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For the 32nd time, Sehun misses the ball. And it’s not a miss the parents on the sidelines can coo at – Look at that boy, he’s trying so hard! – but an unmistakable showcase of his lack of talent.
He hears the parents sitting on the shaded bleachers collectively sigh again, and Sehun lets out a dejected one of his own. He kicks at the ground. It really is not his fault that his eight-year-old feet seem to have an acute repulsion to the black-and-white spherical object rolling around on the ground. If anything, he honestly can’t see how the dead-looking thing could ever entertain crowds of thousands of people. To Sehun, it actually looks plain; even borderline ugly.
“It’s okay, Sehun,” his coach says in a voice that seems to tell him otherwise. Sehun gives the ball another scowl. “Maybe we can move on to the other students and you can watch. Hopefully you can pick up on a few helpful tips from them.”
Sehun rolls his eyes, highly doubting his coach – but he complies anyway. It’s not like he has a choice with his father watching over him like a hawk. He really shouldn’t have cried over that bully who pushed him in the corridor. It had hurt a lot, but if Sehun knew it would lead to his dad thinking he was a defenseless wimp and enrolling him in a weekly football schooling session, he would have gladly sniffed his nose and crawled far away from the tussle.
He watches the other kids kick the footballs towards the goalposts with uninterested eyes, not seeing anything special in the way they’re letting the footballs fly past the cones and away from their destination, or tumble forwards a measly few feet. Yet the onlookers and coaches are all shouting out encouragements, acting like they’re watching the next global star flourish into a legendary footballer.
“So fake,” Sehun mutters, rolling his eyes at his coach almost tripping over his own feet watching a particular football roll past the first two cones.
Just as Sehun’s about to turn away, a single ball flies past the line of students in bullet-like speed, making a few kids scream in alarm. Sehun watches with wide eyes as it sails beautifully above the cones and into the goal, hitting the back of the net.
The parents on the bleachers cheer and the coaches look stunned. Sehun cranes his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the David Beckham incarnate sent down to free Sehun of his boredom and despair.
“That was amazing, Lu Han!”
The head coach drags a boy in front of the line. He’s barely taller than Sehun, jet-black hair falling messily onto his face and his cheeks flush red from their warm-up earlier. His shin pads are threatening to fall off his stick legs, and the kid – Lu Han – bends down to tug it upwards into place.
“Now, since you came late to the session, introduce yourself to the class.”
“Hello everyone, I’m Lu Han. I’m twelve. I’m from China, but I’ve lived here for a long time. Nice to meet you.”
Now, when you’re eight years old, the age of twelve seems light years away. And so it’s with a profound awe that Sehun gazes up at Lu Han’s only slightly taller frame, bangs plastered to his forehead by the sheen of sweat. The try-out session has ended, and Sehun feels like saying something to him – something along the lines of a compliment. After all, his play has been pretty impressive.
It also helps that Lu Han is a little older than the rest of the bunch, and according to Sehun’s young mindset, it’s always good to be friends with someone older than you.
But trust his tongue to betray him in the very last second.
“You’re kind of short for your age.”
This has Lu Han stop rotating his shoulder. Shooting Sehun a half-confused, half-wounded look, he replies, “Well you’re kind of tall for yours.”
Sehun tries to salvage his image by quickly muttering, “you’re really good.”
The sentence has Lu Han brightening considerably. “Thanks. I’ve been watching a lot of match replays lately – they slow down every goal, so I could see each shot clearly. I think it helped.”
Sehun raises an eyebrow. “You sound like… you really like football.”
“Isn’t it obvious? I mean, I’m here for the try-outs aren’t I?” Lu Han laughs. “Don’t you?”
“Not... not really.”
Lu Han looks confused again. “Then why are you here?”
The tone in his voice isn’t unpleasant by any means — just genuinely curious, but Sehun still feels the heat rise to his ears. “My dad kind of forced me here.” He bends down to pick up a water bottle. “He thinks I’m not… very strong. But it’s not that at all. I just don’t really like sports like football.”
“Why does he think you aren’t strong?”
He gives Lu Han a look. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Alright, alright.” Lu Han slings an arm around Sehun’s shoulder as casually as he can. “Sehun, right?”
He licks his lips at the mention of his name. “Yeah.”
“Well, Sehun, I’ll teach you how to be strong and actually kick the footballs. You’re going to score lots of goals soon!” He sends Sehun a lopsided smile. “I’ll be the best teacher you’ve ever had. Even better than those coaches.”
Except Sehun never gets a chance to see just how good of an instructor Lu Han could be.
The very next session the students are sorted out into ‘Sets’ based on abilities. It comes as no surprise to anyone that Sehun finds himself rock-bottom in Set 4 – but it does leave him just a little disappointed to see Lu Han get called out for the first Set, where other kids of stellar abilities are gathered.
Just a little bit.
-
Soon after, Sehun manages to convince his parents that football – or sports, really – is not meant for him, and that he’s not actually a wimp at all. It really doesn’t take much persuasion on his part when there have been absolutely no improvements in his skills despite taking up even more classes, and both Sehun and his parents know these classes aren’t permanent anyway. They never pegged Sehun to be a budding football superstar in the first place, and so not long after that, the football classes just become another abandoned after-school course in Sehun’s childhood experimentation.
Just like any other budding child would, Sehun quickly takes up another obsession — photography, this time. Honestly, Sehun’s not sure how it all happened. His close friend Jongin had simply brought his father’s new DSLR to Sehun’s home one day (in retrospect, Sehun had no idea how Jongin had been granted permission to do so) and it was love at first sight. Soon, he finds himself enrolled in photography classes for junior high students, his own brand new DSLR snug in his excited hands.
His talent doesn’t go unnoticed by his instructors, who take an avid interest in the subject of his shots. Different to amateur photographers, Sehun isn’t attracted to still-life — he thinks flowers are cool to abuse his focus with, but they aren’t dynamic. They don’t evoke a sense of excitement every time Sehun would come back and review his shots in his camera. Rather, Sehun is attracted to anything that moves quickly. Kids running in the streets, expensive cars zipping through highways, birds dipping into the brilliantly blue sea during his vacation in Busan with his parents. And at school, whenever he can, he’ll sneak pictures of janitors’ trolleys, swings in mid-air, students dropping their books and, despite his aversion to actually playing in them, various sports teams in play.
-
Sehun huffs loudly, blowing the hair out of his face.
Photography Summer Internship 2014! Enroll Now!
He bites his bottom lip, eyes scanning the options listed on the glossy piece of paper in his hands.
“Stop frowning like that, Sehun, you’ll get wrinkles before you turn 30,” his mother chides as she places yet another small plate of kimchi in front of him. “And put that internship paper down, you’re still on your spring break. Get some rest and please stop stressing out.”
