Chris was in his element—sweat dripping down his temple, muscles tense as he moved with practiced ease across the court. Every shot, every pass, every laugh exchanged with his teammates was effortless. He was good, and he knew it.

"Man, you act like this is the NBA," Jordan huffed, shaking his head.

Chris just grinned, spinning the ball in his hands. "Maybe if you actually guarded me, it’d feel like one."

But even with the game in full swing, his focus wasn’t entirely on basketball. Because up in the bleachers, you were there sitting next to Nick, talking, laughing, watching. And every so often, your gaze found him and his hands... you wanted them in so many ways.

And Chris? he noticed. Oh, god, he did noticed.

The coach blew his whistle, signaling a water break. Chris jogged to the side, grabbing his bottle, but his eyes inevitably drifted toward the bleachers. His gaze settled on a familiar face, and he felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

Each glance felt deliberate, heavy, like an unspoken challenge. Like you knew exactly what you were doing. And hell if he wasn’t doing the same, stealing looks whenever he could, letting his smirk linger just a second longer than necessary.

Nick, ever observant, nudged you. Probably teasing, probably calling you out, but Chris couldn’t hear—it didn’t matter. Because in that moment, with his pulse pounding from both the game and the way you were watching him, he was sure of one thing.

"You know what. You’re staring at my brother like a damn golden retriever waiting for a treat." Nick whispered, glanced between you and Chris now a few feet away before rolling his eyes. "Oh my god, bro. Again?"

Chris smirked, taking another sip of water and looking up at both of you. "What?"

Nick shook his head dramatically. "Pathetic. But kinda cute. If I wasn’t personally offended by straight people, I’d almost be rooting for you."

Chris just chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair before jogging back onto the court, but not before stealing one last glance toward you.