rustle | exo: unforced errors (1/4)

Unforced Errors
— Baekhyun/Kyungsoo. NC-17. 50223 words.
— There are only a few things Kyungsoo has complete faith in. (Tennis AU)(Warnings: brief mentions of violence, homophobia, underage sex. Please take the warnings seriously.)
— Written for

181cms for

sooenaemoured 2014! Originally posted HERE. 181cms, thank you so much for the lovely prompts! I had so much fun with them, and I hope you enjoy this gift of mine. :) To Chelsea, thank you so much for the cheerleading and for entertaining weird questions at obscene hours in the morning/evening. To Shailvi, thank you for holding my virtual hand while I was writing the ending, and for telling me when something works and when it doesn't. Frances, Dan, and Clara, thank you for the moral support! I love you all. :) ♥

( service )

"Jihoon—"

Kyungsoo grips the racket in his right hand tight. He can feel his pulse shooting to his thumb, the rest of his arm, and then on the base of his throat. Jihoon's grip on his wrist is so tight, he feels like it might break off anytime. "Jihoon, what are you doing?" he asks, but Jihoon doesn't answer. Instead, Jihon grins at him, menacing, and swings his racket. Sharp pain shoots up Kyungsoo's right arm as the frame makes contact with his elbow. Another swing — Kyungsoo cringes in pain, repeats, "Jihoon, what the fuck are you doing—" but Jihoon hears none of his words, just keeps striking his right elbow again and again, each blow making Kyungsoo lose all the feeling in his right arm.

He wakes up with a tiny jerk, a violent breath of life. Beside him, an old lady stirs and grumbles, "Let a woman get some rest."

The dreams have been coming to him more recently — in the middle of his therapy, during service, halfway through the deciding set when he's just about to aim a shot between the feet of his opponent to turn the tides to his favor. It's been easier to shrug off before, back when the only thing he had to worry about was the distance between his dorm and the facility at Arabellastraße, but with the looming presence of Seoul just beyond the clouds, reality hits him hard like a truck, shoots a shiver down his spine.

He winces when he feels a tinge of pain in his right arm. He clenches and unclenches his fist, then the feeling is gone.

When he left Seoul to receive treatment at Germany a year ago, he didn't just leave behind the Korean soil and the Korean air and the food he's grown up eating; he left behind his family, friends, a whole team of young tennis players aspiring to go pro someday, his life. Jihoon who had struck his elbow too many times in an attempt to force him to use his left hand, saying, you don't need your right arm, anyway, right? His doubles partner who he'd trusted with his life and his dreams and had even shared them with him once, the first time they ever won a big match as a doubles team.

"We will be arriving at Incheon International Airport shortly. Please keep your seatbelts fastened until the 'fasten seatbelt' sign is turned off. Thank you."

"Well, duh," Kyungsoo mutters, shaking his head a little. He looks out the window, past the clouds and at blotches of color below. He remembers the busy city life, the smell of kimchi around the clock, the gentle pats on the back of supportive team members. He remembers tossing a ball in the air and waiting for the exact moment when he can hit the ball with the sweet spot of the racket, remembers the sound of a perfect shot as the ball bounces off the strings.

He remembers home.

Three soft knocks on the door and he can feel his chest constricting. He puts his luggage down at the first sound of footsteps, and he summons his best, brightest smile as he waits. A turn of the doorknob, a light gasp, and his mother's scooping him in his arms and saying, "You didn't tell me you were coming home today!"

He envelops his mother with his arms and squeezes her briefly. "I wanted to surprise you."

"And you did," she says with a small sniffle. She hits his arm lightly, playfully, but quickly apologizes. "Ah, sorry, I keep forgetting—"

"It's fixed now." He stretches his arm, bends his elbow, and his mother smiles in response. "It's okay, don't worry."

His mother never knew much about the injury — all he told her was that his elbow was so royally fucked up and he'd never be able to play tennis again. A few days after and he changed the last bit — "Maybe there's nope. I mean, I heard of a tennis player — a whole lot of them — who received treatment in Germany and were able to play professionally again," he had explained. "Goran Ivanisevic? Andy Murray? Michael Chang?" he even went on to say, and his mother just nodded in approval before asking, "So when do you fly out?"

His mother runs a hand up and down his arm now. She takes a deep breath, then says, "So, can you…"

"Play tennis again?" He chuckles. It would've been harder to laugh at the question before. "The last three months of my therapy have all been focused on getting back to playing competitively. My serve's as good as ever."

She frowns and squeezes his arm lightly. "If I so much as see you squirming in pain—"

"Umma," he interrupts even before she can finish. He wears his best smile, the one he knows can pacify her, then continues, "I told you, I'm fine. I'll be more careful this time."

And he makes a promise to himself to be more cautious this time around. He hasn't spent an entire year in Germany only to return to Korea with a broken arm and an even more broken spirit. He's been hitting balls harder in the last month of the therapy, winning practice matches left and right. "You'll never be able to do your trick shots anymore with your right hand, though. But why don't you use your real playing hand?" he remembers his doctor asking. He flexes his fingers on instinct. He can hear his knuckles cracking. The only thing that's missing is a racket in his hand.

"Then I would love to see you play again," his mother finally says. She pulls away with an easy smile. "Let's get your things inside."

He nods and tightens his grip around the luggages. The creak of the door is as terrifying as the first bounce of the ball against the sweet spot of the racket. It's a sound he has to get used to again.

"Do Kyungsoo, in the flesh!"

Monday mornings haven't been this alive and full of activity in a while, he thinks as Jongdae waves at him and throws his arms around him, slapping his back lightly. "You didn't tell us you were coming back!" he adds, pulling away to hold Kyungsoo at an arm's length.

Kyungsoo's initial response is a shrug; his second, a small smile. "I didn't even tell my mom," he finishes and, beside him, Chanyeol pinches his stomach, Chanyeol's eyes going wide as he mouths, you lost all your baby fat!

"I think it's the beer."

Jongdae nods. "It must be the beer. He's been cutting down on it." Jongdae fakes a gasp. "I am affronted."

"I don't think any of us are legal to drink beer just yet."

Chanyeol shrugs. "Oh well, it was worth a shot."

He spots familiar faces on their way to the courts — Oh Sehun and Kim Jongin who were still freshmen when he'd left for Germany, Huang Zitao whose Korean was now more fluid than it had been a year back. A few more here and there, and then there's the coach trying to make sense of the ruckus the freshmen have started.

"They're supposed to be swinging rackets, not having a sword fight with them," Chanyeol comments, massaging his temples as he does so. His most recent source of a headache is these little guys running around and swinging their rackets. Chanyeol's patient for most things, but the sound of a young kids and their rackets clashing drives him insane, so much so that he has to ball his fists to keep himself from yelling, shut the fuck up!

"So how did coach take Kris and Joonmyun-hyung's graduation?" Kyungsoo asks. He rests a hand on the small of Chanyeol's back.

Chanyeol finally exhales and snorts, a more relaxed smile slowly easing back onto his lips. "Oh man, that was the most hilarious thing ever!"

Chanyeol's haflway through talking about Kris' elaborate speech about bringing out the best in oneself and always keeping your guard up in the face of an opponent when a slightly less familiar face steps in and beams in his direction, then ruffles Chanyeol's and Jongdae's hair. "New friend?" the stranger asks, and Jongdae's lips slip into a small 'o'. He can see Jongdae's Adam's Apple bobbing, Chanyeol's lips tugging up into a weird smile, and Chanyeol withdraws his arm from around Kyungsoo's shoulder as he stands up and addresses the stranger.

"Ah, Baekhyun, this is Do Kyungsoo. He's our—"

"Baekhyun? Byun Baekhyun?" Kyungsoo asks, eyebrows furrowed. He gives the stranger another look before standing from his seat and extending a hand in Baekhyun's direction. "It's… weird seeing you here after—"

"Years," Baekhyun finishes. He laughs a little. "Like, a really, really long time. The last time I saw you, you were still wearing one of those too-short shorts when playing tennis and—"

Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow at him. "Shut up, Byun."

He doesn't remember much about Baekhyun, only that Baekhyun is a great player and possesses a backhand that he can only dream of. 2003, a rather lax championship match in the indoor courts. Kyungsoo had just turned ten then, and Baekhyun was so much taller than he was, and they shook hands when they approached the net as all players did. They both hadn't dropped a game until the tiebreaker, and Baekhyun's stamina gave him away, earning Kyungsoo a win against Baekhyun. Six months after, for a different tournament, they faced each other in the quarterfinals where Baekhyun whipped his sorry ass 7-5, 6-4 in a match that lasted a little over an hour. Then there was Baekhyun's palm flat on his shoulder as they talked about the holes in their play, that Kyungsoo could have won if he hadn't kept trying to serve an American Twist down the middle, that your grip is too loose; better shape up for our next match, Do Kyungsoo.

"You haven't changed," Baekhyun says now, lips tugged up in a familiar smile that Kyungsoo had long been wanting to wipe off his face. A nice forehand to the cheek should do it, if Baekhyun still doesn't have the focus of a tennis player who actually wants to win, but Baekhyun's hand is warm when he takes Kyungsoo's in a handshake. There's the tentative squeeze before Baekhyun lets go, and Kyungsoo feels sharp pain shooting up his arm; Baekhyun didn't even squeeze that hard.

"Is your arm good?" Baekhyun asks after a while, after the coach rounds them up for a few announcements. Chanyeol and Jongdae are heading to court number five and Baekhyun's following him to court number three.

He moves his racket to the left, tightens his grip, and practices his swing. He turns to Baekhyun with a small smile and says, "Better than ever."

Six games in and Baekhyun's breathing is already shallow.

"Weak," Kyungsoo says loud enough for Baekhyun to hear and, even from the opposite side of the court, he can clearly see Baekhyun sticking up his middle finger at him. "Gonna get you kicked out of the courts. Unsportsmanlike behavior," he soon says, and Baekhyun scowls and yells, "Just serve the goddamned ball!"

His opponents back in Germany were good, but none of them are half as skilled as Baekhyun. Baekhyun knows technique and timing, knows the type of spin to add to a ball to force Kyungsoo to run after the shots and fire them back at him with laughable power that he can send the ball toppling over to the other side of the net with a flick of the wrist. Baekhyun's service isn't that bad, either, if he could stop holding back on the backswing, but it's sharp enough to earn him some of the most crucial points of the game. "You have to get that follow through properly if you don't want to injure your shoulder," he tells Baekhyun when they meet at the net. Baekhyun keeps his eyes closed as he grips the edge of the net tight, trying to catch his breath.