Now, the thing with Sehun is, he’s not the type of person to be content with just kicking back and becoming unproductive for the duration of his holiday, no matter how badly he needs that time-out. To him, unproductivity itches like a rash. So it’s pretty much imperative for Sehun to constantly be doing something – whether it be playing league or taking random shots from his window.
“My skills will turn stagnant that way, mum,” he replies through a mouthful of toast and ignoring his mother’s low murmur of what skill. “Besides, it’s nearing the end of my break. I should really start thinking about what I want to do during the summer.”
“Can’t you just stay here and have a proper holiday with me for once?”
Sehun smiles apologetically. “I’m in my final year, mum. I can’t afford to waste any more time.”
“That’s always been your excuse ever since freshman year,” his mother huffs like a petulant child, and Sehun can’t help but laugh.
He decides to at least comply with his mother’s request to stop glaring at the internship options, and picks up the morning newspaper lying near his glass of orange juice instead. He yawns through the Economics section, flips through the comics and the real estate adverts before deciding to cut to the chase and flipping over to the Sports column.
Sehun can’t help but feel disappointed when he sees that the featured shot of yesterday’s Korea Football League match was not his — again. It’s already been a while since Sehun started to submit the shots he manages to take during matches, just to earn himself a bit of credit. Yet none of them have ever made it to the ‘featured’ page.
“Not mine either,” Sehun tries to make his disappointment as unnoticeable as possible, but his mother still picks up on his tone.
“Don’t get discouraged, maybe they’re not looking for pictures that were taken from the bleachers.” His mother laughs and Sehun rolls his eyes at her harmless joke. He nibbles on his bottom lip, looking over his internship paper again.
His eyes are suddenly drawn to an option to enroll at SBK, one of Korea’s biggest broadcasting stations. It involves trying out as a sports photographer in the group stage matches, and learning from professionals in later matches. The internship is much shorter than the other options and comes with “very limited spaces”, but it seems like a mad opportunity to be able to travel to Russia and sit in a couple of World Cup matches or more. And all Sehun has to do is submit a portfolio.
“Hey mum,” Sehun shouts behind him, tilting his head. “Do you still have the files I kept of my earlier works?”
-
“Someone told me you’re leaving for Russia next week," Baekhyun sidles up next to Sehun, an arm already placed around his shoulder in a threatening hold. “To be part of Korea’s World Cup press team, no less! And you didn’t tell us?”
Sehun groans. “That Kim Jongin.”
“Relax, he’s just excited for you,” says Chanyeol out of nowhere, still bouncing around on his feet like an excited dog. “But you really should start telling us these things. It’s no fun keeping surprises away from your friends.”
“How did you even qualify anyway? You barely know anything about football.”
“Must be his godly photography skills.”
Sehun pouts. “All I did was send my portfolio to the organisers and they accepted me. It’s not even a real internship — it’s only going to last a couple of weeks.”
“Still huge. Either they were desperate – which is unlikely, since they’re Korea’s biggest broadcasting companies – or you’re one lucky asshole. If only everyone’s lives could be as easy as yours.”
Sehun’s about to refute that statement when Chanyeol interjects. “We should celebrate anyway! We can call up Jongin and Kyungsoo and give Sehun the farewell party he deserves.”
“But it’s not like I’m leaving forever –“
“Deal!” Baekhyun interrupts.
Sehun shakes his head in defeat as his friends chatter excitedly about the impromptu party, but smiles anyway. Even though it’ll only be a month or so, Sehun will definitely miss his friends.
-
Sehun is a bundle of nerves standing in the press room, a company DSLR around his neck and an All Access pass clipped onto his SBK jacket. It’s not as chilly as Sehun thought it would be — expected, as even Russia lets the sun in during the summer. All in all it’s a gorgeous day, only a couple of hours away from kick-off for the first match; China vs Russia.
It’s hard for Sehun to feel excited about the sport in normal circumstances (he’s only interested in the shots he’s able to take, anyway), but it’s near impossible for him when his manager is giving the small crew of five other interns a pep-talk. He’s feeling awfully nervous — what if he trips in the tunnel and drops his camera? What if all his shots turn out shit? Maybe he might lose his pass, he’s always been a bit of a klutz —
“Oh Sehun?”
“Here!” Sehun responds to the roll-call a little too loudly, earning snickers from the other interns. He scowls. Why can’t all 20-year-olds act like their age?
“You’ll be stationed behind the east goalpost with your mentor, who should be here soon…” Upon seeing Sehun’s pale face, his manager frowns. “Everyone, you’re dismissed. Sehun, come here.”
He bunches up his jacket in his fist as he waits until the other interns file out, hesitantly approaching his manager. He’s surprised to find a hand on his shoulder, patting reassuringly.
“No need to be so nervous, Oh Sehun.” he smiles, the wrinkles on his forehead smoothing out. “Sure, you’re here for the experience — but most of all, you should have fun with it too. We’re not going to eject you if you don’t get a decent shot or anything.”
“I just… don’t want to disappoint everyone,” Sehun bows his head.
“I’ve seen your portfolio and I know your shots are effortlessly beautiful. You won’t be able to disappoint us, even if you tried.”
Feeling warm and pleasant after hearing the compliment, Sehun manages a smile and clutches his DSLR. “I’ll do my best.”
His manager ushers him out of the room, and he lightly jogs over to where the rest of the crew are huddling just outside the exit tunnel, leading them to the pitch. He can hear the hustle and bustle of spectators taking their seats above as the stadium starts to fill up.
“Everyone knows where you’re stationed?” Several resolute nods come as a reply. “Good. You may head off there and wait until the opening ceremony has started. No need to start taking photos then as most of the pictures will be taken from our photographers above. For photographers on the sides, focus on the interaction between the players of both teams. For photographers behind the goals, you should try and focus on the team trying to score into your goal. Understood?” Another affirmation is heard. “Alright. You may go.”
Sehun adjusts the settings on his DSLR one last time, and steps out into the light.
-
“I’m bored,” Sehun whines, his head in his palms. The opening ceremony has just finished, and they’re currently waiting for the players to come on the field. “When are they going to staaaart.”
“Patience,” laughs Yunho, his mentor. “They’ll be here soon.”
No sooner has Yunho said that, an announcement booms overhead, signaling the entrance of the players. The cheers of the fans start to escalate, reaching an explosive volume when the screens light up to show the two teams lining up in the tunnel, some players shaking hands. They start to walk out, hands holding the escorts.
“They’re here,” Yunho nudges him. “I know our position doesn’t accommodate for good angles, but try your best.”
“Why?”
“Because the players look best before the match.”
Sehun laughs at the light humour, bringing his camera up to his eyes as the national anthem of Russia starts to play. He starts snapping a few shots, zooming in to the players’ names on their backs in neat print when one name makes him stop short.
