❝ His heart whispered his other half would find him. And even if he thinks it won't work out or he's not enough, half of his heart says otherwise ❞
Heartbroken countless times, the dancer's feelings for the basketball player remain in his heart unt...
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─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
❝ You make it look so easy when you're hardly alright. You smile when you don't need to but you're crying at night. It's okay to say that you don't have the fight. But if you don't mind, just leave me to try. For you and I. It's you and I ❞ — You & I, Gentle Bones
☘️
C H A P T E R S E V E N
JAEHYUN LEAPS TO THROW THE BASKETBALL BALL—THE SAME COLOR AS HIS CARAMEL EYES GLITTERING IN ANTICIPATION. The ball enters the hoop in a swift motion and falls from the net like a waterfall, and cheers consume the gym, bouncing off the walls as the digit clock on the wall beeps.
But all Changmin hears is the sound of his heartbeat thumping—eyes meeting Jaehyun's, he blushes recalling his conversation with Youngjae in the library. Suddenly he can't find the courage to confess to Jaehyun—his real name.
Everyone calls him Hyunjae. It's just spelled backward.
Changmin fishes his phone out from the pocket of his jean and lets out an inaudible gasp at the time displayed on his lock screen, realizing the promise he made to Youngjae. He rushes down the bleachers. It's not even an emergency, but he hates nothing more than breaking promises and lying, and right now he needs to be the team's manager.
He needs to be part of the team.
Changmin needs to be there for Youngjae.
He stops running, feeling a hand wrap around his wrist, and whirls around finding Hyunjae standing in front of him. And if the universe is telling him one thing, which is to say the truth sitting at the bottom of his heart, his feelings for the golden boy filter through his lungs.
His hand curls and the muscles in his jaw constrict. He needs to be at the football stadium and definitely not here with Hyunjae. But he stays just to hear what he has to say.
"Are you okay? Is there any way I can help?" Hyunjae says softly.
Changmin could tell him now, watching how concern flickers in the ginger of his irises, but he doesn't. He doesn't tell him he loves him, instead, he sends him his warm wishes for next week's basketball match and runs. The fragmented paper drops from his grasp, and Hyunjae bends to pick it up.
. . .
RUNNING LIKE QUICKSILVER, the cool autumn breeze envelopes Changmin, reassuring him that he did the right thing. But reaching the stadium, he notices how his hand feels empty.
It feels like all the air in his lungs collapsed—chest tightening but still he manages to sprint, finding a seat in the top row of the bleachers.
