Archive of Our Own

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Minho’s first—and only— true love was volleyball. He was happiest on the court, had built his entire life around the sport, his friendships all went back to volleyball. He honestly doesn’t remember a time where everything in his universe didn’t revolve around volleyball—there might not have ever been a time, if he thinks about it.

In school, he was well aware of the whispers in the hallways.

“Lee Minho is so pretty, too bad he’s kind of a weirdo.”

“He’d be the perfect boyfriend if he wasn’t so freakishly obsessed with volleyball.”

Even his moms would joke that whoever he ended up marrying would have to accept that they would always be second place in Minho’s life.

He wouldn’t even try to deny it, either. Volleyball was the closest he ever felt to being truly free. The feeling of the ball hitting his fingertips, the sting against his palms and forearms, the adrenaline rush of a perfect set—it was the only thing he cared about. The only thing he thought about. It’s the first thing he thought about in the morning after waking up, and the last thing he thought about at night before falling asleep.

He wasn’t originally good at the sport, though. The first few thousand times he picked up the ball, it didn’t go anywhere near where he wanted. He was messy and uncoordinated and clumsy, to say the least. He spent countless hours before and after school during his preteen years practicing and took extra lessons on the weekends, learning to receive and set and spike—until his arms were bruised, his knees were on fire with burns from the gymnasium floors, and his eyes stung from sweat dripping down off of his forehead. He attended volleyball camps during school breaks, watched volleyball games in his free time, kept up with all of the pro teams and players, dreamt about being on the Olympic team—until he was essentially sleeping, eating and breathing the sport.

He made it onto the starting line up, as a setter—the position that touched the ball the most—on a team at a prestigious high school due purely to his hardwork and dedication to getting better and continuously improving. 

His team made it to nationals all three years he was in high school. They were second in the national tournament his first year, making it to the final bracket before losing against their competitors in an extremely close match. His second year, his team choked, crashing and burning in their third game due to silly mistakes and bad circumstances.

He spent that summer and the following school year working his ass off, determined to make it to nationals during his third, and final, year and to win the entire thing. Countless training camps, practice games, late nights and early mornings, teaching his teammates tricks and encouraging them to work harder, ultimately resulted in Minho, as team captain, leading their team to victory. They became the national champions and it secured him a full ride scholarship to play on one of the best collegiate volleyball teams in the country.

The past three years of his college journey have been packed full of the same routine—practice, conditioning, practice, conditioning and then even more practice. He was never naturally talented at volleyball, only getting as good as he was by working harder than most of his peers ever had to. Wanting it more than his peers ever wanted it. His work ethic and determination was what caused him to become co-captain his third year. Now, entering his final year of college, his diploma was right around the corner. The title of ‘team captain’ followed him into the new school year, as he received email after email from another team wanting to meet with him to discuss his career plans after college.

And while Minho wouldn't change a single thing about it for the world, there was no denying that nothing had ever come easy to Minho, especially not when it came to volleyball.

Which is why, when volleyball prodigy Kim Seungmin sauntered into the gym on the first day of official in-season practice, Minho immediately appointed him as Enemy Number One, dropping Hwang Hyunjin—second year middle blocker—down to Enemy Number Two after an impressive five-year run in the number one spot.

Kim Seungmin was the exact opposite to everything Minho was himself. He was born being naturally good at the sport, everything about it came easy and seamlessly to him. He never struggled to learn new plays, never struggled during conditioning practices, never had to repeat a drill a hundred times to be able to execute it properly. Due to this, he never tried harder than he had to, brushing off everyone who asked him to stay late or come in on an off-practice day. Minho doesn’t think he’s ever seen Seungmin do an extra rep of an exercise, an extra run of a play—nothing—in any of their practices. He shows up, does the bare minimum, and goes home after maybe breaking a sweat.

In fact, Kim Seungmin hadn’t even attended their required summer practices, and yet he was still allowed to play, and with a spot on their starting line up, taken from Minho’s best friend, no less. (And no, it didn’t matter to Minho that the reason Seungmin hadn’t been at any of their summer practices was because he was in Japan at an invitational international Olympics training camp. Required meant it was required. End of discussion)

The worst part of it all? Seungmin was genuinely extremely good at the sport. Talent ran through his veins in place of blood; it was basically interwoven into his DNA. He was good enough that he probably could have been on the Olympics team already, but was very vocal in interviews about his desire to further his education first. (Or, that’s what Minho had heard. He definitely didn’t watch Kim Seungmin interviews. Why would he do that?)

Seungmin was an outside hitter, but excelled at serving and blocking, too. When the team ran practice drills and he ended up playing setter for a bit, he was able to do even that flawlessly, too. He could hit every one of Minho’s sets and was able to receive some of the craziest passes Minho had seen; he truly seemed to have a third sense for where the ball was on the court at all times. Seungmin could effortlessly play any position that he wanted, and Minho was begrudgingly grateful that Seungmin had no interest in being a setter at all—he knew that his spot on the team could have easily been taken if Seungmin had wanted his position.

Seungmin had walked into tryouts, nose in the air, and was essentially handed a spot on the team and the starting line up on a silver platter. Everyone else on the team seemed to be perfectly okay with that, too, to Minho’s shock and bewilderment. Even Chan, who’s spot Seungmin had stolen, wasn't upset for longer than a few days.

(“It’s not like I’m not on the team at all, Minho.”

“Yeah, but it’s your senior year, too and it’s absurd that they took this from you. You should have priority over some freshman walking into the gym with a silver spoon in his mouth.”

“At the end of the day, Seungmin’s better than I am. I want our team to make it to nationals and to be able to play for as long as possible. Seungmin’s going to give us a greater chance for that to happen and I’m okay with it. As long as I get the opportunity to step on the court again, I’ll always be grateful.”

Chan was always such an altruist.)

Well, just because everyone else was okay with Seungmin slipping onto the team so easily—just because everyone liked him and thought he was so hilarious—didn't mean that Minho was going to let the boy get through the year unscathed. If Seungmin wanted to play ball, he was going to have to abide by Minho's rules.

Movement by the gym door caught Minho's eye, breaking him out of his thoughts and reminding him why he was troubled in the first place.

Kim Seungmin was late.

Minho couldn't stand his teammates being late.

"Nice of you to finally join us, Kim Seungmin." Minho seethes, watching him try and inconspicously sneak onto the court and into their line drills.

Seungmin flinches, and the action makes Minho inner-self grin in satisfaction. Seungmin squares his shoulders as he looks at Minho. "Sorry, captain." He spits the title like it's an insult, "My presentation for class went late."

Minho scoffs, all he's hearing is excuses. He glimpses at the clock to see that Seungmin is 15 minutes late. "You know the drill—every minute late is a lap ran. You have 15 to get through, so you better start running now if you want to join us anytime soon."

Seungmin squawks indignantly, "Seriously? What was I meant to do—just stop mid-presentation and leave?"

Minho shrugs, "You have my number don't you? Why didn't you text me? Surely you knew about this presentation for a while."

It's Seungmin's turn to roll his eyes. The harsh sound of volleyballs hitting the gymnasium floor began to trickle off as the other boys start to turn to watch their exchange. "Didn't realize I had to update you about everything going on in my life. I'll keep you looped in on my classwork schedule moving forward, captain."

Minho sneers, "It's not everything, and it's just basic respect to let people know you're going to be late—whatever, it doesn't matter. You're wasting everyone's time. Start running."

Seungmin glares, but starts up a brief stretching session before beginning his 15-lap jog around the gym. "Don't try to cut it short, either—I'm counting!" Minho yells.

Minho can see Seungmin mutter something, but decides it isn't worth the energy to continue the argument. He turns back to the rest of the team, happy to see that most of them are still running their drills. He makes eye contact with Enemy Number Two, "Were you wanting to join him, Hyunjin?" Minho asks, smiling at Hyunjin with a fake-sweetness that's bone-chilling.

Hyunjin jumps, squeaking. "No, that's okay!"

Hyunjin slips back into line to run spiking drills, and Minho allows himself five seconds to watch Seungmin run the perimeter of the court with a scowl on his face before he joins practice again himself. Their first game was right around the corner, he really doesn't have time to be messing around with Seungmin, despite how much Seungmin gets on his nerves.

-

The following practices leading up to the first game of the season don't go much better in terms of Seungmin and Minho's relationship.

Seungmin becomes increasingly talkative after Minho made him run laps. Regardless of what drill Minho has them run or how he groups up the team for practice games, there's a smartass comment dripping from Seungmin's lips. If Minho has to hear, well, at the Japan invitational, we did it like— one more time, he may actually explode.

On top of that, Minho believes wholeheartedly that part of what makes their team as good as they are is their teamwork and overall relationship with one another. No one is obligated to stay and help put the net and balls away or run the dry mop across the court, but Minho's of the opinion that cleaning up comes with being a part of the team. Seungmin apparently didn't get that memo, seeing as the moment Minho or their coach calls it for the night, Seungmin is already grabbing his duffel bag off of the bleachers and leaving the gym.

"Kim Seungmin, would it kill you to grab a ball or a towel for once in your life?" Minho barks after practice, stopping Seungmin in his tracks.

Seungmin freezes, looking at Minho as if he's a child throwing a tantrum, before he reaches down to grab a ball that had rolled near his feet. He doesn't break eye contact with Minho as he picks the ball up and tosses it with ease into the cart that was sitting on the other side of the gym. The ball bounces once, but ultimately stays in the cart; Seungmin doesn't spare it a glance, as he hauls his duffel bag over his shoulder, eyes still burning into Minho's. Minho's blood boils.

"Happy, captain?" Seungmin's tone is cocky.

Minho's jaw tenses, "That was so helpful, thank you for your commitment to the team, Seungmin."

"My commitment is to playing volleyball, and I do that better than most." Seungmin spits, "I didn't join this team to be a glorified ball boy, and it would be best to remember that moving forward—for the sake of our team dynamic."

Minho contemplates how disastrous it would be if he were to get into a physical altercation with Seungmin. He quickly surmises that he'd lose his spot on the team, and likely his scholarship too—if he wasn't expelled from the university entirely. He forces himself to take a deep breath, tries to calm the flames of anger flickering inside. The other boys in the gym had fallen silent, but Minho can feel every set of eyes zeroed in on him and Seungmin. The way he goes about this couldn't be fueled by his fury, regardless of how he feels internally. He needed to be the articulate, composed captain the team trusts him to be.

"I see that that Japan invitational failed to train you on manners." He settles on, though his tone is scathing, "No one on this team is too good to contribute in keeping our practice space clean for those that we share it with—so why the hell do you think you are? Not to mention, looking down on those who haven't been granted the same opportunities to play on the court as you is tasteless, tacky, and frankly unbecoming. Sure, you may have earned your spot on this team by your own skill, Seungmin, but in no world can you play volleyball alone. It would be best if you remembered that. For the sake of our team dynamic, as you said."

Seungmin doesn't respond verbally, but the way he clenches his jaw and turns on his heel to storm out of the humid gym is enough proof of his accepted loss. The silence that's left behind is thick, but Minho doesn't pay it any mind, walking across the court to continue helping the others break the net down and throw trash away.

The team slowly begins to follow his lead, Jisung falling into step next to him. "Don't you think this thing with you and Seungmin is going a little… too far?"

Minho groans, placing the last stray ball into the cart, "What—don't tell me you think he has a point in this?"

Jisung shakes his head, helping Minho roll the cart of volleyballs into the supply closet—always ready to make something into a two person job. "No, that's not what I meant. I think you're right in fact, and he should help us clean after practice, but… aren't there healthier ways to go about these types of conversations? You know… ones that aren't in front of everyone else?"

"You're meant to be on my side, Sung,"

"I'm not on anyone's side!" Jisung defends, "I'm just saying that bringing up these things in front of an audience only serves to piss Seungmin off more."

"Since when are you an expert on what makes Seungmin mad?" Minho leaves the supply closet, happy to see that the rest of the team had finished cleaning things up and started to filter into the locker room.

"Don't play dumb." Jisung rushes to follow, frown deepening on his face, "You're pissing him off on purpose, aren't you?"

Minho stops in his tracks, causing Jisung to bump into him. He whips around, "What? No!"

Jisung shrugs, a stupid little smirk growing, "Okay, whatever you say."

"I'm not!" Minho grabs his duffel bag from the bleachers agressively, slinging it over his shoulder and making it hit his back with an audible thud.

"No need to get all defensive!" Jisung holds up his hands in surrender.

"You're being annoying."

"I'm just saying—I may not be an expert in what pisses Seungmin off, but I am kind of an expert when it comes to you making people mad on purpose." Jisung taunts, throwing his own bag over his shoulder.

Minho doesn't dignify Jisung with a response, hitting his shoulder (definitely not on purpose) as he proceeds toward the locker room.

The thing is, Jisung isn't entirely wrong—Minho figures being known like this must come with the whole territory of Jisung being Minho's first real friend he made out of high school. While Minho hadn't known at first that Seungmin reacts more aggressively when he's confronted in front of other people, likely something to do with feeling cornered and on display, there's no denying it now. Everyone knows this. Yet, Minho continues to poke the bear, for reasons unknown to him. Or at least, reasons he refuses to acknowledge for now.

Whatever Jisung was insinuating couldn't be further from reality.

-

Minho doesn't know why he thought Seungmin would let this go without a fight. He was blinded by the assumption that he had won—he was too excited by the flashing "MINHO 1: SEUNGMIN 0" he was seeing in his mind to realize that there was no way Seungmin would let bygones be bygones. They had known each other for less than two months, but it was clear that Seungmin held grudges and craved revenge.

Practice is nearly over when it happens.

They're running receive drills, the sound of leather striking forearms echoing loudly throughout the gym, interrupted only by heaving breaths and grunts as Jisung continously makes contact with the floor (his receives were always fantastic, so Minho doesn't bother yelling at him for overdoing it). Seungmin is the one serving the ball, saying he'd rather practice his serve than his receives—not that his serve needs any refining to be an absolute bitch to put back in the air. Minho is convinced that Seungmin is serving harder whenever it's Minho's turn, wincing as the impact of the ball stings the skin of his forearms more than usual.

He's in the midst of shaking out the pins-and-needles feeling, walking away from the line (his brain going a hundred miles an hour, debating on if his center of gravity was at the most optimal point for balance with that receive), when he hears the whirring sound of a ball flying through the air. It happens in slow motion, as he turns his head instinctively toward the sound. The blur of red, white, and blue from the rotating ball catching in his peripheral before his head is jerking to the side. The smack of the ball hitting his head reverberates throughout the gym and his brain before he can even attempt to reach up and stop the projectile Seungmin had just rocketed into his temple.

Minho stumbles precariously, but ultimately manages to stay on his feet. He bends over at the waist with a stuttered breath, hands going to grip either side of his head to try and help the way his brain is richocheting around in his skull. He vaguely hears the ball bouncing on the floor before coming to a stop, multiple voices gasping in unison, and the sound of feet running up to him.

"Minho…" It's Changbin, their libero, because of course the sports med major would be on his ass immediately, "I… I think you should sit down."

"I'm fine," He grits out through clenched teeth, forcing himself to stand up straight again.

All things considered, the ball clearly wasn't sent towards him with someone putting in their full strength behind the movement. He's not dizzy or nauseous, so he doesn't think there will be any lasting damage besides a headache. Ultimately, it's nothing that needs his attention right now.

The person who served the ball into his head, however…

"What the fuck was that, Seungmin?" Minho demands, finally finding his balance enough to look towards him.

Seungmin is standing on the other side of the net and at least has the decency to look marginally guilty. The remorse is gone once he processes Minho's eyes are on him, his face neutralizing quickly as he refuses to make eye contact. "Sorry, captain." He monotones. "My aim was off on that one. My bad."

Minho sees red, stepping forward only to be met with a hand on his chest. "Minho, you really need to sit down. Let me make sure that Seungmin didn't manage to give you a concussion or something on accident." Changbin insists, pushing Minho toward the bleachers on the side of the gym.

Minho allows him to, only because he's concerned that he'll do something he'll regret—like beating Seungmin's ass to a pulp.

My aim was off on that one.

As if Seungmin's aim has ever been off a day in his life.

It was intentional. Even if Minho would never be able to prove it.

He begrudgingly allows Changbin to check his pupils and drinks some water, stewing in his own outrage as a headache does begin to pulse behind his temple. "I don't think you have any type of concussion, but if you start to feel nauseous you have to go to the med center." Changbin instructs, folding his arms over his chest.

The rest of the team had finished the receive drill, and he finds himself surrounded by his anxious teammates, voices overlapping as they offer him tylonel and to walk him back to his dorm room.

Shockingly, Seungmin is nowhere to be found.

MINHO 1: SEUNGMIN 1 flashes in his head.

Whatever. It's fine. Minho will just have to figure out a way to turn the score again.

-

"Alright, nice practice today, everyone." Minho claps his hands, shaking his sweaty bangs out of his eyes, "I think we're as prepared as we can be for the game tomorrow. Speaking of, call time is 10:00 am—bus leaves at 10:30 on the dot, so don't be late."

