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As opposed to what anybody could think, Renjun doesn’t realize that he built a sort of fantasy around Tokyo 2020 when he’s about to start his first game as a member of China’s Olympic volleyball team. No, he’s aware that it’s not going to be easy and that he should expect anything from his opponents; however, coming back to China with a medal hanging from his neck isn’t his only goal, and maybe, in the midst of all the pressure, he decided to turn his first Olympic Games into an unforgettable memory. Aside from winning or not, Renjun wants to meet other players and enjoy Japan as a top-class athlete. 

His bubble bursts as soon as his first morning in the foreign country comes. 

Their flight was the prior day in the late afternoon. This is the first time Renjun is playing in the Olympic Games, so saying that he’s excited might be an understatement. From the first moment he arrived at the airport, he couldn’t stop looking at everything surrounding him with big, bright eyes on his face as his body almost vibrated in enthusiasm. And Kun had to grab his arm and tell him to calm down a bit. They arrived at the Olympic Village past dinner time; therefore, after showering, his teammates got comfortable in their rooms, unpacked their luggage, and went to bed. Renjun is sharing a room with Kun, the team’s captain; Sicheng, a guy a few years older than him who is amazing at his position as middle-blocker; and Chenle, his closest friend on the team and their star spiker.

But Renjun doesn’t fall behind them. Many sports blogs wrote about him when he was first announced as a new member of the Olympic team. Renjun plays libero. He was a member of the team that won the National High School Volleyball Tournament three years in a row. He’s also naturally fast and agile, qualities that left everyone’s jaws hanging open after he polished them with some training. Big teams in the country had their eyes set on him, and, in the blink of an eye, he became so good that he was representing China in the Olympic Games, wearing the red jacket that characterizes them, which spells ‘CHINA’ in yellow letters on his back.

Like every morning, to fill his lungs with the Japanese air that surrounds him, he got up early. The sun had made its way up not long ago, but Renjun was already feeling enthusiastic. With no breakfast and after stretching a bit, Renjun prepared for his usual morning jog to start the day full of energy and satisfy his eyes with the nice Japanese landscape.

The Olympic Village is well-equipped. There are many buildings standing tall, ready to receive the thousands of athletes; some even have big signs in a language he barely understands. The sky is sunny, and there is a slight breeze that fans his face as he runs. It’s perfect. The cherry blossoms fall slowly, and Renjun gets more and more fascinated by the painting displayed in front of his eyes.

Fine, maybe it’s not actually a big deal, but visiting Japan is not something he’s used to doing.

He calmly jogs for about 40 minutes, and when he goes back to the building, he’s sweating and exhausted. He needs to shower and have a nice meal. His stomach is growling at him, but that doesn’t interfere with his good mood. There’s a tiny, satisfied smile on his face.

And then, when he goes inside, his entire trip is ruined. Because Renjun expected to have a great time, he wanted to form bonds with other athletes despite being rivals; however, not everyone is as naive as him, because a member of the South Korean team stands imposingly a few steps from him. He’s tall and kind of buff; his arms are crossed in front of his body; his facial features are sharp; and his dark brown hair is stylized in an undercut. He looks cold and intimidating with his raised chin and bored expression, like he’s looking at the world from above. 

And they accidentally make eye contact.

Renjun shivers when he feels the other guy scanning him from head to toe, and, still wearing that bored expression on his face, he finishes by raising an eyebrow. It’s like he’s thinking, “What’s with this guy?” When Renjun passes by him, he hears the way the Korean huffs mockingly.

Oh, Renjun doesn’t take that very well. Who is this guy, and what gives him the right to look at him that way? Renjun doesn’t even know who he is, but this dude is already judging him just because he’s a rival. He must think he owns this place; he's so smug. Renjun might not know his name yet, but once he does, he’ll make sure to crush him down. What a bastard.

His bad mood doesn’t go unnoticed. Once he reaches his room, Chenle immediately raises an eyebrow and chuckles, but Renjun doesn’t have time to entertain him. His fists are clenched on both sides of his body, and smoke is already coming from his ears. And he’s hungry, so that doesn’t help either.

“What happened?”

Renjun debates whether he should tell them or not, but once Kun forces him to sit on his bed and starts patting his back, Renjun decides that he won’t be losing anything by telling them what just happened. So he starts talking. He rambles and goes on and on because he wants to have a great time in Tokyo, but the world is not the place he imagined, and there are mean people everywhere. Renjun is so upset right now. He heard that some people could be a bit judgy, but he didn’t expect to receive this treatment from someone he doesn’t even know yet. That’s not exemplary sportsmanship. That guy is probably not even that good and only has a gigantic ego.

“You didn’t come here to befriend everyone," says Kun, and Renjun sighs, a pout starting to form on his face. “Not everyone will be nice. There are people who come with only one goal in mind and take this very seriously. For them, every match is  personal. If they see you as a threat, they will hate you, and you just have to ignore them.”

Renjun wishes it could be that easy. Maybe he was being too naive.

Renjun sees the guy again at lunchtime. He’s sitting at one of the tables in the big dining hall with Chenle and Yangyang, another member of his team, when he sees a guy from a nearby table standing up and waving his hand like he’s trying to grab someone’s attention.

“Jeno, here! We saved you a seat.”

His white hoodie catches Renjun’s eye. It has letters that read ‘SOUTH KOREA’ on the backside. Renjun scowls just by remembering what happened in the morning, and when he looks up again, he sees him. He’s walking rather calmly with a tray in his hand. Immediately, Renjun elbows Chenle, silently telling him that he’s the guy , but when his friend looks at him, Jeno is smiling at his teammates, muttering, “Thanks, Jaemin. Is it tasty?” His eyes become tinier, and his entire face seems sweeter. Chenle looks at Renjun in mocking disbelief.

“What’s going on?” asks a confused Yangyang. Right, he doesn’t know.

“Renjun thinks that Lee Jeno hates him, so now he’s trying to hate him back.”

And Renjun’s entire face gets red upon hearing his friend. It makes him sound like some sort of bratty, spoiled kid who can’t believe that someone can dislike him. For a moment, he’s thankful that no one can understand what they’re saying since they’re using their mother tongue.

Yangyang looks at the Korean guy eating cheerfully as he nods to whatever his friends are saying. Then he directs his gaze to Renjun.

“Jeno Lee? Isn’t he something like Korea’s star player? No offense, Junjun, but why would a guy like him choose you as his mortal enemy?”

“No, no. You’re not understanding. This morning he judged me and looked at me like I was a mere piece of trash. I didn’t even do a thing.”

“Maybe you were stinky? Since you were all sweaty, maybe he was disgusted.” Chenle comments now, making Yangyang burst into laughter. Renjun, sitting in between them, feels himself get redder and redder. He covers his ears and tries to shrink in his spot, begging the earth to swallow him. How embarrassing—Jeno and the Jaemin guy even turned around to look at them. His friends might be causing such a scene. Then, Renjun makes eye contact with Jeno, and he gives him a weird look before returning to his food.

Ugh, how obnoxious. Renjun can’t think of a reason to excuse his behavior. Sicheng claims that Jeno has never had any weird encounters with any of the members of the team. Maybe it’s something personal, and Renjun was indeed chosen as his mortal enemy. Kun just smacks Sicheng in the forehead to get him to shut up.

It is his first day in the Olympic village. It hasn’t even been a day since Renjun arrived in Tokyo.

The worst part is that Renjun is seeing him everywhere. At this point, he doesn’t know if he’s just become overly conscious of Jeno’s existence or if, maybe, he just can’t escape him. Every time they pass by each other in the halls, Renjun makes sure to scowl and look away apprehensively when Jeno meets his gaze. He clenches his jaw and tightens his fists. Sometimes he might even add a raised eyebrow. That one always makes Jeno roll his eyes. He’s always looking down on Renjun.

🏐. . .

There are still a few days until the different competitions begin; therefore, the Chinese team decides to train during that time. There are many gymnasiums designed for perfect training, especially considering the number of athletes that attend the event. There are so many teams in the competition that, for one reason or another (something about a mistake in the booking of the gym or some sort of overlap on its reservation—Renjun didn’t hear well), they end up sharing the space with another team. Luckily, their coach mentioned that he’s been friends with the other coach for a while now, so they agreed on simply training at the same time, each team on one side. They said that they wanted to be cordial with one another and wish the best for both teams. After all, they’re not in the same pool, so they won’t be playing against each other anytime soon.

The first phase of the competition is the preliminary round. The 12 competitors are divided into two different pools of six each, in which they have to play against one another. Then, the best four move onto the next stage, the quarterfinals, where they have to play against the best four in the opposing pool, which is how they will decide who plays in the semi-finals.

No one told Renjun that the team that offered to share the gym with them was South Korea, and he only noticed thanks to a ball that was flying directly to his face as soon as he stepped foot in the place. He stands there in shock. The ball was moving so quickly, and if it weren’t because he’s good at his position and has fantastic reflexes, it would have smacked him right in the face. Fortunately, that didn’t happen, and Renjun was able to catch it right on time as his teammates sucked in a breath.

And when he lowers the ball, he sees Lee Donghyuck and a shocked Lee Jeno standing a few meters from him. Donghyuck then turns around to look at his teammate. He says something, and soon Jeno is approaching him. 

Renjun is utterly pissed, and he can’t even hide it—his entire face is red in anger. His frown falls to the ground, his entire body remains stiff, and his jaw is completely tense. His breath quickens, and when Jeno, wearing a worried expression on his face, is finally a few steps from him, Renjun simply throws the ball at him. He doesn’t even stop to see if he used more force than necessary or not. 

His teammates seem surprised at his behavior, but all is forgotten once their coach makes them warm up immediately. They don’t have time to think about what just happened.

Renjun hates him. He hates him so much. 

Sometimes he would sneakily glance at Jeno. The guy seems to be quick in his movements, and his sets are a little too good; they adjust to the style of the other players like there’s some sort of silent and mutual trust among them. It’s not a real match, but Renjun is already able to see that South Korea’s game works akin to a machine, where everything is automatic and Jeno’s settings are the key to their perfect clockwork.

The coach’s voice brings him back to his side of the gym, where they’re starting a few exercises. Renjun smirks. No one is going to steal the medal from him. This is a competition, and in order to win, he must work hard and avoid any kind of distraction. He’s going to make the most of his first Olympics. If Renjun must step on Lee Jeno’s head, so be it. 

The first match comes before he can even notice. His days waiting for the beginning of the tournament went by through sweat, water bottles, and arduous training. The tension inside the locker room is palpable at 11 a.m. If Renjun focused a bit, he might even be able to taste it. Ragged breathing and tensed shoulders. 

China will be playing against Turkey on the second day of the tournament—their first game in the preliminary round. Renjun is nervous; he feels like a rookie all over again, like when he was fourteen and they made him play as the titular for the first time. Sitting on a bench, his leg bounces as he waits for Chenle to put on his uniform. They will be using the yellow uniform this time, but Renjun’s is always different anyway. His hands are sweating, and his friend is frowning beside him, weirdly quiet.

Before starting, they make sure to stretch and warm up until, suddenly, they can hear a voice through the speaker signaling that the match is about to start. Kun walks by Renjun and positions a hand on his shoulder as he gives him a reassuring smile. Then they form a line to greet their opponents. The Turkish players are tall; their skin is a bit tanner, and Renjun wonders if they don’t feel uncomfortable playing with a beard like that. They say their greetings. A man speaks through the speakers again, but Renjun is unable to understand everything he’s saying since he’s still working on his Japanese; luckily, he repeats everything in English.

“I know you’re nervous," says the captain. The team is formed in a circle. Kun looks each of them right in the eyes and goes on with his speech. “This is our very first match; we must show them who we are. Every single game matters, and every point weighs on the table. Don’t let them intimidate you, guys. Let’s get this!”

The entire team shouts at the same time and runs to the court to get into their positions. 

Yangyang is the first to serve. Renjun is standing in the sixth position, playing middle back. It’s a powerful serve, but the Turkish libero is quick to reach the ball, so the player wearing the number 5 on his jersey prepares the attack. Sicheng is in front of the net, ready. Chengxin is beside him too, but the number 8 is too quick for them. His spike is strong; it manages to wreck the wall the two blockers have set. And, then, Renjun realizes that this is the moment when he enters the scene. If the ball touches the ground, it’s going to be his fault, and Turkey would win the first point. The first point means a lot. It can determine the mood of the players and the entire game, so he must be ready. But Renjun is good at this—everyone says it, and he believes it too. Renjun is good, and before his brain can even tell him what to do, his body is already moving. His knees, protected by black kneecaps, hit the ground when he takes a leap to send the ball into the air again. It hits his wrists and flies high. Kun hits the ball to keep it in the air, and Yangyang jumps. It’s a trick to mess with the other team because just behind him comes Chenle, who jumps high, and their opponents don’t get enough time to blink before the ball hits the other side of the net with full force.

He hears the referee’s whistle as he moves his hands to signal that China has scored the first point of the game. Then, Renjun hears Chenle shouting, "Great, let’s go!”

The first point is theirs, and its effect on his teammates is evident. They seem more confident, even if the match has just started. That’s a great sign. It’s like that first point was the only missing piece to kick out that nervousness that attempted to swallow them. Then, everything starts going faster. They score four points in a row until they move places one more time and Renjun is positioned in the upper row. Blocking is one of his weaknesses, and the serve falls inside the net, making them lose the point. But it doesn’t matter; they still have the lead.

Renjun wipes the sweat from his forehead with his wrist. The game goes on.

China wins the first set. 25 against 20.

Their coach congratulates them and gives them some encouraging words so they don’t let their guard down; however, when the next set finishes, China wins just before reaching a deuce point, making them victorious. There’s only one set left, but the result is pretty clear by now. If Turkey wins this one, they’ll play another set. Renjun isn’t worried about that, though. China seems closer to winning the three sets. 

Their first game in the Olympics is satisfactory, like a boost to his ego. It’s a great sign; it means that there’s a fruitful path ahead of them. They’ve started on the right foot, so they must stay that way.

Perhaps Renjun will be able to return home with a medal dangling from his neck.

The next match is between Italy and Argentina, while at the neighboring venue, South Korea is playing against Kenya. Their coach advised them to pay attention to how the other teams are doing, even if they won’t be playing against them. If they pass to the quarterfinals, they could be playing against any of these guys. For this reason, the team divides so everyone can study both games happening at the same time.

After discussing it, and because Chenle and Yangyang’s only desire is for him to suffer, Renjun ends up sitting in between both of his friends while they watch the other pool’s game. He scoffs and makes sure to put on a bored expression, so everyone can see that he’s definitely not enjoying this. His friends do show that they’re enjoying this, though, judging by the way they’re laughing at him.

“Renjun, winning and Lee Jeno are the only things in your head lately. You’re gonna love this”, says Chenle. Wink included.

The boy is not excited at all, and it shows on his face; he even makes a throwing-up gesture after sensing the implications of what Chenle just said. Yangyang’s laugh sounds even louder in his ears, and Renjun feels like they want to torture him. He wants to tell him to shut up and that they’re completely wrong, but suddenly Chenle is softly hitting him in the ribs with his elbow, and with every passing second, Yangyang’s laughter gets even louder, as if that were possible. It makes Renjun feel suffocated, like a bag wrapping around his head, and he can’t even control his disgruntled expression.

