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Kim Gyuvin has one true love in life: basketball.
Behind the username @fullcourtfever, he runs one of the most well known basketball fanpages on Korean Twitter. Game highlights, witty commentary, even some edits of his favorite players — Gyuvin pours his heart into every post. He prefers it that way. He’s just a regular 20-year-old guy with quick fingers, a sharp eye for plays, and a soft spot for buzzer beaters.
But everything changed at the Seoul Indoor Arena on a muggy July night.
Gyuvin is there covering the Korea All-Star Exhibition Game, ready to record the whole game for his page (or as his friend Hanbin likes to say, ‘basketball idol fancams’). The event is hyped not just for the players, but because a certain rising Chinese K-pop soloist is set to perform his new pre-release single during halftime.
Shen Quanrui, otherwise known as Ricky.
Gyuvin barely knows who he was. His best friend Hanbin had retweeted Ricky’s teaser photos into his timeline a few times — silver hair, bold stare, glitter under his eyes. It isn't Gyuvin’s world, though. Idols aren’t real the way athletes are. They’re curated, too distant. But that's just what he thinks. Don't point fingers at me.
But when Ricky takes the stage during halftime, dressed in an oversized white jersey with the number 99 etched on the back, ripped baggy jeans that compliment his long legs too well, mic in hand and confidence in his stride, Gyuvin forgets what game he even came here for.
The beat drops, heavy and sleek, and Ricky moves like the spotlight owes him something. His voice is smooth but dangerous, like he knows every eye is on him — and doesn’t care. He glances toward the crowd. Their eyes meet. For half a second, Ricky smirks, lips parting slightly like he can feel the spark.
Gyuvin drops his phone.
He didn’t post any game highlights that night.
The next morning, Gyuvin sits at his desk staring at his phone screen.
He’s supposed to be uploading clips of last night’s third-quarter comeback. Instead, he finds himself searching through Ricky’s performance video that he recorded unconsciously, pausing and replaying the moment their gazes had locked. He isn’t even sure if it’s real anymore. Probably just a coincidence. Probably.
His next tweet doesn’t mention the basketball score.
"whoever choreographed that prechorus for ricky’s new track deserves a raise.. 🫠"
He loses 87 followers.
But he gains 1,542 new ones, all of them being riyangis. Some quotes include:
@shenmaomaos: “omg fullcourtfever conversion?? or is this just you posting on the wrong account..”
@youngandrich: “is this a ricky + basketball crossover i spot after years of him being held back from it???!”
The fanpage begins to change. Slowly. At first, just a retweet here and there. Then come fancams. Then edits — Gyuvin is surprisingly good at those. Then his page is mixed with updates on basketball players and updates on Ricky's Weverse posts. Soon, Ricky is part of the page’s header image, standing confidently next to Gyuvin’s favorite point guard.
Gyuvin isn’t even mad. Every time he looks at Ricky’s stage photos, he feels that same thud in his chest. The way he used to feel watching his favorite player nail a three-pointer with two seconds on the clock.
A month passes, and Ricky announces a fan showcase to promote his upcoming album. The event wouldn’t be too packed, with limited seats. Gyuvin doesn’t even hesitate. He borrowed a lightstick from Hanbin (a longtime K-pop stan who’s been clowning him ever since The Ricky Incident) and queues at 6 a.m. for tickets.
Ricky’s showcase is nothing like a basketball game — but Gyuvin loves it anyway. The energy, the fans, the music. The way Ricky speaks in a soft voice off-stage, thanking fans in Korean and Mandarin. It’s jarring, seeing someone so untouchable seem… human.
After the event, there’s a short fansign.
Gyuvin clutches his album (that Hanbin made him bring to sign) with trembling hands. When it’s finally his turn, he approaches the table, heart thudding like a drumline.
Ricky looks up. And smiles.
“You’re… the basketball fanpage, right?” he asks in slightly accented Korean.
Gyuvin freezes. “W-What?”
