Chapter Text
The shake was all that Ishan had ever known.
Ever since he had first stepped foot on the field, Ishan had known that the shake wouldn’t leave him. No matter how hard he practiced, no matter how far his hits travelled, no matter how swift his catches were. The shake was as much a part of him as his rapidly beating heart was, and no matter how much he smiled and laughed and twinkled his eyes in mirth, when it came down to the moments that mattered, the moments he had to give his all to, the moments he thrived in, the shake would take over him.
He'd always known, in passing, at the back of his mind, that having his breath shorten and his heart rate pick up the way it did right before he was called to action wasn’t normal. Everyone suffered from nerves, of course they did, the stakes were always high and the time always so little, the tiniest of miscalculations could result in disaster, and even though he knew the disaster would be momentary, as is everything when it came to the sport, the audience’s memory as fleeting as it was volatile, he knew that falling to his knees the moment he was alone wasn’t the norm. Having his whole entire being shake so violently that he could feel his teeth chatter and his arms disobey him when he tried to warp them around himself to stop the ache was what he familiar with, but could never find it in himself to work through.
He could never tell how to stop when it overtook him in moments like these. He knew how to deal with the disappointment that came after an underwhelming performance, could justify it as a precursor to the barrage of hate that would engulf him for at least a few days to come. But why now, when he should’ve been celebrating what was rightfully the biggest highlight of his career so far? He’d laughed his laughs even though they were just shy of short next to everyone who had patted him on the back to celebrate, but the pride of the win evaded him still. 200 runs were not an easy fete, were definitely not something he’d imagined even in the wildest of his dreams that he’d be able to achieve, and yet here he was. Basking in the glory of the flickering light bulb in the now deserted dressing room he had to cajole his teammates into letting him have. The interviews were over, and so was the cacophony, which was why he still wondered why his palms were still sweaty and his eyes still bloodshot, tingling with the tears he fought so hard to keep at bay.
His breathing was still too ragged to tame, and as he focused on inhaling and exhaling like he’d learnt to on the internet because there wasn’t anyone he could trust to teach him in person, a weight dropped next to him on the empty bench. He could tell who it was before he ever even looked up, the tell-tale scuff marks on his shoes and the giant shoulders hunching to peer into his eyes were all that Ishan needed to feel in order to sniffle pathetically as he tried to clear his throat and muster up a pained smile in turn for the congratulations he was sure would follow.
Shubman, however, was never like the rest. He’d always been perceptive, too discerning for his own good, for Ishan’s good. He shouldn’t have been surprised when he felt a gentle nudge against his body, the ghost of an arm around his shoulders. And Ishan was weak, always had been when it came to the boy he’d seen grow up into the man everyone loved, that Ishan loved in a way he could never explain for fear of just how much it would mean. He leaned into him, Shubman’s left arm wrapping around his shoulders and tightening his hold onto his body when Ishan hid his face in his chest, the sobs he’d kept contained for so long finally running out of patience.
Shubman hummed and cradled the back of his head in his free hand, resting his cheek against his sweaty crown. Ishan wanted the world to swallow him whole, couldn’t even stop the shake long enough to keep it from reverberating into Shubman’s body. He was small and so distraught, and so so mad at his mind. He should’ve been laughing, guffawing at the jokes Shubman would’ve been cracking if not for his tears, but here he was, helpless and pathetic and beyond exhausted in a way that was so bone deep that he couldn’t even pretend to make himself feel better.
Ishan cried for what felt like an eternity, so sure that Shubman must’ve been disgusted by the way he carried himself, just how weak he truly was, and so even though he was petrified of the pitying look he would receive if he were to look up he tried to pull away, but it was then that he felt Shubman tighten his hold as if to keep him from flying away into nothing. He felt a pair of lips on his hair, the same lips that curled to reveal the dimples that made him go weak at the knees, and when Shubman started talking he didn’t stop.
“You were so beautiful out there, Ishu. So majestic. I knew you could do it, all of us did, but seeing you stand out there and hit it out of park was magical. I’m so happy I got to see you make history. I’m so proud of you. All of us love you. I love you so much. You are everything.”
When Ishan, eyes teary yet again, looked up at Shubman, the latter looked so earnest that the both of them started crying all over again. Slowly, carefully so as to not startle him, Shubman bent down to touch his lips to Ishan’s watery eyes, one after the other, to stay the tears. Ishan’s breath hitched, and when they were so close that their breaths intermingled, it was Ishan who closed the distance and placed a chaste kiss that tasted so salty he couldn’t even notice that he had stopped shaking.
(Later, as they lay in bed, their legs tangled and Ishan’s head safely nestled in the crook of Shubman’s neck, the sounds from his tablet filling their otherwise silent room, Shubman pulled him closer and hummed the same song into Ishan’s ear, and all he could do was smile and intertwine his now still fingers with Shubman’s.)