The South Korean team appears on the court. Renjun is able to recognize a few of the players. 

Park Jisung is tall, and outside of the court he always carries himself as if he were anxious—like he’s afraid of being judged; sometimes they bump against each other during his morning jogs, and the boy always makes sure to give him a shy smile. Lee Donghyuck, guilty of throwing a ball that almost smacked Renjun right in the face, makes all the eyes turn to his figure because he’s loud and talkative, and he seems to be laughing at something that Jaemin has just said. He doesn’t look nervous at all. Na Jaemin walks calmly, an arm around his captain’s shoulder; he wears a bright, wide smile like it’s his own uniform. And, finally, Lee Jeno—expressionless as always. Sporting his usual unperturbed demeanor, it seems like he’s telling Jaemin to shut up, making Donghyuck, walking in front of them, laugh stridently.  Then, Lee Jeno scans the venue like it’s his own territory. The way he gazes at his opponents is cold and sharp, akin to a knife, until he smirks and turns around to secure his shoelaces.

Renjun’s only desire at this moment is to break Lee Jeno’s face with his own fists. His gestures, his expressions—they all show him that he’s stupidly pretentious, someone who believes he's the owner of the place despite this being his team’s first match of the season.

The Chinese boys quickly get immersed in the game in front of them. Renjun must admit that it’s interesting and that he’s actually amazed at the quality of both teams. They’re both great, and their level is pretty similar. Despite having weaknesses and strengths, they’re able to make the other team soak in a cold sweat. 

Sometimes Chenle would point out specific things that impressed him, and even though Renjun silently spends the entirety of the sets with his eyes glued on the ball, he still nods from time to time. Chenle is fantastic when it comes to analyzing others. Sometimes Liuyu, another one of his teammates who’s sitting behind him, taps Chenle’s shoulder to give him his opinion on specific strategies, and the both of them get lost in an intense conversation until the referee whistles and they go back to what’s happening in front of their eyes.

After some time, when the second set is just starting, Renjun concludes that Jeno is a good player. But good is an understatement. He’s way too amazing at what he does, and so is his team. Jeno must have some sort of special connection with Jaemin because every move is so coordinated and automatic that everyone watching wonders if there’s some sort of telepathic signal shared only by the two of them. They’re especially good at quick attacks and moves, and in order to achieve something like that, almost perfect coordination is needed. It’s the result of long nights of training.

It’s a bit unfair, in Renjun’s opinion. He supposes that Jeno’s obnoxious personality comes to balance his amazing talent and good looks.

And no, Renjun wouldn’t admit it out loud, much less to the two devil spawns sitting on each of his sides at the moment, but whenever Jeno plays and that concentrated look appears on his face, he looks so... good . 

Yes, good. 

Well, no. 

Renjun can’t fool anyone, can he? Jeno looks stupidly hot. He looks so hot that Renjun kind of wants to punch him in the face—or break his arms so he can stop setting the ball like that and earning compliments from every sports journalist; they say the way he sets is clean and perfect.

How unfair.

But Renjun is not going to entertain the thought.

“So, do you still hate him?” Yangyang sing-songs when they’re on their way back to their dorms.

Renjun only side-eyes him.

“More than ever.”

And with every passing day, it gets a little bit harder to hide the way Renjun despises the captain of the promising South Korean volleyball team. That’s why every time Jeno and Renjun pass by each other in the hallways of their building, the dining hall, or even on the way to the venue, Renjun can’t help but roll his eyes and dedicate him the nastiest look in his repertoire. 

Sometimes Jeno raises his eyebrow, and if Donghyuck is walking with him, the boy always laughs stridently before raising his hand to greet him. Renjun isn’t sure where Donghyuck heard his name, but he definitely doesn’t like that fake, high-pitched voice he uses whenever he says, “Hi, Renjun! Nice seeing you on this lovely day. Don’t you think so, Jeno? Have a nice dayyy” . It’s completely annoying, and it makes him uncomfortable. Most of the time, Renjun doesn’t have time to react, and he merely smiles—quick and fake, it doesn’t reach his eyes nor last more than one second.

Renjun’s fine, thank you. He’s won his fair share of games, although that doesn’t mean that he hasn’t experienced the taste of failure too. When they lost for the first time, he felt guilty because he had promised to keep the ball in the air; however, the other team scored more points than them. Renjun felt so pathetic, and most of his teammates also felt discouraged, but the ones with more experience were able to cheer them up and remind them that losing is also a part of the process, and it helps them visualize their mistakes so they can avoid them the next time.

On the night before their second-to-last game in the preliminary phase, Renjun and Jeno have their first real fight. Renjun heard that South Korea had lost that day; however, the Chinese coach instructed his team to spend their time training, so they didn’t attend the match. They only knew about the results. That could be a reason why Jeno was in such a bad mood, but if someone asked Renjun, what happened was only an accident.

Yes, Renjun can say that he despises Jeno, that he can’t even see him, that he’s going to crush him down, whatever. But even though Renjun is a somewhat immature 22-year-old guy, he has great determination, and his mind is set on the game and nothing else. In front of him, there’s only one goal: a medal. Winning against Lee Jeno is only a bonus that comes with it. That’s why Renjun wouldn’t dare mess with him outside the court, the only place that could dictate who’s best. He doesn’t want any other kind of conflict. They can solve whatever feud they have in a game. So, yes, Renjun hates Jeno, but he’s not stupid. Glaring at him and cursing at him in Chinese, knowing full well that Jeno won’t understand him, is enough for Renjun. It fulfills his daily dose of misery.

It happens after dinner. Chenle had told him that he wanted to shower before going to bed, but Kun is always hogging the shower in their room, so Chenle was going to head first while their room was still empty. Renjun understands; that’s why he’s making his way back alone. As he walks through the doorway, he’s mindlessly scrolling through his phone, distracted enough to not pay attention to where he’s going. And then something bumps against his shoulder, a tad roughly.

When Renjun turns around to apologize, putting his phone back in his pocket, the other person stays in their place, completely stiff. Renjun looks up, only to find Lee Jeno’s dark eyes. His gaze is so cold that it makes Renjun shiver, and the poor boy can’t do anything but open his mouth, even if he can’t utter a single sound. Because Jeno is intimidating when he’s angry. His jaw is clenched, and Renjun swears he can see smoke coming from his ears. 

Jeno is annihilating him with a single stare.

He can feel the way the other athletes are staring at them. Their eyes weigh on his back, but even if Renjun wants to apologize and excuse himself by saying that it was an accident and he’ll stop using his phone when he walks, he doesn’t know how to do it. His eyes are wide open, resembling those of a deer caught by headlights in the middle of the night, one who is just about to be knocked down and abandoned in a pool of his blood.

It’s then that Jeno finally moves, catching Renjun by surprise. Jeno grips him tightly by the arm and starts walking, taking Renjun away from the dining hall with him.

“What is wrong with you? What are you doing?” Renjun complains in hopes of being released. There’s no reason for Jeno to treat him like this. “Let go of my arm, you idiot.”

“No, you tell me what the hell is wrong with you.”

Jeno takes him to a hallway nearby, which leads to the tempered pool. That wing of the building is empty at the moment since the pool is closed and the majority of the competitors are still busy eating in the dining hall. They stand in front of each other, wearing matching defiant expressions on their faces. Renjun’s fists are tightly clenched. Forget everything about being the big person and battling only in the court; if Jeno wants to fight here, Renjun wouldn’t mind ruining his perfect face.

Jeno in front of him is scowling, giving Renjun the most contemptuous look in his repertoire. He looks mad as hell, with his arms crossed in front of his body and all.

“Excuse me? You were the one who just dragged me through the hallway because of an accident. I was just looking at my phone. Chill, dude, it’s not a big deal.”

“What?” Jeno raises an eyebrow, unable to believe what he’s hearing. “You’ve been nothing but rude to me throughout the entire week; what the hell is your problem? It’s not only about what just happened; it’s about you being fucking insufferable.”

“You were rude to me first! I didn’t even know your name, and you were already looking at me like I was disgusting.”

“When did I do that?” Jeno raises his voice.

He’s looking at Renjun like he’s completely nuts, and his voice seems to push him to probe that, yes, Jeno is right. That makes Renjun’s blood boil. This guy is playing dumb, and Renjun doesn’t like that.

“The first day I came here,” he says after sighing. Jeno raises an eyebrow, not buying it. He even looks up at the ceiling, clearly showing that he doesn’t want to be here and that paying attention to Renjun is an immense sacrifice. “I went jogging, and you ruined my morning with the way you glared at me. You scanned me from head to toe like I was a dirtbag, and you were better than me, and I didn’t even know who you were yet! You’re not the owner—!”

But Jeno’s laugh interrupts him. At some point, Renjun walked to him and hit his chest with his finger in a recriminatory gesture. They are so close, and Jeno keeps looking down on him. His laugh is utterly mocking, and Renjun doesn’t understand what’s so funny.

“Did you really assume that I judged you because I glared at you once?” He sounds way calmer now, but that doesn’t stop Renjun from feeling that he’s just made a fool out of himself.

“Well, it was rude.”

Renjun is starting to feel like some petty child who doesn’t have any arguments left. But he won’t give up because he’s prideful. “And you were still kinda mean afterward.”

“Because you were mean. You didn’t treat me very nicely.”

“Well, what did you want after you attempted to knock me out with a ball?”

“That was an accident, though,” Jeno clarifies, followed by a sigh.

The conversation isn’t tense anymore. They finally realized that they were being ridiculous, and their only reason to scorn the other was the belief that the other hated them first, even if they had never crossed a word with each other before. 

Basically, they both said, “If you hate me, then I will too.”

“Still,” Renjun adds, moving a bit further from Jeno’s body. There’s a childish pout taking place on his lips. “It was a self-defense method.”

Jeno shakes his head, clearly thinking that Renjun is only saying nonsense. 

“Look, midget,” He puts a hand on top of Renjun’s head, highlighting their height difference. Renjun isn’t short! “I don’t hate you—actually, I don’t even care about you. You’re not the threat you think you are.”

“Well, I do, and if I have to crush you down, I gladly will.”

“Ok, fine.”

“Fine.”

They stare defiantly at each other for one more second. One is holding his breath while the other breathes heavily. They’re frowning, and Jeno bends a bit with the sole purpose of showing Renjun that he’s taller than him and that he’s above him in every sense. Renjun is nothing but a mere libero in his first Olympic Games.

Renjun is the first one to move, turning around and marching his way upstairs. He makes his way to his shared room without even sparing a second glance at the Korean boy.

He finds Kun sitting in his bed as soon as he opens the door, legs crossed, and a deep sigh leaving his mouth as he scrolls through his phone. There’s no one else in there; there's no sign of Sicheng or Chenle. It’s odd—as far as Renjun knew, Chenle was supposed to be here. He stays standing in front of the doorway for a few seconds, trying to get used to the awkwardness that’s suddenly starting to fill up the room. He doesn’t have a great hunch about this.

Renjun clears his throat and greets the captain. He’s suddenly acting shy, as if he hadn’t been sleeping there for longer than a week. Then he tiptoes to his bed, like the kid who wakes up at night and is trying to prevent making any sound that could disrupt that eerie state of quietness. His red jacket falls off his shoulders, the name of his country in yellow letters and its flag staring at him when he leaves it at the edge of the bed.

Kun finally raises his gaze. He blocks his cellphone’s screen and leaves the device facing down on the mattress. Every single move makes Renjun nervous.

“Sit,” he demands. The serious tone frightens Renjun.

The boy obeys. He swallows and then squirms on his spot, looking back at his captain.

“What’s the matter?” He asks, confused.

With the way Renjun is looking at Kun, he resembles a kid who’s been lost for hours, afraid of not returning home safely. There’s uncertainty, confusion, and desperation all mixed up on his face. The anxiety is evident, soaking him like a winter storm.

The air is dense. Kun stares at him disapprovingly.

“I want to talk to you.”

Ugh, Renjun feels so small whenever someone addresses him like this. He feels like he’s done something bad and is about to receive some nagging, and he’s going to be grounded or something. He doesn’t like it at all.

“Would you want to explain what happened between the Korean player and you in the dining hall a while ago? Na Jaemin told me about the fuss you two caused.”

And the boy’s eyes get as wide as plates, and his eyebrows raise to the roof—even his lips part without him even noticing. Oh no. He doesn’t even know what to say. Everything that comes to his mind sounds like a terrible excuse.

“It was an accident!” It’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth, and Kun’s frown deepens.

“And what about what happened after that?” There’s a second of silence. Kun doesn’t give him enough time to prepare an answer because he keeps talking. “Look, Renjun. The most important thing in every sport is to have healthy competition. No one pretends to come here and make a bunch of enemies, but it seems like you’ve already had problems with this guy, and I believe that’s immature behavior.”

Renjun’s eyes stay fixed on his lap while he sucks on his lower lip. The only thing he can do is nod his head. Yes, he admits it. He’s been irresponsible. Instead of saying something, he lets Kun go on.

“The most important thing right now is winning fairly, and I don’t want you to get your mind all preoccupied with unimportant things—like someone looking at you in a way that you don’t like. I’m extremely disappointed. This could give you a bad image, both as a person and as an athlete, so you need to be responsible for your actions. You’re here to play volleyball, so you must keep that in mind. Did you hear me?

“Y-yes… I heard you, captain.”

“I’m going to fetch Sicheng and Chenle right now. Go to bed.”

As soon as he’s alone in the room, Renjun feels all the weight he had been carrying on his back slip from his body; the air he had been holding is set free. He slumps on the bed and covers himself with the blankets until not a single strand of hair can be seen. Kun’s words are engraved in his head, spinning like a broken record. He didn’t even have time to process the small argument he had just had with Jeno. And, oh God, Renjun is only now realizing how stupid he’s been, acting like a bratty little kid. No wonder Kun was so disappointed. 

Behaving like this was such an irresponsible thing to do, not only because it could drive him away from his goal, bringing the team down with him, but also because it’s tiresome. He shouldn’t be making enemies, and of course, he wouldn’t want to give the Chinese team a bad reputation. It does nothing but distract his mind.

Every single match is important, and Renjun shouldn’t waste his time thinking about anything that’s not volleyball. Moreover, Jeno even confessed that he doesn’t actually hate Renjun (well, what he actually said was that his pathetic existence was irrelevant, which was pretty offensive, but Renjun will take what he can take), and that should be enough reason to stop thinking about him. Case closed.

On the next day, Renjun ignores Jeno. After his usual morning jog, a shower, and a tasty breakfast rich in nutrients, the only thing on Renjun’s mind is that their game is the first one of the day. In the chart, Russia and China have similar scores. If they want a place in the quarterfinals, they must win.

Although he sees Jisung, Jeno, and Donghyuck walking when he arrives at the venue, Renjun decides to stay silent and go on with what he’s doing. Nothing is going to distract him today. But, then, there are hurried steps trailing behind him and a big hand on top of his head. It grips his skull in the same way someone holds a ball in one hand. Upon turning around, Renjun discovers that Jeno has already noticed his presence. The boy is grinning at him.