“The National Team of People’s Republic of China starting line-up,” the commentator announces, as Sehun’s finger freezes over the shutter button. “Number 1, Zeng Cheng.” The crowd roars. “Number 5, Zhang Linpeng!”
“Number 7, Lu Han!”
Sehun tries to zoom in to the figure with Lu Han on his shirt. He’s waving at the crowd, his back turned to Sehun and blocking his face from the photographer’s view. Unconsciously, he groans.
“Now, now, no need to get so frustrated, the match hasn’t even started yet. It’ll get more difficult later.”
It’s not about the difficulty of the shots that’s frustrating Sehun. He has heard of that name — Lu Han, like a faded photograph in a dusty family album. He knows that at one point, the name had stuck to his tongue like glue; and now he can’t even recall who it belongs to. China is scoring into the goal opposite of Sehun’s so he has to deal with Lu Han’s back, and not seeing his face, for a little longer.
The match kicks off along with the excited applause and cheer of the crowd, and beside him shutters start to go off wildly, even though Sehun’s not very sure why. He knows an opportunity when he sees one — and frankly, he sees none at the moment when half of the players are simply walking around. But he doesn’t want to look like a loser, or a snob, or both, so he brings his camera up again.
He ends up following Lu Han’s back with his lens, not really snapping anything but enjoying the improved vision. Lu Han is hovering near the front of the formation, hovering as his opponents pass the ball from one player to another. A Russian player aims for a long kick, which Lu Han tries to intercept but ends up kicking out instead. A slight disappointed groan from the crowd can be heard, before they continue cheering again, and Lu Han turns around to sheepishly smile at his teammates, bowing slightly in apology.
Sehun’s breath catches in his throat. And suddenly, he feels like he’s back in the shoes of an 8-year-old, looking up at Lu Han’s charismatic 12-year-old figure.
-
The match ends in a 2-2 draw, and later on in the press conference room, Sehun learns that it was Lu Han’s World Cup debut match. But that’s not what surprised him — Lu Han has only been recruited in the national team for 8 months now, and yet he has earned a spot in the World Cup squad.
“Lu Han is an exceptional player,” Sehun hears the Chinese coach say in broken English during the press conference as he snaps away, flashes going off beside him. “As you saw in this match, he influenced the momentum of the game immensely. He is a unique striker, and I believe he will bring the team forward in the future, if not today.”
Sehun’s camera gravitates to Lu Han beside the captain, who’s smiling at the cameras — an odd sight, as players rarely ever crack a smile in these press conferences. Sehun’s fingers stutter as Lu Han showcases his perfect teeth, eyes crinkling up like a delighted child on Christmas morning. Someone asks him a question in Mandarin, and he replies nervously, tripping over his words and shoulders sagging in relief when he finishes and the translator takes over. And Sehun can relate — he’s new to this setting, too, and it feels a little reassuring to see that professional football players get nervous as well.
When the press conference ends, Sehun is torn between going after Lu Han or staying back with his team. He’s not even sure if it’s permissible, but his all access pass should be able to get him through to a few places. He licks his lips, letting his camera hang around his neck and he’s about to call out to Lu Han, or push through the crowd to get his attention and yet something stops him; maybe his thoughts of would he even remember me? or probably because Lu Han looks so relaxed and pleased that Sehun doesn’t want to ruin the mood for him.
So instead, he raises his camera to take shots of his back yet again.
-
The fruits of his brief internship had impressed SBK so much that Sehun is immediately recruited by the broadcasting station as the ‘next big sports photographer’. Having a stable job right after graduating is something that every fresh-graduate dreams of, and Sehun learns to love his job more every day.
Lu Han signs on to Korea’s most successful, and one of the world’s top, football club soon after the World Cup. Despite China not being able to advance further than the quarter-finals, it’s the farthest the country has gone in a while — and they’ve got Lu Han to thank for. The young player has definitely caught everyone’s eye, and many people continue to follow his career; not just fans of the sport, coaches, players, critics or analysts. Oh Sehun is one of them, too.
Trying to rake in as much experience as possible, Sehun takes up slots in every regional and overseas match Lu Han’s team plays. It takes a phenomenal player to capture the interest of a non-fan. Lu Han is exactly that. Sehun doesn’t know much about the sport other than basic positions and the fact that each team has to score into goals that are not their own, but somehow Lu Han’s play mesmerises him. Something about the way he dodges defenders with unbelievable agility has Sehun gaping behind his camera, whispering a small wow under his breath. His perfectly calculated shots, his selflessness when attacking and the way he can make decisive choices for the entire team are worthy of a gold medal on their own, but what amazes Sehun the most is how Lu Han plays fairly.
Out of nearly every match of Lu Han’s Sehun has attended, not a single dive has he seen the striker make. Not only that, but Lu Han even tries to get back onto his feet after getting knocked over even when the collision is clearly painful to everyone else in the stadium. He never blames his teammates for not getting in position, only bowing and smiling, saying he’ll do better next time, and not once has he ever forgotten to offer his hand to an opponent he had accidentally knocked over. And Sehun knows each time it was an accident, if the genuinely apologetic expression he’s got on and the concerned pats he gives his opponents are anything to go by.
Without realising, Sehun’s obsession has shifted from just photography, but to Lu Han the phenomenal football player as well.
-
Four hours to departure.
“You sure you’ve got extra sunblock in there?”
Baekhyun emerges from the living room carrying three boxes of what seems to be bottles of sunblock, dumping them on Sehun’s bed. Sehun sighs heavily.
“I can’t fit all that in my luggage.”
“You have to — take out your extra underwear if you must! I heard temperatures can reach 50c over there!” Baekhyun shivers exaggeratedly. “How people manage to live there, I don’t know.”
“Qatar has some pretty nice places, though.” Jongin comes up from behind with Sehun’s DSLR strap slung across his shoulder. “I heard there’s an art exhibition going on. Hey, Sehun how do you work this thing again?”
“Careful with it, my whole life practically depends on that camera,” Sehun whines, but he shakes his head. “I’m only staying for a month, and my schedule is packed. I won’t be able to make time for sightseeing.”
“Aw, that sucks. You should sneak out of work sometimes anyway,” Chanyeol sits beside him, perusing through the clothes Sehun has packed. “Or maybe chill after matches. Try the hookah, ride on camels — I don’t know, do some touristy things.”
“Nah. I’ll just focus on work.” His friends groan at his uptight response, but Sehun just shrugs. He’d honestly rather get a good night’s sleep than be out wandering in a foreign city alone.
The room is quiet save for Baekhyun’s self-indulgent humming, Sehun going through his mental checklist once again to make sure he hasn’t left anything behind. He picks up his folder of his favourite photos, opening it and thumbing through the glossy paper. Just seeing the pictures brings a smile to his face, and —
“Wow, what a stalker,” Baekhyun whistles from behind him. “You literally only have pictures of that player scoring goals. Who’s he, anyway?”
