where's the trophy? (he just comes running over to me)

And it was ridiculous, Joss knew, to like fighting someone so much when he gained nothing from it. But Gawin was… intriguing. Magnetic. His hands were claws around Joss’s neck, his words a trail of gasoline just waiting for Joss’s rage to burn them down — two predators only sated by each other’s incitement.
or
Joss is a basketball star, and Gawin Caskey is a pain in his ass.

Notes:

i started writing this a little drunk after Brazil won against Japan at the World Cup, and then I finished this out of spite. this story is very funny, and there's a lot of bad basketball in here because i suck at basketball, but the romance is alive. it was supposed to be shorter, but they just kept fighting and kissing and i couldn't stop it.
i hope you like this attempt at enemies to lovers.
um cheiro!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

February

The first time Joss met Gawin Caskey, he had just won.

Joss had been acquired by the Lycans, one of Thailand's biggest basketball teams, less than a year ago. The Lycans carried three consecutive wins in Thailand’s Cup and a ten-year drought without qualifying for the country's biggest competition. Joss’s name carried a promise of changing things when he signed the contract and left the Jaguars. He fit in easily on the team, and their teamwork only improved during the competitions they played in before the finals.

Joss had been in the line of decision then — had made the final score that secured the Lycans' qualification after so long. So it was only natural for his team to go out and have a drink at his favourite bar downtown — Joss still laughing, grinning the entire night. Still consumed by the adrenaline, by joy. By winning.

But a drink turned into two, then three, and then four, and it would’ve been fine if Joss hadn’t been a lightweight. He tried to warn Luke, tried to explain that I can’t, I’m bad at this, I swear I am, and Luke just laughed at him, called him a nuisance.

Said, “Come on, we’re celebrating!” and threw an arm around Joss’s neck, made him lose his balance for a second or two. Said, “We’re gonna be champions with you in the team, I’m sure we will be—”

And Joss was bad at saying no to people, and he was so happy, so why not?

Joss couldn’t say he knew every single name of the players on each team that qualified for the Cup, so he would never have guessed their biggest rivals would choose Joss’s favourite bar to have a drink, too, before training started all over again.

And Joss didn’t think about anything else but Pretty when he saw a man leaning against the bar, a drink in his hand while he nodded to the beat of whatever EDM was playing at the time. He didn’t think when he touched Luke’s shoulder to tell him he would be back soon, eyes trained on the man who was chugging his drink now, his long throat arching beautifully while he drank faster than Joss could ever process in his current state.

“Hi,” Joss said as soon as he found a place beside the prettiest man he’d ever seen in his life. He had long hair, the strands reaching his neck, a headband keeping his bangs away from his beautiful eyes — brown just like Joss’s, his eyelashes huge. He was tall, too, and Joss felt the tug of attraction like a thread on his lower belly. Pretty Boy raised his eyebrows in surprise, and Joss wondered if he knew who he was. He said, “I just— you’re very pretty. Can I buy you a drink?”

“A drink?” Pretty Boy inquired, a little frown between his eyebrows, and Joss wondered why he looked so confused. Weren’t people trying to buy him drinks all night when he looked like that? But then he huffed a little laugh, blinked once, twice, and tilted his head to the side with a smirk that made Joss blush. Just a little. Pretty Boy said, “Joss Way-ar Sangngern wants to buy me a drink, huh?”

“Oh,” Joss raised his eyebrows, jerking back. So Pretty Boy knew him. That wasn’t good. Joss let out an awkward chuckle, rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Pretty Boy’s eyes. He didn’t like flirting with people who knew who he was, not when things could get out of hand too fast when it came to scandals. He said, “Maybe we— I think we shouldn’t, so I’ll just—”

“You don’t even know how famous you are now, do you?” Pretty Boy said to him with his catlike smirk, looking like sin under the red light of the bar. Beautiful. Dangerous, too. He said, “Maybe it’s for the best, so you won’t cry so much from being humiliated at the Cup.”

And what the fuck.

Joss’s frown deepened, offended now, thinking who the hell this man thought he was to spew shit at Joss after he’d just won such a big game. And Joss knew people knew his name in the streets, knew he wouldn’t go unrecognised if he tried. But Pretty Boy was being rude on purpose, and Joss never liked to be on the bottom of the joke.

“And who are you again?” he asked, sneering before he could stop himself, too drunk now to remember about politeness and ignoring bad comments when he knew enough about himself. What a shame, Joss thought, looking the man up and down, already missing whatever they could’ve had that night.

But Pretty Boy didn’t seem intimidated in the slightest. His grin only grew, his eyes glinting like he was thinking of Joss as a challenge. He leant in then, pressing a finger on the exposed skin of Joss’s shirt — tracing it down to his abs when Joss didn’t stop him, when Joss’s breath hitched instead. He said, “I’m Gawin Caskey.”

And it took Joss a second or two to remember the name, to understand why he shivered immediately at the sound of it. Gawin watched him like a hawk, his expression turning so satisfied when Joss blushed, when he took a step back, away from Gawin and his hands and his intoxicating perfume. His pretty lips. Pretty neck.

Jesus, Joss thought, dizzy with too much alcohol and feelings all at once.

“God,” he said, huffing a laugh, embarrassed beyond repair now. Said, “Gawin Caskey. The Vipers. Of course it’s you.”

Joss’s biggest rival, so the internet kept saying. It was a classic, Black Lycans versus Feisty Vipers, and it’d been a few years since they last faced each other during a tournament. The Vipers had won the last Thailand Cup and kept on winning every single game since then. Joss knew everything about their beef — Luke had spent at least a day spitting venom against Caskey and Naravit, telling Joss stories of corrupt judges advantaging the Vipers and fights during scrimmages. Joss thought it was funny, then. He kind of understood now.

“Were you looking for me, sweetheart?” Gawin blinked sweetly at him, resting his chin on his hand to look at Joss through his eyelashes. Sarcastic and handsome. Joss was fucked.

“You wish, sugar,” Joss smirked, holding Gawin’s gaze. Joss wanted to face him as soon as possible, just to rub his victory right in his face. Wanted to swipe that conceited smirk from Gawin’s face with his fist. With his mouth. Joss raised an eyebrow, slightly dizzy, said, “You look like you’ve been watching, though.”

“One should watch one's prey before killing it,” Gawin retorted, too relaxed where he stood, too comfortable while Joss looked down at him. It was so very uncommon for someone not to feel intimidated by Joss — he knew his height, his eyes and his posture made him seem threatening; had heard the same thing over and over through his years. But Gawin was different. Interesting. He said, “And aren’t you a puppy?”

Joss felt himself tensing up at the provocation. Joss wasn’t easy to piss off; few things made him truly lose his temper, and when they did, it always involved his loved ones. But Gawin knew what he was doing — knew where he was pressing, talking about Joss’s passion like he wasn’t worth worrying about. And Joss wasn’t very happy about that. He said, showing Gawin all of his teeth in a cocky smile, “If you want a shoulder to cry on when we step on you during the Cup, I could always send you my email.”

Gawin’s eyebrows shoot up, seeming surprised by Joss’s shameless flirt — too many drinks deep to feel anything but brazen for too long, even if he was flirting with an asshole like Caskey. Gawin hummed, everything about him so catlike, and Joss knew he wasn’t supposed to be playing so much with such a sly creature, but he had no idea how to stop now. And Gawin took a step forward, getting too close, their chests brushing, his head tilting up just a little, just so he could look Joss in the eyes. Joss felt their height difference like honey on his tongue.

“Only if I cry?” Gawin murmured just for Joss, the echo of his voice getting lost in the music, the beat pumping with the rapid pulse in the vein on Joss’s neck. He said, his nose brushing Joss’s nose, “Then don’t expect to see me again, Joss Way-ar.” His hand slid to Joss’s shoulder, to the back of his neck — up, up, his fingers sliding into Joss’s hair, his nails scratching his scalp just once, just enough to make Joss shiver. When Gawin closed his fingers and pulled, Joss did nothing but let him, watching the flicker of anger shining in earthy eyes. Gawin said, “You may be everyone’s darling now, but it never lasts,” and sneered, tightening his grip when Joss held him by the neck, rage lightning through his body like a wildfire. Their foreheads were almost touching from how close they were, their breaths hot and heavy in the space between their mouths. Gawin whispered, dragging the tip of his nose along the bridge of Joss’s nose, his teeth against Joss’s cheekbones, all heat and spite, “You’ll never be worth the fight.”

Joss felt a pang of pain from how hard he was clenching his jaw, his mind clouded. Gawin did nothing about Joss’s hand on his neck, but Joss could feel him wetting his lips against his cheek, could hear the wet parting of his mouth very close to his skin. He turned his face, made Gawin look at him with a hand on his jaw. Their foreheads knocked when Joss pulled him closer by the neck, Gawin’s arrogance melting into something sharper, his eyes all fire, his perfume sliding down Joss’s throat like gasoline. Joss snarled, throbbing everywhere, “Say it again, Caskey.”

Instead of backing away, Gawin flashed his teeth, like he’d finally gotten what he’d been looking for. He said, loosening his grip on Joss’s hair, dragging his fingers through the knots he’d made, “Oh, don’t take it so seriously.” And laughed at Joss’s unimpressed stare, tapped Joss’s hand twice for him to let go of his neck. He took a step back, then another. Joss followed him with his eyes, unmoving. Gawin hummed like he was pleased by the attention, like he had Joss right where he wanted. Joss’s anger spiked just a little more. Gawin said, “Maybe—” getting the new drink the bartender had placed on the counter, taking a sip, staring. Joss had no idea how much of their little banter people had seen. Gawin said, “—You should prove me wrong,” taking off his headband, his bangs falling on his face like a cascade, and Joss wanted to pin him against a wall — had no idea what he’d do after that. He stepped closer again just to pull Joss down with a hand on his neck, just to murmur in his ear, “This drink is on you, since you asked so nicely.”

Gawin left with an air kiss, with a wave and a grin, and Joss decided right then he hated Gawin Caskey with everything he had. He went back to his team’s table, telling himself his heart was only beating so hard because he was angry, his face flushed because he hated every second of Gawin’s hands on his neck, in his hair. Hated Gawin’s mouth on his cheek, and his perfume stuck on his nose, and how nicely they fit against each other.

“Bro, what happened?” Luke asked as soon as he caught a glimpse of Joss, dishevelled and too serious for a bar. “I saw you and Caskey fighting. Good job not punching him in the face with how annoying the guy is.”

Joss nodded once and felt his world spin a little too fast. He was tired, and confused, and more than a little nauseous, and nothing could ever comfort him as well as his bed. Gawin was still all over him — his taste on his throat, his smirk on the rage burning behind Joss’s ribs. His teeth on his skin. Joss rubbed his face, groaning, and said, “Fuck,” and it sounded just as miserable as he felt. Said, “Fucking— God, Luke, I just met him. I just met him and I—”

Want him.

“Hate him,” Luke completed for him, tapping his shoulder in sympathy, offering Joss his half-empty bottle of water. Didn’t know if he wanted to correct Luke when he was right, too. He hated Gawin. But also—

“Yeah,” he breathed, rubbing his eyes and his temples, swearing at himself for drinking so much. Hating already the hangover he would have in the morning. He took the bottle from Luke’s hand and downed it in three gulps, aching everywhere for so many different reasons. He said, “Look, I’m leaving. I’m drunk, and I need to sleep.”

“No. No, come on!”

Joss had to spend five more minutes convincing Luke that he would stay longer next time, that he really needed to sleep, or he would wake up too sick. He didn’t look for Gawin when he left, and he didn’t think about Gawin again until he was under his sheets, his head thudding, his world spinning with his eyes closed.

Joss passed out almost instantly, too drunk to avoid getting knocked out. But he could feel. Could feel the whisper of a hand in his hair, the gentle caress of a voice in his ear telling him to prove me wrong, sweetheart, a nose on his nose. In Joss’s palm, the press of an Adam’s apple was moving where he was holding a long neck, the hitch of a breath when Joss pulled. And everything smelled so good, felt so good. Joss was burning with the need to wrestle with him on the floor, with the need to hold a pair of arms above his head when he won. With the need to have him sitting on his lap, forcing Joss down with a hand on his cheek.

In the morning, Joss woke up too hungover and grumpy to take care of the mess inside his pants. He threw up twice and spent the rest of the day trying to sleep off his migraine and didn’t think about Gawin again.

March

They met again at the exhibition games during the summer.

Joss had been so tired, training like a man obsessed, because there was a lot of pressure on his shoulders now that people knew his name. During his time with the Jaguars, Joss couldn’t really show his abilities the way he wanted, always fighting for his place on the court instead of on the bench, always trying not to go insane from how much the coach seemed to undervalue him.

Now, with the Lycans, Joss had a reputation to keep. He had to work harder, be better, try again and again to be great. Greater. Which meant he wasn’t sleeping very well.

So, his temper wasn’t the best when they faced the Lions — his passes a bit too forceful, his dribbles ringing in his ears, his body unmoving whenever someone tried to block him, his spin moves working each time he tried. But his shots were flawless, and the Lycans won in the end. Joss felt more than a little on edge, and Luke was laughing at his stern face, saying—

“I can’t believe you just won a game out of rage,” laughing, forcing Joss into a hug because he was a nuisance. But it worked, eventually, and Joss huffed a laugh at his friend, pushing him away with a hand on his forehead.

And Joss knew the Vipers would play there on the same day, knew their game would happen just three hours after the Lycans. And still, Joss was surprised when he found Gawin on his way to the lockers, talking to his teammate.

“Joss Way-ar!” Gawin exclaimed, his eyes lightening up with the same mischief Joss found in them a few months ago when they first met. Joss had to swallow his urge to sigh, too tired to deal with whatever Gawin’s wicked little mind would try to come up with. But Gawin said, “Great game out there.”

Joss raised an eyebrow at him and waited. A beat. Two. Gawin had a smug glint in his eyes, his smirk unmoving, and Joss had no idea if he was trying to get on his nerves or just being sincere. Joss hummed, said, “Thank you,” and nodded at Gawin’s teammate before finding his way to the lockers again.

And Joss tried, he really tried not to think about Gawin under the steam, tried not to think about his long hair brushing his neck, or the little bruises on his beautiful mouth, a little redder now, probably from biting it. Maybe a habit of his, sinking his teeth into the softest of his bottom lip, biting the skin until it bled. But Joss didn’t care, and he didn’t think about that. He had a normal shower, and he didn’t blush or have to fight the tug of arousal below his navel. He washed his hair, cleared his mind and didn’t think of Gawin’s arms again.