Renjun is confused, to say the least—until he hears him.

“I hope you lose today, midget,” he chimes with a tight-lipped smile on his face; it keeps growing until his eyes get really tiny, akin to two crescents. The way he does it gives him an almost innocent appearance, contrasting with the intentions of his message.

Renjun remains speechless. It takes him a few seconds to fully process everything. His eyes never leave Jeno’s face, as if that would help him decipher what’s actually going on. Until realization hits him, and with a confident smirk making its place on his face, Renjun raises his chin in a self-sufficient way. Then he takes Jeno’s hand out of its spot on top of his head.

“I hope someone breaks your arms so you won’t be able to play anymore, then.”

The other one chuckles before going back with his teammates. It’s an odd exchange. After the scene they caused last night in front of everyone in the Olympic Village, anybody would think that the state of their rivalry worsened, that war was declared, and that they turned the volleyball court into their own battle camp. These sudden friendly and sporty insults are both surprising and unsettling. 

It’s just that the realization of everything being nothing but a groundless misunderstanding gives them the freedom to insult each other without having to worry about the other one taking it to heart.

🏐. . .

They have a hard time playing against Russia. The players on the other team are much taller than most of the Chinese ones, resulting in the majority of their serves and spikes failing. They end up losing the first set. The members of the team are putting in more effort than ever, judging by how tired they are once the set finishes, with all of them gulping entire water bottles without even speaking to each other. Halftime passes in the blink of an eye, and the second set begins when they’re in the middle of catching their breaths.

If they’re having difficulty scoring points, the least they can do is stop their attacks and prevent them from building an even bigger gap between them. The ones playing in the back positions have the hardest job at that point in the game. Renjun slurps his nose and wipes his sweat off his face with his wrist. The ball bounces against the floor a few times before the Russian player wearing the number 2 on his shirt takes a few steps and jumps on his spot to serve. Renjun’s eyes never look away from the colorful sphere that flies in the air. He’s bending slightly, ready to stop it no matter where it’s heading. The ball is coming with full force and speed, and the libero runs after it, sliding on the floor in order to hit it before it touches the ground. He sends it flying in a risky direction, but Sicheng is nearing the position. He has great reflexes, even if they don’t match up with the skills required at the moment, so he makes a sloppy set. It’s not clean nor has the right height—it’s not even directed to a specific person. Sicheng fulfilled his mission of keeping it on air. And then Chenle jumps, hitting the ball. The others don’t manage to stop it, and China scores a point.

It was risky, but they can count on their teammates’ abilities to move forward.

The game goes on until the fifth set. China and Russia are neck and neck with two sets each. They only need 15 points to decide who will be the winner, and the Chinese players are rather confident that it will be them. Their performance today will affect how well they can position themselves in the chart. After this, there’s only one remaining game to determine who moves on to the quarterfinals and who doesn’t.

The tension in the stadium is palpable enough that they could taste it if they wanted to—ragged breathing, sweat on his forehead, soreness on his legs due to the number of times Renjun has hit the floor to catch the ball. His elbows are red by now—Renjun has been on the brink of losing the ball many times throughout the course of the game, but he keeps going. He must do it.

There’s the sound of the referee blowing the whistle, and the man next to the net extends his arm in their direction before moving it, indicating that they have to serve. Then there’s the squeaky sound of sneakers against the floor, running feet, skin hitting the leather of the ball, and exhausted exclamations from the player.

Two points. They are two points away from victory. Renjun is extremely tired, and his legs and arms hurt, but Russia is only four points below them. The goal is so close—the end of the match is incredibly close.

“Come on! Throw it!” Renjun shouts; his voice is hoarse.

The #6 on the other team keeps the ball in the air. Someone hits it, and it goes right in his direction. Renjun smiles exhaustedly— it’s mine, he thinks, and he won’t let it fall. Kun runs and prepares the attack before Yangyang performs a feint. The ball falls with a soft thud on the other side of the net.

They’re so exhausted that they don’t even have enough energy to celebrate. Now onto the next one. The only thing Renjun wants at that moment is for the game to pass quickly. There’s only one point left, only one , and victory will be theirs. Renjun doesn’t even know how it happens. One moment he feels the ball near his head, and the next he’s staring at it, laying calmly outside the court. 

Russia basically handed them the last point. 

Renjun feels his knees hitting the ground. He desperately needs water. Hands and knees over the cold surface, head hanging low, and his hair falling over his forehead along with droplets of sweat—and when he looks up at Kun in front of him, there’s also a smile. His captain is offering his hand.

“Nice game, kid,” and he hits him in the shoulder.

Renjun and Yangyang basically carried the game today. His team won thanks to him and his ability to defend the ball and keep it afloat.

There’s only one match left today before they know who moves on to the quarterfinals, but Renjun supposes that this win has already secured them a spot. Their next game will be in two more days against the Italian team.

As much as Renjun wants to spend the next few days resting, he knows his coach. That old man will want them to train and squeeze every last drop of sweat from them to make sure that they are prepared enough for the next phase. They must be ready to win and overcome any hardship they might encounter when they play against the Italians.

He’s heard that their game is somewhat defensive and that their strategies don’t focus on overly complicated attacks; however, that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t worry. Even though this time the weight falls on the shoulders of the ones who are part of the attack—like Kun and Chenle, and even Yangyang, who sometimes spikes from the back—he should also stay prepared. His teammates wouldn’t be able to showcase their skills if Renjun didn’t defend the ball.

The next morning, when he’s about to start his usual morning jog, he encounters Jeno and Jisung in the lobby of the building. He knows Jisung usually starts his day exercising just like him, so it doesn’t surprise him to see him there. Sometimes they exchange kind smiles. 

Usually, Renjun would see him running alone with earbuds in his ears as they played music so loudly that Renjun could distinguish the heavy metal tunes even if he was a few steps behind him. For this reason, he assumes that Jisung is done with his routine and is heading to the dining hall for breakfast. However, the boy is suddenly approaching him until he can softly tap him on the shoulder.

And Renjun is a bit weirded out, so he looks back at him with a confused expression—from what he has gathered whenever he tries to study the Korean setter in hopes of finding something annoying in him, Jisung can be really shy.

“ Hyung —I mean, Gege ?” he murmurs. His voice is low, and Renjun can only nod in acknowledgment—he doesn’t know what to expect. Even the way he speaks hints at discomfort, and that makes Renjun wonder why he’s even doing this. “Can we, uh, run with you today? I think a little bit of company would be great sometimes.”

Renjun finds him absolutely adorable, so of course he will accept his offer. Company is always welcome if it comes from someone like Jisung. This makes him so happy, actually, because it means he’s already achieving one of his Olympic goals: to have a great time creating bonds with other athletes, even if they’re from different parts of the world.

That’s until Renjun notices that he’s using the plural form, and when his gaze moves to the person next to the middle blocker, he finds Jeno pretending that he’s not part of this conversation.

“What are you doing here?” Renjun makes his best effort to avoid sounding petty.

“Hm? Me? Jisung invited me.”

All of a sudden, Jisung looks like he doesn’t want to be part of this situation and would rather be swallowed by a hole in the middle of the ground.

But Renjun simply shrugs, deciding not to give it much importance. They’re welcome to run with him.

Jisung is a great running buddy. He matches his speed, doesn’t interrupt him, and he even offers Renjun one of his AirPods when he notices that the Chinese boy left his own in his red jacket—today he’s wearing a red hoodie that has the flag of his country embroidered over his heart. In fact, Jisung doesn’t even speak; it’s a bit like the parallel play that little children do, where they’re all carrying out their own activities in the same space without interacting with one another. Renjun is even considering making him his running buddy for the time they have left in Tokyo.

Jeno is a different case. Renjun doesn’t understand why he speaks while exercising; that’s not good, as it makes him waste more air than necessary, exhausting him much quicker. At first, Renjun tried to ignore his attempts at conversation, but now Jeno is starting to get on his nerves, and Renjun’s only desire right now is to make him trip over so the pain of the fall can force him to shut up—that would make Renjun really happy.

The worst part is that Renjun has seen him when he’s with his teammates, and Jeno doesn’t act like this. So annoying.

“You know…” Jeno mutters after a while, and Renjun feels himself closing his eyelids in exasperation. He’s spent so much time in silence, enjoying precious moments of mental peace. “I was reading your profile, and it says that you’re 1,70 cm tall, but I think that’s too much for you.”

“What?” Renjun doesn’t want to talk. He likes running because it allows him to connect with his mind and body. He gets lost in his own thoughts as he works his body, obtaining enough mental peace to get him through the day. Why would Jeno want to interfere with that? What does he win by ruining all his plans? “Wait, why were you reading my profile?”

Jeno stops to catch his breath, so Renjun does it too, with his hands on his knees as he focuses on breathing in and out. Jisung doesn’t notice that they have stopped; he is lost in his music and his own world. They see him run further away from them.

Subsequently, Jeno straightens his back and smirks at Renjun—he also raises an eyebrow as he lifts his chin up, the same expression he wears whenever he wants to make fun of Renjun. For a few seconds, he says nothing, just staring at the other boy, and Renjun doesn’t understand what the hell is wrong with this dude. If he doesn’t say something right now, Renjun won’t hesitate to kick his shin.

“Since you can’t talk to me like a normal person, I got curious about you. I had to take desperate measures.”

And, oh, Renjun doesn’t know how to respond, so he just stares, a bit perplexed. He wonders why someone like Jeno would like to know about him until Jeno chuckles and busies himself with his shoelaces.

“Kidding.” He murmurs, his eyes fixed on his shoes. “I was trying to see if I could find something I could tease you with.”

Then, the boy stands up, stretches, and starts jogging again, muttering something like they should try to catch up with JiSung. RenJun is slow to react, but he’s soon running after him.

Sometimes Renjun sits down to reflect on life, and he always concludes that his life was more at peace when he used to think that Jeno hated him and the only thing he did was insult him in Chinese under his breath every time they crossed each other.

In the present time, however, Renjun wonders why Jeno has been teasing him so much since he said that Renjun’s existence was irrelevant to him. Sometimes he even appears out of nowhere to call him names and tell him how annoying he is in a childish tone, in the same way a middle schooler who seeks attention would do. And, although Renjun knows it’s nothing but playful banter because there’s no malice in Jeno’s voice, it does irritate him. When they see each other on their way to train with their teammates, Renjun deliberately bumps into his shoulder to get a reaction out of him—Jeno always fulfills his expectations, turning around as he squints at him, and Renjun sticks his tongue out in a mocking way.

What he can admit, though, is that it makes his day a bit more fun. Pressure is crawling up every millimeter of his body, and the way his coach is always screaming “Next one!” as his teammates hit the ball at the other side while he tries to block is giving him a headache. They stay late practicing; their coach has no mercy at all.

There’s only one game left in the preliminary round to see if they stay.

Time passes by so quickly that before he even notices it, they’re already heading back to their dorm. Renjun needs a shower right now.

When he walks past Jeno on the stairs, he makes sure to call him a stupid bastard in Chinese, loud enough for him to hear him without understanding him.

And then Renjun suddenly sees himself warming up before their last game, wearing that bright yellow uniform he must wear every time the rest of the team wears red.

They’re already in position, waiting for the referee to blow the whistle. Renjun is focused and determined, his head in the game—nothing can distract him at this very moment. Yesterday’s practice made him feel especially confident. Italy is one of the teams they observed the most, making Renjun believe that he will be able to read their moves—especially the ones they might repeat the most.

The first set is quick, just like the second one. Renjun can see that they’re more focused on their defense since their spikes are not really powerful—it makes his work easier. That’s not a good thing, though; Renjun is alarmed. This is an important game, yet the Italian team is playing like this—as if they were feeling cornered. They have stopped a couple of their attacks, and their blocking line is so good that they have managed to stop some of Chenle’s best hits a few times—that’s discouraging.

It’s the third set that causes them problems. It was evident that they wouldn’t hand them the game on a silver plate. Three sets are needed to win, and China only needs one. Italy presents itself as a completely renovated team; there’s a drastic change in their attack, and Renjun, Yangyang, and Xiaojun are busy running to every corner of the court to stop them. The exciting action that didn’t occur in the previous sets is finally happening now, and that’s because their opponent has realized that the game can’t end like this. 

China is losing the set. The other team can block anything they throw at them, and it’s getting frustrating. They’ve only been playing for 15 minutes, yet Italy has already surpassed the 20-score mark.

It’s China’s turn to serve. Renjun is currently in the fifth position on the court, in the left corner. He breathes heavily without looking away from the guy on the other side of the net, waiting for the referee’s signal. And then the ball is in the air, everyone is running to get into their respective positions, and the defensive line is ready to get the ball. Renjun is about to reach it—there are only a few centimeters left as he runs with an extended arm to hit it before it touches the ground. However, Xiaojun, who came running from the other side, stops the ball and sends it flying again.

But Renjun bumps into his teammate and trips.

When he opens his eye, his ankle and his entire body hurt from the fall. He’s lying down, and when he tries to support himself with his hands and knees to get up, Xiaojun and Yangyang are approaching him with worried eyes. There’s a stinging sensation in his ankle, and he scrunches his nose when he notices it.

“I’m really sorry,” exclaims Xiaojun, clearly alarmed, as he offers Renjun his hand.

“Woah, you okay?” asks Yangyang then.

Renjun takes Xiaojun’s hand to get on his feet, but it’s uncomfortable, and he’s letting out a whimper without noticing. He knows a fall like this wouldn’t cause a big injury, but he just tripped and fell on his face, and it’s evident that the force of the fall would not cause him a pleasant sensation. Everyone’s eyes are on him, and it takes him a while to notice that they missed a point and the game has been stopped momentarily.

The referee blows his whistle. At first, Renjun doesn’t know what’s happening until he sees Kun silently telling him to look at the coach. Renjun will be on the bench at least until the set ends. Liuyu is waiting. 

And, god, he hates being on the bench, watching like the kid who wasn’t allowed to go out to play with his friends. Renjun wants to play too. He needs it. It makes him impatient, and he bounces his leg involuntarily. His coach asks him how he’s feeling and if he could rate the pain. but Renjun is sure that it wasn’t a big deal. Still, someone comes to check on his ankle only to find that, just like he thought, the fall didn’t cause him damage big enough to stop him from playing.

He watches his teammates run and sweat, shouting at each other to get ready for the next move—and he wants to be with them too. The set finishes when Italy scores the 25th point. The game goes on.

Renjun returns to the court in the middle of the fourth set. His ankle doesn’t sting as much as it did when he was taken out, and he actually recovered his energy on the bench. Sitting also allowed him to pay attention to the other team. And Renjun is ready to lead China to victory. 

Even after they win, Renjun feels rather disappointed in his performance, like he didn’t contribute at all and his presence was irrelevant. It annoys him. The idea stays in his head for the rest of the day, bugging him. Luckily, they get to rest in the afternoon. The chart indicates that they’re in third place in their pool. The best four out of six teams move to the quarterfinals, which means that they must go against the third place in the other pool in two more days. He believes it was Serbia.

🏐. . . 