"Says the guy who choked just two games before he won the match," Baekhyun teases. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath before continuing, "Ugh shit, can't breathe. Gonna die. I can't do rallies past twenty shots anymore. If you were injured then how do you—"

"I injured my shoulder, not my knees." Kyungsoo laughs and Baekhyun punches him lightly on the arm, quickly followed by a whispered oops, sorry. "Good game, though," he says after a while and, once Baekhyun has caught his breath, Baekhyun gives him a toothy grin. 2004 finals. Baekhyun had lost the match 5-7. Kyungsoo cried during his acceptance speech, though; Baekhyun laughed at him silly for five minutes straight.

"I was pathetic. And to think you're even easing into your new playing hand!" Baekhyun says. "You better watch your back. I might aim a serve to your nape and you'll never be able to play again."

Kyungsoo looks over shoulder. "That's a bad joke."

"Shit, I didn't mean—"

Kyungsoo cackles. "Kidding. Come on, let's get some water. You look like you could use some."

The sting of the memory of being hit with a racket to his elbow throbs in his muscles. It doesn't hurt as much now, but maybe without all the medicine and the rehab, it would still cut his flesh open, make him drop his racket to the ground. It's his left hand that aches now, and he props his racket under his right arm. The only thing he can grip with his right hand right now is a ball; anything as slim as the handle of a racket will take time to get used to.

Thirty minutes after and Chanyeol's already asking for a match, saying, "C'mon, I haven't played with you in a long while." He agrees, anyway, muscles relaxing when Chanyeol rests his hands on his shoulders and pushes him back to the courts, trying as much as possible to do his best train sound imitation.

"This kinda feels like freshman year," Chanyeol whispers. His muscles tense for a while so he draws his shoulders back, cracks his neck a little. Chanyeol lets his hands fall to his sides in response. "How were your classes there in Germany? Boring?"

"A bit." Kyungsoo chuckles, then spins the racket by the throat. He stops when Chanyeol's gaze on his hand lingers longer than the usual. "You know how I feel about online classes."

"Completely unnecessary," they chime at the same time. Chanyeol bursts into a peal of laughter, racket sliding down, and Chanyeol barely catches it by the beam. Kyungsoo pulls away from the conversation with an easy grin, walks over to the other side of the court as he whistles a small tune under his breath. Chanyeol raises the ball in front of him, signalling the beginning of the game, and Kyungsoo looks over his shoulder briefly before turning his attention back on the raised ball, Chanyeol's fingers around it, the small smile on Chanyeol's lips before he tosses the ball in the air.

Kyungsoo fastens his grip on the racket.

Chanyeol's play hasn't changed much from when they last had a match — feet too far apart when he aims a flat serve to the T, right foot almost overlapping the left when he bends low and frames the ball with the L of his left hand. Chanyeol's first serve is always the best, the hardest to hit — Chanyeol stretches his arm to the fullest, hitting the sweet spot earlier than the usual, more power going into the shot, and Kyungsoo has to receive with two hands on the grip of his racket. This means he's defenseless if Chanyeol decides to aim to his blind spot. It means Chanyeol's getting better and Kyungsoo needs more practice and that if he doesn't pull a trick from his sleeve, this is a losing battle.

Kyungsoo drags his racket down, swings forward and aims for the leftmost corner of Chanyeol's court. Chanyeol slides to his left, aiming a backhand down the center. Kyungsoo counters with a straight shot between Chanyeol's feet and Chanyeol looks up at him once the ball bounces off the court. "This isn't a real match? Why are you attempting to get rid of my balls?" Chanyeol yells from the other side of the court, and Kyungsoo buries his face in his hands even before the linesman can call out!

"I'm going to make you pay, Kyungsoo," Chanyeol says now, the silly grin he was wearing earlier melting into an easier smile.and Kyungsoo tightens his grip on the handle even more, until he can feel his nails digging into his skin. He watches as Chanyeol moves to the other side of the court, as Chanyeol dribbles the ball. His eyes are drawn to Chanyeol's fingers, Chanyeol's lips just beyond his hands, the curve of Chanyeol's body when he bends before hitting the ball.

He takes a deep breath.

Jongdae becomes quiet company three consecutive matches after. He watches as Chanyeol runs his hand up and down Jongdae's back, with Jongdae trying to even out his breathing as he clutches his knees tight, chest heaving. Baekhyun has just finished his last match and is twirling the racket by the throat. His playing palm is a bright shade of red. Baekhyun's holding his racket by his left hand.

"You're gripping your racket too tight," Kyungsoo says when Baekhyun plops down beside him, legs folded beneath all the weight.

"Oh, this?" Baekhyun chuckles as he lays the racket down on the seat, wincing a bit when he opens his hand wide. There are faint red lines where the palm meets the fingers, and Kyungsoo immediately grabs Baekhyun's hand, fingers tracing the marks lightly. Baekhyun howls, then quickly covers his mouth, then hangs his head low when Kyungsoo pinches his palm lightly.

Jongdae lays a hand on Kyungsoo's shoulder as he settles on the bleachers. "Been telling him for the longest time already," Jongdae begins. His voice is still shaky and breathy. "That he should loosen it a bit. You don't want blisters on your hand, Baek, unless you want to run into an injury halfway through a match."

Baekhyun looks up at Jongdae, then at Kyungsoo, then at his open palm. He retracts his hand and keeps his fingers spread out. Chanyeol coughs and beams at all of them. Kyungsoo laughs a little and says, "Hey, people recover from injuries. But yeah, Baekhyun, you have to correct that habit of yours."

"Old habits die hard!" Baekhyun calls out long after Kyungsoo has excused himself to freshen up in the showers. Kyungsoo laughs to himself, draws his shoulders back, and hears his bones crack. It's hardly the most comforting sound, but when you've been hearing nothing but the measured counts of one, two, three during therapy, this — the sound of his aching body, tennis balls bouncing off the courts, laughter just a few meters from him — can be considered music.

Kyungsoo props his racket under his right arm and turns the knob with his left.

He discovers Baekhyun's struggle with English over lunch, a week after his return. Baekhyun has long given up on trying to enunciate a Bruno Mars song, and Chanyeol still hasn't recovered from his laughter fest. Jongdae's stuck between trying to swallow the last of his lunch meal and pounding on his chest just to get the thing out, but Baekhyun proves to be a very great distraction, now launching into his best imitation of Britney Spears. His choice of song is 'Toxic'.

"I'm gonna fail this exam if I don't get the pronunciation right," Baekhyun complains, hands folded under under his face. "No, I mean, I better start with Britney, right? Her voice has this certain curl and it kind of makes her eat her words while singing so if I do this right—" Jongdae spews water all over Baekhyun's hair and Baekhyun looks up, meeting Jongdae in the eye. Kyungsoo's biting the back of his hand and Chanyeol has curled up in his seat. "Well thank you! I'm glad my misery brings you happiness!"

Kyungsoo lets his head fall forward, bumping so hard on the table that it makes him scowl between laughter.

"Kyungsoo's pretty amazing, though?" Chanyeol says after a while, once he has regained his breath. Jongdae's still struggling with something — stuck between his teeth this time, but he still blames it on Baekhyun's weird Britney imitations. "I mean, back in English I, I remember you delivering Shylock's speech and you really did well," he continues, a careful smile on the curve of the lip. "Or maybe that's just because you came in full costume."

"We will not talk about the costume," Kyungsoo retorts, an accusing finger pointed at Chanyeol. "I do things for a fee, Baekhyun. Lunch for the next two weeks doesn't sound so bad."

"You're gonna make my grandma pack me extra food?" Baekhyun looks up at him, eyebrows furrowed in a lame attempt to pull off a puppy dog look. "Really? Have a heart, Soo. The poor lady's old."

Kyungsoo gulps hard. "Then cook the lunch yourself," he simply replies, then returns to sipping his water. To Chanyeol, he says, "You've got Jongdae's kimchi between your teeth."

Kyungsoo pretends not to see that knowing looking in Chanyeol's eyes or that split-second of panic in Jongdae's features, or even the confusion in Baekhyun's eyes. He balls up a sheet of tissue paper, throws it at Chanyeol, and Chanyeol adds too much force when he throws it in Jongdae's direction. Baekhyun's still lost, stuck between the talk on English help and Chanyeol having kimchi in his mouth. "After practice?" Kyungsoo whispers in Baekhyun's ear, and Baekhyun exhales loudly, an easy smile surfacing on his lips.

"I'll buy you ice cream," Baekhyun promises.

There's still the battle scars from when Baekhyun stole a fourth of Jongdae's homemade kimchi on the corners of his lips. Kyungsoo doesn't reach out to wipe off the red stains with his thumb, doesn't hand Baekhyun some tissue, even. He sits on his hands, grinning at Baekhyun in response, and stares at Chanyeol and Jongdae arguing about the stray ball of tissue in Jongdae's glass of water.

"So. Baekhyun."

Kyungsoo looks up at Chanyeol, looks around for an audience before returning his attention to his bag. He's been arranging his books for the past five minutes and Jongdae and Baekhyun seem to have made themselves comfortable a few good feet away from him and Chanyeol. "What about him?" Kyungsoo asks, fingers idly running through the pages of the books. He pushes the World Literature one further down, and out pops the case for his glasses.

He slips his glasses on and looks at Chanyeol's hand on his shoulder before finally meeting Chanyeol in the eye. "I said, what about him?"

"Are you okay? I mean, with having him around?"

Of the three, Chanyeol has known him the longest. They've been friends since middle school back when they both thought a middle part was still the coolest hairstyle to sport, when the back of Chanyeol's hair didn't stick out like a swollen muscle whenever he wore his hair down. Chanyeol has seen him struggle with his backhand and master it, has sat beside him through every Math class sans the one they're taking right now for senior year. Chanyeol's vocal about things that bother him a lot and those that make him feel uneasy — this is somewhere in between, if the way Chanyeol furrows his eyebrows is anything to go by.

"He's loud," Kyungsoo begins, pausing to chuckle. He shrugs his shoulders lightly, but Chanyeol keeps his hand firmly in place. "But he's alright."