Later, Luke offered to pay for his dinner since he thought Joss was trying to kill himself and someone has to take care of you, I swear to-, so he accepted. Luke went to his girlfriend’s house after, and Joss wasn’t ready to get home and stare at the ceiling trying to fall asleep, his body still buzzing with unspent energy, and if he wouldn’t sleep, it was better to work.

But life had never been gentle with Joss, and peace was a made-up concept, so he couldn’t say he was surprised when he found Gawin dribbling on the empty court, scoring easily without competition. And knew he should’ve just left. He didn’t need to go through another uncomfortable conversation with Gawin Caskey, not when his migraine would kill him as soon as he got home because Gawin never failed on pissing the shit off of him.

But Joss’s pride was still a little hurt, and Gawin had asked him to prove him wrong. So why not?

“Wow,” Joss said, startling Gawin enough to make him miss the hoop on his next shot. Joss smirked, pleased, and said, “You’re so good when there’s no one around.”

Gawin watched him with an annoyed frown, so different from his usual smug fucker face, the discomfort clear on the shine of his eyes, on the downturn of his mouth. Joss flashed him a satisfied grin and took advantage of Gawin’s unguarded posture, managed to take the ball from Gawin’s hand before he could fight him, dribbling it behind his back so Gawin couldn’t get it back.

‘You’re cute,” Gawin told him, looking at Joss up and down, his usual smirk growing again on his face. Joss frowned, losing his defensive posture, and Gawin took advantage of it — recovering the ball like lightning. He said, dribbling the ball on the ground, wiggling his eyebrows like a dork, “But I don’t like being interrupted.”

Joss felt the tug of annoyance on the back of his teeth and took no time to block Gawin, to try to get the ball from his hands. But Gawin was faster — he dribbled the ball through his legs and spun before Joss could stop him, the ball falling flawlessly through the hoop.

“You’re easily distracted for a basketball player,” Gawin commented, getting the ball back, waiting for Joss to react. There were strands of his hair clinging to his face, body shining with sweat, and Joss wondered how long Gawin had been there, playing after such a difficult game against the Bulls. When Gawin tried a crossover, Joss was faster, taking him by surprise and getting the ball again. Gawin seemed pleased, his smirk turning into a real smile as he met Joss’s tricks with a few of his own.

They were good together. Gawin was fierce. His moves were elegant, whereas Joss’s were aggressive, his agility compensating for what he lacked in his defensive stance. Joss found himself working hard to score against Gawin, trying to swerve from his guard, trying to block his dribbles, his shots. Between one score and another, Joss found out he was having fun. He liked the burning feeling inside his chest from the lack of air, liked the pain in his muscles from bumping into Gawin, from the effort to get past him, his body tense while he tried to foresee Gawin’s next move. And Gawin was sweating too, his skin sliding against Joss’s own drenched body with every move they tried against each other, his face stuck on a concentrated frown since they began their little game.

And Joss knew Gawin was studying his game — he’d been doing the same, watching where Gawin lacked, where he overpowered Joss’s abilities. Where they could complement each other if they were in the same team. He could see Gawin covering for him in a game together, passing the ball to Joss so he could score without anyone guarding him. But Joss liked the rivalry of it all a little more — was obsessed with their push and pull, with their forced changing in tactics at the last minute of a blocked move. It was addicting watching Gawin struggle to fight him, to break through Joss’s fortress of a body, his hands and his feet working hard to win.

It was a draw at the end. Joss collapsed to the ground, overheated and aching in all the right places, exhausted after such a long match. Joss felt satisfaction like a lick on the back of his teeth, the rapid rise and fall of his chest almost comforting. It felt nice to let out some steam after being so stressed the entire month, and his brain finally calmed down.

“You’re not half bad,” Gawin mumbled out of breath, sitting on the floor next to Joss, his head thrown back. Joss caught himself staring at the long line of his neck again, wondering how it would feel to sink his teeth into his skin. When Gawin looked at him, his lips were parted, and his cheeks were flushed a beautiful shade of red, the flash of white teeth enough to make Joss a little dizzy with something he couldn’t bring himself to name. Gawin huffed a laugh when he caught Joss staring, said, “That was fun.”

“A compliment from you?” Joss deadpanned, turning his face away from Gawin’s knowing look because he was a little pleased by it, even though the praise sounded like an insult. Maybe that was just Gawin Caskey’s charm. Joss closed his eyes, his two hours of sleep finally catching up to him. He said, “I’m touched.”

“Mm, don’t get used to it,” Gawin grumbled, and it sounded half-hearted enough to make Joss smile for him.

And maybe Joss was too tired to be talking so freely with someone he claimed to despise, but he was happy and content after so long, and maybe it was okay to tell Gawin that— “We’d be a good team.”

Gawin raised his eyebrows and studied Joss for a long time.

“Mm,” Gawin hummed, and Joss knew he was moving before he could open his eyes, his body still too aware of Gawin’s movements after their game. When Joss looked, Gawin’s face was hovering above his, looking as cheeky as always. Beautiful. His eyes were a little tired, but still so full of heat, still alive enough to poke at Joss. A sick pleasure of his, Joss assumed. He said, “Do you want me now, puppy?”

And Joss knew it was just provocation. Had understood by now how much Gawin liked to fuck with him. Was accepting slowly how much he liked to bother Gawin, too, to press his buttons until his petulant attitude melted into anger and defiance. He liked the glint of mischief in Gawin’s eyes, liked the coat of venom that shrouded his every word. And it was ridiculous, Joss knew, to like fighting someone so much when he gained nothing from it. But Gawin was… intriguing. Magnetic. His hands were claws around Joss’s neck, his words a trail of gasoline just waiting for Joss’s rage to burn them down — two predators only sated by each other’s incitement.

Joss liked it, he realised, watching Gawin up close, a few strands of his long hair falling off his headband, clinging to his perspiring forehead. Anticipated their quarrelling with every interaction.

“I always want you, darling.” Joss blinked cutely at him, knowing full well he looked ridiculous, his smile annoyingly sweet. And still, he didn’t expect to see Gawin’s eyes lighting up. Didn’t think he would watch his conceited smile turn into something easier, something realer, his mouth opening before Joss could prepare himself for the blow, and then— then he laughed. His head fell on his shoulder, and his nose scrunched up, and he was laughing hard enough for his face to get a little redder, and Joss felt everything inside him move, and—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

“You’re laughing,” Joss murmured like an idiot, still dazed by the sight, watching as Gawin ran a hand over his face, swallowing his smile immediately. Joss narrowed his eyes and pointed an accusing finger at him and said, “Don’t even try. I heard it.”

“It’s nothing. You just looked ridiculous.” Gawin brushed it off, pulled away from Joss and took his headband off to run his fingers through his messy hair. He frowned at Joss’s expression and said, “Don’t look so pleased. You’re not that funny.”

Joss tsked at him and sat up properly on the floor. Said, “And you still laughed.”

Gawin hummed, dismissive, and got up from the floor. He got his water bottle from the bench and downed it in one go, his throat working with each gulp. Joss put his hands behind himself and threw his head back, closed his eyes again, feeling their distance like a blow of winter. Gawin always knew how to destroy a good moment. Joss would have to get used to that, too.

Their silence stretched long enough for Joss to think he was alone again. But when he opened his eyes, Gawin was staring at him, his bag on his shoulder, his eyes burning with something different from his usual rage. Joss felt the whisper of it slide down his body like the ghost of a finger.

“Good luck next time,” Gawin told him, still staring, his grip on the strap of his bag tight enough to show the strain of his bones. He said, “I won’t let you win again.”

He left before Joss could respond, and Joss had no idea how he felt. Angry, because Gawin was petty and unfair and ridiculous because they played fair, and their game was so real, so brutally alive. They were good together. Good against each other. But Joss also knew Gawin was just being mean because he knew. Because he felt it too.

Joss closed his eyes again and laughed. Felt his tension liquefy into a wave, into a cascade that carried a name.

Next time, Joss promised himself, he would bring Gawin Caskey to his knees.

May

The next two months were spent in deep focus.

The Lycans had their first match three weeks after the exhibition games, and Joss spent an entire week fighting a migraine after they beat the Bears. He tried to show up to training, but his coach expelled him right after he threw up in the loo, saying he’d better not show up on court until he got better or he would get benched for the entire season.

Joss knew when to obey the rules, so he went back home and slept for hours, took his medication, and slept some more. His mother had to check on him twice a day to make sure Joss was eating properly, which he wasn’t, and to make sure he was drinking enough water after throwing up his organs down his toilet.

It was hell, and he felt miserable and useless, and his only comfort was his weighted blanket and his plushie — a mix of a penguin and a bear that he’d come up with as a child and that his brother had gifted him for his tenth birthday.

He’d received the email on the third day, when his head finally stopped throbbing so hard he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He was lying in bed, scrolling through his notifications, his blanket thrown over his head to shield him against the light of the day, when he read the name of the sender. Joss frowned hard enough to aggravate his migraine just a little more.

From: Gawin Caskey <[email protected]>

Sent: Tuesday, May 12th, 8:45 PM

To: Joss Way-ar <[email protected]>

Subject: where art thou, darling

Dearly Detested,

I happened to go to training today and heard from your teammates that you were sick. How nice it is to know you’re falling behind, though you never did come close to my greatness at this job we call ours. It pains me a little; you were quite entertaining to be around.

I hope you don’t die so young. It’d make me a little sad not to piss you off anymore. And since you offered your email so nicely when we first met, I thought I’d send you a message to cheer you up since you’re the one crying.

Get better soon, darling. It’s not as fun training with the Lycans when I can’t watch you lose to me.

Kindest regards,

G. Caskey.

Joss read the email twice to believe it was really there. Then he laughed, and laughed, and worsened his migraine, and he couldn’t stop for long, painful minutes. Fucking Gawin and his innumerable ways to bother Joss, even when he wasn’t there. And Joss was in too much pain when his laughter started dying, but his body felt lighter than ever, his pained groans getting cut off by a chuckle whenever he remembered Gawin’s words.

He had to sleep off the worst of his migraine after, but it felt worth it. It felt nice to know Gawin missed him. That Gawin thought about him, too.

When Joss finally responded, his crisis had finally receded, and he could feel like a human being again. He ordered a huge piece of steak, sat on the floor of his living room, and began to write.

From: Joss Way-ar <[email protected]>

Sent: Friday, May 14th, 1:33 PM

To: Gawin Caskey <[email protected]>

Subject: wait for me, i’m coming to you

My Significant Bother,

You never once won against me, and I think you should see a doctor to treat your hallucinations. Maybe we should blame your huge ego for that.

I want to inform you that I feel better and am, in fact, not dying young. I know your wicked heart would never bear the pain of never seeing my handsome face again, or not having your ass beaten by me on court. It is very nice, though, to know you miss me when I’m not there to try and choke you to death. I hope I have the chance to again, so you can learn to be good for once.

You can smile once again, sweetheart. You’ll see me very soon.

Falsely,

Joss Way-ar.

But when they met again, they weren’t on the court, and it didn’t start as nicely as Joss expected.

Joss wouldn’t even go to the birthday party, not when he felt so tired and sore from training from five in the morning to eight at night, their next game getting closer and closer. It was becoming serious now — they had to win against the Yolos, and Joss knew very well how good they were. Had faced them when he was still playing for the Jaguars and had lost at the very last minute. It was a pain to get over, and Joss would never go through that frustration again. This time, the Lycans would win the Cup. He was sure of it.

But Boom knew how to be dramatic — had whined at Joss on the phone about how he never showed up anymore, how he couldn’t even remember Joss’s face from how long it had been since the last time they hung out, and it’s my birthday, your heartless bastard, the least you can do is come and hug your friend, you have to—

So, Joss showed up at Boom’s house at ten p.m., sleepy and tired. But Boom beamed up as soon as he caught sight of Joss across the room, ran to him and hugged him so hard Joss melted a little, kissed Boom on his forehead and whispered a soft happy birthday in his hair.

“Oi, don’t steal my boyfriend now,” Aou said, hugging Boom from behind, narrowing his eyes at Joss. Joss tsked at him, flicked his forehead and pulled him by the arm to hug Aou, too.

“I’ve missed you too, don’t be jealous,” Joss told him, dragging a finger on Aou’s cheek, blinking cheekily at him.

Aou sighed dramatically, a hand on his heart, and Boom rolled his eyes, tired of their same bullshit. They’ve been friends for years now, and it was always invigorating to hang out with those two, even if they were full of energy, whereas Joss was a little slower. Joss missed it. Missed saving time to just meet his friends and talk shit.

Boom dragged them to the backyard, where the party was in full swing. There was good music playing, a table full of food Joss should definitely avoid eating, and everyone had a drink in hand. Joss greeted his friends, apologised for going missing for months, and had to laugh it off when they started calling him the heartthrob of the season. He didn’t really like the title, but Joss couldn’t say he truly minded either.

It was close to midnight when Joss found him.

Joss was already going home after spending a moment trying to explain to Boom that he was too tired to stay, that he had training in the morning that he couldn’t miss. Boom finally let him go after making Joss promise he would show up at their next gathering, after making him promise to pay for an entire round of drinks. He took his coat from Boom’s bedroom, and he was about to leave the room when someone bumped into him.

“Fuck,” Joss wheezed, crouching down to touch the man’s shoulder since he had a hand on his belly, his face down, groaning in pain. Joss hissed, guilty as fuck, “God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect to see—”

“Fuck, you’re a fucking brick wall,” Gawin swore at him, raising his head to glare daggers at Joss, his face twisted into a pained frown. And it had been… a while. Gawin’s hair was shorter now, no longer being held by his headband, his bangs falling freely over his forehead, over his eyes. He looked a little younger like that, less like a prince about to be coronated. Pretty, still, as he always was.

“You just fucking— appeared out of nowhere.” Joss frowned, too tired to deal with Gawin’s pettiness or with his stupid heart that kept missing a beat every time his eyes landed on his rival. Gawin groaned, rubbing his hand on his chest, and Joss felt a little bad. He said, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Gawin grumbled, tapping Joss’s arm to make him get out of his way to get his own coat. He looked a little stressed, too, and Joss wondered if Gawin had been dealing with the same pressure as him. Wondered if he would ever open up to Joss if he gave him the space.

And Joss knew it was stupid, but he mumbled, “You seem stressed.”

Gawin looked at him, and his frown only deepened, his mouth curving downward in a way Joss had never seen, like he was too offended to pretend to be annoying. He said, “Well, that’s what happens when you’re trying to win the fucking Thai Cup,” and his tone was harsh, dripping with poison, and Joss knew he wasn’t done. Knew whatever came out of Gawin’s mouth would send him into a rage fit. And Gawin only proved him right when he said, teeth bared, “You might be used to losing, but some of us aren’t that accepting.”