There’s not much to do when they’re allowed free time. Renjun knows that the Olympic Village is big enough for them to explore, be comfortable, and have fun, but he doesn’t really know what to do, and his ankle still bothers him a bit. On a normal day, Renjun would eat, practice, and compete. Every day is like that; he’s always busy with something. Usually, he doesn’t even have time to think, but today he’s got a free afternoon with no plans. Truthfully, Renjun just wants to rest.

He’s sitting on one of the couches in the lobby of the building, waiting for the minutes to pass because it’s not dinner time yet, but he’s hungry. He’s busy browsing on his phone when he feels someone approaching him. Their shadow covers Renjun’s body, but he’s tired, and he can only look up to discover who this person is and the reason why they’re bothering him.

He didn’t expect to find Jeno. Renjun’s first thought is that the Korean setter came to mock him for his fall, but there’s something different in his expression. He isn’t exuding haughtiness the way he always seems to do. Instead, Jeno offers him a gentle expression.

“Can I sit with you?” he inquires in a low and almost soft voice.

Renjun thinks it’s weird, but he still nods. Jeno sits beside him even if there’s plenty of space on the couch, staying rather close to him. Then he stares at Renjun in silence for a couple of seconds, and Renjun feels oddly scrutinized. Maybe Jeno wants something from him, or at least that’s what he assumes, so he puts his phone in the pocket of his red hoodie.

“I heard you fell today and that you couldn’t finish the set.”

Renjun expected a laughable remark after that, yet it never comes, and it takes him a while to notice that Jeno is being genuine. Once again, he only nods his head. Maybe Jeno was right, and he’s forgotten how to carry out a normal conversation with him, but this situation is so odd that Renjun is only now realizing that they’ve never had a normal interaction that goes beyond childish banter. Jeno is so different when he’s trying to hold a serious conversation.

“Are you okay?”

And then Jeno looks at Renjun. His voice sounds so honest—even his gaze, afraid of trespassing some sort of imaginary barrier standing in between them. His eyebrows are raised, and he looks genuinely worried for him. His gaze is soft, and Renjun ponders if their relationship would have been any different without that misunderstanding. 

“Yes. I mean, it hurt, but it wasn’t a big deal, really,” Renjun sighs, and when the other gets a bit closer to him without ever looking anywhere else but his eyes, almost as if asking him if he’s really sure, Renjun allows himself to relax and smile. “I just tripped on Xiaojun’s feet. I didn’t get injured or something.”

“But did you get hurt?” Jeno asks now.

Renjun’s curious as to why Jeno’s asking so many questions. He thinks out loud, only noticing when Jeno chuckles beside him.

“I’m trying to be civil.” It’s a joke—Renjun notices by the way Jeno raises an eyebrow as he smiles. “If I want to play against you, I need to make sure that you’re safe and in perfect condition, don’t I?”

Being on the receiving end of his rival’s—or mortal enemy’s , as Sicheng would say—kindness makes Renjun feel an indescribable sensation for which he doesn’t have enough words. It’s soft—a somewhat ticklish warmth accompanied by suffocating awkwardness. He can’t pinpoint if he likes it or not. It’s confusing, and in Renjun’s opinion, Jeno shouldn’t be this attentive to him. But Renjun won’t reject him; it makes him feel important.

“If you say so,” he mutters in an attempt to tease him—he goes as far as rolling his eyes, even, but he doesn’t mean it, and he hopes Jeno notices.

“You didn’t answer though,” says Jeno now, and it takes Renjun a moment to go back in their conversation and remember what the question was. “Did you get hurt? It looked like it in the videos.”

“I landed on my face,” Renjun laughs. It’s so embarrassing to think that someone as good as Jeno might have seen him trip on someone else’s feet and end up on the ground, so he covers his reddening face. “It hurt a bit, though.”

And then the other does something that leaves Renjun speechless—his ears become bright red, and he stays perplexed in his place. Jeno is asking him to lay his legs on his lap without even allowing him to express his opinion. Jeno himself bends down to grab his legs and position them where he wants them to be, as if Renjun were nothing but a toy. And poor Renjun doesn’t know how to stop him because it makes him embarrassed; instead, he lets Jeno do as he wants. And when Jeno starts massaging and caressing his ankle and his leg, Renjun starts feeling shy, and his entire face burns because Jeno’s touch is incredibly delicate and careful on his skin.

“What are you doing?”

If his voice is suddenly shakier, Renjun hopes Jeno doesn’t notice.

“I’m trying to ease the pain. Your legs are a bit bruised.”

Jeno stops his movements, and when he answers, he does it like it’s the most evident thing in the world. In Renjun's opinion, it’s a bit stupid—if he were to be asked in a moment when his brain cells actually have the capacity to work together—since the pain in his ankle was mostly momentary. But he says nothing. 

The way Jeno is caressing his leg and his ankle is making Renjun feel things —he’s unable to give that feeling a name, and he hopes it stays that way!

Days of training along with his desire to put on an exhaustive performance have left his skin adorned with greenish and purplish bruises, although Renjun has grown used to them by now. It’s part of throwing himself to the ground all the time. If he must protect the ball, then his body is not a priority, and most of the time he doesn’t even feel the impact as long as he maintains the ball in the air anyway. 

Renjun likes the idea of someone taking care of him. One of Jeno’s hands rests on his knee, while the other keeps lazily caressing his ankle.

“You need to be careful.” Jeno’s voice is always soft, drifting into a whisper.

Renjun nods quietly. Silence sits between them.

But Jeno’s stare is serious and almost intimidating. He shakes his head.

“Don’t be stubborn. What you need the most when you play is your body, so you must take care of it.”

And Renjun hates to admit it, but he’s right. 

They end up talking about their upcoming games. At some point, the caresses cease, yet their position never changes, and their hands rest over Renjun’s knees. Even though both teams advanced to the quarterfinals, they’re not set to play against each other yet. If they both win now, they might do it in the semi-finals. 

With a self-sufficient smile on his face, Renjun pushes Jeno to promise him that they will play against each other to decide who’s best.

They spend a lot of time sitting there, just having a normal conversation—although a few sarcastic comments may have made their way into their chat. For this reason, they don’t even notice that it's already dinner time and the dining hall is open and serving food. They eat together, sitting next to each other. Some minutes pass before Chenle finally appears to tell Renjun that he has been looking for him, but the words get caught up in his throat and, instead, he looks at Renjun like he has grown two heads. Renjun has no excuse; if he says that he couldn’t escape Jeno, they won’t believe him. His friend keeps walking and heads towards Yangyang, and Renjun immediately feels like the biggest traitor out there when Na Jaemin sits at the same table as them.

Huang Renjun was caught hanging out with the Korean players? What an unexpected twist.

After finishing his food, Renjun finally manages to free himself from Jeno’s imaginary grip. The Korean boy is actually a better friend than he is, so he is set on waiting for Jaemin to finish. Thus, Renjun makes his way upstairs alone. The only thing he wants is to lie down on his bed, but his peaceful moment is immediately interrupted when his two friends arrive two minutes later.

“Huang Renjun,” Chenle says first. When he smiles, his eyes become a line, and a dimple forms on his cheek, making him resemble a cat. “Look at how we caught you fraternizing with the enemy.”

“Yeah, what was that? Why were you being so friendly to Lee Jeno? Didn’t you hate him?”

“We’re still rivals,” Renjun shrugs as he makes his best effort to ignore his own confusion.

After his first morning in Tokyo, Renjun never imagined himself hanging out with the Korean players, much less with the subject of his hatred, who suddenly decided to be all sweet and attentive and went as far as worrying about his well-being. The picture of Jeno that Renjun used to have in his head is nowhere near the Lee Jeno he saw today—he was a devil spawn, a demon, a stupid bastard. Renjun doesn’t know this guy who suddenly appeared in front of him and, worse, made him feel things that he refuses to name.

His two friends dedicate him weirded-out stares for a few seconds, and it’s Chenle again who decides to speak first.

“Don’t you dare spill our strategies in exchange for a few kisses, got it?” And he even points at Renjun with his finger, accusatorily, and Renjun doesn’t comprehend how his friend even reached that conclusion after seeing them talk like normal people.

“What are you talking about?” He rolls his eyes. “I hate him, and he hates me. Come on, where did you get that? I bet I will choke him before that happens.”

And if his ears get hot, no one needs to know. Fuck, now he’s imagining it. It will never happen. He doesn’t want it to happen because it’s… weird —they don’t like each other. There’s no reason for Chenle to have those ideas.

“He thinks we’re dumb,” comments Yangyang. “We saw him trying to be cute with our own eyes. You can’t fool us, Huang.”

And Chenle bursts into laughter before clarifying that they’re just teasing him because it’s funny.

“You must hate him a lot if you get like this.” Chenle climbs onto his own bed and lies on his side, while Yangyang sits on Kun’s bed, which is placed horizontally against the wall, unlike the rest.

“Yeah, because, let’s be honest, the dude is hot.”

“And making out is the only way you two can solve all that weird tension.”

Renjun judges them. He doesn’t like this turn in the conversation, so he tries to change the topic. Renjun is not a traitor; he would never sell out his own team to satisfy his personal interests.

🏐. . .

After that incident, his relationship with Jeno takes a turn. It’s not really evident—only someone who pays attention to them would notice how they exchange smiles more often, how they have stopped insulting each other, and the way they are no longer childishly pushing each other when they walk.

Renjun only notices this sudden shift the day after they win their quarterfinal game, which gives them the opportunity to play in the semi-finals. The game he longed for is finally happening—in less than 24 hours, they will be playing against South Korea. Despite being rivals, Jeno waits for him outside the gym after his training finishes. Most of his teammates are heading back to the dorms, and Renjun gets surprised when he finds the setter there, standing by the door, wearing that white jacket that identifies him as a representative of his country and a black bag that hangs from his shoulder.

Jeno grabs him by the wrist as soon as he sees Renjun passing by the doorway, and he’s quick to stop him and pull him closer. Renjun is expectant, wondering what brings Jeno’s presence there—is he waiting for him just to tell him to prepare himself for tomorrow? But Jeno remains silent as he observes the other athletes leaving the gym until they’re standing alone in the hallway. And when he speaks, he looks at Renjun with a smirk dancing on his lips, tiny eyes, and everything. 

Jeno never lets go of Renjun’s wrist.

“Nervous?” Jeno sing-songs.

Renjun simply shakes his head. He won’t allow the enemy to see his vulnerable side, so he won’t ever admit that he’s scared as hell because this is the most important game of the season for him. If they lose against South Korea, Renjun will feel incredibly defeated, his world tumbling down—but Jeno doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, I was thinking that we could go out for ramen tonight.” Jeno almost whispers; it has the cadence of a secret that no one is allowed to overhear. And Renjun understands why he does it. Everyone expects them to be fully focused on the game. In front of an important match, their only thought is supposed to be their burning desire to win. And, because of that, they must lead a healthy lifestyle: constant exercise and training, appropriate sleeping hours, a healthy diet...

But Renjun’s eyebrows immediately shot up, clearly interested. He’s not sure if he’s understanding.

“Tonight?”

Tomorrow is the game wheere they will finally play against each other. Jeno’s proposal makes him a bit anxious—how can they meet if they play tomorrow at noon? He’s nuts.

“Yes!” but Jeno’s eyes hold a distinct sparkle in them, his tranquil smile doesn’t falter, and he suddenly resembles an excited puppy from his perspective. “We haven’t done much aside from training, eating, sleeping, and competing. What’s the point of coming to Japan if we don’t enjoy it? Let’s go out tonight. We can have some ramen and relax and pretend that our most awaited game isn’t tomorrow. What do you think?”

It’s a hard decision. Renjun stares at the boy in front of him for a whole minute as he ponders his options. Going with Jeno might be an irresponsible and reckless decision. He can’t simply lose focus. But Jeno is right, and the pressure is killing him—also, Jeno is giving him puppy eyes, and his only resource to stop himself from caving in is averting his gaze to the ground. 

Renjun releases a deep sigh, nervous.

“At what time are we meeting?”

And Jeno’s smile gets bigger. Even his eyes sparkle a bit more.

“Midnight. Let’s meet at twelve o’clock by the couches in the lobby, ok?”

And Renjun finds himself agreeing. He doesn’t even have a plan to make his way out of the room without anyone noticing. The words Kun spoke to him a few weeks ago appear in his mind, and for a moment Renjun questions if this could be a nasty tactic to make sure that he isn’t at his best tomorrow.

He’s scared, but maybe this is necessary. Yes, he needs to distract his head from the nerves. He’s so afraid of not being good enough, of not being on the level and looking like someone who only knows how to run his mouth and can’t hold his promises.

He’s been childish. Only focused on winning and full of venom inside him, Renjun feels like he spoke too soon and he should have been more humble. He shouldn’t have been picking on fights, like one of those tiny dogs who think they can be at the same level as a Doberman even if no one gets scared when he barks. He did this to himself, and now he’s feeling insecure.

Renjun is so afraid.

His roommates fall asleep past 11 o’clock. Sicheng sleeps soundly just like Kun, but that doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t be careful when he leaves. Renjun waits and waits for the minutes to pass, and when there are only 10 minutes left, he abandons the comfort of his bed. Then, he tiptoes as he makes his way out, a tad skittish. 

If he hadn’t arranged this nocturne meeting with Jeno, he probably wouldn’t have been able to sleep early anyway. Renjun doesn’t even remember feeling this anxious for the previous games. The fact that they’re battling for a spot in the finals doesn’t help him either. He wears a white sweatshirt (finally one that isn’t related to his country) and pulls the hood over his head—it’s a bit cold outside. Renjun leaves the room barefoot, only putting on his sneakers after he has closed the door behind him.

When he reaches the lobby, it’s empty. He sits there, staring at the bright screen of his phone. His heart hammers inside his chest as he waits, but there isn’t a single trace of Jeno no matter the number of times Renjun raises his head. What if it was a prank? Maybe he was being too naive when he chose to believe him. With every passing second, Renjun gets more and more convinced that this was a strategy to distract him from his goals.

Jeno appears 10 minutes late. He approaches him hurriedly, wearing a black hoodie and a matching mask that covers half of his face.

“Sorry,” he mutters, recovering his breath. It seems like he ran his way down the stairs. “I had to make sure that Donghyuck was really sleeping. Shall we go?”

It’s dark outside. A black blanket with silver glints covers the sky. It’s cold, and their arms rub against each other as they walk. Renjun doesn’t know where they’re going, which makes him realize that at some point he started trusting Jeno.

But Jeno assures him that, even if they can’t go out or go to a fancy restaurant, there is a typical Japanese convenience store somewhere in the big Olympic Village. And Renjun simply chuckles because, truth be told, the simple act of doing this feels freeing.

It feels like a myriad of restrictions are being lifted—like he’s just some guy and not an Olympic athlete who must put his soul into the competition.

“Are you really not nervous?” Jeno suddenly inquires.

“I wouldn’t confide that information in front of you.” His answer makes Jeno laugh. Maybe he expected this kind of remark from him. “You may use it against me, and I won’t let that happen.”

“ Little shit ” Jeno speaks in his mother tongue in between laughter, but Renjun can only frown. He knows some Korean, but sometimes the language is a bit hard for him since he hasn’t really used it since he was a child. Still, Renjun slaps his arm, just in case.

