Final
ways to scoreThere’s sweat dripping down the back of his neck and wild dark blonde strands escaping the black hair tie he’d used earlier. The silver 00 and school name on his jersey glitters against the back drop of the grotesque brownish mauve color. Zitao has been bugging him since the start of term to get new uniforms but the team’s budget barely has room for basketballs, let alone a whole new wardrobe-- though the color really is horrible. His left ankle clicks audibly as he shuffles down the court, his knees ache when he pivots around the short guy (to be fair, almost everyone seems small to Kris) attempting to block him, and when he stretches to take his shot at the three point line there’s a sharp twinge in his lower back.
He can see Yixing’s knowing stare from the bench and momentarily thinks that maybe he should have listened to his friend after all. Yixing had warned him two days earlier that he’d end up with something worse than a pulled muscle if he didn’t take it easy, but Yixing was only a first year med student that could be described as forgetful at best and air-headed at worst. Needless to say, Kris hadn’t felt inclined to take his friend’s amateur advice. As the ball leaves his hands and his whole side feels like it’s contracting into a needle filled ball, he regrets not taking Yixing more seriously.
All in all, Kris is positive that he looks as uncool as it is possible to look: covered in sweat, shirt sticking to his skin, grimacing with his already sharp features, and hair a mess. In any other situation Kris would never allow himself to be seen in such a state. When the ball swooshes effortlessly into the hoop just as the buzzer goes off and his team erupts in cheers and excited smiles the small loss to his cool guy image becomes insignificant.
He lives for the thrill of it. The indescribably satisfying feeling when the eleven of them manage to work together like a well oiled machine, moving fluidly and swiftly around the court until the final buzzer sounds. The energy that pounds through his veins as he weaves between opposing players while skillfully dribbling the ball to the hoop. The happiness surging through him when they win and everyone gathers around him, cheering for their captain.
“We did it!” Luhan bounces on his feet, landing half on top of Xiumin who is more than used to these sneak attacks and merely sighs exaggeratedly while he ruffles Luhan’s already crazy hair.
“What do you mean ‘we’?” Sehun frowns down at the two of them, arms crossed grumpily. He doesn’t hide his jealousy very well. “You were too busy staring at Xiumin’s as-”
Luckily Sehun is cut off from starting what Kris knows from experience would have turned out to be a terribly immature and petty argument by the arrival of the towel boy. Well, towel guy really. He’s a person made of giant proportions: giant feet, giant smiles, giant eyes and ears. His laugh is just as big as he throws a freshly laundered white towel into Sehun’s face. Sehun glares ily, which is basically his default expression anyway, and Chanyeol ignores it completely.
“That was a great shot! Totally cool!” He reaches out to gently wipe the sweat off Kris’ forehead with soft fabric, and Kris tries his best not to stare at the way Chanyeol’s biceps flex as he does so. Leaning closer to move the towel to Kris’ neck, Chanyeol’s deep voice gets quieter. “The whole team did great, but man, you were awesome.”
Kris isn’t blushing because that’s just not something he’ll ever admit he does, but he can’t help the shy smile that pulls at his lips when Chanyeol’s fingertips accidentally brush against his skin.
*****
“This is such bull,” he grunts. The locker door clangs back, dented a little from where he’d kicked it in frustration. The noise echoes around the empty locker room, and in the silence it seems so much louder. The metal is cool against his back when he slides down to the tiled floor and closes his eyes.
His mind keeps replaying the conversation he’d had with the doctor, an endless loop of irritation.
Lumbar strain. Not permanent but painful. No heavy lifting. No strenuous workouts. No basketball for three weeks.
He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear anyone enter the room and settle beside him until a soft voice breaks the quiet.
“I’m such a good friend that I’m not even going to say I told you so.”
Kris doesn’t need to open his eyes to glare at Yixing; he pulls his brows together and makes his lips a hard line.
“Okay, okay. Not in the mood for jokes,” Yixing replies, trying to be placating. He bumps his shoulder into Kris’ lightly. “Look, I know that it , especially, since the next game is the one that determines if we make it to the play-offs or not, but it’s only one game that you’re missing. It’s not as if you’ll never play again.”
He waits a beat for Kris to say something, but Kris doesn’t have anything he wants to voice. He knows that Yixing is right, of course. It’s really not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. It’s just that he’s the captain; he’s supposed to be there, leading the team on the court, and although he has faith in their talent, he has a lot less confidence in their ability to get along without him there to keep them focused.
Yixing sighs and rests his head on Kris. “It’ll be okay. You’ll still be there telling us all where to go and what to do. We’ll make you proud.”
He sounds so serious, like they’re going off to war or something, and Kris can’t help but chuckle despite himself.
*****
“Go! God, just go away! Hit the showers!”
