Chapter Text
In Mingi's view, there was no lonelier sport than doubles tennis.
About to serve, twenty-six-year-old Mingi tapped the ball against the ground with his racket, the motion completely automatic after years of practice. But then he halted, looked up.
On his right, forward and closer to the net, stood Yunho. His new doubles partner. A stranger, really. Between them stood the middle line. A line not to be crossed.
It was how most of doubles tennis was, really. Your partner and you stay within your lines. Trying to stay away, usually trying to cover as much ground as you can. It was like sleeping in bed with a stranger. The kindest thing you could do was scoot as far away as possible and try not to get in the other's way.
San called out from across the field. "You gonna serve or what?"
San's partner, Wooyoung, added with a grin: "If this was an official match, your time would already be up!~"
Mingi just sighed. He threw the damn ball up and served. The fluffy yellow thing ended up in the net.
"All that prep, and you give us nothing?" teased Wooyoung across the net.
The second serve ended up in the net, too - much to Wooyoung and San's delight. Mingi's opponents grinned, high fived, then switched their positions.
Yunho approached Mingi, cautiously, offered a hand, palm up.
"We don't need to high five. I messed up."
Yunho slowly retreated his hand. He said nothing. But his lips stretched into a thin line. Mingi didn't know what the other was thinking. Or cared. Playing with a partner was full of unknowns.
And he didn't care much about the result, either (6:3, 6:2 for Woosan, who pulled each other into a bone-crushing hug and celebrated like they'd just won Wimbledon and not a random practice run).
Of course he lost. He'd never played with Yunho before. Or a doubles match, for that matter.
"Well, it was just our first practice." said Yunho as he sat next to Mingi on the bench. "We'll get better."
Mingi sat in silence, waiting until his breath completely stabilized. The afternoon was melting into evening, but the lights hadn't come on yet. Yunho was all the way on the other end of the bench. Just like he had been on the other side of the field. An idle thought occurred to Mingi: the doubles playing field is wider than in singles, but the benches are the same. The same bench is supposed to hold two people now.
Although there was more than enough space on the bench, Mingi suddenly felt suffocated. And then a million tiny things popped into his focus: he could hear Yunho still breathing heavily, smell his sweat, see the stains and the wrinkles and the red dust from the court on his pale blue shirt. It was too much, too close.
"I don't know if this is gonna work out." said Mingi. "Not sure if we work well together."
Yunho gave the faintest of smiles, yet a smile nonetheless. The setting sun put orange in his wispy hair.
"Well, that's okay. I don't know either."
***
Singles tennis had never felt particularly lonely to Mingi. You played alone, but you weren't even expecting anyone, were you?
And for all the input of trainers, nutritionists, parents, sparring partners and sports psychologists, on the court you were on your own.
It wasn't lonely at all. It was like dancing with your opponent. It was thrilling, like the moment of falling in love.
Especially if you win.
About to serve, sixteen-year-old Mingi tapped the ball against the ground with his racket, the motion almost automatic, but not quite. He gazed around his side of the field. His domain. He would defend it at any cost.
Across the net, San smiled. San was seventeen - almost eighteen, really. Almost too old to compete in the junior league. But that won't matter! Mingi promised himself. He threw the ball up, served, smiled as the word ACE!! flashed on the LED banisters around the court. San let out a sound of pure frustration before slamming his racket into the leg of his bench and getting scolded by the judge.
With your opponent, there were no unknowns. Attacking them with all your might was a compliment, a tribute, almost a love song. Mingi caught himself almost smiling as San's next return passed mere millimeters from Mingi's outstretched racket.
But it was a love song Mingi knew how to sing. He had long memorized the words.
And as the match drew to a close, San's age did indeed not save him.
The trophy felt wonderfully cold against Mingi's flushed cheek.
***
When Mingi thought that doubles tennis was like sleeping in bed with a stranger, he hadn't thought that metaphor would ever mutate into reality. And yet, there they were.
Yunho sat among the plain white hotel pillows and sheets, awkward. "I'm really sorry about this."
"It's not your fault," Mingi muttered, gingerly sitting on the side of the bed.
Money had been tight for years. It had always been tight, really - save for those few blessed years when Mingi had actually been winning.
Mingi winced. It hurt to remember. But his current reality hurt, too.
It had been two months since he had started practicing with Yunho. Their practice sessions passed mostly in silence. Yunho didn't ask to high-five again.
He did ask Mingi what kind of music he listened to. Mingi sent him a few songs after carefully considering which of his alternative rock bands would be the least cringe to a normie. (Yunho somehow struck him as a normie, even though he had no actual evidence to back that up.) None of the songs were of the singable type.
The hotel bed smelled like chemicals. Better than smelling dirty, I suppose.
He glanced to Yunho. The bed was, supposedly, queen-sized - should be enough for two people. But Yunho, tall and lanky, seemed almost too big for the bed - and Mingi wasn't even in it yet. Something about this made Mingi chuckle.