With that, he dismisses the team, ready to go back to his dorm and shower before crashing into bed—where he'll inevitably stay up way too late running drills in his mind over and over again—before he has to get up for their first official game of the season.

He's interrupted by Seungmin stepping into his path as he was about to leave. If he were in a sitcom, whatever background music playing would have just gottten quiet and dramatic with the studio audience ooohing in suspense. "What do you want."

Seungmin grimaces, "Can you chill out? I was only coming over to let you know that I'm not riding the bus to the game tomorrow."

Minho freezes, frustration immediately running through his veins. "And why not? Team bus rides are mandatory. That was in the contract you signed at the beginning of the season."

The required summer practices that Seungmin missed were also in the contract. Seungmin has no care that the contract applies to him too and it's one of the worst parts about him, in Minho's opinion. Why does Seungmin think he deserves to receive special treatment?

"The game isn't until late tomorrow afternoon. Not that it's any of your business, but I have prior obligations that I can't miss that morning so I'll be driving myself after I complete those."

Minho shakes his head, "Game schedules have been set since last year, you having other obligations is on you. If you're not coming with us on the bus, don't bother coming at all. Our contracts clearly state no exceptions—did you even read it?"

"I did read it, thank you very much. Besides, I already talked to Coach about it and he's given me the greenlight. I was letting you know out of courtesy, Captain." Seungmin spits the title as if it's an insult, which is one of Seungmin's favorite things to do as of late.

Minho falters. If Coach has already told Seungmin it was fine, there was no point in arguing with him about this. As much control as Minho had over team decisions, it didn't mean anything when their coach said something that contradicted him. Their coach had final say, even if it went against what was written in their contracts or what Minho thought was best for the team overall.

"Fine. Drive yourself to the game, I don't care—but if you're late, I swear to God, Seungmin." Minho drops his arms from where he had crossed them over his chest, leaving the threat unsaid—Seungmin could fill in the blanks.

"I'm not going to be late! Also, clearly you do care about my whereabouts. God, can you relax for once in your life?" Seungmin runs a hand through his hair, frustrated.

Minho huffs, but decides it's best for the both of them if he just doesn't respond. He simply turns on his heel, ignoring the way that some of the other boys on the team had been slowly packing their things up to act like they weren't eavesdropping. Minho can't even be mad at them for it, knowing he would do the same. He doesn't look at anyone else as he broods his way into the locker room.

"What was that about?" Jeongin, another freshman—but one who Minho actually liked and had taken under his wing somewhat—followed Minho.

Minho shook his head, setting his stuff on the bench in front of his locker and beginning to change. "Seungmin was letting me know that he was driving himself to the game tomorrow, that's all."

"And you lost your cool over that?"

Minho has to think really hard about not slamming the door to the locker shut. "I did not lose my cool. I was just reminding him about the contract that we signed at the beginning of the season."

Jeongin pulls his shirt over his head, glancing at Minho in a way that says he's totally unconvinced. "And I'm assuming that it did not go over the way that you had expected?"

Minho groans, pressing his forehead into the cool metal of the lockers he was standing in front of still. "Coach already gave him an exception. It's insane—he waltzes onto the team, the starting line up no less, and is getting all of these exceptions to our contracts and special treatment and for what reason? Because he plays well?"

Jeongin shrugs, "I'm not close with Seungmin or anything, but I feel like saying he plays well is a bit of an understatement, don't you? Like, he might be the best player our team has ever seen."

Minho hits his hand on the metal, the sound echoing through the room as he turns to lean his back against it. "That doesn't matter! He could be the best player in the world and I would still feel the same way. He doesn't get to not work as hard as everyone else but get treated significantly better. He isn't better. He should be putting in the same amount of work and held to the same contractual guidelines that the rest of us are."

Jeongin doesn't say anything for a few long moments, grabbing his bag. "I think that you're giving him a lot of power over your emotions."

Minho rolls his eyes, "Well, I think that someone needs to put him in his place."

Jeongin sighs, shrugging and leaving Minho alone in the locker room to continue to steam in his own vexation in peace.

If Seungmin wasn't careful, Minho was going to be the one who had to put him in his place.

The rest of his night goes exactly as he thought it would. He returns to his dorm, showers, eats, and lies in bed staring at the ceiling. Instead of going over drills, though, he keeps replaying different coversations that he's had with Seungmin in his head, thinking about what Jeongin had said.

He wakes the next morning feeling like he should have slept another eight hours, and drags himself to get ready for the day. Nerves buzz lowly, but consistently, under his skin as he makes coffee and eats breakfast. He wasn't lying at practice when he said that he felt like his team was well prepared for the game. They had been putting in the work, and he knew that it would pay off when it mattered the most. It was the first game of the season, too, he knew there wasn't reason to be quite so anxious about it, but he couldn't help it.

He wouldn't be able to calm down until the game was over, and he knew that.

He arrives to the gym at 9:58am, works his way through making sure everyone else is there on time, and they load the bus and are on their way. The drive to their hotel was only an hour. Minho spends the time with his headphones in, staring out the window, trying to focus on breathing exercises.

When they reach the hotel, he can feel Jisung and Felix trying to silently get his attention, but he actively avoids them. While he may be able to disguise that he's on the verge of a anxiety attack to the rest of the team, outwardly acting as if he's just focusing and concentrating on what was about to come, he knows that Jisung, and by association, Felix, see right through him.

He doesn't want a pep-talk right now, though, so he grabs his room key from their coach and disappears up the elevator as quickly as he can.

They don't have a ton of time between check-in and when they need to leave for the gym, but it's enough time for Minho to take another shower and watch a couple recorded practice sets as another last minute preperation. He goes back down to the lobby, duffel bag over his shoulder, ready to choke down at least half a meal before heading out.

He fully expects to see that Seungmin would have joined them by now, considering their game was in less than four hours, but when he scans the lobby, he is still nowhere to be seen.

Fantastic.

Forty minutes later, he takes his seat next to Chan on the bus. "Seungmin still isn't here." He points out.

Chan shrugs, like this isn't a big deal, "He still has time."

"Hardly." Minho mutters, "I'm just saying that maybe you should be ready to play today."

Chan grins lazily, leaning back in his seat and tucking his arms behind his head, "I'm always ready to play, Minho."

Seungmin isn't at the gym when they arrive either, but Minho can't even pretend to be shocked. Seungmin had shown time and time again that he didn't really respect the work that Minho, and the others, had put into their teamwork and plays; Minho wasn't surprised that even now—when it really mattered—Seungmin wasn't stepping up to the plate. Their coach checks their team in and is back with their timeslot for court warm-ups and Seungmin still hasn't shown up.

"So, is Seungmin just not coming today?" Minho asks, shoulders by his ears.

Their coach sighs, "Seungmin got held up with something. He's on his way and should be here any minute now. Try not to bite his head off when he does arrives, please. Let's focus on the game ahead of us, alright?"

If Seungmin didn't want to get his head bitten off, maybe he should have been on time.

They have less than twenty minutes until their warm-up timeslot when Seungmin finally shows his face in the lobby of the stadium. He at least has the decency to look frazzled, hair a mess and warm-up jacket unzipped, blowing behind him. Minho considers, for a fraction of a second, letting him off easily.

The thought is gone as quickly as it came, when Seungmin is nearly instantaneously surrounded by people, preventing him from joining his team. Minho can hear an interviewer asking him questions, and there's a small group of giggling girls trying to get him to take pictures with them.

Minho knew that Seungmin was more popular than most collegiate volleyball players could ever hope to be, but seeing it in real time was completely different from knowing. Watching Seungmin fix his hair and shoot the girls an apologetic, boyish smile that sent them into a fit of squealing to each other, filled Minho with more anger than he knew what to do with. He doesn't know why it was pissing him off so badly, but it was, his hands shaking by his sides. Part of him wanted to storm over, push his way through the crowd, and drag Seungmin away by his ear like a scolding mother and misbehaving child.

Seungmin, to his credit, only takes a few minutes to answer a handful of questions before quickly disengaging and hurrying over to where the rest of the team was at. "Nice of you to finally join us, Kim Seungmin." Minho lashes.

Seungmin flinches minutely. Interesting, Minho thinks, watching Seungmin school his expression and pretend like Minho's words hadn't gotten to him in the slightest. "There was traffic." Seungmin responds with, and ah, that's the attitude that Minho was used to.

"Right, of course. Well, at least traffic is on my side and doesn't care that you're Kim Seungmin, huh?" Minho shoots, "We have ten minutes before our warm-up slot on the court. If you're not ready to go by then, you can walk your ass right to the bench because that's where you'll be staying."

Minho wishes that he was able to just bench Seungmin for the game entirely, but—as much as he wanted so badly to pretend otherwise—having Seungmin playing was basically going to guarantee them their win.

Seungmin opens his mouth, a refute on the tip of his tongue, but closes his mouth with an audible click. If looks could kill, Minho would be six feet under with the glare Seungmin gives him. He shoulder checks Minho as he walks past, just hard enough for it to clearly be on purpose, heading toward their labeled locker room to drop off his things.

Minho can still feel the anger simmering in his veins, but he doesn't have time for this. They had a game to win.

Hyunjin pats Minho on the shoulder in a way that is meant to be comforting, but Minho only shrugs it off and heads towards the courts, still seething.

-

They win the game. They only end up having to play three of the five sets, winning each one easily enough that Minho almost feels bad for the other team (25:12, 25:13 and 25:9). Not only was it a successful game for the team—it was a really good starting game for them, at least in Minho's opinion—but it also allowed them to be able to try out some of their plays on an actual court against another team for the first time. Chan got to swap in as a pinch server at one point, too, and Minho hoped for his sake that he would continue to be able to play throughout the season.

Despite knowing that the chances of their team winning were exceptionally high, it doesn't dull the high that Minho comes off of the court with. Minho lived for being on the court in general, but winning filled him with a different type of dopamine that he had never been able to replicate in any other way. The feeling of accomplishment that he had stepping off the court after a win was unmatched. It was something he wanted to experience over and over again, for as long as he was able to.

Minho was still young, still in college, but when the lifespan of a volleyball player was normally early to mid-30s, every second counted to him. Every win, every loss, every match—it was never something he would take for granted, not with how much volleyball meant to him.

However, as he dried his hair in the locker room after his quick post-game rinse off, there was a part of him that wished that they had lost. Seungmin had come over to the empty corner Minho had taken up camp in, straddling the bench with a stupid little smirk on his face. The rest of the team was trickling out, and Minho could see Hyunjin and Changbin whispering to each other as they packed up quicker, sending frantic glances towards Minho and Seungmin.

"Can I help you?" Minho deadpans, towel still pressed to his head.

Seungmin shrugs, leaning forward onto his hands and looking up at Minho. The visual sparks something in Minho's gut that he viscerally tries to ignore, staring down at Seungmin who had changed into an oversized pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, hair still damp at the ends. "Nothing to say to me after our big win?"

Minho rolls his eyes, turning to his open locker to swap out the damp towel for a shirt. "It wasn't a big win. We had that game in the bag from the second we stepped on the court."

"Oh, so, what you're saying is that me being late didn't matter? We were going to beat this team anyway? We won the game, so why are you still so mad?" Seungmin's tone of voice is like nails on a chalkboard.

Minho presses a fist into the lockers, trying not to slam his head into it. "You being late and us winning have nothing to do with each other." He turns his head towards Seungmin, fire in his eyes, "My anger is about you having no respect for other people's time, not our capability to win that game without you."

Seungmin sits up fully, "You talk so much about me having no respect but you don't even know me."

Minho grabs his bag out of the locker, setting it on the ground next to his feet as he closes it, and turns fully towards Seungmin. "You've done nothing to prove me wrong, though, have you? I have no desire to get to know someone who's shown me time and time again that they don't care and don't think that the rules apply to them."

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't care." Seungmin snaps, standing up from the bench and getting into Minho's space.

"Yeah, well, you could have fooled me," Minho shrugs.

"I had things going on, sue me! Take that stick out of your ass and realize the world doesn't revolve around you, Minho." Seungmin jabs a finger into Minho's chest, fuming.

Minho grabs Seungmin's hand, throwing it away from him, a scoff on his lips, "That's fucking gold coming from you."

"What the hell is that even supposed to mean?" Seungmin demands.

"As if you don't know—you come and go like no one else's time matters but your own. You act like you're too good to help clean up. You get to ignore all of our contractual obligations because you're Kim Seungmin and you went to the Olympics invitational and—"

"I won't apologize for the fact that I have a life and friends outside the fucking volleyball court—unlike you."

Minho sees red. He doesn't know why the same, dumb childish insult he's heard his entire life hurts differently coming from Seungmin, but it does. He doesn't know what comes over him, but between one second and the next, he's grabbing Seungmin around the biceps, spinning him and slamming him into the lockers behind them, the crashing sound echoing through the now empty locker room.

"Would you shut the fuck up for once?" Minho pushes his shoulders into the lockers again, getting in his face.

Seungmin's jaw dropped open a little in surprise at the motion, breath stolen from his lungs at the impact of his body against the metal, but he's never been one to back down from a challenge. "Make me."

So, Minho does.

By kissing him.

Hard.

It's more teeth than actual kiss, but Seungmin doesn't seem to mind, gasping against his mouth and kissing him back. Minho doesn't even know why he did it in the first place—when did hate and resentment blur into attraction and arousal?—but decides that's a problem for him later, too focused on pressing his body against Seungmin's and biting harshly at his bottom lip.

Seungmin whimpers, something high-pitched and pathetic in the back of his throat, in reaction to Minho nipping at his lip hard enough that he wouldn't be surprised if he were bleeding. It makes Minho want to ruin him, tear him apart piece by piece and put him back together again—sew him into someone that's hopefully at least fractionally less infuriating.

Seungmin moves to wrap his arms around Minho's neck, but Minho intercepts, grabbing his wrists in either hand and pinning them against the lockers by his head. He pulls away from Seungmin's mouth, drinking in the way Seungmin pants for breath, lips slick with spit and a blush sitting high on his cheekbones. "You're so goddamn annoying, Kim Seungmin." Minho whispers.

"Then do something about it." Seungmin challenges, but it doesn't have the impact he was probably hoping for, voice breathy and weak with desire.

Minho leans down to press hot kisses into Seungmin's neck and jawline instead of replying. He takes the opportunity to nudge Seungmin's legs apart, forcing his knee between his spread thighs. Seungmin jerks in Minho's grip when Minho presses his leg up, his hips grinding forward against the muscle. "Oh, fuck—"

Minho can't help the smirk that he hides in Seungmin's neck. Seungmin may have been talking a big game and throwing around insults like they were nothing, but all it took was a bite to the lip and a leg between Seungmin's own to get him where Minho wanted. He couldn't help the way that he thought Seungmin and his reactions were almost cute.

"Not so tough now, are you?" Minho bites a little harder on the skin of Seungmin's jaw, basking in the sound Seungmin makes in return.

Seungmin responds by trying to break free from the hold that Minho has on his wrists, straining against the hands wrapped around him, but the fight is futile—Seungmin doing the bare minimum during their conditioning and practices makes it to where he stood no chance against Minho, who enjoyed working out even on their off-days. He barely manages to move an inch, trying valantly to squirm out of Minho's grip, before falling still and huffing to blow his bangs out of his eyes.

Minho takes the brief moment of Seungmin being docile to roll his own hips into Seungmin's, his rapidly hardening cock pressing against Seungmin's through the layers of their sweatpants and boxers. Seungmin whines again, trying once more to pull his hands out of Minho's. "Maybe if you worked a little harder during our workouts you'd be able to get away, Seungminnie."

"Fuck you—ah!" Seungmin's voice cracks on a moan as Minho continues to grind against him.

"You're such a fucking brat all the time," Minho muses, finding a continuous rhythm that has Seungmin's hips humping forward, jerky and off-beat, "Makes me want to put you in your place."

Seungmin pants, trying to catch his breath enough to respond with anything even semi-coherent, but the way Minho moves against him is just too good. His brain is melting out of his ears a little. "Wh-why don't you, then?" He goads.

Minho groans, annoyed at how much this is turning him on, but not annoyed enough to stop. "You want that? Want me to treat you like the brat that you've been acting like? Maybe I should turn you over my knee the next time you act up in practice and spank you right there—in front of everyone."

Heat rushes through Seungmin's entire frame, as he throws his head back against the lockers with a metallic thwack, "Oh my god, Minho, fuck—you can't just—"

"No? But I thought you wanted me to put you in your place? Maybe you shouldn't act so naughty all of the time." Minho lets go of one of Seungmin's wrists, but Seungmin has no fight left in him, letting it fall against Minho's shoulder weakly.

With his now free hand, Minho rucks up Seungmin's hoodie enough to brush his thumb over Seungmin's nipple. The action tears a cry from Seungmin's throat, eyes clenched shut tightly as his hips move erratically against the steady rhythm that Minho's set. "Oh, you're so sensitive," Minho coos, continuing to brush his thumb back and forth over the bud until it hardens, "How cute."