Zitao pouts but does as he’s told, dragging Sehun, who is doing a bad impression of Kris, along by his hand. Luhan trails after Xiumin and Kyungsoo who’s getting a piggy back ride from Jongin. Suho is trying to block the paper balls Chen is attempting to throw down his shirt, and Kris takes a moment to wonder where that came from because their uniforms don’t have pockets. Baekhyun laughs and trips Chen before running into the locker room with a shriek.
To say that Kris is frustrated would be an understatement.
“They’re just excited about the game. It’ll wear off in a few days like it always does.” Yixing pats him on the back and follows the others to shower. He stops at the door and tilts his head to the side in question. “Where’s Chanyeol today? It’s not like him to miss practice.”
Kris nods. It isn’t like Chanyeol at all. The guy is even more enthusiastic about basketball than Kris is and never misses practice despite not playing. He’d never tried out for the team. On the day of signups, he’d immediately written his name down with a tiny note asking if he could help out instead of being on the court. He’d been handing out clean towels at every practice and game since.
“I don’t really know,” Kris shrugs, trying to act nonchalant instead of disappointed. “He texted me to say he’d be a little late, but I thought he’d be here by now.”
“Is that why you’re so grumpy today? You didn’t get to see your man candy?”
Completely ignoring the way his stomach flips as he imagines unwrapping Chanyeol and him like a lollipop, Kris glares so hard that he’s sure Yixing should catch fire. Yixing, the , smiles with that one evil dimple and disappears to the locker room.
“Some days, I swear I could kill them all,” he mutters as he begins picking up. It’d been two weeks since the doctor told him to take it easy, and Kris was beginning to crack. The team was performing well during practice for the most part, but they kept getting distracted by each other without Kris on the court to keep their minds on the game. They hardly listened to him yelling to pay attention from the sidelines. He feels completely fine again and has a lot of excess energy to work off.
He eyes the basketball in his hands and pauses mid-step, halfway to his bag. Maybe he could….
Glancing to make sure no witnesses are around, Kris smiles to himself. His long fingers grip the ball tightly and then he begins to slowly dribble to the basket, shooting free throws and long shots like his life depends on it. He’s not aware of the time passing as he plays. His damp hair falls into his eyes and he his lips as he lines up a shot. A pair of long, strong arms wrap around him from behind, holding his arms in place.
“Stop, Kris.” He can’t hide the shudder that runs down his spine as Chanyeol’s lips graze his ear, warm breath fanning his sweat cooled skin. “You’re not healed yet.”
He pulls himself free before he can start memorizing the way Chanyeol’s body feels curved so nicely up against his own. There aren’t a lot of people that Kris knows that can look him in the eyes, both because of his height and his unfortunately intimidating features. Chanyeol, however, is barely shorter, and meets Kris’ stare with wide, serious eyes.
“There’s still a week left before you can play,” Chanyeol challenges, stepping forward and taking the ball from Kris’ hands. He's mesmerized by the wall Chanyeol’s fingers look splayed out around the ball, the way his muscles bunch and flex on display. He sends a silent prayer of thanks to whoever invented sleeveless shirts. His mouth feels like a desert and his tongue like lead, but Chanyeol is clearly waiting for a response.
“Technically, but the doctor said if I felt better I could do light activity. I can play with the ball as long as I don’t get too rough.”
That isn’t supposed to sound as suggestive as it apparently does. As soon as the words leave his mouth, Kris is wishing for a meteorite to land on him and end his misery. Chanyeol scrunches his face up in a way that is strangely adorable and laughs.
He lets the ball slip from his fingers and bounces it once, twice, before he begins moving away with it. Kris watches silently, and suddenly he can’t stand not knowing why Chanyeol didn’t try out for the team. He’d assumed it was because Chanyeol wasn’t any good or had bad coordination, but that isn’t the case at all. He’s about to demand an answer when Chanyeol gives him a look that makes his stomach flip again.
Kris darts forward to steal the ball and Chanyeol easily side-steps him and runs to the hoop where he jumps and makes a slam dunk. Momentarily speechless, Kris gapes. Chanyeol winks and throws him the ball.
They play one on one when Kris snaps out of it. Chanyeol—impossibly funny, stupidly attractive, always happy, surprisingly intelligent—is great at basketball. Kris might be in love.
There’s more touching than is necessary. A lot of playful body checks and hands brushing. By the time that Chanyeol makes his eleventh basket, Kris’ chest is heaving and his hair is a mess. His limbs feel heavy but he doesn’t feel like he’s in any pain. The smile on his face is the widest of his life even though he lost the game.
Chanyeol smirks, pulling the bottom of his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face. When he does so, Kris gets a view of toned abs and low slung shorts. He feels very, very thirsty.
Chanyeol catches him looking and smiles. “So I’m man candy, huh?”
Kris feels his ears burn and swears under his breath to make Yixing run laps for days. But for now, Chanyeol’s lips look inviting, not mocking, and his eyes are warm. Kris squares his shoulders and backs Chanyeol up to the wall, making his back hit the blue mat with a soft noise. He places one hand beside Chanyeol’s face on the matted wall.