Wounded at being called a stalker, Sehun pouts. “It’s my job okay. And he’s Lu Han. He’s a… an awesome striker.”
“Cool. Will he be there, then?”
“Of course. He’s China’s star player — how can he not?”
Chanyeol laughs beside him. “Hey, this scene kind of reminds you of 4 years ago, doesn’t it? Back when you were going off to the World Cup for the first time.”
Sehun smiles wistfully, looking back at his photographs one last time before sliding the folder to a close. “Yeah. Reliving it all now, really.”
-
Baekhyun being correct is a rare occurrence — but right now, Sehun would gladly kneel and admit defeat because he really should have taken the three boxes of sunblock Baekhyun had prepared.
Qatar is so horribly hot that Sehun is breathless within minutes of jogging around Team B’s training ground. Of course, Sehun has never had exceptional endurance in the first place, but he’s not exactly weak either. Wiping his brows on his sleeves, he questions himself for the umpteenth time on his decision to wear a polo shirt on such a sweltering afternoon. He should’ve gone with his tank top instead.
He scans the field dotted with players once again. Sehun knows the figure he’s looking for like the back of his palm — and amongst these other big, burly players he should stand out like a rabbit in a pack of wolves. After half an hour of standing in the heat, pretending to take shots of the teams’ practices, he decides to look elsewhere.
Sehun gets assigned to the opening ceremony match — which unfortunately, does not feature who he’s looking for — group stage matches, and even press conferences he really couldn’t care less about. It’s frustrating him, how Sehun is so close to finding Lu Han and mustering up enough courage to actually say ‘hi’, yet his luck hasn’t been in his favour in the least.
His chance finally comes after he has finished lunch with the rest of the press team prior to China’s last group stage match — which is also Sehun’s first encounter with the Chinese national team. Sehun doesn’t dare get his hopes up. He knows that his job comes before any other complicated personal affairs he might have, so he tunes in to his crew’s small talk about technique and pretends to be interested.
He has to do a double-take when his ears are suddenly filled by rapid Mandarin. Sehun spins around on his spot, trying to locate where the noise is coming from while ignoring confused looks from his co-workers.
A horde of people enter the main lobby of the stadium, clad in red and white jackets; some with headphones on, some laughing along to a joke their teammate has cracked and some carrying their sports bag. Leading the group is a man with a slightly leaner frame and dark, black hair. He motions with his hand to his teammates, saying something in Mandarin and they all nod. The next second the team is dispersed in different directions, and he’s left alone in the lobby, fiddling with his phone.
It’s unmistakable. It has to be Lu Han. There has been an attempt at shaving, but Sehun can still see the shadow of a stubble on his chin. Four years have passed by without a single direct interaction, and Sehun is ready to change that. He takes a deep breath and breaks away from his press team, steps heavy and chest constricting.
“Lu Han?”
His voice breaks in the middle of his greeting, and Sehun silently curses himself. This is the moment he’s been fretting over for years — and he can’t even say hello properly?
At the mention of his name, the striker turns around a little bewilderedly, brushing his jet black hair out of his face. Sehun has to catch his breath because Lu Han looks so — so — beautifully charismatic, if that’s even the right description for it.
“Yes?”
Sehun can’t see a flicker of recognition in Lu Han’s eyes, so he gulps and steps forward. “Hey. Um, you probably don’t remember me, but… I’m Sehun? Oh Sehun?”
Lu Han’s smile is still intact but he frowns slightly, looking like he’s trying to recall the name. His reply comes out in slightly accented, but otherwise perfect Korean. “I think I’ve heard of you before…”
“Uh, we used to go to the same football academy for like. A week and a half… or two. Before I got relegated to the bottom of the class.”
At this, Lu Han beams, clapping his hands excitedly. The gesture takes Sehun aback — not many professional football players show a wide range of emotions after all. “Yes! I remember you! You were so tall. I mean, you still are,” Lu Han laughs, gesturing at the obvious height difference between them.
“You really remember me?” Sehun asks, a little elated at the acknowledgement.
“Of course. Who could forget that kick to the ground?”
Sehun groans, embarrassed at the failure being Lu Han’s sole memory of him.
“What about you? How did you… you know, recognise me?”
“Other than your impressive play back when we were kids?” Lu Han nods. "Um. I’ve been to a few of your matches.” This is a horrible understatement, Sehun knows, but Sehun doesn’t want to seem like a stalker right off the bat. “I’m part of the media here, you see.”
Lu Han’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ in understanding, nodding a little bit dazedly. “Must be fun.”
“Not as fun as being on the field, I bet.”
Lu Han laughs. “Well, it depends on what you like. Some people don’t like the crowd, don’t like running around either — especially in this heat.” At this, he makes a motion of fanning himself with his hand, making Sehun chuckle. “But to me, this makes it all worth it.”
Lu Han bunches his sleeves up to showcase the CAPTAIN armband around his wrist, a triumphant smile on his face.
“Wow,” Sehun says with his best awed expression on, pretending not to know about Lu Han’s recent promotion to captaincy. “That’s great."
Looking pleased that he has impressed Sehun, Lu Han rolls his sleeves back down and smiles. “It’s a lot of responsibility, I know. Especially as a striker, who’s always at the front of the formation. Captaincy is usually given to defenders who stay back and have a better point of view of the entire game — but I hope I’ll be able to do well and not disappoint anyone.”
“You will, I’m sure of it.”
Lu Han beams at Sehun. He’s about to say something when an old man in a suit — presumably his coach — calls out for him from the end of the lobby, urging him to come. Lu Han nods, and says to Sehun, “I have to go. Practice’s going to start soon and I need to give my team a pep talk and everything. You know, captain’s protocol.”
“Of course.” Sehun raises an awkward hand and waves. “Um. See you around, I guess?”
“Definitely."
Sehun gives him one last smile before heading off in the opposite direction. As Sehun leaves, he can feel Lu Han’s gaze lingering on him for longer than necessary before the striker turns away.
-
For the duration of the match Sehun snaps one or two frames of other players only occasionally — just so he won’t come off as suspicious — but there’s really only one subject of his photographs.
Sehun thinks if the soles of Lu Han's shoes were covered in paint, he’d turn the entire field into a work of art. Lu Han has no concept of being exhausted, endlessly directing his team around the pitch and shouting for passes, running back and forth to fill up any gaps his teammates leave. In Sehun’s opinion, he makes the job of a coach severely overpaid.