Seungmin denies it, eyes still shut, "N-not cute,"

Minho ignores him, moving to the other side of his chest and switching from light touches to pinching Seungmin's nipple between harsh fingers, "If I knew all it took was getting you like this to get you to shut up and listen, I would have done this ages ago. I would have bent you over the bleachers and fucked you into a drooling and cock drunk mess after practice already."

Seungmin trembles in his arms. "Minho, please, I can't—I'm—"

"Are you close already?" Minho teases, pinching harder and grinding forward more aggressively, "Are you going to cum in your fucking pants?"

Seungmin shakes his head, but the way his hips keep pitching forward erratically, Minho is inclined to believe otherwise. "You might have good stamina on the court, but you're lacking it in other areas, huh, Minnie? It's a little pathetic, don't you think?"

Seungmin moans, high-pitched and long, "Minho, I—captain—"

The title causes Minho's hips to stutter, not used to hearing it in this context, let alone from Seungmin. He never thought that this would be something that he was into, but he was learning a lot of new things about himself today, it seemed.

"Be a good boy and come for your captain, Seungmin." Minho pants.

Seungmin manages to slap a hand over his mouth, but the way he cries out as he comes in his sweatpants is loud even through the barrier. Whimpers fall from his lips in a continuous string as Minho doesn't stop moving his hips against Seungmin's, the pleasure quickly turning into overstimulation. "Fuck," Minho moans, "G-guess you can be good,"

"Captain—Minho—please, i-it hurts," Seungmin pushes against Minho's shoulder, but there's no actual force behind the action.

Whether it's the title, or the plea, or that slightly sadistic part of Minho that perks up, Seungmin's words are what sends him over the edge—groaning into Seungmin's neck again as his hips press firmly against Seungmin's, causing Seungmin to twitch violently against the lockers.

The two of them stand there, bodies connected from shoulder to ankles, panting into the silence of the locker room for a moment. Processing. Sharing hot breaths.

Minho takes a steady, deep breath. He can't believe that Seungmin managed to get under his skin so terribly that he snapped by… well, he didn't fuck Seungmin by all technicalities, but it was pretty damn close.

Him and Kim Seungmin.

The thought is ridiculous enough to make him almost laugh out loud. The two of them had their personalities and characters built on entirely different values. Seungmin was nothing more than an inconvenience in Minho's life. This meant nothing. It was merely a way to burn off the high-strung emotions and endorphins, both from the game and from how much Seungmin got on Minho's nerves. Hate sex was a thing, wasn't it?

Minho steps away from Seungmin finally, letting the younger boy slump his weight further into the lockers without Minho's frame to hold him up. There's sweat beading along his hairline, his eyes glassy and face still pink. The wet patch on the front of his sweatpants leaves nothing to the imagination. Heat runs through Minho's gut again at the sight. "Um." Seungmin starts, pushing his weight back onto his feet. "That was—"

Minho tchs in his throat, stepping to the side to grab his bag. He prays he brought an extra pair of sweatpants with him, cringing at the feeling of wet fabric sticking to his pelvis as he moves.

"This didn't happen." Minho tells him firmly, hand wrapping around grey fabric.

Seungmin doesn't respond at first, doesn't give any type of reaction or indication that he's heard until Minho turns to look at him. "Right." He nods stiffly. "Obviously not."

Minho sighs, standing up, "This won't happen again—I've just been… stressed recently. And to be honest, you're the cause of a lot of it."

Seungmin rolls his eyes, "Yeah, I think you made that clear enough."

"Well, maybe if you would just—you know what. Nevermind. There's obviously nothing I can say to you that would get through your giant ass head right now." Minho doesn't have enough energy left in him to argue about this anymore.

"Whatever." Seungmin snaps back. "You don't have to be a fucking dick about it minutes after making me come in my pants, asshole."

Guilt tugs faintly at his heart, but he stays silent, and Seungmin scoffs in disbelief. He turns to head back to his own things, aggravation coming off of him in waves.

It's only after Minho is in a clean pair of sweats that he realizes him and Seungmin have been in the locker room for a significantamount of time, but no one's come to tell Minho to hurry the fuck up yet.

Grabbing his phone out of the side pocket of his bag, Minho can feel his stomach dropping already. They didn't leave him, did they?

He has a handful of text notifications from the team groupchat waiting for him.

Jisung: in the VERY PUBLIC locker room after a game is lowkey crazy guys

Jeongin: highkey crazy. i need eye bleach.

Felix: i knew minho was freaky!!

Chan: You two have fun ;) We'll meet you guys back at the hotel! Be safe!

Hyunjin: glad uve finally come to ur senses about ur guys feelings!

Changbin: To be honest, not sure if that's really what happened…

Okay.

They left him.

He stares at the texts, stomach twisting. Guess it was too late to try and hide what happened from the team, then.

He grabs his bag, throwing it over his shoulder—he needed to catch Seungmin before he left the stadium, otherwise he'd have to spend money he didn't have on an uber back to the hotel. As awkward as a car ride with Seungmin would be right now, it was better than how the alternative would affect his bank account.

Seungmin, thankfully, is standing just on the other side of the lockers, staring down at his own phone. His eyes are wide and his face is pale. "Oh."

"Just… just ignore them. Like I said, we'll act like nothing happened."

Seungmin presses his lips into a fine line, fingers wrapped tight around his phone.

"Um. Do you… uh, do you think I could catch a ride back to the hotel since they, y'know, left me behind?" Minho treads as carefully as he can, but the question needed to be asked before Seungmin storms out.

The look Seungmin gives Minho sends chills down his spine.

"You want me to help you?" His tone is incredulous and harsh, but Minho figures he deserves that right now. "Why would you ask me that? Why would I ever do that?"

Minho exhales heavily, "It's not like I want to be in a car with you. I just don't really have another option here."

Seungmin puts his phone in his pocket, folding his arms over his chest. "That's not exactly convincing. You could at least say please if you're so desperate for me to do you a favor."

Minho groans, pinching his nose bridge. "Really?"

Seungmin stands, staring. He clearly had no intentions of saying anything else, and Minho figures he only has so much time before Seungmin gets fed up enough to leave him behind, too.

"Fine! Fine. Would you please give me a ride to the hotel, Kim Seungmin?" Minho throws his hands in the air, exasperated.

Seungmin tilts his head, considering. "Okay."

"Thank god—"

"Don't get excited yet, I have conditions." Seungmin uncrosses his arms, reaching down to pick his own bag off of the floor.

Minho has to resist slamming his head into the wall. He needed this ride, he reminds himself. "Okay, right—what are they?"

"No comments about my music, no comments about my driving, and you can't be a fucking asshole during the ten minute drive to the hotel—I know that one might be hard for you, so I hope you can manage." Seungmin taunts.

Minho takes a moment, trying to smooth out the anger building before it can burst into flames. "Sure. Whatever. Can we just go?"

In true Seungmin fashion, he shoulder checks Minho as he leaves the locker room. Minho bites his tongue, forcing his words down to not say anything that would jeapordize the ride he had just secured.

The drive back to the hotel is mainly quiet, only interupted by the soft music playing from Seungmin's car radio. Minho begrudgingly admits to himself that Seungmin does have good music taste—though that may be his only positive character trait. Not that he would ever tell Seungmin that to his face, he doesn't need any more reasons to inflate his already egregious ego.

When they finally pull up to the hotel, Minho mutters a quick "thanks", and is out of the car and inside the building before Seungmin can even take the key out of his ignition.

-

To Minho's disdain, the rest of the team had really come around to liking Seungmin in the following weeks.

The other boys on the starting line up (plus Chan) were Minho's only actual friends, considering the whole 'volleyball is my entire life' schtick he had going on. They've reached a point where he doesn't feel like any of them are his friends out of pity or obligation but he isn't sure that the seven of them would have become such close friends if it wasn't for the common ground that volleyball was. Don't get him wrong, though, he was beyond grateful for the support system he had found in the other six boys, needing friends more than he would have ever admitted to himself.

That being said, it was moments like this that he sometimes wished that he did have friends outside of the team. If only to be able to avoid the inevitable encounter for a little bit longer.

It started out with Seungmin's name being dropped in conversations more often. Small things, just simple 'Seungmin sent me this video' or 'Seungmin and I were talking about that too'. It was clear that they were all talking to Seungmin a lot more outside of volleyball practices—and, yes, Minho always was pushing for the team to bond, but he couldn't help but selfishly think that that didn't mean that his friends needed to become best friends with Seungmin of all people. There were multiple other boys that were a part of the second string that Minho would have been okay with letting into their tight-knit little group.

These new friendships that had developed between Seungmin and the others didn't mean that Seungmin suddenly stuck around after practice any longer than he had to. While he would grab a stray ball on his way out of the gym every now and then, he was still the first to leave (and usually also the last to show up). His behavior hadn't changed in the slightest toward Minho, but the rest of the team seemed to accept this as just "how Seungmin is", and not as a critical flaw in his identy.

If it had just stayed being casual mentions of Seungmin in conversation, Minho is pretty sure he would have been able to deal with it; would have been able to let it slide that his friends had decided to become friends with his enemy. It was annoying, yes, but everything about Seungmin was annoying, so this really was not anything new.

And then.

Then it transitioned from just mentions to outright invitations to their outside-of-practice hang outs. This is where Minho had to draw the line.

When Minho had walked into the cheap diner right off of campus that they had started to have weekly group dinners, he was not exactly over the moon seeing Seungmin sat between Felix and Chan—like he was meant to be there, like that spot had been carved out and perfectly fitted just for him.

He had stopped in his tracks in the doorway, causing Jisung to run into his back at the sudden halt. "Ahh, Minho, why'd you do that?" He complains, side stepping Minho to try and see what had caused the sudden lack of movement.

"Why is he here?" Minho manages to bite out, gesturing at the table in annoyance.

"Seungmin?" Jisung asks, as if there was anyone else sitting at the table currently that Minho would have an issue with being there—even if he did joke about Hyunjin being his arch nemesis. "Chan and Felix invited him, I think. Or it might have been Hyunjin—or Changbin? Honestly, I'm not sure who it was this time, we've been trying to get him to join one of our hang outs for a while now, and he finally accepted!"

Minho can't help feeling blindsided by this. His friends aren't doing this to hurt his feelings on purpose, but it does tweak something inside of him a tiny bit at the thought that they were so willing to be friends with someone he clearly wasn't—even if he wasn't all that justified in his hatred of said person. Even if the whole thing was a little exaggerated on his part. "Didn't realize we were all so buddy-buddy with Seungmin these days."

Jisung sighs, reaching out and grabbing Minho's wrist to pull him back through the doors to the front of the diner, deciding that this conversation would be better had away from the table that held all of their friends. "You're being a little ridiculous, don't you think? You haven't even bothered to try and get to know him but we all know that you don't hate Seungmin nearly as much as you say you do."

"What? I don't know what you're talking about." Minho refuses to make eye contact, leaning against the wall of the diner and staring very intently at a bird sitting on a lamp post across the street.

"Oh, be for real. Everyone agreed to not to bring up the locker room situation unless you did or we absolutely had to, but come on, man! You have never once, in our entire friendship, been the type of guy to have casual hook ups, but suddenly you're down for hate sex in a shared locker room?"

"People change, things happen."

Jisung rolls his eyes, "Sure, you can keep telling yourself that, but you're going to have to face it eventually."

"Face what, exactly?" Minho drags his eyes sharply from the lamp post to Jisung, but regrets it once he sees the look on Jisung's face—pity mixed with amusement. Disgusting.

"That you like him and this weird cloud of fake hatred is going to ruin your chances with him if you're not careful."

"That's definitely not what's going on, but thank you for your input." Minho goes back to looking at the lampost—the bird had flown away.

"I know you, okay, probably better than anyone else in your life. You're worried that he's going to take your friends away from you now too, aren't you? You shouldn't be—we like you, but we'd also like it if you got along with Seungmin."

Minho pushes himself off of the wall, gut twisting with emotions he can't (or won't, more like) name. The jealousy and anxiety that sits low in his gut swirls a bit higher, a bit stronger, and he needs to change the topic before it bubbles up so much he can't hide it anymore. "I'm hungry. Aren't you hungry? Let's go join the others."

"Minho."

"I'm not talking about this anymore, Jisung." Minho walks back towards the entrance of the diner, not sparing a glance to see if Jisung was following him or not.

"At least be civil during dinner!" Jisung rushes to catch up with him.

Minho shrugs, "I'll be civil as long as Seungmin doesn't give me a reason not to be."

Jisung groans, like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, sliding into one of the empty chairs.

Minho takes a seat, purposely sitting directly across from Seungmin. "Fancy seeing you here."

Seungmin regards him quietly, "I was hungry."

As if it were that simple.

"We were just talking to Seungmin about the mini league volleyball team that he coaches." Felix fills Jisung in.

"Oh!" Jisung exclaims, excited, "How is your team of tiny volleyball menaces doing?"

A tiny smile graces Seungmin's face, as much as he tries to drag the corners of his lips back down. Minho doesn't think he's ever seen Seungmin smile at anything that wasn't for a camera before. "Mini league team?" His mouth moves faster than his brain, spitting out the words before he can fake perfectly curated indifference.

"Yeah!" Hyunjin butts in before Seungmin can explain, "Seungminnie coaches a team of 7 and 8 year olds."

Seungmin waves it off, cheeks tinting a little pink at the attention. "It's nothing crazy, just a little after school thing that the kids do at a gym near me. I started volunteering for it at the beginning of the season."

"Your team's been winning their games, though, haven't they?" Jeongin tears apart a straw wrapper, discarding the pieces into a tiny pile on the table in front of him.

"Do they technically even win games when they're that young?" Changbin asks, leaned back in his chair, "Like isn't it all participation trophies and 'you did your best, good job' ribbons at that age?"

"Just because they get participation trophies doesn't mean that a team doesn't technically win, though." Chan points out, twirling his straw through his soda.

Seungmin taps his fingers on the table in front of him, "They can win, but it's really low stakes, obviously. No tournaments or championships for them to worry about. The team I've been coaching has done really well, I'd say—I think they've won all of the games that they've played so far."

"Not shocking considering that they have you coaching them," Jisung laughs.

"I didn't know you coached a mini league team," Minho repeats dumbly, as if the realization had only just now caught up to him.

He can't help but let his mind wander and conjure up images of Seungmin coaching a bunch of little kids. It was endearing, he thought indignantly, the thought of Seungmin crouching by a lowered net, helping kids who could barely keep themselves balanced on two feet learn how to receive and pass balls to each other. Teaching them the importance of working together and having their teammates' backs—even if that was something that Minho felt Seungmin could brush up on himself.

He didn't know that Seungmin had that type of care or tenderness in him to do something like that—voluntarily, too.

"It's not something I like to flaunt around." Seungmin shrugs, "I don't want people to think that I'm doing something like this to make myself look better for the press. It's not about that to me."

How benevolent.

(He'd never tell, but he does secretely think it is an admirable thing for Seungmin to do. Minho hadn't pinpointed Seungmin as someone be selfless and volunteer coach kids, but it does make him think that maybe Seungmin cares about the sport more than how he acts at practice. To teach 7 and 8 year olds how to play volleyball, without expecting any type of compensation, isn't something someone would do who didn't care for the sport and just happened to be good at it.)

"How sweet," Chan coos, pinching Seungmin's cheek.

Seungmin flushes, immediately trying to shove Chan off of him.

"Wasn't the mini league team why you were late to our first game?" Felix lays his arm around the back of Seungmin's seat.

"Yeah." Seungmin looks a little sheepish, ears pink still, "It was their first game that day. When they had won I had gotten caught up a bit in the celebration. Lost track of time, you know? I've been setting alarms now, so I won't do that again. Sorry."

It was hard to stay mad at Seungmin for being late when he imagined Seungmin surrounded by a bunch of small boys and girls, with big grins on their faces, cheering and jumping on him. Minho was familiar with the excitement of a victory. For little brains, that feeling had to be much stronger. The thought of Seungmin hugging them, spinning them around in his arms, and promising them that they would go out and get ice cream as a special treat for how well they did and how hard they had worked together made him want to squeeze something—potentially Seungmin—until it popped.

It was hard to stay mad, but Minho was sure it wasn't impossible. He was going to try, at least.

"Ugh, so cute," Felix pokes Seungmin's cheek from the where he's sat on the other side, and Seungmin bats it away, ears tinted red.

"Honestly, it sounds like a lot of work." Jeongin had started pushing the pile of his straw wrapper into different little shapes on the table—what an odd kid, Minho thinks.

"Yeah, I don't think I would be able to manage school, playing for my own team, and coaching all at the same time." Hyunjin agrees.

"I mean, I won't lie and say that it's easy, but it's worth it. My schedule is packed, which—you know—is why I'm always having to book it out the door, but I really like the kids that I coach. I'd do a lot for them." Seungmin's still blushing a little, clearly not one to be so vulnerable and open about his emotions—at least, not in front of Minho.

