Who's That Guy? | Yuta [Book 1] ✓

17 | 'you're already better than half the guys on my team.'

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        YUTA HAD TO DEAL WITH his head and feet having separate minds of their own. In the end, he caught himself entertaining the latter, having only realised he heeded when he saw himself sat across from Kim Doyoung on wet grass after practice.

        Though his chances of getting in still leaned towards unsubstantiated, thanks to coach, Yuta thought the boy could learn a thing or two spectating from the bleachers whilst they trained. The captain also hoped it proved something to coach eventually.

        Doyoung's expression had become wonted for Yuta, yet he had a hard time getting used to it because, just like he assumed his friend might be feeling as well, he was bunked still, in the process of wrapping his head around stuff. Around Yuta's change of heart. Around everything. And sometimes Yuta wondered if Doyoung had thoughts on requestioning his motives. He knew he did.

        "What's up?" The shorter boy appeared believably consternated, a look both currently shared, and for a moment, Yuta fathomed how he could've held any form of aversion from the start.

        Then he remembered. It still didn't seem enough.

        "I need ... advice, I guess," he started, forcing a huge lump of anxiety down his windpipe. One thing scared him: the ceaseless alarm of caution going off in his head. "Well, ask you something more of."

        "Looks bad." Yuta heard him mutter.

        "Oh, no." the shake of his head, abrupt and steady, hopefully relayed how wrong Doyoung was. At least, the Japanese didn't think there was any harm per se. He could be wrong, and if that happened to be the case, who knew if he could live with himself. "E-Except you think it is, then just forget I asked. No pressure. If not, I want complete frankness."

        Doyoung's inability to deduce what he said left him somewhat tense with foreboding. Nothing changed. And at his sullen expression, Yuta sensed his rapid increase in panic. Now the entirety of him agreed to cooperate with his mind to shut the hell up and make a run for the hills. Even his legs wanted to take off.

        Traitors.

        Once, twice, he swallowed. At the third, it became clear that the lump could remain wedged in his throat for the rest of the day.

        "You can tell me anything," Doyoung egged him on, his tone betraying his anxiety. For a second there, Yuta noted the softness of it. Somewhat ... effeminate. The lustre in his smile was nothing short of encouraging as a hand reached out to touch his arm. Yuta was still unsure of what had him capitulating.

        "Do you like Jisoo?"

        The question was a quicksilver blurt he couldn't decipher himself and if he had expected any form of reaction from the brunette, he got nothing. His expression stayed blank until Yuta became desperate to know what he was thinking. Maybe he shouldn't have asked. But, right there before his very eyes, the dark-haired boy saw the other's begin to gleam and sparkle under the almost setting sun until they became cresents, a smile creeping up into a full-blown grin, and hands moving up to clasp about each other in what Yuta safely ascertained for glee.

        Nevertheless, he repeated the question as tactically as he could, wanting to be sure of himself this time. Yuta already envisioned a relive of last tryouts: Doyoung lunging forward, punching, mostly kicking, the living daylights out of him, picking up where they left off in their sickening game of hide and seek, and all in all, returning to square one. Instead his grin intensified, if it were possible. "Because if you do, I ... I totally understand," he stated half-heartedly. A blatant lie that even the other could've read into loud and clear. However, Yuta was willing to adhere to the Bro Code. He now considered Doyoung an accomplice after all.