, as you both look at Chenle with visible empty thought bubbles surrounding you.

“Well, he’s a badminton prodigy according to you. Seems to have surprased all the basics and is just a step away from being a professional.” The initial shove and retort from Juda barely set him off, as he goes back to his original position and maybe squeezes himself even more to her side and pulls a spoon out, digging into her tub of ice cream.

“Why is he still coming to class if he’s qualified enough to teach you?” Unfortunately, for once Chenle does have a point. You’ve thought about this a few times at the beginning of the semester when you were a little more than irritated by the fact that he joined the class and made you rank down a notch; ever since he agreed to lend you a hand, you’re sometimes even happy when you see him come in.

“He has a point sadly,” Juda waves her spoon towards Chenle’s direction. “If he’s as good as you say he is, why bother coming to class?”

“Maybe you should ask him that on your next date,” The boy wiggles his eyebrows at you, squealing out a laugh when you pull your fist back in a threatening manner.

“Maybe I will,” you blurt out, attempting an aggressive tone. Before you could let anyone, even yourself, comprehend what you said, you pressed play on the tv and snuggled up to Juda’s arm on her right, with Chenle leaching off of her to her left.

“The things I put up with,” She huffs as she stabs her spoon into her ice cream tub, feeding you diligently.

[WEDNESDAY; 10:37 PM]

you: you

jwisung: ?

jwisung: what happened to hello

jwisung: ‘how was your day’

jwisung: wheres ur decorum

you: shut up you dont even know what that means

jwisung: :(

you: >.<

you: are you free this saturday at 9

jwisung: you mean

jwisung: the saturday 9pm where we just finish our badminton class?

jwisung: idk i gotta check my schedule to see if i have a badminton class around that time

jwisung: omg wait are you gonna spoil me

you: 😐

you: yes but not anymore

you: bye

jwisung: WAIR

jwisung: pleahse im soreu

you: not forgiven <3

you: i know this place that actually has good mint choc ice cream

you: not too minty not too chocolatey

jwisung: you rmbrd that i like mintchoc?

you: dont do this to me

jwisung: okay i wont 😁

you: good boy

jwisung: …

you: ?

you: oh!

jwisung: no

you: ill remember this too 😋

Your bag is bigger this time when you go to class, having packed an extra set of clothes and a towel to have a quick rinse after class before your not-date with Jisung. Arriving just in time for the warm-up session, you’re met with gloomy faces left and right. Plopping your bag down next to Soojin’s, you whisper when you ask, “Why does everyone look like they’ve been kicked?”

She looks up to you with a pout adorning her features. “Coach declared today a ‘cardio’ day. Something about wanting to boost our stamina or whatever the fuck.” She sighs as she shoves her stuff back into her bag, sadly shuffling across the court to do her designated warmups. You grimace as you follow, hoping your travel-size soap is enough.

Turns out Coach’s definition of cardio was way more intense than what you remember your gym friends raving about, as you put your hands on your knees to keep yourself from collapsing. A whistle from the coach signals a shift in your rep, making you change stations and do the next cycle of workout.

“Coach, how much longer are we gonna do this—”

“Until I start sweating, Jaemin. Now keep up!” Coach demands, which is absurd, because he isn’t doing anything but watching you do push-up planks and try not to collapse.

“Okay, stop,” He blows the whistle once more and you fall to your hands and knees, with everyone else modelling a variation of your position. Haechan’s high-pitched groan startles you, but not as much as the coach’s yelling that follows after.

“Don’t sit down guys! Sitting down after exercise is terrible for your stamina,”

“This sounds like some facebook myth my mom would tell me,” Ryujin pants as she shoves her fringe out of her face.

Coach smiles as he claps this time around. “You guys were great today, well done! As a gift, you can only do the stretching cool-down activities and I’ll finish class earlier today,” At that, the class erupts in out-of-breath cheers and barely lasting claps.

You look to find Jisung, just to see how he’s holding up after this exercise round from hell, and you find yourself more than relieved to see him affected for once. Halfway through class, he’s opted to take off his hoodie, which left him in a white shirt and navy sweatpants, with sleeves bunched up to show his biceps and their carvings. The sight of him adorned with sweat and panting sends a twist to your stomach, and you’re quickly reminded that you’re supposed to go out with him after this.

Shuffling to your bag as quickly as you can with the ache pulsing through your legs, you’re about to head for the courts' public showers when you’re met with Jisung’s figure.

“You can’t leave that easily, I have to try that ice cream,” He murmurs with a crooked smile. You smack at his shoulder.

“I wasn’t gonna leave, I wanted to take a quick rinse before we go out. That cardio really did a number on me,” Jisung falls a bit quiet at your words, as you visibly see him suddenly deep in thought. Before you get to question it, he beats you to it by straightening up and looking directly at you with an idea in mind.

“Why don’t you come to mine?” You blanch at his words but aren’t allowed to react more than that as he continues. “I live really close, and you can just use the shower before heading out. You have your stuff with you and I need a rinse too.” He points at your bag behind you, making you flush and subconsciously move to cover up your efforts. His idea doesn’t seem too bad, and you think this could be another excuse for you to make up to him. Let’s go out one more time because I used up all your hot water. Couldn’t think of a better idea.

With a nod and a smile, you’re quickly guided out of the building shoulder to shoulder.

Jisung’s apartment really wasn’t far at all, as you arrive at the complex within a five-minute walk from the sports grounds. Living in a two-bedroom apartment with his roommate, who Jisungs said to have gone home this winter season, the place looks relatively clean with the effort of one person living in the area. He directs you to his room, where you place your bags and pick up your clothes before he points towards the bathroom.

“You can use my shampoo and soap, they’re both in some type of white bottle. Don’t use the blue ones because they’re my roommates’ and he has a sixth sense when it comes to these things,” You salute him and shuffle to the bathroom, trying your best to be as quick as possible to not leave him waiting and to not actually use up all his hot water. The bathroom was just slightly messy, with towels stacked on one another in a haphazard manner and shaving bottle caps abandoned and soap remnants staining the sink, you feel warm with the idea of getting to see this side of Jisung. A university student trying his best, not some badminton prodigy.

Rinsing your body one last time, you close the water tap and open the glass door of the shower, reaching out your hand blindly to retrieve your towel. After a few seconds of mindlessly flinging your arm and only coming back with a bang of your knuckle against the metal towel holder, you don’t really recall pulling out the towel from your bag, much less hanging it anywhere near the bathroom.

“Oh my god, why today?” The cold of the world outside the shower cubicle washes shivers over you as you open the door wide enough to fit your head around, scanning to see if there’s any alternative you can use instead. All you’re met with is bundles of toilet paper rolls stacked on top of one another and used toilet paper rolls dumped into a basket haphazardly. Your panic settles a bit quicker as your mind blanks from solutions, but not before a knock is heard through the door with your name being called.

“Yes?” You hide the waver in your voice as best as you can, closing the glass door just a bit more.

“Is everything okay?” Jisung’s voice rumbles through the door. Your hand flies to your body, suddenly feeling exposed with the reminder of Jisung’s presence. Slipping back into the shower, you raise your voice as much as you can to be heard through the door; “Yup! Everything’s fine. Just . . .” It’s just I’m dripping and naked in your house and the only remedy is a towel, which I don’t have.

“I noticed you forgot your towel,” The muffle of his voice cuts you out of your trance, “I can give it to you— I mean of course I won’t look! I can just— maybe I’ll stick my hand in?” You laugh slightly at the fact that he’s just as flustered as you, before replying with an agreement.

As he opens the door with the smallest gap to fit the towel and then his wrist, the cold air of the outside reminds you again of your stark nakedness, one hand going across your chest as you reach your other to grab at the towel. With a skim of your wet fingers against his warm and dry ones, you retrieve your towel with a shy thanks, as Jisung quickly goes to close the door.

While getting ready as quickly as you could in the bathroom, your mind was filled with thoughts of how you were supposed to face Jisung after that whole incident. You couldn’t think if it was better to joke about it and get it over with or forget about it and have to come back one day for some form of closure. You hoped there was no need for closure.

But before your overthinking could get to you, Jisung regarded you like he would any other day when you stepped out of his bathroom — with a shy look and awkward hands — and you immediately relax, shoulders slumping as you go up to him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Jisung’s eyes flit towards it, but not for long before he opens the door and lets you lead the way.

The trip to the ice cream store was a short one, requiring only a train ride to the han rivers’ skirts where the shop is situated. The store itself was busy with people sitting all around snacking on its offerings, but once you get your respective ice creams and head out back towards the river, it’s a bit quieter; a breeze slips past you as you wrap an arm around yourself. With spring in the air, the trees’ full bloom flowers scatter around the pavement and are imprinted by the soles of your hoses as you walk by.

Finding a bench by the tree, the two of settle down on it, as you turn and face Jisung in anticipation of his first try.

“It’s really good, trust me. And it’s like a bit thicker with its mint rather than the chocolate bits which is a bit hard to do when you eat mint chocolate ice cream because it’s always the chocolate that's richer and you get si—” a spoonful of your ice cream is stuffed into your mouth, spluttering you to a stop as you glare at Jisung whos laughing at your expression.

“I had to shut you up one way,” You fist your hand at him in faux aggression, pulling out your spoon and placing it back into your cup.

“Just eat it quickly before it melts,” You exclaim with a hurried expression, feet bouncing up at down in anticipation. Jisung glances at you while he picks up his spoon, prodding at his ice cream before he picks up a spoonful of his ice cream, slowly bringing it to his mouth as he looks at your expression. He only laughs and detours his spoon once, bringing the spoon back up to his lips when the expression on your face shifts to a deadpan.

The pink of his lip contrasts with the mint colour of the ice cream dripping slightly from the spoon, as he finally fits the ice cream in and gives it a taste. Looking at his eyes with suspense, Jisung’s default expression of scepticism is what you see first, before it shifts into surprise, into confusion, and finally into the same expression as a kid getting candy. The glint in his eyes shines bright in the dim lighting that you’re in, as Jisung points to the ice cream while he continues consuming the ice cream.

“It’s good,”

“Of course it’s good. I wouldn’t bring you to try good mint chocolate if it wasn’t actually good mint chocolate,” You stifle a giggle when Jisung throws you a glower.

“You know what I mean,” At his positive reaction, you comfortably dug into your own ice cream, a comfortable silence blanketing you two with background noises of cyclers whizzing by and people talking in the distance.

“You’re doing really well,” Jisung starts with his eyes darted away, suddenly shy to look at you as he says, “In badminton, I mean. Your overhead shots are cleaner than mine.” Eyes still averted, he elbows you lightly with his compliment. You preen at his praise, leaning forward subconsciously to him with a thank you.

“It’s all thanks to you. If you weren’t as good as you are I wouldn’t even know that there are two methods of serving the shuttle.”

Jisung’s laugh sounds less humorous, “Yeah, it must’ve been weird seeing me play alone during class,” There's a heavy pause as you visibly detect the boy sort through his next words. “I didn’t think you guys were . . . fond of me. When we first started,” You feel your stomach go white, colours flush from your face from his words. Did he know? Were you that blatant? You feel bad, remembering how isolated the boy was at that time as everyone distanced themselves since learning his level of expertise. You weren’t any better, the bitter feeling you harboured when you got ranked into the third group now coming back to you after three months of attending practice.

At the glum expression on your face, Jisung quickly goes to wave his hand. “Ah, it was— it wasn’t your fault or anything. I secluded myself too, so of course it would’ve been hard to talk as comfortably.” He rests his hand on yours that’s pressed against the bench, comforting you as if you’re the one whos been wronged, and not the other way around. Frowning at his consolation, you don’t know what comes over you as you flip your hand around, making your palm face his as you clasp his hands in yours.

You avoid looking at his expression as you make your bold move, looking at the river as you start. “If it makes you feel better, Jaemin always talks about how jealous he is of you whenever you do a smash,” Gathering the courage, you squeeze his fingers as you look at him, another question popping up in your head.

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to, of course, but—” You cut yourself short when Jisung nods his head at you, looking at you with a calm demeanour.

“Why do you still come to class if you’re already so good? I mean, I swear you’re at national levels at least,” Jisung snorts at your words, growing shy from your praise.

“I’m being serious, don’t laugh!” Even as you say your words with furrowed eyebrows, your efforts barely last as you smile at his bashful posture. Puffing his cheeks, he ponders a bit on how to answer your question; you’re about to tell him to just forget it, not wanting him to answer something so personal, when he straightens his posture and stares ahead with a determined expression.

“The first time I played badminton was at a family gathering for new years, and I might’ve been four or maybe five when my dad put a racket in my hand and swung my arm around to hit at the throws my cousins would send my way. Then when I got older and was forced to play actual sports in school, the only thing that I was willing to play was badminton. I didn’t try hard in the beginning and was there because I heard that the teacher conducting it didn’t really care,” You snort at the picture of young Jisung barely lifting his hand to play, or letting the shuttle zoom right past him while flinching away entirely.

“But when the interschool competitions came around and I was ranked in the last group to play, I had won by pure luck,” He rubs his hands up and down his pants as he reminisces, shoulder rubbing against your subconsciously. “And then everyone started cheering me on because apparently, my accidental win had helped us accelerate to the next round. It made me feel good that I was the cause of such a thing, so I tried a bit harder the next time. Then I asked the higher ranking kids to help me with my serving, and then my mom to admit me to a badminton class, and I ranked up from F to D, and then to B and then A. My class started to admit me to local competitions outside of school hours, and then it had become such a big part of my life that I was determined to get to a national scale.”

“Did you?” Your voice was quiet when you spoke, ending with a bit of a rasp from its lack of use. You were on the edge of your seat if your position meant anything, arms wrapped around your knees, thighs pressed to your chest, making the waistband of your shorts dig a bit higher. Jisung’s smile is a sentimental one, reminiscent of a win resulting from years of effort.

“I was fifteen when I was cast by a racket sports centre, which focused on training people ranging from kids to young adults to get to national competitions and even more. I was over the moon and became one of those kids you barely see in class and when you do, they’re just sleeping through the subject. My first competition was scheduled three months after my admission, which was unheard of; even kids who have been learning at the place for two years would struggle to pass the first rounds for the entry.” Your eyes move along Jisung’s hand, as he comically explains his words through the movement of his fingers, expanding and collapsing joints onto one another.

“I didn’t win the first one, but I won the second, and the third, and built a streak - although short, just four months into training. In the beginning, it was all so exhilarating, the thrill of winning the title of first place with all these people who were just as gifted, if not even more. And so I would win because I was capable, I didn’t win because I was it was expected of me.”

“But,” You murmur as Jisung halts, bringing his hand down as his fingers fiddle with the texture of the bench.

“But,” His excitement has burnt down to a sort of nostalgia, and you reach your hand down and clasp your hand over his again, before he looks down and turns his hand, palm facing yours as he links your fingers together. “But then, when I was seventeen, I had passed the initial rounds for the national Olympic competition. It was big news; our centre hadn’t had someone do that in decades, and that was when the pressure was tangible.

“My parents would schedule my day down to the minutes, and my coach made my diet strict, telling me what exactly I should eat each day until the competition. I loved the order and agenda that was set for me; I didn’t have to think what’s next? I just had to keep doing what I was good at. But then came the first round of the match, and the people were ruthless. No one was there to watch two teenagers play badminton, but instead fight for their lives. I didn’t think much about it until my third round that day when the kid I was playing against deliberately tried to hit the ball to my face.”

You couldn’t help it, your laugh had spilt out before you could even think of stopping it, but Jisung’s squeeze against your hand assured you that it was fine, as he chuckled with you.

“Who the fuck practices hitting the ball at someone's face?” Your voice was pitched higher with exasperation. “Do you reckon he had a cardboard cutout of you to practice on? I doubt someone can do the calculations of face-hitting range that quickly under pressure.” Jisung contemplates your idea teasingly, tilting his head and measuring random angels with his free hand. Seeing that, the weight of your hand held against his now weighs tenfold, as the butterfly in your stomach flutters with the subconscious squeeze of his fingers. You bump at his shoulder as you squeeze yourself closer, bringing your linked hands to rest against your stomach, wanting to hold him closer.

“It was definitely weird, but it didn’t set me off my rhythm, I just thought that it was a way to rile people up. But my coach was the one irritated, and when the boy had almost hit my eye, that was when my coach started to interfere,” You can only imagine the noise surrounding seventeen-year-old Jisung, his coach stepping forward to halt the game and talking to the referee to take some sort of action, pointing accusing fingers at the opponent and their mentors.

“The place that we were competing at was big, bigger than what I was used to back then, and there were a lot of people and so it was noisy; but the noise that my coach and the kid were making was something else. When my coach came back to me, all riled up, I couldn’t do much but take in his energy. I remember being very tense, thinking that I should just step my ground a bit more next time ‘round so they wouldn’t think of doing something like aiming the shuttle at my face.

“I think it was either the fifth? Or the sixth round, when I was in the zone of playing ‘professionally’ rather than doing what I was already good at. I would do overhead deliveries and front-hand serves even though I’d rather do a simple back-hand. Then there was an opening for a smash, it was a weak point for the guy— and I was over the moon with the opportunity. I’d only done the smash successfully maybe enough to count off of my fingers, but I knew that if I timed it right I would get it,” Dread fills your stomach at the direction that Jisung is going, You’re sure if you clench your fingers any harder there would be an imprint left of the poor boy's hand, but Jisung either doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t care.

Jisung’s chuckle drifts lightly in the air, “I was too enthusiastic, and I bunched up all my energy into hitting the ball that I’d missed the perfect time and instead had delivered a simple overhead. It would’ve been okay otherwise, I mean, I was able to deliver something instead of losing a measly point, but before I could recover, the shuttle had travelled to the back end of the court, and in my attempt of getting it, I’d tripped and landed pretty badly,” While telling the story, Jisung’s free hand had been wandering over his clothed knee, fingers fiddling with the fabric and one another. Bunching up the fabric at the end of his pant, he pushes up the lax fabric up and over his knee, where a pink and slightly faded surgical scar paints the inner side of his knee. Your hand clasps over your mouth once met with the scar, and your heart fills with admiration as you see him trace his healed gash with sentimentality. Bringing your linked hands to rest on your knee, you prop your cheek against it while looking at him, sparkling eyes encouraging him to continue.

“I couldn’t play anymore after that, not with the same vigour I had before. Suddenly I had to go back to class regularly and didn’t have to do any sort of reps just so I don’t fall behind on my weekly plan. My schedule had more free time than anything, and so I had enough time to get to thinking; what if I hadn’t misstepped? Would I have won? But I knew that all of that thinking wouldn’t do me any good. So when I was watching the Olympics months later, I remember seeing the camera pan onto the coaches, and how happy they were to see their student playing. I missed the joy of playing for the thrill and adrenaline of moving around, and so I thought, why not become a coach?” Understanding fills you as you realise why Jisung is going through all this effort of attending a class that he’s exponentially overqualified for. His cheeks go red as he realises your gaze settling over his figure, now looking away from you and onto the still water.

You can’t help it, you find it simply so endearing that he’s set his time into achieving something to allow people to have fun with badminton. Feeling overwhelmed with affection from his story and words and actions, you lean over and place a peck on to his cheek.

The contact was brief, as your lips barely took in the smoothness of his skin before you’re coming back with a start. “Oh my god, Jisung. That’s so cute, you’re generous and you’re going out of your way to do such good things, and you didn't deserve to go through that at such a young age—” Your words were smushed together as you barely reach the end of your sentence, the cause being Jisung’s big hands gently attacking your cheeks at once. His wide eyes stare straight at yours as his colder hands warm against the puff of your cheeks; and you are seconds away from voicing your confusion before you see his gaze settling on your pouted lips, glistening and redder from the ice cream.

You couldn’t even smile teasingly at him, as his hands refrain you from doing so. The nervous adrenaline running in your vein might be another reason too, but you don’t get to ponder on that for long before you see Jisung’s tilted head leaning closer, hooded eyes glancing at your eyes before focusing back on your lips, wanting to imprint it’s cute pouted shape.

The warmth of his lips lands on your cold ones, sending a wave of warmth to wash over you. You can feel his desire through the pressure of his lips against you, his soft lips fitting over yours lovingly. You mourn the loss as soon as Jisung pulls back, but not for long before he presses another close-mouthed kiss, this time with his hand tilting your head the other way, fingers slipping and cupping your jaw gently. Your stomach warms as you feel the fervour within Jisung, from the tip of his cold fingers on your heated cheeks to the push of his body towards you, wanting to get closer with each passing second.

When he pulls back, his eyes are clouded with the haze of your kiss and a bit of timidity. Your giggle bubbles between you, causing him to smile along with you, his shyness catching up. Not wanting his hand to stray far as they fall from your face, you clasp at his palm and lace your fingers, pulling down to get his face closer to yours, placing a peck at his nose first, scrunched from being bashful, and then one on his lips. And another, and another, then it’s him who’s leaning in and slotting his lips against yours, and you’re pulling your linked hands behind your back and let go, opting to slot your hand behind his neck.

After two, three, and four more kisses to the cheek, forehead and lips, you tuck your head into the junction of his shoulder and neck, feeling shy from doing all of this in public. Jisung’s laugh is sweet to your ears, hands rubbing up and down your back before brushing at the ends of your hair.

“Give a warning next time round, will you?” You tease as you pull back, hand falling on his forearms, eyes looking everywhere but at his.