Minho doesn't even have any snarky remark to shoot back at Seungmin, now. His world was kind of tilting on it's axis, things he thought he knew about Seungmin turning out to not be true. In that moment, he has to accept that all of the times that he had gotten mad at Seungmin, he did have somewhat valid reasons for his actions. The way he went about behaving and speaking to Minho was a different story but the things that he did made sense. Staying mad at Seungmin for dedicating his time to kids and still making it to every practice was a little below even him.

This doesn't mean that he likes Seungmin. Doesn't mean that he wants to be best friends, or friends at all, actually. It doesn't mean that Seungmin will get off easy when he messes up. Doesn't mean that Minho will let it slide when Seungmin's an asshole during practice.

But it does make Minho look at Seungmin in a new light. At least a little bit.

-

"Alright, everyone, listen up for room assignments."

The team is standing in the lobby of a hotel that Minho can't remember the name of. Their first set of tournament games have snuck up on him, he swears that yesterday they had played the first game of the season.

Minho is shivering, his warm-up jacket not doing much with the AC blasting inside the buildling. The bus ride was long, and he's more than ready to get his keycard and demand first shower from whoever he's stuck sharing a room with.

"Chan and Hyunjin, Jisung and Jeongin, Felix and Changbin—which leaves Minho and Seungmin." Their coach says, passing out the keycards as he says names.

Minho freezes. He had to have heard wrong. He had to. Things had been moderately better between him and Seungmin lately, but that didn't mean he suddenly wanted to room with him. The thought of having to share a space with Seungmin made him a little nauseous, for reasons he couldn't currently unpack. He hadn't spent a lot of time around Seungmin that wasn't in official settings. Seeing Seungmin in pajamas with hair damp from a shower made his insides twist and heart race. He should maybe consult a doctor.

Looking around, though, everyone has paired up and is starting to head toward the elevators. "Wait, Chan!" Minho calls, speedwalking to catch up, "Want to switch rooms with me?"

He can hear the sharp inhale coming from behind him, but he only feels mildly guilty. He had to put himself first. Chan looks at him wearily, "I don't know, Minho… I think rooming with Seungmin might be a good thing for you guys."

Minho's jaw drops. "What do you mean?"

"It's just… I think maybe this could be a good time for you guys to talk through some of your issues, you know?" Chan rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, "Not to mention that you hate rooming with Hyunjin and with me."

That's not entirely true.

Hyunjin consistently leaves his wet towel on the bathroom floor and doesn't even bother using it to mop up any water that's dripped on the tiles. That's annoying!

And he doesn't hate rooming with Chan, he just doesn't like feeling like he's stressing Chan out—with his particular way of setting up his skin care and his very specific routines, Minho is sometimes walking on eggshells while getting ready for bed. He usually chooses not to room with Chan for Chan's sake, not his own.

Okay, so maybe it's slightly true, but that's not the point!

"That's not—no! I don't hate it!" Minho denies vigorously, "Don't make me share a room with Seungmin. Please?"

Chan shakes his head, "This will be good for you."

The rest of the boys had already made their way to the elevators, Minho can hear the ding as the elevator arrives to their level but it sounds muffled through the way his blood roars in his ears.

"You'll forgive me!" Chan calls out after him, laughter twinging his voice, as he rushes to catch up with the others.

Minho watches in disbelief as the elevator doors slide shut, leaving him and Seungmin stood in the lobby by themselves.

Seungmin shoves his way past him, but doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to, Minho can tell that he's hurt just by the way Seungmin's slightly stomping and how he slams his finger into the up button to call the elevator again. He wants to explain his internal struggle, but also can't put his weird feelings on blast like that.

"Seungmin, listen—"

"Don't. It's fine." Seungmin cuts him off, shoulders pressed up to his ears, refusing to make any type of eye contact. "I'll try not to get in your way, your highness."

Minho bristles, rolling his eyes, "I kinda liked captain, better." He mumbles to himself without thinking.

"What was that?" Seungmin demands, as the elevator opens again.

"Nothing. Let's just go."

They're silent the entire way up to their floor, down the empty hallway, and as Minho taps the keycard to unlock the door. The charged silence is only broken once they've shoved their way inside and dropped their bags at the end of each bed.

(Minho had been distressed for a moment at the thought that he was going to live in a terrible cliché and that they were going to come up to the room and find there had been a horrible mix-up and the room only had one bed. He'd never admit to anyone, but he was slightly disappointed.)

"I'm taking the first shower." Minho unzips his bag, digging for a change of clothes.

"Whatever, I don't care." Seungmin flops onto the armchair in the corner of the room, staring very intently at the screen of his phone.

Huh. Minho pauses, that was easier than he expected. Even if Seungmin didn't care about the order that they showered in, he had figured that he would throw a fit about it just for the purpose of throwing a fit and getting on Minho's nerves. Especially after he had clearly hurt his feelings downstairs. He regards Seungmin for another second, thinking off-handedly that his phone brightness was up too high, but when Seungmin pointedly doesn't react to his blatant staring, he gives up and goes to the bathroom.

The hot shower doesn't clear his head as much as Minho had hoped for. He spent the entire time under the spray thinking about how much Seungmin frustrated him and why that should mean that he shouldn't feel guilty—trying in vain to justify his actions in his mind. No matter how he spun it, though, he couldn't shake it. He may not have had many friendships growing up and a lot of people assumed he was cold-hearted, but he never made a habit of hurting other people's feelings. When he did, he was always quick to apologize. His dislike of Seungmin and the new weird feelings bubbling aside, he needed to make ammends or he would be up all night feeling like a despicable person.

He took his time blow drying his hair, brushing his teeth, and doing his skincare routine. He half expected Seungmin to start banging on the bathroom door and demanding he hurry it up, but he never did.

Steam billowed out of the bathroom into the little hallway as he stepped out. Seungmin was digging through his own bag for his shower things, "Finally," He muttered, "You take forever in the shower."

"I'm sorry for being an asshole downstairs." Minho spits out, before he loses the confidence.

Seungmin freezes for a second before his head is whipping to the side to stare at Minho like he's grown three heads. "What?"

"Don't make me say it again."

"Just thought I had heard you apologize, but there's no way. I must need to get my hearing checked." Seungmin shakes his head, arms wrapped around a bundle of clothes.

"Seungmin." Minho pleads.

"You suck ass at apologizing." Seungmin shoots him a glare as he hurries into the bathroom.

Minho stands in between the two beds, listening to the sound of the shower starting and quiet music filtering through the walls, feeling like an idiot. He couldn't tell Seungmin the truth about why he didn't want to share a room, and because of that trying to apologize to Seungmin was like apologizing to a brick wall. He was beginning to regret his attempts in doing so. Seungnmin had never apologized to him for anything he had done. Minho was trying to be the bigger person here, and Seungmin had spat all over it.

He ignores the tiny voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Jisung telling him he was being emotionally constipated and childish. Jisung doesn't know anything.

Minho sighs, shoving the covers back on the bed he had dictated as his, turning the light between the two beds off. He needed to sleep this off and focus on the tournament. He was letting trivial things like emotions get in the way of his usual pre-game routines—usually he would have rewatched a few sets and done some breathing exercises before calling it a night, but leave it to Seungmin to make Minho feel so off balanced.

Whatever.

He'd feel better in the morning.

-

Minho hadn't been asleep for long, still in that in between state of not really dreaming but not actually awake, when the light between the beds is brazenly turned back on. It shines directly in his eyes, and he can't stop the noise that leaves his mouth in complaint. "Ugh, what the hell?" He asks groggily, trying to blink his eyes open against the brightness suddenly blinding him.

"I need the light on." Seungmin states simply.

Minho's never wanted to actually physically hurt someone before, but now? The abrupt desire makes him feel a little delirious. "Jesus, do you not have a flashlight on your phone?" He demands, pushing himself to sit up on his elbows, "Don't be fucking rude."

Seungmin rolls his eyes, sitting against the headboard of his bed and placing a blue journal on his lap. Minho thinks there's a tiny Pochacco drawing in the corner, but he can't see it well from where he's sitting. It is not adorable.

"I can't write if I'm holding a flashlight in one hand." Seungmin explains, like Minho's the idiot here, "It'll take me, like, fifteen minutes max, and it's not even ten yet! Do you really go to sleep this early?"

Minho is almost awed by Seungmin's gall and audacity. "I do when we have games the next day! Also it's just disrespectful to turn the light on when someone's asleep. That's, like, common sense—something you clearly have none of."

Seungmin flips open his journal, waving his hand vaguely in the air, as if whatever Minho's saying is irrelevant, "Whatever, not all of us are living like we're eighty-five years old. Like I said, it'll take me like fifteen minutes. I'm sure you can manage."

And sure. Maybe he could.

But this was about the principle.

If Seungmin could turn the light on whenever he wanted, then Minho was well within his right to do the opposite. He reaches out, flips the light off again without another word, and lays back down.

"Hey!" Seungmin complains, wasting no time in turning the light on once again.

The back and forth continues on for longer than it should, both boys hitting the light switch with increasing aggression until Minho sits up, swinging his legs over the side of his bed, turning the light off again as he does so. His hand smacks into the switch noisily. "Knock it off." Minho says coldly, dangerous, and he watches in satisfaction as Seungmin hesitates with his hand outstretched.

The hesitation only lasts for a breath. Seungmin squares his shoulders, turns the light back on, and turns back to his notebook. "Make me." He says, trying to be nonchalant, but his ears are scarlet and his fingers are wrapped tightly around his pen.

Heat pools in Minho's gut, and he crosses the tiny space between the two beds before he can talk himself out of it. He grabs the notebook out of Seungmin's hands—it is a tiny Pochacco, fuck, why is he so cute?—flipping it closed with ease and tossing it to the floor. Was he raising to the obvious bait a second time? Maybe. But he wasn't going to ignore a clear invitation. "Wait—ah!"

Seungmin's voice cracks as Minho wraps a hand around his ankle, tugging him swiftly down the bed and rolling him over onto his stomach. Seungmin's hair sticks up at odd angles as he picks his head off the pillow so he can breathe, eyes darting around. His hands are pressed into the bed in attempt to catch himself against the involuntary movement and his pen clatters to the floor. Minho throws his leg over Seungmin's body, straddling his ass and settling his entire body weight down. He secures Seungmin's hands to the bed by his wrists in one seamless movement.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Seungmin whispers, voice strained and weak, flush sitting brightly on his cheeks at the position he's found himself in and their sudden close proximity.

"You said to make you," Minho leans down, lips brushing Seungmin's cheek, jaw, and then hot breath hits his ear, causing him to shiver and try to wiggle away. "So I'm making you."

"Minho, I—"

"Shhh," Minho hushes, sliding down so he's straddling Seungmin's thighs, letting go of his wrists to hold him by his sides, "You asked for this."

Before Seungmin can bite out another bratty response, Minho spanks the center of Seungmin's right ass cheek, covered only by flimsy black cotton shorts. The sound echoes throughout the hotel room, and Minho can only hope that the walls aren't too thin. Seungmin gasps, short and aggressive, hips jerking away from the pain that is surely sparking up his spine.

Minho pauses, holding his breath, waiting for Seungmin to try and throw him off of his back. He waits for him to ask what the fuck Minho thought he was doing and then rush out of the hotel room to report him to their coach and the schoolboard. He waits, but Seungmin does none of that. "Tell me to stop," Minho whispers.

Instead, Seungmin arches back, pushing his ass up. "Hit me again,"

Minho wastes no time landing another slap on the left side. He's rewarded by the same gasp, followed by a tiny, high pitched noise that Seungmin tries to pinch into silence at the back of his throat. Minho spanks him again, and then a second time, each one followed by another whiny, bitten off noise. "Hng, Minho, please—"

"That's not what you called me last time." Minho muses, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Seungmin's threadbare shorts.

Seungmin is quiet, except for the sound of his panting breaths filling the hotel room. He squeezes the sheets next to his head between his fingers, and Minho wishes he could see the fight on Seungmin's face as he contemplates whether this is worth it or not.

Minho tugs Seungmin's shorts and boxers down in one go, leaving them wrapped around his upper thighs, right above his knees. The skin of Seungmin's ass is tinted the lightest shade of baby pink, and Minho's hands itch to turn the color brighter, hotter, until Seungmin is twitching away and begging him to stop. Wants to be able to feel the heat radiating off of the skin, wants Seungmin docile and gasping for air.

Minho spanks him again, skin on bare skin echoing throughout the room. Seungmin's yelps, jerking at the difference in how it feels. "Fu-uck, oh my god—"

Spank.

"It's okay, if you don't want to talk, I will." Minho's voice is casual, like he's not spanking Seungmin sporadically through his lecture, "I'm sick and tired of your attitude and behavior—on and off the court."

"I-I don't know what—oh, fuck—what you me-an!" Seungmin chokes out.

Minho pauses, rubbing the quickly darkening skin of Seungmin's ass. Seungmin presses back into the contact, as if pulled by a string.

"Yes, you do. You act like such a fucking brat all the time." Minho begins to spank him again, building a steady rhythm back up, "Getting on my nerves, being a nuisance… It took me some time to figure it out, but you were just trying to ask for me to makeyou behave every time you pissed me off, weren't you? Don't worry, I hear you loud and clear now. If that's what you want, I can do that."

Seungmin's cries have turned higher pitched, stuttering on his breaths and ripping from his throat in a continuous stream, as Minho continues to layer hit over hit. The entire area of his ass is hot to the touch, a vibrant pink that was turning red in the spots where Minho's spanks were overlapping the most.

"Wasn't asking for it—I wasn't—"

"You weren't? You had me fooled," Minho sighs, adjusting his aim to cover the area where Seungmin's thighs meet his ass.

Seungmin's voice breaks around what is undeniably a sob, voice turning wet, "I'm s-sorry, captain—I'm sorry. I'll be good, I promise, please—"

Minho is hard, there's no pretending he's not, dick tenting his own pajamas. With the way Seungmin's hips are hitching down into the bed, Minho is positive Seungmin is too.

"You'll be good?" The next hit lands harder than the rest, "You'll stop being insufferable at practices? I don't know if you're capable of not getting on my nerves."

Seungmin is definitely crying now, sniffling against the pillow, "I will, captain, I swear—please, please, hng, captain—f-fuck me, I need it, I—"

Minho rests his palm against the searing skin, feeling the way Seungmin continues to rut down, even after the hits have stopped. "Are you close? Gonna come from me spanking you for being a brat?"

"I—I wanna—" Seungmin jerks his hips back into Minho's hand, still against his ass, "Please—"

It takes two more hits, one on each side of Seungmin's ass, before he's twitching against the sheets and his voice is pitching up into a cut-off squeal of Minho's name. Minho holds his hand against Seungmin's ass, feeling the way he convulses through his release, gasping for breath. Minho is panting a little himself.

"You have a habit of coming untouched or is it just with me?" Minho teases, once Seungmin's fell mostly limp against the bed.

"Shut up," Seungmin whines into the pillow, it's pathetic and tiny and Minho's dick twitches again in his pants.

"Or what?" Minho goads, "Are you going to make me?"

Seungmin complains inaudibly, squirming in distaste. Minho laughs, and tugs at Seungmin's hip to turn him onto his back. Seungmin goes easily, all fight drained from his body, adjusting so Minho is sat in between his spread legs. He sniffles again, reaching up to wipe the drying tears off of his cheeks.

Minho's been punched in the gut catching sight of Seungmin's dick for the first time. It's a little thing, pressed to the bottom of his stomach—not even coming close to his belly button—and dirtied from how he had come onto the sheets pressed up against him. It's downright adorable, and Minho has to fight down the cuteness aggression building that makes him want to reach down and squeeze harshly. Not the time.

"Fuck," He breathes, voice dripping in awe that he can't hide.

Seungmin suddenly comes back to his senses and realizes what Minho's so endeared by, trying to curl in on himself. He slams his legs closed and pulls them toward his chest. "Don't—"

Minho can't have that. He wrestles Seungmin's legs back down, batting his hands away. "No." He pins one of Seungmin's thighs down under his knee, spreading him open and on display, "Let me see you."

Seungmin's hands move from where he'd been trying to fight Minho's own, and rush up to cover his face—which was turning the same shade as his ass. "Minho, i-it's embarrassing," He whines.

Minho leans forward, brushing his thumb over the head of Seungmin's cock. He watches in earnest as it spasms and Seungmin shudders. He continues to tease over the tip, barely touching, spreading the remenants of Seungmin's release around. "Embarrassing? I think it's cute."

Seungmin opens his mouth to retort, but Minho takes the opportunity to wrap his hand around his cock. Seungmin gasps, stomach fluttering, "Oh my god!"

Minho's hand is not big by any means, but it dwarfs Seungmin's dick, covering it from base to tip. It doesn't even peek out of Minho's fist, completely encompassed by Minho's palm. "You're so fucking tiny." Minho teases, eyes sparkling.

Seungmin whines and squirms under the heat of Minho's gaze. "Just fuck me, please."

Minho adjusts his grip, switching to just two fingers and his thumb so he can move his hand up and down the shaft. "I don't have lube, baby." His tone is apologetic, "I can't fuck you without it—not with the games tomorrow."

