Learning Curves || Rise Donnie x Reader

⇾Sixteen⇽

"You went silent. Are you having a really long inner monologue about what I said?" Donnie asked slowly, now only a foot away.

"That ends with me learning more about myself? Yeah." You felt a smile form on your lips as you looked over at him, bouncing the basketball in your hand without looking. But this time it felt natural, like you were in complete control over it.

A smile lit up his handsome face. "Great. Depression didn't look good on you." You laughed.

"Now I just need to figure out what major to choose." You dribbled the ball between your legs to show off as Donnie rolled his eyes.

"Well you seem to have a passion for editing, so mayhaps some kind of literary major?" he supplied.

"I prefer reading to writing, but I'll see what majors Eastlaird offers." You passed the ball to him, and he again fumbled before catching it. "For a ninja-"

"Don't you dare finish that thought." His eyes narrowed, but the playful atmosphere was back. "Bask-eyy-ball is not my forte." You didn't bother trying to stop the laugh bubbling out of your throat.

"Are you seriously trying to sound pompous right now? I know you know how to say it, you've pronounced it correctly before." He scoffed as he tried to dribble, but he couldn't form a reply with all his brain power devoted to not losing the ball. "You want me to teach you some things?"

"I don't need the great Team Captain patronizing me," he grumbled, sweat forming on his forehead due to his concentration. He reminded you of your younger self, trying so hard to dribble correctly without using both hands. When the ball bounced away despite his efforts, he expected to hear you laugh at him. But you only smiled affectionately.

"You'll get it."

He stared at you suspiciously, still expecting his insecurity to be mocked. "Let me guess, when poultry grows wings?" You bit your tongue to stop a sarcastic quip from escaping and shook your head.

"Nope. If you can learn ninjutsu, you can learn this easily."

"They aren't correlated, and proficiency in one does not denote proficiency in the other." You swore the more insecure he was about something, the more pompous and 'intellectual' he spoke to make up for it.

"My point is: it's similar." You jogged over to go grab the ball. "They're both physical activities, both require a lot of hand-eye coordination, and both take years to master." You tossed the ball to him, and this time he caught it perfectly. "See? You and your big beautiful eyebrows got this!" He scoffed.

"My perfectly sculpted eyebrows have no bearing on-"

"Now try to shoot." You pointed at the basket, and he suddenly looked embarrassed.

"We were supposed to be brainstorming what makes you, you," he protested, definitely not in an attempt to distract from his lackluster basketball skills.

"We can multitask." You winked, then walked over to stand beside him. You showcased the perfect shooting form—your dominant hand bent like you were carrying a platter of food, your non-dominant hand pretending to hold the ball steady in your dominant hand. Then you arched your hand up and over, like you were reaching your hand into a cookie jar, and ended on your toes.

Donnie watched you carefully, jotting down mental notes. Then you gestured for him to try. He tried to copy your posture, but his feet were too wide and there was no bend to his knees. You tapped your sneaker into his foot to gently push his legs together, then you bent your knees to show him how it's done.

"You know, teaching comes pretty naturally to you as well," he mumbled, trying to distract himself from his own embarrassment. The way you were looking at him now—so full of love and genuine care—made his overthinking mind calm down. You weren't going to make fun of him, you only wanted to help him. Like you always did. He didn't even realize the love shining in his own eyes as he smiled at you. Maybe, possibly, in a small way, this was more than just an addiction to the chemical reaction producing happy chemicals in his brain. He'd need to do more research into it to be certain—even if his illogical heart already knew the answer.