hyukjae sits on the bench at the side of the gym, watching as his team practices. his eyes follow kyuhyun’s movements, picking apart the man’s mistakes and mentally noting them to let him know when practice ends.

hyukjae leans back onto the wall with a sigh.

initially, he was reluctant to come to practices. he had had his time to cry, he had had his time to be angry, but all that is left now is just numbness. and he knows that his prescence brings his team ease, helps them breathe a little easier. if simply being present is all he can do, than he'll do it.

“how are you holding up?” siwon asks when the other man sits down next to hyukjae during a lull in practice. hyukjae’s hand tightens around the head of his walking cane and he grits his teeth.

“fine,” he lies. his leg throbs.

siwon sighs.

“we miss you out there,” siwon says. hyukjae rolls his eyes and massages his leg.

“sure,” he says. they had lost their previous match and hyukjae can see the team’s self-doubt. their morale is at an all time low, and hyukjae knows that part of the reason is because he is present. sitting and watching them. unable to play.

there is no winning in this situation.

hyukjae sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“your… replacements are just… not you,” siwon says.

“yes,” he says and he opens his eyes in time to see their newest main attacker, yifan, spike the ball. it’s quite a pathetic attack, and sungmin easily receives the attack for a counter. hyukjae rolls his eyes.

yifan certainly looks the part of an attacker: six feet tall and intimidating as hell, but his control is lacking. it’s obvious that the rest of the teams sees that as well because everyone stops and the coach steps up.

“yifan!” he says. “what did i say about the wrist? and you need to look before you attack! there is no point in attacking if you are delivering the ball right into the opponent's hands. and your attack is too predictable! an amateur can block your attack!”

yifan straightens.

“sorry, coach,” he says. his coach sighs.

“siwon,” he calls. siwon gives hyukjae a pat on the back before getting up.

“yes, coach?”

“i want you tossing to yifan,” his coach said. “hyukjae?”

“yes?”

“could you give him some pointers?”

“of course, coach.”

—

hyukjae watches from his spot on the bleachers as the last member of his team leaves the gym to shower. he can see the slight slump of their shoulders as they walk off, the lack of progress weighing heavily on them.

their lineup, for three years, had always been siwon, him, ryeowook, kyuhyun, sungmin, and heechul. they perfectly complemented one another’s strengths and weaknesses for a solid team that had been continuously winning gold, consecutively for three years.

hyukjae lets out a sigh and closes his eyes, a single, hot tear trailing down his cheek.

a single moment was all it took.

he pulls himself upright, resting his weight heavily on his cane. he limps down the steps of the bleachers, his teeth gritted against the pain.

with one last look at the gym behind him — the nets standing proud and tall in the center of the room — he turns off the lights with a swipe of his hand across the light switches.

he slams the door on his way out and hobbles out into the night. his apartment is only supposed to be a ten minute walk, but for someone who couldn’t walk, it takes much, much longer. hyukjae is slightly out breath at the halfway mark.

he makes it to the park about five minutes away from his house and decides it’s best to stop. he might never be able to play volleyball again, but he’s not dumb enough to push himself and do even more damage his leg and hip.

hyukjae drops himself onto the bench next to the basketball court, resting his cane next to him. on the court, four boys are playing basketball. hyukjae settles back on the bench to watch them.

one of the boys immediately catches hyukjae’s eye. he’s slender, leaning on the side of skinny. hyukjae’s eyes follow the boy as he darts across the court, shooting the ball into the net with a layup.

another boy catches the ball and runs across the court, shooting the ball. the ball bounces off the rim and into the skinny one’s hands.

“,” says the one who missed and runs after the skinny one. hyukjae watches as the skinny one dashes across the court and then — and then he leaps.

hyukjae’s eyes widen as he watches the boy jumps; his airtime is unlike anything hyukjae had ever seen. it’s like the boy is flying, sailing through the a