EYES LIKE THAT (Shubman Gill X Ishan Kishan)

dimples N you

Ishan stares at his phone, waves of sound crashing in his ears, it was his heartbeat, growing painfully loud.

Shubman cocks his head, waiting for him to answer.

Ishan's brain scrambles to tell him what the text read, but he pauses. "No," he thinks, looking at the lazy, yet suggestive smile that Shubman was wearing. The manager didn't have to get in between them, over and over again. They didn't need that, not after yesterday.

In yesterday's match, Shubman had gotten out at few runs. And he had left the field without sparing Ishan or anyone a glance, a seething expression on his face. Anger at himself.
Ishan knew that he was beating himself up, for not working harder, for not practising more. But the truth was, no amount of hardwork could fight luck. He himself had learnt it the hard way.

Only now, in this locked dingy room, there was peace on Shubman's face. Ishan could sell his soul to keep that expression intact, so yeah, he wasn't going to tell him what the stupid manager had said.

"Nothing," Ishan smiles a forced smile, putting the phone back into his pocket.

Shubman raises an eyebrow. Maybe he could sense that something was wrong. He pulls Ishan close and wraps his arms tightly around him. Ishan nearly melts into his body, burying his face into the nook of his neck. He waits a moment before sliding the tip of his tongue across his collarbone. This.

Shubman sucks in a sharp breath, "Ishan," he warns.

His scratchy voice makes Ishan feel even crazier, he grabs Shubman's neck and presses an open mouthed kiss against his skin. Fuck that manager. He wasn't going to let him ruin what he had with Shubman.

Shubman groans and pulls Ishan away to look at him. His eyes were almost black with lust. He doesn't say anything, just slowly drinks Ishan in, his eyes, his lips, his neck. His expression; almost.... devotional.

Ishan blushes, slightly scared by the intensity of his eyes, "Can you stop looking at me?"

"You said slow," Shubman's eyes are unreadable as he ignores his question.

"I say a lot of things," Ishan responds cheekily, trying not to look unnerved.

"No, wait, slow it is," Ishan backtracks hurriedly on seeing the dangerous expression on his face.

Shubman releases a ragged breath and runs his hand through his hair, looking a little frustrated. And then he concedes a laugh, muttering, "Ishan Kishan, the games I let you play with me...."

Forget everyone else, heaven was right in front of him. It was Shubman's laugh.

----------

"I'm a fucking cricketer, and that's all I'm going to do; play cricket. You can't make me do shit else." Ishan had found something to fight for, and he had come bursting into Kartik's office.

Kartik's face looked unaffected, almost bored, "Shubman gill; missed catches, misfielding, low runs at yesterday's match are the least of his problems. That man's a serial womanizer."

"What?"

"It's a headline in today's newspaper. Further in the article, an interview with a woman named Rakhi Gupta comes up, who says...." Kartik grabs a paper and fumbles, looking for his spectacles.

" 'I used to work at the hotel where the team stays at. I know all about his disgusting ways, he brought me into his room and started kissing me.' "

He reads on as Ishan's blood chills, " 'He murmured some other woman's name when he was on top of me, 'Ishu' or something. I think it's short for Ishita. Then Ishan Kishan barged into the room and they started shit-talking me. Right in front on me. Of course I left. I'm telling you, he has more focus on girls than cricket, I mean, just look at yesterday's match.' "

There is pause in which Kartik just stares at Ishan from the top of his glasses.

Ishan tries to stand his ground, although he was still reeling from the shock of what he had heard, "So? What does this have to do with me? Why are you asking me to go out with some girl? You're the manager, manage this."

"I have. All such articles have been removed. But you can't erase it from people's memories. People think the 'Ishu' in question is you.

Ishan crumbles at his words, completely defeated. He was right.

"Look, this is a dangerous rumour, and someone must put a stop to it right now. I can't ask Shubman, he's our star player. Any girl who's rumoured to date him would get heat from the internet. If you refuse, though, I will have to ask him."

No. He's been through enough.

As if Kartik hears him, he smiles, "Great, you've a date in three hours. Dress up nice, you'll be in the papers."

----------

Ishan's heart is bleeding. At the fancy lighting, the exquisite food on the expensive plate. At the girl, in sweetheart neckline brown wrap dress in front of him.

It doesn't feel right, he thinks as he grips the fork. It's not Shubman.

The girl is sweet enough, she's rambling on about some penguins, trying to make the mood light. Ishan's not even paying attention. In his mind, he wonders how Shubman would react when he tells him this. Would he laugh at the absurdity or get furious at the audacity?

"Oh, fuck penguins," she suddenly announces, putting down her fork, a sudden sparkle in her eyes, "Tell me, is there a girl in your life? You obviously don't seem interested in me."

Ishan doesn't speak. It's not her fault, you douche, he scolds himself. She knows the situation they're in, how it is all fake and she's still trying to make him feel comfortable.

"No one."

"Come on, man. I know you were forced, but don't ruin my evening as well. Smile a little, the photographers are right at the table behind us. So... what girl?" She leans in excitedly.

Boy. A boy with dimples. A boy whose touch is heaven. A boy who couldn't compare to anyone else. Boy.

"Let's just get going," Ishan says, getting annoyed. Yes, a major jerk. Arrogant shitface. Entitled brat. But it was a more acceptable thing to be than gay.

The girl rolls her eyes but gets up. They walk to the door, his hand on her waist like a couple. Ishan tries to focus on keeping the food in his stomach, than the stares of the people in the restaurant.

Then, from his eyes, a series of events happen as if in slow motion.

The girl suddenly whips around and takes Ishan's face in her hands, and covers his lips with her hand.

A soft murmur, "I'm sorry, sweetheart," and she plants her pink, plump, glittery lips on him.

He hears several people audibly gasp as he realizes what was happening.

Click.