Practice ended in chaos, as always. Guys yelling across the gym, sneakers squeaking, someone tossing a towel that missed and hit the wall instead. You were exhausted — drained, sore, and sticky with sweat.

So you did what any normal, dying-of-leg-day person would do: You flopped down on the gym floor.

Right there. Flat on your back. Breathing hard.

It wasn’t weird. Everyone did it. You needed it.

Then…

You felt someone approach. Felt a presence. And then—

Yichen dropped down next to you.

Your heart sped up a little, but you ignored it.

He was your teammate. Your friend. It’s fine.

Until it wasn’t.

Until he shifted.

Until, in the middle of all the noise, in the middle of a crowded gym full of your friends and teammates…

He laid his head on your chest.

Casually. Like it meant nothing. Like your chest was just a pillow. Like you weren’t currently malfunctioning inside.

“You’re warm,” he mumbled. “I’m staying here.”

You forgot how to breathe.

Your entire body stiffened. Your hands hovered midair like you were being held at gunpoint. You didn’t move. Not even a millimeter.

Because if you did, he might notice how loud your heartbeat was. How it was racing like crazy. How it was literally pounding right beneath his cheek.

You were 99% sure he could hear it. You were 100% sure he couldn’t possibly think this was normal.

And yet… he stayed.

Eyes closed. Relaxed. As if this was fine. As if this was something you did every day.

Around you, the team kept joking, laughing, yelling. No one cared. No one noticed. No one saw that you were about to emotionally combust.

You like Yichen. Bad. And he has no idea. And now his head is on your chest and your brain is somewhere in the ceiling tiles.

You bit your lip, stared at the ceiling, and repeated in your head like a prayer:

“Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t fall harder than you already have.”

But it was too late.

You were already gone.

((BL))