Tae Shin is a simple boy with simple dreams, who likes to hide his half-forgotten past into the shadows of his low self-esteem. Kim JaeHwan is a sole heir to a gigantic multi-billion conglomerate, who likes to reminisce the ghosts of his happy child...
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Tae Shin.
For two whole days, he was all YoonJae could think of. The ground beneath him seemed to shake. His steps faltered, and sweat kept on dripping down his temple, that salty irritation making his eyes itch.
The muscles in his calves had long given way, and YoonJae was on his fourteenth lap. His teammates, save for San MaRoo were all wasted away on the ground, who was running ahead of YoonJae, his dumb face void of all expressions.
YoonJae snapped his eyes open. Every time he blinked, he would see Shin. He would also see SooMin, and he would see their future together, happy, joyful and full of sunshine.
Fucking Tae Shin.
He had no right to mess YoonJae up.
YoonJae tasted salt. Tears or sweat, at this point he no longer knew. He couldn't understand Shin's pain. Fucking put a lid on it. Be a man. YoonJae's mind screamed. But for once, for once his heart said something— leave Shin alone. YoonJae had done him too much harm already.
"Alright kids," slicing through all that messy shouting inside of his mind, YoonJae heard his coach speak. "Go back home. All of you look tired."
"Not me." MaRoo, the dumb, brutish giant raised his hand. YoonJae could clearly see that boy panting like a hound. Still, he had to stay back and do more. Had he not been born as the second son of Seoul's Mayor, San MaRoo was nothing.
"And then you'll collapse and your family will come up and scold me, not happening kid, go home."
"Not mine." MaRoo raised his hand again. If YoonJae knew one thing about San Maroo, it was that his family didn't care about him. They didn't even come to see the tournament which in Tokyo.
"Word's final, go home."
"Line up!" YoonJae barked in his grim, shaky voice and his teammates stood up, throwing grudging faces his way. "Bow!"
Their bows were always coordinated. Ninety degrees and in sync. They might have hated each other off the court, but when they played, they played like brothers. With a bond stronger than blood.
"YoonJae Hyung," MaRoo called when they had finished changing.
"Yeah?"
"Park SeokWoo wanted me to tell you this. Don't lay hands on someone else's property."
YoonJae's lips curled up in a scowl. "The fuck that means?"
