Pop Star || Yoongi x Reader

17. Liars

"You're disrespecting the court by sitting down."

You jump backwards with a tiny scream. Suga is leaning against the basket pole, head slightly tilted.

"You scared me!" You complain. You become very conscious of the fact that you probably look like a mess right now.

"Where the hell did he even come from..." you mutter as you get up, adjusting your joggers. It's still early in the morning, and you haven't washed up after working out.

He's in oversized clothes and a beanie - and rubber-soled shoes, which is probably why he walked into the court soundlessly. You wonder if he actually managed to become leaner in a span of a week or is it just because of the loose sweats.

Suga chortles at you. "Do you know how to play?" He asks, looking at the ball in your hands and back at you.

"A little," you lie. You're not feeling confident right now. So, even though you are good enough to have played the state team when in school, you don't reveal it.

"Go on, take a shot," he says, joining you inside the semi-circle.

You poise, and shoot - a neat basket. He catches the ball.

"How's your leg?" He asks before making a basket. Both of you keep taking alternate shots.

So he remembers.

"It's okay - a little sensitive, but okay," you flex your leg - it really doesn't hurt anymore even though it has only been a week since you got injured. Thank god.

"What are you doing here so early?" You ask and shoot another basket.

"New choreography," he replies, taking the ball. You sense some distaste in his voice.

"You don't like getting up early?"

"I don't like getting up early to dance," he mutters.

You snort, and then ask, "Suga, you actually understand English pretty well, don't you?"

He doesn't answer but can't stop himself from grinning slightly while he shoots - and misses.

"Hah. I knew it," you catch the ball. "Why do you act like you don't?" You ask, remembering all the effort you went to translate your words last time.

"It is convenient - to pretend - because," he scratches his chin as he tries to formulate the next sentence, "I'm not that confident."

You're surprised to see him admit that in front of you. You shoot the ball and miss. Instead of letting him take the ball, you get to it first. There's something you've been meaning to tell him since that morning, now is a good chance.

"I wanted to thank you," your words make him stare at you, "- for sending the wine. You didn't have to, you know."

He shrugs. "I was not trying to compensate. I just -," he pauses, "- was trying to compensate, yeah."

You burst out laughing. "Of course you were."

But you can swear you saw a hint of a smile on his face for a split second.

"My turn," he says, indicating the ball with a flick of his head.

"Come and take it then," you retort coolly.

His eyes widen for a second, then he says, "I'm better than you. More experience. You sure?"

It's your turn to shrug, "let's see what you've got, Suga."

He saunters towards you with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. You adjust your ponytail before dribbling the ball. Suddenly, you're nervous, unsure if he's going to play fair or if you can counter him even if he does. And is this nervousness because of the game or because he's so close - so close that you can smell his cologne and notice the sharpness of his eyes the way you did back at the airport...