“Sorry, you just looked too cute. I felt this sudden urge to either bite you or kiss you,”

You pull back even more, hands coming up to shield yourself in mock reservation. “I don’t know if I should be thankful you chose the second option or fear for when the first option will happen,”

Jisung hums, “Maybe both?”

Your pinkies are linked as you walk along the river, basking in each other's presence as you talk, shoulders brushing every now and then. It’s when you’re both childishly debating about who had fallen first when Jisung suddenly points his finger at you accusingly.

“Is that why you forgot your towel?” His question comes out more genuine than anything, as he tilts his head quickly in thought. With a light gasp, you smack at his shoulder before your arm falls back and crosses on your shoulders, scandalised. “I didn’t!”

“Was that how you were gonna seduce me? By forgetting your towel and having me bring it to you? What was next, you wanted me to lotion your legs for you too?” You can tell he’s teasing this time around, as his tongue pokes at his cheek ever so slightly to withhold the grin that was blooming across his features.

You point your finger at him, catching on. “You probably distracted me with your whole ‘which bottle of shampoo’ debacle just to make me forget it.” Poking at his chest with eyes squinted in suspicion, “You wanted to see me naked on the first date? That’s not very decorum of you.”

Jisung scoffs and rolls his eyes at your accusation, shoulders squaring to better defend himself. “I don’t need to go through all of that just to get to you,” He throws you a quick glance from the corner of his eye, a rush of giddiness washing over him with the look of your flustered expression.

“You’re right,” This time, you’re looking at his lips as you say this, catching Jisung off-guard with your compliance. Moving closer, you rest your hands on his arms, pushing yourself up and closer to his body, chests brushing. Your voice, barely above a whisper, brushes against his ear, “It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get to me, baby.”

You know the smile on your face is menacing if Jisung’s gaze on you is anything to go by, partly annoyed and part timid. Ghosting one of your hands down his arm, you slip your fingers in between his and give them a squeeze, giggling as you swing your arm back a forth a bit like a school couple.

Jisung’s next sentence takes a bit of effort to say if his demeanour is anything to go by. With his gaze settled on your intertwined hands and a slightly open mouth— as if to say something, you give his hand another gentle squeeze to encourage him.

The gleam in his eyes looks more assured as he straightens his posture and looks directly into your eyes, giving your hand a squeeze back. “Do you wanna go back to mine?”

Leaning in, you give another peck on his cheek, his scent pleasantly wafting through your nose. “I’d love to,”

You can feel the tension grow with the sound of the door closing and sounding its locking chime, toeing off your shoes as you look up at Jisung. He reaches out a hand towards you once you straighten up, pulling you close and guiding you towards the door of his bedroom.

Like the rest of the house, Jisung’s room is clean but still spotted with signs of use, with his desk having papers and laptop wires strewn around while a plethora of empty hangers are placed at the foot of his closet. As he sits on the bed, with his hand still holding yours, he tugs you forward, his free hand going to your thigh, clasping above your knee.

His eyes glisten as he looks up at you, “This okay?” his touch ghosts on you as he asks this. You nod your head, wanting him to touch you, needing him to touch you more. His fingers grow bolder and heavier in weight, as his hand clasps at the back of your thigh, bending your leg and resting it next to his thigh. Understanding his movements, you follow suit, settling yourself on his thighs with your linked hands resting on his stomach. He leans in and presses a soft kiss against you, easing in with feathery light touches. The slot of your mouths against each other starts a small fire in your stomach, as you push yourself onto him more, needing him to know that you crave more.

He sighs against your lips as you settle down more, the pressure not far from where he wants it the most. He kisses you feverishly, the smack of your lips growing louder with each plant of his lips. His touches grow heavier as his fingers go from grazing against your knees to tracing lines up your thighs, barely a touch away from settling under the seem of your skirt. Knitting your fingers in his hair, his hand flies to your love handles, squeezing them in an attempt to ground himself. A sigh leaves his lips when you separate just the slightest bit, taking a breather as you kiss the corner of his lips, hands falling from the ends of his hair down to his collarbones and at the bottom of his shirt. Your spread your fingers on the skin of his stomach, nails skimming ever so slightly making Jisung’s breath hitch, his stomach tensing under your touch, eyes still closed as he takes in your touch, his stomach knotting from finally being able to do this with you.

With his grip already tight on your waist, he maneuvers you off his lap and sits you on his bed, crawling between your legs, making you open them and welcome him in as you lie down on his bed. He kisses you again, his hands now staking claim everywhere he can, pushing your shirt up to your ribs, fingers grazing against your bud form under your bra before he brings his hands down and kneads at your thighs.

“Jisung,” You sigh when he swipes his tongue against your lips. He takes your tongue in his mouth, humming against it at your call, its vibration sending hot waves down your body. His touches on your body take you higher, but you need more.

And so you say just as much, “More, give me more.”

“Fuck,” He sighs against your lip, “Yeah? Okay, I’ll give you more, anything for you,” Pressing one last peck against your lip, you see his body slide down your figure, his fingers going to unhook your bra as you arch your back. He groans at the sight of your breasts free from your bra. “I love your tits, so much,” His hands are big against you, but they fit perfectly against the cup of your breasts, squeezing them together as he smothers himself against your cleavage. He licks a stripe of each bud, before focusing on your left one with his mouth, tongue lapping around the swell as he sucks, opting to circle his fingers on your other tit before pinching it harshly, making you keen against him.

You rake your fingers in his hair, petting him. “Such a good boy, you make me feel so good,” Your words make him whine against your breast, making his hip stutter against the mattress, for some sort of friction. He releases one hand from cupping your breasts, opting to use one hand while his now free hand dances its way down your torso, unzipping your skirt and taking it off, before meeting the seam of your panties. With his pointer finger, he hovers a line ever so slightly on your slit, eyes wide as he glances at the pleasure breaking out on your face and the wetness of your underwear spreading.

He keeps his touch light, drawing circles on your clit through the fabric of your underwear, frustrating you. You huff when he uses the point of his fingers and presses the slightest amount into your hole, the fabric refraining you from feeling his direct touch. You pull at his hair that’s winded through your fingers, urging him on; he moans at the pull, getting the memo once he looks up at your face with an eye squeezed closed from pain or pleasure. Or both.

He licks at your entrance briefly through your panties, the heat and wetness making you moan, before his fingers finally fit themselves into the seam, sliding them down your legs. You feel more than see his gaze on your core, hooded eyes watching it squeeze around nothing as his fingers tease around it. He comes back up to you and presses his lips against yours, lips slotting together briefly before you feel his thumb rub against your sensitive nub, his middle finger prodding at your hole, eyes watching your face as he pushes the pad of his finger against you. You keen when his finger fills you, as he pushes his finger back and forth, his thumb following by pressing into your clit and pulling away rhythmically. He brings his head against your neck, licking a stripe against you before his teeth catch on your skin, lips wrapping themselves around you straight after, sucking into you before parting and finding another part of your skin to taint. He quickens his pace with his one finger, but it’s not enough, you can barely get enough of him.

Hugging his head that’s still tucked at your neck, you scratch at his scalp soothingly before pulling at strands of his hair. “Jisung,” You pant, “Another one, fill me up, please,”

“You want more?” He bites at your jaw lightly, before he pecks your lips lovingly, as if he isn’t trying to have you come undone with his fingers alone. You nod your head, “Please, I’ve been good, haven’t I?” You beg as your cup the side of his face, your eyes looking at his blown-out pupils, probably no different than yours.

Jisung gronas at your words. “You’ve been so good, such a good girl.” He pulls his finger out so just the tip of it hangs onto your gaping hole, before he joins in another finger, two fingers now filling you. You whimper out a thank you, hands clutching at his shoulders as he picks up the pace, hand now slapping against your cunt, fingers curling inside your sopping pussy. Your body feels like it’s floating and coiling into itself all at once, with Jisung’s unrelenting fingers contrasting his gentle pecks and scrape of teeth against your skin. Every few thrusts and squeeze against his fingers have his hips grind down, sometimes grazing against your leg, making you feel his hard-on.

You bring your hand down from his shoulder, curling it at the bottom of his shirt before tugging at it, mumbling the word off. He pulls back slightly and pulls his shirt off with his free hand while you help with getting it over his head. You scratch your nails against the lines of his stomach, eliciting a hiss out of his before you palm at the outline of his cock through his sweatpants. “You listen so well, don't you? Always doing your best,” You pant out, testing the waters as you tuck the tips of your finger under his waistband. His moan comes out higher in pitch with your words, hips jutting forward and into your touch.

“Good for you,” he breathes against your cheek, eyes squeezed shut at the brush of your fingers against his clothed cock, muttering another fuck under his breath, rutting into your palm for more.

You’re losing your patience, as Jisung speeds up his hand even more, the pleasure bordering with pain from his pace and harsher bites Jisung plants on you, too far gone with pleasuring you to be mindful of his strength.

You can feel your orgasm reaching, breath hitching and your stomachs coil tightening further and further. You wrap your hand around Jisung’s wrist, slowing him down slowly before prodding them out of you. You whine at the emptiness briefly but are soothed when Jisung plants wet kisses against your collarbone. You push yourself up onto your shoulders, making Jisung shuffle back slightly in order to not lose touch with you, Reaching over, you dig through your bag and pull out a condom, shaking it between your bodies to bring Jisung’s attention to it.

The sound of the plastic wrapper catches his gaze, “You’re gonna let me put it in?” He grabs the packet from your hand before gently pushing you back down. He kisses you again, seeming to not get enough, as he pushes his pants and boxers down in one go, his tip smacking against the soft lines of his stomach and leaving a glisten. The rip of the packet sounds before he rolls it on, and you shift closer when you feel the tip of his cock lined up with your pussy.

The sheets ruffle around you as Jisung comes down and places a kiss on your cheek before looking into your eyes. “Ready?” He asks, and with a nod of your head, you feel him slowly ease himself into you. The stretch feels amazing, as you both moan into each other mouths, your hands squeezing and wandering everywhere around Jisung’s shoulders, back, torso.

Jisung sighs, “Fuck,” His grip on your waist tightens, the pressure turning you on even more, squeezing around his cock. “You feel so good, so tight,”

“Fuck, Jisung,” You groan out as he quickens his pace, the sound of his hips slapping against your skin picking up. “Fuck, you’re doing so well. Stretching me out so good,” Jisung throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut at the pulse of your pussy around his member. He looks back down, wanting to see the join of your bodies, pulling out till his tip, before ramming himself back in, losing himself to the blissful feeling.

The knot in your stomach tightens. “Jisung, I’m close—” You’re cut off by your own moan as Jisung starts rubbing at your clit again, building a rhythm to his thrusts into you.

“Yeah? Fuck, let go baby,” He grunts as he bends down, his cock twitching inside of you as he kisses your lips before tucking his head back into your neck, lapping at your skin as he keeps up his speed with his fingers on your clit and his thrusts inside you. Your body curls up as your orgasm crashes into you, hands hugging at Jisung’s shoulders tighter as your thighs squeeze around his hips, keeping him in your pulsing core. Panting, you release your grip from his hip, bringing your leg down and patting Jisung’s head, wanting to kiss him again.

As he pulls away from you, you lean up and plant a kiss on his lips, chest bursting with the affection you feel while coming down. Jisung pulls his cock out from you, going slow as to not overwhelm you. He pulls off his condom, not having cum yet as his cock smacks against his stomach, the precum from the tip joining the light sheen of sweat covering his body. He fists his hand around his cock, tugging and pumping himself to a finish. You’re too spent to give him a helping hand, but you decide you haven’t spent your mouth enough.

“Pretty boy, you’re doing so well,” He hunches over your body at your words. “Looks so good fisting your own cock like that,”

“Fuck,” He groans, “If you keep going I’m gonna—”

“Cum baby, make a mess on me,” You run your hand up his thigh, before pulling up and grabbing at his hair and combing through the strands. His moan comes out high pitched as his hips stutter into his fist, before a spurt of come shoots out and lands on your stomach. He twists his fist around the head of his cock as he milks it out, before heaving a sigh and slumping down, placing a kiss on your shoulder before he lies by your side, cupping his body into yours. You continue running your hand in his hair as he settles on your shoulder, his cheek poking out which makes you poke at it. A giggle is shared as the giddiness of you two being together in the moment settles in, and when you go to place a kiss at his forehead, you’re reminded of the wetness of sweat all over your body and the slowly drying cum on your stomach.

“Oh, let me go get something,” He gets up and goes to his bathroom, coming back with a few paper towels and a wet cloth. Rubbing down your spent body, he pats you dry with the paper towel before putting them away and plopping down next to you, wrapping his arm around you and tucking himself close.

“I didn’t know you were the cuddly type,” You say as you hug at his shoulders, hands rubbing up and down as a faux massage.

“Well, I mean, I can let go?” Jisung’s nervous front grows again, as he goes to put some distance between the two of you. But before he could get far, you wrap your arms tighter around his shoulder as you hook your leg around his, stopping him from pulling away.

“I never said it was bad; I like this girlfriend bonus.” Jisung’s hair bounces as he pops his head up to look at you.

“Girlfriend bonus? Does that mean you’re my girlfriend now?”

“Only if you agree to my boyfriend bonuses,” You shrug. He laughs as he places his head back on your shoulder. “What are these so-called ‘boyfriend bonuses’ of yours?” You tap at your chin mockingly as you think.

“You can fuck my boobs next time?” You shrug again. His head whips up faster this time ‘round.

“Are you serious? Don’t joke about it, because if you are I won’t be—” You smack your hands on his cheeks, squeezing his lips into a pout. His shoulders slump at your attempt of shutting him up, eyebrows drooping as he gazes at you, making you laugh at his expression as you squish his cheeks repeatedly.

“Okay, good job guys, take a water break.” Coach Son claps, as everyone shuffles to their bags and grab at their bottles. Jisung’s elbow brushes against yours as he grabs his bottle from his bag next to yours, taking a few light sips before he places it down, looking at you with his cheeks full of water. It takes all his might to not spit the water out as you elbow him back and raise your fingers tauntingly, moving closer as if you’re about to tickle him.

Before you can successfully begin your quest, Coach lets out a sound as to gather you guys back ‘round, clapping his hands twice before waving you guys in.

“Since we’re coming to the end of the semester and you guys have proved to work really hard, I’m gonna conduct one last test to see how much your levels have changed since the beginning of the semester!”

“Oh my god,” You whisper out to Jisung as your hand cups your mouth, wide eyes looking at his as his eyebrows raise in surprise. This could finally be the moment that you can prove yourself, advancing onto a higher level to have an overall better ranking.

“Who wants to go first?” Jaemin steps up and raises his hand, confidently wanting to prove his skills.

He plays a round with the coach, showing signs of trying his best and knowing how to play, but his reaction speed comes a bit too late as he misses the shuttles by a step. Sometimes two. Sometimes he mixes up his left from his right, but that’s just occasionally. Minji and Ryujin play a round each, and show good improvement throughout the semester.

“You should go next,” Jisung leans into as he whispers, both of your gazes settled on the coach and Ryujin going back and forth with clears being delivered. Your blood rushes quicker at the thought of playing an official round, thinking of all the mistakes you can make that would cost you.

Sensing your nerves, Jisung places his hand on yours, grabbing it before giving the palm of your hand soothing rubs. “To help with the nerves,” He says when you look at your joint hands questioningly.

“Alright, next player?” Giving your hand a light squeeze, Jisung lets go and ushers you forward onto the court, as you raise your hand slightly, grabbing at your racket once Coach nods you in.

Arranging yourself, you pick up the shuttle left at your side and get into your serve position. You hit the shuttle and serve, commencing the game. You are able to reciprocate most of coach’s deliveries, stepping left and right when needed and angling your racket to optimise your own delivery, but it’s when you’re halfway through the game with Coach Son’s and your score being eleven and ten respectively, coach starts playing with a more advanced method. The drops become more frequent, catching you off guard as you have to run from the back to the front of the court in order to make it to the shuttle, as well as the clears going in different angles making you almost trip a few times as you attempt to make it to them.

Jisung has his fist at his mouth as he watches you from the side, with everyone else in awe at how quickly you’re moving compared to the last time they played officially.

“How did she get so good?” Haechan questions with his hand pressed on his racket. The whole class shifts their head from left to right at the sidelines as they watch you battling it out with their coach, the shuttle relentlessly being delivered with neither of you wanting to lose touch of it.

“It’s the perks she gets for having an almost professional-level badminton player of a boyfriend.” Ryujin’s smile is devoid of any callousness, patting at Jisung’s shoulder as she says this. Jisung can feel his cheeks grow red as he splutters into his sleeve, hiding his flustered expression as the rest of them shout out their reactions.

“All credit goes to her, she’s just a diligent student.”

“I can be diligent too,” Jaemin bats his lashes as he leans in from Jisung’s other side, but flinches and clutches at his shoulder when Soojin smacks him.

Back on the court, you’re starting to lose your breath when Coach delivers another serve to the back of the court, shuttle going straight as you attempt to create enough distance to successfully hit back. As he does a clear delivery, you position yourself at the back fo the court in order to meet his hit, before quickly centring yourself, preparing for his next move. From a steady pattern of his serves growing in your head, you were more than ready to reciprocate his short hit of the shuttle near the net, as you step forward and hit back.

Usually, you would’ve stumbled to hit the shuttle back at maximum velocity, sending it flying up and giving Coach more than enough time to think of his next move. But from your extra hours of playing with Jisung, you’re picked up the knack of delivering a short end with another short end, making the shuttle travel only the slightest bit over the net and plummeting down into the court. Coach Son is caught off guard when you do this, but his reflexes from years of practise kicks in, and before he could process his actions, he delivers a lob, sending the shuttle high in the air. Jisung gasps from the sidelines, making everyone alert.

He calls out your name, “Smash! Do a smash!”

With your eye settled on the descending shuttle, you think back to the one class you had with Jisung.

“You hit a clear when the shuttle can meet your hand at twelve o’clock. You have to wait for it to drop to the same level that you’re hand would be at a ten o’clock position to be able to deliver a smash; but remember that you have to keep going with your delivery until your hand reaches six o’clock.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

You’re still not sure what he meant, but with the fall of the shuttle, you’re not really at the privilege of recalling things for a long amount of time.

Positioning your hand at the first base, you wait for the shuttle to be at least a few inches from your head before you reach out, smacking at the shuttle and aiming at the bottom of the court. Coach, who was ready for you to hit the shuttle to the back of the court like you usually do, was not ready for the shuttle which was arriving at a quick pace. In a blink, the shuttle lands just past his ankles, and you’ve officially scored a point.

“Jisung!” You scream once the shuttle lands, looking at your boyfriend who was staring intently at your match. A look of victory glows across his face as his mouth drops in disbelief, eyebrows raised and fists clenched, over the moon at what you had just accomplished.

“I smashed! I did it! I smashed so hard oh my god, I think my arms gonna fall off,” The game is far from done for you to be celebrating like this, but you’re without care when the rest of the class cheers for you, Minji running up to you to give you a hug. You both start jumping with giddy while the rest join in, all while the coach looks at your huddled bunch with a smile on his face.

“This is Juda and this one is Chenle.”

“Why’d you talk about me as if I was a dog?”

“Because you are,” Juda shrugs before she plucks out a Yakult bottle from the packet in her hand, swingin it above Chenle’s face. “Who wants a treat? You do! Who’s a good boy?”

“Nice to . . . meet you guys too?” Jisung’s wave hangs mid air as he looks at Chenle slowly shift from a expressionless face to enthusiastically nodding his head up and down, wanting the drink.

“What did I tell you? You’ll fit just right in with us,” You link your arm through Jisung’s elbow, pulling him into your shared house with Juda before sitting him down on the couch. Juda and Chenle follow after, with the latter having his own bottle open and already emptied halfway. Juda offers Jisung yakult bottle, and goes to pick up the remote, going through the movies to put something on. You quickly grab a few snacks from the kitchen and come back, settling yourself right next to Jisung, leaving no space between the both of you.

“Wait,” Chenle turns to look at you from his positon on the ground, grimacing a bit at the sight of you two cuddled up, before continuing. “What happened with the new ranking then?” Your smile is shy when you look at him and Juda looking back at you expectantly.

“I got into group B.”

“YES!” Chenle whoops, grabbing Juda and shaking her by the shoulders. “No more whining and complaining and whinging about the class!” You chuckle as you cheer alongside him, with Jisung looking at your interactions with raised eyebrows.

Laughing, you tuck yourself into his side, linking your arms again as you rest your head on his shoulder. With Juda and Chenle bickering about settling on what movie to watch, you press a quick kiss on his cheek in appreciation.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” You smile at him, to which he grins shyly at. “Even though I lost, the smash pulled me through. Your smashing abilities were so flawless that even I, a young duckling was able to smash through,”

“Okay, thank you for the compliment but maybe don’t say how good my smashing abilities are—”

“You just smash so hard and so well—”

“Please—”

“Jisung the smash master!”

if you liked this, dont be afraid to tell me !

#park jisung x reader #jisung x reader #nct jisung #park jisung smut #park jisung fluff #nct dream smut #nct jisung fluff #nct jisung x reader #nct jisung smut

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yellowjestertfs · 15 days ago

Text

Just another ordinary day

Been busy working on a longer project (as in 40k+ words :0) but in the meantime decided to publish another older story of mine with revisions and images. AI was being especially tricky on me this time so the images are not quite what I pictured but good enough. If anyone has any tips for making better images or is interested in proofreading my longer story let me know!

