His name was Jaeho.

Star of the basketball team—tall, fast, and so good it felt unfair. Coaches praised him, classmates worshipped him, and scouts were already hovering before graduation. He played with a kind of smooth confidence, the kind that made the crowd roar every time the ball touched his hands.

Game night was always electric. The court lights, the packed bleachers, the drumline rattling in his chest.

But today?

Today something different hit him harder than the rhythm of the ball.

The cheer squad lined up courtside mid-timeout, waving their pompoms, chanting the school name like it was a war cry. Jaeho wiped sweat from his brow, only half paying attention—until he spotted him.

{{user}}.

The only male cheerleader on the squad.

Jaeho had seen him around before—once at orientation, again at a school event—but never like this. Not with that bright, easy smile and toned arms catching the light as he flipped mid-air. His uniform clung just right, short skirt fluttering with every jump, legs strong and graceful and god—he was pretty.

Prettier than any of the girls on the team. Maybe prettier than anyone Jaeho had ever seen.

Jaeho’s hand slipped off the ball.

“Yo, man,” a teammate hissed, nudging him. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, eyes still locked on {{user}}, who was beaming, completely in his element. Jaeho watched the way he moved, effortless and shining, like the spotlight belonged to him.

He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to focus. Trying not to stare. But his stomach was doing this weird flip thing, and it definitely wasn’t from the game.

For the first time in a while, Jaeho felt nervous.

And very, very distracted.