“Why don’t you play?” he asks.
Wetting his lips, Chanyeol stares at Kris’ mouth. His eyes are so dark this close up and his lashes brush against his cheeks when he blinks. “I played back in high school. At the end of my junior year, I got a knee injury. I didn’t think it was that bad, so I kept playing, and in the middle of a game my knee gave out. One of the other players accidentally stepped on my foot when I fell, and I broke my ankle.” Chanyeol shrugged self-consciously. “I had to take physical therapy during my senior year of high school, and so I haven’t played since. I didn’t want to be a burden to the team when I got here.”
Kris swallowed down the immediate reflex to call Chanyeol an idiot. He shouldn’t have tried to play if he was hurt, and what happened back then must have been hard, but that was no reason to stop playing completely.
“I, uh, I remembered that my physical therapist said that yoga can sometimes help with injuries, so I went to the book store today to get something on it to help you. It’s in my bag.”
“Why would you do that for me?” Kris thinks that he knows the answer but he wants to hear Chanyeol say it.
“Because I don’t want you to get hurt the way I did.” Chanyeol places his hands on Kris’ hips and pulls him closer. His touch feels cool against Kris’ overheated skin. His heart is beating so fast that he’s 96% sure it’s going to come loose from its spot and careen around in his chest until it finally crash lands near his appendix.“Because I like you.”
The kiss tastes like the cinnamon gum in Chanyeol’s mouth. It’s warm and messy and perfect. Chanyeol starts slow, pressing their mouths together for long moments before pulling Kris’ lips apart with smooth pressure from his tongue. Kris wants more, so much more that he never really thought he’d get, and he bites Chanyeol’s tongue, fighting to take control of the kiss until they’re both breathing heavily again and Chanyeol’s got a hickey on to his collar bone that he stares at proudly. It takes a lot of effort for him to not grind his hips against Chanyeol’s body, but he wants to do this right. He wants it to be more than a one off in a deserted gym.
Shakily, still in a daze, Kris pulls back and tries not to stare too long at the debauched way Chanyeol’s mouth falls slightly open. Not able to help himself, he dives in and lays an open mouthed kiss against the single vein he can see pulsing in Chanyeol’s bicep.
“Okay, that was. That was. It was great.” He runs a hand through his hair to push it back from his face and tries to inconspicuously readjust himself in his basketball shorts.
Chanyeol nods back like a drugged up bobble head. Kris smiles fondly, pushing a piece of hair away from Chanyeol’s eyes. “I like you too.”
He’s surprised when Chanyeol laughs obnoxiously. He wipes a happy tear from his eye and straightens up after a minute. “Duh. You’ve been undressing me with your eyes for the past four months. Subtle is not your forte, Kris.”
Kris punches him in the arm and goes to take a shower. Secretly, he’s still stupidly happy.
*****
The game goes better than expected.
Yixing is right, as always, and they do calm down enough to concentrate and work together as a team. Suho and Kyungsoo manage to guard the other team’s players and even get control of the ball. Luhan gets out of impossible spots to pass to Jongin who in turn scores for the team twice. Zitao pretty much just has to step toward the other team’s players with his wushu face on, and they mess up long enough for him to get the ball. Sehun scores four times, including the final shot.
“Sehun! Oh Sehun, you did so good!” Zitao jumps up and down before throwing his arms around Sehun and kissing him. Immediately, he steps back and stares at Sehun in shock. “Uh, uh… I didn’t mean to do that. Sorry!”
Zitao runs off before Sehun’s face can move from surprised to blushing. Kris pats him on the back. “You did really well. That was a great shot.”
Sehun turns to him with confusion written all over his face. “W-what do I do?”
“This isn’t really team captain territory,” Kris replies with a frown. How’s he supposed to know what to do? Feelings make him uncomfortable most of the time, and seeing anything other than snide disdain on Sehun’s face is making him extremely uneasy. Luckily Chanyeol interrupts by throwing a towel in Sehun’s face.
“Did you like the kiss?” Sehun turns bright red. “Do you like Zitao?” He nods reluctantly. Chanyeol sighs like talking to dumb people physically pains him. “Then go after him, stupid.”
Sehun looks to Kris who can only shrug and nod. Two seconds later, Sehun is running out the gym door to look for Zitao.
“Maybe he’ll finally get that stick out of his ,” Chanyeol hums. “Or finally get one in it, if you know what I mean.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and Kris groans. He really doesn’t understand why he likes this idiot so much.
“We won!” Luhan yells as Xiumin carries him toward the locker room bridal style. Kyungsoo drags Baekhyun away in a headlock while Jongin gathers Kyungsoo’s water bottle and extra shoes from under the bench. Suho dumps his water on Chen’s head. Yixing grins at Kris and gives him a thumps up as he points toward Chanyeol and mimes kissy faces.
Everyone is so dumb.
Kris loves them all.
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