I woke with a start, my mind still groggy from sleep my vision hazy. It was one of those sudden wake-ups that throws off your whole day, the kind usually prompted by some bad dream or loud noise. Only there had been no such occurrence; my sleep had been peaceful and from what I could remember dreamless, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling something had woken me.

No matter the cause I was up, and judging by the daylight creeping through my shades there was no point falling back to sleep. With a groan, I lifted myself out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. The alarm on my bedside table informed me I had thirty extra minutes this morning to get ready for work. Never one to waste time I decided to have a quick wank with my extra time to try to release some of the stress my sudden wakeup had caused.

Something felt off as I pulled down my pants to reveal my dick, rock hard as it was most mornings. The type of feeling you get when you say a word over and over and it loses all meaning. Everything else seemed normal, my body was still just as average as when I went to bed, nice strong legs from a childhood of playing soccer and a slight beer belly from my time playing beer pong in college. My face looked the same as well, a generally generic face, adorned by light stubble which had grown in while I slept, and bags under my eyes from my draining corporate job. It was my dick that felt off, foreign, only that was ridiculous. It looked the same as it had since I finished puberty. Just over a foot long and proportionally thick, it was just as average as the rest of my body. Something about thinking of my third leg as average felt wrong but I chalked it up to the dregs of sleep. That was simply how men were, nothing strange about it.

Shanking myself out of my contemplative state I hopped into the shower and went about the act of washing away the sheen of sweat I had gained while I slept. I also took this time to rub one out, using the standard two-hand technique practiced by most men. My dick quickly rose to its full size, and within minutes, my tennis ball-sized balls were churning out cum. I thought back to an article I had read in high school that claimed the average male ejaculated a third a gallon of cum per climax, and judging by my admissions that seemed plausible. I supposed the amount coupled with the force accounted for the high rate of condom breakage, not that any but the bravest of women ever allowed for penetrative sex.

After maneuvering the shower head to force all the cum down the drain I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around my waist, paying special care to ensure that my dick didn’t cause the cloth to come undone. Suddenly I felt a wave pass over me. I felt immediately nauseous and light-headed and a strange sensation of deja vu. I realized this was the feeling that had woken me up this morning, then just as suddenly as it had come over me the queasiness vanished as did my memory of the event. I was left only with a vague sense of unease. Powering through the strange sensation I wiped down the mirror and was confronted once again with a visage that felt somehow off. It wasn’t my average face nor the obscene bulge hidden behind my towel, both of those were normal. My body too looked just as average as ever, thick cut pecs, prominent square abs, and bulging 22’’ biceps were nothing to write home about, although I supposed my time playing soccer had given my legs an extra boost elevating them from the standard 30-inch thickness to a respectable 35. Luckily for me, men are incapable of storing fat otherwise I might have a belly from all those beers I drank in college I thought to myself absentmindedly patting my six-pack. Still, in a world where most men have 250 pounds of walking muscle, I have always felt sort of insecure about my scrawny 230-pound body.

Quickly forgetting about the strange sensation I finished my morning routine, electing to keep my stubble in the hopes of cultivating a more rugged look on my average face. I exited the bathroom and opened my closet, greeted by the sight of several rows of various dress shirts, embarrassingly all labeled as men's adult small. Putting on underwear was easy enough as with all menswear my boxers had a special compartment for my hose-like junk. A dress shirt too buttoned easily over my cabbage-sized pecs as of course all men's shirts were created for just the task. I was just in the process of squeezing my legs into billowing trousers when I felt another wave pass over me. My already precarious balance caused me to fall, and I caught myself on the edge of my dresser, only it wasn’t a dresser. Why would I have a dresser, I wasn’t a woman what would I do with clothing? Righting myself against what I realized was a workout bench I glanced down just to reassure myself of my nakedness. I wondered absently where the thought of me owning clothing had come from, what a preposterous idea, that would be like a woman walking around naked. I would be fired on the spot if I showed up in such an offensive garment. Casting the ridiculous idea out of my mind I grabbed my bag and headed off to work.

Saying hello to my hunky neighbor as I passed I finally emerged onto the street. Despite my strange morning, the world outside my apartment appeared the same as it always was, men on their way to work naked, of course, pecs and dick bouncing as they walked, bare feet smacking against the smooth temperature-controlled cement. I joined the throngs of men crowding the sidewalks and waited at a crosswalk as men showing flesh drove by, their cars of course made specifically large enough to hold their bulk. I became just another face in the crowd, just another man on his way to work, bodybuilder frame revealed to the wind. The eye easily passed over my foot-long dick, the instrument not nearly long enough to garner any attention. Be they young or old, rich or poor every man was at least 200 pounds of muscle with a shlong to match and of course, all of them were naked, it was simply how the world was, how it had always been. Depending on the subway station I swiped my metro card and made my way to the appropriate train. As the train pulled I was buffeted by yet another wave and was instantly wracked with an intense pulse of nausea which disappeared just as suddenly as it had arrived.

Releasing I had fallen down, but not knowing why, I stood back up to my full 7’10” hight and saw all around me men doing the same. For a moment the doors to the subway car in front of me looked strange, almost too tall but that didn’t make any sense. They stood just as tall as ever, the standard 9 foot hight, enough to allow most men to enter without hitting their heads. I knew of course that there were rare men who would still have to duck to enter the train car but for the vast majority of men who averaged around 8’0’’, ten feet was more than sufficient. I entered the car and sat down, my bare butt brushing up against the perky ass of a blond man with a round face on one side and a woman in expertly pressed dress slacks and a matching navy blazer on the other. As the train took off another wave stuck. This one merely caused me to clutch my head as a splitting headache appeared and then vanished in a second. The woman next to me was hit harder by the instantly forgotten wave of reality-altering force. Thrown off balance she bounced into my left pec, her head cushioned by the squishy yet firm muscle. Recovering immediately and feeling somewhat confused as to how she ended up pressed against me she apologized and distracted herself by pulling out her phone and flipping to the camera app to ensure her makeup was not smudged. Though the camera was pointed at herself I could see my reflection, my head towering over hers even in my sitting position.

I certainly wasn’t ugly by any standard but I also wasn’t some model. My chiseled wide jaw was just about as handsome as every other man on the train, although the perfect coating of square stubble that had grown in during the night did lend me a rugged edge. The rest of my features were pretty mundane, clear and pore-less skin, thick square eyebrows and a dimpled wide chin were the default for men, as evidenced by the golden-haired Adonis that sat next to me. Even so, I always liked my piercing bright eyes and high cheekbones even though they were hardly rare in the world.

The blond man sitting next to me with the perfect lantern jaw got up at the next stop. Mine was the one after that.

I exited the car and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time to ensure I wasn’t late. My work building looked the same as it always did, with large doors to accommodate male employees and in the lobby a giant bronze statue of a man holding the earth, his body naked and extremely well muscled and hung of course for the sake of realism. Despite my relative scrawniness I still used a male-designated elevator, the female ones not made to handle my weight or height. The several other men in the elevator and I had only made it a few floors before we were subject to one final and seemingly extra powerful shockwave. The weight of the changes enacted easily caused all the men even with their rock-hard muscles to crumple and we collapsed onto each other. My hand somehow ended up gasping the long penis of a 40-year-old accountant with a perfectly maintained salt and pepper beard. For a moment I motioned to let go of his member before reality snapped back in and I remembered my manners. It would be incredibly rude for me to begin a morning grope and not bring him to completion. In fact, I had already made a major faux pas by not kissing my coworker hello. This error in tact was quickly rectified as the rest of the elevator ride turned into a make-out session. By my floor the sexy accountant I was giving a handjob to reached completion and I took his load as my breakfast. As I left he spanked my ass and stuck his business card between my butt checks. Guess he liked my elevator pitch.

I went straight to my boss's office as was customary and gave the 350-pound silver fox a quick blow job before he transferred his abnormally large penis into my ass and fucked me while we discussed business. Turns out the reality-warping machine he had invested in had been broken into this morning although as far as anyone could tell no damage had been done nor had the machine been used.

“Makes sense I told him" In-between moans as he obliterated my prostate. “I imagine we would know if someone were to fuck with reality.”

My boss clenched his superhumanly wide lantern jaw and straightened up to his full over eight-foot height, both football-sized biceps flexed behind his head. “You're right on that account kid, today is yet another ordinary day.

#musclegrowth #straight to gay #male tf #male transformation #ai image #reality change

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pugh-bug · 6 months ago

Text

Flashing Lights

Art Donaldson x reader

If people like this I’ll write a part 2 and possibly some sub Art fics in the future. Challengers is all I can think about at the moment and this blonde man is living rent free in my brain.

——————————————————————

‘Come on come on, they can never have too many pictures taken of them!’

Your friend dragged you and your mediocre camera, quite forcefully, to Tashi Duncan’s party. It wasn’t just that you hadn’t been invited and that you weren’t remotely a tennis player it was that Ashley’s lame excuse of ‘they need more photographers’ was patently untrue. Everywhere you looked there were photographers with cameras that cost more than your yearly rent.

‘I’ll get us a drink wait here.’

You watched her confidently insert herself into the queue for the bar, in between endless posters of Tashi Duncan hoodies and Tashi Duncan headbands. If you hadn’t been such a feminist you might have felt a little sick from all the masturbatory self promotion.

In your idleness you decided to people watch. There were no less than a hundred people there already, all dressed elegantly with hair and makeup that no doubt took longer to do than the night would even last. You pulled at your tight dress. Flattering? Definitely. Comfortable? Absolutely not. Ashley had the tennis body, the Tashi Duncan confidence and skill but without the praise or queue of fans. You had your camera.

You hadn’t touched a tennis racket since you were ten years old. These people weren’t your peers they were your betters, including the snobby photographers and perhaps even including Ashely. At least she knew what ‘down the line’ meant.

‘Can we go?’ Your voice sounded bitter as Ashley handed you a cocktail. ‘I’ve got two photoshoots to edit for tomorrow and I don’t even like tennis! Why am I even here?’ As your friend defended her plan to ‘sleep with as many rich tennis players as possible’ your eyes wandered once again, this time landing on a man who needed no introduction.

‘Is that … Art Donaldson?’

It was him, smoking a cigarette by Patrick Zweig dressed for Summer. Fire and ice in the flesh. You suddenly felt the need to readjust your dress, your hair, your earrings. To fidget. To fidget and prepare for the chance he might look in your direction and see what he wanted.

‘Fuck me it’s Zweig.’

As Ashley launched into a thesis on why Patrick was the hottest man she’d ever seen, your eyes bored into the side of Art’s head. His curls fell so perfectly on his forehead but all you could find yourself imagining was messing them up. As your staring breached the line of too far, Ashley tapped your arm. ‘Think I should go talk to him? Flirt a bit? He’s a bit of a man whore, I’m pretty sure I could get him.’ Just as you opened your mouth to speak, the recipient of your staring began to move closer.

It only took a few moments for Art to reach yours and Ashley’s corner of refuge but his eyes never strayed from you. Zweig had followed him like a puppy and whilst you couldn’t have cared less where the brunette chose to stand, you could practically feel Ashley screaming in her head.

‘Aaliyah right? You basically murdered my friend out there yesterday.’ As Ashley corrected Patrick’s memory, you forced your eyes to look at anything that wasn’t Art’s knowing smirk in your direction. It didn’t work, in fact your refusal to make eye contact with the future star had made your feelings glaringly obvious.

You’d watched him play many times, instead of doing your own work, and although you found tennis a little boring the man had you riveted. The ease at which he hit the ball with such force, the little hand movements he’d do during a tie break and his cruel habit of taking his shirt off on hot days … you were hooked.

As he eyed your dress you wondered if he’d seen you, made note of just how many matches you’d been front and centre at. Maybe he knew you were an amateur photographer and perhaps his smirk was intended as a mockery of your being there. Art knew you didn’t belong at thee Tashi Duncan’s after party. You both knew it. He looked at you, finally as you’d lifted your gaze, and cocked his head slightly to the side.

‘So, you don’t like tennis?’

Shit.

‘Oh. You heard that.’

‘Yep.’

His voice was glazed with amusement as he sipped his cold beer, daring you to defend yourself.

‘Ashley was invited,’ you lied with little ease. ‘I’m here as her friend- well I guess also photographer but you all seem to have that covered.’ Both yours and Art’s eyes glanced at the gang of professionals taking Tashi’s photo. She was holding the shimmering trophy as if it was nothing of real value, she had the humble but proud smile down. Art clocked your jealous expression and raised an eyebrow. ‘Tashi not your favourite?’

‘She’s pretty amazing and she looks fucking beautiful tonight I can’t lie. I just, I guess I wish I was that talented.’

Despite her successful flirting to Patrick, Ashley heard your little, sad admission. Mentally you scolded yourself for letting Art see your vulnerable side. Instead of judgement he smiled.

‘Are you not the best at getting front row seats?’

He left off ‘at my matches’ but the point had been made loud and clear. You chose not to react and to ignore him completely. ‘Ashley?’ But when you turned your head to your friend you saw her mouth was occupied. Oh.

Art laughed at his best friend. ‘Seriously? You couldn’t go one night?’ No, Patrick couldn’t and he couldn’t find it in his horny heart to feel guilty for stealing your one friend and escape route from you. The pair, still connected by their lips, hurried away from the party and to some poor fucker’s bedroom. You were alone with Art Donaldson and the party that engulfed the two of you had began to die down.

‘I should go too-‘

‘Wanna go down to the beach with me?’

You couldn’t help but scoff audibly at his request. ‘You don’t even know my name.’

Art’s eyes practically gleamed with cheekiness as he moved towards you. ‘Then tell me.’

‘It’s Y/N.’

With a charming smile he repeated his offer. ‘Y/N… wanna go down to the beach with me?’

If a mind reader had been in attendance you’d have been mortified as your first thought was: Oh god have I even shaved?

The decision to take your heels off had been an impulsive one and an instant regret as you felt the brittle sand rub against your toes. Avoiding the broken glass, you walked into Art’s shoulder and quickly apologised. ‘You’re like a baby deer.’

You perched on the rock overlooking the water that moonlight reached. Art’s eyes were transfixed on you as your hair blew from your shoulders. Surely he was just bored and flirting for fun. But you hadn’t seen him speak to anyone except Patrick before approaching you.

‘What is it about photography?’ Art gestured to the camera you almost forgot you were still wearing around your neck.

‘What is it about tennis?’

Art lit his second cigarette, took a drag and smirked.

‘I’ll let you answer that.’

Much to his elation, your dress had begun to ride up but you hadn’t noticed. You simply dug your toes in the sand and smiled coyly at the blonde. But how to best handle this?

‘Watching you play tennis isn’t like watching other people play tennis.’

Art grinned, only for a moment, but you caught the ego boost in real time. He moved backwards in his chair, outstretching his long legs and looking up at you with keen interest and quiet amusement. ‘Go on.’

Your mind flashed back to his most recent match. His opponent had purposefully coughed every time it was Art’s turn to serve and instead of letting it distract him or doing it back Art had fired the ball, with force, by his head. It had been a warning, not a greatly subtle one but certainly great to watch. The shock on the boys face as he narrowly missed receiving a black eye had made you laugh and you suddenly remembered Art had beamed at you when you had.

‘You’re just really good at it.’

‘Try again.’

He wasn’t making this easy for you but that didn’t mean you had to shower him in compliments, not when he hadn’t so much as asked you your name until prompted. You watched him, completely settled and comfortable in Tashi Duncan’s deck hair and wondered if someone this confident and talented (and knew as much) could possibly be single… unless?

‘Are you and Patrick just friends?’

He twitched ever so slightly at your question before covering his shock with a chuckle.

‘Umm.. yes. Sorry to disappoint.’

You smiled, suddenly feeling more confident now that you’d put him on the spot for the first time that night.

‘Not disappointed.’

Seeing you at ease, seemingly with any answer he had to offer, Art relaxed into his chair again. A moment of silence passed as the two of you listened to the very end of the party above and the seas tumbling waves. The water was just beginning to reach the rock you’d been safely perching on. A sign to leave.

‘I think I should go back to my ho-AAA!’

You’d barely taken two steps before buried broken glass assaulted your feet.

‘Jesus fuck!’

‘Y/N!’

The pain shot through you from toe to head, it settled in between your eyebrows as you frowned, trying not to scream. Art’s face was a picture of panic. He couldn’t help but notice how much pain you were in from putting weight on your foot, which had just begun to bleed as a thought entered his head.

‘I’ll carry you.’

‘I think I can walk.’

You took a hesitant step further but your foot ,in an act of betrayal, buckled under the pain. Giving Art a look of defeat you sighed. ‘Yeah, I think you’re gonna have to.’

You thought it would feel strange, the man whom you’d been watching almost obsessively for months play a sport you despised carrying you to safety. It didn’t. It felt right. His strong arms flexed under your weight as he took confident but cautious steps to Tashi’s party. There wasn’t much left of it. In fact the only people still there were two photographers packing up their lighting equipment and they didn’t give you so much as a second glance.

‘Any chance you secretly are friends with Tashi?’ Art asked, his voice hopeful, hoping he could drop you off to safety. He pursed his lips when you shook your head. Another moment of silence passed through the two of you but this one was different. You craned your neck out to gage the distance before suggesting:

‘My hotel really isn’t far. A mile at most.’

Art smirked for a moment, forgetting what the actual circumstances were. Your foot had stopped bleeding but you didn’t feel like walking. In fact you were rather enjoying Art Donaldson: the knight in shining armour. It was a good look on him.

‘Uber?’

‘Think of it as a workout.’

It wasn’t the recreational workout Art had been hoping for that night but he did it. He carried you and your shoes to your hotel room. The receptionist barely reacted to your new person but of course what did she care? She was probably only concerned with what mess you’d leave the cleaners.

‘67, this is it.’

Art put you down, keeping his arm around your waist for support. He was a little flushed from the exertion and you were flushed from the pain, or perhaps just his wandering hand.

‘Do you want me to st-‘

‘I want you to stay.’ You interrupted him hurriedly, desperate for him to stay. In that moment you didn’t mind if he stayed to read the complimentary bible next to you or if he wanted to fuck you mercilessly in front of the bathroom mirror. You just wanted him close.

At your eagerness, Art smiled following you in. Your hotel room was not too messy for visitors but it certainly hadn’t been expecting any. For a moment you wondered how Ashley was getting on in her room down the hall and if she too had embarrassed herself in front of her favourite tennis player. Somewhat likely.

‘I think seeing as you’ve carried me bleeding you can see me in pyjamas. Give me one se-‘

You gestured to the bathroom and your dress, looking forward to getting out of it but Art shook his head. You froze. His face was one of sheer determination and unwavering confidence, not unlike the look he gave cocky opponents who needed humbling. He closed the gap between you until his chest was inches from yours but blocked by your camera. You took it off, not breaking eye contact, and placed it slowly on the desk behind you.

Just as you thought the only way to break the silence would be with a kiss, Art broke eye contact. ‘Do you have any antiseptic wipes? Anything to clean it?’ You felt your stomach unclench. ‘Yeah.’ Limping slightly, you fetched a packet from the bathroom sink and placed them in Art’s open palm. He gestured to the bed.

‘Sit.’

His order was polite but you felt compelled. Sitting on your own bed as if it was alien, you looked up at him waiting for the next.

‘Foot.’

Art got down on his knees. Your stomach flipped. With careful hands, he held your injured foot and inspected it. You’d never felt so exposed before, the way his eyes engaged with your wound as if it were more fascinating than any match he’d won. There was an unspoken rule for neither of you to speak as he cleaned you. It stung like a bitch but you only let out minor hisses in pain, barely audible to Art but not unnoticeable.

As he took out a plaster, seemingly from thin air, and applied it to your foot he said: ‘Before tonight,’ Ouch. You winced from the pressure he applied. ‘I’d seen you watching me.’ He didn’t look at you, only concentrating on his handiwork and causing you as little pain as possible.

‘Yeah I gathered from all the teasing.’

His voice grew suddenly lower. ‘I’m not talking about tennis matches.’

You were suddenly reminded of a not so distant memory. Ashley had stood you up for lunch, she’d found a better hot date, and you had been in the cafeteria alone. Art had been queuing in front of you, waiting for Patrick and you’d been in awe. What you hadn’t noticed was that he’d sensed your eyes burning holes into the back of his head long before he turned around. He had given you a passing look of recognition and slight amusement before finding his seat next to Patrick.

You imagined alongside that memory were hundreds others. Hundreds of days you’d stared at Art, watched how he span his apples before eating them and the line of his jaw when he drank water in oppressive heat. All the time he had known, you just hadn’t been as subtle as you thought.

‘Oh.’

Art gave you your foot back and sat on the bed beside you. For a moment you couldn’t bare to look at him, incase he disappeared and decided it was funnier to leave you hanging. Your foot was the least of your worries. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d really kissed someone, with feverish need, but you wanted to.

Noticing your inward battle, Art raised his hands almost in defeat. ‘I can leave.’ He meant it, there was no judgement. You turned to him, your eyes meeting his clouded with lust, and recognised that this was a man who needed to be wanted. He wanted to give and receive pleasure, not out of boredom but out of a clawing need for it. If you wanted him to leave then he’d leave but if you wanted him to stay then he’d make the most of it.

Your hand settled atop of his.

‘Don’t.’

Part 2

Masterlist

#challengers #challengers fic #mike faist #art donaldson #art Donaldson x reader #art donaldson fan fic #art donaldson fanfic #challengers x reader #challengers art Donaldson #challengers 2024 #x reader

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bweeeb · 4 months ago

Text

TENNIS CLASSES

Art Donaldson x Reader

Notes: Age difference (Art is 29/31 and Y/n is 19), Dirty content, Smut, P in v and whatever...