When they finally reach the convenience store, this one is surprisingly empty. There’s low background music coming from the speakers, akin to a whisper that’s only part of his inner thoughts. They buy two cups of instant ramen, and the cashier attempts to indicate to them where they can prepare and eat their food in broken English.

Renjun separates his chopsticks while Jeno takes his mask off.

“I also read that this is your first time playing at the Olympics.” The Korean boy suddenly blurts out as he stirs his food.

Renjun forgot that Jeno confessed that he had been investigating him. He still has a few questions about it, but maybe it’s best if he simply forgets it. Perhaps Jeno was saying the truth when he said that he only wanted to get to know him.

Renjun slurps his noodles and nods.

“Yup. What about you?”

Then he opens his can of soda and takes a sip.

“This is my second time here.”

“Brazil?” Jeno nods with his mouth full of food. “How old were you?”

“Eighteen. It was…” and he takes a moment, leaving his chopsticks inside the cup. “It was hard. I think I wasn’t ready enough, and it took a toll on me. The pressure was suffocating. We lost in the quarterfinals; that game was a nightmare.”

Renjun simply nods, attentive to what Jeno is telling him. Hearing him is interesting, especially because he thought that Jeno had always been the amazing player that he is today—exuding confidence in a way that makes all the eyes turn his way as soon as he steps foot on the court. When the ball is in Jeno’s hands and he glances at the other side of the net, he seems sure of what he’s doing and that he can destroy the other team. Renjun can’t picture a nervous Jeno in his head. For him, Jeno can do everything. 

Four years have passed since the experience that Jeno is currently recalling, and he’s not that boy anymore.

“That’s why I understand that things can be hard if you haven’t ever been at such a colossal stadium. It feels like nervousness attempts to swallow you; it paralyzes you on the spot, and you forget how to move.” There’s a pause. Renjun wants to admit that what he describes is exactly how he feels right now. “But I’ve seen you play, and you always look prepared. That’s really good.”

Renjun nods. If Jeno wanted to create an atmosphere that would allow him to be vulnerable and lay out all his secrets as a means to scheme different ways of defeating him, well, he succeeded. Renjun starts spilling out every single thought that remained hidden in his head.

“Yes, but I often feel like I’m not at the level I should be. I could do so much better.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” says Jeno after taking a sip of Coca-Cola. He even rubs Renjun’s hand with his own in a soothing way. “It’s hard, but you can get really far if that’s what you want.”

They eat in silence for a few minutes. Renjun doesn’t stop thinking about their conversation, though, so he leaves his chopsticks inside the bowl and places a hand on Jeno’s thigh to call his attention.

“I…” It’s hard to say something like this out loud. “I think you’re an amazing player. And a bit intimidating.”

Jeno only chuckles—lowly, softly; his head hangs low, and he shrugs. And Renjun wants to believe that the way the tip of his ears reddens has nothing to do with what he has just said. 

“I mean it—as your rival. You look incredible when you play.” And incredibly hot , too , but Renjun prefers not to say that part out loud. Instead, he puts on that defiant expression that has so naturally taken its place on his face for the past few weeks. “But I’ll catch anything you throw. I don’t care if I get bruised everywhere from throwing myself at the ground. I won’t let you have it easy, even if you plan on distracting me with ramen.”

He expects Jeno to counterattack or whatever—their usual routine of sporty insults. Yet the counterattack never comes because Jeno is still chuckling in that way that makes Renjun’s tummy feel funny as he gets closer. And Renjun is looking forward to hearing the other, placing his cheek against his hand. There’s a cheeky smirk on Jeno’s face, and Renjun doesn’t know if he wants to punch him or do something else . 

“Aren’t you embarrassed to admit that your world revolves around me, little one?”

And Renjun places a hand on Jeno’s head, slowly sliding it by the side of his face until he reaches Jeno’s cheek. He caresses it carefully without ever looking away. Renjun acts like his own cheeks aren’t all flushed.

“Shut up,” he mutters lowly. “You’re not as important as you think you are, baobei .”

“Come on, look at you. Since you arrived in Tokyo, you’ve only been talking about me and how much you hate me and how much you want to defeat me to get the medal. All your attention is on me . Did you really think that I invited you so you could lose focus and lose the game tomorrow?”

And Renjun doesn’t know how to defend himself. The only thing he can do is clutch tightly at his chopsticks as he fills his mouth with cheap instant ramen.

“Stupid pretentious bastard, I hope you break your arms,” he begrudgingly mutters in Chinese. 

Jeno laughs.

When they leave the store and walk back to their dorm, they chat about meaningless, non-volleyball-related things as if they were simple 22-year-old guys. Renjun likes this feeling. Jeno makes him feel comfortable, and they get along really well when they’re not bickering like a pair of kids.

Jeno stops walking when they’re a block away from their dorm. This time he grabs Renjun by the hand, and the boy doesn’t even pretend that he’s not staring at them before looking into Jeno’s eyes, confused. There’s that tint of softness and honesty in them again—the same one as the time he asked Renjun if he had hurt himself. There’s something so raw in his expression that Renjun submits, willing to show himself bare again. Something churns inside him, and his heart jumps excitedly.

“I know we’re rivals and we’re supposed to hate each other and everything, although you know that I never really hated you. Still, I want to tell you that I like the way you play, and I expect you to use your full potential tomorrow. Got it?”

Renjun nods, suppressing any feelings that might have arisen upon hearing Jeno’s praises. A stranger’s compliments are one thing; an expert’s are another, but it’s totally different when the person who is competing against him is the one who compliments him. Renjun feels triumphant, an ego boost—Jeno’s compliments are the best.

“Do well tomorrow. Good luck.” And he finishes by putting a hand on top of Renjun’s head, the way he does when he wants to emphasize their height difference.

“You too.”

None of them shows signs of wanting to let go of the other’s hand and start walking again. After a taste of freedom, it’s hard to let it go, even if it’s late and they must go to bed before anyone notices that they’re missing.

Jeno’s the one who speaks again.

“We could make a bet.”

Oh, Renjun loves the sound of that.

“What do you propose?”

Jeno pretends to think.

“The loser must take any of the winner’s requests.”

Renjun seems a bit shocked at his idea, but he likes it. If he wins, he will ask for Jeno’s white windbreaker, the one that says ‘SOUTH KOREA’ on the back side. He would hang it in his room to remember the taste of victory from time to time, akin to a hunter with a prey’s head. He wouldn’t wear it, though. That’s not a nice look since it’s characteristic of another country that’s not his. People wouldn’t like the look of that. But Renjun would take it as a souvenir from the day he crushed Jeno’s team.

“You seem confident.”

But Jeno simply shrugs, a smirk dancing on his sealed lips that seem to hold a secret that only Jeno knows. They start walking again.

It’s past 1 o’clock when they reach their dorms. They stop holding hands only after crossing the main door. Renjun goes upstairs at a quick pace, and when he enters the code at the door of their room, he feels like a teen who has been doing bad stuff behind his parents’ back. The rush of adrenaline is making his heart beat like crazy, and his cheeks are hot. 

He’s uncovering the bed when he feels Chenle move on his own. And Renjun freezes on his spot. Chenle supports himself with his elbow on the mattress and stares directly at Renjun, who would feel intimidated if it weren’t for the way his hair is funnily pointing in every possible direction.

Finally, the boy shakes his head, judging him.

“I’m not telling anyone, but you owe me an explanation. And it better be juicy, Huang.”

🏐. . .

His heart is hammering like crazy—Renjun can feel it beating in his throat. The venue is full of people, and all the players are already in their respective positions on the court. On the other side of the net stands their opponents—the team that Renjun has been watching since his first morning in Tokyo. They’re waiting for the referee to blow the whistle, marking the beginning of the first set of the first game of the semi-finals. 

Jeno is in the second position, in the upper right corner, and when Renjun carefully scans the opposing team—people with whom he has crossed paths plenty of times, like when Jisung offers him water after their morning jog or when Donghyuck places a hand on his shoulder to greet him with a cheerful smile—he makes eye contact with Jeno. 

Sicheng would say that Jeno is his mortal enemy, and Jeno himself would say that Renjun’s world revolves around him; however, at this exact moment, Renjun decides that, although his hatred is long forgotten in the past, Jeno is the person he must defeat to determine his worth as a volleyball player. He must crush him down and let him know that he’s not below him. 

Renjun feels his heartbeat getting louder. He feels it everywhere—on his throat, on his ears—and his frown deepens.

There’s the sound of the whistle finally being blown, and Kun prepares to serve. The ball flies through the sky, but Donghyuck is quick to get it. The entire team moves in complete synchrony, akin to a perfected choreography that they have danced to countless times. Then, Jeno sets the ball high enough for Jaemin to get it and hit it. The slap of his hand produces a loud, imposing sound against the leather. The ball bounces on the floor, and Renjun doesn’t even get to react and move where he was supposed to. 

He stands there, blinking, speechless.

They steal the service from them, and South Korea performs its first rotation. Jeno takes the ball and prepares himself; he makes it bounce a few times before throwing it in the air. When he jumps, his posture is perfect. His body floats high, and his arm connects with the ball. Renjun observes how it crosses the entire court, and when he interrupts its journey, he realizes that his rival aimed the ball directly at him. It hurts when it collides against his skin, and his forearms turn a pinkish shade. But it doesn’t matter as long as he avoids contact between the ball and the ground.

He won’t let them score another point.

The game progresses; the air is tense, his sneakers squeak when he runs, and the sound his knees make when they hit the ground is deep, yet it’s hidden among the sound of the running steps of the other players that rush to get in their positions. The ball can’t touch the ground. His sweat drips down his forehead and wets his blonde fringe and the skin of his temples; his breathing is more and more uneven with every passing second. China has scored a fair share of points, taking the lead—if they manage to score a couple more, the first set will finish, although the way South Korea trails behind their feet is worrisome. Their scores are too similar for them to relax.

Their blocking wall is strong. It’s almost surprising to see the usually timid Park Jisung move with so much determination. His reflexes are so incredible that even when Chenle directs his attack to an unexpected point, Jisung manages to decipher its direction and block it. Not only that, but Donghyuck is a quick libero, saving the ball even if he only uses the tip of his fingers.

They must keep this pace throughout the rest of the game, even if the other team is giving them a hard time. Renjun’s eyes should be on the ball only, and he must play like he has never played before. They're battling for a spot in the finals, and he must be the one who takes his team there.

The referee blows the whistle and makes a signal with his arms. The first set has finished, and China has won by a difference of only 3 points. Renjun dries the sweat off his forehead and gulps a bottle of water. His arms are bright red. No one utters a single word. They haven’t had a game this uncertain in the entire season—like they’re pushing and pulling with the same strength on both sides. But China has the lead now. 

Losing the first set has a great impact on the team’s mood, and even though they can flip the board, pressure weighs more.

Unfortunately, this change in mood is evident once they return to court. The Korean players seem to be equipped with renewed vigor. Even their gazes are more full of determination in a sort of intimidating way, ready to annihilate anyone who dares to cross their path. It makes Renjun wonder whether they were not using their full potential before. It’s a tad scary, and even when Renjun was never confident, he feels even more doubtful.

This is not the moment to question his skills. Not when Jeno is on the other side of the net, leading his team like the great captain he is. His services are stronger than before; sometimes Renjun can’t even prepare himself when they suddenly hit his shoulder and bounce against the floor, leaving him aching. It’s like Jeno is directing the ball at him because he knows Renjun is not good enough to stop what he throws—a way to mock him for being weak. And when Jeno raises his gaze, his dark eyes meet his, giving the poor libero an almost inconspicuous smirk. It makes Renjun’s blood boil, as he feels laughed at. Jeno is telling him that someone like him should have never messed with him—Renjun is nothing but an ant fighting for his life in an attempt to not be stepped on.

His breath gets caught in his throat. The South Korean team is using strategies that have never been shown before, and although Renjun runs across their side of the net, he is unable to reach Jaemin’s fast attacks. So he stays there, laying on the ground with a frown on his face and an extended arm as the spheric object rolls away from his body.

What’s a great way to make them weaker if scratching their ego only makes them stronger? Even Chenle seems suddenly nervous—a confident player who has been playing volleyball and shocking the world since he learned how to walk. Every single one of his attacks is stopped by that imposing wall that prevents the ball from coming into their side.

It’s like they have stolen the great wall of their beloved homeland and brought it here to use it against them.

The worst part is that this game has been especially demanding yet not fructiferous  at all. Renjun keeps moving incessantly from one side to the other without caring about the state of his own body, and it’s stabbing him like a double-edged sword. His frustration only grows as he notices that he hasn’t accomplished a single thing, yet his body feels weaker and weaker. His arms and legs feel heavy, and yet South Korea is still in front of them.

China loses the next two sets. There are two more to go—two opportunities to flip the board. However, if Korea wins the next one, it will have obtained the three needed to win the match, finishing the game.

They must overcome it, yet his body is so heavy.

Renjun feels trapped, like he’s fighting for his life. Desperation crawls up his throat, and tiredness makes him want to throw up. And his heart pumps ferociously while all the adrenaline attempts to swallow him.

The fourth set has begun, and after a couple of rotations, Renjun finds himself in the front line. His coach doesn’t signal him to leave the court—like he would usually do, taking advantage of the faculty that his role gives him as the position doesn’t favor him much—so he stays there. Renjun understands; he can’t leave when they need someone as agile as him in the defense. Jeno is currently in the third position, where the middle blocker would be. They’re waiting for Sicheng to serve the ball, and as they do, Renjun swiftly glances at Jeno.

There’s something odd about him. Confidence drips from his body like it usually does; he stands straight with his chin raised, observing everyone with sharp eyes as a means of telling them to avoid hindering his reign in the court. At the same time, though, Jeno plays like he wants to prove to everyone why he’s there, with a strong desire to show that he’s unbeatable, someone who will never give up.

“You look tinier from here, Smurfette,” Renjun hears him mumble. Although Jeno is chuckling because he knows he has the upper hand, Renjun remains silent. Usually, he would get irritated and get all feisty, yet now there’s only one goal in his mind, and that’s not losing, no matter if the opponent is trying to distract him. “Tired much?”

“ Shut the fuck up, ” Renjun mutters in Chinese with his eyes fixed on his sneakers to avoid looking Jeno in the eye. His hands protect his skull from the ball.

The sphere is up in the air, everybody runs at the other side of the net, and Renjun immediately moves to the back until he notices the kind of attack the other team is preparing. A feint. Sicheng and Chengxin don’t even notice the way Jaemin is passing the ball over their blocking wall in one swift motion. So Renjun slides on the floor and gets the ball, sending it flying with his forearm. The game goes on. They can’t lose. Although he doesn’t raise it high enough and the direction is not thoroughly thought out, it’s Yangyang, a bit behind him, who raises it much higher, and Chenle takes the opportunity to shoot it at the other side of the net, scoring a point.

Knowing that he’s still useful and that they’re not being crushed down is a small taste of hope. Nonetheless, it doesn’t last long. The game is still going on, and it moves forward in time at a quick pace. 

