Chapter Text
The air in the gymnasium always smelled faintly of floor wax and adrenaline—a combination that usually made Phuwin, the Student Council President, wrinkle his nose in professional distaste.
But lately, his "inspections" of the sports wing had become suspiciously frequent.
Pond was a contradiction in motion. As the star of the basketball team, he moved with a fluid, lethal grace that drew every eye in the room. Yet, the moment the whistle blew, he retreated into a shell of quiet softness. He was the boy who would dunk a ball with terrifying power, only to spend his break gently untangling a stray thread from a teammate’s jersey or nodding silently as someone poured their heart out to him.
He was the school’s "Silent Heartthrob." Dozens of confession letters ended up in his locker, but Pond remained a polite, distant enigma. People said his standards were too high.
They were wrong. Pond’s standards weren't high; they were just focused on a single, golden point on the horizon.
Phuwin adjusted his glasses, his clipboard held tight against his chest. He stood by the equipment room, looking every bit the stern, overworked President.
"The ventilation in here is still subpar," Phuwin murmured to himself, though his eyes weren't on the vents. They were tracked onto Pond, who was currently wiping sweat from his forehead, his hair damp and messy.
Pond looked up. His breath hitched. To the rest of the school, Phuwin was the untouchable leader—the brilliant, sharp-tongued strategist who kept the university running. To Pond, Phuwin was a star in a galaxy he wasn't allowed to visit.
“He’s too busy changing the world to notice someone who just plays with a ball,” Pond thought, quickly looking away when their eyes met.
The practice ended, and the gym cleared out, leaving only the sound of a leaky faucet and the squeak of Phuwin’s loafers. Pond was lingering, slowly packing his gear, trying to summon the courage to even say "Good evening."
"You’re going to overwork yourself, President," Pond said softly. His voice was low, melodic, and sent a shiver down Phuwin's spine.
Phuwin stiffened, trying to maintain his 'Presidential' mask. "There are protocols, Pond. Safety first."
"Is it for safety?" Pond took a step closer, the scent of soap and exertion trailing him. "Or do you just like watching the drills?"
Phuwin’s heart hammered against his ribs. He felt exposed. "I’m very dedicated to my duties."
"I know," Pond whispered, stopping just a few feet away. He looked at Phuwin with a gaze so heavy with longing it was impossible to miss. "That’s the problem. You’re always looking at the big picture. You never see what's right in front of you."
Phuwin let out a shaky breath, his grip on the clipboard loosening. "You’d be surprised, Pond. I see a lot more than I report."
The silence in the gymnasium felt heavy, charged with the kind of electricity that precedes a summer storm. Phuwin’s "Presidential Mask"—the one he spent three years perfecting—was beginning to crack under the weight of Pond’s steady, soft gaze.
“You see more than you report?” Pond repeated. A small, uncharacteristic smirk played on his lips. He took another step forward, closing the gap until the scent of his cologne—something crisp, like rain on asphalt—clouded Phuwin’s senses.
“Then you must have noticed how I’ve missed my last three free throws.”
Phuwin blinked, his composure faltering. “You… you haven’t missed a single shot today, Pond.”
The smirk widened into a genuine, breathtaking smile. “So you were counting.”
Phuwin felt the heat climb up his neck. He looked down at his clipboard, desperately seeking a distraction in the maintenance logs. “It’s my job to be observant. Data collection is essential for—”
“Phuwin.”
Pond’s hand reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the clipboard. It wasn't a forceful gesture, but it was enough to make Phuwin stop talking. Pond’s hands were large, calloused from the ball, yet he touched the plastic board as if it were made of glass.
“Everyone says you’re beyond reach,” Pond said, his voice dropping to a vulnerable whisper. “The President who lives in the library and the council room. I thought… I thought someone like you wouldn't have time for someone who only knows how to run and jump.”
Phuwin let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “You think I’m the one beyond reach? Pond, half the school is in love with you. I’ve seen the girls—and the boys—lining up just to hand you a water bottle. I’m just the guy who makes sure the gym lights stay on.”
“But you’re the only one I want to see in this light,” Pond replied.
The confession hung in the air, simple and devastating.
Phuwin finally set the clipboard down on a nearby bench. For the first time in his academic career, he ignored a protocol. He stepped into Pond’s space, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached up to adjust the damp collar of Pond’s jersey.
“I’m very efficient,” Phuwin whispered, his eyes finally meeting Pond’s with raw honesty. “But I’m terrible at taking risks. I’ve spent two years conducting ‘inspections’ just to see if your hair still curls when you sweat.”
Pond’s eyes widened. The "Quiet Athlete" suddenly looked like a boy who had just won the championship of his life. Without a word, he leaned down, resting his forehead against Phuwin’s.
“Then stop inspecting,” Pond breathed. “And just stay.”
The next day, the school was buzzing. The Student Council President was in the gym again, but he wasn't holding a clipboard. He was sitting on the bottom bleacher, wearing a jersey that was clearly two sizes too big for him.
And Pond? The quiet, soft-spoken star didn't look distant anymore. Every time he scored, he didn't look at the crowd or the scoreboard. He looked at the boy in the oversized jersey, and for the first time, the "unattainable" was finally within his grasp.