Joss’s mood soured instantly. Gawin was childish, and he knew how to make Joss feel petty, knew what would set him off. But it was Joss’s friend’s birthday, and he wouldn’t ruin his entire day by giving Gawin the attention he wanted. And speaking of—

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” Gawin frowned, raising an eyebrow. “Boom’s my friend. We’ve been friends since childhood.”

Joss frowned at him, taken aback. It wasn’t— possible. If Gawin was Boom’s friend for that long, that meant their paths had crossed before, and Joss was sure, he was sure he would never forget—

“Boom’s been my friend for years,” Joss said, searching for a sign that Gawin was lying on his face. Asked, “Why haven’t we met before?”

And maybe it was the wrong thing to say, because Gawin’s eyes only darkened, his frown deepening. He looked at Joss for a moment too long, too many emotions passing on his face for Joss to catch the meaning of at least one. Then, with a blink, it was all gone.

“Because god wouldn’t punish me twice,” Gawin retorted irritably, bumping his shoulder against Joss’s on his way out of the bedroom.

And Joss should be better than this. He was older, and he should’ve learnt how to deal with his temper by now, but Gawin was so fucking frustrating, his attitude too much for Joss’s tired brain to bear under so much pressure. So Joss wasn’t really thinking when he grabbed Gawin by the arm, when he got a little too close to Gawin’s personal space.

“Why do you hate me so much, huh?” Joss asked, watching the twitch of irritation on Gawin’s brow, his arm tensing under Joss’s palm. But Joss was so confused. He had never felt so confused about someone else, and he needed answers. He needed to know why. He said through clenched teeth, “You’ve been acting out since we met, snapping at me just to get on my nerves, and I just— I don’t understand you, Caskey. You flirt, and you send me emails, and then you spit on me like I’m just dirt on your shoes. So what’s your fucking deal?”

Gawin’s eyes flared, and Joss could almost taste his ashes and flames on the back of his tongue. Gawin gripped his shirt and pulled Joss closer with a sharp tug, their faces too close to look casual, to pretend they weren’t about to unmake one another.

“My fucking deal,” Gawin echoed, his voice strained with his anger, his fingers tightening on Joss’s shirt. “It's that I’ve been working my ass off for years. I’ve been working for fucking years to be where I am, to be good. And then you come in like you’re a fucking king, like you’re so nice and handsome, and people can’t help but fall at your feet. And you like that, don’t you? I know you do, Joss Way-ar. You can fool your idiots, but you can’t fool me.”

Joss felt the throb in his head before he could stop it. He gripped Gawin’s arm a little harder and stepped closer — closer, until Gawin’s back crashed into the door, the noise of it closing harshly too loud in the silent room, their breaths ragged in the little space between their faces. Joss couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so angry. Gawin was so fucking unfair, with his stupid assumptions and his ridiculous stereotypes, and Joss was tired. He was so, so tired of that same old story.

“What do you even know?” Joss hissed, hating everything about their encounter. Hating Gawin for ruining what good could ever happen between them. He rasped, “You draw conclusions, and you think you know about my life from what you hear, from what you see on the news. But you don’t know me. You know nothing, Caskey, so don’t pretend you fucking—”

“Am I wrong, though? Don’t you love the attention, darling?” Gawin snapped, and the nickname sounded wrong now that they were fighting so seriously, like Gawin was trying to prove something by using it. Joss felt heat on the back of his neck and had to force himself to keep looking Gawin in the eyes, to keep challenging him. Gawin raised his chin, and their noses brushed. He spoke with his mouth on Joss’s skin, “You like this. You like being told you’re good; you like when people call you the ‘FIBA Star’. You love this,” and gripped Joss by the jaw, painfully tight. Said, “But I’m not playing your game, and I won’t let you win. This is serious to me, Joss Way-ar, and you’d better get out of my fucking way.”

Gawin’s head made a dull thud against the door when Joss held him by the neck, Gawin’s teeth flashing at him, the fingers on his jaw tightening, forcing his cheeks against his teeth. Everything between them hurt, and Joss couldn’t care less. He was too amused now.

“You’re scared,” Joss huffed to him, smirking, holding Gawin close. They were touching everywhere. Joss said, “You’re scared you’ll lose your position to me. And isn’t that cute, sweetheart? Aren’t you just a scared kitten?”

“Scared of you?” Gawin huffed a laugh of his own, looking at Joss with that disdained stare that never failed to piss him off. He said, “You said so yourself: you’re nothing more than the dirt on my shoes.”

“Then why don’t you step on me?” Joss rasped, and Gawin hissed like the cat that he was, his nails digging into the skin of Joss’s jaw. Joss winced, using his free hand to pin both of Gawin’s arms against his head. Gawin tried to fight him, tried to kick Joss between his legs, tried to sink his nails into Joss’s skin, only to be pinned to the door with Joss between his legs, their hips crushed against each other. Joss could feel Gawin tensing up everywhere. He said, “You can’t win against me. That’s why you’re so bitter.”

Gawin sneered, his rage coming back with force enough for him to free one of his arms and fist Joss’s hair, pulling, forcing Joss’s head back, then forward, their forehead knocking painfully. He said, “Try me,” and his breath was hot where it hit against Joss’s lips, his throat working under Joss’s palm, and Gawin looked gorgeous like this — flushed with anger, with heat. His eyes were so dark, his mouth red from the press of his teeth, wet from the drag of his tongue. Joss leant in before he could stop himself, was held back by Gawin’s fingers in his hair, by Gawin turning his head on the last second, whispering, “You don’t— you don’t know what you say, you don’t know what you do, you—”

“You drive me fucking crazy,” Joss whispered back, his nose on Gawin’s cheek, his lips grazing Gawin’s jaw with each word. Joss heard his breath hitch, felt the slight jolt of his hips, Gawin’s body giving in before his mind could. Joss said, pressing a finger on his chin to make Gawin look at him, to stop him from running away again, “And I’m— I’m tired of this, Gawin. I’m tired of your bullshit, of pretending I don’t—”

“You want me,” Gawin breathed, and his grip tightened just a little, like the revelation was a surprise for him, too.

Joss hummed because he was tired of pretending he didn’t. Was tired of Gawin pretending he didn’t want Joss, too. But Gawin held him again when Joss tried to get just a little closer, his mouth hot where their lips brushed against each other. Gawin shivered, a little sound leaving his mouth, and Joss was going mad from hunger, from desire.

“I want you,” Joss murmured, undone. Tired, so tired of all this. He just wanted a little bit of peace, a flicker of having what he’d been wanting since the first time he saw Gawin at that bar, vicious and handsome. Joss ached to press his thumb on Gawin’s tongue, to mark him with his taste forever. He said, “And you want me, too.”

“Joss.”

“Have me,” Joss pleaded, a little pathetic even to his own ears. But he’d been waiting. He’d been so, so patient. He said, “Have me, G.”

Gawin snickered at the nickname, his eyes clearing up, brightening in that way Joss had only seen once and had been desperate to witness again ever since. He said, “I can’t,” very softly, his hand leaving Joss’s hair to rest on the back of his neck, their noses rubbing in such a nice caress that Joss felt his eyes closing before he could stop himself. Gawin huffed another laugh, and Joss had to see, had to watch his face lighting up again. Gawin noticed, swallowed hard, said, “We can’t, Joss. We shouldn’t— this isn’t right.”

“Why?” Joss grumbled petulantly, and Gawin grinned like he was an idiot, freeing his other hand from Joss’s grip to hold the side of his face, to touch Joss’s bottom lip with his thumb. Joss kissed it once, twice, bit the tip very gently. Said, “What’s so wrong about this? About us?”

“Our teams are literal rivals. We’ll play against each other, eventually,” Gawin explained, throwing his head back against the door, too far away from Joss all over again. He said, “This would— complicate things.”

“Come on,” Joss groaned. “Naravit is dating Phuwin, and they play against each other all the time.”

“You sound like a child.”

“And you sound scared,” Joss retorted, frowning. So lost all the time when it came to Gawin. He said, “What are you scared of, Caskey?”

“I’m not—” Gawin huffed, exasperated by Joss’s insistence. Amused, too, eyes glinting while tracing every corner of Joss’s face with the tip of his finger. He said, “We don’t even like each other.”

“We could,” Joss said weakly, devastated by the gentleness of Gawin’s touches, by the juxtaposition of their earlier interaction. “I don’t want to hate you.”

Gawin hummed at that, said, “You should,” and Joss knew he was right. Gawin had done nothing but make sure Joss hated him, and still, Joss couldn’t. He blamed it on curiosity, blamed it on his inquisitiveness — was desperate to see what existed behind the antagonistic persona Gawin had built to protect himself from… what? From who? Joss wondered.

“Let me kiss you,” Joss whispered, closing their distance again, touching his forehead to Gawin’s forehead. He rubbed their noses together, kissed Gawin’s cheekbones, bit his cheeks. He kissed the mole on Gawin’s nose, the one right below his eye. Ached to kiss the one on his bottom lip. He said, “Let me kiss you, G.”

“Joss,” Gawin rasped, his eyes closed while Joss kissed all over his face, waiting for his green light. And Gawin laughed a little when Joss started to bite him very softly — a nip on the skin below his ear, another where his jaw met his neck. A gentle one on the tip of his nose. Gawin had a thumb pressed on the line of Joss’s hair, touching, stroking gently. He said, “Drive me home.”

And Joss hummed his agreement against Gawin’s throat, his nose sliding up, up, to his jaw, to the place behind Gawin’s ear Joss found out was a little sensitive, a tiny sound getting stifled on his throat. He said, with his mouth on the corner of Gawin’s mouth, “Okay,” and let Gawin chase him, let Gawin peck his lips just once. Said, “Baby,” wrecked, mad with the grip of want around his throat.

But Gawin pulled away a second later, and when Joss found his eyes, they had sobered in a way that told Joss he’d messed up. Didn’t know when or how. Gawin blinked once, twice, and pressed a hand on Joss’s chest to make him step away, to make Joss give him some space.

“Come on,” Gawin said, turning away from Joss and the moment they had just shared. “Let’s go.”

—

Gawin stayed silent the entire way, apart from his occasional instructions and his humming to the song playing from Joss’s teenagerhood playlist. Joss didn’t try to speak either, still a little confused about when things had changed so suddenly, when Gawin snapped out of the mess they had made of each other.

When Joss parked in front of Gawin’s condo, they spent a few more seconds in silence, just breathing together.

“Thank you,” Gawin said eventually, and he wasn’t looking at Joss, was staring ahead, somewhere beyond the empty streets. He huffed a little laugh, said, “You’re staring.”

“Yeah,” Joss smiled.

Gawin turned to him with a smile of his own, his head resting on the headrest of his seat. Beautiful. Everything about him so soft, so gentle. A body built for sweetness, unmade and rebuilt, tailored by the violence of their work, softened by the echo of his laughter.

Sweet thing, Joss thought helplessly.

“You’re a fool,” Gawin said, something fond, something lighter than his actual tone. Said, “You’ve been making it very hard to hate you, do you know that?”

“Yeah?” Joss raised his eyebrows, his grin widening just a little. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

“I know, I’ve been trying,” Gawin chuckled, and Joss was obsessed. Wanted to hear Gawin laughing all the time just so he could watch the crinkle on his eyes, the upturn of his mouth. Gawin reached for him, touched the side of his face with a cold hand. Said, “Let’s— let’s not see each other for a while, yeah?”

Joss felt the sudden coldness envelop his bones.

“What? Why?”

“Just— we should— maybe we should try not to hate each other first,” Gawin said, and his fingers were still gentle when they touched the short strands on the side of Joss’s hair. Gawin snorted a little, amused by something he’d thought, and said, “A Lycan and a Viper. Imagine the scandal. The news!”

“Blood. War,” Joss continued, playing along just to keep Gawin smiling for a little longer. “Wherefore art thou, Romeo?”

“Oh, I’m fortune’s fool,” Gawin groaned with a hand on his heart, silly and perfect. Joss wanted to bite him. But Gawin sighed, unbuckled his seatbelt and placed his hand on the handle. He said, “Thanks again for the ride.” Said, “I’ll keep in touch.”

Joss frowned, watching Gawin open the door and get out of his car, vanilla and coconut evaporating with his departure. Joss said, “But you don’t have my number.”

And Gawin flashed him his usual smirk, the one that said he knew exactly what he was doing. Said, “I’ll keep in touch, darling,” and closed the door.

Joss drove off with a laugh and kept laughing the rest of the way home.

June

When Gawin said he’d keep in touch, this wasn’t exactly what Joss expected.

The first email came right after he finished showering, his body aching from training, from an entire week of preparing for his next game against the Sparrows. He found the email after calling his mother to agree on dinner at home that night, Gawin’s name immediately catching his attention.

And Joss wasn’t expecting a response when he sat on the bed at his Mae’s house and began to type an answer, but Gawin just answered him. And Joss responded. And it just— it just kept happening.

From: Gawin Caskey <[email protected]>

Sent: Sunday, June 2nd, 2:40 AM

To: Joss Way-ar <[email protected]>

Subject: dusk and dawn

My Beloved Nemesis,

I can’t seem to sleep when it’s game season, so I thought I should do something productive and bother you since you’ve been bothering my thoughts since the last time I saw you. I can see your stupid smirk while reading this, but I tend to get too honest when I’m sleep-deprived, so. Well.

I’ve been meaning to tell you: I’m sorry for last week. Just a little, though. You may be an attention whore, but you’re a good opponent on court. I do like watching you during your matches: your body moves like you’re dancing, but you play like you’re fighting. You are the end of the world. You allure, and you drown in the same breath, the deepest of sea. Maybe that’s the reason you have so many admirers. Don’t be fooled, though. I know your game well enough to beat your ass when we meet soon.

I’ll finish packing now since I have a plane to catch in the morning. Well, in 5 hours. Don’t miss me too much, darling. I’ll come back and piss you off very, very soon.

Regards,

Gawin.

From: Joss Way-ar <[email protected]>

Sent: Sunday, June 2nd, 3:34 PM

To: Gawin Caskey <[email protected]>

Subject: uncovered

My Loathed Sweetheart,

I like it when you’re honest with yourself and admit you can’t live a moment of your life without thinking about me. I think about you, too. Constantly. I used to think we would end each other every time we met as cataclysmic events do — an eruption and a flood; a downpour and a wildfire. The dichotomy of you and me. Then you held me by the neck, and I found out how your moles feel against my lips, and I’ve been aching ever since.

Why did you let me kiss you, Gawin? Why didn’t you let me kiss you? Will you lean against a wall and let me hold you by the neck again? Do you want me to?

Tell me truths, Caskey, or let me hate you for good this time.

