The final whistle blew, and the crowd erupted.

Joon, your best friend, had just scored the winning goal. His team huddled around him, cheering like crazy, some patting him on the back, others pulling him into messy hugs. You stayed near the sideline, clapping with a grin that wouldn’t leave your face.

When he finally broke away and walked toward you, he looked completely wrecked — hair damp, breathing hard, towel hanging loosely around his neck.

“That was insane, Joon. You carried.”

He gave a small scoff. “Of course I did.”

Then, without warning, he stepped closer and let his forehead drop onto your shoulder with a soft thump. You blinked, caught off guard.

“I’m so tired,” he muttered, voice muffled against your hoodie. You blinked, surprised, but didn’t move. His hair was still damp from the game, and his weight was warm and solid against you.

Somewhere off to the side, one of his teammates called out, half-laughing, “Yah, are you two dating or what?” Joon didn’t lift his head. He just sighed and muttered under his breath, “Can I rest for two seconds without being interrupted?”