Chapter Text
It was disgusting just how much sweat dripped down Seungmin's entire body, coating him in a soaking wet film. It wasn't his favorite feeling in the world, accompanied by his aching joints and the garbled roar of the crowd, but a five set match would do that to a man.
One more point. That was all he needed.
His opponent, fan-favorite Australian pro, Lee Felix, played a tough and awfully dramatic match. Seungmin knew he was leagues better than the guy, but he couldn't deny how much he'd improved recently.
Felix had a lot of energy, and he could get surprisingly creative in a pinch, but Seungmin knew where to poke. While matured, Felix was still quite inconsistent, never winning a match in straight sets. That's where Seungmin came in, the king of consistency, grinding Felix down with his tight strokes and cool composure.
Everyone always seemed in such a rush to win. But Seungmin did things a little differently. He always played the long game.
And it had paid off now, as he bounced the ball a three times on the ground, crowd going dead silent in anticipation for the match point. Seungmin tossed the ball high, his body coiling tight with precision as he set up the shot.
See the serve. Watch it land in the box. Far left corner. Felix flailing to reach the ball with his struggling backhand.
Whack!
Seungmin's racket cut through the air, hitting the ball with a controlled force that left Felix defenseless. There was nothing he could do, no fancy footwork he could maneuver, no desperate reach of the racket. It was over.
The ball landed clean in the far left corner of the box, the loud screech of Felix's shoes ringing throughout the stadium as he lunged for the ball.
He missed.
Point won. Match won. Champion. Again.
A pump of the fist was the only celebration Seungmin allowed himself, composed as he waved to the crowd. Felix was bent over, racket dropped to the ground, heaving in and out. But the smile hadn't left his face, and the crowd still chanted his name, shouting encouraging words.
When they shook hands, Seungmin's grip remained firm, leaning in to whisper in Felix's ear, "Nice match." It wasn't much to the average player, but it was more than Seungmin usually let himself say.
It somehow meant everything to Felix as he pulled away, his smile even brighter. "I hope we play again," he beamed letting go of Seungmin's hand, but lingering in awe of the champion. Seungmin wanted to cringe at his hopefulness, but he still managed a small nod.
"Maybe."
It came out tighter than he meant it. Luckily, Felix didn't notice.
But Seungmin did.
—
He was immediately hit by the cold chill of the air conditioned locker room, sweat still dripping into his eyes with a sharp sting. He let his bag fall to the ground, letting his weary shoulders have a much needed break while he listened to the faint hum of the TV, breaking down his stats from the final.
His first serve percentage was ruthless today. Felix's winners tallied pretty high as well, but his unforced errors gave Seungmin the edge.
He played clean today. Precise. Unshakeable. He could already imagine what the fans were saying online, the articles that would be written about him, the highlight reels on the tennis channel. Proud was an understatement, and Seungmin knew he'd be riding the high of this match for awhile.
But the high only lasted for a few fleeting seconds. He suddenly felt his body tense up, a sharp anger flooding his system hearing that grating voice from the TV.
His eyes flicked up, playing a post match interview from the day before. And Seungmin was blinded by that devilish smirk, the one he couldn't get out of his head, in between those two annoyingly boyish dimples.
Yang Jeongin.
A rapidly rising star in the tennis scene, the kid had been barely beaten by Felix in the semifinals, but you would've thought the match was the finals the way he played — gutsy and sloppy, flashy and unsustainable.
At least, that's what Seungmin thought. The crowds loved the boy, incessantly chanting his name as he hit risky down-the-line forehands and an excessive amount of drop shots that just made it over the net.
And the interviewer was really laying it on thick, hate pooling deep in Seungmin's chest as Jeongin preened under the praise. He'd already memorized every second of this interview, but still, his eyes stayed glued to the screen, waiting for the part he hated most.
"You really managed to keep up with, and at some points even outplay, a seasoned pro such as Lee Felix. I mean, it is truly incredible the way you play out there, so new and refreshing to see." The interviewer droned on, and Seungmin snarled watching the way Jeongin smirked.