The crease on Chanyeol's forehead eases, but he still keeps his voice low. "Because you apparently know him from a couple of tournaments you joined in the past, but you've never talked about him." Chanyeol laughs a little. "I didn't even know you joined that many tourneys. Did your father—"

"Yeah, he did," Kyungsoo quickly replies. "And Baekhyun's just a fellow tennis player. If anything important happened, then I would have—"

"—told me right away. Yes, I know. But…" Chanyeol's voice drifts off and so does his gaze, dropping to his feet like there's something so interesting about black leather shoes and dark pants that reach past the ankle. Chanyeol has always looked good in uniform, but the way tennis clothes fall on his shoulders and his hips is on a league of its own. "You didn't tell me you were coming back. You didn't even tell me what happened between you and Jihoon."

Kyungsoo takes a deep breath and slings his bag over his shoulder, grip tightening on the band. "We're going to be late for class," he simply replies, then walks ahead, past Baekhyun and Jongdae who are now arguing about Britney and Christina and Beyonce. He doesn't look over his shoulder to check on Chanyeol, but he knows the sound of Chanyeol's footsteps well — on and off courts, like he's memorized each and every movement in his mind at least a thousand times before.

Chanyeol catches up in a few seconds and falls into step with Kyungsoo. He doesn't say anything, but he does bump his arm into Chanyeol's deliberately. When Chanyeol looks at him with a question in the way cocks his head, he simply smiles and whispers before slipping into his next class, "I'll see you in the courts."

Jongdae drops by his class on his way to practice. "Can I take you up on that English lessons offer?" Jongdae asks, and Kyungsoo nudges him lightly with his elbow, twisting it to earn a light giggle from Jongdae. Jongdae's ticklish everywhere; it just takes the right person to find the weak spots.

"I don't think I can take another person under my wing," Kyungsoo replies later, when Jongdae has already recovered from laughing. "I don't think this year will be slightly as easy as before. I mean, we're—"

"Graduating," Jongdae finishes. He turns the knob to the exit, holds the door for Kyungsoo as they both slip from the corridor. "And you're still adjusting." Jongdae slips an arm around Kyungsoo's shoulder and squeezes his arm lightly; he tries not to wince on instinct. Some habits are hard to break. "You're doing a pretty good job, though!"

Kyungsoo laughs a little. "I try hard. Very hard."

"Yeah. You weren't this talkative before. And this nice."

Kyungsoo pinches Jongdae in his side. "You said something?"

Jongdae stifles a fuck you! just as soon as the coach arrives.

Sehun and Jongin are already warming up on court two and Zitao is helping out two freshmen with their backswing footwork. "Remember — the follow through is important. Let your arm swing naturally, or else you might get yourself injured. Understood?" Despite the sharp look he wears during matches, Zitao has a way with people outside the court. More approachable than Sehun and Jongin, at least, and marginally more dependable when it comes to making sure all the freshmen are accounted for.

"Hey there, little guy," a familiar, much deeper voice says from behind.

Kyungsoo looks over his shoulder and grins. "Yunho-sonsaengnim," he says, catching Yunho's outstretched hand in a high-five. Yunho gives him a light pat on the back as he moves closer.

"You're gonna play doubles for the team, right? The first tournament is in two months."

"I don't think so." He can feel his smile stiffening at the corners. He clenches and unclenches his fists. "I'm not sure if I can play doubles again. Singles, maybe? I was singles three before you decided to put me in doubles."

"That's because you and Jihoon had the best tennis harmony I've seen in years." Yunho ruffles Kyungsoo's hair, and Kyungsoo tries not to scowl; respect, manners, even if he's already seen Yunho in his sleepwear, hair tousled so badly Kyungsoo had to resist the urge to reach up and comb Yunho's hair down.

"Jihoon's no longer in the team, though."

"So you two are a package deal? Do I have to woo Jihoon and make him come back to high school after spending, I don't know, how many years in Yonsei?"

Kyungsoo takes a deep breath and holds it — right there, when his chest feels the fullest and there's a lump of Lord knows what lodged in his throat. His mind goes back to when Joonmyun was still the captain and made Zitao team up with Lu Han. Kris was singles two; Yixing, singles three. Chanyeol still hadn't perfected his forehand then, and still struggled the types of grips he had to use. Kyungsoo wanted to challenge Yixing for a chance to snag the singles three spot, but there Jihoon was with his easy smile and a warm palm on the small of Kyungsoo's back as he said, "Doubles isn't so bad."

"I'm not playing doubles," Kyungsoo reiterates, enunciating each syllable, dragging each one out. "I'll fight for singles one, but you can't expect me to play doubles again. I'm sorry, sonsaengnim."

"Never the type to settle for second best." Yunho laughs a little and ruffles Kyungsoo's hair. A light squeeze of the arm, then, "Ranking tournament is in an hour. Round up the others."

Kyungsoo gives Yunho a small smile before turning on his heel. Jongdae's still there, standing, signature smile on his lips. "I'll tell the others," Jongdae simply says before walking ahead, telling everyone he passes that there will be ranking matches for the upcoming national tournament, and Kyungsoo approaches the freshmen Zitao has left behind in favor of pinching Sehun's ear and giving Jongin a stern look as he says, "Don't pick on the young ones!"

"So, ready to be defeated?"

Kyungsoo looks over his shoulder and snorts, rolling his eyes. "Don't be crazy," is all he says even as Baekhyun slings an arm around his shoulder and teases him, saying, you're just afraid; you're shaking in fear! His fingers are cold, yes, but there is no fear; if anything, his stomach is just lurching from hunger or that bad episode at lunch, or the weird weather, or the unfamiliar warmth pressed to his side.

The match ups go up in thirty minutes, and Kyungsoo almost snorts when he sees the names. Chanyeol has a first round bye, but that's to be expected — "Perks of a captain," Chanyeol says, grinning, but quickly snaps back into his calculated smile when Yunho shoots him a stern look.

"How come I have to go through the first round, then?" Jongdae asks now, and Chanyeol gives him that look that says I am going to kill you, Kim. Don't say that in front of the coach. Jongdae brushes it off, even the stiff smile Yunho gives him, and slips just beside Yunho as he announces, "You know, what I love the most about this team is the freedom of speech that we exercise. Those in favor of kicking out Chanyeol, say 'aye'."

Baekhyun coughs up a weak 'aye' and bumps his hips into Kyungsoo's when Kyungsoo says one in agreement, as well.

Kyungsoo and Baekhyun being on opposite sides of the draw means Zitao and Sehun will have to make a quarterfinal exit, and Jongin will have to duke it out with Chanyeol in the same round. Kyungsoo will inevitably run into Jongdae, and Baekhyun will be facing the winner of the Jongin-Chanyeol match. Kyungsoo may have stopped competing in tournaments but his prediction skills are still fairly commendable; he'd called Andy Roddick's win over Dudi Sela in the 2008 China open, his loss to Novak Djokovic in the US Open, and every loss Roddick had incurred from that day on. It was like predicting dread and suffering; the only time he'd been wrong was when he suffered a hit to his elbow on the same year.

He shakes his head, recalibrates. Baekhyun's hand in front of him is a force that draws him back to the present. "Snap out of it, Soo. Don't let your guard down."

"It's not down," Kyungsoo retorts. He slaps Baekhyun's hand away. "And stop calling me Soo."

"There's no other way shorten your name, though. You don't look like a 'Kyung'. You're more of a 'Soo'."

"And you look very annoying right now, Baekhyun." Kyungsoo exhales loudly. "How did Chanyeol and Jongdae put up with you?"

"They didn't," Baekhyun replies, the last syllable drifting off into humming. His fingers tighten the strings of his racket and Kyungsoo's eyes are drawn to Baekhyun's knuckles, the way his veins show when he grips hard at the strings. Baekhyun looks up at him and smiles, soft and easy, unlike the tension in his racket. "I put up with them."

Seeing Jongdae opposite him on court is a bit unnerving. Jongdae grins at him, bright and confident, and even with all those practice sessions and late nights spent talking about tennis tactics, he still feels as if he doesn't know Jongdae's style like the back of his hand. Jongdae doesn't hit the heaviest of balls, nor does he fire the sharpest shots at the corners, but he's a tactician — he can turn a 0-40 during his service game to a 40-40 faster than the opponent can say medical timeout.

"Still the best server I know," Kyungsoo whispers when they both approach one of the ball boys carrying their towels.

Jongdae wipes his face, the grin off his lips, and winks at Kyungsoo. "Come on, don't be too easy on me. I know you still have a few tricks up your sleeve."

"You haven't played against the left-handed me before." Kyungsoo loosens his grip a little. "How can you read my movements?"

"Easy," Jongdae replies, like Kyungsoo has just asked him a stupid question. "You're holding back. This is your right-handed game. You've always been a southpaw, Kyungsoo, you can't hide that from me. Your form gives you away."

Kyungsoo shoots Jongdae a glance before heading back to his side of the court. He takes three tennis balls in his hand, drops the one that feels the roughest on his skin to the ground, and tucks the other ball under his spandex. "Ready?" he calls out to Jongdae, raising the ball in front of him.

"Hit me," Jongdae replies. Kyungsoo tries not to wince.

He releases the ball in the air, right foot facing forward, left foot in a forty-five degree angle. The yellow ball disappears when the sun sneaks up from behind it; Kyungsoo trusts muscle memory and swings his arm forward, the topmost part of the face of the racket grazing the ball, and Kyungsoo waits for the ball to hit the sweet spot before releasing it. The serve lands nicely between Jongdae's legs. The ball hits the ground and takes a different turn, shooting up instead of to the left, and Jongdae narrowly avoids getting hit when he slides to the right. His eyes are wide when he looks up at Kyungsoo.

"I didn't mean it like that!"

Kyungsoo grins, reaches for another ball, and prepares to serve.

Jongdae catches on quickly, crafting a good enough counter to the American Twist by sliding to the left to return it with a double-handed backhand. Kyungsoo aims it the back, just a few centimeters inside the line, when Jongdae approaches the net. The first time he does it, Jongdae frowns at him from the other side of the net; the second, third, fourth time, Jongdae snarls at him and says, "Switch to your right, quick! I won't take a stronger serve to the balls, Kyungsoo!"

The match lasts for an hour, with Jongdae pushing the last game to a tiebreaker that reaches 20-18. "I love your current form," Jongdae says when they meet at the net, patting Kyungsoo's back while trying to ease back into normal breathing. "But is that really a habit of yours, choking on the last few games? You could have totally ended that match 6-4 or 7-5."

Kyungsoo shrugs. "You were a tough opponent."

"This is not about me, Kyungsoo. This is about you potentially screwing up your game."