Notes: This writing was very messy and I apologize for that.

Summary: When Tashi convinces Art to continue in the tennis business, he agrees to teach Y/n Adams, but he didn't know that the 19-year-old girl would be such a problem for him.

Art Donaldson thought the house he lived in was fancy, but when he arrived at the Adams' residence, he almost thought he'd stopped at the wrong place. The house was surreal. As he stepped out of the car, looking for the entrance, the front door was opened by Y/n, wearing an extremely short white skirt and a Nike sweatshirt in the same shade.

To Y/n, the skirt looked normal, but it was definitely the first thing Art noticed about the new student. — Hey, sorry for the visual confusion this place is. My mom loves trees around the house. Not that she likes dealing with dirt, because she hates it, but you get me. — Y/n said while descending the stairs with a gentle smile for the man, who smiled back.

— Nice to meet you, Art. I'm Y/n.

— Hi, sure, I'm happy to be here. — He said, grabbing the hand she had extended as a greeting. Art didn't know how many times he repeated in his head how soft her hand was.

— My parents are out for a while, but if they were here, they'd show you around. Since they're not, you've got me, so... I can show you the court out back if you want.

— The house is pretty cool. I'm curious to see the back. — Art said, looking at Y/n who was ahead of him, and it was almost inevitable for him not to check her out entirely when she turned to walk.

— So, how much tennis do you know? — He asked as Y/n stopped and opened the door leading them to the back of the house.

— Not much. My dad likes to play, so I learned a thing or two, but you know how it is.

— If he knows, why doesn't he teach you?

— Well, he wants me to learn from the best. — She said, glancing sideways at Art who chuckled as they passed by the pool and walked towards the tennis court.

— I think that's flattery. — He said and Y/n laughed.

— No, come on, I saw your last match, it was insanely good.

— Well, I... thank you. — Art nodded, a brief memory of Patrick's gesture before serving the ball flashing in his mind. He and Tashi had fought many times after that match, and even though he loved tennis, he didn't want to compete anymore. That irritated Tashi, so as a solution, she convinced Donaldson to at least continue practicing what he loved most, and she convinced him by arranging private lessons for Y/n Adams.

— So, where do we start? — Y/n asked, snapping Art out of his thoughts.

— Let's start by watching you play, then I can try to help you with any mistakes. — He said, and Y/n complied, grabbing her racket, taking off her sweatshirt and cap, and most importantly, capturing Art Donaldson's attention when her serve was practically perfect.

— Lower your elbow a bit and aim lower. — Art said, unfolding his arms and moving closer to the girl.

— Here. — He said softly, standing behind her.

— Position your feet better. — Art placed one hand on Y/n's waist and the other on her right arm.

— This way, you'll hit it perfectly. But you did well. — The blonde said, and Y/n looked up at him behind her and smiled in agreement.

— Alright, coach. — She would be a big problem for Art.

A month had passed since Art and Y/n started training together, and it was almost undeniable to Art that he noticed Y/n flirting with him naturally and spontaneously. Art reciprocated without any guilt. Tashi had no position to be mad about it, she had ruined their marriage before.

— I think that's it for today. You're good, Y/n. You impressed me a lot. — Art complimented Y/n, who was too distracted looking at him. Art was wearing a black Adidas T-shirt, black shorts, and a white cap worn backward, and Y/n had lost count of how many times she'd lost her breath looking at him.

— What? Sorry, what? — Y/n asked while laughing awkwardly. Art, on the other hand, smiled and bit his lower lip as he leaned against the fence behind him.

— Something distracting you? — He asked, and Y/n smiled at him, rolling her eyes and leaving the court with his eyes fixed on her and the tiny red skirt she was wearing.

— Are you going to stay there or can I leave you on the court? — Y/n shouted, and Art grabbed his tennis bag and ran after the younger girl, who slowed her pace for Donaldson to walk beside her. The sun was setting, and as they entered the house, Mr. and Mrs. Adams were coming down the stairs.

— All done? — Y/n's mother asked, looking in the mirror and smiling at the two of them.

— Art, how's my player doing? — Mr. Adams said, giving Art two pats on the back.

— She's been playing well, much better than many of my friends who played at Stanford. — Art said, and Y/n smiled, taking off her shoes on the sofa near the entrance.

— Be careful, because this girl is not modest at all, my friend. — Y/n's father said, and the girl opened her mouth in shock.

— I am modest!

— Yes, you are. — Her mother agreed with Y/n, giving her a kiss on the head, and she smiled, picking up her shoes from the floor.

— Art, it was great to see you, but now we're leaving, dear, or we'll be late. Bye, guys. — The two left the house, leaving Art and Y/n at the entrance, looking at the door.

— So... I think I should go...

— Do you want something to drink? Water, coffee, wine, beer? — Y/n turned quickly to look at Art, who laughed and adjusted his cap on his head.

— I don't want to intrude; you probably have more things to do...

— I don't, actually. I was going to the pool, you know? It helps relax the muscles after playing. — Y/n said, approaching the man.

— If you want to join me. — She offered, stepping up a stair and leaning on the railing, looking at him with puppy eyes.

— Uhm, I don't know if it's a good idea, it's late and you know... — Art cleared his throat and squinted, thinking of the right words — I don't know, you know, there's Tashi and...

— Shit. Shit, you're married, and I forgot about that. Right, don't worry, you... Y/n closed her eyes momentarily, remembering the existence of his family.

— But I think she wouldn't mind, it's just tennis, right? Art said, taking a step towards the stairs, and when Y/n opened her eyes, he was already closer than she imagined he would be.

— If you don't want to stay, it's okay... I just...

— It's important to relax after a game, and you need to learn that. I'm your coach, and I can help you, Y/n. — Art said, touching the girl's forearm, who smiled and nodded.

— Okay then, I can get my brother's swim shorts if you want. — She suggested, and the man agreed without thinking much, he just wanted to follow her and not be alone down there.

The two went upstairs while Art followed Y/n like a puppy. It was almost humiliating for him because if she asked, he would do anything she wanted. Y/n grabbed a pair of swim shorts for Art and went to her room.

— I'll change quickly, but you can stay here; I'll be right back. — Y/n said, and Art agreed, sitting on the edge of her bed and watching her enter the closet without doors. Y/n made a move inside, and her figure's reflection appeared in the mirror in front of the bed. Y/n took off her tennis clothes, that skirt Art wanted to take off so badly, and her underwear, and at that moment, Art shifted on the bed, feeling his cock getting hard.

— You can change there if you want, you can't see anything from here. — She shouted, and Art got up from the bed without taking his eyes off her.

— From here, you can see a lot. — He murmured while taking off his shorts, trying to adjust his length that wanted to jump out of his underwear.

— Damn. — Donaldson put on the black shorts and heard the girl again.

— So, you went to Stanford, right? — She didn't want to make the atmosphere awkward.

— Yeah, I did, and you? Are you in college? — He asked.

— I'm studying at Columbia. You know.

The brief conversation was the right amount of time for Y/n to come out of the closet wearing a black strapless bikini on top, and there was Art again, almost falling to the ground with the weight his cock was becoming.

— That's... that's cool, yeah.

He said, following her downstairs again, ignoring the fact that he shouldn't notice how her ass bounced with every step she took ahead of him.

Both walked to the pool, chatting about college and life until they entered the pool and kept staring at each other.

— So... feeling better? — Art asked as he approached the girl, who smiled at him.

— I don't know; my coach should teach me how to relax. — She said, and Art laughed. He murmured a small "okay" and brought his hands to her waist, pulling her further from the pool's edges.

— Is your wife okay with this? You touching another woman? — Y/n asked provocatively, and with a harsh movement, Art pulled her close to his body, making her feel his hard erection against her ass.

— She cheats on me with my best friend; she doesn't care at all.

— Damn, sorry, but she's really dumb. When the words left Y/n's mouth, Art laughed genuinely and brought one hand to her neck.

— Relax... — He said as his hand traveled down her body, passing over her breasts, her belly, and stopping at the waistband of her bikini bottom. When Y/n started grinding against his hard cock, Art lowered his hand and touched her sensitive spot.

— Damn, you're so wet. — Art said, moving his fingers inside her while bringing his other hand to her already bare chest. In a desperate move, Y/n turned her body and wrapped her legs around Art's waist, kissing him hard. Art's erection brushed against the girl's clit, and suddenly both were naked in the pool.

— Fuck me, please. — Y/n moaned against Art's mouth, who squeezed her ass hard. He and Tashi hadn't had physical contact in a long time, he could say he wasn't attracted to Tashi at all anymore, not after this.

— Damn, you're so hot. — Art said, attacking her neck and positioning himself at her entrance.

— Art, please. — As she begged, Art slid inside her and looked into Y/n's eyes for confirmation that everything was okay. When he received that confirmation, both of Art's hands fell on her ass, lifting her up and down on his cock. With not-so-fast thrusts, Art then picked up her body and turned her towards the pool's edge, making her bend over.

— Fuck, Art. — She moaned, and Art increased the speed inside her.

— Are you going to cum, baby? Uhm. Art asked as he moaned and continued thrusting deep into Y/n.— Are you going to cum for me? I'm going to cum too.

— Yeah? Cum in me Art, please.

— I'm going to cum inside that tight pussy, damn, so good, I've wanted to do this for so long. Art said and with a few more sloppy thrusts they both came.

— Cum. Y/n moaned and her body fell against Art's chest, who hugged her right after they both reached their peak. —That was good. — She whispered and he nodded in agreement behind her. The comfortable silence between the two ended when the front door slammed, both of their eyes widened.

Art thought about getting out of the pool but Y/n refused. Head quickly. They would see art naked if he decided to stand up. — Get down, below me. Get down. She said and Art lowered himself beneath her, with his head right between her legs, she smiled under the water and slowly came up for air for the last time. Y/n looked at the figure of her mother coming towards her and did her best to hide her nakedness.

— The restaurant went wrong, your father is irritated, I'm going to bed okay, dear. Her mother said just a few steps from the pool.

— What a shame, good night THEN. Y/n's tone unintentionally increased when Art stuck a finger into her.

— Are you well? It's getting late, don't stay there too long.

— Of course, I'll be right out. When he was about to leave the area she came back with Art's fingers in her pussy.

— Art left much later than us? Such a good man, it's a shame he's old for you, right, love. She said and Y/n just agreed, we received a strange look from her mother.

— Ok, good night. As soon as she left Y/n opened the clinic he was ecstatic and threw his forehead against the edge of the pool. Art's head shot up again and a mischievous look came with it. — This wasn’t fair. She complained and Art grabbed her waist, sat her down outside the pool, spread her legs and buried his face in them, sucking her like she was ice cream. — Art, my parents…my parents can see. Oh. She moaned as Art ran his tongue over her swollen clitoris. — uhm, right there. She moaned, taking her hands to his blonde hair, forcing him for more. — fuck, Art. That's it, uhm. She moaned softly and aart inserted two more fingers into her before she came once again.

— You are my sin, Y/n Adams. He said looking at her before getting out of the pool, grabbing a towel and keeping her out of the cold of the night. — I think I have to go.

— You come back?

— We still have class tomorrow, right?

Art knew that from now on he would need her like he needed air to breathe, Y/n Adams would be his biggest problem and he already knew that.

>>>>>>>

Requests are open ✨

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #challengers #tashi duncan #art donalson x reader #art donaldson

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fruitjoos · 2 months ago

Text

sweet revenge

stanford!art x stanford!tashi x reader

summary: you and art broke up months ago, yet you still can’t get over him. he moved on a lot faster than you thought he would. if you were going to be miserable, so was she.

warnings angst, slight bullying, maybe? i guess

You stood by the court, arms crossed, the early evening sun casting long shadows over the freshly mown grass. The tennis balls bounced in time with your heartbeat as you watched them, Art and Tashi on the other side of the fence, in their own little world. He leaned in close, whispering something that made her laugh, her hand lightly swatting his chest in that playful, teasing way that used to be yours. They exchanged love taps, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to you, they were searing hot brands pressed into your skin.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. You were supposed to be over this. Over him. It’s been months, months since the final, hollow “goodbye.” The final, “we’re not right for each other anymore.” Months since you swore you wouldn’t let him get to you again. But here you were, rooted in place, your chest tight with anger and pain, humiliation, longing. Why her? Why not you? Why did it seem so easy for him to move on, to laugh like that, to be happy?

Your hands balled into fists, nails digging into your palms as you turned away, unable to watch anymore. You hated the way he could still twist you up inside, the way seeing him happy with her made something bitter bloom in your chest. He was supposed to be yours, or at least the memory of him was. But watching him with Tashi only solidified one thing: it’s over. Really over. And it would never happen again. No second chances. No rewinds. You told yourself that over and over, but the mantra didn’t stick. Instead, it made your blood boil.

That’s when you started making Tashi’s life difficult. You couldn’t stop Art from moving on, but you could make sure she didn’t enjoy it. In the locker room after practice, you waited until she wasn’t looking, then scraped her expensive deodorants into the trash. You moved one of her tennis shoes to the opposite side of the locker room, making her late for warmups. You cut in front of her in line at lunch, bumping into her just enough to make her spill a drink. When she complained—oh, how you reveled in her complaints. You just ignored her, pretending you didn’t hear, didn’t care. You wanted her to feel what you felt: powerless, insignificant, alone.

But one day, Tashi went to Art. You didn’t see her that afternoon, but you heard from someone else that she’d been crying. And that, apparently, was enough to spark Art’s rage.

You didn’t expect to see him standing outside your lecture hall that day, not after all this time. His tall frame blocked the doorway, his expression dark as he waited for you to pack up. He didn’t say a word as you slung your bag over your shoulder, but when you walked toward the door, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. Hard. Hard enough to make you stop, hard enough to make your pulse skip in a way you hated to admit. The force of his grip sent a shiver up your arm, part fear, part something that still simmered just below the surface.

“Leave Tashi alone,” Art said, his voice low and sharp. His words were clipped, his anger barely restrained, and for a moment, you were stunned. Not by what he said, but by the way his touch still made your heart flutter. You hated that he still had this kind of hold over you, even after everything.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, batting your eyelashes and feigning innocence. You tried to pull your hand free, but he only tightened his grip. There was a flash of something in his eyes, something that told you he wasn’t buying it.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he snapped, his voice rising slightly. “Tashi told me everything. The stupid deodorant thing, the shoes, bumping into her—” He listed off every petty, vindictive thing you’d done in the last few weeks, and you felt a slight satisfaction that he noticed. That he cared enough to confront you about it.

But your face remained blank, a mask of boredom. You stared at him, expressionless, as though every word he said was just background noise. The little games you played with Tashi were nothing compared to the way he had gutted you, left you behind like you were just some phase in his life he was done with. You blinked slowly, taking in the storm in his eyes, feeling something close to triumph in the fact that he was this worked up.

Then, just as quickly, he delivered the final blow. “Hating her won’t make me love you again.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, winding you. For a split second, your carefully constructed walls cracked. He didn’t even realize the impact his words had, didn’t stay to watch the devastation in your eyes. Art let go of your wrist and shoved your hand away like it was nothing, like you were nothing, before turning his back on you and walking off into the distance without so much as a second glance.

You stood there, frozen, as his words echoed in your mind. Hating her won’t make me love you again. He had walked away before, but this felt different. Final. The sting of rejection, of abandonment, was overwhelming, and you realized with a sickening clarity that he had moved on. He was never coming back.

Your throat tightened as you watched him disappear down the hall, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. All of the venom you’d been spewing, all the petty revenge, suddenly felt hollow. Useless. The truth was, you didn’t hate Tashi. You hated what she represented. She was everything you weren’t, everything you used to be, when Art still looked at you the way he now looked at her. She had the life you used to have, and no amount of sabotage or cruelty was going to change that.

And now, you were left with nothing. Not even the hope of him coming back.

#challengers #challengers fanfic #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson #tashi duncan #tashi duncan x reader #tashi duncan fanfic #art x tashi #tashi duncan imagine

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gguk-n · 5 months ago

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The illusion of destiny (Oscar Piastri x Reader)

Summary- In a world where you are destined to be with someone forever, a hopeless romantic lives her life in hope of finally finding her soulmate.

Growth and realisation Tragic circumstance

Warning- angst. No hate to anyone, all of this is fictional.

(first person POV)

"The fate that brought me and your father together was the best thing that happened to me" my mother said as she brushed my hair.

I was 5 years old when I realised that soulmates exist. Just like any other nights my mother was telling me a story of how the princess met her prince charming when she least expected it. It was another version of her parents love story. They filled her with so much love, I felt like a ball of love willing to share it with the people I loved. My whole life was spent looking at people in love, finding their soulmate and pouring that love into their children. The first time I saw someone find their soulmate was my uncle. He had given up on love or finding his soulmate since he wasn't having much luck at it for years. It was like the skies had cleared after a thunderstorm when he found his soulmate in the grocery store. She looked lost since it was her first time there and I had begged him to buy me ice cream. It was like an invisible pull that pulled him towards her. She looked shocked but elated to have finally found the love of her life.

Later that day, I asked my uncle, who seemed over the moon to even sit still, "How did you know that the pretty lady in the supermarket was your soulmate?" a curious question that my mother had yet to answer. He looked at me and said, "I just did; there was this red string that was tied to both our fingers and before I knew it, I was standing in front of her." a permanent smile etched on his face. I was happy that he had found his soulmate, my sad and grumpy uncle had become this ball of sunshine.

The first of my friends to have found their soulmate was at the end of high-school at the graduation ceremony. It was a sibling of one of our friends who was also attending the ceremony. My friend didn't even make it to the seats before they went running to the soulmate who's string of fate had apparently become visible on entering the graduation hall.They looked happy. I got to attend their wedding a few years later.

I spent my college years searching for my soulmate. It would take time as my mum put it. She didn't find my father until much later on in their lives. So, I was content with waiting for the right time for my soulmate to pop into my life. I would catch myself playing with my pinky finger a lot, in hopes of seeing the red string of fate that attached me to the love of my life. My college years were boring by others standards since I spent it all waiting for my destiny. I didn't feel the need to entertain others when the one for me was probably waiting for me. It would be rude had I decided to play with another's heart. My college graduation ceremony was wonderful; a part of me hoped to meet my soulmate here. But alas, he seemed to not be there.

Around this time, I had taken a liking to formula 1. A peculiar thing, since me and sports didn't blend well. I have painful memories from my childhood where I got hit with a ball, a bat, a football, tennis racket multiple time as I tried to coordinate my limbs so that I could play. My father called me a silly little thing and worried for my soulmate who would have to bubble wrap me to keep me safe. I would laugh along, imagining a look of concern on a face-less figure on me hurting myself. It made me giddy and my heart race. I guess I liked formula 1 since I was merely a spectator.

It was only sometime later, was I able to save up money and buy tickets to a race. Me and my best friend, Sara, were going to the race together. I couldn't wait. I had bought all the prettiest outfits and gotten my hair and nails done. I couldn't sleep all night. We drove to the race, the weather had started warming up so I was wearing a white sun-dress. As soon as I got out of the car, the string on my hand became visible. My heart was thumping against my chest, my mouth felt dry and palms clammy. Before I could say anything, Sara announced that she was going to get us some snacks from the stand before we went inside and left for the food stands. I started walking forward, it was like I was being pulled. I couldn't control my excitement. I kept walking for a good 30 minutes, I could hear my phone ringing but I paid not heed. My eyes kept scanning the crowds, in hopes of finding my soulmate.

That was when my eyes landed on a man in an orange shirt with black shorts. His finger was on the other end of the string. I sprinted towards him, almost out of breath when I stopped. As if on queue he turned around and stared at me, a look of guilt in his eyes. It was Oscar Piastri, driver for McLaren. My heart leapt out of my chest, I knew there was a reason he was my favourite I thought; it was like the universe bringing us together. But why was he looking at me with so much guilt.

I raised my hand forward and introduced myself, "Hi! I'm Y/N Y/L/N, your soulmate." I smiled brightly. He took my hand and gave it a firm shake. I expected more I guess, maybe a hug or some more enthusiasm maybe it's because he's a celebrity, I thought. "I'm Oscar Piastri" He replied. Our string was glowing and so was my face, my cheeks hurt from smiling and I felt like I could faint any moment. He let go of my hand, "I'm sorry Y/N." he said. I was so confused as to why he was apologising. Before I could say anything, he continued, "I hope you will understand but I have a girlfriend I love deeply. We've been together for many years. I never believed in this soulmate thing, but I'm really sorry. We can't be together, I love her a lot." How could I have forgotten, Oscar had a girlfriend he had been dating since high-school. I had thought she was his soulmate but I guess fate isn't the only thing allowed to make choices.

Before I could say anything, I saw his girlfriend walk up to him and as he took her hand in his, leaving mine hanging beside me. I watched them walk away as he explained that I was a fan and wanted an autograph. She smiled and kissed his lips while he happily reciprocated. I stood there for a very long time, tears staining my cheeks and hands shaking before Sara came and tapped my shoulder. She was worried as to why I was crying, I told her I met Oscar. She seemed happy for me but little did she know that he just broke my heart as he walked away. She wiped away my tears and asked, "Shouldn't you be happy? Why do your eyes seem so sad?" I had no answer to that. I told her I didn't feel too well and that I was leaving. I couldn't stay here any longer when I had no place in his world, the world I dreamt of making ours seemed cold and devoid of any love or warmth. I wanted nothing more than to hide away from the cruel treacherous world for giving me a hope and dream that would never become real. It wasn't fair when everyone around me had found their soulmate and mine just left me standing in the middle of no where.

