The weekend blurred like a fever dream laced with unsolicited attention.
I thought maybe, just maybe—I'd get a relaxing Saturday. But no. Apparently, all five of them decided to become my personal boyband. Except instead of singing, they just competed to see who could out-match the others.
Travis started it off subtle. "You suck at math," he said on Saturday morning, plopping my notebook on the table. "Sit. I'll tutor you. Just...don't ask questions unless you want to repeat this topic ten times."
"Are you always this charming?" I replied.
"Only when I'm trying not to lose brain cells."
Despite the insult, I sat. The guy was actually good at explaining things. Stoic and focused—until James waltzed in with laundry in his arms.
"Don't strain your neurons, Trav. I already volunteered to help Elise with laundry duty."
"You volunteered?" I said, confused.
"Yup! And I brought the detergent with lavender scent. We love a floral queen."
Travis glared. "You mean you want her to fold your socks."
Then came Twan, who nearly burned the dorm down trying to cook me breakfast on Sunday. I caught him swatting a kitchen towel at a smoking pan, eyes wide with panic.
"I wanted to surprise you," he stammered, flipping what looked like a mutilated omelet.
"It's... definitely a surprise," I said, trying not to laugh. "Are those eggs or... plaster?"
"I'm trying, okay?!"
Meanwhile, Ryan pretended to be the chill one.
"Oh hey," he'd say, casually leaning on door frames or appearing on the balcony. "Didn't know you'd be here."
I squinted. "This is the kitchen."
"Exactly. Great vibes."
The tension was hilarious, chaotic and a little overwhelming. Every moment felt like a battle for my attention, and I wasn't sure if it was flattering or exhausting. Honestly? A bit of both.
...
By Thursday, the mood shifted. No more flirty chaos. It was prep day. Game day was tomorrow, and our school was hosting the regional tournament against Sagano High.
Classes after lunch were canceled "in support of athletic excellence," or whatever the PA announcement said. The team was excused early for final drills and strategy sessions. Everyone else loitered like it was a half-day field trip.
I was walking past the gym lockers, hoping to find Twan or Ryan when I stopped. Low voices. Sharp ones.
"You better not fuck this up," Minho snapped. His voice was harsh, low.
"I won't," Josh said flatly.
"You think just because you're subbing for me, that makes you team captain now?"
"I never said that," Josh replied. "But someone has to step up."
I peeked through the cracked door and saw Minho glaring, jaw tight. Josh wasn't backing down either.
"This game isn't about pride, Minho. It's about winning."
"No. For us? It's more than just winning," Minho said coldly. "Don't pretend you get it."
I stepped back before I could hear more. My chest felt tight. I walked away fast, heart hammering like I'd just sprinted laps. I didn't know what to feel. Guilt? Embarrassment? Frustration?
I wasn't even sure why it bothered me. Maybe because Minho wasn't usually like that. Harsh. Cold. And definitely not in front of Josh, who, despite the rumors and tension—seemed like he was trying.
Back at the gym, the team was mid-practice, and the boys were catching their breath at the benches. I'd brought over the water bottles from the cooler, mostly because I needed to move and do something.
"Thanks, water girl," James teased, nudging me with a sweaty grin.
"Careful," I warned. "I can throw a bottle at your head."
"I'd allow it," he said.
I passed a bottle to Josh. "Hey."
He looked at me, then said. "Thanks."
There was a pause. Then, before I could second-guess myself, I said quietly, "Earlier. With Minho... What was that about?"
Josh sighed, twisting the bottle cap. "It's nothing."
"Didn't sound like nothing." I replied.
He hesitated, eyes on the court. "Minho... he's got history with this team. Co-leadership, expectations, pride. Me stepping in? It's complicated."
"But you're just doing your job."
Josh smiled, tired and small. "Yeah. And I won't mess it up. I know this game means more to some people than just a win."
I didn't say anything. But he gave me a gentle look, and for a second, I felt like I was the one who needed reassurance.
...