Seungmin gasps, thrusting up into the pace that Minho's set, "I-in my bag, I have some in my bag,"

Minho stops, but Seungmin continues to try and thrust into Minho's grip, "Oh? Were you expecting to get fucked on the trip? Or do you always have it on you, like a slut?"

Seungmin moans, and Minho files away that information for later. He doesn't push Seungmin for an answer, though, getting up and digging through the pockets of Seungmin's bag.

He returns to the bed quickly once he's found it, watching as Seungmin lays against the pillows and tries to catch his breath.

Minho pushes one of Seungmin's legs up and to the side, forcing him open. The movement causes Seungmin to squeak, cool air brushing against heated skin. "Oh, you're so cute here, too." He muses, reaching down and brushing his thumb over the rim of Seungmin's hole.

Seungmin jerks, whimpering, "Do you have to talk like that?" He complains.

Minho presses his thumb against the dry skin, watching as Seungmin's hips stutter, not sure if they want to push into the feeling or pull away. Seungmin can't help the keen that leaves his throat at the feeling. He continues to push until the very tip breaches Seungmin's hole.

"Fuck!"

"You like it—your little cock keeps twitching," Minho goads.

Minho begrudgingly pulls his thumb out. He wants to keep teasing Seungmin, wants to see how far he can push before Seungmin breaks apart completely, but they don't have the time for that. Instead, he wets his fingers with the lube and rubs them together for a moment to warm it up, "I knew you had a thing for being manhandled, but the humiliation kink is news to me. I can work with it, though."

"I don't have a humiliation ki-ink!" Seungmin's voice hitches, catching on a cry, as Minho presses his first finger in.

The slide is easy, aided by the exuberant amount of lube Minho had used. Seungmin's chest heaves with his breaths, trying to quiet the noises he keeps making. Minho's stomach clenches at the sight of Seungmin trying so hard to keep himself together—after just a finger, no less.

"You don't?" Minho asks, starting to fuck his finger in and out slowly, "You don't like me talking about how cute your little cock is? Don't like me telling you how pretty your hole is? You don't like me spanking your bratty ass red, until you cry and come untouched onto the sheets?"

Seungmin covers his face again, but Minho can see the crimson bleeding down his cheeks, neck, down to his chest. Seungmin's dick traitorously starts leaking precum, and Minho takes the opportunity to reach down and flick the tip gently. "Fuck!" Seungmin cries, twisting to the side to get away from the sensation.

Minho forces him onto his back with a hand on his thigh. He fucks his finger in harshly, pressing against Seungmin's walls and dragging out slowly, forcing him to feel every move. "I think you do."

Seungmin wheezes, and Minho adds another finger. "Ah!"

"Does it feel good, Minnie?" Minho continues to tease, leaning down so his breath is brushing over Seungmin's red-hot earlobe, "Do my fingers feel good inside of you?"

"Y-yes!" He cries, trying to meet Minho's thrusts, but he isn't able to move much with Minho holding down his thigh to the bed still, "Feels good—please—"

"Please what, baby? What do you want?" Minho goads.

Seungmin whines, and Minho holds his breath, waiting to see if there's any brattiness left in the boy. Wants to see if he pouts and whines or starts begging like Minho wants. "More, please! Minho, please, fuck me. I'll be good, please, please, ple—"

Minho rewards Seungmin with a third finger, watching in delight as Seungmin moans loud and whiny, trembling against the sheets. He picks up the pace of his fingers, adjusting the angle with every thrust, trying to find that spot inside of Seungmin that will make him see stars.

He knows he's found it when Seungmin back arches off the bed, the noise leaving his throat echoing through the room, "There! Please, more, oh my god—there, fuckfuckfuck!"

Minho decides he's waited long enough, his own dick throbbing inside the confines of the pants that he's still wearing. He hadn't touched himself once, and he was getting impatient. He needed to be inside Seungmin yesterday.

He pulls his fingers out, ignoring Seungmin's protesting cry, and undresses quickly.

"Roll over," He instructs, climbing onto the bed.

Seungmin complies easily, rolling onto his stomach and pushing himself onto his hands and knees. "Good boy," Minho praises, and Seungmin whimpers pathetically.

Minho takes a moment to enjoy the sight of Seungmin presenting himself in front of him. His ass is still bright red, mottled with darker, almost purple spots where he had layered most of the spanks. His neck and ears are pink, and his shoulders and arms tremble faintly as he struggles to hold himself up. Minho thinks this may be the best Seungmin's ever looked.

He wastes no more time, lining his dick up with Seungmin's wet hole, and pushes in until his hips meet Seungmin's ass, in one harsh thrust.

"Hng—ha," Seungmin groans, entire body moving forward and sliding in the bedding, "Fuuuuck,"

"So tight," Minho chokes out, head dropping between his shoulders once he's fully seated, air stolen from his lungs at the way Seungmin squeezes tightly around him.

Seungmin's arms give out, but Minho decides not to tease him for it this time. Seungmin twists his head from where it's fallen face first into the pillow, so he can breathe. "Pl-please move, wan' it,"

And who is Minho to deny Seungmin when he's begging so sweetly?

The pace Minho sets is probably too fast, Seungmin's ass bouncing against his hips on each thrust. He can't help himself, though—it had been too long since he had fucked anything that wasn't his fist. Seungmin's knees keep sliding, spreading himself wider, allowing Minho more space to fuck in deeper.

Seungmin can't hide any of his noises, anymore, either. A high pitched, whiny stream of staccato ah, ah, ah in time with every press of Minho's cock against his prostate.

"You're so gone, aren't you?" Minho finds his voice again, "Not a thought in that head of yours anymore,"

"Fe-ah-eels so go-hng-od," Seungmin moans, fists clenching tightly in the messed up sheets.

"Yeah?" Minho pants, "So much better when you stop being a brat and take it like a good boy, huh?"

Seungmin nods into the pillow, drooling, and Minho knows he must only be half-understanding what Minho's saying. So, Minho falls silent, focusing on fucking Seungmin within an inch of his life.

Wrapping his hands around Seungmin's waist, Minho hoists Seungmin to a better angle. He starts pulling him back against him in time with every shove inside, bodies audibly slapping together. Seungmin's moan rise in pitch, bordering on sobs. "Too much!"

Minho couldn't stop, even if he wanted to. He was moving on autopilot, needing to feel Seungmin come around his cock. "Shh, it's okay—you're taking it, baby," Minho coos, "Going dumb and drooling on my cock, sweetheart."

"C-close!" Seungmin cries.

"Gonna c-cum untouched again?" Minho grunts, also quickly approaching the edge, "Gonna shake apart on my c-cock?"

"Please! N-need, hnnnng, need iiit,"

"Fuck," Minho slams in, trying to push his way deeper, harder, "Fuck, you're so good—"

"'m good, 'm good—" Seungmin babbles, nodding.

Minho's hips stutter, and he reaches under Seungmin to wrap his fingers around his dick—needing Seungmin to come before he does.

Seungmin's entire frame quakes as he comes around a silent scream. Minho doesn't stop moving, fucking into Seungmin and jerking him off at the same time, desperately chasing after his own orgasm.

"M-Minhooo," Seungmin whines, "H-hurts, I can't—"

"Fuck," Minho gasps, "Just a l-little more,"

Seungmin breath hitches, sounding a little wet, and Minho conjures up the image of tears dripping down his cheeks at the sensitivity he must be feeling. "Captain—"

He's coming inside Seungmin before he can blink, shivering and grunting as his vision goes white. His hand drops away from Seungmin's cock as he presses in one more time, panting harshly through the aftershocks.

Seungmin whines at the sensation of Minho's cum in him, and Minho's dick twitches painfully at the sound.

"Gonna have to shower again," Seungmin complains weakly, wincing as Minho finally pulls out. "This is your fault."

Minho laughs, collapsing next to Seungmin on the dirtied bedsheets. He doesn't bother arguing, pointing out that actually this happened because Seungmin was being a brat, knowing that it wasn't worth it with the headspace Seungmin was currently in. Cock drunk and loopy. "Give me a second and I'll run a bath instead,"

"Yayyy," Seungmin cheers, voice tiny and adorable, as he rolls over to look at Minho with sparkling eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get used to it." Minho closes his own eyes, not being able to handle the way Seungmin was looking at him.

"You got my bed all dirty toooo," Seungmin continues.

Minho sighs, "You can sleep with me, but just this once, okay?"

Seungmin hums happily, "Okay,"

Minho can't help but think that it might not just be this once. Can't help how he wants to cuddle Seungmin to his chest, brush his hair off of his forehead, and carry him to the bath.

Oh well. He can indulge. It would just be a problem for future Minho—and he would deal with it then.

-

Sun filters through the half closed curtains as Minho slowly wakes up. Despite everything, Minho is well rested and ready to win. His limbs ache ever so slightly in the way they always do after a good workout, familiar and comforting.

Less familiar is the body pressed against his, breathing into his collarbone.

Minho panics for a split second, body startling against Seungmin's. Seungmin whines, annoyed, "'s too early,"

Minho tries to ignore the fondness threatening to squeeze his heart inside his ribcage. Seungmin was not endearing. Minho runs a gentle hand down Seungmin's back, basking in the warmth under the blanket and the soft feeling threatening to overtake all of the other emotions he's compartmentalized about Seungmin. He allows himself a few seconds to imagine an alternate universe where he and Seungmin had met under completely different circumstances, a universe where spending a calm morning with Seungmin under the covers wouldn't be ruined by having to get up and deal with Seungmin's ignorance on the court.

Speaking of the court, they really should get up and get ready for the tournament. Minho wasn't sure what time it was, but considering his alarm hadn't gone off yet, he's sure they had plenty of time to get dressed and try and school their expressions and emotions into neutrality, acting as if the night before had never happened—act as if Minho hadn't spanked Seungmin to tears and then fucked him into the mattress.

Minho's phone ringing jerks both him and Seungmin out of the little cocoon they had found themselves in. It was very clearly Minho's ringtone, not his alarm, and he groans as he pushes himself up and grabs blindly at his phone on the little nightstand. Seungmin yawns, sitting up.

Jisung's name lights up his phone, and he doesn't think twice before sliding his thumb across the screen and putting the phone up to his ear, watching Seungmin blink sleep out of his eyes. He smiles to himself as Seungmin freezes, clearly finally processing the night before and the way he had cuddled into Minho's side, half-asleep. He blushes so easily.

"Where the fuck are you two?" Jisung demands, not even bothering to say hello.

"Good morning to you, too." Minho rolls his eyes.

"Minho, we've been trying to get ahold of you and Seungmin for the past two hours! We thought you had killed him and ran away—our first game is in almost an hour. Where are you?!"

Blood rushes through Minho's eardrums so loudly, he can't hear whatever Jisung says next, as he tears the phone away from his ear to look at the time. It's nearly 10:15, and their first game was scheduled for 11:30.

"Fuck!" Minho yells, causing Seungmin to jump, as he throws the blankets off of himself and rushes to his feet, "We overslept—we'll be there as soon as we can, fuck."

He doesn't bother waiting to hear Jisung's response, hanging up the phone, throwing it to the side, and turning to Seungmin with fear in his eyes, "Our alarms didn't go off. We have an hour to get to the stadium before we miss the first game."

Minho is already across the room, digging through his bag and throwing his jersey and shorts onto one of the beds. He had never overslept on a game day once in his life, having perfected a routine that kept him in check years ago. Letting it go down the drain for a hook up with a boy he was adamant about acting like he didn't care for wasn't like him. As much as he wanted to unpack this new part of his ongoing Seungmin dilemma, he clearly didn't have time right now.

Seungmin has thrown his own uniform onto the bed as well, and the two bump shoulders as they squeeze into the too-small bathroom to brush their teeth. Minho does his best to ignore how weirdly domestic the situation is, trying to focus on getting ready in record time so that they didn't ruin the first game of the day.

The thought of not being there as captain makes his stomach twist. Chan is probably holding down things just fine, but the thought of how disappointed and upset the rest of the team and their coach must be makes anxiety sit heavy in his gut. He tries to ignore the shaking in his fingers as he grabs his jersey off of the bed, throwing the other one at Seungmin and turning around to change.

Minho tugs up the zipper of his warm up jacket as Seungmin hops on one foot trying to adjust his sock as they stumble out of the hotel room and toward the elevator. "I didn't even set an alarm last night," Seungmin pants, "I'm sorry."

Minho swallows down the sarcastic response that he would have made 24-hours ago. "I don't think I did either. Don't worry about it. Let's just… let's just focus on getting to the stadium and winning today, yeah?"

They manage to get an uber within minutes, Minho sending the rest of the team a text to let them know that they were on their way, and by some miracle of god, they're running into the stadium at 11:10.

"There you guys are!" Chan exclaims once Minho and Seungmin have joined the team, "What the hell happened?"

Minho hesitates, stuttering as he tries to come up with an explanation that didn't put the fact that him and Seungmin had fucked the night before on blast.

"I wasn't feeling well last night. Minho stayed up late to get me nausea medication and to make sure I didn't drown in my own sweat." Seungmin cuts Minho off, "I feel better now, but Minho forgot to set an alarm and I wasn't thinking about it while bent over the toilet last night, either."

Minho ignores the doubting gaze that the boys level him with. He knows, just as well as the rest, that had Seungmin suddenly gotten sick the night before the tournament, that Minho would have ended up camping out on the floor of one of the other's hotel rooms. He'd avoid getting sick at all costs, and he definitely would not have tried to nurse his enemy back to health.

"Sorry," Minho says quietly, head bowed, "It was my mistake, and it won't happen again."

"Whatever." Chan brushes them off, "Glad you're feeling better, Seungmin, though I would have gladly filled your spot."

The joke breaks the tension in the room enough for the conversation to drift to their plan for the first set, Minho falling into Captain Mode easily as he quickly works through a stretching routine and they're heading toward their warm-up court. Their time is nearly up, with their game starting in 15 minutes, but it'll be enough time to get a feel for the court and the ceiling height.

Minho can see Seungmin taking off his warm-up jacket out of his peripheral once they're on the court, but doesn't think anything of it until a loud gasp pulls his attention and a choked squawking noise leaves Jeongin's mouth. Everyone turns to Jeongin, eyes following to where he was shakily pointing at Seungmin. "What?" Seungmin asks, looking down at himself, expecting something horribly embarrassing about his appearance.

Minho's heart falls to his ass. Chaos breaks out.

"Take off your jacket!" Hyunjin demands, eyes wide with amusement and suspicion, whipping toward Minho and all but tearing the zipper down to see what was under his warm-up.

"Stop, get off me!" Minho shoves at his hands, but Changbin is right behind Hyunjin, and Minho only has so many hands to fight them off with.

"Oh my God!"

There was no denying it: in the mess of the rush that the two of them were in that morning, their jerseys had gotten mixed up. Minho's face feels like it's melting off, and catching a glimpse of Seungmin's through the hands he's thrown up to cover his face, Seungmin is just as red as he is.

Minho's dick traitorously twitches in his gym shorts. Seungmin stands there, ears rosy and his face covered in blatant embarrassment, shoulders curled into himself. He turns away from Minho, trying to run away from the attention that's directed solely on him, and Minho swears his dick is trying to ruin his career, heat surging through him at the sight of Seungmin's back declaring L. MINHO sitting above a bold 1, his captain number.

Glancing down at his own chest, he's greeted by the number '8', and knows that on his back, under his jacket, is a white 'K. SEUNGMIN'.

"You two fucked again!" Hyunjin hisses under his breath, "You guys overslept because you two fucked!"

"Shut up!" Minho shoves him away, successfuly this time. "Do you want the whole stadium to hear you?"

It's probably too late for that. While no one else might be able to hear Hyunjin airing out their sex life, photos of Seungmin in his jersey have likely already been posted online. It was just a matter of time before the volleyball accounts have snagged up the scandalous story of prospective Olympic volleyball player Kim Seungmin donning the jersey of his college team's captain.

Minho tugs off his own warm up, walking over to Seungmin and wrapping an arm around his wrist to tug him off of the court and to the bathroom. He ignores the calls from the rest of the team asking where they're going this time, and the wolf whistle that Felix throws their way.

"We're so stupid," Seungmin whines, as he's pulled down the hallway, "I need to quit and move out of the country and change my name."

Minho rolls his eyes. Once they're in the privacy of the bathroom, he pulls Seungmin's jersey off and holds it out. Seungmin averts his eyes, blushing like he hadn't just seen Minho completely naked the night before. "Come on, take my jersey off too—we don't have time for you to act like a blushing virgin."

Seungmin glares at him, but does as he's told. "Whatever," He mutters, handing Minho his captain jersey. Minho tries not to stare at the bruises scattered on Seungmin's torso, the bruises he had left behind—declaring that Seungmin's spoken for. "You're probably into that."

Okay, well, Seungmin's probably not wrong. Minho shakes his head, shoving Seungmin toward the door once they're in their rightful jersey numbers, "Save it. We have bigger things to worry about."

