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“I like you. A lot.”
There’s a lot of things Chan has been preparing for before the cheering starts. Here’s the said list that he has been writing off with a check inside his mind:
- Having to calm down the new Flyer’s little panic attack, making sure that she’s going to be safe and that he’d definitely catch her, like he has always been.
- The sudden costume malfunction, where he has to stare helplessly at Gahyeon who was trying to stitch back his pants, fingers crossed that it would be enough to keep his boxer to not be shown mid-performance, though his lips are shut as to not disturb her–she had glared at him once for doing that, and it was scary.
- Helping Gahyeon search for her pom-pom because she had forgotten where she had put it because Chan had pulled her to the side in a hurry with frantic eyes, ripped pants on his palms.
- Finding said pom-pom right outside the hall, the retort of how clumsy she is dying in his mouth because well, it was his fault in the first place, really.
- Getting out from the changing room to run from the chaos that was ensuing, only to find Seungkwan leaning against the locker. Gave his greeting to Seungkwan and words of support for his game today, only to be met with determined eyes and pulled lips.
Here’s one thing that Chan had not been preparing for before the cheering started.
His best friend, confessing. To him.
Chan’s grip on his pom-poms tightens as he watches the game unfolding from the side.
Their opponent is on the lead by four points and the huge clock is currently showing that they only have five minutes left of the final round, which reminds him of what Seungkwan had called a ‘loop-in-the-hole’. It was a term he created on one of their sleepovers that basically means that he’s going to do his best to score in-between those last minutes. It made zero sense then, and Chan remembers that he had laughed so loudly on the term, Seungkwan’s sister had to knock on the wall of Seungkwan’s room to calm them down.
And it’s supposed to be a usual sight, really, but somehow, the way Seungkwan nodded over something that the coach had yelled at him before immediately setting his eye on the ball… It stirs something inside his chest.
His sight follows the boy in which he had shared the memories with, black headband circling his head and large printed 11 on his back. And it’s dumb, really, the reasoning of his birthday as the number. A result of a stupid, drunken bet that the two of them had over a random football match they had watched together in one night. He doesn’t remember which teams were competing, all that he got from that night was glimpses of flashing memories of his choice winning over Seungkwan, and he was both giddy and giggly over the supposed victory before Seungkwan’s choice scored two goals at one succession.
What he does remember clearly was the flush glow on Seungkwan’s cheeks from the alcohol, how pretty he was under the warm light, surrounded by happiness. And how Seungkwan still chose 11 as his number nonetheless, nonchalantly saying that 16 was already taken by their senior.
But for the whole three years, 11 was the only number he had plastered on his jersey.
His throat is dry as he recalls what happened before the play. How disheveled Seungkwan had looked, and how he thought it was because of today’s finals approaching, the last competition of their final year before they get swamped by college preparation classes and pressure of adulting.
“No. I mean, yeah it’s an important competition but… There’s also something I have to say. I have to let this go before this final.” He took a moment to compose himself, his back facing an oblivious though a little worried Chan.
He did have a tendency to overthink things, and Chan thought it was going to be one of those times where he had to take Seungkwan back to the ground before his mind took him overboard. But by the time Seungkwan turned around, the determination set on his eyes managed to throw him off course, and his next words even more so.
“I like you. A lot. Wait, I think I love you.”
Seungkwan. Likes him. A lot. Or wait, he thought he loves Chan.
He feels the warmth spreading on his cheeks as the words flashes behind his eyelids, and doesn't even register their school scoring a score before Gahyeon nudges him with her elbow. Chan perks up and raises both his pompoms, though no cheer leaves his lips and Gahyeon’s concerned look from the edge of his peripheral vision goes ignored. He glances towards the score board and wonders briefly if the reason why his heart is beating erratically lies in the difference of score, the ticking time, or one of the players.
“I only do this so I won’t have this hanging behind my mind during the game,” Seungkwan’s next words are playing now, an old film he can’t stop watching. “But I like you. I don’t know how or why, I just do. I think I tried to deny it and with so many people falling for you, it looked so easy for me to just forget it. Maybe it’s just a phase that I’ll grow into.”
Seungkwan is dribbling the ball now with the crowds counting down for the last ten seconds, and Chan’s heart is stuck on his throat, mind still rewinding the moment.
His tone was neutral, like he was simply telling Chan the weather. A small smile tugged on his lips. “But then I figured it’s simply so, so easy to fall in love with you, Lee Chan. I did it yesterday, I’m doing it now, and I’ll probably do it tomorrow.” Firm and accepting. All of his hearts bared on his palms as he presented it to a still-gaping Chan, shifting all the power to him.
Seungkwan scores a three-point on the two-seconds mark. The crowds and his fellow cheerleaders erupt into screams, but all Chan could hear is the echo of Seungkwan’s last words inside his mind.
“I’m helpless against it. Against you. I think I’ll just accept that I’m going to fall for you all over again.”
Chan’s heart bursts.
Reality crashes into him with Gahyeon pulling him to a celebratory hug with the other members, though his gaze is somewhere else. Confettis are floating, and the crowd is chanting Seungkwan’s name, with the owner of said name currently being carried up by the basketball team members, head thrown back, his expression a perfect picture of joy. Somehow Chan understands that helplessness Seungkwan had said, because now it’s all that he’s feeling inside his veins, the pull Seungkwan has towards him, and just how willing he is to follow the current.
So he does. Detaching himself from his fellow members, pompoms dropped to the ground, his own heart bared, Chan walks closer to the center of the court. He has no idea what kind of expression he’s making, but whatever it is, Seungkwan thinks it’s worth telling his teammates to put him down from his celebration. His best friend’s eyebrows are scrunched, and Chan watches as he gulps.
“Chan, I’m sorry for befo—”
His hands grasp onto Seungkwan’s shirts and Chan closes his eyes as he feels Seungkwan’s lips fall on his.
The thunderous roars and gasps of the crowds are nothing to the beat of his own heart on his ear and Seungkwan’s under his palm. He feels him gasping too, before a pair of arms snakes their way on his hips and Seungkwan pulls him closer, head angled. Chan truly feels the burning inside his belly, something akin to hunger flaring with the way Seungkwan’s lips move on his, and he’s about to reach for more, to satiate that hunger when Seungkwan pulls back.
He opens his eyes to find Seungkwan already looking at him, fondness pooling on the pair of brown eyes that he knows so well. Something he’d seen a lot when Seungkwan was looking at the basketball trophies, to the way he stares at sunsets.
A kind of softness meant for precious things that he’d hold dearly, to things he’d cherish eternally. Chan doesn’t think he’d have it directed at him, and doesn’t think he has the words ready to match all the things he’d heard from Seungkwan then. So he settles with one thing he knows best, a language they are both fluent in.
“You’re so dumb. I don’t even like basketball that much.” He says, wishing his eyes convey what his words can’t. “Can’t you see you’re the only one I’m cheering on?”
Seungkwan throws his head back as he laughs. His grip on Chan’s waist tightens. He knows. He understands.
Despite being in the gym hall with other people’s eyes watching them, Chan let himself indulge on the sight of Seungkwan’s smile, thinking for a split second that this world is theirs.
And perhaps, it does.