He thinks the stadium was going to collapse on itself when Lu Han scores just before the final whistle blows. The entire stadium explodes in celebration, and Sehun can even see some fans of the opposition cheering for him as well. No one can deny the world-class performance Lu Han showcased this match. Sehun can imagine the commentators back in the HQ going wild, praising him left and right in every language he can think of. Thanks to Lu Han's endless support and consistent play, China advances to the next round at the top of Group C's table. Sehun watches Lu Han get smothered by his teammates, and wonders to himself if it’s strange to feel this proud of the striker.
The entire press conference room is humming in anticipation of interviewing Lu Han. Sehun just barely claims himself a good spot near the front to snap a few pictures for tomorrow morning’s newspaper because of the crowd. Afterwards, when Sehun goes back to select his photos, he’s more than surprised to find what he found.
Call it his wishful thinking playing tricks with his mind, but Sehun thinks Lu Han must have looked into his camera the entire press conference.
-
Sehun has a (sort of) existential crisis three days later.
“China? Against South Korea?” Sehun mutters to himself in his hotel room, drying his damp hair haphazardly with a towel. “Who the hell am I supposed to support?” While he does want his country to do well this time round, Sehun really doesn’t want to see Lu Han’s outstanding streak to come to an end so soon.
The thought is still gnawing at him as he crouches by the sidelines, lens out to the field and the strap of his access pass suffocating him a little. The match is a close call as both teams try to break through their opponents’ defense in vain. Sehun huffs in frustration, both at the game that seems to be getting nowhere and his inability to get the decent shots he’d wished for. The position Sehun is situated in really doesn't satisfy him, but he can’t do anything about it because the entire sideline is packed with photographers. Apparently, it's not his job to be picky — he just has to make do with what he's got.
The roar of the crowd brings Sehun’s attention back to the field – just in time to see Lu Han kick a curving ball flawlessly into the back of the net, and landing on the ground poised for a celebration. Sehun’s ready to jump up and give out a satisfied whoop of his own when the linesman raises his yellow flag, and the referee blows his whistle.
It’s an offside.
Along with half of the stadium, Sehun unconsciously lets out a disgruntled groan. Well. Maybe he’s supporting China after all, he thinks as they lapse back into normal play again, Lu Han barely recovering from the frustration.
When his tag starts digging into his skin it gets more than unbearable, so he lets his camera hang around his neck for a while to fix the strap. And just as he lets his eyes leave the pitch, a collective gasp resounds from the crowd. Sehun whips his head around, feeling his heart drop to his stomach.
At the far end of the field, Sehun can barely make out the outline of Lu Han’s figure lying still on the ground with his back bowed and left calf in his hands. He hurriedly picks up his DSLR again, zooming in to Lu Han. Maybe it’s Sehun’s vision through the lens of his camera, but the striker seems to be shaking all over. The referee blows his whistle several times, signaling a time-out and frantically calls for the medic — and Sehun drowns out all the noise with the clicks of his camera.
The medics roll Lu Han over onto his back, and Sehun can see a gash above his left eyebrow trickling blood down the side of his face. But that doesn’t seem to be Lu Han’s primary concern because he’s pointing at his left calf a little dazedly, face turning paler by the second. When stretchers arrive to haul him away, Sehun gives up on taking pictures. It’s just making him feel sick right now.
He abandons the match and makes his way through a throng of media staff to re-enter the tunnel, ignoring the questioning looks his colleagues give him he jogs past them. He saw the medics pass through here just a few seconds ago, so he tries to retrace their steps to where he hopes Lu Han should be. He gets stopped in one of the entrances by a guard, and he has to plead and point to his access pass a few times before the guard begrudgingly lets him through.
Two white-coated people are treating Lu Han’s awful cut when Sehun enters, and another person gently coaxing his calf to bend.
“Lu Han!”
Startled at hearing his name, Lu Han cracks an eye open, squinting at Sehun. “Oh, hey... Sehun — it’s you.”
“Are you okay?” Sehun winces when the medic takes the cotton away from Lu Han’s forehead, revealing dark patches of crimson. “I mean, that’s a stupid question; of course you’re not fine —“
“Relax, Sehun,” laughs Lu Han, “it’s just… a pretty bad sprain.”
“How is a bad sprain okay?”
Lu Han shrugs, even though the motion clearly puts him in an uncomfortable position. “I’ve — I’ve been through worse.”
A few people jostle him about trying to move around the slightly cramped room, but Sehun’s eyes doesn’t leave Lu Han’s form. The medic speaks to him in Mandarin, Lu Han nodding and shaking his head as needed. Seeing Lu Han struggle makes Sehun want to take his hand and squeeze it, let him know he's here — but Sehun doesn't think he's allowed to do that.
“What happened?” He asks instead.
“Oh, uh…” Lu Han closes his eyes as more antiseptic is applied to his cut. “I think a South Korean and I were going for the ball, and we jumped up for a header at the same time and — well, this happened. And my calf; I think I pulled a muscle or something when I landed.”
“Oh my god.”
Lu Han laughs. "Yeah, double the fun."
“You have to get well soon, okay?” Sehun hopes his tone doesn’t come across as demanding, but more along the lines of encouraging. “Really soon. Your team needs you.”
If Sehun didn’t know Lu Han any better, he would have thought that the expressions flickering on his face were of pain. But after several years keeping a close eye on the player, Sehun knows that the words mean a lot to him.
“I’ll be back on the pitch before you know it."
Sehun keeps his frown intact, not wholly reassured until Lu Han waves his hand.
“Come here.”
Lu Han takes off the captain armband from his arm with much struggling, and hands it to Sehun with a smile. “There. I promise. Give it to me when I’m up and running ready for the next match, yeah? Oh, and one more thing." Lu Han manages to crack a grin as he says, "It's Lu Han hyungfor you, Sehun."
-
Lu Han's collision with a South Korean player earned China a penalty kick — and a pass to the quarter-finals. Their next match is not until a few days later, and Lu Han gets to have some time to recuperate. Despite the medics assuring the media and the rest of the team that they're simply mild injuries, Sehun can't help but worry all the same.
Of course, Sehun doesn't pry on him like other reporters. Lu Han needs to recover on his own. He'd much rather flick through his portfolio full of Lu Han's pictures, anyway, and revel in how much Lu Han's form and technique had improved over the years.
He almost doesn't want the World Cup to end.
-
China barely, just barely makes it through the quarter finals without Lu Han, winning 1-0 over Argentina.
Sehun doesn't see Lu Han prior to the semi-finals; which insinuates a mini mental breakdown. He clutches the Captain armband in his hand, sidling up next to his colleagues in an attempt to hide his anxiety.
"Hey," he mutters to no one in particular, but one of his colleagues turn around all the same. "These national teams... they don't only have one captain armband, do they?"
She gives him a weird look, like Sehun has just asked a ridiculous question; and Sehun it was one.