Ricky tilts his head in a cat-like manner. “ @fullcourtfever , right? I saw your edit. The one where you edited me alongside Lee Hyunjung sunbaenim. That was an unexpected crossover. And I saw your first post about me — the one about the prechorus choreo. I choreographed that, for your information.”
Gyuvin wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. “I didn’t think you'd see any of that.”
Ricky laughs. “The edit was cool. Of course I'm not disregarding Hyunjung sunbaenim's visuals, but I looked good.”
“You always do,” Gyuvin blurts out before he can stop himself.
They both blink.
Ricky grins. “You should come to my next show. Backstage. I’ll leave your name with the staff.”
Gyuvin nods, dazed. “Okay.”
Gyuvin stares at the guest pass in his hands like it might disappear.
It has his name on it. Literally. “김규빈 – 예술가의 손님” (or: “Kim Gyuvin – Guest of Artist”). Sharpie-scribbled on the back is a tiny star and a “🖤 -R.”
Hanbin had screamed when he showed him. Then threatened to throw out all of Gyuvin’s mangoes unless he promised to take at least one selfie with Ricky. "I'll throw them all out, just you wait," he'd threatened.
He arrives early to Ricky's showcase — again. The venue is bigger this time. Dark velvet curtains. Rows of lights. Fans buzzing. But backstage is quiet. Too quiet.
A staff member guides him into a small waiting area behind the main curtain. Gyuvin fiddled with his rings (which Hanbin insisted he wear — "so Ricky sees your hands, duh. People like him are attracted to hands"). He barely notices the door open until someone calls his name softly. Which is funny, because it's not even his actual name.
"User @fullcourtfever ."
He looks up.
There he is. Ricky — not in full glam or stage makeup, but in a simple grey hoodie and joggers, hair damp and swept back, a water bottle in one hand and an unreadable smile on his face.
"I’m glad you came."
“I—yeah. Of course,” Gyuvin breathed. “Thanks for the invite. I didn’t think you’d actually remember me. I have a name, by the way. It's Gyuvin. Kim Gyuvin.”
Ricky steps in and closes the door behind him. “Gyuvin,” he whispers, testing the name on his tongue. “Well, how could I not? You changed your whole fanpage. For me.”
Gyuvin flushes, avoiding eye contact. “That was… sort of accidental.”
Ricky tilts his head teasings. “Accidentally switched your basketball posting agenda to a Ricky posting agenda?”
“I had a moment.”
“Well, you’ve had a long moment.”
They both laugh. The tension crackles and falls into something gentler.
“Actually,” Ricky continues, sitting on the armrest of the couch next to him, “I was wondering if I could ask you something.”
Gyuvin nods.
“You know a lot about basketball, right?”
“I guess. Been watching and playing since I was a kid.”
Ricky smiled. “Then maybe we can play together someday.”
“…Basketball?”
“Yeah. I’ve always wanted to play again, but I didn’t really have the time. Idol schedules, you know?” He laughs bitterly. “But now I do. And…” He hesitates, then adds quietly, “I thought maybe it’d be nice to play with someone.. who’s as fond of it as I used to be. You know, so I can get into the habit of talking about it 24/7 again.”
Gyuvin’s heart does something dangerous.
“Okay,” he says, voice almost a whisper. “I can do that.”
One week later, Gyuvin meets Ricky at a quiet indoor court on the edge of the city. No fans, no cameras. Just two boys and a basketball.
Ricky wears a cap low over his eyes, but his smile is unmistakable. “I brought snacks. I didn’t know how long we’d be here.”
“I brought three basketballs. I didn’t know how bad you’d be after years. What if you lost the ball somehow?”
“Rude.”
They start off slow, Gyuvin reminding Ricky of little rules he almost forgot about. He shows him how to pass, how to pivot without traveling. Ricky is clumsy at first, but he’s determined to get his skills back. His tongue pokes out of his mouth just slightly when he concentrates, and every time he laughs — really laughs — he scrunches his nose a little.
Somewhere between drills and late-night convenience store ramen, Gyuvin realizes his crush isn’t fading.