Unprofessional. And of course the crowd ate it up. And really, he should've plugged his ears, but he almost wanted to hear the next part, let the fire inside of him grow wildly out of control.
"How do you think you'd fair against a player such as Kim Seungmin?"
Jeongin's face was almost evil in Seungmin's eyes, sharp and practiced like he knew exactly how to control the spotlight. "It's hard to say. I really wish I had made it to the finals to find out, but—"
Seungmin tensed, waiting for what the boy would say next, as if he hadn't already played the words in his head over and over again.
"—I hope Felix wins. I think tennis needs a new champion." His eyes briefly flashed to the camera, like Jeongin was addressing Seungmin himself. It made his stomach drop, hot and electric, pooling low in his gut where anger and something worse tangled.
God, Seungmin wanted to wipe the look clean off his face. He ran a hand through his hair, his knuckles whitening as he pulled at the strands, trying to ground himself in the pain. He could just barely imagine Jeongin's calloused hands instead of his own, an almost easier thought — the boy up in his space, breath hot on his skin as he seethed another insult. And his fox-like eyes from his mind held something taunting, suggestive, as if to say come and get me.
It hurt to look, and yet, Seungmin forced his eyes up to the TV, pulling his hair tighter by the second.
The interviewer clapped the boy's back, looking back to the camera with a charming grin. "Yang Jeongin everyone. Bold, fearless, and the face of tennis's new era."
What a brat.
But before he could really get himself going, envisioning exactly how he'd crush the boy in a grueling match, the door's swung open. It was his coach, Minho, strolling in with an easy grin, the one Seungmin should've been wearing right now if not for the interview.
"Another one for the books," Minho smirked, clapping Seungmin on the back. The contact should've been grounding, bringing him back to his win, but Seungmin could only feel Jeongin, all over him like static under his skin.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Minho was already amused, already reading his most private thoughts, and not-so-secretly thinking they were hilarious. "Earth to Seungmin," he teased, "You there?"
"What?" Seungmin snapped, immediately recoiling and shoving his head in his hands. What had gotten into him recently? The answer was glaringly obvious, burned into his mind, but Seungmin shoved it deep, deep down grasping for explanations he could rationalize.
Minho was probably smirking, completely unfazed. This was a common occurrence as of late. Seungmin heard a sigh escape his lips as he walked over to the TV, turning it off. The room became eerily silent, and Seungmin waited in anticipation for whatever teasing remark was about to come out of Minho's mouth.
"You're letting him get to you," he stated, like there wasn't a doubt about it.
And he was probably right. The boy was all Seungmin could think about these days, bordering on obsession. And the more he thought about him, the tighter something ugly twisted low in his gut.
"No he's not," Seungmin lied straight from his teeth, refusing to look at his coach, afraid he'd only see those eyes, that suggestive look.
Always being the bigger person, Minho's sighed as he sat himself next to Seungmin. He had his phone pulled up to an email, probably something for Seungmin. "Ready for the charity match tomorrow?"
Right. Seungmin wasn't quite done yet. Every year after this tournament, the best players came together to play doubles matches in the name of raising money for various causes. It changed every year, this year's being something with a children's charity. Seungmin couldn't remember. Too much on his mind.
"Oh yeah. Who am I playing with?" He asked, reaching into his bag for water. Seungmin didn't really care who he played with, he'd probably have a good time regardless. Charity matches were meant to be good fun, a spectacle for the crowd. He couldn't imagine anything would ruin that.
And Minho confirmed his thoughts as he smiled at his phone. "Good ole, happy-go-lucky Felix." Seungmin let out a sigh he didn't know he was holding in. Doubles was never his style, but if he had to play with anyone, he was glad it was the Australian.
While their styles differed, Seungmin thought Felix could actually balance him out, and vice versa. They were almost a textbook pair, and Seungmin smiled, already in a better mood. It could really be win-win situation for the both of them.