-

They win the game in three straight sets. It's arguably the easiest win that Minho has had in years, and he walks off the court on a high that only victory gives him. They have a bit of time before their next game, and Minho is confident that they'll manage to win that one, as well.

That is, if he and Seungmin survive the interrogation that is waiting for them once they step foot into that locker room. It's silent as they walk down the hallway, and Minho feels like he's walking to his death sentence.

"So…" Jisung starts, once the door to the locker room swings shut behind the last of them.

Minho tenses, deciding that trying to change the topic was the best course of action here. He slides into captain mode as best as he can. "That was a great game. While it was an easy win, we need to stay focused and not let it get to our heads—yeah? Don't get cocky and think that the next game will be a breeze, too."

Everyone nods, but looks at him with these all-knowing gazes. Seungmin is staring at his feet, and Minho knows the others have picked up on it.

"Yeah, yeah, can we finally acknowledge the elephant in the room, please?" Felix asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Minho says, because he's an idiot.

The tension in the room is thick, and Changbin rolls his eyes so hard that Minho has to bite the inside of his cheek to refrain from telling him they were going to fall out.

"So you guys just switch jerseys for fun now?" Hyunjin asks.

"They got mixed up in our rush this morning. We were late." Minho waves a hand in the air.

"Late because you two had hate sex last night, didn't you? Fell asleep without setting an alarm, I bet." Jisung accuses.

Minho flushes, and Seungmin shifts awkwardly in place. "This is a wildly inappropriate conversation."

"You're not denying it!" Changbin points at him.

"Wildly inappropriate accusation, too, then."

"It's not an accusation if we know it's true, that's just an obser—"

"We have another game in an hour. We shouldn't be—"

"None of us are stupid, Minho." Chan cuts both Changbin and Minho off, "We're all adults here, so let's be honest with each other. You and Seungmin got it on last night, almost missed the game, but played the best either of you have the whole season."

"I—"

"Are you implying that we played better because we fucked?" Seungmin speaks up for the first time, head shooting up in disbelief, eyes wild and cheeks pink.

"Ha! So you guys did fu—" Jeongin slaps a hand over Jisung's mouth.

"The point is that whatever you guys decide to do off the court is your personal business, but seeing as it seems to be for the better of the team, just don't fuck it up. That's all." Chan finishes.

"There's nothing going on." Minho rubs his neck, feigning normalcy. "You guys are jumping to unfounded conclusions."

Seungmin's stare is drilling into the side of his face, but he refuses to let their gazes meet. As much as he enjoyed the previous night, getting involved in things with Seungmin more than he already has was dangerous. He still wasn't sure how he felt about the younger boy, conflicted between the remaining dislike gripping his bones and the seeds of fondness starting to grow in his heart, but he did feel confident that it was better left alone. He wasn't built for relationships outside of the one he had with volleyball, that much he knew.

The locker room falls quiet, no one wanting to continue to defend their points over the fear of it turning into a full blown argument. "Okay," Jeongin says finally, "I'm going to go fill up water bottles before our next game, then."

"I'll come with you." Felix stands up to follow him, even though they have a team manager who does this for them.

Jisung sighs, walking past Minho and patting him on the back. "Let us know when you're ready to be truthful, Captain."

Minho does what he does best, and ignores him and the title dripping in sarcasm. He ignores everyone, for that matter, creating a space for himself in the corner, stretching against the wall as he goes over plays and tries to get back in the zone. If they win this game, they'll move onto the quarter finals for this tournament. If they lose, they'll be back on the bus the next day with one less shot at making it to nationals. He needs to focus.

Minho can hear Seungmin whispering with Hyunjin on the other side of the row of lockers he's tucked himself behind, but he can't discern anything that they're saying. He's sure they're talking about him—he would be, if he were them.

-

The second game was marginally harder. The team they had gone up against had a strong offensive approach, breaking through their blocks and taking the initial lead in the first set. It was a back-and-forth until the end when Hyunjin unfortunately fumbled his jumpserve and the opposing team managed to pull ahead the needed two points. Going into the next three sets, though, it was clear that their opponents did not have the same stamina as Minho's team and that their offensive strategy was too heavily based on a select few players. Once they had figured that out, it was easy to take the lead back and essentially shut the other team out from scoring any points entirely, winning the game.

The universe took pity on Minho, too, and no one brought up The Incident (as Minho had decided to call it in his head) the rest of the night as they went out for a celebratory dinner and turned in early. They would hopefully be playing another two games the next day, with the final tournament being on Sunday if they made it all the way through. If the team played just as well tomorrow, Minho was sure that they'd be sticking around for the game on Sunday.

Seungmin and Minho return to their shared hotel room in relatively uncomfortable silence, staying just far enough apart that someone else seeing them wouldn't think they were walking together. While Minho had expected things to be awkward after The Incident, expecting it doesn't make living through it any easier. The silence in the hall is broken only by the beep of the hotel door unlocking.

They don't say a word as they get ready for bed, besides Seungmin muttering a quick apology when they almost run into each other in the doorway of the bathroom. Seungmin showers first this time, allowing him time to write in his Pochacco journal while Minho takes his turn. There's no fight this time when Minho flips the lightswitch, but he does lay awake for longer than he would ever admit listening to Seungmin's breathing fall into a steady rhythm.

Minho drags through his routines the next morning, though he's awake and moving at a reasonable hour this time. He doesn't speak at all to Seungmin, leaving the room without waiting for him to finish getting ready so they could go downstairs together. In the elevator, everything is a little off balanced though Minho wasn't sure why. He needed to get his shit together. This wasn't the time for a crisis.

"Glad to see you're awake on time this morning—and in your own jersey!" Hyunjin pats Minho on the shoulder when he joins their group in the lobby.

His tone is lighthearted, but Minho is in even less of a mood for teasing than he normally is, and shuts down any further jokes with a glare that could turn Hyunjin to stone.

The rest of the morning goes normally—they get on the bus, get to the stadium and start stretching. The team spends their entire warm-up slot on the court, and by all means, Minho should be more confident in their capabilities to win today's games with everyone on time and ready to go. And yet.

There was a nagging voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Chan that he just couldn't shake as they took the court for their first game of the day.

The first set goes by so fast, Minho isn't entirely sure what happened. The other team has the ball first, and the player serving had a jumping float serve that was so erratic, it takes Changbin five tries before he manages to actually receive the ball well enough that they're able to set up an actual play. Five points, lost to ace serves, right off the bat. It's a terrible start to a game, especially when Minho already feels out of sorts. They never catch up during that first set, and it sets the tone for the rest of the game.

Minho can't get out of his head as they lose that first, and then the second, set. Every ball that he puts up for one of the other boys to spike ends up either blocked or received by the other team. Even Seungmin can't get many good spikes in, and Minho entirely believes that this means it's his fault. Seungmin's been able to land hits with some of the worst sets Minho's ever seen, if he's not hitting well now, surely he's the one to blame.

The third set isn't any better than the first two. The entire team is discouraged and they just can't pull ahead. The other team needs one more point to win the third set and the entire game, and in a burst of desperate, nervous energy, Minho makes a grave mistake. He tries to dump the ball, tries to catch the other team off guard, hopefully give him and the other boys a little bit of confidence to make it through just one more set.

He makes it too obvious. Didn't realize they had a blocker focused solely on him. A dump, when executed correctly is deceptive and hard to counteract when all eyes are on the hitters. When the other team sees it coming, though, it's incredibly easy to put the ball back in the air or shut it out completely. The ball hits the ground on Minho's side of the court before anyone can even think about trying to bump it back up.

The whistle blows, the crowd goes wild, and Minho braces himself against his knees, panting for breath.

The season isn't over, this isn't their only chance to shoot for nationals, but Minho can't help feeling like he's thrown away their last shot.

Someone claps him on the shoulder. "Let's line up," Felix says, nudging him toward the net where everyone is waiting to shake hands with the other team.

Minho forces himself to stand, but he doesn't feel like he's in his own body as he lines up with the rest of his teammates. He's watching everything happen from outside his own being as they head back towards the locker rooms, trudging slowly through the hallway. He needs to turn on Captain Mode—knows he needs to try to cheer them up, share his wisdom and encourage them to do better for their next tournament coming up. He needs the reminder just as much as the rest of them that this isn't the end of the road for them yet.

It's hard, but he manages. Manages to lead a discussion on what went wrong and where. Manages to not blame himself (too) much for his botched attempt at a setter dump. Manages to change and collect his things without getting in an argument with anyone else.

The busride back to the hotel is melancholic, but not silent. He can hear Jeongin and Jisung talking in the seats behind him about some group project that Jisung was struggling with. Chan is sharing a set of headphones with Changbin, sharing thoughts about whatever track they were listening to quietly together.

He sits alone, closing his eyes and resting his head on the back of the seat, replaying the game in his head over and over and over again, trying to find every single instance in which he could have done something different—filing it away in one of the many volleyball folders in his head to help him improve.

Minho doesn't feel grounded in his body again until he's sat in his and Seungmin's shared hotel room, folding his clothes back into his duffel bag.

"Minho?" Seungmin asks, and it nearly makes him jump, "I… I was thinking."

Minho glances over lazily. Seungmin is sat on the end of his own hotel bed, bag zipped up next to him, wringing his fingers in his lap. He looks nervous, which isn't something that Minho has seen often. He's so used to Seungmin being snippy and quick with his remarks.

"That's surprising." Minho turns back to his duffel bag, but the jab falls short without him really meaning it.

Seungmin doesn't acknowledge it, either. He stays quiet, hesitating, and Minho sees him open his mouth and close it a few times out of his peripheral. "Spit it out, already."

Seungmin takes a deep breath. "I just… I was thinking about what Chan said in the locker room yesterday and… I don't know. Based on what happened today, maybe he's right?"

It takes a moment for Minho to even remember what specifically Seungmin is talking about.

"…whatever you guys decide to do off the court is your personal business, but seeing as it seems to be for the better of the team, just don't fuck it up."

Seungmin can't be implying what Minho thinks he is, right? There's no way that Seungmin is insinuating that they didn't play as well today because they hadn't fucked the night before. There's no way.

"I mean, and it wasn't like I had a bad time and would be opposed to it happening again, either," Seungmin continues. "So if us… you know… letting off steam helps us play better, maybe we should keep doing it."

So Seungmin is insinuating that.

"Letting off steam?" Minho decides to focus on that, rather than the actual conversation that Seungmin clearly wants to have, "You can't even say that he had sex or that we fucked?"

Seungmin rolls his eyes, "You're avoiding the conversation. If you don't want to, that's fine. But you don't have to pretend not to know what I'm talking about—don't be a coward."

Minho has been called a lot of things over the course of his life. A coward is not one of those things.

He rubs his face, exhausted. "Look. It's just that I'm not fully convinced that the way we play is affected by whether or not we got laid the night before. It had to just be a coincidence, and combining pleasure and the team is risky—especially considering my position as captain. You have to understand."

Seungmin doesn't immediately respond like Minho had expected him to. He listens, thinks about what he wants to say next, doesn't jump the gun.

"I do understand what you mean… But there's nothing I hate more than losing. If we can avoid losing by having hate sex the night before a game, it's a small price to pay." Seungmin curls his hands into fists on his knees, "I know you feel the same about losing. You need this team to make it to nationals this year more than anyone else."

Seungmin's right and it pisses Minho off. He hates admiting that other people are right. He does need to make it to nationals, more than anything right now. Hate sex—or at least, the semblance of it—would not be the worst thing he had to do to make it happen.

"Fine," Minho concedes. "We'll give it a shot again before our next tournament. But if we lose again, that's the last time we'll try."

Seungmin looks like he wants to try and argue his case more, but must come to the conclusion that this is the best response he's going to get from Minho giving the circumstances and pushes himself to his feet instead. "Great. I'm going to head down to the lobby and wait for the others, then."

Minho turns his attention back to his still half-packed duffel bag, letting Seungmin go in silence. He isn't sure that they've made the right decision, but he was willing to try nearly anything at least once if it would solidify their spot at nationals. He wouldn't regret it when they had that national champion title under the belt.

-

They put it to the test the following weekend. There isn't another tournament yet, but they're playing against a university from a few hours away. Minho invites Seungmin over to his dorm before the game, and almost backs out of the agreement once Seungmin's standing in his bedroom. There's something about Seungmin in an oversized grey hoodie and jeans in his room that tugs at his heart—something that's oddly domestic, romantic.

Seungmin sinks to his knees and any thought Minho had of calling things off are gone.

He comes down Seungmin's throat too quickly, losing his control once tears start streaming down Seungmin's rosy cheeks and he moans around Minho's cock.

Minho gets Seungmin off with a hand wrapped around his dick, his jeans and boxers tugged down just enough, whispering humiliating things into his ear.

Cleaning up is fast, and Seungmin dips out of Minho's dorm room with a sleazy grin, "Don't be late."

Minho throws a pen at him. "I should be saying that to you."

Seungmin's giggle echoes in Minho's brain long after the boy has disappeared down the hallway. He groans, shoving his head into his curled up knees. He needed to stamp out all of this weird tender emotions that were popping up before it was too late. This was hate sex—emphasis on hate—nothing more.

He sits there, conflicted. He wants to win today's game so intensely that his stomach twists in nausea over the thought of defeat. Every game they lose shrinks their chances of making it smaller and smaller. If they win this game, though, it will prove Seungmin's theory right. Minho and Seungmin will have to fuck before all of their other games or tournaments. He won't risk even the slightest chance of losing, even if, inherently, he's aware that this might just be coincidence.

Continuing to fuck Seungmin means letting this endearing, doting sentiment Minho has for Seungmin grow. Volleyball was evidence that when Minho became passionate about something, it was never casual. He's afraid that if this… thingwith Seungmin continues, he won't be able to be casual about it (or Seungmin) either. The thought is terrifying.

Seungmin is still somewhat of a nuisance in Minho's life. Even now, Minho isn't a fan of his work ethic or the way that he acted during the first few months of them knowing each other, but as he begrudgingly got to know Seungmin, his actions began to make sense. Minho can't deny that he's started to tolerate Seungmin, especially now that he's been granted permission to pull Seungmin over his knee and handle his bratiness how he sees fit.

He sighs, lifting his head out of his knees and resting it on the wall behind his bed. There's still time before their game. He should do a homework assignment or watch an old recorded set or leave early so he can squeeze in some extra practice before the game. Instead, he flops over onto his side, shoving his face into his pillow.

Who knew caring about things that weren't volleyball could be so exhausting?

-

They win.

It was a satisfying win—difficult enough to make Minho's muscles burn, yet easy enough that he stays calm and collected throughout all of the sets.

It also means that Seungmin (and by association, Chan) is right. They do play better when they've fucked before the game. He finds that he isn't disappointed by this realization, though he would never admit that to anyone else.

Minho avoids Seungmin the rest of the night, though. The team goes out for drinks, and Minho sits on the opposite side of the table, as far away from Seungmin as he can get. If Seungmin is upset by this, he doesn't make any attempt to move closer or start up a conversation. Minho expects someone to bring up the way they played—maybe make a comment about Minho and Seungmin—but the boys either have forgotten about their accusation or don't care enough to bring it up. It's likely the former, considering that with Hyunjin and Jisung being involved, there's always someone that cares for the chaos.

Maybe he's in the clear, making it back to his dorm room without getting swept up in a conversation with anyone about what potentially happened between Seungmin and him that day. He finishes his nighttime routine, and turns his light off, not even planning on scrolling through his phone before going to sleep when it dings with a text notification.

Kim Seungmin
So…
We won.

Minho groans, face much warmer than it was just a few seconds ago. He had never texted Seungmin prior to this, only has his number saved because he needed to as team captain. He debates not replying at all, but he has his read receipts on like an idiot and had already opened the conversation. He doesn't want Seungmin to have the satisfication of knowing Minho read the texts and didn't respond.

Me
We did
What about it

The text immediately changes from delivered to read, and Minho bites back a smirk at the thought of Seungmin sitting there with the conversation open, watching and waiting for Minho to respond.

…

He's doing the same exact thing. So what?

Kim Seungmin
I told you it would work.

Me
Dont get excited. it was a fluke

Kim Seungmin
Fluke or not, we both know you're not going to risk losing.
What's your schedule before our game next Saturday?

Minho doesn't like feeling like someone else has the upperhand. Especially not when said someone is Kim Seungmin. He ignores all of the warning signs as he types his response.

Me
Eager arent you?
Like a puppy waiting for his owner by the front door

Minho watches the read receipt change, watches the three dots indicating that Seungmin was typing pop up, then disappear multiple times. He waits to see if Seungmin will manage to come up with something to say—imagines him laying in bed, illuminated by his too bright phone screen, cheeks bright red.

Minho lets a few minutes pass, before putting Seungmin out of his misery.

Me
Ill let you know when to come over. Go to sleep

Seungmin reacts to the text with a thumbs up. Minho locks his phone with a satisfied smile on his lips. He sets his phone on his nightstand, and tries to get in a comfortable position to fall asleep in. He starts thinking about Seungmin, but that was no one's business but his own.

If they were doing this, maybe Minho could have a little fun with it.

