It's spring, the season when the world outside bursts into color and life. As if on cue with the blooming flowers, In-woo has his own ritual.

Today, like many times before, he leads you to the old cherry blossom tree on the edge of the school grounds. The air is cool, but the sun dapples through the branches, casting playful shadows on the ground.

In-woo stretches out beneath the tree, his back against the grass, eyes closed in a serene expression. You settle next to him, not as relaxed, your body tense as you pretend to gaze outward at the scattered petals.

Shin-woo: (Every spring it’s the same, but I never tire of it. It’s the one time I can just look at him, really look, without fear of being caught.)

You shift slightly, turning to steal a glance at In-woo. His features are softened by the gentle sunlight, making him look almost peaceful, a stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor.

The setting is almost too picturesque, him lying there without a care, and you sitting guard, watching over his repose. Your hair falls forward, a convenient veil that completely conceals your face from curious onlookers, allowing you to gaze at him unnoticed.

His chest rises and falls with a rhythm that lulls you into a sense of tranquility you only find here, in these moments. Your heart beats a little faster as you allow your eyes to trace the lines of his face—the curve of his jaw, the gentle arch of his brows.

Shin-woo: (He’s like some character from a story, too perfect to be real. And here I am, close enough to know it’s not all just a façade.)

Your hand inches closer to his, a subconscious desire to bridge the gap between fantasy and reality. But you stop halfway, pulling back before a touch can break the spell.

In-woo stirs slightly, his eyelids fluttering but not opening, and you quickly avert your gaze, focusing on a random point on the ground. Your heart hammers in your chest, worried for a moment that he caught you staring.

Shin-woo: (One day, maybe, I’ll stop hiding this. But not today.)

You draw in a deep breath, the scent of cherry blossoms filling your lungs, and settle in to enjoy the tranquility of the moment, however fleeting it may be.

The fleeting serenity of your spring ritual with In-woo comes to an abrupt end as he springs to his feet, full of energy.

With a characteristic tug at your sleeve, he pulls you along to the next event of the day—a basketball match against a rival high school. In-woo's school has never lost to this team, thanks largely to his prowess on the court.

[Transition]

You follow him to the gym, your role during these games well-practiced. You find your usual spot in the front row, armed with a bottle of water and a towel, essentials for In-woo during his breaks.

As you settle down, you feel the weight of numerous stares. Jealous glances from both girls and boys slice through the air towards you, their envy palpable.

Shin-woo: (Let them look. Let them wonder.)

Your lips curl into a smirk, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes but serves its purpose. It's a small rebellion, a silent assertion of your place by his side, even if the nature of that place is misunderstood by onlookers.

As the game starts, In-woo transforms. On the court, he is not the stoic, unapproachable figure you spend your days with but a dynamic, almost untouchable force.

Each movement he makes is fluid and precise, his athleticism on full display. You can’t help but be captivated.

Shin-woo: (Look at him... so confident, so skilled. It’s hard not to admire him—harder still not to want him.)

Your smile widens as he scores yet another basket, his team pulling further ahead. The crowd's cheers swell around you, a tumultuous sea of excitement and energy, but your focus remains solely on In-woo.

His shirt clings to him, damp with sweat, outlining muscles that shift and flex with every move. The sight sends a warm thrill through you.

Shin-woo: (He’s incredible. Not just as a player... but just him. Every time I think I’ve got my feelings under control, he does something to show me I’m far from over him.)

You clutch the water bottle tighter, anticipation building with each pause in the game when you know he’ll jog over to you for a quick refresh, his face alight with the thrill of the game, eyes finding yours for that brief moment that seems to stretch and bend in the air between you.

Shin-woo: (Is it just the game, or is there something more in those quick, fleeting glances?)

The whistle blows, snapping you out of your reverie, and he jogs over again, that same determined, competitive gleam in his eyes that somehow softens just a fraction when he looks at you.

His chest heaving from exertion, you quickly stand, the towel and water bottle ready in your hands.
His breathing is heavy, his gaze fixed on the towel you hold.

You hand him the towel first, watching as he wipes the sweat from his forehead and neck, his movements precise and calculated. There's an intensity to his actions, a focus that he carries from the court to even the simplest tasks.

You then offer the water bottle, and as he takes a long drink, your eyes are irresistibly drawn to the motion of his Adam's apple, tracking each swallow with a fascination you can't hide.

Shin-woo: (Every detail about him catches me off guard, pulls me in deeper than I want to admit.)

A droplet of water escapes, tracing a line down from the corner of his mouth to his neck. Your gaze follows the path of the water, lingering a moment too long.

Unconsciously, your tongue flicks out, wetting your own lips as if you could taste the salty sweetness of his effort from across the air between you.

He pauses drinking, a brow arching as he catches your stare, the corner of his mouth twitching in an unreadable expression.

Shin-woo: (Caught. Why do I always get caught?)

His look is a mix of amusement and a challenge, a silent question about what exactly you find so captivating. Flustered, you scramble mentally, looking away briefly before meeting his eyes again, an attempt to regain some composure.

Shin-woo: (Focus. He’s just a guy. Just a guy who happens to throw my world off its axis every time he looks at me.)

As he finishes drinking and hands back the bottle, the moment stretches taut between you. There’s an acknowledgment in his glance, a recognition of the unspoken tension that always seems to dance just on the edge of your interactions.

Shin-woo: (What does he think in these moments? Does he see me... really see me?)

He returns to the game without another word, leaving you to ponder the brief encounter, your heart pounding a little too loudly in your chest.

The game resumes with its usual fervor, the crowd’s energy palpable as the players dart back and forth across the court. You watch, half-lost in the ebb and flow of the match, your nerves tight each time In-woo handles the ball.

Shin-woo: (Just another game, just another win, hopefully.)

Your focus sharpens as Dylan, a notorious rival from the opposing team, enters into a direct contest with In-woo.

You know Dylan by reputation and unfortunate personal experience; he's the type who bristles at being overlooked, and his interactions with you have been uncomfortably forward, always trying to catch your eye with a wink or a smirk during games.

Shin-woo: (Why can’t he just play the game without making it personal?)

Today, Dylan's antagonism is more palpable than ever. His taunts seem louder, aimed not just to unnerve In-woo but to draw a reaction from you as well.

However, In-woo, ever the stoic, ignores him, focused solely on the game. This only seems to infuriate Dylan further.

As the tension on the court builds, a sudden movement catches your eye—a deliberate, aggressive shove from Dylan. In-woo, caught off-guard, stumbles backward, his balance lost.

The world seems to slow down as In-woo's head makes a sickening thud against the metal basketball post. He crumples to the floor, motionless.

Shin-woo: (No, no, no... this can’t be happening.)