"Well they can afford remaking jersey after jersey, so... I'm sure they'll have a few spare armbands around," she raises an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Nothing. Just interested in the economic system of football clubs," bullshits Sehun, making his colleague laugh.
Sehun freaks out when he's assigned to be the photographer on the higher part of the stands. His position means no interaction with Lu Han at all for the entirety of the match; heck, he can't even wave the armband to assure the striker it's in safe hands.
But his job comes first, so Sehun sucks up the disappointment and trudges up the steps.
-
"Nice work! We actually did it!"
"We definitely kicked ass, man,"
"Barely, just barely," Lu Han inputs, strolling past his teammates with a bottle of water in his hands.
"Come on, Lu, don't be such a spoilsport!"
Lu Han shrugs. "But I agree, nice work today. Everyone played their positions well."
A series of whoops and cheers fill the changing room, and Lu Han puts up his hands to stop the rain of applause. "However! We still have a few things to polish. We shouldn't relax — especially considering that our opponents in the final match wouldn't be in as bad a form as today."
"But there's no harm in celebrating a little, right?" A player shouts out. "Let's have a drink or two at the hotel."
Lu Han winces at the proposal. "I'd rather not. We still have the final to worry about —“
“Just a glass or two! Let loose for once, man.”
Lu Han smiles wryly, not liking the suggestion one bit. It’s not like Lu Han doesn’t know how to have fun. He can be a stern captain when he deems it necessary, and Lu Han knows that there’s always a right place and a right time to do certain things. And frankly, drinking just days before a World Cup final match is not one of them.
But he examines his teammates’ faces, and he understands why they need to let loose so badly. Of course, the captain always calls the shots — but Lu Han knows what his teammates need.
He shakes his head. “Fine. But don’t drag me with you — those Spanish players sucked the living soul out of me.”
-
That’s a lie. Lu Han isn’t all that tired, honestly; which is why he skips out on catching the bus to the hotel to walk around the sports complex alone for a while. He can always call someone to pick him up later anyway.
Qatar’s night air is definitely much more bearable than the stifling afternoon heat, and he tries to fill his lungs with it as much as he can as he cranes his neck to look at the FIFA World Cup 2022 banners splattered along the road. The adrenaline has died down around the area, the hype of the match already wearing off and Lu Han closes his eyes, standing in the middle of the empty car park to drown out the thoughts still racing around his head. He wishes he could do something to stop overthinking his predicament — something that doesn’t involve intoxicating himself — because no matter how much he tries, he can’t help but plan for their next leg in the tournament. The final kick-off. How long has it been since China reached the final of the World Cup? Lu Han wants it to go as flawlessly as possible. He’s the captain for god’s sake.
At first, Lu Han thinks it’s just the soft summer breeze playing tricks on his ears. But the more he listens to it, the more he’s convinced someone is calling for him.
“Lu Han hyung!”
He spins around to be greeted by the sight of Sehun jogging up to him, still in his press outfit although his hair is a little disheveled — which the boy must be conscious of, because he starts sifting his hand through the strands the second he catches up to Lu Han. Seeing Sehun instantly brings a smile on Lu Han’s face. Many good things have happened to Sehun during the years they’ve been apart; judging from the way Sehun's build has been refined, with broad shoulders and long torso, and perfectly chiseled face, not to mention a pretty nice ass. But most of all, Lu Han can’t help but notice the passive face he usually puts on — and the only time Lu Han sees it change into a beaming grin is when he’s with him.
Lu Han doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, but —
“Hey, Sehun. You remembered the ‘hyung' this time,” waves Lu Han, pointing at his attire. “Why haven’t you changed yet?”
“I had to stay back longer than usual to pick out my shots,” he says this a little bashfully. “I kind of… took too many.”
Lu Han unconsciously lets out a guffaw. “Was the match thatinteresting?”
He can see Sehun trying to form a proper response but the younger settles for a, “yeah, it was.” As if suddenly remembering something, Sehun reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out a slightly crumpled CAPTAIN armband. “I forgot to give this back to you. I mean, we didn’t get to meet so… yeah.”
“Thanks, Sehun,” Lu Han moves to take it back, but at the last second an idea pops into his head. “You know what, Sehun, you keep it.”
Sehun frowns. “Me? I don’t deserve it.”
“Of course you do. Just keep it as a souvenir of sorts."
“Are you sure you don’t… need it?” Asks Sehun hesitantly.
Lu Han waves his hand. “We’ve got spares. Just keep it.”
With a pleased smile on his face, Sehun tucks the armband back into his pocket neatly. He looks around the complex. “Um, where’s the rest of your team, hyung?”
“They went out for a drink,” sugarcoats Lu Han, shrugging with an air of forced nonchalance.
“Oh. Why didn’t you go out with them?”
“Well, we’ve still got the final to worry about. I don’t think it’s appropriate to be celebrating right now.”
“Then how come your teammates are?”
Lu Han looks at Sehun in amusement. His curiosity really knows no boundaries, but Lu Han isn’t bugged by it. Rather, he feels an urge to indulge the younger.
“Come here,” Lu Han gestures with his hand for Sehun to come closer, and there’s an unmistakable rosy colour on Sehun’s cheeks that Lu Han hopes isn’t from running around. “I’ll tell you a secret, just in case your career takes a turn and you find yourself becoming the captain of a football team.”
“Absolutely impossible,” laughs Sehun, “but okay. What is it?”
“Well, like I said, I thought it wasn’t right that we were celebrating before we even finished up our job here.” The pair starts ambling around again. “I told them they really shouldn’t go, but they insisted. And the more I looked I understood what they were feeling.” Lu Han smiles sourly. “Really, what are the chances of China — of us, actually winning the World Cup? They think this is it. Our job ends here. They know 2nd place is the closest we’ll ever get to winning, so I guess they wanted to celebrate while spirits are still high. Or to drown out the feeling of disappointment they’ll feel later.”
Lu Han thinks this through for a while, not saying anything. “Am I stupid for thinking we can make it? To me, nothing should be impossible, regardless of past statistics or predictions. No matter how much people berate us, saying we got to the semi-finals through sheer luck — is it really pointless trying to reach what most people think is impossible?”
They are really just rhetorical questions. Lu Han kind of just needs to spill his thoughts to get rid of the guilt weighing down on him. He doesn’t expect Sehun to reply in a calm voice, despite sounding unsure of himself:
“Well, you think it’s possible, right? I think all you need is one person to believe in something wholeheartedly for it to come true.” Sehun tries to say something else, but gives up after a few times of trying, saying instead, “I think you’re a great captain.”
By this point, they have both stopped walking, Lu Han simply drinking in the sight of Sehun holding himself up so confidently but letting his nervous speech give him away. It’s endearing, finding someone so soft and childlike underneath the charismatic exterior. Sehun catches him looking, and for a while all Lu Han can hear is Sehun’s voice and the sound of his heart picking up pace — goddammit, Lu, this isn’t time for your heart to do high school-girl things — between the soft white noise of their surroundings.
