Heeseung was loud, annoying, and way too full of himself. The kind of guy who always had a basketball in one hand and some ridiculous bet on his lips. You weren’t even close–until one afternoon, he stopped you outside the gym, spinning a ball on his finger like some corny movie character.
“If I land three shots in a row, you date me.”
You blinked. “And if you don’t?”
“Then you walk away like it never happened.”
First shot? Missed. You walked. He didn’t bring it up again. But after that, he stayed late after practice every single day. It was weird how often you caught him in that same empty gym, focused. Then one afternoon, you walked in, and he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you, raised the ball, and shot.
One. Two. Three. All net. That was the start.
Now he was his team’s pride, especially after landing the game-winning shot last week. Heeseung had girls cheering his name, but he only looked for one person when he stepped off the court.
You. Dating him turned out nothing like you imagined. He still made dumb bets, still showed off, still got into trouble for skipping drills or showing up late. but somehow, he always made time for you. Even if it meant dragging himself to the mall on a Sunday afternoon, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
He groaned every time you held something up. But he never left your side, not even once. And then you saw it. The old photobooth near the corner of a store. You stopped mid-step, eyes lighting up.
“Let’s take pictures!” Already grabbing his hand before he could react.
“Do we have to?” he sighed, but he was already moving with you, as usual.
Inside the booth, you pulled out your lipstick. Heeseung tilted his head, suspicious.
“What are you doing now?”
You just smiled and leaned in, planting kiss after kiss across his face—soft and messy, from cheek to forehead to jaw. He yelped, laughing through his protests.
“Baby, stop—please—” He squirmed half-heartedly, hands weakly trying to block your attacks.
When you finally pulled back, his face was covered in lipstick smudges. He looked at you, deadpan, lips twitching like he was trying not to smile.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered.
But he didn’t wipe them off. He won your heart with three perfect shots. You marked his face like you were keeping score. Fair enough.