It’s blooming.
Gyuvin opens his Twitter a few hours after getting back home, and he smiles to himself. A Weverse chat update from Ricky.
“오늘 일정이 비워졌어” (My schedule was cleared up today)
“그래서” (So)
“몇 년 만에 처음으로” (For the first time in years)
“농구 실력을 연습하러 갔어” (I got to polish my basketball skills)
“친구 덕분에” (Thanks to my friend)
“많은 것을 기억할 수 있었어” (I was able to remember a lot of things)
“이 친구는” (This friend)
“농구를 정말 잘해요…!!” (Is really good at basketball…!!)
“고마워 친구야!!” (Thank you, friend!!)
A few weeks pass by like that. Gyuvin’s fanpage becomes a confusing hybrid of NBA clips and Ricky fancams. His DMs are chaos. Hanbin had even started referring to Ricky as Gyuvin's “fated other half.”
And then, one evening, after practice at the basketball court, Ricky walks Gyuvin to the station and doesn’t say goodbye right away.
“Hey,” he says, standing a little too close. “Can I ask you something else?”
Gyuvin turns to him. “Yeah?”
“If I scored a point,” Ricky starts carefully, “like… not just a lay-up, but an actual game shot — would I get a prize?”
Gyuvin tilts his head, confusion evident in his expression. “A prize?”
“Yeah. Like a reward. Something special.”
Gyuvin blinks. “Sure. If you make the shot, you can have whatever you want.”
Ricky steps back, picks up the basketball, and turns toward the court behind the station. One hoop. One shot.
He throws it.
It swishes clean through.
Gyuvin freezes.
Ricky walks back, tosses the ball aside, and leans in.
“I want my prize now.”
And before Gyuvin can ask what he meant — Ricky’s lips meet his in a gentle kiss. Soft and sure. Like he's known all along.
When they pull apart, Ricky’s voice is barely a whisper.
“Now turn that fanpage into a couple account.”
The thing about falling in love with a K-pop idol is…
You have to fall quietly.
Gyuvin isn’t ready to give him away — not to his 48K followers, not even to Hanbin (though he’d cracked the code weeks ago). He likes keeping Ricky to himself a little longer. Private. Quiet. Just theirs.
But slowly, his page begins to shift again.
Not the way it had during the first wave of Ricky obsession — not fangirl-style devotion or promo tweets.
This time, it’s soft. Gentle. Not too obvious.
His notifications exploded.
Then, a few days later:
And then:
The fans got suspicious.
Some guessed a model. Others a producer.
And this user said:
Everyone laughed.
No one guessed they were right.
Now, Kim Gyuvin has two true loves in life: basketball and Shen Ricky.
The day he decides to post the picture, his heart feels like it’s racing into overtime again.
Ricky is sitting next to him in his apartment, hoodie sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair still damp from a shower, scrolling through memes with a dumb little grin.
“You don’t have to,” Ricky comments softly, not looking up.
“I want to.”
Ricky looks at him then, honest and open. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” Gyuvin reaches for his phone. “They’ve had the crumbs. Might as well give them the cake.”
So he chooses the photos carefully.
Ones that Hanbin took for them when they went on a date to Lotte World. Hanbin's boyfriend accommodated them so Hanbin wouldn't be left out. The pictures included just the two of them, Ricky and Gyuvin. Just warmth.
He attaches them. Writes one word and two emojis.
He presses Tweet .
Ricky watches it get posted and leans against him.
“You’re gonna break your notifs.”
“Good,” Gyuvin nods. “Let them know.”
His phone blows up.
Mentions explode. Quote tweets range from “I KNEW IT OMG” to “omg fullcourtfever’s bf is RICKY???? FUCKING???? SHEN??????”
But Gyuvin doesn’t care about the sound of the notifications. He just cares about the boy next to him, lacing their fingers together without a word, the warmth of Ricky’s hand solid and steady. He looks back up at Ricky, and their eyes meet, followed by warm smiles.
And this time, Gyuvin doesn’t drop his phone.