"I won't screw up," he promises, locking his arms behind his back. His racket's between his legs, and the frame digs into his skin. Too cold, he thinks; the sun is up too high, but the wind is still too chilly even for two players who have just spent the past hour running around in court. "It will just take a while to get back in the game."

"You are back in the game." Jongdae snatches his racket and his knees shake a bit. "Physically, yes, but your mind is elsewhere."

"Set on winning the singles one spot," Kyungsoo answers. "And defeating Baekhyun."

Kyungsoo looks at Baekhyun who has just finished serving out the last game, then at Chanyeol who's now approaching the net, hand outstretched to greet Baekhyun with a handshake. "Finals is in thirty minutes," Jongdae whispers beside him, then hands him his racket before slipping from the scene.

Kyungsoo grips his racket tight and takes a deep breath. Thirty minutes to recalibrate.

Baekhyun's greeting is a cheeky smile and his eyes disappearing behind slits. When he meets Kyungsoo at the net, he extends his hand and says, automatically, "You'll be showing me that American Twist, right? I do deserve to see a serve like that, right?"

Kyungsoo takes the outstretched hand and laughs — both for show and because Baekhyun does look funny, especially with that lopsided smile. "It's not something I use on people on a whim, Byun. You have to earn it."

"I'll earn it along with the singles one spot."

Kyungsoo squeezes Baekhyun's hand. Their fingers are cold. "I'd like to see you try."

The umpire walks up to them, coin in hand. "Heads or tails? The winner serves first."

"Heads," says Baekhyun even before Kyungsoo can answer. To Kyungsoo, he says, "I'll weed that serve out of you as early as your first service game."

Kyungsoo simply shakes his head.

Baekhyun is loud, his words sharp, but the confidence is backed with skill. His backhand is still the best Kyungsoo has seen in amateur tennis, and Kyungsoo has spent days and nights back in Germany playing that swing in his mind — the Baekhyun in his memory is still that of the ten-year-old tennis player he has been playing against since he was nine. Baekhyun has changed a lot — has a more defined jawline now, is much more built — and he sports a better hairstyle now, but Kyungsoo can't forget a swing or a ball toss or footwork, for that matter. Once he plays against someone, his opponent's movements are engraved in his mind like a memory that will never be flushed out.

Baekhyun's service game is clean. He misses the first two first serves, but that means Baekhyun can get the opportunity to land an ace on the second serve. It takes an awful lot of skill to do that; sometimes, magic.

Kyungsoo doesn't reveal his tricks just yet, goes for his standard flat and slice serves and plays from the middle of the court, not going too far back. Net play is an open invitation for Baekhyun to play more aggressively; baseline play is too safe, drives Baekhyun to frustration. Kyungsoo plays fair, slips a few mind puzzles in between, stepping a bit too close to the net then retreating to the baseline from time to time.

"You're driving me crazy," Baekhyun says after Kyungsoo takes the break, setting himself up for the Championship game at 5-4. "I swear, if I had your legs—"

"You'd be small," Kyungsoo quickly retorts. He tightens his grip on his racket as he dribbles the ball with it. "You'd lose your teeny tiny advantage over me. Do you want that?"

"I don't need height," Baekhyun counters. He bends forward, racket poised between his legs. "I just need my skill."

Kyungsoo takes a deep breath and clutches the ball in his right hand. He tosses the ball straight up, swings his left arm forward as he slices through the ball with an easy motion, cutting through the wind. Baekhyun is quick on his feet, moving left, catching the ball and returning it with a backhand. Kyungsoo answers with a forehand straight to the far right corner of the court, but Baekhyun is too quick — he's sliding to the right, arm stretched to the farthest possible point, and he flicks his wrist, sending the ball bouncing up so high. Baekhyun is setting something up — Kyungsoo knows this move, but he hasn't seen it in a while. He holds his right hand up, framing the ball, and from the corner of his eye he sees Baekhyun moving to the baseline.

He catches the ball with his racket, flicks his wrist with just enough power to make it cross over to Baekhyun's court, the surface of the ball grazing the net just lightly. Baekhyun's shaking his head by the end of the point, hands on his hips. 15-0.

Kyungsoo smiles, exhales loudly. Three points to go.

He misses the first service by a width of a hair. Baekhyun is grinning on the other side of the net, body slightly facing the left. Too easy, Kyungsoo thinks, then tosses the ball in the air — straight up again. He hits it with a forward slicing motion, and his right hand snaps to the throat of the racket in preparation for Baekhyun's return. Same old tactic — Baekhyun goes for a lob, waiting for the smash that he'll probably return with a backhand. Baekhyun loves aiming shots to people's backhand side, but Kyungsoo has the upperhand in that department. Southpaw, he hears in Jongdae's voice in his mind, and he waits for the ball to hit the ground and bounce back up before hitting a forehand. Baekhyun returns it with an easy forehand that hits the highest part of the net. Baekhyun scrunches his nose. Kyungsoo balls his right fist. 30-0.

If it's not the power Baekhyun puts into his shots that wears him down, it's his poor footwork, occasionally his poor form. He planks his right foot only inches away from his left when he should be crossing it over to the left all the way, cuts the swing of his arm when he's struggling to move from one position to the next. You have to fix that, tiny Kyungsoo says in his mind, then there's the image of the 2003 Baekhyun smiling weakly at him, shaking his hand when Baekhyun says, thanks for the great match, nonetheless.

And then there's 2004 Baekhyun telling him that he thinks about his shots too much, hardly ever puts any heart into his play. Kyungsoo tosses the ball up in the air, aims a flat serve down the T. Baekhyun doesn't catch the ball with his racket in time. 40-0.

He looks up from dribbling the ball and meets Baekhyun in the eye. Baekhyun is still smiling; Kyungsoo isn't winning, not from the position he's in.

This is a draw.

Kyungsoo cracks his neck, keeps his eyes fixed on Baekhyun for a while before gripping the ball tightly in his hand. He tosses it slightly to the left, racket waiting just behind his head for the right moment. He tilts his racket slightly and slices from left to right, body still facing the side, and from where he is he can see the biggest grin on Baekhyun's lips, even as the ball lands near Baekhyun's feet and bounces to the left.

"Game, set, and match, Do! 6-4!"

Kyungsoo grips his racket tight. He hears Chanyeol and Jongdae's screaming from behind him, Zitao's cheers. Sehun and Jongin are somewhere there, in the crowd, but Kyungsoo can't be bothered to look over his shoulder or around him to look for them. He keeps his eyes fixed on the next, Baekhyun's approaching figure, his own feet.

"So, singles one," Baekhyun says when they meet at the net, hand outstretched in a handshake. "I guess I'll have to do better next time, huh?"

"Fix your swing. You're still holding back on the follow through." Kyungsoo gives Baekhyun's hand a light squeeze before letting go, but Baekhyun catches Kyungsoo's hand before it falls to his side. "And stop half-assing your footwork."

"I don't have legs as hardworking as yours," Baekhyun retorts, then sticks out his tongue. "Think you can help me in that department?"

"Don't get too chummy with me now," Kyungsoo mumbles but smiles, anyway, even as Baekhyun slides beside him and snakes an arm around his shoulder, pulling their sweaty bodies together. "I just beat your sorry ass."

Baekhyun nods like he actually understands, but the grin on his lips is a complete giveaway. Yunho shakes their hand and whispers something about the rankings and having to fix schedules and, "Chanyeol, come here. We've got some paperwork to do." Baekhyun is humming a small melody under his breath and Kyungsoo knows, he just knows, that Baekhyun has won.

English pronunciation class begins as soon as Kyungsoo slips back into his uniform, tennis clothes dumped in a plastic bag that he has tucked somewhere in his duffel bag. Baekhyun still has too much energy, humming beside him as they make their way to the food cart just across the street. "I get my personal English hagwon, how cool is that?" Baekhyun says, gripping at Kyungsoo's wrist tightly to pull him back when a car speeds by.

"Can't let you die just yet; you still have to teach me how to sing Britney Spears."

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes but doesn't shake off Baekhyun's hand. "Can't you at least try a Backstreet Boys song or—"

"Nope! Sorry, I'm more of an 'N Sync boy."

English 101 by the food cart mostly consists of Baekhyun trying to stuff his mouth with food in between learning how to properly enunciate English syllables. Kyungsoo explains some of the lines of This I Promise You, and Baekhyun pops a question from time to time — "How can he keep the person safe? What if someone harms him? Aren't promises made to be broken?"

"I didn't write the song," Kyungsoo replies, patience thinning as he tries to put on his best smile. His muscles still ache from the last two matches he has played, and spring weather isn't exactly the most tolerable at the moment. Bakehyun just grins at him, pearly whites blinding even with just the soft light from the lamp post illuminating the scene. His lips hang parted, stuck between scowling at Baekhyun and asking him why do you keep doing this?, and Baekhyun pops a slice of ttekbokki inside, the corners of his lips tugging further up and turning his grin into a devilish smile.

The walk to the bus station is fairly quiet, save for Baekhyun belting out an 'N Sync song from time to time. "Jongdae would have a field day if he heard you," Kyungsoo mentions once they reach the station. There are at least seven or eight people lined up, waiting for the same bus as theirs. Baekhyun keeps moving in his spot, swaying his hips and twisting his torso, craning his neck as if looking for something beyond the darkness behind them. Kyungsoo fastens him to his place, palms flat on Baekhyun's shoulder, and Baekhyun laughs a little when Kyungsoo tiptoes.

"Tiny," Baekhyun comments, then erupts into a peal of laughter.

There's enough space in the bus when they finally get settled, but Baekhyun sits too close, their thighs pressed together, warm even with the airconditioning turned up. Kyungsoo thinks of inching away and moving closer to the window, but Baekhyun soon drums his fingers on his thigh and Kyungsoo keeps his eyes fixed in front of him, three or four more heads swaying with each movement of the bus.

"Are you this quiet all the time?" Baekhyun asks three stops in. Four more and they'll be alighting.

Kyungsoo shifts in his seat, breathing out when his school pants no longer stick to his skin. "I just enjoy silence from time to time."

Baekhyun shrugs, presses close again. "I like silence. Chanyeol and Jongdae are too noisy sometimes."

You're noisy, yourself, Kyungsoo wants to say, but he feels a tiny jerk when the bus starts moving again. Baekhyun loses balance, leaning to his side just a bit, but quickly recovers, straightening himself up and adjusting his school bag on his lap.

Kyungsoo can feel Baekhyun's heat through his pants. It's a nice contrast to the cold weather outside.