"Sweet. Who are we against?"
That's when Minho smile faded, replaced by a frown and hesitant glances. "Changbin."
Was that who Minho was worried about? Powerhouse Seo Changbin was aggressive, and a heavy hitting baseline bruiser, but Seungmin had no problem wearing him down in the semifinals.
"The guy's all muscle, he's not actually that scary on court. Who else?"
Seungmin almost regretted asking, wished he could unhear whatever came next, if only so he didn't have to feel those hands all over him again.
No.
He'd win that match.
And it was set in stone in his mind, chest tight as the name slipped from Minho's lips, "Yang Jeongin."
—
The gym was hot and stuffy in the way that made Jeongin want to quit working out altogether. He hadn't gotten far into the cardio portion of his workout before he was dripping with sweat, using it as an excuse to take a "water break." He stepped off the treadmill, practically collapsing to the floor to stare up at the ceiling fan still spinning uselessly.
The bench was too far away.
It had been a few days since he'd lost that stupid match to Felix, and he couldn't help but bum about it, remembering how he'd completely missed Felix's final serve to win the whole thing. It was horribly embarrassing. Even worse, the guy was all smiles and sunshine when they shook hands, and the crowd ate it up, of course.
He wanted to push it out of his mind and not let it bother him, but that just wasn't Jeongin's style. Turning to his side, he tried to think what Chan would say, always seeing the positives in every situation. The media was certainly paying attention to him now, and the match really proved he could go head-to-head with established pros.
Jeongin wasn't the kid who lost, but tennis's rising star who nearly toppled Felix.
Sitting down on one of the empty weightlifting benches, Jeongin's tossed a ball halfheartedly against the wall, still wishing he'd won anyway. If anyone asked, he was practicing his serving toss, feeling completely fine about the match's outcome.
At least Felix hadn't won the whole tournament — what a slap in the face that would've been. He'd lost, to someone Jeongin couldn't get out of his head.
The low, maddening calm of his voice still stuck to Jeongin's ribs like sap. He hated how well he remembered it all. His cold, piercing gaze giving Jeongin a once over. He wanted to wipe that icy expression off his face. With racket. Or something else—
His phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him. He usually tried not to let the thing distract him in the middle of a workout, but he couldn't help it as he pulled it out, finding a notification from his good friend Han Jisung.
Jeongin lit up, dropping the ball to bring both hands to his phone. Jisung always had the craziest shit to say, perfect for his sour mood.
But Jeongin's face quickly dropped. In fact, his blood boiled as he read the title of the article his friend sent: Reigning Champ Kim Seungmin is Here to Stay — Pro Defeats Lee Felix in Must-Watch Match.
Jeongin eyes couldn't seem to roll aggressively enough as he tossed a towel over his shoulder, beginning to read the article. It detailed how consistent he played, where he wore down Felix, and detailed his match stats, many of which Jeongin already knew.
He just didn't get it though. The numbers didn't click with what Jeongin saw.
Seungmin's play style was so stiff to him, swinging through each stroke like a robot following commands, and yet, he never missed. Off the court, the guy was even worse. Stuck up, cold, treating Jeongin like the dirt under his nails.
How he still won matches and held the media's favor truly boggled him. It had to have been his looks, not that Jeongin noticed. Only a little, remembering way more than he should.
He grumbled sending a few thumbs down in response to Jisung. And to really drive his anti-Seungmin point home, he typed out another message: not for long.
But before Jeongin could go on a real texting tirade, detailing how he'd blast aces down the T against the pro, the gym door opened.
In stepped his his coach, carrying the water bottle Jeongin mistakenly forgotten at home and texted him to bring. Ice water had never sounded so good as Jeongin reached out with his free hand, ignoring the teasing look on Chan's face.
"Who are you texting that could be more important than my training regiment?" Chan asked, trying to sound authoritative, but he just sounded like a nagging older brother to Jeongin.
He slipped the water bottle into his hand, taking a sneaky look at Jeongin's messages.