-

Days blur together after the arrangement was set. Before every game, Minho and Seungmin met at each other's dorms, and they keep winning. The next tournament is in town, so there was no hotel room to share, but they still found their way in bed together. They place first in that tournament, one step closer to making it to the national championship. They just need to come out on top at the next tournament, as well.

Things don't change on the court or at practice, however. In fact, Minho swears that Seungmin was still finding new ways to piss him off. The only difference now is Minho is able to get revenge off the court. (Minho thinks that Seungmin is more annoying on purpose, now. Seungmin has to enjoy the "punishments" that Minho comes up with, there's no other explanation. He's still late to practice or leaves without helping clean up, even though he knows Minho will tie his hands and edge him to tears or spank him until it hurts to sit the next day.)

Minho's resentment for Seungmin fades quicker than he'd ever acknowledge. He doesn't know exactly when it happens, but one day Seungmin purposely ignores Minho asking him to run an extra drill with him, and instead of irritation, he only feels amused and excited at how he's going to discipline Seungmin the next time he gets him alone.

Seungmin stops leaving so quickly after they fuck, too. He sticks around, lays his head on Minho's chest and they talk—actually talk. Minho finds out Seungmin's favorite color and favorite band and tells Seungmin about his three cats. They share stories of high school and talk about the TV shows that they were watching. In a twisted sense of the term, they had become friends with benefits.

"How did you start playing volleyball?" Minho brushes Seungmin's still sweaty bangs from his forehead as they lay facing each other in his bed.

Seungmin's eyes widen in surprise, as if he never expected Minho to ask—which, to be fair, Minho never considered asking until recently.

"Oh, uh… I guess playing volleyball was so ingrained in me, that I never considered that there was ever a choice to not play." Seungmin shrugs with the shoulder he isn't laying on.

"What do you mean?"

"Both my parents played. My Dad played pro for a little, and my Mom was on a local team for years. I had grandparents and great grandparents who played too." Seungmin smiles a little, eyes fond as he recalls his childhood, "There are photos of me from when I couldn't have been more than a year old wearing my Dad's jersey. I would sit on the sidelines of every game with a family friend since before I could remember."

Minho watches Seungmin talk with bated breath. Sunlight is filtering in through the tiny space where his curtains don't fully touch, illuminating Seungmin's face in a mid-afternoon glow. He's never bothered to ask Seungmin about himself, personally, but something about the way he's talking about growing up and the light hitting his skin is making Minho feel things he hasn't ever felt before. "That's really cute,"

Seungmin blushes a little at the casual compliment, "It was always a part of my life, I've never known how to exist without volleyball as part of me. My parents never forced me to play, but it hadn't ever occurred to me that I didn't have to. It helps that I do genuinely enjoy it, but… I can't lie, I have had times where I wonder if I missed out on a different passion because I was too focused on what I felt I was born to do."

Minho hums in consideration, adjusting so his head is propped up on his hand. "That makes sense… you really lived the whole 'this is your dream' 'no, dad, it's your dream' thing, didn't you?"

Seungmin snorts a laugh, rolling onto his back to stare up at Minho's ceiling. "A little, yeah. But if I had ever followed through with those thoughts, I wouldn't have ever started coaching my mini league team and I wouldn't have met any of you guys. In a way, I'm glad I'm following my Dad's dreams."

Minho doesn't know how to respond. He thinks that Seungmin should follow his own dreams, but he doesn't know how to tell him that without sounding out of character or extremely corny.

"What about you?" Seungmin asks, "How did you start playing?"

"One of my moms signed me up for a kids volleyball camp when I was four or five," Minho shares, "I fell in love with the sport the second I picked up a ball for the first time."

Seungmin turns his head to look at Minho, and Minho has to think really hard about not gasping at the way his hair falls or how the sun causes his chest to glow. "That's really sweet. The thought of little Minho yelling at his classmates and setting balls."

Minho rolls his eyes, "I actually sucked for a really long time."

"What? No way!" Seungmin shakes his head, "You're insanely talented now, there's no way."

Minho flushes a little at the compliment and flounders. He doesn't want to be snarky, but it seems like his default setting sometimes. "It's called hard work, Seungminnie. I practiced more than any of the other kids because I wanted to be good—I wanted to win. I still do. If I have a moment of spare time, I spend it with a volleyball in my hands, and I always have."

Seungmin deflates at Minho's tone, shoulders coming up by his ears, looking chastised.

"Sorry." Minho pulls at his ear in embarrassment. "I didn't mean to imply that you haven't had to also work to be good at the sport. I can't help getting defensive when people assume that I was always as good as I am now. I've spent over two decades sweating and bleeding to be where I'm at now."

Seungmin relaxes a fraction, "It's okay. I haven't exactly given you a reason to assume anything otherwise, and I'm sorry for that. I guess it's true, too, that I haven't had to work nearly as hard as you have to be good at volleyball… but I don't want you to think that I don't care or that I don't want to win, either. This matters to me too."

Minho can't stop himself from reaching out and grabbing Seungmin's hand. It's too intimate for what they are, but it feels right. "I know." Minho interlaces their fingers, "And we're going to win. Both the tournament next week and the national championship."

Seungmin pulls their hands up so he can kiss the back of Minho's hand. Minho's entire body flushes bright red, and Seungmin grins at him. "Yeah, we are."

Something swirls in his chest. A feeling that he's only felt standing on the court, staring at the net ahead of him.

Fuck. Minho thinks.

I think I might be falling in love.

-

The realization hits Minho like a train. The initial impact is debilitating, and it gets worse as he thinks back on how he ended up here. It would be easy to pretend that his feelings for Seungmin were new, but he couldn't deny that he had been feeling the same way about Seungmin that he did about volleyball for weeks—if not months.

It was scary. Minho had accepted a long time ago that he likely wouldn't find any interest in romance or finding a signifcant other until he retired and volleyball wasn't in the picture anymore. He had never considered that he'd find someone because of volleyball—someone who felt the same way about the sport that he did. That would understand that volleyball came first.

Beyond that, though, it was scary because Minho knew that there was absolutely no way that his feelings were reciprocated.

While he still felt justified in the way that he had treated Seungmin, there was no way that Seungmin would see things from his perspective. In Seungmin's eyes, Minho was an asshole. Uptight, strict, and good in bed, maybe, but an asshole nonetheless. Even if things between the two of them had gotten better and they were mostly on amlicable terms, Minho wouldn't like himself if hewere Seungmin.

Minho thought it all over on his daily run, going the long way around campus, and came to a couple conclusions.

He liked Seungmin. He wanted to explore an actual relationship with him. Seungmin did not feel the same way about Minho. All of this was a distraction from focusing on making it to nationals.

Minho couldn't let himself dwell on the what ifs or potentialities. Him and Seungmin had gotten into this arrangement under the very clear expectation of it being no strings attached. It would have to stay that way. They have the final preliminary tournament this weekend and if they made it through, they would be slotted into nationals in a few weeks. There were a few games against other collegiate teams that they had scheduled between then and now, but the tournament and nationals were all that really mattered. After nationals, Minho could worry about what happens next.

Minho invites Seungmin over to his dorm the night before the last preliminary tournament, with the agreement that they'd carpool together the next day. They have dinner together from Seungmin's favorite ramen restaurant and Minho thinks very hard about it not being a date.

Back at the dorm, Minho makes Seungmin ride him until he comes messily all over his stomach. His legs give out as he tries to slide off, sensitive after his orgasm, causing the prettiest whine to rip from his throat and Minho loses control—holding Seungmin's hips down as he fucks up into him until Seungmin's coming again, tears streaming down his face, and Minho fills him up.

Minho gets Seungmin off again in the shower, sinking to his knees and letting Seungmin's dick fill his mouth, tiny enough he swallows around it easily. Minho holds Seungmin against the wall, licking around him until Seungmin's weakly gripping at Minho's hair and sobbing through a third climax.

Minho has to carry him to bed after that, tucking him into his preffered side and making sure the air conditioning was turned on to prevent Seungmin from overheating as they slept.

-

They arrive on time to the tournament the next day, alarms going off when they should and making it on to the bus without any obstacle. Minho is extremely confident going into their first game, feeling loose and level-headed.

Due to their placement at the last tournament, they were given a bye, and did not have to participate in the first round of games. Their opponent for their initial game was a team that they had played in prior years and had beat every time.

This time was no exception, they win in three clean sets moving onto the semi-finals.

The second team they play was a little bit more difficult, but Hyunjin and Jeongin figured out that their primary spiker was really only good at hitting cross-court shots, and after that it was easy to block them out. They managed to beat that team in three sets as well, moving onto the finals.

Their final game was the only game they played that went into a fourth set. Minho thinks that it potentially could have gone into a fifth match, but the team had swapped out their setter after what looked like a pretty gnarly twisted ankle. Minho couldn't help but wince at the thought, if he were in that person's place he would be inconsolable. The opposing team falls apart after the setter switched.

When the final whistle blows, signaling the end of the tournament and their finalized position in the national championships, Minho is beyond elated—blood rushes through his ears and everything begins to sound like he's underwater. The lights in the gym are so bright and everyone is moving in slowmotion around him as Felix collides into his side and begins to jump up and down, forcing Minho to move with him.

Minho catches Seungmin's eye and moves on autopilot. He doesn't know what he's doing, riding on pure instinct and adrenaline, but Seungmin looks so pretty under the flourescent stadium lighting. He's sweaty—so is Minho—with his bangs sticking to his forehead and beads dripping down his neck. He's grinning so wide that his eyes have turned into little squints as he laughs loudly at whatever Chan had just said to him.

When he opens his eyes, Minho is right in front of him. The rest of the stadium fades away, and suddenly it's just Minho and Seungmin standing on the court.

"Minho?" Seungmin asks, grin still stretching his lips.

Minho leans in, watching Seungmin's smile drop, lips falling into a pout.

Time slows to a crawl.

Seungmin turns his head at the last minute, causing Minho to bump his nose into his cheek instead of kissing him like he had intended.

The action shocks Minho out of the daze he had worked himself into. His stomach drops, his cheeks flush bright red, and he watches as Seungmin awkwardly steps back, pulling at his ear. "Ha, uhm—good game, captain!" Seungmin reaches out, patting Minho on the shoulder stiffly.

Minho is nauseous. He thinks he might throw up all over the sweaty, smelly gym floor. "Y-yeah. Great game. You did good." Minho stumbles over his words, wanting the floor to open up underneath him and swallow him whole.

Seungmin laughs uncomfortably again, and side steps Minho to join Changbin and Jisung's celebration happening behind him.

Minho is humiliated.

How could Minho have been so stupid? How could he have forgotten the fact that Seungmin didn't like him like that, embarrassing himself in front of so many people? Someone had to have caught the horrifying exchange, especially since more eyes were on the two of them since the unfortunate jersey switch up. He can already see the tweets theorizing a potential break-up of a relationship that had never existed in the first place.

Minho takes a deep breath, trying to center himself back in the moment and fight back the burning behind his eyes. Chan seems concerned, but doesn't ask what happened when Minho turned to him to try and get back into a celebrating mood.

He couldn't let this rejection ruin them making it to nationals.

This was everything he had worked so hard for. He should be over the moon—he was over the moon. A boy and some stupid feelings shouldn't have him feeling so sorry for himself all of the sudden, when he had just managed to get what he had wanted so badly.

When did things get so confusing? When did he let himself forget what was actually important to him?

In that moment, standing on the court and feeling simultaneously like he had just won and lost everything, Minho makes a decision.

He was going to end whatever thing was going on between Seungmin and him before Seungmin had the chance to. If Seungmin was going to humiliate him in front of hundreds of people—if things between the two of them were actually over, Minho needed to be the one to do it, for his own stupid pride.

He would do it when he got back to his dorm that night. Send a text, like an absolute asshole, because that's what he was, right?

At least in Seungmin's eyes, that's what he was.

He goes out and gets celebratory drinks and dinner with the team. Sits on the opposite side of the table from Seungmin, just like they always do, and pretends like nothing was wrong. Then, he goes home, and tries to draft his text.

He doesn't get very far before his phone dings with a new notification.

Kim Seungmin
Hey. Can we talk about tonight?

Leave it to Seungmin to try and beat him at this, too. Minho wouldn't—couldn't—let Seungmin win this.

Me
No need. I thought about things after the game and i think its best if we stopped fucking before games. Its become a distraction and i need to focus on winning nationals. Thats the only thing that matters to me and i can't let things get in the way of that.

Seungmin doesn't respond for a long time.

Minho can't blame him, and had expected this anyway. He wouldn't be surprised if Seungmin didn't respond at all or only bothered to react with a 'thumbs up' and leave it at that.

He wouldn't have responded if the roles were reversed.

Kim Seungmin
k.

k? k?!

That was it? That was all Seungmin was going to give him?

Minho bites the inside of his cheek. It's not like he deserved any more from Seungmin, not after how he's treated him. Breaking off a weird friends-with-benefits situationship over text was a grade-A asshole level move, Seungmin didn't owe him any type of response for being such a dick.

Minho had already known that Seungmin didn't like him the same way Minho liked Seungmin, but he didn't realize that Seungmin could feel so indifferent that all he would reply with was 'k'.

Minho locks his phone, swallowing around a lump in his throat.

Huh.

Where did that come from?

This was for the best. He knew it was. He needed to focus on the next few games, needed to have his head focused on volleyball and only volleyball until nationals were over. They needed to win, and he couldn't be distracted for that to happen.

Seungmin would understand eventually. He would realize that Minho had his best interest at heart when they had that trophy and Seungmin wasn't stuck with Minho's loser ass being hopelessly in love with him. He would thank Minho in the future, when he was an Olympian and not tied down to a casual fling from his freshman year of college. Seungmin would be glad, when he settles down and forgets all about Lee Minho—his asshole captain.

Minho was sure of it.

But that didn't make things hurt any less, as he rolls over to face the wall. He hadn't felt like this before, even when his teams had lost big games. He didn't know how to process the way tears stream down his cheeks without his permission or the way his heart felt like it had been torn clean in two.

-

The rest of the boys on the team don't say anything to Minho about what's happened, and Minho is a little surprised that Seungmin hadn't shared the details with them. Minho believes that the shift in dynamic has to be obvious. Going from the more lighthearted banter he and Seungmin had fallen into to suddenly not interacting at all had to be a shock to the rest of the team, as much as it was to the two of them.

Seungmin wouldn't even look at him during their practices, reverting back to showing up late and leaving the second practice ended, but Minho couldn't find it in himself to say anything about it. He didn't think he had the right to. What would he even say? He doesn't think any reprimand would come out the way he wanted. He was too afraid to open his mouth, worried that instead of scolding Seungmin, he'd end up demanding to know how Seungmin could be so okay after everything. Demand to know if what Minho felt was really that one-sided.

Worst of all, though, is the fact that their playing has clearly been directly affected by their quasi-break up.

Seungmin can barely hit the sets that he receives from Minho, and Minho fumbles nearly every pass Seungmin sends his way. Any progress that they had made on their chemistry on the court was gone. The way they were acting was worse than when Seungmin had initially joined the team and just his breathing had been enough to piss Minho off.

Minho feels like his playing overall is suddenly bad. He used to feel like the ball was an extension of himself, always within his control, but it had started to feel like he had grown an extra limb overnight that he didn't know how to move. Years of improvements seemingly gone in days. He stands on the court and plays like he's never touched a volleyball in his life.

Everyone else, including their coach, has to see it. It has to be painstakingly obvious that both Seungmin and Minho have suddenly regressed in their skill level. The only reason no one has said anything is surely because everyone is hoping that Minho and Seungmin will figure their shit out again and go back to normal.

Minho isn't sure he even knows what normal is anymore. Or if he even wants to go back to whatever normal was, either.

Despite knowing that Seungmin didn't feel the same way about him, Minho still wants him. He wants him in ways he'd never be able to admit to anyone, can barely even acknowledge it himself.

He wants to go on silly dates with Seungmin. He wants to get coffee together and go on walks while they hold hands. Wants to go to Seungmin's mini league games and cheer on his team with him. Wants to go home together, watch silly dramas and animes and talk until they have nothing to say anymore. He wants to know everything and more about Seungmin—wants to experience the rest of forever with him.

Admiting it to himself just makes him more upset when he knows there's no way that future would ever be something that Minho would get to have.

Instead, he hits serves into the bleachers and sends sets that go flying past his spikers.

For the first time in weeks, they lose a game.

Their spot in the national tournament may be solidified, but they still have more games scheduled with other universities until then, and losing those games is extremely unusual. Minho knows why they lost, and he knows everyone else does too.

Part of him wants to talk to Seungmin, but Seungmin obviously doesn't want to talk to him. He had his chance to talk after the last tournament, but he had turned Seungmin down. He doesn't get to demand another chance.

Besides, what would they talk about? They can't go back to having casual sex when nothing about how Minho feels is casual anymore.

As the team files off the court to head to the locker rooms, Minho sees their coach pull Seungmin aside.