The next few weeks are peppered with practices, Yunho making them do shorter yet more matches to train for specific areas for improvement. Chanyeol's doing backhand practice with Jongdae. Zitao's teaching Jongin and Sehun how to do the I formation more effectively, reiterating to Sehun that, "You have to bend your knees and crouch. Lower, now, come on—" Kyungsoo's assigned to Baekhyun, and Kyungsoo lightly taps Baekhyun's ass with his racket every time he doesn't move his right foot all the way to the left when he does a backhand.

"It's your best shot, but if you keep getting your footwork wrong, you'll twist your torso too much." Two more taps and Baekhyun's straightens up, still scowling and sticking his tongue out at Kyungsoo. "No, that's not part of footwork. Put your tongue back in."

Baekhyun sniggers for a while before practicing the position again. His backswing is more fluid this time, follows through when he pulls his arm further to the right, opening his chest towards the net. Beautiful form, Kyungsoo thinks. He fires a forehand to Baekhyun's left, smiling when Baekhyun repeats his previous position, a proper backhand receiving stance, chuckles when the ball speeds past him and lands right on the singles line.

"See the difference right footwork can make?" he says when they meet near the benches before they change sides. "What else do you need help on?"

"English," Baekhyun mumbles. He takes a few quick breaths before excusing himself to grab some water. Kyungsoo doesn't follow him out of the court.

Baekhyun doesn't have the best stamina, but his willpower gives him enough strength to last an entire set, and then some. The easiest way to defeat him is to make him crouch low and run around a lot, make him come close to the net. Make his knees do a lot of work, then catch him off guard by firing a forehand to the back, just on the line. Baekhyun entertains challenges, yes, but his body can only handle so much.

"So yes, English. I really need help on that," Baekhyun repeats when he returns. He takes a good gulp of water then continues, "And stamina training. How the hell do I improve that?"

"By playing more matches. There's no other way."

Baekhyun breaks out into a smile. "So, you up for one set?"

Kyungsoo stops for a while, eyebrows furrowed, then slips into a smile when he shakes his head. "Don't give up on me too early, okay?" he calls out as he makes his way to the service court, then throws the balls at Baekhyun. "Show me your best serve!" he teases as Baekhyun positions himself, eyes fixed on the ball he's dribbling with his hand. Baekhyun doesn't look up, doesn't counter with a classic snide retort or a challenge of his own; instead, he tosses the ball into the air, straight up, and Kyungsoo doesn't even have to think twice how to receive the shot. His body acts on its own.

The match stretches to a tiebreak, and Kyungsoo wins by a slim margin, 27-25.

"Help, can't move. Gonna die."

Baekhyun's lies flat on his tummy as Chanyeol walks past him and to his locker, taking out a fresh change of clothes. "You're gonna die if you don't move," Chanyeol says over his shoulder, and Baekhyun wiggles a little, slowly getting up only to turn over and lie on his back.

"Move," Jongdae says, nudging Baekhyun's legs as he reaches for the bottle of water Kyungsoo is handing him. Baekhyun shakes his head, keeps his eyes closed. His hair sticks to his face; for the most part, he looks like he's going to pass out any moment, but Kyungsoo chokes it up to the poor lighting. White light after rigorous training isn't the most flattering on a worn-out player.

"I'll go first," Chanyeol announces. He disappears into the showers. Kyungsoo hums to himself when he hears the water hit the floor.

"So how's English coming along?" Jongdae asks, making space for himself beside Kyungsoo as he wiggles his butt a little.

Baekhyun snorts and frowns. "No progress," Kyungsoo replies for Baekhyun, and Baekhyun quickly bolts up to raise an eyebrow at him. "Very little progress. He's moved on from Britney to 'N Sync."

"Not even Christina? Man…" Jongdae clicks his tongue, but the smile on his lips betrays him. "I'm so disappointed."

"Stop, stop. Your voice is making me dizzy," Baekhyun says, covering his ears as he draws his knees close to his chest. "I'm so drained, oh God… I feel like my limbs would give away anytime. 27-fucking-25 — I don't think I can ever go pro."

Kyungsoo reaches over and ruffles Baekhyun's hair. "Practice," he says, then adds, "If you didn't talk so much during matches then you'd be able to save at least a fourth of your energy so you can go for longer matches."

Jongdae raises a finger, lips parted as if searching for words, then sinks back into his previous position. "Yeah, you're right. I probably shouldn't talk too much during matches, as well."

"Especially you," Chanyeol says as he emerges from the showers, a towel wrapped around his hips. Kyungsoo gulps hard on impulse, and from the corner of his eye he can see Baekhyun giving Chanyeol a once-over. "With all your tennis analysis shit going on. It's like divulging your strategy to your opponent."

"I'll come back a changed man tomorrow," Jongdae announces before heading to the showers, towel slung over his shoulders. "Or maybe later, after I wash my sins away. I heard there's a shampoo for that now."

Baekhyun folds his arms in front of him and rests his head on his knees. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

Kyungsoo draws his shoulders back, eyes closed as he tries to relieve the tension in his muscles. He opens his eyes just in time to see Chanyeol slipping into tennis shorts and a white shirt. The cloth hugs his body, the moisture from his shower making the shirt stick to his torso. The dip of Chanyeol's back is a figure Kyungsoo can only dream of — it comes with the height, and Chanyeol has always been marginally more attractive than he is.

"Great match back there," Chanyeol says after a while. Baekhyun tips over to his side, quickly regains balance Kyungsoo presses a hand to his arm. "A tie-breaker during a practice match — who even does that?"

Kyungsoo glances at Baekhyun for a while. When he doesn't earn a response, he turns to Chanyeol and says, "This guy here needed to work on his stamina. Told him there's no other way to work on that but to play longer matches."

"And there he is, asleep on the bench." Chanyeol chuckles and turns around, body now facing Kyungsoo. "You happy with the outcome?"

"I'm—" Feeling great, Kyungsoo can say. His form has been nothing but impeccable these past few matches. He's yet to perfect his backhand, but at least he isn't making the same mistake Baekhyun does when he twists his torso too much. "Good," Kyungsoo answers, instead. He stretches out his left arm, grabs at the air and balls his fist tight. "Jongdae says I've been playing better with my left hand. I don't know if I should believe him."

"You look more comfortable playing with your left hand," Chanyeol replies. He sits beside Kyungsoo, maintaining a good distance between them. Kyungsoo doesn't take offense — there's a fine line between a comforting pat on the shoulder and gross rubbing against each other after practice. Chanyeol is clean; Kyungsoo still reeks of sweat and practice. "Like, really, really comfortable."

"You think so?" Kyungsoo clenches and unclenches his fist. "It feels a bit weird."

Chanyeol wraps Kyungsoo's fist with his hand. The corners of Kyungsoo's lips tugs up on instinct. Muscle memory. "I know so."

Baekhyun falls to his side, head finding a comfortable fit on Kyungsoo's shoulder. Kyungsoo jerks a little but manages to control his body, goes for light laughter when Baekhyun grumbles with his eyes closed. Chanyeol laughs, hearty and loud, and Kyungsoo leans his head on Baekhyun's just slightly, enough for him to feel Baekhyun's breath on his neck.

"Get up, kid."

Baekhyun looks up, eyes still laden with sleep when as he pushes himself off the bench. Kyungsoo laughs a little at the sight. He walks over to his locker, drying his hair as he says, "It's your turn."

"Everyone's gone already?"

"Chanyeol and Jongdae have serious matters to attend to. Captain and vice-captain stuff," Kyungsoo replies. He turns around and finds Baekhyun pulling his shirt up, belly protruding a little as Baekhyun exhales. "Finalizing plans," he adds, and he follows the movement of Baekhyun's hands, up up up until the shirt comes off with one last tug, revealing Baekhyun's pale skin.

Kyungsoo's eyes linger on Baekhyun's collarbones, then travel south, down to Baekhyun's belly button. "For the tournament. But we'll still be singles one and two," he rushes. Baekhyun's looking at him now. There's still a hint of fatigue in his eyes, but there's a peculiar smile on the curve of the lip. Kyungsoo takes a deep breath. "Don't worry."

"Are you gonna wait for me?" Baekhyun asks.

"I can wait for you."

Baekhyun pauses, craning his neck to look at Kyungsoo. "Personal English hagwon?" is all that Baekhyun says, and Kyungsoo feels his shoulders relax, feels his throat open up again. He nods in response and Baekhyun goes back to rummaging through his things, and Kyungsoo doesn't think about Baekhyun pulling his shirt up, doesn't think about the dip of his back and his hips, Baekhyun's skin glowing under the light of the locker room.

Baekhyun's figure disappears into an expanse of white when Baekhyun throws his shirt smack on Kyungsoo's face. He holds his breath, carefully peels the shirt off his skin and folds it neatly, setting it down beside him as he waits for Baekhyun to emerge from the showers, the sound of the rushing water drowning out the wild beating in his chest.

It's a fairly short walk from the school to Azabi, ten minutes if they're walking too fast, fifteen if they have the leisure of time. They're somewhere in between right now, and Kyungsoo shivers a little when the cool wind blows. Baekhyun casts him a quick glance before asking, "You want to eat bungeoppang even if you're freezing?"

"They have coffee there, too, you know," Kyungsoo mumbles. He wraps his arms around himself and Baekhyun laughs, shrill and light, just beside him. "Shut up. Now recite the second verse up until the second chorus."

"Will you buy me food if I do it right?" Baekhyun teases. He reaches over, pulling Kyungsoo close as he slides his arm around Kyungsoo's shoulder. "C'mere, stop pretending that you don't need warmth. You look stupid hugging yourself like that."

Kyungsoo takes a deep breath. His bag bumps into Baekhyun's side, so he pushes it back until it hits his ass. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'll buy you something. Just do those two parts."

Baekhyun grins at him. This is warmer. "Awesome!"

Baekhyun half-recites, half-sings the rest of the lyrics as they navigate through Daechi-dong. There's a smug grin on Baekhyun's lips when they stop just in front of the store, and Kyungsoo wonders briefly if they'd just been walking fast enough that he didn't feel the cold seeping through his clothes. "Good enough," he says, only faintly as if to tease, and Baekhyun scrunches his nose, narrows his eyes at him like he can weasel an apology from Kyungsoo when the best that face can do is scare an ant.

"Come on, give me some credit." Baekhyun tugs at Kyungsoo's sleeve. They take another stop just in front of the door. "Come on, come on, come on—"

"You did well," Kyungsoo finally says, surrendering. He smiles, easy and relaxed, and pushes the door open. "I'll get us one bungeoppang and one cup of coffee."