There are points in which everything feels like a bombing: the ball colliding with his shoulder, his arms, his body; he knows those attacks are especially directed at him because it’s evident that he can no longer stand his own body. Renjun might be used to the ball hitting him, but this is humiliating. Realizing that his efforts do nothing to take them closer to victory is painful, too. 

On some other occasions, Renjun still thinks that they have an opportunity, so he throws himself on his knees, his entire body on the floor, but the ball remains away from him.

Renjun must keep going; he must do it. He’s not a quitter. Even if they lose, he must prove his honor and put his soul into the game.

There’s one point left. South Korea takes the lead with 24 points, while China has only scored 16. Renjun knows everything is lost, but he wants to put everything into this game until the last second. When the ball approaches him, he’s quick to raise it. Kun prepares the attack, and Chenle hits it with full force. However, Donghyuck on the other side prevents it from touching the ground. Then, the ball is in the air again—white, yellow, and blue spinning until they come in contact with Jeno’s fingers.

And Jeno does something no one expected. 

Each side is allowed to touch the ball three times; Jeno was supposed to set the ball for Jaemin or any other player who could end this damned game. Instead, he knows that this match is a battle between him and Renjun, and the best way to annihilate him is with his own hands.

Jeno makes a feint. He softly pushes the ball so it falls right on the other side of the net, sliding until it touches the ground. Renjun is slow at catching what’s going on, thus arriving late. When the referee blows the whistle and makes varying signals with his hands, Renjun stays on the floor, lying down with an extended arm. Jeno, on the other side, stands imposingly, watching for a few seconds before turning around to celebrate with his teammates. 

South Korea has passed to the finals, and they will battle for the silver and gold medals.

Renjun can’t move. The recent events take some time to finally sink in his head, and when they do, Renjun feels an incontrollable impulse to cry. He tries to stand up—there’s still an ounce of dignity within him—yet he can only manage to support himself with his hands and knees as his shoulders shake in a poor attempt to suppress his pathetic cries. 

There’s still an opportunity left to fulfill his dream. They will battle for the bronze. If they win that game, he could take a medal back home. However, this was an important game for him, and he wanted to demonstrate to Jeno that he was the best one.

Perhaps Kun was right all along, and Renjun had been childish. Jeno was stronger, while he was a mere loser. He brought this upon himself, creating a battle that he was bound to lose from the start against an enemy that never existed. And, now, Renjun feels incredibly pathetic; he’s such a failure because he lost despite doing everything he could.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, and when he looks up, he finds Chenle, imperturbed, staring at him from above as he offers him a hand. Renjun then looks around. The joyous shouts of the Korean team feel like torture against his eardrums; on their side of the court, there’s a gloomy cloud shadowing his teammates. The Japanese reporter keeps saying things that Renjun can’t comprehend through the speaker, but he doesn’t attempt to pay attention to what he’s saying once he starts speaking in English.

The only thing Renjun manages to do is hug his friend. Chenle’s arms circle his waist; his body is warm, and it’s so sticky that Renjun can feel the sweat through his shirt. Even if he stinks, Renjun puts his head on his shoulder—he can’t hold back his silent tears any longer. They roll down his cheek, yet Renjun doesn’t let out a single sound—a silent cry to mask his pain as Chenle pats his back.

And when they abandon the court, Renjun fails to notice Jeno’s eyes on him, slowly approaching him. 

🏐. . .

Their way back to the dorms is silent; no one dares to utter a single word. The result was disappointing. They played like never before; they even put their soul into the game, yet it was pointless. It feels like a cold bucket of water waking them up from a reverie—it brings them back to reality, reminding them that there’s always someone better. It doesn’t matter if they’re doing the best they can and boasting about how magnificent their skills are—at the end of the day, only the scoring board will tell who’s best.

Renjun realizes how naive he was, feeding himself on a false illusion that wasn’t close to reality. The only thing he wanted was to reach his goals—to come back home with a golden medal in his hands, knowing that they were the best ones in the world. Renjun feels stupid, only now realizing how immature he was. His eyes are finally open, having woken up from a dream. He should have been more humble, he should have worked harder, and he should have focused on his goals instead of on a silly fight.

He went around telling Jeno that he was going to crush him down because he was better; he kept pushing. Renjun even said that only the court was the witness to who was best, only for the result to be extremely disappointing. Renjun is a failure. Jeno must be thinking that he’s a pathetic loser—and that’s the worst part, because Renjun doesn’t want Jeno to look at him in this state. Renjun hates the idea of Jeno realizing that he’s not enough. His skills are not enough to be considered a great libero. Renjun might be quick, but he’s not a good observer, and he needs to be stronger and think more, too.

For the first time since the moment the Olympic Games started, Renjun finally crumbles under his fears. As soon as they reach the dorms, Renjun lays down on his bed with his face hidden in his pillow, not even caring if Kun, Chenle, and Sicheng are also in the room. He starts crying again without trying to suppress his whines. He’s not enough to be here. He needs to improve; reality is not the way he wants it to be. He’s not at the right level, and this game serves as evidence. 

Renjun is nothing but a loser who only knows how to run his mouth. He shouldn’t be a member of the Olympic team.

He’s not sure how it happens, but at some point, it seems like there aren’t any tears left in his body. He turns around, looking at the wall in a fetal position. His eyes burn a little, and he desperately needs to wipe his snot. But he can’t move, not yet.

Renjun doesn’t want to be here at the Olympics. He doesn’t even believe in himself; there’s no point in trying anymore. He wants to go home, take a flight to China, and stay in his bed in Jilin while his mom caresses his hair and tells him that she’s preparing mala huo guo for him because she knows he loves it and it will make him feel better.

At some point, Kun sits on his bed and pats his back, telling him in a soft and caring tone that he should take a shower to clear his mind and put on more comfortable clothes. Everything happens in a blur. The shower doesn't clear his mind, and Renjun finds himself staring blankly at the ceiling while he wears a pair of shorts and that baggy red hoodie that reads "China" at the back in yellow letters.

The room is silent even when the sky darkens. No one says a single thing after they finish eating, and while the sound of the shower fills the gloomy atmosphere, each of his teammates stays on their beds in silence, only wearing absent expressions. The gray cloud hovering over their heads is contagious.

Renjun recognizes how naive he was. The Olympics are nowhere near any of the tournaments he used to attend when he was a mere teen who could amaze ignorant eyes with his skills. There was pressure pushing on his back; millions of people in his homeland were expecting something from the team. He’s playing against the best ones in the world; there was no reason for him to believe that he had a chance.

Even if he drenched in sweat and covered his skin with purple bruises when he trained, Renjun could have done much better. Being an Olympic athlete is already an achievement, but he wanted a medal—not any medal, but the gold one. In his dream, people admired him as he came back home to a family that felt proud of him. But now Renjun is a loser, and so is the rest of the team. He couldn’t make it to the finals, and the mere thought evokes the feeling of a knot in his throat.

He could have done so much better.

Renjun is still lost in his own thoughts when a distant knocking appears. He’s not sure if it’s real or if he just made it up; at some point, his surroundings became blurry, time started moving in a weird way, and it feels like the world is him and his thoughts only. Like he’s not in that room at all. 

His eyes are swollen. 

Sicheng is currently sleeping in the bed near the big window, and Chenle, laying on his stomach in the middle one, seems rather focused on his video game. The only things filling their room are the middle blocker’s light breathing, the tunes of the game coming from the device, and the sound of water running in the bathroom. And, at the back of the scene, the knocking doesn’t cease. 

Renjun finally accepts that it’s there when a frustrated Chenle starts complaining about how people shouldn’t be bothering others at this time of the night as he stomps his way to the door.

“Who the fuck is knocking? Shouldn’t they be in their own room? We didn’t call anyone.”

Chenle keeps muttering under his breath before opening the door. Renjun looks at him through the corner of his eye without moving at all. The person outside—dark hair styled in an undercut and a white windbreaker that reads ‘SOUTH KOREA’ in it—has turned around, about to leave, thus giving them a perfect view of their back. The person turns around slowly with tremulous eyes, in the same way someone who regrets their impulses would do. His eyes become as wide as plates, akin to a surprised deer in the road when bright lights start to approach it. 

Jeno looks nervous for the first time.

“Be quick,” Chenle hurries him, and Jeno jumps in his place upon hearing him.

“Is Renjun in there?” His voice, on the brink of becoming a whisper, sounds anxious.

When Jeno speaks, he sounds like he’s doubting his own actions, not sure of what’s exactly the right thing to do at the moment, only following his impulses and gut feeling. If he makes the wrong move, he’ll be screwed. Renjun believes that he has never seen Jeno like this—not in the weeks he has known him. He’s seen Jeno angry, vulnerable, and even caring, and, of course, the Jeno he knows is a confident and ferocious volleyball player. Renjun hasn’t seen him like this: insecure, nervous, overthinking every move he makes. Jeno stands tense in his place as his eyes scan each centimeter in the room, and when Sicheng wakes up and frowns, Jeno even jumps a little before swallowing hard.

Seeing and hearing Jeno brings Renjun back to reality. The Korean setter came to their room to grab him by the arm and pull him back to the real world and out of his head. And Renjun finally realizes that he’s still there, in the Olympic Village in Tokyo, in the middle of the Olympic Games, and his Olympic dream is crashing down on the floor, about to break into a million pieces. A melting ice cube that slowly becomes water, liquid enough to be impossible to hold.

Everyone is looking at him. Sicheng, half-asleep; Chenle, interested; and Jeno, timid. Renjun rises to his feet automatically and approaches the door.

He probably looks like a mess. His hair, which Kun so kindly blew dry, points in every direction; his expression is akin to someone who has just lost their dog; and his eyes are swollen from all the crying. He doesn’t bother to cover himself with his hood.

“Can I talk to you in private?” Jeno asks, and his expression looks foreign on his face. Usually, Jeno puts on a confident front with his raised chin as he looks down at everyone who passes around him with that cold and stoic expression that has earned him a certain reputation among the other volleyball teams participating in the tournament. 

But Renjun feels so gloomy that he can barely nod before reaching for his sneakers and leaving the room. He doesn’t have much to say—it’s not like he’s in the mood for conversation either.

They walk in silence, their shoulders bumping against each other from time to time. It feels weird—Renjun’s soul has left his body. A somber gaze stuck to the floor. Jeno doesn’t say anything either, seemingly embarrassed. Sometimes Jeno would side-eye him and sigh, clearly debating with himself in his own head. They walk across the building before reaching a small yet enticing garden with a terrace behind the building. There are various flowers and benches where they sit.

The atmosphere is awkward.

“Renjun,” Jeno calls his name, and the boy immediately raises his head like a kid pretending that he’s always been awake. Renjun is brought back to the real world. “I... well, I don’t know how to say this, but I’m really sorry for, you know, making you lose and taking your dream away.”

Renjun stays silent, only averting his gaze. The way Jeno says it is completely raw and cruel. Jeno’s ability to make him feel all mushy inside is unfair; he shouldn’t be making Renjun feel nervous all of a sudden, and Renjun shouldn’t be thinking about this right now as a form of escapism. But Renjun dares to admit that Jeno is definitely the most interesting thing he encountered in Tokyo. And it’s unfair, because it was Jeno himself who stepped on him and robbed him of the opportunity to bring a gold medal back to China—it was Jeno who won, even after Renjun prophesied that he was going to be the winner.

Jeno takes his hand, always delicate, and Renjun is unsure of his feelings. Despite everything, Renjun can’t blame him. Even when it’s true that all the pressure made him feel like a complete failure, winning and losing are part of life. Not everything will go the way one wishes it would. Renjun couldn’t do much against someone who was objectively better and more experienced.

“I know you’re sad, but you did really well today. No, you were the best one out there, and you really gave us a hard time. Even if you lost, no one can take that from you. You are incredible.”

At this point, Renjun has started crying again—his third time in one day. This time, however, there’s a smile on his face while he silently asks Jeno if he’s being sincere with his eyes. His vision is blurry, but Jeno makes sure to wipe away the tears that have rolled down his cheek.

“Because you are here at the Olympic Games, your country put its faith in you, and you managed to get to the semi-finals, which isn’t a small achievement. You won against many countries and kicked them out of the competition. And it was thanks to you, who are quick and agile, and you told me that you could stop every ball I threw at you, and that’s what you did. I saw you put everything into the game. You tried hard without giving up. Not many people can do that.”

The boy nods—his eyes are red and his cheeks wet.

“Do you really think so?” Renjun asks in a low tone. His voice is shaky, but Jeno immediately smiles at him.

Of course he does.

Then Jeno taps his thighs. At first, Renjun doesn’t understand the gesture; it takes him a few seconds to decode Jeno’s message. He’s inviting him to sit on his lap. It’s embarrassing; the position suggests a certain level of intimacy between them that Renjun is not ready to acknowledge, and someone could come and see the way Renjun is being comforted in the same way a child is after a tantrum—he would hate being perceived that way. It doesn’t matter, though, because Renjun does stand up from his position to get comfortable in the Korean setter’s lap. Jeno is so quick to circle his waist with his arm, like he had been waiting to do it for ages, and then he starts playing with his fingers. Renjun melts in his warmth.

Maybe it’s time to admit that Jeno makes him feel great—warm, safe, and a tad giddy.

 “I’m so proud of you, Renjun,” Jeno whispers against his ear. “I say it as your rival, and I think I’m not the only one who feels like this. Didn’t you say that this was your first time playing at the Olympics? Not reaching the finals is not the end of the world; maybe next time you can win. And you can still earn the bronze medal. Not everything is lost.”

And for the first time today, Renjun finds himself laughing. His eyes hold a certain glimmer provoked by the tears; they become really small, and he throws his head back as the laughter vibrates in his chest.

“I would love to, Jeno. I have to work really hard first, but I promise next time I’m gonna be the winner.”

Now he sounds like the usual Renjun. His voice doesn’t hold an ounce of malice. Jeno smiles and invites him to put his head on his shoulder. “Let me comfort you for a few seconds more,” he murmurs, and Renjun can’t find a single logical reason to oppose this kind of treatment. They fall into a comfortable silence while Jeno lovingly pats his blonde hair, and Renjun finally gives in and hugs him tighter to drown in his warmth.

He can’t lie to himself; Renjun feels much better than before. It’s not the end of the world yet, and he still has a career ahead of him. More opportunities will come. His task from now on is to train more, work harder, and keep improving. Moreover, there’s still a match left. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he let his own feelings and that dark cloud floating above his head win and impact his performance. 

Jeno has that sort of effect on him. He makes Renjun feel calmer, with his feet on the ground. Renjun wants to stay this way for a long time. This is the perfect moment: just sitting on his lap while they hug in silence under the starry night, as if they were the only ones in the world. 

As if they weren’t rivals.

Some minutes pass before Jeno speaks again.

“Hey,” he calls. Renjun only moves his head in acknowledgement to tell him that he’s paying attention without moving much. His eyes are getting drowsy. “You owe me something.”

It takes Renjun a few seconds to remember their bet. Their stupid bet. Renjun immediately scowls, adding a defeated sigh for dramatic effect.

“Don’t rub it on my face, please,” the boy whines, but Jeno only chuckles as he shakes his head.

Jeno wouldn’t hurt his feelings on purpose.