"Hey," Jeongin exclaimed, shamefully pulling his phone away, not needing his coach up in his personal business. Sure, now that he was gaining traction, his actions mattered a whole lot more, but he held onto every last shred of normalcy he could.
It was too late though. One look at Chan's face told he'd read the message, already thinking of a million things he could berate Jeongin with.
But Chan was nothing if not merciful, sliding next to him on the bench with a sigh. "That Jisung, always egging you on," he rolled his eyes, never a fan of his friend echoing the shit Jeongin spewed about Seungmin. "Let me guess, another article?"
Jeongin reluctantly nodded.
Chan always advised him to be a little more professional and respectful, while Jeongin didn't mind ruffling a few feathers. They agreed to disagree, much to Chan's dismay.
"Look, I'm all for a little friendly rivalry if it helps you improve, but you need to watch it before it becomes an obsession. Got it?" Chan was stern now, his knowing eyes boring into Jeongin's.
Obsessed? Not Jeongin. That was ridiculous. If anything, it was Seungmin who was obsessed, always going out of his way to ignore Jeongin, upturning the sharp lines of his jaw whenever they walked past each other. But getting defensive would only invite an unwanted conversation, so Jeongin filed the thought away for later.
"Yes, dad," he smirked instead, flippantly disregarding Chan's request.
All Chan could do was sigh. Maybe he'd get to Jeongin one day, but not this one. Both of them sat in the silence that followed, letting it linger, but there was no tension, only familiarity.
Meanwhile, Jeongin made the mistake of opening twitter, and his feed was flooding with articles and fans raving about Seungmin's win. He quickly found himself falling into a rabbit hole, looking for flaws in his play in every clip, but it seemed impossible, Why did the guy always look so composed? It was infuriating. Distracting. But mostly — no, definitely — infuriating.
Chan had spoke at one point, but Jeongin hardly noticed. He was probably mumbling to himself like he always did, and whatever it was couldn't be more important than getting into a petty argument about the current state of tennis on his burner account.
That was when there was an annoying poke at his side, and Jeongin reluctantly looked up to find Chan looking at him with annoyance. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he repeated himself.
"Remember, you've got the charity match tomorrow. Good, low-stakes chance to show off some of those more refined skills we've been working on."
Oh. Right. Jeongin had never played in a charity match before, so it had totally slipped his mind, much too focused on trying to make the finals of the real tournament. Sure it was for a good cause, but Jeongin wanted to play matches that actually mattered.
He went back to his phone, thumbs typing away as he resumed the argument he was in. "Cool. Who am I playing with."
Chan sighed like he wanted to nag at Jeongin, snatch that damn phone of his hand and have a real conversation, but he went back to his own to read off the names. "Seo Changbin," he said, poking at Jeongin again, this time, even harder.
Jeongin immediately perked up at the name, forgetting Chan's teasing altogether. "Seo Changbin!? Holy shit. Who are we up against?"
Chan's face turned into something serious at the question, and Jeongin thought it was weird as he shoved his phone in his face. He squinted, looking at what was a email with all the charity match pairings. At the top, under the main court match, Jeongin spotted his and Changbin's names
Main court? That was huge for him. Chan was right, this really would be a great opportunity to show off his skills. So why was he being so strange?
Jeongin scanned further, pulse jumping as he found another two names under his. Lee Felix… and then, better yet, the name that made his blood sing: Kim Seungmin.
An evil smirk spread across Jeongin's face, a smirk Chan immediately shut down with an exasperated sigh. "Go run another few miles. Come back to me when you've blown off some steam."
Chan stood to leave, heading for the door, entrusting Jeongin to complete his workout without being told. He would get to it. Eventually.
For now, Jeongin leaned back on the bench, still smirking, the image of the email sharp in his mind. His fingers twitched, itching for a racket in hand, like the match had already started in his head.
One thing was for sure: tomorrow, Jeongin would give the 'champion' a rude awakening.