"What?" asked Yunho, mirroring Mingi's smile but still confused.
"I just, I don't know if this is gonna work out."
Yunho looked at his feet. They were almost hanging off the edge. "Yeah. Might be a bit… cosy."
Getting into that bed felt like entering the ocean. Cold and awkward, almost painful. But after a minute, oddly comfortable, light. Mingi looked at his feet and laughed. They were fully dangling over the bed.
"Guess I'm taller than you."
Lips stretching into a smile, Yunho pushed himself down until his feet were further down than Mingi's. Yunho's head wasn't even on the pillow anymore, having slipped completely down.
"You sure?"
It was stupid. Maybe they laughed so hard because it was stupid.
Mingi fell asleep while thinking about how strange it was that sharing a bed was so much more comfortable than sharing a bench.
But, after all, playing with a partner was full of unknowns.
***
Mingi and Yunho lost that tournament in the very first round, and the next one too. They never got a chance to practice with Wooyoung or San again. The two were away on tournaments, their singles ranking creeping up with every passing week.
"Do you think it's hard for them to play against each other?" asked Yunho one day during practice, throwing a towel at Mingi.
Mingi laughed, catching it with ease and dabbing his flushed face. "Hard? Wouldn't they want to always play each other?"
Yunho's eyes got wide. He gave it some thought. "Hmmm. Maybe? Never thought of it that way."
The wall of silence Mingi had silently set up with Yunho was slowly breaking. Well, it couldn't last forever, I guess. Not with us practicing together every damn day. "With opponents, there are no unknowns. You just play as hard as you can. Even if they're your friends," Mingi caught himself saying. "It's not sad. I'd hate it if my friend went easy on me."
"Of course, of course," agreed Yunho quickly.
They fell into silence again, sitting on the bench. Mingi still felt cramped on that bench. The closeup of Yunho's acne scars still felt like something too intimate, something he shouldn't see. Mingi stopped sitting all the way on the side, though. Since I'm gonna feel cramped anyway, what's the point?
"Wanna play against me?" asked Yunho suddenly. "Just me."
Mingi blinked at him, confused. They had two sparring partners. Mingi could see them talking and laughing on the bench across. "What, as a singles match? Why? I'm not playing in singles anymore." The last sentence carried a painful echo. It's been almost a year, yet it still hurt to say it out loud.
"I just wanna see something." said Yunho, shrugging his shoulders in a failed attempt at nonchalance.
Mingi didn't know why, or cared. Yunho was full of unknowns. But fulfilling the request seemed like the fastest way to make it go away. "Sure."
But Mingi regretted agreeing to it almost instantly. He had never seen Yunho from across the net. The sight felt wrong. It should be San, or Wooyoung, or literally anyone else.
But you'll never get to play against San or Wooyoung again, his brain reminded him. Wounded him. Not in an official match. They've had great careers for years and are still climbing, and you -
About to serve, twenty-six-year-old Mingi tapped the ball against the ground with his racket, angrily, as if trying to break the ball against the ground. But then he halted, looked up at Yunho. His doubles partner. Not a friend, and not a stranger. Between them stood the net. A comfortable line, unlike those on the same side of the field. A line to be conquered.
Mingi served, and Yunho returned, and they played, occasionally forgetting that the playing field was narrower now and accidentally sending balls into the doubles field.
And for a moment, Mingi was back. He was sixteen again. San was staring tensely across the net.
But then, Mingi wasn't sixteen anymore. He was twenty-two. And then twenty-three, and twenty-four, and -
"I don't know if this is gonna work out." said the renowned trainer - his trainer - to a twenty-five-year-old Mingi. Mingi hadn't understood those words at first. But the resignation letter was clear enough.
Snapping back to the present, Mingi felt his hits getting angrier, less controlled - punished by frequent outs.
Yunho didn't comment on Mingi's mistakes. He stood on the other side of the net, tall, hair burning in the setting sun, and it suddenly dawned on Mingi that he was beautiful. A well-placed return whizzed past Mingi's cheek. Yunho deserved a love song. But Mingi's hand shook. His next shot went wide and out.
The singer had lost his voice.
It wasn't a new realization, no - but it hit so painfully right then, with Mingi alone on his side of the net, Yunho far away.
Perhaps singles tennis was lonely after all.
The red clay court rushed forward to meet him, and Mingi realized had fallen to his knees.
It's over.
And not just this practice match.
His career was over. His movie was cut short, and the audience was complaining, screaming, it shouldn't be this way!!!
Yunho ran to him, jumping over the net, face concerned to the point of panic. Mingi watched him as if in slow motion.
Mingi's career was over. He couldn't play, or love, or do anything anymore.
"I'm sorry, " he caught himself whispering, but Yunho cut him short.
"No, no, I'm sorry! I should never have suggested it, I just…" Yunho left the sentence unfinished.
The sun had fully set now. The lights were not on yet. Mingi wasn't sure they would be at all. Perhaps they were broken.
***