“Oh, Jeno, what do you want from me? Am I not miserable enough?” Renjun whines, pouting exaggeratedly.

Jeno shakes his head again, unable to contain his chuckles. Renjun can be so funny to watch sometimes, although Renjun doesn’t get it. He crosses his arms in front of his chest with accusatory eyes.

“It can be anything, right?” Renjun pretends to reflect on the question, imagining the worst possible scenario. His verdict is that he should hear it first and then decide. “Okay. In that case, promise me that you won’t think this is weird.”

Renjun raises an eyebrow, and Jeno blushes. The skeptical expression on the Chinese libero’s face is accentuated.

“Give me a good luck kiss.” Jeno’s voice is deep when he speaks. All of a sudden, Renjun is overly conscious of their position. “That’s the only thing I’ll ask for. Do you think you could accept my request?”

Renjun feels his cheeks get insanely warmer. Jeno is asking him for a kiss, and even though Renjun is able to tell the hint of anxiety in his overall demeanor, those puppy eyes are doing an excellent job at trying to persuade him. Jeno looks at him like he’s begging, and that makes Renjun feel mightier. 

He might not admit it out loud because Renjun is really into his role as the rival, but he recognizes that Jeno is attractive and incredibly irresistible. God, he’s so hot, and Renjun is going insane trying to pretend that he doesn’t think so. It’s such an honor to have someone like him beg for his attention and a kiss.

Maybe Jeno was the winner, but Renjun loves how he seems so willing to eat from his hand. Perhaps when Jeno teased him by saying that Renjun shouldn’t show that Jeno is the only thing on his mind, he was talking from experience. The Korean boy did tease him throughout the entire tournament, like a middle schooler who doesn’t know how to ask for attention from his crush. At that moment, Renjun can admit that Jeno made his first Olympic Games more interesting, and, yes, he was right when he said that he was the only thing in Renjun’s head—even if it’s embarrassing.

Renjun wants this fervently, only noticing when his body moves in automatic mode. His arms circle Jeno’s neck, and his fingers immediately start to play with the hairs at the back of his head. Their breath gets tangled with each                                                                     other’s, and Jeno’s arms hold him from his narrow waist. He has this tiny smile on his face, the kind that makes his eyes go all tiny. If he doesn’t do it right now, Renjun will regret it his entire life. 

Who in their right mind would reject a kiss from the hottest volleyball player in Tokyo? After all, he’s South Korea’s captain and star player—a finalist who will soon wear a bright medal around his neck. Only an idiot would reject him.

The kiss is short, pure, and tender. Jeno’s lips are soft, and Renjun can feel his smile against his own.

“If I win the gold, I’ll say that it was all thanks to you, my little lucky charm,” he whispers, and Renjun is sure that he will start melting if Jeno keeps using that deep voice of his.

One is not enough, and Renjun can’t stop staring at his lips.

“Isn’t it ironic, though? I’m a loser; why am I the lucky charm?” Renjun raises his eyebrows self-sufficiently. There’s a beat of silence. “I mean, I think I’m the one in need of luck if I want a medal. I think we should kiss again, just in case.”

“I can give you a consolation kiss.” And the stupid bastard smirks as he moves his fringe out of his forehead—it’s the same smirk he wears when he starts teasing Renjun. Jeno can get so conceited, so Renjun slaps him in the arm.

“So what you’re saying is that I’m going to lose again. Is that it?”

“I didn’t say that! I meant that you need to be comforted after losing today.”

It’s a poor excuse, but Renjun still pretends to think it through.

“Hm, I guess you’re right,” and he even adds a dramatic sigh, shoulders slumping and everything. “I’m still pretty hurt, you know?”

And Renjun doesn’t need to say more. Jeno holds his chin, always delicate, and kisses his pout. He doesn’t stop there. They keep on kissing until Jeno promises that this amount of kisses will secure him a place on the podium, winning against the USA.

Although Renjun is still disappointed about his performance, now he understands that it was the hardest game in the entire tournament, and he did the best he could. Perhaps every bad thing brings something great as a form of compensation, and maybe losing wasn’t entirely terrible if it meant that Jeno would be kissing him like this. It’s cruel. Jeno himself annihilated him, but Renjun accepts his apology anyway.

Jeno might have helped him understand that not everything is lost. There’s still another opportunity, and worrying about playing against Jeno is finally out of the picture, allowing him to relax a bit. His next rival is no one else but himself. Renjun must put effort into doing better and becoming an improved version of the libero who has been playing throughout the entire Olympics.

Renjun comes back to his room much later, and when he closes the door behind him, all his roommates stare at him with confused expressions upon noticing that he has regained his will to live. He looks much calmer, even less drowsy—there’s a tiny smile on his face, even if he keeps trying to hide it. 

This is the same guy who was crying nonstop in his bed four hours ago.

No one utters a word until Chenle finally connects the dots and starts shaking his head, clicking his tongue, and everything.

“Huang Renjun,” he murmurs at first. Renjun catches the teasing tone under the disapproving expression. “You really are something.”

But Renjun only chuckles. He’s loyal to his team and his country; he would never betray them, and he hopes his teammates understand that his love life has nothing to do with the scoreboard. Renjun knows that Chenle is a tease, and he also knows that no one in the team has a reason to doubt his word.

When they practice the next day, Renjun doesn’t feel the nagging pressure of proving his worth to anyone who may be watching him. He feels calmer. His only goal is to show what he can do by doing his best. There aren’t other thoughts in his head. South Korea was a strong rival, but that thing of establishing individual rivalries really messed up his brain and clouded his sight. 

Renjun acted selfishly.

Now, at least, he’s aware that a calmer mind will make his brain cells feel much more active, thus making him think about his strategies more carefully. This, of course,  doesn’t mean that he doesn’t want to win against the USA—his goals are the same, except that this time they aren’t covered in toxic hatred. He wants to put China’s name in a good spot.

Renjun wouldn’t say that he’s feeling overly confident today, but he believes he can do it. Not because he thinks he’s the best in the world and an invincible force; instead, Renjun is being the most objective and neutral he has ever been during this tournament. If he knows where he is, he will know where to place his next step.

After practicing and showering, Renjun heads to the dining hall. Jeno sits with him, and they talk about their next games as they eat until the Korean boy invites him to his room. Renjun analyzes the invitation, but he accepts anyway. Jeno is the most interesting thing that happened to him in Tokyo—spending time with him is evidently more fun than practicing and lying on his bed in his room.

They make their way upstairs until they reach the third floor on the opposite side of the building. They stop in front of a door. Renjun watches Jeno enter the code, and when he does, the first thing they see is a Donghyuck who laughs stridently on his bed while watching a Japanese animation. There’s a second of silence, and Renjun takes the moment to absorb the image in front of him. The room looks pretty much the same as his. Jeno clears his throat, and Donghyuck finally realizes that they’ve been standing in the doorway.

Renjun, wearing his typical red hoodie, stands shyly behind Jeno’s shoulder, his hand holding onto Jeno’s fingers delicately.

The boy inside the room raises an eyebrow.

“So you don’t want to murder each other anymore?”

“Where are your manners?”

“Oh, right, right…” Donghyuck straightens up in his spot and rises to his feet, grabbing his phone. Then he walks to the door, and when he passes beside them, he puts on the same cheerful customer service voice he always uses when he greets Renjun with a wide smile and a hand on his shoulder. “Hi, Renjun! Nice seeing you today. I hope you get the bronze tomorrow.”

And saying that, he enters the room next door.

It sends a shiver down Renjun’s spine.

Laying on his side on the bed, Renjun places his hand under his head. Jeno, in front of him, smiles with his eyes; his cheeks are full, and the corners of his lips are curved. Renjun speaks like they’re not sharing such a compressed space, and Jeno’s face isn’t incredibly close to his own.

“Thank you,” he mutters, avoiding eye contact. Honesty makes Renjun feel weak. “Not only for what you did yesterday, but for taking care of me that day I fell. I don’t remember telling you. Oh, and for taking me to eat ramen and for making me feel better even if I was, you know, the rival. You still encouraged me and attempted to make me feel better.”

Jeno nods silently. At some point, he closed his eyes.

“I think you really helped me put my feet on the ground again.”

“Aren’t you worried about tomorrow?”

Jeno only opens one eye to look at the way Renjun shakes his head tight-lipped—it makes his cheeks look rounder.

“I mean, of course I want to win, but it’s best if I don’t worry too much, or else I won’t be able to focus.”

“It’s nice to hear that.”

They stay in silence for a few seconds, as if they were only coexisting in the same space, breathing the same air. Their breathing is calm, like a drowsy blanket covering them. Their legs are messily intertwined.

“You must win tomorrow,” whispers Renjun, “to make things worth it. There’s no point in winning against me if you’re going to screw your chances in the final, am I right?”

And Jeno laughs with no trace of worry on his face. He always looks ready and determined, self-aware of his abilities and limitations and how to rely on his team to cover them up. Maybe Renjun can learn from him.

They shift in the bed, and now Renjun lies on his back with his hands over his belly. His thumbs play with each other nervously. Jeno places an arm on his waist, then, and Renjun might lean one of his cheeks against Jeno’s shoulder.

“Can I confess something?” He whispers again, barely audible, as if he were to tell his biggest secret. Jeno is interested. “I admire you. A lot.”

“Why?”

Renjun looks up at him.

“You’re a great player, and you always look like you know what you’re doing. Everyone can tell that you know your team and that you’ve earned their trust.” There’s a bit of silence, and when he speaks again, Renjun manages to make his voice even tinier. “I think I’d love to become that kind of player.”

Jeno’s entire body vibrates when he laughs. It’s something embarrassing to admit, especially for someone like Renjun. He admires Jeno, even after prophesying that he wasn’t as cool as everyone made him out to be. Now that their feelings have changed, Renjun can admit the things he was too afraid to say out loud.

“You can achieve that with time,” says Jeno, pulling Renjun closer to his body. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Renjun shifts his spot once more, this time to face Jeno. He puts a hand on the other’s chest, and without giving him time to prepare, Renjun grabs him by the cheek to kiss him. It’s slow, and even though Jeno wasn’t ready, his hand finds its way to grab Renjun by the hip, diving into the kiss. When they tear apart from each other’s embrace, the Korean setter raises an eyebrow in a questioning manner. The libero shrugs, claiming that he needs luck for tomorrow’s game. It makes no sense, but Jeno doesn’t contradict him; instead, he grabs Renjun by the nape to pull their mouths together again.

They kiss lazily for a few more minutes. Perhaps Renjun started it to avoid confronting his own vulnerability.

“Sorry for being mean,” mutters Renjun after a while, and his lips brush Jeno’s when he does. He only replies with a hum. “I really thought you had something against me, so I got all defensive.”

“It was amusing,” says Jeno, finally taking some distance. “You looked so determined to hate me for no reason at all.”

“How embarrassing…” Renjun looks away. “Kun even scolded me. Said that I was acting like a child.”

And Jeno nods in agreement. Well, it’s not like Renjun can change the past—he did behave like a bratty kid. He was the one who claimed to spend a great time in Tokyo making new friends but only established a nonsensical rivalry against South Korea’s setter and captain.

“Do you want to know the funniest part?” Renjun wants to say no. “I genuinely thought you were cute. I probably didn’t even notice that I kept staring at you, yet you thought I was judging you because I hated you. It was annoying, to be honest.”

Jeno shifts in his place before explaining his point, and Renjun feels like he will die out of embarrassment if he hears another word leave Jeno’s mouth. He’s getting all red, the same color as his sweatshirt. 

“Because I wanted to get closer to you, but you were always angry. Teasing you at least guaranteed that I would get your attention.”

“That’s a bit childish too, Lee Jeno. You’re no better than me.”

They look at each other for a second before bursting into laughter. Their situation was incredibly ridiculous.

Tomorrow, both of them will be candidates for different medals. China is aiming for the bronze, while South Korea will be battling for either the gold or the silver. It’s their last game for the two of them, and after they finish and the referee blows the whistle, the tournament will have ended. Their Olympic experience will have reached its end, and they will be returning home. Renjun expects to come back with a medal dangling from his neck, one that will make everyone around him proud.

It’s a tad scary. Making it this far not only means that they have improved to reach great things, but it also means that the limits they must surpass are even more challenging.

Renjun makes his way back to his room past eleven o’clock when Jaemin opens the door, only to find him dozing off on Jeno’s bed while this one leaves a kiss on his temple. The sound of the door opening makes them jump in surprise, and the poor Chinese boy jolts away, staring at the newcomer with eyes as big as plates. Jaemin stays glued at the doorway, standing awkwardly as if asking them if he’s allowed into his own bedroom too.

After checking the time, Renjun gets up and mutters that he should go to his own room. Wishing them a nice game tomorrow, he leaves to cross the entire building to get to his bed.

Tomorrow is an important day.

The first game of the game is the one that will decide who will take 3rd and 4th place between China and the USA. The venue is full—there are a myriad of journalists from all over the world ready to write articles about them, and even the TV is ready to take the best shots of the game. Renjun stands straight, observing the scenario displayed in front of his eyes, when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Chenle smiles at him when he whispers, “I trust you.” And that’s Renjun’s favorite thing to hear from his teammates—they trust him to keep the ball in the air.

Renjun can do it. He’s calm. This is his last opportunity to reach the goal that he has been grazing with the tip of his fingers for a while. If he loses, he will go back home empty-handed. Also, Renjun feels awake; nothing can distract him right now, and he will be able to read his rival’s every move.

And when the game finishes, Renjun can’t believe the results. He stays in his place, dumbfounded. He can’t believe this happened; he must have created this scenario in his head. Those three sets can’t be real. His ragged breathing, the sweat dripping across his face, and Renjun staring at his hands in an attempt to remind himself that this is reality.

Beside him, his teammates jump in excitement, shouting joyously. Chenle runs to him and grabs him by the waist, successfully lifting Renjun up, and when Renjun turns his head to stare at his friend with the sparkliest eyes, he’s already wearing the brightest smile on his face.

“We did it! We did it!”

Suddenly, Kun calls them over with a waving hand. He attempts to engulf all his members in a group hug, but the result is endearingly impossible. There are a bunch of warm, sweaty bodies squeezing each other, hugging, and tearing up in joy. And Renjun wonders if this is the feeling he was looking for. This is how victory feels, this is the feeling of knowing that he has finally achieved something and that he can reach his own goals. The wings on his back are pushing him to achieve even greater things.

Third place. Renjun will be able to carry a medal with him when he returns home. Bronze will adorn his neck prettily, just like he wanted. Perhaps he didn’t play in the finals game, but he still did it thanks to his own efforts and all the dedication that he put into the sport he loves. At this moment, Renjun feels powerful. All the sweat and tears were worth it, just like all the time he spent lying down on the gym’s floor after an exhaustive training session—while his chest kept heaving up and down, the ball rolled on the floor, and his friends sat next to him gulping entire bottles of water.

And Renjun knows he deserves this—he poured his soul into it. His arms and legs might be full of bruises, and maybe desperation threatened to swallow him whole, but Renjun still gave his best effort. And he’s thankful for never giving up and deciding to try again after he had lost and believed that everything was lost. But, of course, he’s the most thankful for his team’s trust in him and his role—they accompanied him and covered his weaknesses.