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sweetbluus · 1 year ago

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love on the court

synopsis: you and kim chaewon were considered to be tennis prodigies. unfortunately, there's only room for one at the top. after years of rivalry, you now find yourselves on the same team, working together to help your university win a major title.

pairing: tennis player kim chaewon x tennis player fem!reader

tags: rivals to lovers, slow burn, hurt/comfort

warnings: cursing, toxic coach, mention of accident

word count: 18.1k

notes: while tennis is mentioned quite often, the technicalities of the actual game itself is not covered. aside from knowing that singles has one player on each side of the court, while doubles put two on each side, you do not need to know anything else about the rules of the sport before reading this. enjoy!

from as far back as your memory reaches, a tennis racket has been a natural extension of your hand. your parents were the first to notice your interest in the sport when you were just a baby. your father used to play for fun, and at the tender age of 4, you stumbled upon one of his rackets hidden in your parents' closet.

legend has it that you threw a tantrum the moment they tried to take the racket away from you.

ever since, you've been consistently enrolled in tennis lessons, mastering the rules and refining your techniques. tennis became your world, your life. however, your natural talent could only take you so far. you spent hours of your childhood dedicated to learning the craft and then slowly perfecting it.

even though you were young, you despised the assumption that your skill level was solely due to natural talent. those who made such claims were oblivious to the immense effort you invested.

they had no idea of the blood you shed on the court, the dives you took for every ball, the sweat that poured while running across the court, relentlessly striving to score, and the tears that were shed in moments of loneliness and isolation.

you trained under coach lim, a meticulous and stern man with a relentless pursuit of perfection. if you made an error in your hits on a given day, he would have you practice that specific hit repeatedly until it met his standards of flawlessness, regardless of the time it took.

while other kids your age were having playdates and enjoying weekends with friends, your focus remained on the court. unlike other kids who treated tennis as a simple hobby, your commitment ran much deeper—it had become your life.

you crossed paths with kim chaewon when you were just 6 years old. she also began training under coach lim's guidance. despite being your age, her abilities outshined yours. initially, this didn't bother you. in fact, you saw her superior skills as a motivating factor, spurring you to push yourself harder with each passing day.

you thought she was pretty. her hair was always perfect despite the long hours of practice. despite the sweat, she was incredibly beautiful. looking back, you'd admit you had a slight crush on her during those days. she was not only attractive and talented but also kind to you.

on one occasion, she offered you an extra peanut butter and jelly sandwich her parents had packed for her. you had forgotten to bring lunch and were starving, so you accepted the sandwich without hesitation.

"thank you," you managed to say with your mouth full of peanut butter and jelly.

"don't talk with your mouth full. you're going to choke," she scolded you, bossiness laced in her voice.

you were tempted to consider chaewon as a friend. you wanted it to be true, but coach lim always seemed to interfere. moreover, chaewon's parents were cautious about distractions, and you were unfortunately deemed a possible one.

due to coach lim's influence and the involvement of chaewon's parents, both you and chaewon directed your focus entirely toward the game, displaying little desire to establish a friendship with each other or anyone else.

nonetheless, occasional short conversations did happen between you two. her presence in your life didn't disrupt your rhythm in the least. in truth, you were eager to embrace it, hoping for a friend.

that was the case until coach lim began drawing comparisons.

“chaewon can do this, why can't you?”

“y/n, do it like chaewon! you're doing it wrong; she's doing it perfectly.”

“you're never going to go pro if you can't hit like chaewon.”

for the entirety of your youth, these hurtful remarks echoed ceaselessly during the harsh training sessions with chaewon under coach lim. with each repetition of such painful critiques, the seeds of resentment and bitterness took root within you, slowly but surely intensifying your animosity towards her.

while chaewon basked in coach lim's favor, he viewed you as inferior to her - an individual lacking the potential to become the best.

by the time you reached 14, you had dedicated the majority of your life to honing your skills. under coach lim's rigorous guidance, you attained a level of skill that was truly difficult to fully grasp.

despite your own high level of skill, victories against chaewon had been scarce compared to losses. throughout the years, it was inevitable that coach lim's immense pressure and expectations eventually impacted chaewon.

the last time you saw chaewon was right before the two of you started high school. the so-called goodbye between the two of you was less than ideal.

the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the tennis court. the air was thick with tension as you and chaewon faced off at the net after another match. chaewon's triumphant smile contrasted sharply with your clenched fists and fiery glare.

"looks like i won again," chaewon's voice dripped with arrogance. "you really can't keep up, can you?"

"you got lucky," you spat out, your voice laced with resentment.

chaewon's triumphant smile didn't waver. "luck had nothing to do with it. i simply played better than you, just like every other time."

a spark of anger ignited in your eyes, your resolve strengthening. "you think you're invincible, don't you? just because you've managed to string a few wins together?"

chaewon widened her smirk. "well, it's not me who's struggling with straight losses against a single opponent."

your voice shook with fury, your cheeks flushed with emotion. "you know nothing about the effort i've poured into this, the sleepless nights, the sacrifices i've made. you're so blind to your own arrogance."

“save your sob story for someone who actually gives a shit,” chaewon let out a chuckle. "and yet your hard work can't even get you close. it's sad, really."

“fuck you, chaewon.” you walked away from her, not bothering to turn back to face her.

that wasn’t the first heated argument you had with her. coach lim’s toxic mentality had taken a toll on her, transforming her into a single-minded athlete consumed by her own arrogance.

she didn’t come to practice the next day.

your main goal in your tennis career, aside from becoming a world-renowned professional and winning prestigious titles such as wimbledon, was simply to be the best that you could possibly be - to reach your full potential and then exceed it.

despite its toxicity, it was difficult to avoid the influence of coach lim’s mindset since you had been under his direction for the majority of your life. it became ingrained in you, fostering a desire for perfection in every conceivable aspect.

balancing high school life with being one of south korea's best tennis players was no easy task, yet you managed to persevere.

in your freshman year of high school, you made your first genuine long-term friend. throughout high school, your reputation preceded you on the tennis team. you didn't go out of your way to make friends, which added to the intimidation people felt in your presence. however, one daring individual decided to take the chance.

huh yunjin was an impressive tennis player herself. with a rigorous practice routine, she had the potential to embark on a professional career. of course, she was no match for you - nobody in that entire city was.

she was the only person who dared to be your partner during drills and practice matches. to be fair, she was also the only person capable of keeping up with you. yunjin was friendly and talkative, two traits you lacked.

yet, you found comfort in her stories of teenage drama and the latest gossip she would share. it introduced a semblance of normalcy to your life, a rarity given your deep immersion in the world of tennis.

coach lim held a dislike for yunjin. he believed she might distract you from achieving excellence. he had repeatedly advised you to end your friendship. despite your usual compliance, this was one matter you chose to firmly oppose against your respected coach.

you firmly held the belief that your friendship with yunjin was not something to be casually discarded. that day you defied him, he assigned you extra laps and extended your time on the court for hours.

you decided to hide your friendship with her from him.

over the course of four years in high school, your connection with yunjin deepened, and she gradually became your best friend. as your senior year unfolded, a moment of immense happiness united the two of you: the news that both of you had secured scholarships to hybe university, home to the country’s best college tennis team.

at 18 years old, you reside in the university dorms, sharing the space with your roommate, yunjin. coach lim suggested that you turn professional right after completing high school. however, your parents encouraged you to embrace college life and experience it like any other young person.

during this time, you gained a degree of independence from coach lim, as you had a new coach to guide you whom you had yet to meet. in addition, hybe university was 4 hours away from your hometown.

ahead of the semester's start, all athletes moved in early for summer workouts. before the sun even had a chance to emerge from the clouds, you and yunjin were already awake, gearing up for the demanding day ahead.

without you knowing, yunjin prepared an additional lunch and extra snacks for your sake. your unwavering dedication to tennis often led you to overlook even the most basic needs, such as proper nutrition.

while unfamiliar with the incoming first-year teammates, both you and yunjin were well-acquainted with miyawaki sakura. she stood as a third-year student and the esteemed captain of the women's tennis team. her prowess on the court was widely acknowledged, and it was clear to everyone that she was destined for professional success following her graduation after her fourth year.

“i'm so excited to meet her," yunjin's step danced with excitement as she spoke. the walk from your dorm to the tennis courts took only about 15 minutes. "not only is she super talented, but she's also really attractive!"

“yeah, i know,” you replied nonchalantly. “i played a match with her once, a couple years back.”

yunjin’s mouth hung open, “why do you never tell me important things that happen in your life?”

“first of all, you’re exaggerating. you’re my only friend; i tell you everything about my life. i didn't think you'd be interested in hearing about a tennis match,” you reasoned with yunjin.

“i’d definitely want to hear about it, especially if your match involved a pretty girl!” yunjin exclaimed.

“she’s even prettier in real life,” you giggled as yunjin pushed you off the sidewalk and onto the grass.

respect for sakura ran deep within you. while your match ended in your favor, the victory had not been easily won. sakura's unwavering work ethic and dedication stood as qualities deserving of admiration. the opportunity of being part of the same team as her filled you with happiness.

you and yunjin were the first ones to arrive on the courts. the first light of dawn painted the clouds with hues of warmth and radiance. in this moment, gratitude welled within you. the results of years of unrelenting hard work and unyielding discipline finally bore fruit.

a commanding voice snapped you out of your thoughts, “good morning, ladies. you’re here early, i see.” coach yoo walked up to the bleachers where you and yunjin were warming up. immediately, the two of you bowed to her.

coach yoo's leadership, coupled with the athletes' dedication, had propelled hybe university to its standing as a top contender in collegiate tennis, not only within the country but worldwide. in your senior year of high school, you and yunjin received the chance to meet her and undergo interviews for your scholarships.

“good morning, coach,” you and yunjin said in unison. the sound of footsteps drew your attention.

“good morning, everyone. i hope you’ve had your breakfast because today is going to be a long day,” sakura announced as she walked up to the three of you. you nudged yunjin in the side, signaling her to close her slightly agape mouth.

“miyawaki, don’t scare the newbies like that,” coach yoo jokingly scolded the captain.

“oh, please. the two of them aren’t newbies,” sakura remarked, directing a nod at you. it was evident that she recalled your match from a few years ago.

sakura's stature was shorter than yours and yunjin's, yet her toned shoulders bore testament to the years of relentless dedication. a dark ponytail held her hair in place, and as she stood before you, her confident posture spoke volumes, while her presence held a quiet authority, ready to emerge when circumstances demanded.

after a few minutes, the remainder of the team started arriving at the court. among them were two third-years like sakura: choi yena and lee chaeyeon. you had seen their names before in past tournaments.

another teammate, yabuki nako, was a second-year student. like sakura, she was born in japan. however, she made the decision to relocate to south korea after being scouted by coach yoo during her high school years.

each of them extended introductions to you and yunjin. they all came across as quite friendly, leaving a positive impression on both of you.

“waiting for two more people,” coach's announcement rang out. “they should be arriving any minute now.” both you and yunjin shared a glance, curiosity evident as you anticipated the arrival of your new teammates.

and there they appeared. “y/n and yunjin, meet your fellow first-years,” sakura stated, her gaze locked on the approaching figures. a brief pause followed, and a sinking feeling took hold of your heart.

kim chaewon. she stood before the team and offered a bow, a smile gracing her face as she introduced herself. “good morning, everyone. i’m kim chaewon.” her eyes swept across your teammates, yet her gaze lingered on you for a fraction longer. a persistent thought pricked at you - perhaps she didn't even remember you.

the girl standing beside her introduced herself as nakamura kazuha. much like sakura and nako, she was discovered in japan and then made her way to south korea. you were much less attentive when kazuha introduced herself.

it had been years, yet the sting of resentment and bitterness still resurfaced. you failed to shake off the flood of memories that came when you glanced her way.

"alright, ladies. we'll kick off today's session with a few laps around the court to warm up. then, we'll move on to our drills. finally, we'll have our practice matches." coach yoo's authoritative voice filled the morning air. "is that clear?"

"yes, coach!" the team replied together.

throughout the day's workout, you and chaewon remained silent towards each other. while you'd held conversations with everyone else, you made an extra effort to avoid her.

you noticed her new appearance: short hair, secured in a small ponytail just like the rest of the team. her slender physique and well-defined arms captured your attention. whenever her gaze landed your way, you reflexively glanced away, almost snapping your neck in the process.

the practice matches pitted the upperclassmen against the underclassmen. you won each game against sakura, yena, chaeyeon, and nako. the matches were far from easy, further affirming the status of this collegiate team as one of the world's best.

chaewon herself secured victories against all the upperclassmen, while kazuha and yunjin fell short and experienced a couple of losses.

there was a shift in chaewon. if you were both still 14, she would often flaunt her victories, but now she kept her pride in check, not allowing it to overwhelm and dominate the court.

by the time the day's training wrapped up at around 5 pm, all of you were soaked in sweat, a clear demonstration of the commitment you all exhibited on the court.

"wow, the first-years this time around are really impressive," yena exclaimed with enthusiasm. the sentiment was echoed by the other upperclassmen.

you didn’t know who suggested it, but coach yoo readily agreed that tomorrow’s workout should pit the underclassmen against each other. it wasn't as if you were afraid of kim chaewon. certainly not. if anything, you were eager to face her once again to prove that you could win.

“are you okay?" yunjin's concern filled the air as the two of you got ready for bed in your dorm.

"yeah, what's on your mind?" you'd confided in her about chaewon before, recounting the challenges you faced during your formative years.

"i mean, i know how you feel about chaewon. i understand it’s in the past, but i just want to make sure you're okay seeing her again," yunjin reasoned while removing her face mask.

one of the things you truly appreciated about yunjin was her thoughtfulness. despite her boisterous nature at times, her kind heart and empathy shone through as true markers of her remarkable character.

"thanks for checking in, jin." you offered her a sincere smile. "i promise i'm okay." it wasn't entirely a lie. seeing chaewon earlier did churn your stomach, but you weren't about to run and hide.

"if you say so. just remember i'm here if you need to talk. good night!" yunjin's voice rang out as she entered her own bedroom. you thanked your past self for standing up and defying your coach to keep your friendship with yunjin.

the next morning, coach yoo leads you through a similar routine as the day before. by the time the drills conclude, it's time for the practice matches.

as the underclassmen, you watch the upperclassmen compete against each other first. despite your own impressive skill level, you carry a profound respect for anyone who commits to this sport. achieving such an elite status demands years of hard work and countless hours on the court.

that's why chaewon's seemingly natural born talent gnaws at you. in your eyes, she's never experienced the weight of enduring coaches' criticisms, discontent with their athletes' performance. she's never experienced the sting of wrapping her bleeding hand in gauze just to return to the court after an injury, all because her coach pushed her to win. she's never had to prove to her coach that she was more than good enough.

perhaps you weren't entirely truthful with yunjin. you're definitely not okay.

now, it's the underclassmen's time to participate in practice matches amongst themselves. your initial matchup is against kazuha. despite her determined effort, you manage to secure victory in the game.

"great matches, underclassmen. we'll take a quick break, and then we'll set up another round of games. on one court, nakamura will face huh, and on the other, kim will play against y/l/n. clear?"

"yes, coach!" the response comes in unison from you and the other 1st years.

following coach yoo's instructions, yunjin shoots you a look - an unspoken check on your well-being. you respond with a nod, reassuring her. you sense chaewon's eyes on you, even though neither of you have spoken a word to each other. fortunately, everyone on the team, except for yunjin, seems unconcerned.

next up are the practice matches among the underclassmen. you and chaewon head to opposite sides of the court and then approach the net.

"let's have a good match," chaewon offers her hand. she’s certainly not the same 14-year-old you remember.

you extend your hand and shake hers. "yeah, let's."

the first serve sends the ball hurtling, starting a back-and-forth that feels like a tense duel. each racket swing carries a silent rivalry, its roots unknown. chaewon's movements are smooth and graceful, her skill evident in every shot.

the rallies are fierce, both of you pushing your limits. with every point, the court witnesses a battle between your past and present selves. to you, it's a struggle not just for victory, but for redemption.

but as the game progresses, a sinking feeling settles in. chaewon's shots grow sharper, her tactics unpredictable. with every point she claims, the gap widens, and the tension in your chest grows.

as your points lag behind, coach lim’s voice takes over your mind.

“you’ll never get anywhere if you hit the ball like that!”

“that’s how failures hit the ball!”

“this is why chaewon is better than you!”

the upperclassmen observe, the air thick with anticipation. as the final point approaches, you fight to keep your footing. every rally is a test of endurance and willpower. but in the end, as the decisive point slips from your grasp, the weight of the loss settles in.

you brace yourself for the usual degrading comments chaewon would deliver after a match, but they never come.

“good game,” chaewon says to you breathlessly as the two of you come face to face at the net. once again, she offers her hand.

you also extend your hand and shake hers. "good game," you reply. although it wasn't, not for you. your form had faltered, your focus had wandered from the game, and your overall performance was terrible.

coach yoo thought otherwise. “that was an amazing game, ladies,” she says as the two of you walk up to the bleachers where the upperclassmen are also in awe of you and chaewon’s combined talent. you and chaewon send her an appreciative nod, unable to speak from the intense match.

"imagine if they teamed up in doubles… they’d be unstoppable!" an upperclassman's voice rings out, echoed by a chorus of agreements.

"that's a thought for the future. right now, our session's over. now, go shower because you all smell! i'll see everyone tomorrow." coach yoo bids the team farewell, and everyone disperses in their own directions.

"jin, i'll stick around for a bit. just want to work on something real quick," you inform your best friend, avoiding her gaze. you sense her disapproval of your decision to stay back and overexert yourself. but she knows her words won't sway you.

with a sigh, she grabs something from her bag. "don't stay too late, and make sure to eat." she hands you a sandwich she prepared in the morning. you offer a thankful smile and wave as she heads back to the dorm. you feel chaewon's eyes stay on you before she leaves alongside kazuha.

you've lost track of how many times you've struck the ball now. the moon hangs in the sky, casting its glow as the court lights illuminate the surroundings. your shirt is drenched with sweat, and your limbs ache from the relentless exertion.

just one more.

it needs to be perfect.

you serve the ball to the other side of the net, and it goes further out. “you know, i've heard of people trying to hit the ball over the net, not into the next galaxy,” a loud voice calls out behind you.

you turn around and spot chaewon. your surprise is carefully masked. she's in sweatpants and a sleep shirt, clearly ready to call it a night.

"what are you doing here? thought you left a while ago," you inquire as she approaches the other end of the court, racket in hand. it's the spare one you kept in your bag.

“i could ask you the same thing. just needed some fresh air, and i heard someone on the court,” chaewon reasons. “serve the ball.”

“what?” you hesitate, but she readies herself for your serve.

you serve the ball, and she hits it back with perfect accuracy. you volley back, and she lets it go past.

“your serve isn’t powerful enough. it’s too predictable, and anyone from a mile away can see the ball’s trajectory. your toss is inconsistent. you’re rushing,” chaewon critiques, and you feel anger boil up within. you take deep breaths, suppressing the urge to snap back.

apart from coaches, chaewon is perhaps the only one who can give such pointed criticism. she's earned that right, but you can’t stand that fact.

in that instant, any semblance of growth you had believed in during the years of separation seems to evaporate. suddenly, you and chaewon are back to being 14-year-olds, and you release the hold on your emotions that you've painstakingly kept in check over the years.

"offering some unsolicited advice again, are we?" your voice drips with sarcasm as you tighten your grip on your racket. you walk up to chaewon on the side of the court she's on.

chaewon's eyes flash, a mixture of annoyance and defiance in her gaze. "if you're so bothered by a little feedback, maybe you should work on your sportsmanship."

your nostrils flare, your temper flaring like a wildfire. "i don't need your condescension, chaewon. your opinions on my game mean absolutely nothing to me."

a derisive smirk tugs at the corner of chaewon's lips. "ah, of course. because you're the embodiment of perfection on the court, right?"

"and just when i thought you had changed, it turns out you're still the same arrogant little girl you used to be." your eyes narrow dangerously.

"at least i don't crumble under pressure like some people i know." chaewon's retort is quick and cutting.

your fists clench at your sides, your control slipping further and further away. "your arrogance is blinding you."

a mocking laugh escapes chaewon's lips. "and your insecurities are consuming you.”

“i don’t know what i ever did to you, chaewon,” your voice tinged with frustration and confusion.

chaewon's gaze hardens, her tone icy. "spare me the innocence act. you always played the victim, didn't you? always making everyone believe you were the hardworking underdog while secretly enjoying the attention."

your fists tremble with the effort to keep your composure. "you think you're better than everyone just because you have some natural talent. you never understood the meaning of hard work because everything came easily to you."

deep down, you recognize the unfairness in assuming that chaewon had never struggled. this game is challenging, demanding time, effort, and sacrifice to excel. however, in this moment, your anger clouds your judgment, making it difficult to think rationally.

the tension between you two is intense, an invisible wall of resentment and pride keeping you apart. years of pent-up feelings overflow, turning your argument into a clash of words.