Lu Han watches something flash past Sehun’s eyes, and he knows that look very well. He prepares himself, letting his eyes almost flutter to a close and his fingers already tingling, itching to feel the warmth and —
“Well, I think I gotta go.”
Lu Han’s eyelids fly open, eyebrows raising. Has he read the signals wrong?
He sees Sehun blushing furiously, clearing his throat. “I think… I think my boss is calling me.”
“I didn’t hear your phone ring.”
“Well yeah, if it did, then it would mean that I’m in big trouble.” Sehun shuffles back, almost tripping over himself in the process. “Okay, well. Um. See you, around, I guess. And… and good luck for the final match.”
Sehun gives him a hurried wave before he takes off in the opposite direction, hair flying around his head almost maniacally. And within seconds, Lu Han has lost the warmth beside him and is left standing alone in the sports complex, indisputably alone and utterly confused.
“Was I too obvious?” Lu Han asks himself, lapsing back to his overthinking habit.
-
Sehun retracts his hand and it comes away a little wet with perspiration. He wipes the sweat on his camera away with the sleeve of his jacket, drying his palms on the soft material of the jacket as his feet jiggle about in anticipation.
They’re lining up for the last time in the tunnel. Cameramen and interviewers jog to and fro the area; business here seems much busier than usual, and the crowd outside is far louder than Sehun has ever heard them prior to a match. But it’s all expected — after all, it’s the day of the final match. Lu Han’s time to shine, to show the world what he’s capable of.
So why is Sehun feeling so nervous?
-
Lu Han’s escort takes her hand away from his, making a face.
“Your hand is kind of sweaty, Mister.”
He winces apologetically, wiping them down on his shorts. As soon as he unclenches his fist he can hear the thundering of his heart pounding in his ears, the noise of the crowd filling every crevice of the stadium and the excited chatter of the escorts. But where Lu Han stands, everything is quiet. Quiet, and tense.
He takes solace in knowing that his opponents are just as nervous as he is, if the sweaty hand he shakes before trading banners is anything to go by. After fixing his shin pads and directing his teammates around the field, throwing in last-minute encouragements while he’s at it, Lu Han cranes his neck to survey the edge of the field. There are many more photographers today — expected, as it’s the last match of the tournament. He sees the referee consulting the linesmen one last time and he desperately scans the rows of photographers, looking for that one face.
An arm appears from between the crowds of photographers, attracting the attention of one or two reporters and inevitably Lu Han’s. And all of a sudden relief washes over him, replaced by the feeling of content and determination as he watches Sehun squeeze past the photographers to flash him a tight smile and a nervous thumbs-up. Lu Han gives him one of his own in return, and turns back to the centre of the field. He takes a deep breath.
The referee blows the whistle.
-
“I told you at half time, move up! And keep the 3-to-3 formation intact no matter how the opponents try to surround us!”
Lu Han shouts across the field, frustrated. His teammates wipe their foreheads and he can see the frustration in their eyes as well — but if there’s one thing he’s holding on to is the fact that he can’t see the hope disappearing from their eyes yet. Not just yet.
“There are still three minutes of the game, anything can happen!” He shouts as he jogs back to his position. “Stay focused!”
His throat is sore and parched, his calves ache, his shirt thoroughly soaked and his head is a little dizzy from the intense afternoon. But Lu Han persists, knowing that if they’ve been able to hold on to the 0-0 goal draw this long against a team like Germany, they can eventually score as well. His eyes unconsciously travel back to the sidelines. Even behind the camera, Sehun stands out with his broad shoulders and practiced pose; Lu Han can just imagine the concentration etched on his face pressed up against his DSLR. Right now all Lu Han wants to do is run over to Sehun and take him away, somewhere, just to finish what they haven’t been able to do.
But he’s got business to take care of first.
The goalkeeper kicks the ball, and China's midfielder receives it flawlessly, immediately dribbling it up front with practiced ease. Combined with the swiftness of the left winger and the right winger’s ability to find empty spaces, soon the ball finds itself right in front of Germany’s goal.
“Over here!” Lu Han calls out. He handles the pass with a flick of his foot, swerving past the defenders with another light kick and dribbling forwards with unmatched speed. The goalposts loom into view — right in front of him, so clear and so open and Lu Han almost loses his breath because this is it. This might be the chance.
But another defender bounds up in front of him and blocks his path. He lapses into momentary panic, not wanting to waste the golden opportunity. Just then, his teammate runs up to his left, waving his arms.
“I’m free!”
Lu Han could probably score if he wanted to. It’s definitely not impossible, and he could be crowned as the country’s legend if he did.
But this goal isn’t about him. It’s about the team. And right now, he’s going to choose the path with less risk.
He kicks to his left, a speedy ball that doesn’t waver in its course. And contact with his teammates’ calf is all it needs to fly between the goalposts; a volley that’s no match for any goalkeeper.
Lu Han can barely hear the crowd going wild over his own shouting, his triumphant cheer and whoop as he jumps up, punching the air. He runs over to his teammate, who’s running across the field with his arms out and brings him down in a headlock, mussing up his air. It feels surreal — something Lu Han has only ever dreamt of during his football academy days.
Delirious with happiness and satisfaction, he collapses on the ground, facing the line of reporters who are madly letting their shutters go off. Lu Han stretches his arms out, looking up to the sky as he grins. When he looks back down he can see Sehun smiling widely, his camera hanging around his neck and his face a mixture of incredulity and… and pride. Lu Han’s heart swells at the thought of making Sehun proud.
The final two whistles echoes through the stadium, and the cheers in the stadium only heightens. Lu Han throws himself onto his back, laughing like a madman. They’ve done it. They’ve really done it.
China has been crowned the victor of World Cup 2022.
-
“You could have scored that last goal, Lu Han — but you didn’t, and you ended up securing that vital, vital point. How did you manage to make such an accurate decision in such a short time?”
Lu Han grins as he keeps his fingers on the gold medal around his neck. His hair is still dripping wet despite already changing into a different jersey, but that’s not what’s distracting him.
Post-match interviews have always been difficult for Lu Han. He was never meant for public-speaking. But it’s especially challenging when Sehun has been assigned to be his interviewer, having to cover for his co-worker who was suddenly feeling unwell. Lu Han’s not sure whether to count this as a blessing or not.
“Lu Han? Uh… Captain?”
He tears his gaze away from the way Sehun is licking his lips nervously and clears his throat. He needs to get it together.
“Well, yes. You know, the momentum… it was the momentum of the game and…” Lu Han needs to get it together. “And my teammates were fantastic. They just knew where they had to be and…” He really, really needs to. “It’d be more logical to pass it there instead of being over-ambitious and losing the entire thing, wouldn’t it?”