He wants to know what they're talking about, but fights the urge to walk over and see what's going on. If it's important for him to know as captain, his coach would tell him, too.

Minho doesn't speak to anyone as he gathers his things, taking his time. He knows that the team, Jisung especially, wants to know what's going on—Minho's been ignoring texts from everyone for days—but Minho doesn't know how to explain things to them without feeling like an absolute idiot.

Seungmin walks in after most of the other boys have left, shoulders pulled up to his ears. Minho knows too well how anger looks on Seungmin, and stops on his way to the door. He hesitates, watching as Seungmin stomps over to his bag, debating on if asking about it will cause the other boy to explode or not.

He pushes the door to the locker room open, and steps out, almost running into Jisung, who's waiting outside.

"Jesus, you scared me," Minho presses a hand to his chest.

Jisung doesn't apologize, just grabs Minho by the wrist and drags him outside. "Ow, Jisung, what the hell?"

"Don't 'what the hell' me! What the fuck is going on with you and Seungmin?" Jisung demands, cutting right to the chase.

Minho freezes, entire spine going rigid. "I don't know what you're talking ab—"

"Please don't, Minho," Jisung's voice is so serious, Minho trails off immediately. "Don't act like we can't all see that something has clearly changed. You two were finally getting along! I thought you guys had gotten over your differences and became friends? Why are things worse than they were before? What happened?"

Minho twists his hoodie string around his finger anxiously. Jisung has been his best friend for ages, Minho's told him nearly everything, but something about admitting anything that's happened between Seungmin and him makes him nauseous. Telling another person that he fell in love with someone who would never love him back sounds worse than conditioning for hours in the sun.

"I just… we had a falling out." Minho mumbles.

Jisung sighs, rubbing his temples. "A falling out? Just a falling out? That's what's making you two act like you've never played volleyball before? Coach is threatening to bench Seungmin for nationals, you do know that, right?"

No, Minho did not know that.

"What?!"

"I only overheard part of the conversation, but that's why Seungmin was talking to Coach earlier. I'm assuming he's planning on putting Chan into the starting line up for nationals if you two can't get your shit together." Jisung shrugs, "Call me crazy, but I just don't think a simple falling out causes something like this, and with nationals in two weeks, maybe it's time you're finally honest."

Minho bites his lip, looking around as if someone (Seungmin) was going to pop out of nowhere. "Fine. I'll tell you, but not here."

Jisung rolls his eyes, but relents. "Come on, then,"

They find themselves in a ramen restaurant they frequented during their first years in college together. The place is familiar and there's an extremely low chance of anyone they know showing up, which eases Minho's anxiety.

"Alright," Jisung says, once they have their food in front of them, "Spill."

Minho only stalls for as long as it takes to swallow the bite he had taken. "So, um, Seungmin and I had settled into an… arrangement, so to say, before games. You know, casual, no-strings-attached, release some tension and we play better kinda thing. We weren't planning on becoming best friends or lovers or anything, but we did get to know each other better. He became… tolerable. It was going really smoothly until I, uh, I maybe, sorta, tried to kiss him after we won our last tournament."

Jisung, to his credit, manages to not look that shocked by Minho's admission. "Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?"

Minho looks at Jisung as if he had grown another head, "How on Earth would that be a good thing? He dodged the kiss, I totally humiliated myself, and I broke the whole no-strings-attached rule!"

"Maybe he just didn't want your guys' first kiss to be in front of everyone," Jisung points out, "Did you talk to him afterwards?"

Ignoring the fact that this wouldn't have been their first kiss—Jisung doesn't need to know all of the details of Seungmin and Minho's relationship—Minho must have given Jisung a look, because Jisung sighs and continues to talk, "I'm sorry, I'm really not trying to be dense, I just don't see how you finally reciprocating Seungmin's feelings led to this."

"I broke things o—what do you mean me reciprocating Seungmin's feelings?"

Jisung's eyes widen, and he sets his chopsticks down. "Minho. Minho, please tell me you didn't do what I think you just told me you did."

Minho's heart rate picks up and his face suddenly feels very warm. "I—I… He texted me that night asking to talk, but I convinced myself that I had ruined everything because clearly he didn't like me like that, so I, I broke things off. I told him that I needed to focus on nationals without any distractions."

Jisung drops his head into his hands. Minho can hear the scream he muffles into his palms. After a moment, Jisung lifts his head back up, bangs askew and cheeks red from the heat of his breath. "I am trying really hard not to reach across this table and throttle you. How you manage to be this dense is beyond me, but I guess I'll spell it out for you. Seungmin has had a huge crush on you since the day you two met."

That metaphorical train that had hit him when he had realized he had fallen in love comes to a screeching stop.

Seungmin liked him back?

"Yeah, you annoyed him, but he told me once he found it hot, which, ew. When you two started your arrangement, I had hoped that maybe you had finally come to your senses, but clearly you had not. Why would you break things off without giving him the chance to talk about feelings with you?" Jisung asks.

Minho clenches his hands into fists on the table. "I told you, I had convinced myself that he had rejected the kiss because there was no way he could possibly like me in that way, so I broke things off before… before I could get hurt worse."

Jisung hums, picking up his chopsticks again, "I guess I can see why you thought that, though I do think you're an idiot for not hearing him out at all."

"What do I do?" Minho asks, desperately.

"You go talk to him about your feelings, like an adult, before you fuck up all of our chances at winning nationals… and before you lose the one thing you love besides volleyball."

Minho swallows thickly.

Just a few minutes ago, he thought there was no way his feelings were reciprocated. He was still reeling with the information that Seungmin felt the same way, or at least did, and his heart breaks a little at the thought that he had ruined everything, for real this time.

Jisung was right, he needed to talk to Seungmin about this and put it all out in the open. No hiding or running away.

He knew that was going to be easier said than done, though, considering how Seungmin had been avoiding him since the tournament. He was going to have to figure things out before it was too late.

-

Minho did not have a chance to figure anything out before someone else took matters into their own hands. Given, he had talked to Jisung multiple days ago and hadn't made any attempts to talk to Seungmin since then. He was trying to work up the courage to do so, but feelings were new to him. He thought he deserved a little understanding from people here.

He knew something was up when he walked into the gym for practice, and Chan had already started running drills with the team. While it wasn't unusual for Chan to run drills, it was odd that they were all ready to go before Minho had even gotten there, considering Minho was on time.

"Oh, Minho! Would you mind grabbing the boxes of practice jerseys from the closet for me?" Chan asks.

Minho drops his bag by the bleachers. "Sure,"

"Hyunjin, go help him,"

Minho doesn't think he'll need help, but doesn't question it as Hyunjin jogs to the door of the supply closet. Hyunjin pulls it open for him, and Minho's barely taken a step in before he's roughly shoved the rest of the way and the door slams shut behind him.

"Hey!" Minho whips around, stumbling a little in the dark room, and tries to open the door.

They had locked him in.

"Hyunjin, what the hell?" He demands, "Let me out!"

"Sorry, Captain, I can't do that yet." Hyunjin apologizes, but Minho doesn't think he's sorry. "Not until you guys figure this out."

Minho isn't sure what Hyunjin means, because when he flips on the light, the closet is empty besides the brooms and sports supplies.

"How am I going to do anything if I'm locked in a closet?!" His voices raises signifcantly in pitch on the end of the sentence.

"Don't worry about it!" Hyunjin's voice fades as he must start walking away.

Minho sighs, pinching his nose. Hyunjin could have Enemy Number One back if he wanted it this badly. He sits heavily on a half broken chair that's shoved in the corner, it squeaks dangerously in response to the weight.

He has a feeling he knows what the team's angle is here—he's seen enough sitcoms and cheesy dramas to pick up on the cliché. Chances are they're going to shove Seungmin in this closet with him once he arrives, and refuse to let them out until they talk about things. In his defense, he was trying to get to that point anyway. Sure, he might be taking a while, but he was going to do it eventually. He swears.

Minho's theory is proven right when he hears Seungmin arrive. He hears Chan ask Seungmin the same question he had asked Minho, and Hyunjin offers to help. Seungmin asks where Minho was as they approach the door, but Hyunjin doesn't answer him.

Instead he pulls the door open, and roughly pushes Seungmin into the closet too.

Seungmin stumbles, catching himself on a shelf. At least Seungmin had light to see as he reoriented himself.

"Hyunjin, what the fuck?" He screeches, standing back up on his feet.

Minho doesn't know how Seungmin hasn't seen him yet, watching Seungmin tug on the door to no avail.

"We'll let you both out once you talk about your feelings! We are not risking nationals just because you guys are being cowards." Hyunjin's tone leaves no room for argument.

"Both of us—what?" Seungmin looks to the side, and finally sees Minho.

He startles a little, and Minho watches as he posture goes rigid and his face falls. "Oh."

"Hey." Minho waves a little, and immediately regrets it when Seungmin glares.

"This is just fantastic," Seungmin slides down the door to sit on the floor, knees pressed to his chest. "Exactly what I wanted."

"They'll let us out eventually… they just need to get this out of their system." Minho offers, but knows it's not comforting, "Besides… I, I don't know, I was thinking maybe we should talk."

"Talk about what?" Seungmin demands, scowling up at Minho through his eyelashes. "About hw I'm such a distraction that we can't even play properly anymore? How I'm going to ruin everyone's chances at winning nationals and Coach is about to bench me for it? Oh, how about how important this is to everyone else and how I need to get my shit together, because I'm clearly the only one who doesn't care about this? I think I already know everything you could possibly say."

Every word feels like a punch to the gut. Minho really fucked this up.

"No, Seungmin—that's not, I don't—" Minho stutters over what he's trying to say, not even sure where to begin.

"I get it. You've worked your entire life for this, you told me that, remember? And I told you that this was always expected of me, so I never knew anything else. I've thought about it, and maybe everyone is right." Seungmin had turned softer—sad, almost—as he spoke, anger draining until he was curled in on himself rather than tensed up.

"What… what do you mean by that?" Minho asks cautiously, part of him wanting to sink to the floor next to Seungmin and pull him into his arms.

Seungmin sighs, looking up at the ceiling so his head is resting on the wood behind him. If Minho didn't know any better, he would assume it was to prevent tears from building. There was no way Seungmin was that emotional over this conversation, though.

"Maybe this doesn't mean the same thing to me that it does to everyone else. I can't stomach the thought of being the reason why the team loses, I really can't. I know that I'd have another chance, but you and Chan and the others… who knows what will happen? If me being on the team is distracting you and will ultimately end up in a loss… I think—I think I should take a break from playing volleyball, is all." His voice cracks through the last sentence, his eyes squeeze shut.

Minho watches a tear force it's way out of his closed eyes, despite Seungmin's effort.

"I—I don't want you to do that." Minho whispers, not knowing what else to say, "Please don't do that."

Seungmin sniffles, and Minho's heart breaks a little. He opens his eyes, glancing over at Minho, forcing him to watch more tears stream down Seungmin's cheeks. He looks like a kicked puppy, and Minho is about to vomit. "I think I have to. Even if… even if I wasn't a distraction, I can't keep breaking my own heart like this, Minho. Every time I look at you, I can't help wanting what you don't, and I can't do that to myself or to you."

Minho sinks to his own knees, sitting right in front of Seungmin. "No, that's not—I need to explain. I was an idiot and I need you to listen to me."

Seungmin stares at him, eyes wide, arms wrapped around his knees.

Minho takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and reaches out to gently tug one of Seungmin's hands into his own.

"I want to apologize first. I haven't been nice to you, and I'm sorry. You didn't deserve to be treated the way I was treating you, and I thought you hated me for a while—I would have hated me if I were you. I didn't understand you, and I didn't bother getting to know you before making assumptions… and then we started fucking, and I did start getting to know you, and I couldn't ignore how I felt anymore." Minho squeezes Seungmin's fingers.

"Minho…"

"Please, let me finish before I lose the guts," Minho begs, and Seungmin nods quickly, "You are nothing like I thought you were. I was so afraid of my own feelings, I couldn't say anything to you. When I… when I tried to kiss you at the tournament and you turned away, I felt like an idiot. How could someone like you, like someone like me? Someone who had been nothing but mean to you since the day we first met? I was embarrassed and heartbroken, and broke things off because I thought you were going to."

Seungmin tears up again, laughing wetly, "All I ever wanted was your attention… I just—so much of our lives is going to be public if we persue being athletes, you know? I didn't… I turned away because I wanted to be able to keep somethings to myself, I wanted to have you to myself."

Minho's own eyes begin burning, and he swallows around the lump growing in the back of his throat. "I know that now, and I'm sorry for running away and for not talking to you. It's—I've just never loved anything other than volleyball before, and I'm not exactly sure how to go about loving something else. But I want to figure it out with you."

Seungmin's mouth drop opens in shock, "You love me?"

Minho burns red hot, letting go of Seungmin's hand to rub at his ear. "I… I think I do? I feel the way about you that I feel about volleyball, I know that."

Seungmin grins, cheesy and adorable, "Oooh, you like me so bad, don't you?"

Minho pushes himself to stand up, "No, I don't. I don't know what you're talking about."

Seungmin quickly stands up too, grabbing onto Minho's hand again so he can't try and escape, "I think I love you too."

Minho doesn't think twice this time, leaning in. Seungmin lets his eyes flutter close, tilting his head to meet Minho in the middle, arms coming up to wrap around his neck. Minho presses closer, cups Seungmin's cheek in his hand, and kisses him harder.

Everyone always compares kissing The One to fireworks or to the feeling of coming home. To Minho, kissing Seungmin felt like every victory he's ever had on the court. It feels like he's fought for five straight sets and the game is finally being called in his favor. It's heartracing and exciting and Minho wants to feel it again, and again, and again, forever. Now that he's had a taste of it, he won't be able to stop until he gets to experience it all over again.

Their kiss is broken by the sound of voices near the door.

"They've been quiet for a while, do you think they killed each other?" Jeongin asks.

"Probably." That's Hyunjin.

"Don't be stupid," Jisung scoffs, "If anything, they've made up and are fucking each other."

"Please don't fuck in our supply closet!" Changbin knocks on the door frantically, "That's so unsanitary, guys."

Seungmin flushes red, and Minho rolls his eyes, "Fuck off, we're not having sex." He calls. "Can you guys let us out now?"

"Have you made up yet?" Felix demands.

"Yes." Minho says, exasperated, "We're fine now."

"…Seungmin?" Chan asks, "You good?"

Seungmin grins, "Yeah, I'm great."

The door clicks, and Minho takes one more look at Seungmin. He fights the urge to lean down and kiss him again, but he doesn't trust the others to not burst in the room. "You're not quitting, then?"

Seungmin pulls away, reaching for the door handle, "You can't get rid of me that easy, Captain. Who else would annoy you on the court?"

Minho rolls his eyes, and Seungmin goes to exit, but Minho stops him. "Wait, what are you doing after practice today?"

"I was going to go home and do an assignment… why?" Seungmin tilts his head, and Minho can't help the puppy comparisons that pop up in his head—Seungmin makes it too easy to see the similarities.

"Want to get dinner?"

"Like a date?" Seungmin asks, a giddy look lighting up his face.

"Yeah, like a date." Minho nods, ignoring the way his hands are trembling by his sides, trying to play it cool.

"Only if you pay," Seungmin barters.

Minho sighs, as if this was a hard decision to make, "I guess. I'll pick you up from your place at 7:30?"

Seungmin brushes his bangs off his forehead, face tinting that shade of pink that Minho has come to love so dearly.

"It's a date." He nods, before finally twisting the door handle.

Minho fondly watches Seungmin leave, a little bounce in his step. He can't stop the victory fist he makes once the door swings shut behind Seungmin.

He had lost count ages ago of their wins and losses in the silly arguments they had been having, but Minho thinks that he's finally won.

-

Their team wins nationals. The final point won by Minho setting the ball to Seungmin and him slamming a cross court shot that zooms past the other team's blockers before they even have a chance to react.

Seungmin and Minho make their relationship public to the team that day, after deciding that getting caught making out in the locker room only has so many excuses before things become obvious.

They fall into a routine easily in the off season.

Minho walks Seungmin to class every day. They get coffee and have study dates in the library when Minho starts getting wrapped up in graduation preperations. Seungmin helps Minho practice for try outs for the pro team that he's finally decided on. They go on dinner dates and walk through the park holding hands and fall asleep on the couch together watching shitty movies.

(They fuck like rabbits, too. Minho can't shake the puppy thing. He blinks, and suddenly he's pushing into Seungmin from the back, a collar wrapped around his neck and fluffy brown ears pinned in his hair. Minho calls him a dumb puppy, and Seungmin comes so hard he cries.)

Hyunjin returns to the rightfully apointed Enemy Number One spot.

Minho finally feels like things are back to normal. He's just happier than he had ever been before.

(Minho makes it onto the pro team he had wanted. He's second string his first year, which is more than he could have ever hoped for. Waiting on the sidelines for his chance to play, a bold '10' on his back, he feels on top of the world. The feeling is only amplified when he attends Seungmin's first game of his sophomore year, and sees the same number stated proudly on Seungmin's back.)