"maybe you should learn some humility," you shoot back, your voice a mix of defiance and bitterness.

chaewon's lips curl into a bitter smile. "and maybe you should learn that not everyone owes you their admiration."

your argument becomes an explosive clash of egos as the air between you cracks with disdain. the intensity is palpable as you lock eyes, a silent challenge passing between you. neither is willing to back down, your mutual contempt fueling the fire of your heated exchange.

the silence is broken by the ringing of your phone. retrieving it from your pocket, you notice it's yunjin calling. you try to collect yourself after the intense argument with chaewon before answering.

“where the hell are you? it’s almost midnight! we have practice at 6 in the morning!" yunjin's voice comes through the call, her words so fierce that you instinctively move your phone away from your ear to avoid the impact of her raised volume.

"i got caught up in something. i'm on my way home," you reply before ending the call. looking around, you notice chaewon has already left. your earlier assumption was wrong. chaewon hasn't changed a bit.

summer workouts lasted for a month. during that time, you formed a close connection with the upperclassmen. they shared their knowledge, and you reciprocated with your insights.

throughout the summer training sessions, you and chaewon don’t speak again after that night. most of the communication, if you could even call it that, between the two of you happened wordlessly - both of you apprehensive that an outburst of emotions might unfold.

it was a refreshing change not to be subjected to a coach's constant scrutiny. coach yoo brought a different approach, avoiding pitting teammates against each other and nurturing teamwork instead.

during one particular workout, you felt sick after not having eaten all day, causing you to miss multiple easy shots. coach yoo noticed and walked up to you. you braced yourself to hear the harsh critiques.

"are you okay, y/l/n?" her typically firm tone carried a hint of softness, unveiling a compassionate side beneath her exterior.

"yes, coach. just not feeling well," you weakly responded, your determination to push through still intact. "i can keep going."

coach yoo's reply was resolute yet caring. "head back to your dorm, y/l/n. i don't want you collapsing on my court. yunjin, make sure she gets there." yunjin promptly set aside her gear and accompanied you.

experiencing a coach who seamlessly blended unwavering discipline with genuine concern was a new and welcomed sensation.

the semester begins, and the team workouts now occur every other day, a change from the daily summer sessions. you find relief in sharing several classes with yunjin, and you're even more relieved that none of your classes overlap with chaewon's, thanks to the significant differences in your majors.

as for the team format, coach yoo's decision places you, chaewon, sakura, and yena in singles matches for the season. yunjin is paired with chaeyeon, while kazuha is teamed up with nako for doubles. the team effortlessly conquers the initial set of matches against other schools, solidifying the university's reputation as the country's best tennis team.

unfortunately, a setback arises when chaeyeon gets injured and nako has to fly back to japan due to a family emergency, both incidents happening in the middle of the season. as a result, coach yoo pairs yunjin and kazuha for doubles. nevertheless, the team is left with one pair missing.

"kim and y/l/n, you two will form the new doubles pair," coach yoo announces, sending a chill down your spine. yunjin picks up on your tension and raises a question, "coach, with all respect, i could be paired with y/n, and kazuha could be paired with chaewon." her inquiry carries an awareness of the history between you and chaewon. the upperclassmen raise their eyebrows at yunjin's nerve in questioning the coach's decision.

before she answers, coach yoo instructs the upperclassmen to return to the courts to finish their drills, leaving the underclassmen alone with the coach. “my decision is final, yunjin.”

your best friend sends you an apologetic look. although her suggestion was denied, you were still quite appreciative that she went out of her way and tried for you. you notice that chaewon’s avoiding your gaze, feeling similarly to how you feel about coach yoo’s decision.

"i'm not blind," coach yoo starts off, catching your attention with her very first words. your eyes widen, sensing that she’s directing her words at you and chaewon. "i can sense the history between both of you. even the football players on the field across the campus could probably pick up on the tension. it's noticeable for everyone, not just you two."

her gaze shifts between you and chaewon, each of you feeling the weight of her words. "this situation offers an opportunity for you to work together, set aside your differences, and learn to function as a united team. we may play singles matches, but the impact of individual actions or conflicts ripples through the entire team."

admittedly, you recognize the truth in coach yoo's perspective. the realization that your past with chaewon is affecting the whole team hits you, highlighting the significance of teamwork in an individual sport like tennis. a silent nod from chaewon signals her agreement with coach yoo's assessment.

"also," coach yoo continues, "it gives us the chance to make the most of the differing playing styles that both of you bring to the table." her reasoning prompts a puzzled exchange of glances between you and yunjin.

"i'm sorry, coach, but i don’t quite understand," chaewon interjects, voicing the confusion that mirrors your own. kazuha stands by chaewon's side, and her knowing expression leads you to believe that chaewon has likely shared some details about your shared history.

“chaewon plays with aggression on the court, going for powerful shots and taking calculated risks to dominate the game. meanwhile, y/n prioritizes precision and control. she aims for well-placed shots, aiming to minimize errors," coach yoo’s insightful breakdown of your playstyles leaves you in awe. it's clear why she's the driving force behind the university's success.

“not only that, chaewon is adaptable. she changes strategies and shots based on her opponent's weaknesses. on the other hand, y/n focuses on consistent shots, working to make fewer errors and capitalize on opponents' mistakes.”

a rare moment of understanding passes between you and chaewon for the first time that day. both of you recognized the mutual reluctance to be paired, yet coach yoo’s rationale stands firm, reminding you that further questioning is unnecessary.

“i know it’ll be difficult to adjust at first, but you’re here for a reason. you are all elite athletes in this sport. don’t let some petty rivalry prevent you from reaching your potential,” coach yoo says in a gentle tone. “we’ll have our first practice match between the new doubles teams at our next practice.”

you take a deep breath, allowing coach yoo's words to sink in. you realize that you can't allow your history with chaewon and your relationship with her to hinder your performance on the court.

on the day of the next practice, the sun hid behind the clouds, casting shifting shadows across the court. as the upperclassmen squared off in practice matches, coach yoo closely observed your game against yunjin and kazuha, where chaewon partnered with you.

as the game went on, chaewon's aggressive style clashed with your focus on precision. a tense rally ended with chaewon going for a powerful shot that sailed just wide of the line.

"chaewon, you need to control your shots better," you commented, your frustration barely concealed.

the response was swift, brimming with a sense of defiance. "oh, and you think your careful little taps are any better?" chaewon retorted, her tone laced with sarcasm.

"at least i don't risk losing points with reckless shots," you shot back, your voice dripping with annoyance.

coach yoo's whistle cuts through the tension before the argument can escalate further. "kim and y/l/n, laps around the court. now." both you and your doubles partner let out exasperated groans, setting down your rackets and beginning the laps.

“if i hear another argument from the two of you, the entire team does laps!” coach yoo's voice echoes across the courts, a clear warning for all to hear.

as you jog the laps, chaewon deliberately nudges your shoulder. you muster all your self-control to dismiss it, not wanting to be the cause of extra work for the team.

the next practices end up similarly with you and chaewon bickering, not being able to play the best way the two of you possibly could. with an important match coming up against the university that you faced off against in last year’s national finals.

"jin, she's a terrible partner. she doesn't listen to me, she does whatever she wants, and she doesn't even play like i'm there," you confide in a hushed tone to yunjin, perched together on the bleachers.

"hmm, not listening and doing whatever she wants... sounds like you're describing someone familiar," yunjin playfully remarks, prompting you to lightly slap her shoulder. "just kidding! but seriously, you've got to find a way to make it work with her. i know it’s hard, but this upcoming match is important. you two are the best of the best, but if you can't cooperate, there’s no point."

you knew yunjin had a point. all those days of tough training, all that effort to secure your place at this top tennis university—none of it should crumble due to this situation. so, with a deep breath, you head over to where chaewon is seated with kazuha. you firmly grab chaewon's arm and lead her to a quieter spot.

“ow, jesus! you’ve got some man hands,” chaewon complains, trying to free her arm from your hold. you roll your eyes, holding back any sharp response.

"firstly, your hands are just as rough as mine," you start, your tone steady. "secondly, let me speak before you start interrupting." chaewon raises an eyebrow. "we can't keep this up. i know we've got differences, and our history isn't great. but now we're doubles partners."

"oh great, are you going to give a cheesy motivational speech?" chaewon scoffs, her eyes rolling. this is going to be nearly impossible.

"could you not interrupt? act your age," you sigh with frustration. "this isn't some pep talk. it's about the team. we're representing our university, and, let's face it, we're the best players they’ve got." chaewon stays silent, but you can sense she agrees.

“my point is, whatever this ‘thing’ is happening between us needs to stop, or at least be put aside. coach yoo is right. we can't let our personal issues mess up our game," you explain to her.

there's a pause before chaewon responds, “i don’t need you to tell me how to play this game.”

your response is quick and honest. "i'm not trying to tell you. i'm asking you to consider working together." you swallow your pride. "we both bring unique strengths to the court. if we combine them, we'll be an unbeatable team."

"is this your way of admitting i'm better than you?" chaewon raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

you feel like giving up. "you're impossible. i can't do this."

before you turn away, chaewon's voice catches your attention. "being unbeatable does sound appealing." she lingers for a moment. "after all these years, after everything... do you really think we can do this?" the sudden, unexpected change in chaewon's tone catches you off guard. there's a subtle trace of vulnerability, hinting at the impact of coach lim's harmful ideology.

“it's definitely going to be a challenge, no doubt, but i think we have what it takes. we're both talented players,” you respond.

“if we can just get over ourselves and focus on winning together, we’d crush everyone in the way.” a spark ignites in your eyes, mirrored by a similar gleam in chaewon's gaze. the fleeting vulnerability she displayed earlier has vanished.

chaewon lets out a quiet chuckle, “fine, let's give it a shot. don't expect any sappy gratitude speeches from me.”

“not in my wildest dreams, kim.”

the next practice is the last one before the important game against last year's runners-up in the national championship. while not the national tournament itself, this match holds great importance. it will set the tone for how your team fares for the rest of the year. your team is well aware that the competition is eyeing you all closely.

“today's practice match will have sakura and yena as a doubles pair going against the underclassmen pairs," coach yoo announces.

you and chaewon face off against sakura and yena first. the atmosphere is charged with tension, yet a new kind of energy fills the air. there is an unspoken determination between you and chaewon to put your differences aside and make it work for the sake of the team.

as the match begins, there are a few miscommunications and awkward moments. your precision clashes with chaewon's aggression, causing the two of you to miss easy shots. but as the match progresses, something begins to shift.

your well-placed shots start to complement chaewon's powerful swings, and chaewon's dynamic style adds an unexpected element to your controlled approach.

during a pivotal moment in the game, sakura and yena begin a relentless barrage of rapid hits. your quick reflexes allow you to anticipate yena's return, sending a scarily accurate shot back to the opposing side. chaewon, on the other hand, has positioned herself near the net, ready to capitalize on any opportunity.

as yena's return skims over the net, chaewon pounces with a fierce overhead smash that sends the ball hurtling downward with incredible force. sakura tries to counter, but her shot is rushed. you are already positioned perfectly, gently tapping the ball over the net. it lands just inside the line on the other side.

sakura and yena can't reach it in time. yunjin and kazuha’s cheers from the bench reach your ears. locking eyes with chaewon, both of you panting, a silent agreement forms between you. the understanding is wordless yet profound – you can make this work.

“i love always being right,” you overhear coach yoo say.

you and chaewon easily beat your matchup in the game against the other university. and not just that, your whole team puts on an impressive display, completely outplaying the opponent and confirming the hybe university tennis team’s status as the best in the nation.

at the next team practice, coach yoo gathers everyone around for an important announcement. "the official national tournament is approaching. fortunately, chaeyeon's recovery is progressing well, and nako will be flying in from japan tomorrow." relief floods across everyone's faces, a testament to the genuine bond that the girls share.

"however," coach yoo continues, capturing your attention, "i'd like y/n and chaewon to remain as our doubles pair. kazuha and yunjin will return to playing singles, and chaeyeon will be paired with nako for doubles."

you notice a glint of confusion in chaewon's eyes, her brows furrowing in response. understandably so. you both assumed that you'd return to playing singles once chaeyeon and nako returned.

"i understand this might be unexpected, but witnessing you two on the court the other day was like witnessing pure magic. you two make an incredible team," coach yoo asserts with conviction. “it was pure perfection.”

hearing coach yoo express something so lofty is a rarity, and you, along with the rest of the team, are well aware of that fact. this makes her statement even more impactful and meaningful.

“now, let’s continue our practice. we have a championship to win. do i make myself clear?” coach yoo looks at everyone, emanating a sense of determination and conviction that is palpable.

in unison, the team replies, “yes, coach!”

after a particularly challenging practice session where your rhythm was off, you find a seat on the bench next to yunjin. "what's on the menu for dinner?" she asks, gathering her things to leave the court and head back to the dorm.

you shake your head, a determined expression on your face. "i think i'll stay back a bit. i need more practice."

yunjin shoots you a disbelieving look. "y/n, you're pushing yourself too hard again."

"i have to," you sigh. "i don't want to be a liability to chaewon."

"you're not a liability, and you won't be," yunjin insists, though she knows arguing won't change your mind. "alright, just don't stay too late. i'll come back after i eat and bring you some food."

"i appreciate it, but i'll be fine," you try to assure her.

"if i didn't feed you, you'd probably have starved by now," yunjin says with a deadpan expression.

"okay, okay. no need to be so dramatic," you chuckle at your best friend's playful exaggeration.

as yunjin heads off, you return to the court with your racket in hand. using the ball machine, you start a practice session focused on refining your form, determined to make each hit better than the last.

“this is tennis, not baseball. stop trying to hit home runs,” a familiar voice chimes in.

“what if i've had a change of heart and i'm just practicing for when i switch over to my new passion, which is baseball?” you retort with a touch of sarcasm.

“seems like you're the new comedian in town, y/n,” chaewon quips, strolling over to your side of the court. after the countless practices you've shared as doubles partners, you've grown skilled at rolling with chaewon's jabs and responding in a similar fashion. similarly, chaewon has learned to temper her humor, keeping it in the realm of playful banter rather than letting it escalate into a full-blown argument.

"why do you hit the ball like that?" chaewon asks, stepping closer to you.

"like what?" you scoff at her question, sensing that she isn't trying to insult you.

"like you're afraid," she comments, crossing her arms as she positions herself beside you.

you're not sure how to respond. "i don't know what you mean. this is how coach lim taught me."

at the mention of her old coach, you notice a change in chaewon's posture. her body tenses, and her expression shifts into one of displeasure. it's as if you've accidentally struck a nerve.

"well, he taught us wrong," chaewon asserts, her tone resolute.

you're taken aback by her defiance toward her former coach. even more surprising is the sensation of her front pressing against your back as she wraps her arms around you and places them on yours.

suddenly, you’re overly conscious of how terrible you must smell after all the hours out in the sun. heat rushes to your face. you tell yourself it's from the overexertion you’ve put your body through.

you swallow the lump in your throat before you ask, "what are you doing?"

"relax, i'm just helping you loosen up a bit," chaewon explains, her reasoning leaving you curious about her choice of words. “your swings aren’t too terrible, but they lack fluidity.”

as the ball machine shoots another ball towards you, chaewon gently guides your grip and stance, helping you align your body with the swing. the ball connects with the racket, and while the shot might not be as precise as your usual hits, there's a newfound sense of ease in the motion.

"see, you don't always have to aim for perfection," chaewon explains, her breath tickling your ear. "sometimes, it's about letting go a little and trusting your instincts."

you take a deep breath, feeling the truth in chaewon's words. as another ball comes your way, you try to mimic the more relaxed swing chaewon demonstrated. the ball sails over the net, landing safely within the court.

"you're overthinking it," chaewon advises gently. "just let your body move naturally. don't be afraid to take risks."

with chaewon's guidance, your swings gradually become less rigid and more fluid. there's a rhythm in your movements, a dance between your body and the racket. chaewon's presence, her arms wrapped securely around you, becomes a comforting anchor.

you clear your throat before speaking. "you can let go of me now." chaewon quickly releases her hold on you. walking over to the other side of the court where the ball machine is placed, you turn it off before returning to chaewon's side. she's still standing there.

her face is red too, likely from the intense practice you both had earlier and the sun's heat.

"thank you, by the way," you begin, addressing chaewon. "you didn't have to stay behind and give me tips, but you did. i really appreciate it."

"what did i say about corny speeches of gratitude?" chaewon says sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"you said i would never hear them from you. i never said you would never hear them from me," you reply with a playful tone. her laughter fills the air, a sound you can't recall ever hearing before.

you pause, a question that's been gnawing at you since chaewon mentioned him now on the tip of your tongue. "i hope this isn't too personal, but what happened between you and coach lim? you suddenly stopped showing up."

the air around you two suddenly becomes heavy and serious. “i couldn’t handle it anymore, y/n. he wanted me to be perfect. i don’t even think he ever looked at me as a human; he only saw me as a machine that could win him trophies and titles.”

confronted with chaewon's raw perspective, you find yourself torn between your past assumptions and newfound understanding. younger you was too caught up in your own resentment and your endless pursuit of perfecting yourself that you never really saw the extent of coach lim’s effect on chaewon.

this whole time, you assumed that chaewon loved the idea of being coach lim’s perfect player, of basking in his praise and validation.

out of nowhere, chaewon’s gaze turns dangerously intense. "you never once offered a helping hand. you never even bothered to ask if i was okay."

you feel a surge of conflicting emotions, caught between understanding her pain and wanting to defend your own past beliefs. "chaewon, it's not like i knew what you were going through. you seemed to thrive under his coaching, and you always appeared confident."

"thrived?" chaewon's voice turns sharp, laced with frustration. "i had to put on a brave face because that's what he demanded. but deep down, i was suffocating. and you, you were always so self-absorbed in your own battles that you didn't see mine."

"give me a break, chaewon. i was just 14 like you. i was clueless," you snap, the heat of the argument pushing you to react defensively. "i had my own struggles to deal with. i couldn't just magically see past my own challenges."

she shoots you a sharp glance. “right, because you have all the entitlement in the world to be self-absorbed."

"that's not what i'm saying. stop twisting my words," you retort, your voice tinged with frustration. "we both had our share of problems, and it's unfair to blame me for not being a mind-reader." at this point, you're trying your best to hold your tears back, years of pent-up resentment and bitterness finally reaching a boiling point.

chaewon lets out a bitter laugh. “coach lim took so much away from me. he took my sense of self-worth, my youth, and for a while, my love for the game. i was the golden girl, the one everyone expected to excel, and for a while, i thought i was living the dream. but it was a nightmare. every time i stepped onto that court, i could feel his eyes on me, his expectations pressing down like a weight i couldn't escape."

"i told my parents everything. i explained how i felt like i had ceased to be a person, how there were moments when i couldn't even bring myself to step out of my room. i became consumed by the fear of tennis. fortunately, they granted me the opportunity to switch schools and train in japan for high school," she goes on. you imagine that's where she crossed paths with kazuha and developed a strong friendship with her.

her voice rises as the anger surges within her. "i couldn't breathe under his scrutiny. he wanted perfection, and every time i fell short, i felt like i was falling apart. he'd praise me one moment, and the next, he'd dissect my mistakes as if they were a crime against the sport. i lost myself in his demands, in the pressure to maintain this image of the flawless player he created." tears begin spilling from chaewon’s eyes.

you haven’t said a word since she began her confession of the true impact of coach lim’s toxic style of coaching. after all these years, you were finally able to hear her side of the story.

her voice is tainted with pain. through tears, she asks, "do you know what it feels like, y/n? to be praised and adored for your skills but to also be trapped in that admiration? to have every victory overshadowed by the fear of disappointing him?” her words trembled, marked by the cracks in her voice.

“you thought i had it all, but in reality, coach lim's obsession with my success was suffocating me. it made me forget why i loved tennis in the first place.” she falls to the ground on her knees.

chaewon's chest heaves with the force of her cries, and her breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps. the sound of her anguish fills the air, a symphony of pain and heartache. her hands cover her face as if trying to shield herself from the intensity of her own emotions, fingers trembling with the weight of her pain.

tears flow down from your own eyes, mirroring chaewon's pain. you sit down beside her, pulling her gently into your arms. it's a moment when you manage to set aside the lingering resentment and bitterness that coach lim had planted between you and chaewon.

in this shared moment, you both unleash years of pent-up pain and suffering that originated from that one man. together, you and chaewon allow the floodgates to open, releasing the years of pain and anguish inflicted upon both of you by a single man.

minutes pass, and you've spent every one of them on the ground with chaewon, your fingers drawing soothing circles on her back as you help her find calm. the air remains quiet, words unspoken between you two. the tears have ceased their flow, leaving the both of you enveloped in stillness.

eventually, you break the silence, your voice soft yet laden with sincerity. "i'm sorry, chaewon."

she shakes her head, her gaze fixed on the ground as she responds, her tone carrying a blend of self-reflection and regret. "no, you were right earlier. we were just kids, we didn’t know anything. it wasn't your fault."

you release her gently and shift back, allowing her a moment to breathe. chaewon meets your gaze, her eyes telling a story of mixed emotions that her words cannot fully express. "in the end, it wasn't on us, y/n. i was hurting, but you were hurting too. we were both too lost in our own struggles to truly see each other."

you nod at chaewon’s sentiments. “we can’t change the past, but we can move forward from this.”

“here you go again with your corny speeches,” chaewon softly jokes.

"chaewon, please. we're having a moment," you playfully retort, noticing chaewon's soft laughter, a weight lifting from the atmosphere. "what i mean is, i want to see you as my teammate, even as a friend. i don't want to perceive you the same way i have since we were six."

