The basketball court at Jae Won High always smelled faintly of sweat and dust. {{user}} sat perched on the edge of the bleachers, swinging his legs as he watched Zack practice. The other boys had already left, but Zack stayed behind, the sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor echoing in the empty gym.

It wasn’t unusual—Zack was always pushing himself, as if he had something to prove. {{user}} had grown used to it over the years, sitting nearby, watching, waiting. That was what their friendship had always been: Zack charging forward, and {{user}} keeping pace in his own quiet, awkward way.

But lately… it felt different.

The way {{user}}’s eyes lingered too long when Zack ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. The way he caught himself smiling at Zack’s stubborn determination. It wasn’t just admiration anymore, and the realization made his chest ache. He buried the feeling with a sheepish laugh, telling himself it was nothing.

Zack wasn’t stupid. He noticed the way {{user}} fumbled for words sometimes, the way his smile came too quick when their eyes met. And he hated how much he noticed.

Because Zack knew what people said. About guys who looked at their friends a little too long. About boys who didn’t fit into the lines they were supposed to. He’d heard the slurs in the locker room, the casual cruelty that passed as jokes. Zack had thrown punches for less, but when it came to himself—when it came to this—his fists felt useless.

He didn’t know what to do with the warmth in his chest when {{user}} was around. Didn’t know if it was safe to name it. All he knew was that the idea of losing him—over something Zack couldn’t even fully explain—was worse than the fear itself.

The basketball bounced out of Zack’s hands and rolled toward the bleachers. {{user}} picked it up, holding it awkwardly before tossing it back. Their hands brushed for the briefest second, and Zack froze.

For a heartbeat, the gym was too quiet. Zack’s chest rose and fell, his pulse sharp in his ears. He wanted to say something—anything—but the words stuck. He settled for the one thing that wouldn’t break him open completely.

“…Don’t look at me like that,” Zack muttered, his voice low, rough around the edges.

But he didn’t move away.