Where are you going? What are you doing? Will you ever let me find you again on the court, angry and alone, dribbling the ball with gentle fingers and refined throws? Will you ever give me your number and let me call you, like normal people do?

Write to me.

Sincerely,

Joss.

From: Gawin Caskey <[email protected]>

Sent: Tuesday, June 4th, 1:12 PM

To: Joss Way-ar <[email protected]>

Subject: flash of starlight

My Cherished Antagonist,

I used to hate coming back to Pennsylvania when I was a child, but nowadays it seems like the cold and grey in Erie is the only piece of comfort I can find through the mess I made of my life. Don’t you feel bitter with tiredness and pressure, Joss Way-ar? Do you ever truly hate things? Do you think of giving up everything and following a childish dream you had when you were sixteen? What do you dream of when you fall asleep?

So many questions, Joss. I have so many questions for you. The kind of questions I wondered and buried deep inside my head because it was easier to hate you. I don’t think you understand how deep our antagonism was supposed to go — ugly fights in crowded bars. Split lips, bruised eyes, and ejections from games. People expect this from you and me. We’ve been built for tearing each other apart, as you said — rain and fire. Midnight and midday. We’re not supposed to find our way out of this. This is what keeps people watching, this is what keeps the Lycans and the Vipers alive and huge as Thailand’s biggest basketball teams.

But you speak of kissing my moles, of kissing my lips, and I drown, lured by your chant. You Neptune hue. Sea-bred creature. I find myself adrift when you call me by my name.

Truthfully,

From: Joss Way-ar <[email protected]>

Sent: Thursday, June 6th, 8:57 PM

To: Gawin Caskey <[email protected]>

Subject: who are you in the dark

Sweet thing,

When I slept last night, I dreamed of you.

You told me you are in Erie, so far away from my side of the world, and I hear your absence in the bounce of the ball I dribble on court. Won’t you play with your team on Saturday? Won’t you show up during practice on Friday, my dream and nightmare, and show me your teeth — a treat and a threat. A smile of yours just for me. The echo of your laugh following me back to the lockers, carving into the hollow you left behind in my chest when you went away. The kind of bliss I’ve been needing lately.

I do feel tired and pressured all the time. But this was my dream when I was sixteen. I used to sit in front of the TV and tell my father he’d see me play in one of those big teams we used to cheer for together. And it’s a cruel world, and it’s a brutal kind of pressure we go through every day, every season, but it’s exactly what I asked for. I don’t know who I am apart from Joss Way-ar, the basketball player. Who are you, Gawin, when there’s no pretence? Who did you wish to be when you were sixteen? Write me about this. Write about everything.

But, Gawin, I’m not built for people’s expectations of who I’m supposed to be or what I’m supposed to feel. I wouldn’t trade my heart for all the fame, all the money in the world. I can’t do this. I can’t bleed you out of me in the name of the violence of our history. I’m not anyone’s shadow, and you won’t be either. I won’t let you. And you won’t let me.

My apologies for the late response. I was supposed to write you back yesterday during break, but Luke kept looking over my shoulder, and I’m not sure you want this kind of attention yet. Do you? I don’t know what you’re thinking. What are we doing here, Gawin Caskey? What do you want from this? From me?

What are you afraid of? Tell me, love. Let me ease your mind.

Yours,

Joss.

From: Gawin Caskey <[email protected]>

Sent: Friday, June 7th, 2:00 AM

To: Joss Way-ar <[email protected]>

Subject: if you’re willing

Romeo,

When no one is looking, I’m a musician.

I’m on a plane to Bangkok right now. Wait for me, if you will, and I’ll answer everything you want if you promise to find me once again.

From your,

On Saturday, Joss stayed to watch the Vipers play against the Capybaras.

Gawin hadn’t shown up to training on Friday, and Joss didn’t respond to his email, a little frustrated by Gawin’s avoidance of topics he needed answers, a little confused about what he was supposed to do. So, after practising with Luke in the afternoon, Joss gave him a half-hearted excuse and went to the arena, hat and glasses on, where he sat in the VIP box.

Joss missed the feeling of being a spectator. The anxiety of watching your team struggling, the frustration of watching them losing the ball, the screams calling for a foul during a play. The feeling so different, like watching himself from the outside of a picture.

When Gawin entered the game, the bleachers went wild. Joss had to bite the inside of his mouth to avoid smiling too much. There were people there who had recognised him since he arrived, taking pictures and waving at him. He didn’t really care. He expected Gawin not to care either.

On the court, Gawin was just as enchanting as Joss remembered. He was fast, his moves compensating for what he lacked on defence. Gawin and Naravit were a good team. They scored together more than once, the Capybaras taller and bulkier, but slower. It was nice to watch, but Joss ached desperately for the final moment of the game, when he would finally be able to look for Gawin and ask if he wanted a ride home.

But it happened so fast that Joss wasn’t even sure if he saw it right.

Gawin was dribbling the ball, trying to break through the defence and pass the ball to Naravit when it happened — a player from the Capybaras running a bit too fast in Gawin’s direction, his feet slipping on the floor before he could stop himself. Joss saw Gawin falling in slow motion — the crash of their shoulders, the stumble in Gawin’s step. His body losing balance. Gawin falling hard on his left shoulder.

He couldn’t hear Gawin’s scream through the indignant shouts of the crowd, but he could see in the twist of Gawin’s face, in the opening of his mouth, his teeth digging hard on his bottom lip.

Joss didn’t think when he left the booth, too worried about Gawin to remember that wasn’t his team, to remember he wouldn’t get to enter the court in the middle of a game. He felt the security’s hand on his shoulder like a blade, Gawin’s name falling from his lips before he could stop it.

Gawin looked up, his face twisted in pain, but his frown was confused, his eyes searching. He found Joss fighting the security, trying to avoid being dragged outside, trying to peek over the huge man’s shoulder, and his frown only deepened — and then eased altogether, his eyes clearing up just enough for his smile to grow on his face.

Gawin grinned. Laughed.

And Joss was a man condemned.

—

Joss kept his phone turned off after calling Naravit — who begged Joss to call him just Pond, please, it feels like you’re about to fight me — and telling his Mae he would be out of reach for a night or two. Luke tried to call him at least twenty times before giving up. Ohm sent him at least a hundred messages demanding an explanation that Joss didn’t have. And the internet. Joss couldn’t even think about the chaos that was probably happening on social media after the Vipers’ game on Saturday.

For two days, Joss had to know about Gawin through emails from Naravit, since he refused to turn his phone on. Pond had written all about Gawin calling him an idiot, and then told Joss he could visit Gawin at his apartment on Monday. And Joss knew — he knew he couldn’t run away forever from the consequences of his… moment. But Joss was still embarrassed and very much worried about his rival. So, on Monday, Joss told his coach he was sick and couldn’t go training, then drove off to Gawin’s address.

Naravit was leaving when Joss knocked on the door.

“Oh, great!” Naravit sighed in relief and pulled Joss inside by the arm, saying, “Gawin is a shitty patient, I swear to god, he’s all yours,” slinging his bag over his shoulder, kissing Gawin’s forehead while his friend tried to push him away with his good arm. Before leaving, Naravit showed Joss a toothy smile and said, “About time, bro.”

“Pond Naravit!” Gawin snapped from his place on the sofa, and Naravit left with the bark of a laugh.

Gawin’s apartment was different from what Joss imagined — more colourful, with olive green walls and a yellow kitchen. He had a lot of plants, and the place was a little messy, but very cosy. But nothing drew more attention than the very orange sofa Gawin was lying on.

“Hello there, Romeo,” Gawin said, smiling, pulling his legs closer to himself to make space for Joss on the sofa. His face was soft like he’d just woken up from a nap, his hair longer again, falling on his face. A sling immobilised his left arm. He looked the same as always through Joss' eyes: beautiful, breathtaking. Gawin blinked his eyes like a fool and asked, “What do you think? Do I look pretty?”

“You look like an idiot,” Joss said instead of repeating yesyesyes like a madman. “How’s the arm?”

“Fine,” Gawin shrugged, sliding down on the couch a little more so he could rest his head on the pillow behind his back. “Didn’t break anything, but I’ll have to stay quiet for two weeks.”

“That’s good,” Joss murmured, scanning Gawin once, twice. He did look fine. Not in pain now, like he was on the floor of the court on Saturday. “Are you taking meds?”

“Mm,” Gawin hummed, closing his eyes. “They make me sick and sleepy, but nothing hurts, so they must be working.”

Joss nodded, leaning back on the couch. Joss couldn’t remember the last time he felt so… tense, so shy around someone he was interested in, wondering if he could reach out to touch. He ended up leaning in anyway, resting his cheek against Gawin’s raised knee.

“Puppy,” Gawin murmured, touching Joss’s face with his cold hand. He said, “Did you turn on your phone yet?”

Joss groaned, holding Gawin’s wrist so he could hide his face in his palm. He said, “Fuck,” and groaned again at the sound of Gawin’s laugh, everything inside him moving at the vibration of it through Gawin’s entire body. He said, “I just— I was worried. I saw you falling, and you looked so— what if you had broken your arm, and then—”

“And then…?” Gawin asked, and Joss peeked through Gawin’s fingers to see him raising an eyebrow, too amused by whatever chaos was happening around their names. “Would you run to me, Romeo, and save me from my disgraceful fate?”

“I’m being serious here,” Joss grumbled, flicking Gawin’s knee, biting the soft skin of his thigh he could reach. Gawin chuckled, freeing his hand from Joss’s grip to touch his hair. “We wouldn’t get to play together, in the end.”

“Do you want to lose that much?”

“Oh, you wish,” Joss grinned, a little lighter now that he knew Gawin was okay. That they were still the same after everything that had been happening. He said, “So. A musician, huh?”

Gawin’s smile was different from everything he’d shown Joss since they met. Sincere in a way that brightened his eyes, deep brown lighting to a hazel-like colour. He looked younger, happier like that. Joss ached with the pure passion Gawin showed with just his eyes.

“Mm. My family is made of musicians, so. It was inevitable,” Gawin said, his smile growing, his fingers on Joss’s hair gentler than ever. He said, “My granddad is a songwriter. I was five when he taught me how to play the piano. And then my dad taught me guitar, and I just— it never left me, you know? The feeling of being home in music.”

“How did you end up being the star of the Vipers, then?”

“They found me during college, and I went with it,” Gawin snorted. “But I do like basketball. It’s a part of me I don’t know what I’d do without.”

“But it’s not your dream,” Joss said. Gawin hummed very softly, his eyes closing again. Joss said, “I want you to play for me when you get better.”

“Will you wait for me for two weeks?”

“You know I will.”

Gawin huffed a little laugh, melting on the couch. Joss slid one of his hands to the soft skin of Gawin’s thigh, rubbing circles, caressing. He watched while Gawin fought against sleep, his eyes opening and closing repeatedly until he gave up with a soft sigh.

“I’m falling asleep,” Gawin grumbled, his hand sliding out of Joss’s hair to hold the hand Joss kept on his thigh. Joss couldn’t help but notice how Gawin’s palm had warmed up.

“Sleep, baby,” Joss told him, and Gawin grumbled again, shaking his head. Joss snickered and asked, “Why are you fighting sleep so much?”

“You’re here,” Gawin said, tsking at the way his voice was getting softer, his words slower. “I’m being a bad host.”

Joss let out a devastated little sound, warm, so warm for his rival—the brat of a man who made Joss’s life so much harder during the season. Joss sighed, defenceless, said, “Fool,” very fond, and very pathetic. Said, “Sleep. You can be a good host when you wake up.”

—

When Gawin woke up, Joss had cleaned the mess in his living room, showered and ordered takeout since he couldn’t cook to save his life. The TV was on, the game between the Gorillas and the Serpents decisive to Joss’s next game. There were only two rounds left until the finals, and Joss had to go back to training and face whatever speculations the internet was making about his little scene during the Vipers game.

When Gawin shifted, Joss turned his attention to find him awake, still blinking a little slower than normal. Joss squeezed one of Gawin’s calves, thrown across his lap, and said, “Welcome back, sleeping beauty.”

Gawin grunted, frowning a little, and Joss found himself smiling at Gawin’s grumpy state post-nap. Gawin said, “What time is it?”

“A little past seven,” Joss said. “Your sister called and said she’ll be here soon.”

“Are you leaving already?” Gawin asked, his frown deepening.

“I need to, baby,” Joss chuckled, raising Gawin’s leg to kiss his shin. “I’ll wake up very early tomorrow.”

Gawin grumbled another sound in response, turning his face to the TV. Adorable. Joss wanted to bite him all over. Gawin said, “You asked me before what I wanted out of this.”

Joss felt himself tense up before he could stop it. This was new ground to step on. They didn’t mention their emails since Gawin came back for his game, and Joss wasn’t sure it was a good time to bring it up now, when Gawin had an injured shoulder and a game he wouldn’t get to play if he wanted to play in the finals.

But Gawin looked at him again, and there was a different kind of intensity in his eyes. Joss’s palm was warm on his shin, his thumb pressing gently to feel his pulse — and he felt it quicken out of a sudden, Gawin’s toes moving anxiously against Joss’s elbow.

“I did,” Joss answered, not sure where this conversation was going. Gawin was too serious now, his eyes burning with something different from the rage Joss saw in them more than just once. He said, “Will you tell me?”

Instead of answering, Gawin got up, and Joss’s protests for him to be careful died in his throat as soon as Gawin sat on his lap, his good hand held Joss by the side of his neck, his fingers finding their way to the small strands of hair at the back of Joss’s head. Gawin bumped their foreheads together and sighed in the space between them, his thumb pressing right where Joss’s pulse was pounding against his neck.

“When we first met, I was twenty-two,” Gawin said, turning his face just a little, just enough to fit his nose beside Joss’s nose, his lips on the corner of Joss’s mouth. He shushed Joss’s confused little sound very gently. Said, “On that same bar. Boom asked me to meet new people, be sociable, and I said Why not. I was new in the Vipers, and you were new to the Jaguars.”

Joss remembered very vaguely, but how could he ever forget—

“You talked to me after a drink or two. Told me your name and said you’ve been hearing my name frequently in the news. We talked about basketball for hours, and I had such a stupid crush on you. It was very embarrassing. Boom was looking at me and blinking like a fool, and I was blushing so hard,” Gawin chuckled, bumping their noses, and Joss couldn’t help but smile with him, still so confused. But Gawin just continued, “You called me beautiful that night. Told me I should be modelling with a face like mine, and I know I melted a little. I was too shy to say anything at the time, and I only noticed you were very drunk when you stumbled, trying to whisper something in my ear.”

