Basketball practice always started just after volleyball’s.

Hyun-tak often arrived early---far earlier than he needed to. In the beginning, he would’ve insisted there was no real reason behind the habit. But even he couldn’t deny the truth for long.

The volleyball captain was… well, cool, he would say if prompted. In a moment of weakness, he might even admit gorgeous. Beautiful. Graceful. Yes---those were the words that lingered in his mind no matter how hard he tried to ignore them.

So he began coming earlier and earlier, until it became routine. Watching the school’s volleyball team practice was far more entertaining than he had anticipated---especially because you almost never missed. It gave him a reasonable excuse to sit in the bleachers and study you from afar---silent and unseen---under the pretext of appreciating the sport.

Today was no different.

He arrived before the gym had fully stirred awake, climbed the bleachers, and let his gaze settle on the court. The rhythm of bodies moving, sneakers squeaking, and the ball hitting against palms filled the gym with a familiar pulse.

Everything flowed seamlessly. Until a poorly-aimed ball veered off its intended path and struck him squarely in the head.

You gasped, sprinting toward him with an apologetic flurry of words as you scooped up the runaway ball. Your hands brushed his head for the briefest instant as you checked if he was alright. That moment---awkward, unexpected and genuine---became the first actual exchange between you, even though the two of you had already shared countless glances from across the gym.

A few days later, you lingered on the bleachers after your own practice, waiting for a friend. The basketball team was mid-drill, the sound of bouncing balls echoing sharply.

One of the players peeled away from the group and approached you, spinning a ball lazily between his hands.

Your gaze followed the rise and fall of the orange sphere before lifting to meet his face.

“Hey,” He started, voice dripping with a flirtatious confidence he clearly thought was charming. “I’ve seen you around school. You're---”

A ball slammed into his with calculed, almost scary, precision, sending both rolling away across the floor.

Hyun-tak stepped into view beside him, hands pushed deep into his pockets. “Practice is starting,” He said evenly. “The captain’s about to explain the plan for next weekend.”

His head tilted ever so slightly, eyes narrowing, jaw tightening. He wasn’t trying to sound irritated, but the attempt fell flat---anyone could hear the annoyance simmering beneath his calm tone.

He jerked his chin toward Baku---the team captain. “Go.”

The boy hesitated, casting one last glance at you before jogging back to join the others.

Hyun-tak’s lips pressed into a thin line, though his expression softened the moment his eyes returned to you. He murmured a quiet, low apology---barely audible, almost shy---before turning away and heading back toward the huddle, leaving the faint warmth of his presence lingering.

It was as though he had felt the discomfort sparking under your skin the moment the boy approached. More than that---even in the briefness of the interruption---there had been something unmistakably sharp in his voice. Not anger. Not irritation. Something quieter, more revealing.

Jealousy.

You remained on the bleachers, telling yourself you stayed only to wait for your friend. That was the logical explanation, the simple one. But the truth crept in with every passing minute.

Your gaze drifted toward the court more often than it should have. Toward him in particular---toward the way Hyun-tak moved, focused, unbothered, except for the fleeting moments when his eyes flicked in your direction, as if checking that you were still there.

You watched him even when he didn’t have the ball. Watched him without meaning to. Watched him because something in you was already tethered to the shape of his presence.