After water break, the boys returned to the court. I stayed back, gathering stray towels and watching the drill from the side. When practice paused again, I noticed Minho walking past the lockers, alone. I followed. Honestly? I was tired of the tension.
He turned when he heard my steps. "What now?"
"Why'd you go off on Josh like that?" I asked.
Minho narrowed his eyes. "You don't know the full story."
"Then tell me."
He looked like he wanted to say something sharp, but stopped. "You always defend him lately."
"I'm not defending—"
"You are. You saw what happened and assumed I'm the bad guy."
I crossed my arms. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
His jaw clenched. I realized just how close we were standing.
"You think he's a saint, Elise?" Minho said quietly. "You think he doesn't have reasons for being cut off from us?"
I blinked. "You're jealous."
His nostrils flared. "Excuse me?"
"You are. You don't like me talking to him. You don't like anyone touching your team, your role, or your—" I cut myself off.
"My what?" he asked, voice low.
I opened my mouth, but before I could reply, footsteps echoed down the hall. Ryan and Travis appeared, bouncing a ball between them.
Minho looked away first. "Practice's starting." He'd say. He walked off without another word, leaving me with heat rising in my chest and ears.
Ryan raised a brow at me like he'd walked in on something, but blessedly said nothing.
...
That night, the dorm lights were low. Everyone was already winding down—except me. Sleep refused to come. I didn't know why. So I tossed on my hoodie, pacing quietly by the door. The hallway lights were still dim, but one look at the living room told me two very important things:
1.) Travis was still up, sitting on the floor with his laptop open, a tactical diagram spread across the screen like some kind of anime war-strategist.
2.) Twan was beside him, holding a snack bowl and asking questions like, "So if James shoots from here, do I run diagonally or, like, parkour over him?"
They were so into it they didn't notice me peeking in from the shadows of the staircase. I tiptoed back to my room, shut the door quietly, and sighed. Okay. Plan B. Window route it is. I opened it slowly, just like I had that first night with Josh.
The cool night air hit my face immediately, along with the faint smell of night dew and a bit of fried oil still lingering in my hoodie. I climbed out as gracefully as I could, landed softly on the grass, then looked up at my window and whispered, "Ten points to stealth."
I pulled my hoodie tighter around me and crept through the side path, rounding the corner of the gym. For some reason, my feet dragged me there, and would you look at that, lights were still on. Of course.
I peeked through the entrance window. There he was—Josh. Alone again, practicing by himself. Shooting. Rebounding. Repeat. His focus was intense. Solemn. I leaned against the wall, watching silently for a while before stepping in.
"You're not supposed to be here either," I said.
He glanced over his shoulder, startled. Then smirked. "Guess we're both rule-breakers."
"You're really still out here practicing?" I asked.
He shrugged, walking over. "Gotta prove something."
"To Minho?"
He gave a soft laugh. "To everyone."
We stood quietly under the gym lights. The squeak of his sneakers. The occasional thud of the ball.
Then he looked at me again. "Thanks... for asking earlier. You didn't have to."
"I wanted to," I replied.
His eyes held mine, warm and unreadable. "You're good at seeing people."
The silence that followed felt... thicker than usual. Josh sat down on the bleachers again, wiping sweat from his brow with the edge of his shirt. His hair was damp, clinging to his forehead, but his eyes were on me. Focused.
"I should get back," I said softly, hugging the hoodie tighter. "I... don't even know why I'm here."
He gave a small nod. "Big day tomorrow. Shouldn't you be sleeping?"
I paused, then said the truth. "Yeah, but... I couldn't sleep."
Josh didn't say anything for a beat. Then he stood and took a few steps closer, his expression unreadable. "Elise."
I looked up.
"I know this whole thing with me and the guys is weird. And... maybe you're caught in the middle now."
My stomach twisted.
"I didn't mean to," I replied, voice quiet.
"You didn't do anything wrong," Josh said. "They just think I did." His eyes lingered on mine. Something about the way he said it made it hard to look away.