Joss groaned, and Gawin snickered on his skin. That explained why Joss couldn’t remember that night. Why did Joss forget, stupidly, when he first met Gawin Caskey?

“And then I had to go home, and we never really met again, and I met someone else. I dated him for years, and it just— it was very bad. He was a rival, too, and I could never concentrate on a game together because we were always fighting, always trying to prove who was the best player between us,” Gawin said, tracing Joss’s jaw with his index finger, their lips brushed softly, maddening. Joss was going mad, dizzy with need, with the feeling of Gawin’s thighs pressing against his, with the soft touch of their noses. Gawin said, “Because that’s what happens, baby. That’s— we rot, eventually, from what we see about ourselves. And you and I, Joss,” he tilted Joss’s head up with a finger under his chin, made Joss look at him. Said, “We were made to unmake one another.”

It made sense now, Joss thought, behind the haze of desire clouding his mind. It made sense why Gawin tried to bite him every time they met. It made sense why Gawin burned entirely when Joss pressed against him, rage and hunger clashing in the little space they left between each other. He understood the anger in Gawin’s eyes when Joss had asked him why they hadn't met before.

It was easier for Gawin to hate him than to face the reality of them.

Joss said, with his mouth on Gawin’s mouth, “Kiss me.”

“I can’t,” Gawin whispered, letting out a broken little sound when Joss pressed their mouths just shy of a real kiss. He said, “Joss. I can’t— I can’t do this again. I can’t—”

“Gawin,” Joss murmured, searching for him, mad with it. Whispered, “Sweetheart.”

“No, you don’t— you don’t understand. You don’t—” Gawin shook his head, trying to run away from Joss. But his hand was still on Joss’s neck, and Joss was still holding him by the waist, keeping Gawin’s body far enough away to avoid pressing his bad arm against Joss’s chest. They were so close, so close. Gawin gripped Joss by the hair when he kissed Gawin’s neck, when he bit the skin hard enough to sting. Gawin hissed, pulled his mouth to Joss’s mouth again, said, “I’ll fall in love with you,” breathless, leaning in just to lean away again, desperate. Said, “I’ll fall in love with you, Joss Way-ar, and we’ll never— I can’t let myself destroy you. I can’t watch you hate now that you— and if I kiss you, I’ll—”

Joss shuddered when it happened — his hand on Gawin’s neck, pulling him in, their lips touching once, twice, then opening for each other. Gawin’s lips were very soft, and his teeth against Joss’s bottom lip felt like a punishment. Joss moaned on his mouth, pressed a thumb on Gawin’s chin to move his head where he wanted, their tongues a wet encounter, a hellish kind of heaven. It felt so right, too right, the way Gawin kissed him slowly, their kiss getting wetter, messier now that they had found out what they liked, now that Gawin knew how to rub his tongue on Joss’s tongue to make him moan for him. Now that Joss knew Gawin let out tiny hungry sounds when he pressed a hand right below his navel to prevent him from getting any closer. Knew that Gawin liked when he sucked on his upper lip before moving to his bottom lip.

“God,” Gawin groaned, pulling Joss away from his mouth with a pull on his hair, his hips moving unconsciously against Joss’s like a wave. He tried to close his legs and found out he couldn’t, not while straddling Joss like that, and let out a little whine that was half despair and half desire. He said, “God, please, I can’t—”

“What, baby?” Joss asked on his mouth, kissing him again, throbbing inside his pants a little harder each time Gawin let out one of his pretty sounds. Said, feeling like a madman, desperate, “What do you— what do you want, love, what do you—”

“God, just—” Gawin huffed, and on the next roll of his lips, they rubbed against each other just right, the friction making Joss throw his head back against Gawin’s ugly couch. Gawin moaned, grinding again, and again, and again, shivering, his ah ah ah’s making Joss go insane with lust, his brain stopping functioning immediately. Gawin whined again, low and breathless, said, “Fuck, fuck, stop— talking, stop talking, I can’t—”

“Gawin,” Joss breathed out, tightening his grip on Gawin’s waist, sliding it down to his hips to help him move faster, harder, and it was too good. It was too good, and it shouldn’t— it shouldn’t feel this good while they were still clothed, just humping against each other on the couch in Gawin’s living room after their first kiss. Joss felt insane. He said, breathlessly, “Just like that, baby, just like— doesn’t it feel good? Don’t you— feel good, love, so good, so—”

Gawin threw his head back, his lips parted in a silent moan, his thighs trembling now from moving so fast, from pleasure. He looked beautiful like this, lost in his arousal, cheeks flushed and heavy-lidded eyes. Desperate, out of the tight grip of control he tried to keep around himself all the time.

When Gawin’s movements slowed down to harder grinds, he used his hand to grip one of Joss’s wrists, his head lowering to look Joss in the eyes, his moans a constant now, low and raspy, so quiet in his pleasure, so pretty. And then he made Joss slide his hand up, up, until they were around his neck, Gawin’s hand covering Joss’s, his eyes so dark they were almost entirely swallowed by black.

“Fuck, Gawin,” Joss grunted, and then he pulled him closer, made Gawin look at him with their foreheads pressed together, breathing heavily on each other’s mouths. Gawin was shivering, his cock pulsing where he ground it against Joss, and Joss knew he was close. He kissed Gawin slowly and wet, and made him grind down hard at the same time he pressed his fingers on the side of Gawin’s neck lightly, just enough to apply pressure.

Gawin stopped kissing him back when he came in his pants, his mouth open and wet on the corner of Joss’s mouth, his hips kicking once, twice, then trembling. Joss watched him cumming, went crazy at the sight of his rival so consumed by his own pleasure, and came with a broken shout.

Joss spread kisses on Gawin’s face while they recovered, holding his weight to keep him from falling against Joss’s chest. Gawin hissed a little when he moved, his frown pained when he put distance between him and Joss.

“I’m disgusting,” Gawin grumbled, standing up, the wet patch on his joggers a little distracting. “Shower with me?”

Joss felt heat at the pit of his stomach at the prospect of seeing Gawin naked. Of finally being able to touch soft skin, to feel the slide of their bodies against each other. So he nodded and followed Gawin to the bathroom like a puppy. They had to be careful of Gawin’s arm while undressing, the sling coming off very slowly to avoid moving Gawin’s shoulder too much.

It was… different from what Joss expected of a first shower with Gawin — less heated; a lot gentler. Gawin’s shoulder was a little swollen, a mix of purple and green where he’d fallen over, and Joss took his time — he spread liquid soap on Gawin’s skin, washed him slowly and carefully. He washed Gawin’s hair and huffed a laugh when Gawin rested his head on Joss’s shoulder, Gawin’s back to his chest, humming, pleased like a purring cat.

Joss was half-hard when they finally finished, and Gawin was limp in Joss’s arms, sleepy and soft. Joss let him lean on his chest while he dried Gawin with a towel, then made Gawin put on a shirt and his sling back.

“Don’t sleep yet,” Joss murmured to him, feeling the tickle of Gawin’s stubble against his neck. Gawin grumbled against his skin about not being sleepy, and Joss chuckled, helplessly endeared by Gawin Caskey. He held him by the waist, a thumb caressing the side of Gawin’s jaw. He said, “You need to shave.”

“I can’t,” Gawin mumbled, burying his nose in Joss’s neck. He said, “Do it for me?”

Joss held him close for a moment longer and closed his eyes, his cheek on Gawin’s wet hair, his mind so quiet for the first time in so long. But Gawin’s weight felt a little heavier after a minute, and Joss had to make him stand alone before Gawin fell asleep right there in the middle of the bathroom.

“Stay,” Joss said, leaving Gawin sitting on the toilet lid to find some clothes for himself in the mess of Gawin’s wardrobe. When he came back, Gawin was blinking slowly, staring at his white wall. Joss snorted, opening cabinets until he found a razor and shaving cream. He said, “Come on, turn around. Lean on me.”

And Joss didn’t expect it to be so. Intimate. Joss had a leg propped on the toilet lid so Gawin could rest his head there, his face full of cream, his eyes in that tone of hazel Joss loved more than he could say. Joss was careful with the razor, his thumb pressing on Gawin’s jaw every time he needed him to turn his face. And Gawin was just… looking at him, eyes shining, warmer than Joss had ever seen, following Joss’s movements. When Joss tilted his head a little, Gawin followed him with his own tilt like he was hypnotised.

“What?” Joss snickered, terribly fond, grinning big enough to feel the stretch of his cheeks.

“Nothing,” Gawin murmured, still watching, blinking very slowly like he was trying to unveil a mystery. He said, “I like your dimples.”

“Do you?” Joss inquired absentmindedly, almost finished, trying to hold Gawin still so he wouldn’t get hurt. Said, “That’s why you’re staring at me like a creep?”

Gawin let out a sound that was half offended and half devastated, his eyes moving all over Joss’s face, restless. He said, “I like your face.”

“You like a lot of things about me, don’t you?” Joss teased, wetting a towel to take the rest of the cream off Gawin’s chin.

“Mm,” Gawin said, letting Joss raise his head again, letting Joss hydrate his skin with a cream of his own. He said, sighing, still looking, “I guess I do.”

They moved to the bedroom after. Gawin crawled under the sheets, and Joss sat on the end of the bed, his hand on Gawin’s calf, rubbing soothing circles.

“Good?” Joss asked, turning on the AC.

Gawin let out a heavy sigh, nodding. He said, “I think you— you should leave, Joss,” and it wasn’t as kind as Joss was expecting. Gawin was pulling his legs closer to his body, away from Joss’s touch, and Joss felt cold all over. He said, “My sister… she’ll be here soon.”

“Gawin.”

“This is— this is for the best, J, you know it is,” Gawin breathed out, rubbing his eyes harshly with closed fists. He said, “Maybe we just need time to— I don’t know. I don’t think this is gonna work.”

“You’re running away,” Joss said with a dry laugh, so tired of the same old story. He said, “If I leave, Gawin, I won’t come back. You can’t— You can’t keep pulling me in, then pushing me away. It’s not fucking fair.”

“I know,” Gawin whispered, and his eyes were red when he looked at Joss again, so different from the fondness Joss found in them just a few minutes earlier. Everything changed so fast, too fast with Gawin, and he couldn’t stand it anymore, he couldn’t. Gawin said, “Maybe it’s for the better.”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“Don’t fucking call a coward,” Gawin snapped, sitting up on the bed in a fit of rage, and Joss felt the sick satisfaction of getting a real emotion out of Gawin like blood behind his teeth. He said, “I’m trying to do the right thing.”

“You don’t get to decide what’s right for me,” Joss pressed, getting up from the bed. So angry at Gawin for the twentieth time in less than a month. Said, “I’m— It’s exhausting. You like me. You said you could love me, Gawin, so why—”

“Because,” Gawin hissed, and his eyes were pained and wet, and Joss hated him. Hated their conversation, their lack of privacy in life, and Gawin’s pessimistic mind. “You told me you can’t do what’s bound to happen to us,” Gawin continued, and Joss was hurting everywhere. He said, “We’ll be cute for a while, and then we’ll get compared to each other, and we’ll get bitter and fucked, and I won’t— I won’t trade you either. I can’t, Joss, I can’t trade a dream for another, not again. So please, please, let me go.”

Joss hated him. Joss hated him so much he couldn’t help but love him, couldn’t help but wish Gawin would keep hurting him over and over again instead of pushing him away like this, like this was the end. Like they couldn’t fix the reality of their lives. But Joss was too tired now, too wretched. He closed his eyes and waited until the burning feeling of tears faded away before turning around.

“Thank you,” he said, raspy and broken, refusing to look back at Gawin now that he had decided to leave. Said, “For letting me know what you wanted.”

The doorbell rang. Gawin let out a dry sob, and Joss left the room before he couldn’t. Gawin’s sister was in the hallway, a warm smile on her face, so like his brother and yet so different. Joss told her his name, said Gawin was in the bedroom and left without looking back, his heart breaking very slowly, piece after piece.

Cold all over.

—

After training, Luke dragged him to lunch.

Joss didn’t say anything for long enough to make Luke restless, fingers tapping on the table, leg bouncing. Joss sighed, rubbed his eyes. He only had such terrible nights of sleep when he had migraine crises. And heartbreak now, apparently.

“So,” Luke finally broke, staring intently at Joss like he was a puzzle. “Caskey, huh?”

Joss sighed, feeling the name ache everywhere. Joss was so tired of their hot and cold, so tired of Gawin’s push and pull. It was too unfair for him to bear any longer.

“Not anymore, I guess,” Joss mumbled, tossing and turning the salad on his plate. “He thinks we’re a bad idea.”

“Well, don’t you?”

Joss frowned. “Why— why’s everyone saying that? Why are people— what is wrong with it?”

“Joss, my dear,” Luke said, suddenly very serious, a hand reaching out to touch Joss’s forearm. He said, “You know why. You’re literal rivals.”

“God, why does that— why does it matter, Luke?” Joss snapped, too tired for this. Too angry with Gawin, with this stupid rivalry. With himself, for falling in love with someone so out of reach. He said, rubbing his hands on his face, running fingers through his hair, “This is my real fucking life, Luke. I’m not— my love life is none of the Lycans or the fucking Vipers business. Why is everyone trying to—”

“Because you’re famous, dear. People will always talk,” Luke said, smiling in sympathy. Joss hated that, too. Luke said, “But it’ll always be your choice at the end, you know. It’s your life, bro.”

Joss grunted, wishing Gawin thought the same thing. Wishing Gawin hadn’t crushed his heart with bare hands right after kissing him. He said, “It doesn’t matter now,” and sighed at Luke’s frown. Said, “Gawin’s— he’s too confusing. He told me he couldn’t do this. Us. And I can’t keep breaking my own heart for him, Luke. I can’t— it’d kill me.”

“Jeez,” Luke breathed, slouching in his seat like a tired father. Said, “That bad, huh?”

“I’m in love with him,” Joss admitted, tired of pretending he didn’t understand the feeling. Said, “And he’s in love with me, too. But he’s just… he’s scared. He dated some fuckass, and now he thinks we’ll end up hating each other over basketball.”

“I mean, that’s a good point, isn’t it?” Luke said, unhelpful as always. Joss tsked, ready to curse his entire lineage, and Luke was laughing, saying, “Calm down, tiger! It’s just— I can’t imagine dating a rival. Doesn’t the rivalry affect things?”

“Of course you can’t imagine, you’re literally straight.”

“Well, you don’t know that!”

Joss raised an eyebrow at him. Luke huffed a laugh, his face softening from the earlier judgment. Luke could be the constant pain in Joss’s ass, but he was a good friend.

“People are talking,” Luke said. “Have you seen it yet?”