“And so how do you feel right now?”
This is a dangerous question, because everything Lu Han is feeling right now should definitely not pass for a public, nationwide broadcast. “It feels great — what else?” He laughs nervously, eyes not leaving Sehun’s form. “I mean, it’s winning the World Cup. There’s nothing…” He needs to get it together. “It’s the best feeling…”
But Sehun won’t stop licking his lips and his hair is swept to the side so perfectly and Lu Han really can’t take it anymore.
“I’m sorry, but can you just — one moment,” he says to the cameraman, before letting go of his medal to cup Sehun’s face and bring him into a scorching kiss right there and then.
Despite the initial protest and slight struggle — Sehun must have heard the gasp from the crowd, and the sound of someone dropping something, maybe a camera, somewhere in the distance — Sehun eventually relaxes into the kiss, bringing a hand up to Lu Han’s neck to thumb at his nape shyly. Lu Han kisses like he’s trying to inhale Sehun, like he’s been waiting for this the entire tournament (not impossible), already nibbling on Sehun’s bottom lip not long into the kiss. But all too soon he’s pulling back, only diving in to land one last soft kiss on Sehun’s cheek which is coloured a nice shade of pink. Lu Han decides he likes that colour on him.
“Um.. Sorry for that… slight interruption…” Sehun coughs awkwardly, unable to look into the camera.
Lu Han laughs as he throws an arm around Sehun’s waist, pulling him closer. “Let’s wrap up this interview quickly, shall we?”
-
That night, as Lu Han lies perfectly sated between the soft duvets of his hotel bedroom, he thinks back to the events that have rolled in rather haphazardly into his life; and how lucky he is for them to have happened to him.
“Would your parents get mad?”
Sehun rolls over on his side as he balls up the tissues to throw them into the bin. He turns back to Lu Han, draping an arm across his bare torso and burying his face in the crook of Lu Han’s warm neck. “What?”
“That I defiled you.”
Sehun pinches the bit of skin above Lu Han’s hip and holds him as the older squirms and kicks the younger’s legs under the covers. “Fuck’s sake, I’m 24 now. I don’t deserve this baby treatment.”
Lu Han props himself up on his elbow, sifting through Sehun’s rather coarse light brown hair with his fingers, smiling as he traces his face with a finger. Sehun simply buries further into the pillow, in the space left vacant by Lu Han. “You’re… you’re just — how are you so —“
“Hot? Handsome? Dashing? Sexy?” Sehun grins. “Any of these words would do, hyung,”
Lu Han rolls his eyes. “Stop lying to yourself.”
“Pretty sure it wasn’t a lie five minutes ago while you were muttering to yourself.” Sehun drops his voice an octave lower, making his voice sound more gruff than usual. “God, Sehun, you’re so sexy like this —“
“Damn it, shut up — stop that!” Lu Han groans, kicking him under the blankets. Sehun’s camera lying on the bedside table catches his eye, and Lu Han clambers over Sehun to reach it.
“What are you doing?” Asks Sehun a little blearily.
Lu Han doesn’t reply. Instead, he flips the switch on and sifts through Sehun’s shots. He feels the younger sit up, resting his chin on Lu Han’s shoulder despite the height difference.
“You must be uncomfortable like that,” says Lu Han, shaking his shoulder a little.
“No, you’re so comfy and warm,” replies Sehun, wrapping his arms around Lu Han’s stomach, tickling him in the process. “I want to stay like this.”
Lu Han laughs, redirecting his focus to Sehun’s shots. There are photographs of him on the training grounds during the earlier stage of the tournament — they look like they’ve been taken quite a distance away. Him juggling balls, Lu Han laughing with his teammates. And pictures during matches; running, receiving balls, shouting orders to his team. They’re exactly the kind of pictures photographers would take.
But the later, more recent pictures are what takes Lu Han aback. They’re more close-up, more blatantly Lu Han-centric than the earlier pictures. Lu Han sitting alone on a bench drinking from a bottle, Lu Han tying his shoelaces up, Lu Han in front of the stadium staring up at the sky.
Lu Han walking alone around the sports complex, Lu Han’s thumbs up to Sehun.
Lu Han’s smile as he wins the match.
“Wow.” Lu Han wishes he could say something else — maybe something about how talented of a photographer Sehun is, because he manages to capture moments and expressions so flawlessly. “Wow.”
“Is that a… a good ‘wow’ or…?”
It makes Lu Han chuckle, the way Sehun sounds so nervous. “Are you a sports photographer, Oh Sehun, or a Lu Han photographer?”
Sehun lets out a low growl, making Lu Han laugh and the next second he’s pinned back on the bed, Sehun straddling his lap and his camera in his hands.
“You should see my portfolio,” he mumbles into Lu Han’s ear as he noses his hairline. Lu Han reels him in closer.
“I would love to."
-
Sehun’s shoulders are starting to ache as the child sitting on them continue to bounce up and down excitedly.
“Papa! Appa is over there!”
Sehun sighs, crossing the field once again before Lu Han emerges from between the crowd, the Korean League trophy in his left hand and a bottle of champagne in his right.
“Appa!”
“Ziyu!” Sehun almost drops the little boy from how quickly he’s trying to relieve himself of the weight, and he watches little legs skitter up to Lu Han’s side.
Lu Han laughs, putting the trophy and champagne down to grab the boy by the armpits and lift him up in the air. “How was appa? Was he cool?”
“Super cool!”
“And super sweaty,” says Sehun. He steps closer to Lu Han, wiping his forehead with his sleeve with a small smile. “You need to look good on camera.”
“I always look good on camera.” Lu Han sticks a tongue out and Sehun is reminded of how Lu Han acts like not a single year has passed since they first met.
Ziyu runs off to cling onto the club mascot, leaving Sehun and Lu Han alone. Sehun subtly rests an arm around Lu Han’s waist as they walk around the pitch, Lu Han waving at the cheering crowd.
“Winning the league for the third time, huh?”
“Crazy isn’t it?” Laughs Lu Han.
“Are you still going to continue next season?”
Lu Han shakes his head, turning to face Sehun. “We’ve talked about this before. I think it’s time for me to stop. I’m 34 — I’m not what I used to be anymore.”
“I know. And I’m all for it. Anything you want to do, Lu. You know yourself best.”
Lu Han stops walking and sighs as he stares up at Sehun. “I wish I could kiss you right now,” he mutters, making Sehun grin.
“There’s no law that says you can’t.”
“People are watching.”
“Didn’t stop you six years ago.”
Before Lu Han could retaliate, Sehun pulls him in, smiling into the sudden kiss and caressing his cheek. The crowd cheers on.
|