"i know it won't be an instant change. both of us need to deal with the personal aftermath coach lim left on us. but maybe, we can face it together," you offer a smile to chaewon, met with one in return.

"can i still make fun of you?" chaewon's familiar playfulness returns. this time, her words carry humor instead of malice.

"if you didn't, i'd think you got abducted by aliens and they replaced you with someone else," you say humorously, following her lead.

chaewon's nose is reddened, her eyes and lips still puffy from crying - yours probably look the same. yet, in this moment, as the sunset's last light embraces you both, she appears more beautiful to you than ever.

"teammates?" chaewon extends her hand, a gesture of camaraderie.

"i thought you hated corny stuff?" you glance at her hand, raising an eyebrow.

"only when it's you," chaewon quips, swift with her reply. a chuckle escapes you as you shake her hand.

"alright, teammate." a brief pause envelops you both. suddenly, footsteps approach the court.

the shrill of yunjin’s voice breaks the moment, "y/n! i got some fried chicken for you! i wasn't sure about rice, but i thought you'd be hungry, so i grabbed you s-"

yunjin's words falter as she takes in the scene before her. confusion washes over her face, her eyebrows knitting together. "what the hell happened?"

you want to laugh at how comical yunjin’s expression looks, but you hold it in because you can feel that she’s extremely confused.

"just catching up with my teammate," you gesture to chaewon. getting back on your feet, you reach out your hands, offering help, and she clasps them to stand up.

"see you at the next practice," chaewon says, her voice carrying a hint of warmth.

as she disappears from view, yunjin grabs your arm and shakes you. "you have to fill me in on everything!"

"i promise i will. now, stop shaking me. you might give me a traumatic brain injury," you joke, walking alongside yunjin back to your dorm. a burden you hadn't realized was weighing on your chest and shoulders suddenly lifts.

as practices come and go, and the season progresses, your connection with chaewon slowly but surely develops. initially, it was a challenge to release the grip of your shared history. yet, the genuine love and passion you both hold for the game serve as a balm, easing the burden of the past and guiding your attention toward the present.

during a match against another university, you and chaewon face off against a less-than-pleasant pair of opponents. these girls exude snarkiness and rudeness, assuming that you both will be an easy match for them.

"let's get this match over. just by looking at you two, we can already tell this is going to be an easy win," one of the opposing players remarks, followed by a mocking laugh from the other.

"thanks in advance for helping us keep our winning streak," adds the second girl. chaewon's temper flares, her sharp retorts ready to be unleashed. having been on the receiving end of her biting words before, you know her response could easily escalate into a confrontation. swiftly, you place a hand on her shoulder, silently urging her to keep her cool.

"let's have a good game," you respond, refusing to engage in their negativity. as you and chaewon head back to your side of the court, you meet her gaze and offer a quiet reminder, "you and i both know it's not worth it to stoop to their level."

rolling her eyes, chaewon begrudgingly agrees, acknowledging your point. "you and i both know we're going to destroy them."

and she's right. you and chaewon breeze through the match, your synergy undeniable. at one point, chaewon powerfully smashes the ball onto their side of the court. unintentionally, the ball strikes the ground and hits one of the opposing girls square in the face.

you and chaewon quickly turn away, stifling your laughter. "talk shit, get hit, bitch," chaewon whispers, her humor evident. despite finding it amusing, you lightly swat her shoulder.

throughout the season, the team's bond continues to deepen, fueled by a shared passion for the game. following matches against other schools, the entire team, except for coach yoo, gathers at sakura's expansive home near hybe university for girls' night. whether it's watching movies, playing board games, or engaging in heartfelt conversations, being in their company brings you immense joy.

in your younger days, you viewed tennis as an individual pursuit, given the one-on-one nature of matches on the court.

however, now immersed in the warmth of your team and experiencing the genuine friendship between you and the other girls, you gladly embrace this sense of unity. your heart swells as you wholeheartedly include your team in your affection, a clear indication of how much they mean to you.

"come on, y/n, serenade us with a song," yena's enthusiastic voice rang out. the team had gathered at sakura's house following a spirited match, and the evening had evolved into a cozy karaoke session, with everyone donning their pajamas.

though everyone had already taken their turn at the microphone, one person hadn't yet had their moment - you. while you had been joining in between moments, you had intentionally stepped back to ensure others took the spotlight.

"i've been singing along!" you defended playfully, only to be met with a chorus of playful boos from all around.

"technically, you need to hold the microphone to truly call it singing," chaewon interjected, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. seated beside kazuha with a snack in hand, she seemed to be the resident instigator.

"alright, alright," you conceded.

"oh, so if we want y/n to do anything, all we need is for chaewon to ask?" chaeyeon quipped, addressing the entire team and causing a ripple of amused agreement.

a collective "ooh" echoed through the room as both you and chaewon found your faces turning the shade of ripe tomatoes. in your attempt to recover, you sought refuge behind yunjin, hoping for a moment to compose yourself. to your surprise, she didn't offer any help and instead stepped aside, leaving you feeling all too exposed.

that night, you sang your heart out, surprising everyone. luckily, they all joined in, and soon, everyone was singing together.

the hybe university women’s tennis team qualifies for the national tournament, not surprising anyone. the blood, sweat, and tears poured out from every single individual on the team are what got the team here and what will help this team.

after one practice session, coach yoo gathers the team and announces, “great news, everyone. i just received word from the international tennis confederation, and they informed me that if we win the national tournament, we can get a chance to qualify for the international collegiate tennis tournament!” cheers erupt from the entire team, further fanning the fire of your determination to do well in the national tournament.

the opposing teams sense the pressure radiating from both of you whenever you step onto the court, causing your opponents to shake in their shoes.

in your final match of the tournament, the entire team relies on you and chaewon. your match will decide if the team reclaims the title of national champions and earns a chance at the international tennis tournament. despite the weight of this responsibility, it doesn't negatively impact your performance.

you score the winning shot, and the team's cheers overwhelm your senses. in the height of the moment, chaewon drops her racket and wraps you in a tight hug. sweat and muscle fatigue from the long game don't matter. you hug her back just as tightly, the past resentments and bitterness gone.

the sky painted a clear blue canvas, as if the entire universe was joining in the celebration of your team's victory. yunjin's eyes welled up with tears as she raced towards you after the win, enveloping you in an almost bone-crushing embrace. the team, along with coach yoo holding the championship trophy, met on the court for a group hug.

in this moment, perfection hung in the air. you had just helped your team win a national championship, opening doors to an international title quest. better yet, your best friend shared in this triumph. in addition to all this, you had been gradually healing from coach lim's impact on your friendship with chaewon.

yet, nothing perfect lasts forever.

you're 19 when your first college year wraps up on a high note – acing your classes and clinching the national championship with chaewon for the team. after much persuasion from you and yunjin, your parents allow you to spend the summer on campus.

before summer workouts start, you and yunjin explore the city, soaking in the sights, indulging in tasty food, and sharing laughter over anything and everything. having yunjin bring her car to campus has been a real blessing. without it, you wouldn't have had as many opportunities to go on outings together.

one day, chaewon texts, inviting you and yunjin to join her and kazuha for dinner at a local restaurant. approaching the restaurant, a message from yunjin pops up, saying she can't make it. disappointment arises within you, but your appetite wins out, so you decide to head inside anyway.

chaewon is seated alone. with a playfully exaggerated tone, you quip, "what's a pretty lady like you doing here all by yourself?" banter between you and chaewon has grown more comfortable over the school year and your time as doubles partners, sometimes hinting at flirtation. it's all harmless fun – at least that's what you tell yourself.

“lucky for you, i recognized your voice, or else i might've considered knocking you out," chaewon retorts. a faint blush colors her cheeks. "kazuha had to cancel. she's not feeling well."

"yunjin won't make it either, so it's just us," you let chaewon know, scanning the menu as you speak. detecting a moment of silence, you ask, "is that okay with you?"

chaewon mock coughs, grinning. "oh, i'm suddenly feeling under the weather too," she says playfully. "i’m joking, it's perfectly good with me.”

throughout dinner, you and chaewon enjoy each other's company. she shares that her time in japan involved training under "the best coach ever," coach minatozaki, a journey that elevated her skills even higher. kazuha trained alongside her.

afterward, the craving for dessert leads you and chaewon to a nearby ice cream spot. as you walk, your hands brush multiple times, each touch setting off a warm blush across your cheeks. in the midst of this, you spot a man on a bicycle hurtling down the sidewalk. swiftly, you grab chaewon's hand, pulling her closer to you just in time to avert a collision.

“that jerk!” you exclaim, failing to notice the telltale redness that colors the tips of chaewon's ears.

“i'm not sure what would hurt more, me getting hit by that bike or being yanked by your man hands," chaewon retorts with a sarcastic tone, though her actions give her away as her fingers entwine with yours.

you both stand by the entrance of your dorm, ice cream in hand. “thank you for inviting me out for dinner. i know it wasn’t supposed to be just the both of us, but i still appreciate it," you tell chaewon. "i'll see you at practice tomorrow?"

chaewon nods, offering a small smile. "absolutely. don't be late," she says before giving your hand a gentle squeeze and heading to her own dorm, leaving you with a heart that's surprisingly light.

as you step into your dorm, you're greeted by the sight of yunjin absorbed in a game in front of the television. "i thought you were busy?" you ask.

"i was at that time, but now i'm not," yunjin responds without hesitation. a mischievous smile dances on her lips. "so, how was your date with chaewon?"

heat rushes to your face, turning it as hot as a desert. "it wasn't a date!" you hastily grab a pillow from the couch and playfully hurl it at her, hitting her squarely in the face.

as the summer workouts begin, coach yoo tailors the training regimen to ready the team for the qualifiers of the international tennis tournament. with the team getting ready for this crucial competition, coach yoo makes the call to abstain from bringing in any fresh first-years to the squad. her focus remains solely on fostering the talents of the current players under her wing.

sakura lends a hand to yunjin and kazuha during their singles drills, closely observing areas they could refine. chaeyeon and nako train together, polishing their technique to be at their highest level. beyond being the team's chief motivator and wellspring of energy, yena tirelessly hones her swings, aiming for perfection in the impending competition.

with the rest of the team pushing their physical and mental limits to prepare for the upcoming competition, you and chaewon feel propelled to surpass expectations, determined not to let the team down.

while both of you, along with the entire team, acknowledge your status as the squad's best players, you see it not as an excuse to take it easy, but as a driving force that ignites your determination.

staying on the courts after everyone else from the team has left has become routine for you. yunjin no longer bothers trying to convince you to return to the dorm with her. chaewon would occasionally make her way back after heading to her own dorm, though not every night.

today unfolded no differently. you lingered on the courts until almost midnight, the moon illuminating the sky. chaewon didn't drop by for a visit tonight. you can’t quite put a finger on why that fact is bothering you. you start packing up your belongings and start making your way to the dorms.

en route, you reach a crosswalk. despite the campus being deserted at this hour, you quickly glance both ways to ensure no car is approaching. you begin crossing, but right as you're in the middle, the roar of a powerful engine reaches your ears. before you can react, the last sight imprinted in your mind is two blazing headlights.

you slowly come to, the world around you a haze of unfamiliar sounds and sterile scents. your vision blurs, but as it gradually clears, the stark reality settles in. you're in a hospital room, the faint beeping of monitors and distant voices of medical staff echoing around you.

pain courses through every fiber of your being. the source of agony remains elusive. it's as though every inch of your body is engulfed in a relentless blaze of torment.

the remnants of a car crash flash in your mind—metal crunching, the tires shrieking, the overpowering impact. it's a puzzle with missing pieces, a story that seems disjointed and surreal.

with a heavy breath, you struggle to focus, to understand the gravity of your situation. tubes and wires snake from your body, tethering you to machines that are monitoring your every heartbeat and breath. your head feels heavy like a storm of confusion rages within it.

a face comes into view, a doctor jotting down notes on a clipboard. your parents stand behind her, concern etched across their faces.

"good morning, sweetie. i'm dr. chou. you've just woken up from a two-week coma," dr. chou explains. that would explain the dryness in your throat. "on a scale of one to ten, with one being no pain and ten being the worst, how bad is your pain right now?"

even in your dazed state, you don't need to think much about your answer. "ten," you rasp, the parched sensation in your throat intensifying.

"i'll give you some medication, but first i need to ask you a couple of questions," dr. chou informs you. "do you know your name?"

"yes, i'm y/n," you respond. your mother positions a cup of water by your lips to help you drink it, which you gulp down in a split second.

"good. you’re in the hospital near hybe university. now, do you remember what happened and how you ended up here?"

"not everything, but i do remember seeing a pair of bright lights and then waking up here," you explain to dr. chou. she proceeds to tell you that a drunk driver, a fellow student at the university, hit you. the driver was recklessly speeding late at night. thankfully, they were apprehended and would face the consequences.

dr. chou goes on to explain that yunjin located you when you didn't respond to her calls and texts. horrified by the sight, she immediately called for emergency assistance.

your heart aches at the thought of how yunjin must be feeling right now. you want to apologize, to express your gratitude, to tell her how thankful you are that she's your best friend. dr. chou tells you it's a miracle you're alive.

"how severe are my injuries?" you inquire of dr. chou.

"it's miraculous that your internal organs remained intact. however, your limbs bore the brunt of the impact," dr. chou begins. you gaze at your body and realize your arms are encased in casts, and one of your legs is too. you also feel a brace around your neck. hot tears well up as you take in the extent of the damage.

"i heard you're a tennis player at hybe university. that's quite an achievement. they say your team is the best in the nation," dr. chou begins softly. you can anticipate what's coming next. dr. chou takes a deep breath before continuing. "both of your arms were fractured during the accident, one from the car and the other from the impact with the ground."

the tears start to flow down your face. your chest feels heavy, and you're at a loss for how to process all of this. "your leg was also fractured, due to the collision."

"given these injuries, i can't provide an estimate of when you'll be able to get back on the court or if that will even be possible at all," dr. chou concludes, her voice carrying a gentleness, knowing that she just delivered the most devastating news.

sobs wrack your body. you're consumed by inconsolable grief. you can barely feel dr. chou's hand on your shoulder or hear her say, "i understand it's difficult now and it will continue to be for a while. just take it one day at a time." she looks at your family, your mother and father crying alongside you, "i'll step out now. just call if you need anything else."

the very essence of your existence, the labor you poured your soul into, had been mercilessly taken from you. it was a theft committed without showing even the slightest sign of remorse.

with tears blurring your vision and an agonizing weight engulfing your chest, you were left feeling like a hollow shell, drained of purpose and crushed by the weight of irreparable loss.

anger simmered within you. it was directed towards the world and the individual who had recklessly crashed into you on that particular night. however, your parents and teammates remained untouched by this anger. if anything, they became your anchors, keeping you steady through these trying times.

throughout your month-long confinement in the hospital, your teammates visited frequently. occasionally, coach yoo would accompany them. whether it was conveying their wishes for your swift recovery, bringing you your favorite snacks, or simply being a comforting presence, they stood by your side despite their own demanding training schedules.

the memory of yunjin's initial visit to your hospital room is still vivid. bursting into the room hours after receiving a text from your mother about your awakening, yunjin's presence remains etched in your mind. you recall her tears as she embraced you.

both of you find solace in each other's arms, tears flowing freely. the hug speaks softly, carrying murmurs of "i'm sorry" and "thank you."

when your teammates came to visit, they were aware of the sensitivity around discussing the sport. during their initial group visit, your parents had informed them about your situation beforehand, which led to tears from everyone.

particularly, chaewon chose to stay outside as the group entered your room, needing a moment to compose herself. she understood the significance of the sport to you, and its sudden absence affected her deeply as well. for a fleeting moment, she even contemplated not coming in at all.

that changed when kazuha went to find her and mentioned that you were looking for her.

as she stepped in, no words were necessary between the two of you. she sensed your pain, and you recognized that she was the one who could truly comprehend you. after all, she had been there from the start, witnessing your initial spark of passion for the game.

there was a time when she visited alone. your parents had gone home for a couple of days to attend to their careers and manage the house. you lay in bed, consumed by self-pity. the only yearning within you was to recover and step back onto the court, a dream that now felt as distant as the stars.

a knock on the door jolted you from your thoughts. "come in," you murmured weakly.

chaewon entered, a bouquet of flowers and a teddy bear with a heart bearing the words "get well soon" in her arms. "hi," she greeted softly, placing the items on a nearby table.

"how are you holding up?" her well-intentioned question fell flat as soon as it left her lips.

glaring at the wall, you struggled to maintain your composure. "i can't play anymore, chaewon." you paused, and the unspoken weight hung heavy in the air. "everything i've devoted my life to is gone." it took every ounce of strength to hold back the tide of emotions threatening to engulf you.

"don't hold it in," chaewon urged gently, her gaze steady on you. confusion mingled with your sadness as you met her eyes. "i know you're furious, and i know you're hurting. so why keep it inside?" concern lined her expression.

at her words, your defenses crumbled. it had been weeks since you awoke in this hospital room, a place you longed to escape from. throughout those endless days, you had attempted to come to terms with the harsh reality before you—a reality where the sport you cherished had been ripped unceremoniously from your grasp.

once the torrent of sobs subsided, silent tears continued to stream down your cheeks. chaewon reached for a napkin, gently wiping away your tears.

"everything i've worked for," your voice quivered, "it's gone." a hiccup interrupted your words. "torn away from me."

"i wake up each day in this hospital bed, trapped in a nightmare i can't escape. the pain is relentless, chaewon, and i can't even move without feeling like i'm being torn apart." anger began to lace your words, burning with frustration. “i let the team down. i let you down.”

chaewon listened, her focus unwaveringly fixed on you. she fought back her own tears, determined to stand strong beside you. if you were holding on, then she would find her strength as well.

chaewon's voice was soft but resolute. "you didn't let anyone down, y/n. and don't you dare think that for a second." she leaned in closer, placing her hand gently over your cast. "we're a team, remember? this isn't your fault, and you're not alone in this."

your gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, the weight of your shattered dreams pressing heavily upon you. "i know you're trying to help, chaewon. but it's hard to see beyond this pain, beyond the loss."

"i might not be able to fully understand what you're going through, but i want you to know that you have the wholehearted support of everyone on the team, including coach yoo," chaewon's voice carries a gentle reassurance. "fuck what the doctors are saying. if they're predicting that you'll never get back on the court, i have complete faith that you'll prove them wrong. we'll get through this one day at a time."

a sigh escaped your lips, a mixture of resignation and a sliver of hope. chaewon's presence was a lifeline in the storm of your emotions. "i'm just scared, chaewon. scared that i won't ever be able to play again, that i'll be stuck like this forever."

“right now, the most important thing is your recovery. we'll explore every option, every avenue to help you heal and get back on your feet. and when you're ready, when you're strong enough, we'll find a way to get you back on that court,” chaewon reassures you.

after that day, chaewon began visiting more frequently on her own. she was a constant source of reassurance, firm in her conviction that you had the strength to overcome this obstacle.

while the rest of your teammates tiptoed around the subject of the sport, chaewon had no reservations. she understood that you wanted to hear about it, knowing that it would fuel your determination to recover.

chaewon eagerly shared practice schedules for the upcoming international tennis tournament, providing detailed accounts of each player's performance. her descriptions were vivid, her words laced with hope for your swift return to the court. she informed you that she's back to playing singles after coach yoo rearranged the team formation.

the accident had occurred at the start of summer, granting you two months to begin the healing process. astonishingly, the hospital's physical therapists marveled at your rapid progress. although you were far from fully recovered, you had made enough strides to move an arm without enduring excruciating pain.

prior to leaving the hospital and heading back to your dorm, after numerous discussions with your parents, dr. chou advised you to consider your second year as a time for recovery. this involved concentrating on both physical and mental healing, as well as working on muscle strength.

while you felt disappointed and angry about the situation, you couldn't deny that she had a point. the reality was that you wouldn't be able to play a significant role on the team this year due to your condition.

by the grace of the universe, your fractured leg was the first bone to mend, given that the brunt of the impact had been absorbed by your arms. it was weak, leaving you reminiscent of a newborn deer attempting its first steps. still, you found consolation in the fact that the wheelchair stint lasted only a month, sparing you from a year-long predicament.

you quietly resolved to make yunjin's upcoming birthday special, a token of gratitude for the times she had pushed you around.

with chaewon's guidance and the support of your friends and teammates, you eased into your recovery year. while the ache of not being able to actively participate in the sport still lingered, you channeled your energy into healing and strengthening. physical therapy sessions became a daily ritual, and each small achievement felt like a victory.

you sat on the bleachers, watching the practice sessions until they wrapped up. the girls had been incredibly supportive and kind throughout your tough journey, and now you wanted to repay their kindness in any way possible.

your second year kicks off with a wonky right leg and arm. writing proves to be nearly impossible, your arm strength is almost nonexistent. walking is equally challenging, as you wobble with every step.

you rely heavily on yunjin, often feeling guilty and apologizing for needing her assistance. however, she consistently dismisses your concerns, assuring you that it isn't a burden and that she's more than happy to help.

you continue to watch the practices. on one occasion, yunjin calls kazuha over for something, leaving you and chaewon by yourselves.