“No,” Joss groaned, knowing he was running away from the inevitable. He fished his phone from his pocket and opened his social media once and for all, saying, “Fuck it, let’s get this over with.”

Joss could feel Luke’s eyes watching him while he read everything he could find. And Joss expected to find wrath, hate and name-calling. And well, he did find that, too, but he found the opposite way more often. He knew people had been commenting about Way-ar and Caskey since their little fight at the bar early in the year. Knew there were memes, expectations when they were together, and also something called shipping. And there were so many people coming up with reasons why Joss had run to Gawin when he got hurt, commenting about their tension when they were filmed at the bar. Edits with moments when they had been seen together, smiling at each other, staring daggers at each other.

“Oh,” Joss frowned, searching nonstop now that he’d already started. Some fans called him a traitor. Others claimed he could be friends with whoever he wanted. Others stated he was just a man in love. Joss had no idea whether he should laugh or cry. He said, “God, what a mess. I’m a bitch, and a normal person, and a man in love, says the internet.”

“Aren’t they right?” Luke beamed, ignoring Joss’s deadly stare at him. “It’s never that serious, my friend. Coach may demand you tone it down a little for the sake of professionalism, but that’s it. It is your life at the end of the day, Sangngern.”

Joss closed his eyes with a heavy sigh, his shoulders finally dropping, relieved. He said, “I don’t know what to do, Luke.”

“You let him go, my friend.” Luke shrugged, and Joss knew he was right when his heart gave a painful throb against his chest. Luke snorted and said, “You look like a kicked puppy, jeez. You really love him, huh?”

“I know,” Joss groaned, hiding his face in the palms of his hands. “I should move on.”

“You should show him what he’ll be losing if he lets you go,” Luke said, stealing Joss’s plate since he wasn’t eating anyway. He said, “You should post on Instagram.”

“That’s so immature,” Joss rolled his eyes. “I’m pushing thirty. I won’t post anything to piss Gawin off on the internet.”

“Well, that’s what people do, dude. Just play along,” Luke wiggled his eyebrows like a fool, his mouth full of salad. Joss sighed tiredly and huffed a little laugh. Luke grinned, said, “My baby with terrible taste. They grow up so fast.”

“Oh, fuck off!”

July

Whenever asked, Joss always said he wasn’t afraid of anything. He couldn’t think of a single thing that could ever hold him back from facing uncomfortable things, so fear was never a constant in Joss’s life. But he had moments where things just stopped for a minute — like the world had stopped spinning in a moment in time, a decision that could change everything or keep things the same for a long time, like sharp teeth threatening to break his skin.

Joss knew it wouldn’t be easy to beat the Celtics. Knew the semifinals were a challenge they had to face, like death was the end of the line if they didn’t win, and that he did. They were winning in the first half, then losing, then winning again. It was just a slip of Archen’s defence, an aperture that the Celtics took advantage of in the final minute of the game. Joss watched the scene unfold in slow motion — the ball flying toward the hoop, rolling around it once, twice, thrice. His heart was beating in his throat, his blood cold in his veins. Then the ball fell out of the hoop, and the game was over.

They had won.

The Lycans were in the finals for the first time in ten years, and for the first time in decades, the classic was about to be televised to the entire country — Black Lycans versus Feisty Vipers.

—

When Joss saw Gawin again, the sling was gone.

The final game was just around the corner, and Joss couldn’t remember the last time he went home, closed his eyes and slept, so he just gave up eventually. He spent half of his time at the gym and the other half on the court, training. There was a kind of peace he found in the soreness of his muscles after a heavy workout, in the burning feeling inside his skin while throwing a basketball through the hoop over and over, again and again. The restlessness, the anxiety, everything vanished under the thud of the ball and the heaviness of his feet on the ground when he was running, and he didn’t think of Gawin again.

The heartache was still there — a dull ache behind his bones, a sharp tug of longing here and then. But it was manageable.

Until Joss saw him again.

“Joss Way-ar,” Gawin said when Joss did nothing but throw him a look before his next move, another score, a little faster this time. Gawin seemed to notice and hummed his approval low enough for it to get lost in the bouncing of the basketball. He said, “You should play with a real person instead of trying to pop the ball like that.”

“I don’t want to play with you, Gawin,” Joss said, trying to dribble a little faster than the last time with the Celtics, a mistake that cost him dearly. “You’re my opponent.”

“We’ll face each other anyway,” Gawin pressed, and Joss could feel him getting closer like Gawin was an echo of his own skin. Joss sighed, begging for mercy to whoever god could be listening to him, and stepped back, dodging Gawin’s attempt to steal the ball from his hand. The wrong move, apparently, because he tried it again, then again. Smiling, he said, “You got better,” the wonder in his voice making Joss have to bite back a smile of his own. Gawin said, “I’d better keep up, then.”

It was inevitable that he would fall into a rhythm with Gawin when they were together on the court. It was a dance — Gawin following Joss’s steps, trying to change the rhythm, forcing Joss to step back, step forward. And they were good when they challenged each other, but they were greater when they stepped on the same ground, their bodies synchronising to a rhythm that had their names written all over. Gawin moved with Joss as if he could read his mind, and it was—frustrating. Fun, too, so fun. Joss loved it. Loved when Gawin made him think again and again before acting, loved even more when he had to be brusque to avoid losing the ball.

So when he lost, Joss couldn’t be more satisfied. Gawin was good. Fascinating in that body of his built of art, of the violence of his emotions. Of his passion for basketball, too, beneath the surface of his dissatisfaction.

“Feel better?” Gawin asked later, looking at Joss from where he sat on the floor, all long hair and long limbs. Flushed cheeks and red lips.

“I lost,” Joss said in response, but he knew the knots of tension on his shoulders weren’t so apparent anymore. Knew the tight line of stress that he made of his lips had softened, his eyes a little clearer.

“And you liked it.” Gawin wiggled his eyebrows like an idiot, and Joss couldn’t help but let out a laugh through his nose. He said, “So. The finals.”

“Yeah,” Joss nodded, sitting on the ground, too, giving up on his plan of leaving the room immediately after they got tired of playing against each other. But he was still hurt, and he wasn’t ready to be Gawin’s… whatever the hell Gawin wanted from him. He said, “Look, Gawin, I don’t—”

“I wanted to tell you,” Gawin cut him off too fast, and Joss snapped his attention back at him with a frown from the sheer rudeness of it. “That I’m sorry. For everything.”

Joss sighed, too tired of the same old empty sentiment that shrouded those words. Said, “We’ve been here before.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just—” Gawin huffed a laugh, a self-deprecating thing that sounded ugly coming out of his mouth. Said, “Tala called me a dick when you left my house. Told me I was letting my job ruin my life.”

“Mm,” Joss murmured. “Aren’t you?”

“The thing is,” Gawin said. “The thing is, Joss, that I don’t know how to do this. It’s— I really like you. I’ve had this little crush on you for so long, it pisses me off. God, I’m an adult.”

Joss frowned, watching Gawin ramble in front of him like he couldn’t stand not speaking about it anymore. Adorable. As beautiful as ever. Joss loved him even now.

“And I want you so much it’s painful. It hurts when I can’t find you in a crowded room.” Gawin chuckled at himself, running a hand over his face. Said, “And Tala made me imagine all of these terrible scenarios where I wouldn’t see you ever again, and you hated me so much you asked your coach to get benched if I was playing, and it just— God, doesn’t it hurt, Joss, to lose you before having you?”

“Gawin,” Joss whispered, pressing his hands on his eyes, rubbing his thumbs on his temples. Joss wanted to believe him so much, but— he couldn’t. Not after all the push and pull, not after having a taste of what they could be, just to lose it all over again. He said, “You know I like you, too. You had me. You had me all this time, but I can’t— I can’t believe you’re all different now just because your sister is a badass.”

“She is, kinda,” Gawin tsked, falsely annoyed, but there was a glint of seriousness in his eyes, a flash of fear, too. He said, “I know you won’t just jump back into my arms, but… I’d like another chance if you’re— if you still want me.”

And Gawin looked so young like that, sounded so young. Just a boy afraid of closing his fist around something that could break if he clenched his fist too tightly. But he seemed sincere, too. Like he wanted Joss, even if it meant facing the world. And wasn’t that something Joss would like to see.

Joss sighed, said, “I want to believe you, G. But you’ll have to make sure you mean it,” and watched as Gawin perked up, his eyes going all round and huge like a kitty. Joss swallowed his devastated groan with saliva and hope. Said, “When the Cup ends, we’ll talk again about this. About us. See how we feel about everything, and then… we move on. Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Gawin beamed, letting out a loud chuckle that startled him a little, his cheeks going red as he put a hand in front of his mouth. Joss grinned, raised an eyebrow at him, and Gawin rolled his eyes and crawled to him very slowly. Said, “Right, right. Can I— can I kiss you again?”

“Kiss me before our first date?” Joss gasped, pretending to be scandalised just to see Gawin’s eyes become tiny with his laugh, head thrown back and everything. Joss pulled him closer by the waist and made Gawin sit on his lap, the position so familiar, still a stain of pain inside Joss’s mind. He said, “You’re very bold, Caskey.”

“Mm,” Gawin hummed, touching the side of Joss’s face with both of his hands now. Cold hands, cold fingers. Joss couldn’t wait to find out how hot they would be after Gawin buried them inside his hair. Gawin leant in just enough to touch their noses, enough to press their foreheads together. He said, “Say yes,” so softly it was a whisper, a secret they were sharing right there on the court of the training centre they had shared so many times during the season. Joss hummed in agreement and closed the distance, trying to make Gawin lose his balance with a tug at his waist, their chests colliding. Gawin huffed a laugh, brushed his nose against Joss’ nose. Said, “Say yes, Joss Way-ar.”

“Yes, Joss Way-ar.”

The kiss tasted like coffee and Gawin’s laughter when it happened this time. Gawin couldn’t reciprocate at first, laughing at Joss’s silliness, grinning in their kiss, getting Joss drunk on the sound of his laugh echoing down his throat. And then Gawin kissed him, soft and slow, one hand cradling Joss’s face, the other touching the back of his neck, sliding into Joss’s hair. It was perfect. Joss caught himself moaning, lost in the taste of Gawin on his tongue, wondering how he could ever live without this. Wondering if Gawin would break him apart if he ever changed his mind again.

When they parted, Joss didn’t let Gawin go at first. He held him by the nape and pecked his lips once, twice. Chased him again when Gawin pulled him away by the hair with a little laugh, mouth red and bitten, a little dazed too. Joss felt dizzy knowing he’d done that to him.

“Pretty boy,” Joss murmured, tracing Gawin’s nose with the tip of his finger. Gawin scrunched it, tried to bite Joss’s finger, and Joss let him. Joss would let him do anything he wanted as long as he promised to stay right there, on his lap, for the rest of their lives. He said, “Love. You’re lovely.”

“Am I,” Gawin said, unimpressed, but his blush was a little deeper now. A touch cuter than before. He said, “Baby. Sweetheart. I was never lying, you know, when I called you like that.”

“Cause you had a crush on me,” Joss teased, and Gawin bit his finger again, harder this time. Joss hissed and laughed loudly, pulling Gawin closer by the waist.

“I’ll beat your ass in the finals,” Gawin promised, his mouth on Joss’s mouth, his arms around Joss’s shoulders.

“I’d like to see you try,” Joss whispered back and kissed him again. And again, and again, and again.

—

Joss knew the nerves that came with the finals were different each time, but there was something so different about fighting for a national Cup that Joss thought he was about to pass away more than once — from anxiety or from excitement, Joss wasn’t sure.

The bleachers were crowded in the arena, a sea of black and white, a classic that so many people had been expecting for so many years, finally happening. Joss could feel his entire body buzzing, his eyes searching for his mother and his father in the crowded room — found them already waving at him, and he grinned. Yeah, definitely different, Joss thought, warm all over at the screams of his name, at the chants the fans had made themselves for the Lycans, for the Vipers too. Magical.

The referee called for the captains, and the team gathered on the court. A coin was flipped. Joss looked up and found a pair of brown eyes already focused on his, glinting with mischief, and Gawin showed him all of his teeth when he grinned. Smug fucker. Joss huffed a laugh and smirked right back. The judge blew the whistle. The crowd went wild.

Game on.

Joss tried to keep the Lycans in command of the game, with Luke at the front and Ohm at the centre, and tried to keep an eye on Archen and their defence to avoid the same mistakes. But the Vipers were good. Too good. Joss could feel the thrill of scoring in a second, and the frustration from a tie a second later.

The game got heated fast enough — people screaming, throwing insults, giving instructions. Joss could hear it all, his focus sharp on the hoop at the other side of the court, and could feel nothing but the roughness of the ball on his fingers and Gawin’s body against his body every time they faced each other, fighting, struggling just like every other time when they played together.

It was maddening. Joss knew they weren’t playing alone, but sometimes he could see nothing but long hair and sharp movements — the elegant slithering of a snake about to strike at its prey. And they were so good against each other — they knew when to be swift, when to wait. Knew where to find gaps to pass through their defences, knew when the fortress was impenetrable, and knew when to retreat.

I could do this forever, Joss thought after scoring again, after seeing Gawin’s eyes sparkle with a new layer of heat, of challenge. I could do this forever with him, he thought. Wondered how Gawin could ever think they could end up hating each other for this, when they floated around each other so well, when they made each other burn like nothing else ever could.

At the end of the first half of the game, Joss was buzzing with a different kind of energy — a different need to win, a sweeter desire to bring glory to his team. Want like ashes in his throat, to make good on his promise to prove Gawin wrong.

“Panting so much already, old man,” Gawin provoked from his side of the bench, a bottle of water in hand, a towel around his shoulders. Grinning. Flushed and sweaty and beautiful. He said, “Don’t make it so easy for me, sweetheart.”

Their teams were listening, Joss knew, the screams from the crowd getting a little louder. He could tell a lot of people were watching, his teammates trying and failing terribly to keep their nosiness from being so obvious. But it was. And Joss loved it too.

“And yet, you still haven’t changed the game to your favour,” Joss teased, and got murmurs of encouragement, Luke laughing loudly behind him. Gawin’s smile reached his eyes beautifully. But the coach called for Joss, and he smirked, crazy for Gawin. For their win. He said before turning around, “Try harder, darling.”

—

The last five minutes pressed on Joss like a blade against his neck.

The Lycans needed to score in the next second if they wanted to hold the Cup at the end, and Joss couldn’t find an aperture, the Vipers closing their defences like a snake cornering its prey. Archen was being pressured at the back, and Ohm was too busy at the centre to help Joss pass through Naravit. Joss felt his heart in his throat, the unsteadiness of his pulse distracting him more than he could explain. He was anxious, and it rarely meant anything good when Joss was in the line of decision.