He doesn't look over his shoulder, but he can hear the smile in Baekhyun's voice, more definitively when Baekhyun says, voice louder than the usual, "Cappuccino!" Baekhyun heads off to look for a seat, and Kyungsoo draws his wallet from his bag, head hung low as he tries to regain control of his facial muscles.

"Yes, cappuccino," he tells the cashier lady when she asks for his coffee order. The smile on his lips tears the corners of his mouth; it stings. "Just one cappuccino."

Chanyeol isn't exactly the most studious person, but he drives himself to study hard enough that he earns a rank 1 position in the batch. Jongdae's in the same rank, too, scoring even higher than Chanyeol, but then Jongdae has always been the smartest, the one who randomly spews out trivia about history or the latest cars or new music, how people came up with asphalt and, "Hey, have you guys seen the documentary The History of Helvetica? It's amazing. Totally explains why Helvetica's the superior choice."

"Don't diss on my lovely Calibri," Baekhyun retorts, clutching an imaginary manifestation of a font close to his chest. "Arial, though, you can completely express hatred for. I might even back you up."

Chanyeol raises a hand. "Without Arial, your fonts won't even exist."

"Focus, guys," Kyungsoo says, loud enough to make Chanyeol sink back in his seat and Baekhyun sit up properly. Jongdae adjusts his glasses and scoots closer to Chanyeol, flipping to the page they're supposed to be discussing. "Okay, literature. The Little Prince. You guys have read this, right?"

"No?" Chanyeol replies, earnest. He shoots Jongdae a look and Jongdae raises his hands in defense.

"I have, when I was younger," Baekhyun says. "Like, much, much younger. I think the boa constrictor part was pretty cool."

Kyungsoo snorts. "Awesome. At least someone has good taste in literature."

Baekhyun has a penchant for invading personal space, Kyungsoo concludes when Baekhyun presses too close as he tries to read the book over Kyungsoo's shoulder. Baekhyun leans his head against Kyungsoo's, sometimes even tucks his chin on Kyungsoo's shoulder, whispeing things in his ear, like, Don't you think the rose was overdoing it? She can't just keep the prince hanging on a leash or something, Taming? You mean leading someone on and leaving that person behind. "Sometimes I wonder how we'd survive if we lived in Saint-Exupery's world," Baekhyun finally says out loud, and by this time Jongdae has dozed off on the other side of the table. Chanyeol's just being polite by staring at Kyungsoo silly with half-lidded eyes.

"Go, go, get some rest," Kyungsoo, reaching out briefly to guide Chanyeol's head down on the desk. Jongdae mumbles something about weird sheep and nuzzles Chanyeol's hair. Leadership duties on top of their extracurricular activities wear them out more than they should, and Kyungsoo's generous with sleep, sparing Chanyeol a stern look when Chanyeol zones out halfway through a conversation.

"I'm glad I'm irresponsible," Baekhyun comments. His voice is considerably lower than the usual; maybe it's the travel from school to home that wears Baekhyun out, or the extended practices as they draw nearer to the tournament date. "Or at least not as responsible as these two. Heck, I can't even manage my own thoughts; how the hell am I supposed to think about other people?"

"Not that I need to know," Kyungsoo mumbles. Baekhyun transfers weight to his chin, pressing even closer to Kyungsoo. If Kyungsoo so much as tilts his head to the side, Baekhyun's face will be flush against his. It's not a risk he should be taking. He shrugs his shoulders and the weight on the right side eases. His right arm is numb; he hopes it's not the injury talking.

"I wanted you to know, anyway," Baekhyun says after a while. "But I can take care of myself just fine on most days. Just… not at all the time."

Kyungsoo chuckles. "Well, thank you for the trivia." He closes the book, then turns to his side to face Baekhyun. "Have you read his other books?"

Baekhyun's eyes light up, crinkling at the corners. His smile is boxy and has these weird edges, but it looks natural enough to be considered a relaxed smile. His shoulders are slumped, though — weird form, poor footwork, something Kyungsoo cannot quite pinpoint but knows is wrong. "I thought Night Flight was depressing," Baekhyun replies. He throws his head back, exposing the column of his neck. Kyungsoo tries his hardest not to reach out.

"Really depressing."

"Really, really depressing."

"So is your face. When you're—" Baekhyun makes clawing motions at the space just a few inches from his face. "Wearing that look. Makes you look sad and depressed."

Kyungsoo shakes his head. "Let's move on to Britney."

Baekhyun stares for a while, eyebrows slightly furrowed, then bounces back with a new light in his eyes. "Lucky is still my jam," Baekhyun mentions, then slips into a fit of laughter, light and easy, but loud enough to fill Kyungsoo's ears, senses, reaching the back of his mind. Perfect form and footwork. An easy forehand winner down the line.

It's a rainy spring day in Daechi-dong when Baekhyun asks for another long match. Baekhyun is testing out his improved backhand form now, consciously dragging his right foot all the way to the left side. "I'm liking the added power," Baekhyun comments, chokes somewhere along the way when rain catches on his lips.

"We better head inside now!" Kyungsoo calls out from the other side of the court. Baekhyun simply laughs, the sound echoing in the now empty court. It's a weekend, and Chanyeol and Jongdae spend most Saturdays holed in their homes or hagwon, going through lectures and re-reading notes; there's the midnight for that, Kyungsoo thinks. It's when his mind is free from unwanted thoughts.

"This is a test!" Baekhyun replies. His hands are on his hips. Kyungsoo doesn't have to squint hard to see the smile on Baekhyun's lips. "Are you going to back down now? Come on…"

It's taken Kyungsoo nearly two years to grow accustomed to Chanyeol's loud laughter and Jongdae's regular, drawn out touches, but Baekhyun makes getting used to companionship sound all too easy. It hasn't been half a year and yet Baekhyun already knows the right words to use to earn more than the casual smile or shrug from Kyungsoo,kows the right time to raise an eyebrow at Kyungsoo instead of hitting him on the arm to drive a point across. Kyungsoo likes to think himself an unpredictable enough man, but Baekhyun's good at this — breaking people down into pieces he can eat up, digest more easily. Baekhyun's got him on a leash loose enough for him to be able to still wander off, but one light tug and he's reeled back in.

"Is that a challenge?" Kyungsoo asks. Maybe Baekhyun is snorting; the rain drowns it out.

"No. This is a practice match." Baekhyun reaches for one of the balls on the monoblock nearby. He dribbles it with his left hand, slow and easy. His racket looks as if it might slip off anytime; when Kyungsoo said loosen your grip, he didn't mean this.

"First to get to three games." Kyungsoo crouches low to tighten the knot of his rubber shoes. "If I win, we're going inside right away."

"But the weather's great here outside!"

Hard court is easily the best surface to play in when it's raining, but that doesn't mean it's easy. Baekhyun's form is worse than ever, and he struggles with reaching for the shots dropping just beyond the net more than the usual. Kyungsoo takes the slippery surface as an opportunity to slide, but sometimes he goes too fast and, by the time he realizes that he's made a mistake, he's already crashing into the net, face-first. Baekhyun greets him with a fit of giggles and an outstretched hand.

"Stop laughing," Kyungsoo grumbles as he reaches up, taking Baekhyun's offer for help. He lets his fingers linger. "You're the one who dragged me out here just so we could practice your form."

"And you gave in," Baekhyun singsongs. He pulls at Kyungsoo's hand lightly, and Kyungsoo tugs even harder, sending Baekhyun down on the ground. "What the fuck?"

"I haven't won yet, but it's impossible to play in this weather." Kyungsoo nudges the now-fallen Baekhyun beside him whose face is pressed flat against his thigh. "Hey, kid, get up."

Baekhyun pushes himself up with shaky arms and looks at Kyungsoo — just looks at him — eyebrows furrowed slightly. This can go two ways — Baekhyun can say you've got to be fucking kidding me and tease him about being weak and maybe let slip a totally unnecessary comment about his injury. Baekhyun can just shrug and walk back to the other side of the court before saying you get up! Baekhyun does neither. Instead, he just sits there, legs crossed, knees bumping into Kyungsoo's. The rain all around them makes spring unbearably cold, and maybe they should be heading back inside where it's warmer. It's safer there, with the four walls of the room shielding them from the cold and the rest of the world, but Baekhyun's a risk-taker, a daredevil. He pushes and pushes until there's no other place to go but down.

"Fuck, it's cold here." Baekhyun hugs his racket close to him, like it can ever keep him warm. Kyungsoo snorts.

"Took you too long to realize that."

Baekhyun glances at him again, quicker this time, and reaches over to ruffle his hair. Baekhyun's hand falls on his left shoulder, and Baekhyun pulls him close, close enough that he can feel the little warmth left in Baekhyun's side through the press of their bodies, close enough that he can see the raindrops catching on Baekhyun's eyelashes. He runs a thumb there, wipes it off, and Baekhyun winces, closes his eyes until Kyungsoo taps his cheek lightly.

"Come on, let's go inside," Kyungsoo says, but Baekhyun doesn't budge. Instead, he tightens his grip on Kyungsoo's arm, and Kyungsoo keeps still, racket drenched in his left hand, his right balled in a fist. His knuckles graze the skin of Baekhyun's ankle.

The agreement is to wrap up practice before six in the evening so that they'll have time to study, but the weather only clears up at quarter 'til five. "Come on, just one set," Baekhyun pleads, and Kyungsoo has neither the strength nor the heart to turn him down.

"Care to show me that serve again?" Baekhyun says, voice louder than the usual. There must still be the thrum of the downpour in his ears. Kyungsoo sticks his tongue out and dribbles the ball with his right hand, preparing to serve.

Kyungsoo can see the change in Baekhyun's form more definitively when Baekhyun receives the deep forehands Kyungsoo aims at the corners. There's more power in each shot, even if Baekhyun only does the light flick of the wrist when returning some balls, and Baekhyun isn't even a power player — he's a good balance of strength and tactic, but today the mind play is stronger, a force to be reckoned with. Baekhyun makes stuttered steps to the front, and Kyungsoo goes for a backhand down the line instead of a shot to Baekhyun's own backhand; he can't take risks.

"Weak," Baekhyun comments as he picks the ball up. "You can't hesitate when hitting balls. At least try to fake it; you're too obvious."

"I'm not obvious," Kyungsoo retorts. He hits the back of his rubber shoes with this racket. "And this is a practice match; whatever I screw up here, I make up for when I go into a real match."