There was a moment, a fragile, floating moment—where neither of us spoke. The air between us tightened, suspended in something almost. And then I cleared my throat and stepped back.
"Well... I should check if the guys finished their war meeting or whatever," I said with a faint laugh, nodding toward the dorm. "I snuck out through the window again, so if they find me missing, it's game over."
That earned me a soft chuckle from him. "You're brave, I'll give you that."
"And you should go easy on your knees. You've been shooting for what, an hour?"
He raised an eyebrow. "You were watching."
"Observing," I corrected with a smirk.
He offered a small smile. "Goodnight, Elise."
"Goodnight, Josh." And with that, I slipped out of the gym and back into the cold night, cutting through the shadows like a sleep-deprived ninja. When I reached the side of the dorm, the window was still cracked.
Bless. I pulled myself up, landing softly back in my room with a thud against the carpet. Just as I turned to shut the window, I heard Twan's voice from across the hallway: "You good?"
I froze.
"Yeah! Just getting air!" I whisper-yelled back, wincing.
No response. Maybe he bought it. So I changed out of my hoodie, flopped onto my bed, and buried my face in my pillow. Tomorrow's game day. And somehow, I've made everything more complicated...
...
The blare of a 7:00 a.m. alarm hit like a slap. I groaned into my pillow and blindly smacked my phone until it stopped. Today's the day. Outside, the birds were chirping like it wasn't a day of immense emotional pressure and possible public embarrassment.
I sat up, hair a mess, hoodie sleeves still twisted around me. The dorm was quiet. The air felt... charged. Game day. I took a shower and threw on the school jersey along with my compression shorts and headed downstairs, yawning as I passed by the common area.
Everyone was already up.
James was brushing his hair in the mirror like he was preparing for a magazine cover. Ryan sipped from a protein shake like it was holy water. Travis packed extra tape and stretch bands. Twan? Still trying to find his socks. And Minho was sprawled on the couch, tending to his almost healed wound.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey sleepyhead," Ryan grinned. "Ready to cheer us on?"
"Absolutely," I lied. "Internally screaming, but that's fine."
James tossed me an energy drink. "You'll need this."
Just as I cracked it open, I heard Travis say, "So... did everyone sleep okay?"
Ryan snorted. "If by 'okay' you mean five hours and vivid dreams of slamming dunks, then yeah."
"Same," Twan added. "I was literally dreaming of me dunking over Josh."
At the mention of his name, the mood shifted just a notch. Travis didn't say anything, but I caught him glancing toward Minho, who was fiddling with the zipper on his gym bag. Meanwhile, James slouched onto the couch and groaned, "Let's get this over with."
"No enthusiasm, Romeo?" Ryan teased lightly, nudging him with his elbow.
James blinked. "Drop it."
Twan snorted. "I thought it was cute."
"Shut up." James insisted.
I bit back a smile. The tension was there, coiled beneath the sarcasm and sideways looks—but no one was saying anything directly. Just little jabs, quiet glances, loaded silences. Minho stood suddenly, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Let's go." No one argued.
We headed out together, the six of us stepping into the morning light. Backpacks secured, jerseys folded inside, the air oddly crisp for spring. Despite how short the walk to school usually was, today felt different.
No jokes. No music. No "who forgot their water bottle" chaos. Just the rhythmic sound of footsteps and the quiet hum of adrenaline. Minho and Travis took the lead, heads slightly lowered in focus. Twan and James flanked me again, as if instinctively. Ryan brought up the rear, unusually silent.
Something between us all was off. Unspoken. Not quite, but shifting. I shoved my hands in my pockets as the school gates came into view, lined with posters, laughter, and pressure. And then, just before we entered, I caught Minho pausing.
He didn't speak. But his stare at the gym doors said everything.
I stepped closer, hesitant. "You okay?"
He looked at me just briefly. "Yep, we'll see."
And that was all.
Because tensions weren't just high.
They were ready to explode...