“Joss, focus!” he heard Luke scream at him when he had to start over, JJ marking Joss too closely for him to score.

Two more minutes. Joss had to be quick, so they changed tactics.

Luke and Ohm traded a look quick enough to be understood, and then they were guarding the other players to leave the path free for Joss to score. They had little space to act, so it had to be fast. Joss dribbled, passed through Navarit’s defence before he could think.

One minute.

Luke was screaming something, giving Archen orders, telling Joss something he couldn’t understand with how loud his blood was rushing inside his veins. Joss had to focus. He had to—

Gawin found him before Joss could see him. Gawin’s defence looked way more threatening in a serious play, the weight of the names they carried on their jerseys a loud reminder clinging to their skin, pulsing with the beat of their hearts. But the world seemed to stop spinning just for a second when their eyes met, Joss’s brain filling with white noise instead of loud pumps of apprehension. Gawin stared at him, at his feet, at the ball in Joss’s hand, and he smirked, worded out just for Joss:

“Just you and me, baby.”

And wasn’t it silly, Joss thought, smirking right back at Gawin, feeling his body move like he and Gawin were an echo of each other, two waves breaking at the same time. Wasn’t it silly to find peace in the heat of vying, burning bright in his favourite pair of eyes?

Thirty seconds.

It was difficult finding the same flaws he always did in Gawin’s defence when they were just training, as if Gawin had been fooling him that entire time. Joss lost the ball twice to Gawin before finding his feet again, before having time to readjust and reread the game one more time.

Fifteen seconds.

Gawin knew how he played now, knew the moves Joss liked to do the most before scoring — knew how to fight them just right, keeping Joss from scoring twice. But Joss knew how Gawin played, too. Knew he always predicted before he acted, knew he was watching every millisecond of movement in Joss’s muscles to prevent his next move, his next dribble. But Joss was nothing but an overachiever.

Nine seconds.

Joss shifted to the left just slightly, and Gawin followed him like a hawk, his hands ready to steal the ball once again, to keep the winning in the Vipers' hands. But Joss changed the direction as soon as Gawin started moving — went to the aperture Gawin left on his right, avoided JJ with a spin and a dribble behind his back. He felt everything all at once, his eyes capturing the moment in slow motion — the ball leaving his fingers, flying through the air. His heart racing. The lack of air, blood rushing to his head. A beginning or the end.

The judge blew the whistle.

And the Lycans were champions.

—

Joss couldn’t remember the last time he felt so floaty inside his own body — ecstasy and adrenaline making his world spin.

Luke had hugged him the second the referee called the game over.

“Fuck, I can’t believe it,” Luke said into his neck, holding him so tight Joss couldn’t breathe. Shaking, too, from the reality of what just happened. Said, “Mate, we’re— we won. We fucking— what the fuck.”

“Fuck,” Joss barked a laugh, echoing his captain’s words, fisting Luke’s shirt in a tight grip, his grin unwavering. Dazed and quite hysterical, being pulled away to be greeted by other people from their team, from the other team, too. Said again, “Fuck.”

The crowd went wild. A sea of black taking over the white jerseys, people chanting Joss’s name in every direction. He found his mom and dad on the bleachers again and ran, ignoring the tugs on his shirt, the hands of so many people on his sweaty skin, his long legs jumping over seats to reach his parents.

He said, “Mom, I won,” and it sounded so juvenile, so innocent for where they were, for who Joss had become in the job he hoped to become great at, so much that he found himself crying, hugging his parents, sweaty skin and all.

“Well done, son,” his father said on his sweaty neck, inside the tight hug they shared in the middle of a crowd in the biggest arena in Thailand, where Joss had just won the National Cup. A title for his new team to be praised for. It felt surreal.

“I love you, thank you. Thank you, I—” Joss whispered, not even sure if his parents could hear it, too swayed by his emotions falling out of him like a cascade. Whispered, “I love you. I could never— I could never do this without you.”

He had to go back, eventually. Found himself laughing, sending kisses to the fans who screamed right in his face as he jumped through the seats to go back to the court again. His coach was calling him, asking for a hug, saying how much he’d always believed in him, and Joss cried some more. Wondered where he’d be now if his coach had never found him on the internet scoring at a game against the Capybaras.

“Where’s the trophy? Let’s take a photo,” a reporter was saying, calling for the team, asking people like crazy where the fuck was the—

But Joss wasn’t looking at him. He was looking across the court, where he’d hear Gawin laughing with a teammate, his head thrown back, his neck a long, wet line. Joss wanted to go to him, wanted to say something silly just to make Gawin laugh as hard as he’d done when it was Nattawin speaking. Joss wanted to tease him about winning, wanted to awaken the blaze in Gawin’s eyes again. Wanted to hear Gawin promise him he would beat Joss eventually in a game, just like he’d done before.

He wanted Gawin, whatever way Gawin wanted to be for him.

“Joss, hold the trophy!” Luke was saying, coming to him with the cup in his hands, smiling so widely that Joss couldn’t help but smile, too.

They took the photo with the entire team, and then they gave a few interviews, and Joss was exhausted and happy, and he couldn’t stop searching around for a white jersey with Caskey printed in black ink on the back. But Joss should’ve known a classic like that would end in a few provocations from the teams.

“Hey, Caskey!” Archen provoked, holding the microphone of an excited reporter, and Gawin turned his head to him and glared. Joss would be intimidated if he didn’t know Gawin the way he did now. Archen smirked, crossed his arms on his chest, and asked, “Where’s your trophy now, buddy?”

And it was deserved. Joss couldn’t help but grin, too, because it served Gawin right for being such a little shit about the Vipers' winning against the Lycans. But Joss knew it hurt Gawin, too. Didn’t know yet how he was feeling, if he could handle this — their rivalry, them being on opposite sides, for too long.

But Gawin raised his eyebrows, and Joss could see an idea forming in the spark of Gawin’s eyes. He said, “You’re right, Archen,” and his eyes flicked to Joss, his smirk growing, stretching, until it became that real thing Joss loved to see so much on that pretty face of his. Gawin said, “I’ll go get it,” and ran.

Joss tried to avoid their collision, but Gawin was determined — their bodies crashed with a pained, unison wheeze. But Gawin was laughing, his arms leaving Joss’s neck to hold Joss lower, Gawin’s arms closing right under his buttocks, his legs bending, and Joss—

“Fuck! Caskey!” Joss yelled, slapping Gawin’s arms as soon as his feet left the ground, Gawin groaning from the effort of holding him up. The crowd was so loud, so many screams filling the arena, and Joss was laughing hard, burning red from happiness, from embarrassment. He groaned, said, “What are you doing?”

And Gawin’s smile was beautiful, looking up at Joss with red cheeks and clear brown eyes, his arms trembling under Joss’s weight. He said, “Getting my trophy.”

“You’re a fool,” Joss said instead of whispering I love you. He knew what Gawin was trying to say, even though he tried to play it cool: he wanted it, wanted them. Vipers and Lycans and everything in between, no more fear. Just Joss and Gawin for the entire world to see.

“Are we witnessing the first friendship between a Viper and a Lycan? Is that it?” the reporter interrupted, and Gawin let Joss step back to the ground, his hands on the hem of Joss’s jersey, threatening to pull it off. Joss had to bat his hands away, laughing, pulling Gawin closer with an arm around his chest, Gawin’s back colliding with his front.

“Not the first,” Gawin smirked, holding Joss’s arm around his middle, his eyes shifting to Archen as he said, “Archen and Natachai are literal best friends.”

And Dunk blinked twice at his friend’s statement and said, “Natachai and who—”

“Listen, you little shit—” Archen started, and chaos erupted, and Gawin was still holding Joss close, their hands hidden behind his back, their index fingers intertwined.

Luke gave Joss a look, a roll of his eyes, a murmur of something about couples and disgust, and Joss laughed because he didn’t care.

He’d won twice in a day.

—

The celebration at the bar was inevitable afterwards.

Joss didn’t really feel like drinking, so he accepted the glass of gin and tonic from Luke only once and managed to avoid the next glass all thanks to Luke’s girlfriend — an angel and a saint for putting up with Luke’s drunk ass. But it was fun. The team was so happy, and people had recognised them, asked to take pictures, and congratulated them, and Joss was on cloud nine.

He also missed Gawin like crazy.

It was past two when Joss thought about calling, and then laughed when he realised he still didn’t have Gawin’s phone number, still stuck on their little game of messaging like forbidden lovers in modern settings. So, out of options, Joss left the bar and leant on the cold wall. Outside, the night was windy, the streets empty. Joss wondered, foolish and a little tipsy from his earlier drink, if his longing would take over the entire town if he dared to say Gawin’s name out loud.

He fished his phone from his pocket and started typing.

From: Joss Way-ar <[email protected]>

Sent: Sunday, July 30th, 2:27 AM

To: Gawin Caskey <[email protected]>

Subject: call me.

Gawin,

I’ve just reached the biggest goal of my life, and I can’t stop thinking you should be here, too, with me. I want you, and the sharpest of your words, and I want your teeth that rip me apart, and your mouth all over me. I want us to burn each other to ashes, and I want us to be remade together, seed by seed, in bodies made for love; in a language no one else can understand but you and me. Us. Together.

I want us together, Gawin. Rivalry and all. Blood and sweat and tears and your laugh, loud and free, calling to me like a siren’s chant. My Gawin. My old paradox. My dichotomy, my other half. There is no place in this world where I don’t want you to contradict all of my beliefs.

Call me. Call me for once in your life, your weird little thing. I’ll be waiting.

Yours,

Joss Way-ar.

Joss laughed at himself and his soft heart, too in this now to back off, to give Gawin the space that he probably needed. He wanted to see him. Wanted to kiss him again right there, under the flickering light of the bar he’d been going to for years now. Wanted to see which features of Gawin’s face would get sharper in the shadow, which would turn softer under the light.

But it was late, and Gawin was probably sleeping, so maybe Joss should just—

His phone rang, an unknown number flashing on his screen. He frowned, picked up with a—

“Yeah?”

“Joss Way-ar,” the caller said, and everything inside Joss moved. Love, it was, then. Gawin said, “Aren’t you a romantic, baby?”

“Just for you,” Joss said, his smile too sincere, his words too easy now that he knew. He said, “How are you, love? Are you okay? Are we okay?”

Gawin huffed a laugh on his side of the line, a little noise of keys tinkling in the background. He said, “We’re fine, I’m fine. A little sad, yeah, but— isn’t it weird, sweetheart, that I felt like I won a little, too?”

Joss hummed, weak and warm all over, burning for something too big to name. He said, “Do you?”

“Mm,” Gawin hummed. “I was mad, and then I saw you running to the bleachers like a madman just to hug your parents, and I just— I think I fell in love with you then. I’m in love with you, do you know that?”

“Gawin,” Joss whispered, and it sounded sacred, his knees buckling with the impulse to kneel for saying it out loud. He said, “My love,” very softly, layered with affection, Gawin’s love all over him. Said, “I’m in love with you, too. I’ve been in love with you. I think I’ve loved you since I saw you at a bar, and you were mean to me, and I thought you were beautiful while taking me apart. I loved you even when I hated you,” hopeless, surrendered, the sound of Gawin’s sigh like a caress, a brush against his cheek. And Joss laughed a little because he was a fool, said, “God, I love you. I want us to lose and win together all the time, Gawin, all the time. I love it. I love you. Have I always?”

And Gawin groaned a pained thing, said, “God, Joss, what the— are you drunk, baby? Are you—” rushed, the sound of a door opening, then closing. He said, “Baby. My love, tell me where you are. Tell me where to find you, sweetheart, tell me—”

“Gawin, I—” Joss heaved, frowning, aching with madness and despair. Aching with how much he wanted and wanted and wanted. Said, “The Bar. Are you coming, love, are you—” searching for his keys in his pocket, searching for his wallet, important things he couldn’t leave behind. Said, “Come, come find me, come—”

“I will, baby. Are you drunk? Tell me, love, are you—”

“No,” Joss whispered, then huffed a laugh, completed with a, “In love, I am. Just for you.”

“Ugh, shut up. You’re terrible,” Gawin groaned again, laughing, and Joss felt the sound resonating inside his bones—humming, humming. He said, “Wait for me, yeah? Just a little, love. I’m coming to you.”

And Joss was smiling like a fool, his cheeks hurting with the stretch of his lips. He said, “Okay,” soft and sweet. Said, “Okay.”

When Gawin arrived, he rolled down the window and gave Joss a smirk that told him Gawin was about to say something that would make him laugh. Joss grinned, walked to the car and leant on the open window, his face resting on his hands.

“Hi there, pretty thing,” Gawin said, eyebrows wiggling and all. Said, “Need a ride?”

“Mm. Maybe I do,” Joss said, tilting his head just a little. Said, “Are you offering?”

“I am,” Gawin said, and Joss opened the door right away, desperate to be swallowed by the smell of vanilla and coconut. By the woody smell of Gawin’s cologne. And Gawin laughed a little, but his hand found Joss’s thigh as soon as the door closed, his thumb pressing the muscle like he needed the touch to feel grounded. He said, his voice like a caress behind Joss’s ear, “Hi, baby.”

And Joss’s grin only widened, his heart a constant, the echo of a name. He said, “Hello, love,” and leant in to touch his nose to Gawin’s nose, to kiss his cheek very briefly. He said, “Kissing inside a car. Imagine the scandal. The news!”

“Blood. War,” Gawin said, and Joss laughed at the familiarity of it. Their story forever layered by their feud. And Gawin was grinning too, his eyes on the stretch of Joss’s mouth, a finger raising to touch the press of a dimple on his cheek. He said, “We’re in the news now, anyway. Historians will call us best friends in the future.”

“Oh, that’s sexy,” Joss said, kissing Gawin’s chin, kissing his laugh from his teeth. Said, “Take me home?”

“Yeah,” Gawin whispered, trying to kiss Joss back — failing miserably because he couldn’t stop smiling, and Joss loved him so much. Gawin kissed the tip of his nose, bit his cheekbone very softly. He said, “Let’s go so I can kiss you again.”

—

They went to Joss’s apartment in the end. Gawin tried to fight him in the way, claiming that we have memories to improve, Joss, you don’t understand—, but Joss tsked, told Gawin there is nothing about that day in your house that I want to forget, so we’re going to mine.

Gawin pouted for the rest of the way. Joss ached to kiss it off his lips.

But by the time they arrived, Joss had lost track of what to do now that he had Gawin with him. Now that Gawin was holding his hand on the way to the lift. Gawin leaning on the cold wall with his hands behind his back, pretty and devastating — a new dream of Joss’s he was; the desperate need to slow down just for Gawin, so that Joss could enjoy being with him millisecond by millisecond. And Gawin smiled at him, leant his head back, and waited. Joss snorted, ridiculously infatuated by Gawin Caskey, and stepped closer, hands behind his back, leaning down until their foreheads were touching.