"Whatever." Baekhyun shrugs. He hands Kyungsoo the ball and, before walking back to his side of the court, says, "Try harder."

They're at 6-5 now and Kyungsoo has the chance to serve it out to earn a win, but it won't be half as fun if he ends things early. Victory isn't quick matches won over tired teammates; victory is winning a long rally by firing a well-timed trick shot in an opponent's moment of surrender. His penchant for playing fair has cost him a couple of matches, yes, and Baekhyun is a valuable asset to the team that he's not willing to lose to his pride. He won't push this time but he won't pull, either. "Whatever," he says, copying Baekhyun, and aims four kick serves to the other side of the court, serving out the game to win the match 7-5.

"That's not the serve," Baekhyun mumbles when they meet at the net. Kyungsoo simply shrugs. He means to drop his hand to his side, but Baekhyun doesn't let go, not even as they make their way back to the lockers, rackets dripping wet, tucked beneath their arms. Baekhyun's skin is warm; his eyes, piercing cold. Kyungsoo takes in the contrast and files this image of Baekhyun at the back of his mind under a category for all things Baekhyun — he can't decipher this look, not yet, but it does send a warm shot of pain through his nerves, the rest of his body.

"I see you and Baekhyun are getting…" Chanyeol drums his fingers on the table for a while before leaning forward, looking around his for an audience. The dramatic pause kills Kyungsoo, but he keeps his hands to himself, doesn't slap Chanyeol on the arm when Chanyeol goes on to say, "... chummy."

"So?" He busies himself with setting up the table, taking two plates from the dish rack. Chanyeol normally comes over on Sundays, when his mother is out meeting her friends, and there's always a snack to be welcomed whenever Chanyeol pays a visit. Today, it's tteokbokki. Umma made it, he remembers Chanyeol saying. He lays each piece on the bowl carefully. Chanyeol's ransacking his fridge now for some yellow radish.

"So, it's good for the team." Chanyeol takes out a few bottles, and Kyungsoo slaps his hand, taking over the search party. "I mean, good chemistry on court is always nice to have, yeah?"

"If you're telling me to play doubles again, I'll have to kick you out of my house." Kyungsoo looks over his shoulder, lips drawn to a thin, thin line. "I'm sorry, Yeol. I'm never playing doubles again. I told you before, right? I'll never—"

"Be able to share the same side of the court with anyone other than Jihoon," Chanyeol finishes. "Yeah, I get it, but I haven't seen tennis chemistry like this since—"

"Since?"

Chanyeol's face is unreadable, calm and still. He's drumming his fingers on his thigh. Kyungsoo hasn't moved from where he is, still crouched low, and the yellow radish peeks from behind a couple of food containers. It's within reach now, but there's a thin film of something, something Kyungsoo can't quite put his finger on that's drowning out the tiny sounds they're making.

"Since Zitao and Lu Han-hyung teamed up. Since Jongin played alongside Sehun for the very first time — still their best match, in my opinion," Chanyeol finally says. He pokes at a piece of tteok tentatively and shoots a glance at Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo slowly gets up. His knees ache. "Since your last match with Jihoon."

Kyungsoo can feel the lump of Chanyeol's words lodge itself in his throat. "Cut this up," he says, surrendering the yellow radish to Chanyeol. He means to ask for a favor, but it comes out as an order, instead. Chanyeol doesn't say anything else, merely picks up the vegetable and navigates through the kitchen, pulling out the chopping board, a knife, and a plate he can put the sliced pieces on.

"When are you going to me about what happened with Jihoon?" Chanyeol asks after a while, once he's sitting opposite Kyungsoo again.

Kyungsoo doesn't look up and keeps his eyes fixed on the bright red liquid. "Never," he says, and he doesn't meet Chanyeol in the eye until he takes a piece of tteok. Chanyeol's stare burns the back of his eyelids more than the gochujang does.

Chanyeol picks him up from his classroom before heading to the courts, Jongdae in tow. "I actually just have to make sure Jongdae makes it to the courts without me," Chanyeol tells Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo holds Jongdae by the waist, his palm secure on Jongdae's left hip even as Jongdae retailiates by flailing his arms around.

"I can take care of myself," Jongdae grumbles. Chanyeol cards his fingers through Jongdae's hair, and Kyungsoo just watches, half-amused and half-wondering what had happened the whole time he wasn't around.

Kyungsoo adjusts Jongdae's arm around his shoulder for a better hold. "Come on, let me take care of you."

Jongdae laughs a little. His voice comes out scratchy. He won't be able to call out match ups for the practice matches later; Jongdae will hate that, not getting to use his voice. He hates it when things are taken away from him.

"Says the guy who wouldn't even let us visit him when he was sick," Jongdae teases.

"That was three years ago— I fell off a bike, big deal. It was a tiny scratch!"

"And I'm just running low on sleep." Jongdae shrugs his shoulders, but Kyungsoo knows more than to give in. "Come on, let me go. Kyungsoo, let me—"

"Seems like Kyungsoo has issues with letting people go, huh?" comes Baekhyun's voice from a few feet away. Kyungsoo looks over his shoulder, and Baekhyun greets him with a bright smile. He's carrying more books with him than the usual, and Kyungsoo eyes the pile of books with great interest. "Studying some chapters in advance. I'll need to go through some extra readings if I want to get into SKY."

"Isn't it too late for that?" Jongdae comments, and Kyungsoo pinches him lightly in his side.

The walk to the courts takes no more than ten minutes, but Jongdae pressing his weight down on Kyungsoo makes the trip seem much longer. "Which?" Kyungsoo asks Baekhyun when the latter slides beside him, opposite Jongdae.

"KU? Yonsei? I don't know yet," Baekhyun replies. He scrunches his nose. "You?"

Kyungsoo hasn't ironed out the details yet, but he plans to get into SKY with an athletic scholarship. Play for the team, even, if time permits. He wants to take up a Liberal Arts course, and while balancing studies and extracurricular activities in university seems more daunting than it should be, the practice he's had in high school helps ease the anxiety somehow.

"Yonsei, probably." Jongdae has become silent next to him. He briefly wonders if Jongdae is in pain or has finally accepted the fact that he needs help. "I can't see myself anywhere else."

"Big words," Jongdae and Baekhyun chime simultaneously. Together, they produce the most shrill, the loudest laughter. This is a sound Kyungsoo can get used to, he thinks, even as the sound of balls bouncing on the court soon filsl his ears.

Chanyeol meets them in court with a clipboard propped under his arm. He rounds everyone up and hands the clipboard over to a Jongdae who looks slightly more alive now, the corners of his lips curled up just slightly.

"The coach is sick and he won't be around for a while, probably three days, five," Chanyeol says in his most authoritative, least friendly voice. "Until then, I will be your coach."

"Take me to your leader," Baekhyun whispers, and Kyungsoo nudges him with his elbow faster than Baekhyun can let a giggle slip from his lips.

Chanyeol's a better captain than he is a player. He definitely has the skill and his ball placement is a thing of beauty, but his real talent is in manipulating people, convincing them to do something even if they mean to do another. The freshmen have long calmed down after being told to wait for their turn, and it takes no more than a couple of sentences for Chanyeol to make Zitao, Sehun, and Jongin handle the freshmen and make them teach the freshmen some advanced trick shots. "How does he do it?" Baekhyun asks, leaning closer to whisper. "I've never seen anyone talk Sehun into doing something without some sort of reward so easily."

"That's how he wins his matches, didn't you know?" Jongdae replies. He twirls the racket in his hand, by the throat, eyes trained on Chanyeol. Chanyeol's talking to one of the freshmen now, someone Jongin has seen playing in the open courts and has seen potential in. "You're gonna pass me the ball, right? You won't aim the forehand at the corner, right?" Jongdae's voice has dropped to a whisper now, and he has morphed his tone into one that can be used for horror movies. Kyungsoo's torn between laughing and punching Jondgdae in the face. "Sometimes I see him mumbling before his opponent hits the ball. He has powers—"

Baekhyun topples over, falling on his knees. Jongdae's visibly amused. "It was funny the first few seconds," Kyungsoo says when Jongdae looks up at him, searching for validation. "And the first few times you pulled the same shit on Chanyeol. Yes, I still remember—"

"And you didn't remember this face at once?" Baekhyun looks at him, like he's affronted and insulted, but the smile on his lips betrays him. "Selective memory. I'm hurt."

Jongdae cackles. "Byun Baekhyun has feelings?"

Baekhyun still hasn't averted his gaze from Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo remembers the night in the showers, Baekhyun's collarbones, the dip of his back. He remembers the need for someone in the undertone of Baekhyun's voice when he said, half-asleep more than awake, "Are you gonna wait for me?"

"Sure, I do," Baekhyun replies. He grins at Kyungsoo for a while, then at Jongdae. "I'm sensitive. Fragile. Please handle me with care."

"I'll handle you with care if you get your asses on the courts," Chanyeol says now, a towering figure behind them. Chanyeol's hand is warm and soothing on the small of Kyungsoo's back. "Off to practice, now, Come on."

Kyungsoo looks over his shoulder, waiting for Chanyeol to fall into step with him, but it's Baekhyun who matches his pace, Baekhyun who slips right beside him as they walk to the courts. "Wanna practice your backhand on me?" Baekhyun asks, and Kyungsoo doesn't choke when Baekhyun moves closer, their hands bumping with each forward step.

"Sure," Kyungsoo says. He locks his arms behind him and cracks his neck as he meets Baekhyun in the eye. "Sounds good to me."

They do no more than a few easy games to practice their swings and services. Kyungsoo hasn't pulled an American Twist in a while, focusing on cleaning up his flat serves, so he looks around for an audience before assuming his serving position. It's not that he doesn't want to share; he wants to polish it first, make it perfect so that when people see it, when it hits the opponent on the other side of the net, it will leave an impact worth more than a point or a game or an entire match. There is no room for error in a sport as cutthroat as tennis, no time to relax and give himself away. Tennis is more of a mind game than running around with your legs and swinging your arms, hoping to hit a good enough shot that your opponent won't be able to return. Tennis is a complete mindfuck.

"I'm really liking your form these days," comes Chanyeol's voice from behind. Kyungsoo quickly drops the ball to his side, collecting himself when he picks it up with his racket. The steady bounce of the ball off the floor is a soothing sound. "The best I've seen since—"

"Since we were twelve?" Kyungsoo catches the ball with his right hand, then serves it with a slice. It passes just above the net, and Kyungsoo grins when he sees it rolling to the back of the court. "Has it been that long?"