In the future, Renjun must get stronger and reach first place, but there’s still time left for that. In the present, Renjun is satisfied. Playing volleyball is what he loves the most, and he would do anything to prevent the ball from touching the ground.

The last game of the entire tournament is set to begin in a few hours. It’s the most important one in the entire championship, and the entire world has its eyes set on the final outcome of the match. The Chinese and American teams take their places in the bleachers to observe how it unfolds. Both competitors are quite strong, and the environment is filled with such tension that no one can predict who may win.

Renjun watches with his arms crossed in front of his chest, especially focused as Chenle comments on their moves beside him, being way too expressive whenever something surprising happens. They expect South Korea to win, and it may pass as some sort of Asian comradery—just a bunch of Asian guys supporting their fellas—but deep inside they know it’s because not only are they a strong team, but they have also formed bonds with the Korean players. Of course they would want the best for them after receiving so much of their attention and hospitality on repeated occasions.

Renjun’s leg hasn’t stopped bouncing nervously since the fifth set began. The game feels endless, and the various exclamations from the members of each team are an indication of how focused they are.

Jeno plays volleyball like he was born to do it—the court is his natural habitat, and his only life goal is to be an amazing volleyball player. He pants in his spot, and then he wipes the sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt as he waits for the other team to serve the ball. His pupils are soaked in determination, as he is extremely focused. Nothing can disturb him. When he moves to reach the ball and set it for Jaemin, he does it graciously and in a way that only he can do it. It’s almost automatic, as if he weren’t putting an ounce of effort into his moves, even if he’s currently drenched in sweat. Jeno is incredibly connected to the rest of his team—he always sets the ball at the right speed, height, and distance so his teammates can perform the move they want even without exchanging a special signal.

It’s almost astonishing. The Korean team has amazing members; Jeno is not the only one who makes everyone’s jaws drop. Jaemin is quick and strong, and whenever he jumps, the audience can visualize the invisible wings in his back. Jisung is like a strong concrete wall fencing their side of the court. And Donghyuck—using a uniform that differs in colors, he has the fastest reflexes; if the ball manages to surpass Jisung’s wall, then Donghyuck will most likely save it.

They’re all excellent at what they do, but they also play like a true team, combining their strengths with their teammates’ in order to become invincible. Everyone can be the star on a team like this one.

The referee blows the whistle, indicating the end of the game. The scoring board indicates the winner of the game—South Korea has won the Olympic volleyball tournament in Tokyo. Down on the court, the camera points at the team members who are celebrating as a myriad of flashes shoot them, ready to post about the event on the different sports sites online.

It’s a tad ironic, especially after wishing on his archenemy’s imminent failure, but seeing a happy Jeno around his teammates evokes a foreign feeling in Renjun’s chest—all mushy and bubbling. Renjun concludes that he loves the painting in front of him: a triumphant and happy Jeno (as long as he’s not the one losing—that wasn’t nice at all). Because Jeno is a spectacular volleyball player, he’s astonishing and incredibly hard-working. 

Renjun doesn’t even notice the smile that takes place in his face as he watches Jeno abandon the stadium.

The award ceremony takes place an hour later. The medals are all ready for the teams that have positioned themselves on the podium. They must wear the uniform in the representative color of each country—sweapants and a matching windbreaker—his are red, his nation’s flag is placed just over his heart, and the yellow letters on the back read ‘CHINA’. Renjun carries these symbols with deep appreciation and pride.

It’s only at that moment that Renjun finally feels that he has accomplished his goal. His dream has come true. Now, he’s standing with his teammates on one side of the podium as they wait for their names to be called. And, when the lady in charge of guiding the ceremony mentions “Third place of the 2020 Tokyo Olympic Games Masculine Volleyball Tournament: China” and starts calling each of their names until she finally reaches “Huang Renjun, #3," Renjun feels like he’s about to burst out of happiness. There’s an immense grin stuck on his face, and his eyes can’t possibly get any shinier.

The bronze medal is placed around his neck, and Renjun immediately grabs it with his hands to scan it. It’s real. He won it. He will be able to go back home without letting the people around him down. His family is going to be so proud of him.

The ceremony goes on, and Renjun, still fascinated with the award that hangs from his neck, observes Jeno receive his own medal. The gold one. The imposing captain of the winning team of the tournament—Renjun was such an idiot for messing up with him (although something came out of it). Jeno looks composed, with his hair neatly styled in a comma. He’s standing straight, showing off his height as he raises his chin in the way he always does. Jeno looks stoic until he accepts his medal and poses for the photographs that will go in the news, and his eyes become two tiny crescents.

Renjun is not going to lie, but seeing his archenemy become so successful makes him proud too. He doesn’t hate Jeno (quite the contrary), and he’s thankful that his loss wasn’t in vain.

When the ceremony ends, Renjun approaches him. He saw his team play, and he also saw them receive their medals, yet this is the first time in the entire day that he’s had the opportunity to finally talk to Jeno. Renjun delicately puts a hand on his shoulder while he’s busy chatting with Donghyuck, Jaemin, and a guy whose name Renjun doesn’t remember. He doesn’t really want to interrupt them, but the Korean libero’s huge grin is a quite convincing indicator that Jeno should turn around.

Jeno looks absolutely dazzling with a gold medal adorning his neck, and Renjun finds himself gracing his fingertips against the band that holds it. His fingers also touch his collarbones.

“Looks good, right?” Jeno asks with that familiar self-sufficient smirk, and even if Renjun wants to roll his eyes, clearly exasperated, he opts for imitating his smile and nodding slowly.

“Gold suits you.” There’s a slight beat of silence. Jeno looks at him with something in his eyes, and Renjun can’t decipher what it is yet. That something is always in his pupils—Jeno’s eyes are always attentive, warm, and filled with admiration, as if Jeno himself weren’t among the best players in the tournament. “Congrats on the gold. You deserve it.”

“Can I say that it was because of a certain lucky charm?” His voice gets lower, afraid of letting someone overhear their conversation—an act that completely contradicts the way Jeno’s hands caress Renjun’s cheeks. There’s still a bunch of journalists there, with their cameras and microphones, as they wait for an opportunity to interview them.

But the libero shakes his head, still nuzzling his cheek against Jeno’s hand like a cat.

“Didn’t I tell you that a loser can’t be a lucky charm? You should give yourself credit.”

And Jeno frowns, clearly not convinced by the way Renjun seems to dismiss his attempts at flirting. He still accepts his words, though; the Renjun from the beginning of the tournament would have killed himself before praising Jeno.

“Congrats to you too. You’ve got your precious medal, just like you wanted. I’m so proud of you, Renjun. You did it.”

Hearing his biggest opponent congratulate him makes him a tad shy. The taste of victory is sweet—as sweet as Jeno’s sincere words and the lips Renjun is dying to kiss. He must wait, though. There are still cameras around, and he’s not sure of how people are going to react when they see the Chinese libero kissing the Korean setter and captain, especially after their encounter a few days ago.

Instead, Renjun accepts the words and appreciates Jeno’s honesty and warmth. It makes him feel important. He loves when Jeno makes him feel like this, when he encourages him and tells him that everything will turn out right. It colors Renjun’s cheeks pink. 

It’s different when those comments come from Jeno.

Yes, Jeno made his first Olympic Games an interesting experience, and Renjun is thankful for having the opportunity to meet him.

“Are you staying for the closing ceremony?”

“Yup. Our flight is the next morning.”

Renjun nods.

“Ours too…”

The air gets filled with an awkward silence, and Renjun ponders how this experience is similar to a summer love—except that he’s not spending his summer break at his grandma’s house and Jeno is not the hot guy who works in the local pool as a lifeguard; instead, they are Olympic athletes competing in the same tournament, and they’re also from different countries. 

Their attraction is mutual, and that’s evident. However, none of them has made their feelings explicit because they know they won’t be able to have something concrete between them. None of them came to the freaking Olympic Games expecting to fall in love with their rival. After this, they will fly back to their countries. No one knows when they will be able to see each other again. Enjoying the closing ceremony is the last thing they’ll have together, so they must treasure the small instances they shared—even if they were about to rip the other’s eyes off their skull.

And Renjun wanted to form bonds with other athletes, and, oh boy, he did. He never expected to form a childish rivalry with another volleyball player, only to end up with their mouths caressing each other in an attempt to wish each other success.

And it’s a bit sad, but they both know there isn’t much they can do aside from staying in contact.

When all the athletes arrive at the stadium to watch the show and make their entrance in a somewhat messy way (an initiative that started a few years ago to show unity among the Olympic world), it’s not a surprise to see some of the Chinese and Korean volleyball players walking together. Renjun shyly holds Jeno’s hand, and when he looks up, he finds Jeno smiling at him. They intertwine their fingers, and Jeno caresses the back of his hand with his thumb.

It’s their last moment together. Their teammates give them the space to stick to each other. Jeno backhugs Renjun and takes the opportunity to circle his arms around his waist as they watch a group of dancers perform in the center of the stage. He places his chin on Renjun’s shoulder and kisses his cheek.

“We must see each other at the next Olympic Games,” mutters Renjun, his eyes fixed on the dancers.

“Then make sure to make it to Paris.”

When Renjun turns around, Jeno raises an eyebrow, like he always does—defiant and pretentious. Renjun can only elbow him in the ribs. Jeno didn’t see that coming and immediately grunted. Then the Chinese libero turns around.

“I’ll make it to Paris, and I’ll make sure to win this time.”

It’s a threat. Renjun squints his eyes, and even though Jeno should answer something along the lines of “I won’t be easy to defeat," he simply leans forward and captures Renjun’s lips in a brief kiss.

“You must practice a lot, then, because I’ll only get better."

“I’ll do. Don’t look down on me.”

But Jeno only chuckles, placing a hand on top of Renjun’s head like he sometimes does.

“Ok, if you say so.”

The ceremony goes on for a few hours. There are people doing speeches in the microphone, some symbolic acts, lights, dancers, singers... Renjun’s feet hurt, and many athletes have already left the stadium. There’s a woman singing when Chenle takes a look at his watch, clearly bored. Renjun decides that it’s time to leave. Honestly, he’s also bored.

But he needs to know whether he will stay in contact with Jeno after this ends. His feelings are not the only reason, but Jeno could be a great friend too. If he wanted to create bonds, he had to make them last. Renjun asks Jeno. He asks if they will stay in contact—only to check if Jeno’s alive from time to time and rant to him about his sporty dilemmas and concerns. And when Jeno confesses that, for a moment, he feared that Renjun would never ask, Renjun feels embarrassed.

When Renjun arrived at the Olympics, he only had two goals in mind: to have a good time in Tokyo and, most importantly, to bring a medal back to China. He’s glad he made it. Renjun had his ups and downs and even questioned his own place and value as an athlete, yet he still accomplished his goals. The bronze medal is safe in his suitcase. And Renjun is especially happy knowing that his first Olympic Games became an interesting experience thanks to a certain Korean setter and captain.

Now, his job is to work hard, put in lots of effort, and train to become even better. This way, Renjun will be able to improve the areas in which he’s lacking and master new tactics in order to become a stronger libero. Maybe there’s a long path to becoming his ideal self, but the Olympic Games served as an opportunity to learn. Now he knows that there are wings on his back that will take him high if he wants to.

Renjun is going to make it to the next Olympic Games in Paris, and he promises that he will win another medal, even if that implies playing against Lee Jeno again. This time, Renjun promises to win.

🥉. . .

(Renjun is sitting in the plane, ready to put on his earphones, when he hears Chenle quietly chuckling beside him. At first, it’s just his shoulders shaking in an attempt to suppress his laughter, but it seems like whatever he’s looking at is extremely funny, and it makes Renjun curious upon seeing his friend’s state. Chenle is aware that he’s not being silent, but he can’t stop. and that only spikes Renjun’s curiosity even more.

When he dares to ask, Chenle’s laugh gets impossibly louder, earning a few stares from the other passengers on the plane.

“Did you know that you went, uh, viral ?” His friend manages to say after calming down a bit, and Renjun’s jaw goes slack in a puzzled expression.

Renjun slowly shakes his head. He would like to imagine that he impressed the world with his amazing skills, but judging by Chenle’s laughter, that mustn’t be the case.

Wait, Chenle is laughing at him?

“Why?”

Not gonna lie, Renjun is a bit frightened by the idea.

And, then, Chenle shoves his phone all over his face. The Twitter app is open, and on the screen, Renjun is able to distinguish a whole thread where someone speculates around China’s libero Huang Renjun and South Korea’s captain and setter Lee Jeno’s interesting relationship, going as far as analyzing every single public interaction between them. The post has earned a myriad of reactions in a few hours, and Renjun doesn’t know if that should be a good or bad thing.

The way the original poster explains everything makes the situation even more ridiculous. At first, they show how the two of them seemed to have a bad relationship, even attaching loops where Renjun can be clearly seen rolling his eyes in utter disgust and boredom as he sits in the bleachers of the stadium whenever South Korea does something. And, oh, god, Renjun knows that this can taint his entire reputation, and the mere idea makes him cringe.

He sure hopes no one takes it seriously and starts hating him and sending him death threats or something.

Then, OP proceeds to explain that his behavior has nothing to do with the other Asian country, nope. Instead—and after an arduous investigation and compiling a shit ton of evidence—they found out that it was directed to no other than Lee Jeno.

And then attached is a picture of them in the convenience store. Renjun has no idea how or when that picture was taken, but that doesn’t make it less embarrassing. His coach could see that terrible act of irresponsibility and scold him. In the picture, Jeno and Renjun are busy chatting with two cups of instant ramen in front of them, sporting calm expressions on their faces. The OP adds that their interactions seem to go beyond volleyball.

Then, there are two videos of them from the semi-final game. In the first one, they’re giving each other defiant looks as Jeno seems to mutter something; in the second one, Jeno tries to approach Renjun when China abandons the court with the look of a lost puppy on his face, even if he had just earned his pass to the finals.

Lastly, the last tweets in the thread display a contrast between Renjun’s different reactions caught on camera throughout South Korea’s first match in the entire tournament and the last one. In the first one, Renjun has a raised eyebrow as his fist supports his cheek, while in the second one, he looks completely amazed and excited. 

Looking at himself is so embarrassing. How could he forget about the cameras? Suddenly, Kun’s constant nagging makes a lot of sense. He was so childish. Now, he only hopes that people can laugh at the events—he would die if someone claimed that he sold his team or something. That would be the worst thing that could happen.

In the comments, some people express their happiness upon seeing sportsmanship among two young boys from rival teams. They encourage them and praise them for leaving their differences aside. Some other comments gush about how cute they would be together—Renjun wonders how people can even reach those conclusions. He can definitely tell the age of the different people engaging with the thread.

At last, Renjun decides that he has read enough. Being caught like this is utterly embarrassing, and the redness of his ears is a testament to that.

“Do you remember when you asked me why I thought the things I thought? Look, I’m not the only one. They caught you in 4K.”

Chenle laughs again. It’s annoying. Renjun is about to hand him his phone back when he notices something.

“Chenle. Why did you like the post?”)