"i hate to ask, but could you assist me in getting back to my dorm? just in case i accidentally fall into a bush," you joke, aiming for a lighthearted tone.

chaewon hesitates, clearly taken aback by your humor in the midst of the situation. then, she breaks into a grin. "absolutely."

it turns into a routine. you join yunjin for classes and practice, where coach yoo has now arranged a shaded area for you. the gesture warms your heart. following practice, chaewon accompanies you back to your dorm, as yunjin and kazuha always seem to have plans afterward.

during the walks back to your dorm, you and chaewon talk about everything and nothing. from the latest updates on your recovery - "how's your left arm coming along?" she inquires.

"it's making progress, not as bad as before, but it's still lagging behind my right," you pause for a beat. "i suppose you could say i'm all-right now," you say, attempting a lighthearted joke.

chaewon narrows her eyes, though a suppressed chuckle escapes. "if you say another joke like that, i might just push you into a bush myself,” she counters with feigned sternness.

to sharing life updates - "do you remember my little sister?" she asks.

"eunchae? the last time i saw her, she was still a baby," you respond, attempting to recall her face.

chaewon nods, a fond smile playing on her lips. "she's a teenager now. a pain in the ass, but i love her." you catch a glint in chaewon's eyes, brimming with affection and admiration.

"that's cute. did something happen with her?" you inquire, struggling to keep up with chaewon's pace. she slows down, matching your steps.

she hesitates for a moment, her gaze averted. "we were video calling the other day, and she asked if i was in a relationship." a hint of exasperation laces chaewon's voice. "teenagers these days are so nosy."

your heart sinks, a surprising wave of disappointment washing over you. why did you even want to know? "well… are you?" you find yourself asking, your curiosity getting the better of you.

chaewon's face flushes with color, her embarrassment evident. "am i what?"

"are you in a relationship?" you muster the courage to ask, your pulse quickening.

chaewon stammers slightly, caught off guard. "no, no. i've been too focused on preparing for the international competition."

you nod in understanding, masking the emotions swirling within you. as you both arrive at the steps of your dorm, you offer a casual, "that's good to know." with those parting words, you turn away, leaving chaewon behind in a state of mild bewilderment and flustered surprise.

while enjoying dinner with yunjin on a weekend without practice, you find a question crossing your mind.

"hey, jin," you begin, capturing her attention.

"what's up?" yunjin responds, her mouth full of food.

"i was wondering, if i were to ask chaewon out on a date, do you think she'd say yes?" you casually inquire.

yunjin chokes on her food, causing you to widen your eyes in alarm. you quickly stand and start patting her back firmly to help her stop coughing.

"holy shit! yunjin, breathe!" you exclaim, continuing to pat her back.

yunjin manages to catch her breath. "i'm fine, i'm fine."

"what was all that about?" you ask, still in shock from witnessing your best friend nearly die.

yunjin tries to calm down after her near-death experience. "it's just, after all our years of friendship, this is my first time hearing you talk about dates or anything close to it."

"so, should i ask her?" you genuinely ask.

yunjin wants to scream. “yes!”

later that night, while you’re in bed, you overhear yunjin on a phone call in the living room.

"zuha, you will not believe this. it's finally happening!" you had no idea what yunjin was talking about.

the qualifiers for the international tennis tournament are just a week away. with the team's departure for france coming soon, their training sessions are intensifying. naturally, you observe it all, your eyes often drawn to chaewon's skilled movements on the court.

you can't help but admire how flawlessly she executes the game. while she started out aggressively on the court during your first year, she has incorporated elements of your gameplay over time. her style has grown more precise and strategic, a testament to her adaptability.

as practice concludes, coach yoo gathers the team for an announcement. "alright, ladies. our flight to france is tomorrow. please ensure you have all the necessary documents. practice is over; you're all free to go."

"y/n, can you hold down the fort for us?" coach yoo whispers to you. you offer her a reassuring smile.

"of course, coach." you would miss witnessing the team's practices, but you understand they are embarking on something significant. there's a faint ache in your heart, the knowledge that you won't partake in the tournament you played a role in securing. yet, through your teammates, you're gradually healing from the emotional aftermath of the accident.

before you get too lost in your thoughts, a tap on your shoulder interrupts you. "ready to head back?" you glance up at the source of the voice, finding chaewon offering her hand to help you up. despite your weak grip, you accept her assistance and manage to rise to your feet.

as you walk home together, your fingers remain intertwined with hers. along the way, she updates you on her life, shares gossip about a girl in her major, and recounts the tale of a cat scratching her face and leaving a scar on her lip.

listening to her stories with your hand in hers, a realization dawns on you. this is it. she's your person—the one you'd willingly give your heart to.

as you reach the steps of your dorm, you take a good look at chaewon. the moonlight delicately traces her features, leaving you breathless. her eyes glisten in the night, putting all the stars in the sky to shame.

"y/n, are you okay?" chaewon questions, still holding onto your hand.

you draw a deep breath, gathering the courage you need. "when you come back from france," you begin, "and after you secure our university a spot in the actual international tournament by winning the qualifiers, go on a date with me."

chaewon stammers, "what?" she's thankful for the night concealing her blush, hoping you won't notice how her cheeks burn.

"go on a date with me, after you win, of course," you smile at her tenderly. "i like you. a lot."

chaewon's mouth hangs open, your hand clasping hers providing a sense of stability. she lightly slaps your right arm, knowing its fragile state. "you can't just say that the day before i leave for another country!" she shields her reddening face with her free hand.

a chuckle escapes you, and you release her hand, already missing its warmth. "good luck, superstar. you're going to do great," you convey sincerely. before you turn and make your way back into your dorm, you lean in and plant a swift peck on her cheek.

for the next five minutes, chaewon stands outside your dorm building, attempting to process the whirlwind of emotions that just transpired.

as you step into your dorm, you're greeted by yunjin, who's frantically packing for the upcoming tournament in france. you offer your assistance, but she insists you need to rest.

while you're getting ready to get into bed, yunjin comes into your room, disrupting the short moment of peace you were enjoying.

yunjin's voice cuts through the air, "can you please enlighten me as to why zuha just called me up, telling me that chaewon has been screaming into her pillow for the past ten minutes?"

the tennis team would be gone for two weeks. before yunjin's early morning departure, she entered your room, waking you from sleep and sharing a farewell hug. despite the irritation of being woken up at such an early hour, you understood the circumstances and hugged her back, offering your own words of luck.

over these two weeks, your phone is flooded with texts and pictures from the team, sharing their activities, tourist spots they visit, and their meals.

among them, chaewon's messages stand out. she doesn't bring up that night before her departure. instead, she provides updates on the opposing teams, your team's performance, and occasionally sends selfies of her trying on hats and quirky glasses from a tacky souvenir store.

you save each picture, creating a digital album of them all.

you yearned for complete healing, not just physically but also mentally. to achieve that, you knew you had to trace back to the roots of the problem.

on a bright and sunny afternoon, you dial your mother's number. with just a couple of rings, her voice comes through the phone, indicating her swift response.

“hi, honey. is something wrong?” your mother's concern is evident in her voice.

you chuckle at her quick worry. "can't i call my mom just to say hi?"

"you can, but you usually don’t, so forgive me for assuming," she responds with a playful tone.

you share a bit of small talk, catching up on each other's lives. eventually, you bring it up. "i've been considering switching personal coaches."

a momentary silence on your mother's end. "you're not satisfied with coach lim anymore? why?"

you proceed to explain your reasons: his toxic mindset, damaging ideologies, and dehumanizing treatment of his tennis players. while he may have imparted his knowledge of the sport to you, it pales in comparison to the emotional toll he's taken on both you and chaewon.

once you hang up, your mother wastes no time. she calls coach lim and informs him that his services are neither wanted nor needed anymore.

making the decision was undoubtedly difficult. you had been under that man's guidance since your early days in the sport. however, you understood that if you didn't break free sooner or later, the damage inflicted would only continue to grow.

during the two weeks that your team explored france, you found yourself back in dr. chou's office following a physical therapy session. your legs and arms had gained more strength, and the wobbling in your walk had diminished.

"y/n, how did the therapy session go?" dr. chou inquires with genuine concern in her voice.

"it was great, much better than the sessions right after the accident," you reply.

"that's wonderful to hear. how are you feeling?" dr. chou starts jotting down notes on her clipboard.

"i'm feeling significantly stronger. my walking is more stable now, and i've got a better grip with both hands," you honestly report.

dr. chou acknowledges your updates, her expression reflecting amazement. "i must admit, y/n, i've never witnessed such rapid recovery from such a severe accident."

in that moment, a glimmer of hope shines through.

"given the pace of your progress, i can project that you'll likely be back on the court around the middle of your third year if you continue with physical therapy and maintain your exercise regimen," dr. chou continues, offering more insights. however, your attention wavers, and tears quietly well up in your eyes.

following the agony and pain you faced from every single aspect, this present moment reveals the dream that seemed unattainable during your time in the hospital bed.

you waste no time in reaching out to your parents, eager to share the incredible development. their voices tremble with happiness over the phone, and your own emotions overflow, manifesting in tears of joy that you all share.

amid this heartfelt conversation, you make a silent decision to hold off on spreading the news to the team until their return from france, wanting to deliver it face-to-face when they return.

it’s 2 am and you're peacefully enveloped in the comfort of your warm bed, lost in deep slumber. the sudden buzzes from your phone jolt you awake, prompting a frustrated groan as you're reluctantly pulled from your restful sleep. with a reluctant glance at your phone, annoyance gives way to a rush of emotion. your heart quickens its pace, an involuntary fluttering as your lips curve into a widening smile.

text from: kim chaewon

you owe me a date

the team returns from france with victory under their belt. they've earned their place in the international collegiate tennis tournament set for two months down the road in the united states. when yunjin returns, you give her a massive hug, surprising her with your newfound strength.

amidst the tears of joy and celebration, you believe yunjin's tears might be because of the tournament win. but you're unaware that her tears are actually about you, about the slow return of strength to your once-broken arms.

you gather with the rest of the team as coach yoo calls everyone into a university room for an early morning meeting. it begins with rounds of congratulations, the team sharing tales of their time in france as both tourists and athletes in the tournament.

gradually, the atmosphere shifts to a more solemn tone as coach yoo delves into the rigorous training regimen to prepare for the upcoming international competition.

as the meeting draws to a close, coach yoo extends her gratitude to the team. "congratulations once again, ladies. while there's still a demanding journey ahead, we've come a long way and accomplished great things. let's continue pushing forward!" the room resonates with the team's spirited cheers, carried by coach yoo's motivating words.

"don't forget! victory party at my place tomorrow night," your captain, sakura, announces, eliciting even louder cheers from everyone.

"excuse me, coach," you speak softly, aiming not to disrupt the room's heightened atmosphere. all conversations halt, and all eyes turn to you, causing a twinge of embarrassment to sweep over you.

coach yoo's gaze fixes on you. "yes, y/n?"

"i'll be back on the court next year." the room falls so hushed that even the slightest sound could echo like a thunderclap. "my doctor confirmed it. she mentioned i'll be able to play again by the middle of my third year."

the following moments blur together, all you register are the joyful cheers and the flurry of hugs enveloping you. during the excitement, you catch sight of coach yoo's proud smile.

"jin, go ahead without me. i need to sort something out real quick," you inform your best friend while she gathers her belongings, getting ready to return to the dorm.

yunjin raises an eyebrow at you. "you could just say you want to talk with chaewon and go on a date with her. no need to lie," she says, rolling her eyes in amusement before waving you off.

"i think you owe me something," a voice chimes from behind you. you turn and find chaewon standing there.

with everyone else having already departed for their dorms or homes, the two of you are left alone. it's the first time you've spoken since her return from the tournament.

you don't reply. instead, you step closer, drawing her into a warm embrace. you hope she senses the depth of your emotions that words often fall short of expressing: happiness that she's back, relief that you could play again, and the overall joy you have for the entire team.

"i missed you," you murmur into the curve of her neck. heat rises to chaewon's face, and you can almost feel her heart beating against your own.

"stop being cheesy, it's just been two weeks," she retorts, yet her actions betray her words as she pulls you into a tighter embrace.

you let go of her and extend your arm towards her, offering your hand to hold. “let’s go on a date, shall we?” she gives your shoulder a light punch before taking your hand.

you invested a significant amount of time brainstorming the ideal date concept for chaewon. you wanted something more exciting than a regular dinner but not overly grand, knowing chaewon would've hated that. the thought of a sunset picnic on a hill with a beautiful view under a shady tree came to mind and felt just right.

"you're not kidnapping me and taking me to the middle of nowhere just to kill me, right?" chaewon jests from the passenger seat of yunjin's car, generously lent for the occasion.

"don't start giving me ideas," you quip, your focus on the road. one hand is on the steering wheel while the other rests between you and chaewon, your fingers intertwined with hers. you feel her tracing gentle patterns on the back of your hand.

the remainder of the drive to your destination passes in silence, the simple pleasure of each other's company and the music filling the car. upon arrival, you park and move to open the trunk, retrieving the picnic essentials: a basket, a blanket, and a bouquet of flowers.

"here." you extend the flowers to chaewon as you both make yourselves comfortable on the blanket.

her eyebrow arches slightly. "and what's the occasion?"

"well, it's a date, isn't it?" you offer your reasoning with a playful grin. your words elicit a warm laugh from her, a sound that adds to the enchantment of the moment.

under the sheltering branches of a towering oak tree, you and chaewon find your secluded haven. the air is filled with a soft, balmy breeze that carries the scent of blooming flowers. the golden hues of the sunset cascade over the landscape.

the sky is a canvas painted with warm shades of pink, orange, and lavender, creating a breathtaking backdrop for your picnic. the fading sunlight casts a gentle glow over chaewon's features, highlighting the subtle flush on her cheeks. her eyes sparkle with a mixture of excitement and contentment, mirroring the serene beauty of the scene before you.

as you both share bites of food, your laughter mingles with the soothing rustle of leaves overhead. playful banter dances between you, accompanied by shared smiles. with each passing moment, the cares of the world seem to fade away, leaving only the company of each other and the beauty of the present.

the moon has ascended high in the sky, and the picnic basket now sits empty beside you. both you and chaewon lean against a tree, your head finding a comfortable resting place on her shoulder.

"don't you think it's crazy?" chaewon's voice pierces the quiet around you.

"what?" you respond.

chaewon lapses into silence for a moment. "just everything, really. i mean, our journey. we started out under that... monster, our childhoods and youth stripped away."

"now, we're with coach yoo. i can't even begin to describe how much happier i am under her guidance. she's made me fall even more in love with the sport," chaewon admits, her words brimming with admiration.

you share the sentiment wholeheartedly. coach yoo is the antithesis of coach lim—equally ambitious and disciplined but also kind and empathetic. she views her athletes as individuals, not mere machines.

"don't tell me you have a crush on coach yoo now," you tease, provoking a laugh from her.

"please, don't be ridiculous. i'm just grateful," chaewon counters. you echo her sentiment. "you know, i never actually hated you."

lifting your head from her shoulder, you turn to fully face her. "where's this coming from?"

"just something i wanted to say. i've realized that while i've said hurtful things to you before, i don't think i truly meant them," chaewon confesses. "i think my own hurt and resentment towards coach lim made me misdirect my frustrations onto you."

"i think i can relate," you admit, your voice carrying a weight of shared experience. "he used to constantly compare me to you, and it cut deep. i thought i was harboring anger towards you, but it was him who fueled my anger and resentment, not you," you confess.

the two of you are now facing each other, still seated on the blanket. chaewon reaches for your hands, her touch both comforting and affirming. "i'm proud of us," she says, her gaze intense as she looks into your eyes. "we've come so far, and we've managed to heal from his influence." her voice is resolute.

with a tender gesture, she cups your cheek, her thumb gently wiping away a stray tear that had escaped your notice. "i'm especially proud of you," she continues, sincerity evident in her words. "you not only survived a car accident but also managed to recover in record time. you could have given up, but you didn't."

her touch and words hold a deep sense of reassurance. "you've made it this far, y/n. you've overcome challenges that most people would have simply given up on."

"thank you," you whisper, your voice carrying a mix of gratitude and emotion. you lean in, placing your forehead gently against hers, savoring this almost cinematic moment between the two of you.

beneath the soft moonlight, chaewon's voice barely reaches you. "i can't just say that i like you too," she starts, and you open your eyes, surprise evident on your face.

her hands still cradle your cheeks with a delicate touch, her thumbs gently brushing against your skin. "this feeling inside me goes beyond that," she continues, her voice carrying a sense of sincerity that resonates within you.

then, in a whisper barely louder than the rustling leaves, she confesses, "i love you, y/n."

"when i'm with you like this, it feels like everything's in the right place. like all the things i've been through were worth it, just to be with you.” chaewon pauses, seeking an answer in your eyes.

your heart's a jumble of emotions. you're on an emotional rollercoaster, uncertain where to land.

in the middle of the swirling sea of emotions within you, one truth shines like a guiding star: it’s her, only her.

“i thought you hated corny stuff,” you joke quietly, earning a soft chuckle from her.

her fingers graze your cheek, her touch feather-light yet electrifying. "i might hate corny stuff," she murmurs, her voice a mere whisper, "but i love you." and with that, her lips meet yours in a kiss that carries all the warmth, fondness, and hidden desires that have been swirling between you both.

her lips, soft and inviting, meld against yours with seamless grace—perfectly fitting against yours as if they were destined to be there. as your kiss deepens, you're aware of her hands gently shifting from your face to your neck, a subtle yet powerful gesture that speaks of her desire to draw you even closer to her. with each press, a spark of warmth ignites within you, spreading like wildfire through your veins.

you gently rest your hands on the sides of her waist, bridging the nonexistent gap between you two. your fingers trace along her sides, eliciting a soft sigh from her.

your senses intensify, capturing every detail: the subtle taste of her lingering lip balm, the synchronized rhythm of your heartbeats, and the gentle graze of her fingers against the nape of your neck.

you both ease back, the need for air breaking the connection, but your foreheads remain gently pressed together. "i love you too," you confess, witnessing a burden being lifted from chaewon's shoulders.

tears gather in chaewon's eyes. "good," she murmurs, then lets out a laugh infused with happiness.

a short silence envelops you before she breaks it. "you know, yunjin and kazuha made a bet on when we'd finally admit it to each other."

the following day, the two of you arrive at sakura's house hand in hand, your fingers interlaced. your teammates exchange knowing glances among themselves, a silent understanding passing between them. you make a mental note to address that curiosity on a different occasion.

coach yoo graces the victory party with her presence before things become too lively. just before she departs, she approaches both of you with a sly smile. "so, who said it first?"

you and chaewon share a puzzled glance, a momentary confusion crossing your features. nevertheless, you respond, "technically, i admitted that i liked her first, but she said 'i love you' first."

as the words hang in the air, a mixture of groans and cheers erupts from your teammates, their reactions varying from exasperation to celebration.

"i told you all y/n would confess first!" coach yoo announces triumphantly to the team.

you're left speechless, realizing even your coach had placed bets on you and chaewon. coach yoo departs with a knowing smile and a few extra dollars in her pocket.

you step away from chaewon to give her some time to socialize, and you join yunjin to catch up. after a warm hug with yunjin, you make your way upstairs to the balcony, seeking a breath of fresh air. the view from the balcony showcases the campus, its close proximity to the university apparent.

you gaze at the tennis courts in the distance, a mixture of emotions swirling within you. so much has unfolded, and though the future remains uncertain, you're not overly concerned.

your affection for the sport endures, but you've come to understand that your identity encompasses more than just your skill in a sport. with the support of your teammates, chaewon, and your family, you've embraced this realization.

you're pulled from your thoughts by the sensation of arms gently encircling your waist, and a chin resting on your shoulder.

"hey," chaewon whispers, her voice tickling your ear. "what are you doing up here? i missed you."

turning to face her, you lay your hands on top of hers. "just needed some fresh air. didn't know you'd be this clingy," you tease.

"shut up," she retorts, nestling her head against your neck.

a chuckle escapes you as you pull her into a tighter embrace. "the international tennis championship is coming up in a few months. you'll win, right?" you ask playfully, avoiding putting any more pressure on her.

but chaewon is chaewon, never one to shy away from a challenge. "of course, i will," she replies, drawing back to meet your gaze. "and our third year is approaching. you'll be back on the court, better than ever, won't you?" her tone matches the one you used earlier.

confidence brims in your response. "absolutely."

while your recovery is ongoing, you're farther along than anyone expected. with chaewon beside you, you have full assurance in your ability to conquer any challenges that lie ahead.

the seeds of resentment and bitterness that once existed have now blossomed into a garden of genuine love and admiration.

"i love you," chaewon declares, planting a gentle kiss on your lips. "so much."

"and here you were always giving me a hard time for being cheesy," you retort with a grin.

she playfully nudges you away, but you maintain your grip on her hips. "whatever.”

laughter rings out. this is it, the feeling that no trophy or title can match.

"i love you so much more, chaewon."

additional notes: could this have been done with fewer words? yes. but am i insane? also yes. in all seriousness, this is quite a long piece. if you’ve made it this far and read it all, i can’t begin to express how grateful i am that you gave my work a chance. i wanted to bring this fic to life just as i envisioned, which is why the word count might seem hefty for a one-shot. please let me know what you think by either leaving a comment or sending your thoughts through an ask! can y’all tell i never got over izone? did anyone notice the twice cameos? i just want to clarify that coach lim is not nayeon! thank you one again for reading!

#le sserafim x reader #kim chaewon x reader #chaewon x reader #chaewon imagines #chaewon scenarios #le sserafim imagines #le sserafim #le sserafim scenarios #kim chaewon #le sserafim chaewon #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #blue’s pieces

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