Chanyeol walks to the other side of the court. His grip on his racket is tight — Kyungsoo doesn't need to squint hard to see the veins of Chanyeol's hand glowering at him. "Apparently, you've know Baekhyun longer than that."

"Only casually, though. I mean, I only see him in tournaments. We play against each other." Kyungsoo hits the back of his rubber shoes with his racket — once, twice, until he can easily slide to the right again. "That's about it."

"Is it?"

Kyungsoo snorts. "You're thinking too much. Come on, just give me a good serve."

He isn't lying to Chanyeol when he says he doesn't know Baekhyun beyond a handshake or the standard congratulations when they meet at the net. Baekhyun is skilled enough that the movement of his body, every twist of the torso and flick of the wrist is engraved in Kyungsoo's mind. Kyungsoo remembers movement, not still things — Baekhyun's marginally better footwork when he moves from the baseline to the net, the way he twirls the racket in his hand, the droplets of water running down the expanse of Baekhyun's chest, or the way Baekhyun had pulled him close as they shared warmth in the rain. Movement, motion, the steady bounce of a ball on the court. Baekhyun, ever listless, never to be tied down.

Chanyeol holds the ball in front of him, then tosses the ball in the air.

He remembers Chanyeol's movements, too, more distinctly than those Baekhyun makes. Chanyeol is all large, exaggerated gestures and loud laughter, a big, warm hand on the small of the back, slow rubbing of the thumb on an exposed part of the skin. But Chanyeol stills from time to time, slumped against the wall, eyes closed as he composes himself after a difficult loss. And Kyungsoo tries to set things back in motion, crouches low to reach out and brush the beads of tears at the corners of Chanyeol's eyes as he tries so hard to hold his tears back.

"Why do you even keep bringing that up?"

Chanyeol aims a forehand right down the line. A small pump of the fist, then, "Because he seems to look up to you. A lot. Like you've changed his life or something." Chanyeol snorts and laughs a little. "Ew."

"Really?" A nice, clean slice serve, one that Kyungsoo just watches speed past him.

"Really," is all that Chanyeol says, because they should be focusing on the match. Kyungsoo bends his knees, preparing to receive the next serve. If he lets his guard down, Chanyeol will power his way through this game with fast serves.

"He knows you more than you think," Chanyeol says after the match, when they meet at the net. Chanyeol leans on the pole as he catches his breath, and Kyungsoo stands opposite him, hands on his hips, racket propped under his arm. "Watches your movement, your game. I don't know what you've done to him, Kyungsoo, and it sure looks like you have no idea either, but whatever it is, it has impacted him a lot."

Kyungsoo looks up and into Chanyeol's eyes, looking for something — answers, a joke beneath the thick layer of seriousness, a Chanyeol who knows nothing about him and isn't warning him like Baekhyun coming too close is the safest thing. "It's the footwork," Kyungsoo simply answers. He averts his gaze, searches for Baekhyun in the throng of people in the other courts. Baekhyun's talking to Jongin, adjusting Jongin's grip on his racket. His body is saying, this is how you do a nice, clean kick serve; the movement of his lips, you can't let the team down, Jonginnie. You don't want to do that, right? "It must be the footwork, because he's been feeling more power in his shots since he fixed that issue. It has to be the footwork."

"If that's what you say," Chanyeol replies, surrendering. He rests a hand on Kyungsoo's shoulder before standing up straight, hand falling to his sides. "I'll go clean up and send the little ones home. Are you staying behind?"

"Yeah, I think so. One more round, then I'll head straight home." Kyungsoo scrunches his nose. "Lots of homework to do."

"Don't stay out too late," Chanyeol calls out before turning on his heel. Baekhyun turns around, and from this distance, with meters of space between them, Kyungsoo can convince himself that Baekhyun isn't looking and waving at him.

He practices his backswing. The movement is more relaxed, natural. He spins the racket in his wrist by the throat as he walks to the crowd, making his way to Jongdae. He could use more practice — just a bit more.

Kyungsoo is the last man standing on the courts. He'd begged off from an ice cream escapade earlier, telling Chanyeol he had to practice his backhand more. "Gotta perfect the backhand drive," he'd said, and Jongdae had just shrugged and walked ahead of Chanyeol.

Testing out his backhand with the wall as a practice buddy is hardly as exciting as hitting balls with a real human being moving opposite you, running around and chasing the shots, but solitude is good, too, sometimes. Silence helps him think, recalibrate. He shuts his eyes tight before lifting himself off of leaning on the pole of the net and walks to the locker room. His clothes stick to him, and it's the single, most annoying feeling in the world after a long day at practice.

The lights are still turned on, so he takes a peek inside before entering. He expects emptiness, but instead he sees Baekhyun with his back against the lockers, head thrown back, lips parted slightly, one of the freshmen on his knees with Baekhyun's dick between his lips.

Kyungsoo swallows every sound struggling to break free from his silence. He grips the frame of the door tight.

Baekhyun makes the strangest, most entrancing sounds as the freshman bobs his head, drawing a long suck and pulling out completely before dipping his mouth back in, taking Baekhyun whole in one breath. Baekhyun's fingers, long and slender, are entangled in the boy's hair. He can see the strain in Baekhyun's muscles, the way he clenches his fists as the boy sucks rather enthusiastically on his cock. Kyungsoo knows he isn't supposed to feel anything, but his chest is tight and heavy, and his lips feel so dry, and the tips of his fingers are cold. His dick feels so heavy between his legs, and his tennis shorts are flimsy and the sort of material that would look good sliding off his legs if Baekhyun pulled them down with his teeth and—

"Shit—" Kyungsoo mumbles, barely above a whisper. Baekhyun bucks his hips. Kyungsoo outlines Baekhyun's figure with his eyes, gaze lingering on Baekhyun's neck, the dip of his back, the toned legs. The boy's leaving scratch marks on Baekhyun's pale skin, and those will sting, and those will burn a bright red and Baekhyun will regret wearing tight tennis shorts tomorrow, but Baekhyun asks for more, pushing the boy's head down so hard the that boy gasps before getting back to work, sucking, long and inexorable.

Kyungsoo draws in one shaky breath. His nails claw at the door, and Baekhyun's gaze shifts to him, sharp and heady.

Baekhyun licks his lips, hooks a leg around the figure of the boy to draw him closer. "More," Baekhyun groans, and the boy keeps at it, sucks harder, one hand moving to cup Baekhyun's ass. Baekhyun doesn't tear his gaze from Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo feels a struggle much harder than before, his blood rushing both up to his face and down to his cock, his own erection so visible in his shorts.

Baekhyun comes with a strangled cry, sliding down the lockers just a bit as he catches his breath. His eyes are half-masked, and yet Baekhyun's gaze still leaves Kyungsoo with cuts all over, a swelling pain in his abdomen. "W-what are you doing," Kyungsoo finally says when he finds his voice again, and the freshman quickly scrambles to his feet.

Kyungsoo doesn't mean to look, but the boy is only half-hard now — Baekhyun fucked him first, and the boy just returned the favor. Fuck.

Baekhyun cups the face of the boy before ruffling his hair. "Run along, now," he whispers, and the boy quickly gets dressed, speeds past Kyungsoo on his way out of the locker room.

"I said," Kyungsoo says now, voice louder, more stable. He can feel his legs again, but his hands are still numb. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Baekhyun wipes the spit at the corners of his mouth with his thumb and pays no heed to Kyungsoo's words, pulling his shorts up and locking his arms behind his back as he stretches. "It was a tough day. I had to release some stress," Baekhyun answers after a while, as he pulls his shirt back on. You're supposed to be heading to the showers to wash away your sins, a voice at the back of Kyungsoo's mind says. Half of him feels more comfortable when Baekhyun faces him, now fully dressed; the other half, oddly disappointed. "Don't you do that, too, sometimes? Get off?"

"Not—" Kyungsoo can feel something burning at the back of this throat. "Not that way. I'm not— Baekhyun, you're—"

"Just like you," Baekhyun finishes. Baekhyun's laughing; Kyungsoo doesn't get it, what's funny about the whole conversation. Baekhyun looks fucking pretty with the light blush on his cheeks and his bangs stuck to his forehead. It's not funny; it's disconcerting.

"I'm not like you. Baekhyun, I'm not—"

"You're not gay?" Baekhyun snorts. "You can't lie to me, Kyungsoo. You can lie to the coach, to Jongdae, or even to Chanyeol, but I know it when I see it. And what I see in you is a person who's afraid of so many things that he's even afraid of being himself."

Kyungsoo balls his fists. "I'm not afraid of anything."

"Then why are you shaking?"

I'm mad, Kyungsoo wants to say. There's the warm thrum of arousal between his legs and he's weak in the knees and Baekhyun's looking at him with eyes that can cut through diamonds. Baekhyun's cutting him open without preamble, slicing him up into pieces. He can feel a sharp pain in his right arm. "I'm mad," he finally confesses. "I'm disappointed. I'm—"

"Disappointed in yourself?" The look on Baekhyun's face is indiscernible. Kyungsoo wonders if it's just a mix of fatigue and shock, or something he can't figure out completely. It's unsettling. "I would be, too, if I kept trying to make things happen with Chanyeol but I had to shoot him down everytime he expressed interest in me, yeah—"

"Don't bring Chanyeol into this."

"I didn't." Baekhyun scoffs. "You did."

Kyungsoo clenches his fists, nails digging into his skin. His hands have long gone numb from the cold, but there's a sharp pain in his chest that cuts like a fucking knife. "Get out," Kyungsoo simply says, voice as steady as it can be, but Baekhyun chuckles and he loses it completely. "I said, get out!"

He doesn't grab Baekhyun by the wrist when Baekhyun walks past him, doesn't look over his shoulder, but he does lock himself up in the locker room, knees hugged close to his chest as he tries to even out his breathing, to calm down the voices in his head, to ease the pain in his chest.

He lets the cold water of the shower cascade down his chest, the expanse of his back, and he doesn't think about Baekhyun throwing his head back as the boy sucks on his dick, doesn't think of Baekhyun bucking his hips, fucking the boy so hard on the face, doesn't thinking of Baekhyun's piercing gaze as he comes inside the boy's mouth and not in Kyungsoo's hand.

Kyungsoo gives his cock one last jerk and he comes with a muffled cry. He doesn't move, doesn't open his eyes, letting the rush of the water drown out Baekhyun's soft ah's still reverberating in his ears.

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