“Hi,” Joss said, smiling widely, rubbing their noses very softly.

“Hello,” Gawin said, smiling right back at him, tilting his head just enough to put his mouth on Joss’s mouth, the whisper of a kiss in the space between them. He said, “Will you kiss me again, Joss Way-ar?”

Joss hummed, his mouth on Gawin’s mouth, speaking against each other’s lips. Joss sighed a little, tickled Gawin’s cheek enough to make him laugh, and Joss wondered if he would survive this — Gawin Caskey laughing in his mouth on a daily basis. He said, “I will,” and kissed Gawin very briefly. The lift came to a standstill on the seventh floor. He said, “Come on,” and searched for one of Gawin’s hands, intertwined their fingers as he led Gawin out of the lift, as he led them to his door, walking backwards so that he could keep looking at Gawin for a minute longer.

They got inside. Joss closed the door behind his back and leant on it, their fingers still intertwined in the space between their bodies. Gawin was looking around, smiling, a pleased glint in his eyes.

“Mm,” he murmured, turning his face back to Joss. Said, “You should buy an orange sofa to give your house a little colour, don’t you think?”

The noise of Joss’s head thudding against the door was drowned out by the bark of his laugh, his fingers tightening around Gawin’s, his shoulders loosening immediately. Joss hadn’t noticed how tense he was until he wasn’t. He pulled Gawin closer by the hand, held him with an arm around his waist. Their foreheads touched. Joss’s laugh still hadn’t died down.

“Fool,” Gawin said, laughing too, infected by Joss’s joy. He let go of Joss’s hand to touch his face, pulling them closer, closer, until there was no room to breathe anything other than Joss and Gawin. He said, “My Joss,” in a whisper, then they were kissing.

Joss knew he would never get over the feeling of kissing Gawin. He could never get over the wet glide of their lips moving — upper lip first, then Gawin’s bottom lip between his teeth. Gawin’s tongue against his, hot and wet, and Gawin’s hand in his hair, pulling, tilting Joss’s head where he wanted. So good. It was too good, and Joss moaned from it, held Gawin by the neck, tried to press them closer, only to end up moaning again, devastated to find out they couldn’t fuse.

Gawin pulled him away by the hair, kissed Joss’ cheek, his chin, bit the place below his ear that made Joss tremble all over. He kissed Joss’s neck, sucked the skin just enough to sting, and Joss thought he was going mad from it, thought he would die from Gawin’s mouth on his skin, from Gawin’s body pressed against his, moving, grinding their hips, their chests, and Joss—

“Gawin,” he whispered, tightening his finger around Gawin’s neck, and Gawin gasped into Joss’s cheek, let out a little sound that drove Joss a little crazier, a little more desperate. He said, making Gawin turn to him again, “I want you,” and Gawin groaned, kissed Joss hard enough to hurt. Madness. Joss was dying from madness. He said, “I want— let me fuck you, love, let me—”

“Yes,” Gawin whispered, urgently trying to unbuckle Joss’s belt, trying to get rid of his pants, of his shirt, and it was such a mess — Joss getting stuck on the collar of his shirt, tripping on his way to kick his jeans away, and Gawin’s laughter was a pleasant rumble against Joss’s neck while he leant down to take Gawin’s pants off, too. He said, “We’re a mess, we’re—” panting, shivering with Joss’s mouth on his neck, then down, down, a warm tongue on his nipple, the sting of Joss’s teeth closing around the nub. Gawin whined very softly, said, “Let’s— Joss. Joss, Joss—”

Joss turned them around, pressed Gawin against the door, desperate, trying to grind his aching cock against Gawin’s, everything so much and so little, and it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t— Joss needed to — “Gawin, I need to— lube, we need—”

But Joss couldn’t stop moving now that he had started, was rocking into him, his hands all over Gawin’s body, on his neck, on his waist. He hooked a finger on Gawin’s briefs and pulled them down, leaving Gawin naked and hard in front of him. Beautiful. Everything about Gawin was so beautiful, so captivating, and Joss’s hands were a perfect fit on the curve of his waist, on the dip of his hips, around Gawin’s throbbing length.

“Joss, fuck, fuck—” Gawin whined, his grip tightening on Joss’s hair, his hips kicking, trying to fuck into the channel of Joss’s hand. “God, please.”

But Joss was too hypnotised to let it finish this fast. He took Gawin’s free hand and made him hold his own cock, made Gawin cry out in frustration, his hand stroking once, twice, until Joss held his wrist and made him wait.

“Joss,” Gawin groaned, his eyes pleading. “What are you—”

“Touch yourself for me,” Joss said, watching Gawin shudder.

Gawin huffed a laugh and let his head fall back against the door. He said, “Is this your prize for winning? Bossing me around?”

“Yeah,” Joss said, grinning. “A dream come true.”

“Idiot,” Gawin huffed into his mouth, and Joss kissed him again, helpless to Gawin’s lips, to Gawin’s tongue dragging against his slowly, hot and wet. Gawin let out a little moan, said in their kiss, “Joss—”

“Touch yourself, love,” Joss asked again, and Gawin obeyed this time, his hand stroking hard and fast, a thumb pressing in the place right below the head. But Joss made a disapproving sound, said, “Slower.”

“Joss.”

“Slower,” Joss repeated, and watched as Gawin slowed down, watched the tremors take over his body at the slow drag of his own hand against his cock. He said, “Good,” and Gawin whined, tightened his grip around himself. Joss said, “Good, love. Rub your slit.”

And Gawin’s mouth opened very slowly, his eyes closing tightly when he dug a finger into his slit, when he circled the head with the wetness he gathered there. Joss shivered just from watching, Gawin’s pleasured face making him dizzy with want, making him wonder when was the last time he had been this hard.

“Faster,” he ordered, and Gawin moaned when he complied. Joss said, “Faster, love.”

“Joss, I can’t— I’ll—” Gawin gasped, his hips kicking, his hand flying over his cock hard and fast.

“Hold it,” Joss said, and Gawin sank his nails into the back of his neck, dragged burning lines down Joss’s back. Joss hissed, put his hand around Gawin’s hand and made him go faster, made Gawin bury his head on Joss’s neck and bite. He said, breathlessly, “Hold it.”

Gawin moaned, “Please, Joss, please. I can’t—”

“You can,” Joss whispered in his ear, pulled Gawin away from his neck with a hand around his throat, with a thumb on his pulsing point. Gawin was close — Joss could feel by how hard he was throbbing on his hand, how hard he was shivering in Joss’s arms. He said, “Ask me, love.”

“Please,” Gawin cried, and Joss slowed their hands — stroked Gawin so slowly his next moan sounded pained, a plea and a lament. Gawin trembled again, his knees buckling, the hands around his cock moving up and down, up and down. Gawin groaned, said, “God, please. Please, Joss, I—”

“Good. It wasn’t so hard, was it?” Joss whispered to him and twisted his hand on the upstroke, rubbing Gawin’s gland with the palm of his hand. Gawin shouted, and Joss said, “Cum, love. You can cum, you can—”

Gawin came and didn’t stop coming for a few seconds too long, his mouth permanently open while his cock spurted thick layers of cum on his belly, on his hand. On Joss’s hand. And Joss thought he could come like this, he could come untouched just from seeing Gawin so lost inside his own pleasure, so beautifully wrecked by his own hand — by Joss’s whispered commands on his ear.

“Fuck,” Gawin grunted after he came back to earth, still trembling, still holding onto Joss as if he would fall otherwise. He said, “Baby. I did not know I was into you bossing me in sexy times.”

“Jesus, don’t say sexy times when I have your cum on my hand,” Joss groaned, laughed, and Gawin kissed the sound from his mouth, his own smile getting in the way. Joss kissed him once, twice, pressed his lips against the corner of Gawin’s mouth, said, “Are you okay?”

“I am,” Gawin murmured, turning to kiss Joss again, biting his lip on his way back. He said, “Still need you to fuck me, though. Will you?”

And Joss was too hard for Gawin’s easy mouth, so he groaned and pressed his legs together in a useless attempt to calm himself down a little bit. Gawin noticed, of course he did, because he smirked, rested his hand below Joss’s navel, rubbed a thumb on the wet spot on Joss’s brief. Joss shuddered, held Joss’s wrist tightly.

“No funny business,” he said, and made Gawin follow him with his grip on his hand.

He tried to carry Gawin when they got to his bedroom, tried to fight Gawin’s fists and his kicking legs, and they fell together on the bed while wrestling, Joss’s hands trying to pin Gawin’s hips down to the bed. But Gawin was nothing but a fighter, and he locked his legs around Joss’s hips, turned them around on the bed, pinned Joss’s hands above his head.

“Gotcha,” Gawin grinned, his hair a mess, his cheeks very red from his earlier orgasm, from their little battle. From each one of the kisses Joss gave him that night. Gawin said, “Leave your hands right there,” and turned to search for the lube on Joss’s nightstand, his thighs huge where they pressed on each side of Joss’s legs.

Gawin took one of Joss’s hands and coated his fingers with lube, and Joss’s mouth stayed parted on a warning that died down when Gawin pushed two of Joss’s fingers inside himself at once, and Joss knew the stretch was too much from the resistance he found there. But Gawin was moaning, was clenching around his fingers, was making Joss pump them very slowly inside himself, a hand around Joss’s wrist to control the pace. And Joss couldn’t be happier to comply, his own pleasure forgotten when Gawin was so absorbed in riding Joss’s fingers, head tilted to the side, his bottom lip stuck between his teeth. On the third finger, Gawin was already hard again, his dick throbbing, bobbing with the roll of his hips.

“God, fuck me, baby, come on, come—” Gawin rasped, pulling the fingers out of his hole to position himself above Joss’s cock, one hand holding the base, the tip catching on his opening, and Gawin was sinking.

But it was too fast, Joss’s brain was too slow now to catch up, his heart racing as he watched Gawin use him like a toy. He said, “Wait, love, I can’t—”

Gawin sank on him to the hilt in a single, fluid movement, and Joss couldn’t avoid his broken scream, his head falling back against the bed, his body suddenly too heavy for him to bear. And Gawin didn’t waste a second, started riding like a man on a mission, hands on Joss’s chest, his powerful thighs working with him up and down, too fast, too good, and Joss was—

“Baby, you’ll make me— I’ll cum, Gawin, I’ll—”

“Wait,” Gawin breathed, and it felt like a punishment, a revenge for what Joss had done to him earlier. Joss whimpered, his hands sliding down to grip Gawin’s thighs, his hips. Gawin moaned, murmured, “Just a little, baby, wait just a—”

But Gawin was slowing down, and Joss couldn’t take it, he couldn’t take the torture when he’d waited for so long. He whined, tried to thrust up, but Gawin knew how to lock him in place, was strong enough to make Joss stay where he wanted.

“Gawin. Please, Gawin, I really can’t—” Joss mumbled, his body spasming with every slow stroke of Gawin’s hips, the heat around him maddening, so good it hurt. He said, “It hurts. God, it hurts, I need to—”

“I know what you need,” Gawin whispered, lowering his body to speak with his mouth on Joss’s mouth, the shift making him change the angle, his moan blending with Joss’s at the tight heat burning around his dick so good it was insane. Gawin hummed, kissed his cheeks very gently, said, “Fuck me. Make me cum again.”

Joss didn’t wait a second before turning them around, his hands flying to press Gawin’s thighs against his chest, folding him beautifully so Joss could fuck him the way he deserved. Gawin shivered, tried to reach for his cock and found out that he couldn’t, a confused little sound leaving him, too lost in pleasure again, and Joss was helpless, his rhythm faltering in a few erratic thrusts from the simple image of Gawin so devastated by the pleasure Joss was giving him.

“Joss, I need—” Gawin mumbled, holding Joss by the hair, his nails sinking into Joss's bicep. Said, “I’m so close, baby, touch me, I can’t—”

But Joss knew Gawin could. He folded Gawin just a little more and grinded, his cock pressing on Gawin’s prostate without pause, and Gawin gifted him with another shout, trembling, clenching like a vice against Joss’s dick, and he couldn’t hold any longer — he came so hard his vision whited out for a few second, his body moving, milking himself, Gawin’s moans making him shudder, too overstimulated to bear now.

When he finally pulled back, Gawin was sprawled out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his belly painted by his own orgasm. Unblinking. He said, “Man,” sounding lost in thought, his legs still trembling after Joss lowered them on the bed. Said, “I think you fucked my soul out of my body.”

Joss snorted, falling on the bed beside him, burying his face where Gawin’s neck met his shoulder, and kissed the skin very softly. He said, “You, too.”

Gawin hummed, wiggling his eyebrows, and Joss laughed on their next kiss, too happy to care about the sticky mess drying between their bodies.

—

They stayed up until late, after — Gawin sat with his back against the headboard in his underwear, an old guitar Joss used to play secured on his lap, strumming soft tunes. Joss laid on the bed, his head resting on one of Gawin’s thighs, looking up at him.

“You promised to play me something when your shoulder got better,” Joss said, his eyes heavy-lidded with sleep.

Gawin looked down and huffed a laugh at Joss’s sleepy state. Said, “What do you want me to play, then?”

“I don’t know,” Joss mumbled. “Something you like.”

Gawin played with the chords for a few minutes, and Joss wondered what he was thinking. But the melodies were nice, the ending of one always complementing the beginning of another, and that was nice enough to hear. And Joss was almost asleep when Gawin finally settled on one, the thrumming steadying, awakening Joss’s brain.

“What’s that?”

“Something I like,” Gawin smiled, and then he started to sing, and it was—

Magical. Gawin was something out of this world, made by a different kind of stardust, a different piece, an element yet to be discovered and explained by science. His voice was so fluid, so soft, like a gentle caress, a kiss on the back of Joss’s hand. Joss opened his eyes then and watched as Gawin struggled with a chord or two, messing up the lyrics once his eyes found Joss’s eyes under the low light of his bedroom.

“Nana, nana,” Gawin mumbled, laughing, getting lost in the rhythm and finding the melody in the middle. “I don’t remember the lyrics, na na na, why am I messing this up? I love this song,” he sang, his words bathed by the sound of his smile, glowing in his element, just as much as he glowed on the court.

Joss smiled back at him, recognising the song between one strum and another, and let Gawin sing while he hummed along. Outside, the sky was turning into a shade of red, the first rays of sunshine in the morning.

Inside, Gawin sang. And Joss followed, humming.

Notes:

tell me what you think?
see you soon <3

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