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Since his freshman year, he had carried a reputation for being distant, mostly sullen, with an attitude that was stifling for most but captivating for a few. The whispers dedicated to him were easily recognizable; he was the inactive participant of the school's social pyramid regarding desirable boys—one he loathed with a passion, as he detested the very idea of fulfilling a role he never believed he had. It only took a few sharp words or a tone too dull to elicit blushes or murmurs behind his back for something he did unconsciously. He knew he was tall, with the build of a key athlete trying to achieve something; it wasn’t his fault he had interests or extracurricular activities, and above all, it wasn’t his responsibility if the gym bleachers filled up during games to cheer wildly for a shot he made.
He had liked basketball since he was a child, but it didn't become an obsession until he started high school and began to link the ball to his thoughts of achieving something unreachable. His medications were mild, yet they still allowed him to stand out from time to time. It was the school board itself that offered him a spot in the club, promising a prominent future. His parents were pleased, satisfied with the idea that their son already had his life written out for him, as if it were a gift from above.
That was why, when the practice match began with younger students who had joined the club, he couldn't help but glance at the bleachers—unconsciously, yet out of necessity—because more than once he had to ask someone to leave for filming his every move or breath. It was frustrating, especially when his teammates didn't stop their teasing until after the first break, when Ivan almost had a fit of rage at the mere thought of feeling exposed.
The freshmen followed the instructions of some of their teammates, so enamored with finally being able to teach what they had been learning. Ivan pointedly ignored what they were doing to focus on the sophomores returning from vacation, somewhat sluggish or unfocused on what they had learned the previous year. He recognized one of them wearing a LeBron James jersey with an onomatopoeia that made Ivan roll his eyes.
Classes had started a few hours ago, and as club leader, he could choose his practice schedule. Being the dedicated athlete he was, he had chosen the very first day of school to begin the routine. Most of his class had complained, clearly still uncoordinated, but they had given in when Ivan argued why it was such a good idea. He spoke with a few of them; he had visited more houses in those months away than in previous years, so he allowed himself to joke with some who kept pointing at him playfully whenever they made a move.
Someone groaned behind him as he approached the basket on the other side. The court was enormous, so large it satiated his need to improve. It served him well, keeping his head focused on what he had set out for his future. He remembered his mother’s face, unable to stop smiling when they left the principal’s office, filled with promises for a younger Ivan who only wanted to understand how the world worked.
That someone shouted again, snapping him out of his reverie. He looked at the person leaning awkwardly against the nearby bench, his skin flushed red and his arms clearly swollen from the effort put into the warm-up.
He didn't hesitate to approach slowly. As leader, it was his responsibility to boost the team's morale, to be the anchor that held them together, but secretly, it amused him to find the younger ones in such a deficient state.
"Hey, are you okay?" he asked in a low voice, standing a foot away. "Do you need to go to the nurse?"
The boy, propping himself up slightly with a grimace that faltered once he recognized who it was, shook his head. "No. I was just resting for a moment."
"You do realize that was just the warm-up, right?"
"You're joking."
Ivan shook his head as he watched him widen his eyes exaggeratedly. He rummaged through the space under the bench, looking for something. The boy panicked slightly, faking an unconvincing smile before straightening up and opening his mouth.
"Lovro!" he called out, his voice loud and strained from exhaustion, demanding yet gentle. "Lovro!"
He saw him call to someone in the bleachers whom Ivan likely hadn't noticed—he had strictly denied entry to anyone outside the club at the start of practice, so these two must have arrived late.
That already annoyed him.
"Pass me your water bottle!" the boy continued in a pleading tone. "Yeah, I left mine in Physics class."
Ivan finally decided to turn his attention to the person in the bleachers. It wasn't hard to find him, given his green-dyed hair—something that left Ivan unsettled, realizing he hadn't seen him when subtly scanning the stands moments ago. But as soon as he looked at the young man's face, he couldn't help but feel as if something in the universe had stopped, as if a comet had streaked across the sky, charting a shift in the system. Ivan wasn't one to believe in love at first sight; he loathed the idea of romance to no end. If he could, he would personally eliminate the critically acclaimed books about romantic relationships because they undoubtedly set a standard that absolutely no one could ever meet.
This felt different.
As he watched them bicker openly, he stared fixedly at the stranger who stood up from a distant seat and decided to come down to meet the rookie boy who, moments ago, looked like he was dying. The boy was beautiful, in a way Ivan couldn't describe if asked to write an essay on objective beauty. Ivan could only think of the feeling flooding his nervous system as his heartbeat accelerated; his breathing began to falter slightly because he wasn't taking in enough air, still focused on the stranger who was now murmuring something lowly to his friend, who was using his hands to express himself.
With his blood still racing, he took a few steps closer, unable to help himself. He needed the boy to look at him—a gaze of blue eyes he could now see in more detail, and an unnecessarily beautiful smile.
He saw them tense up for a moment, but immediately the sweaty youth turned away, muttering something quick about getting back to practice. But Ivan wasn't looking at him; he had caught that blue-eyed pair, which quickly looked away toward the other nearby players.
"You shouldn't be here," Ivan announced, his voice calm but firm.
The boys blinked as they looked at him again. The rookie tried to explain quickly.
"Sorry. It's just that I've fantasized about being in the club since I found out, and well, I thought, why not bring a friend? Besides, Lovro wanted to see how the training was to see if he’d join the team."
Lovro.
The boy, Lovro, gave the rookie a soft nudge with an evident look of denial. Ivan saw that telepathic exchange again—clearly a crumbling alibi—but still conscious of his fascination and wanting to hear his voice, he didn't back down.
"So, do you like what you see?"
He realized as he said it that it might have sounded suggestive, because the boy's ears turned pink with sickly speed, sating something inside Ivan he didn't know existed. The rookie remained oblivious to the exchange, tilting his head to look at his friend or hear his response.
"Well... I guess so?"
Ivan, somewhat offended, raised an eyebrow. "You guess?"
"You're very strict."
He smiled calmly; of course he would say that. "That’s how it should be."
Lovro tilted his head doubtfully, a grimace forming into a silent denial.
He was about to say something more when he heard the whistle of his second-in-command, who was likely already worried about his immersion in something irrelevant—like players' friends or potential dates they brought to show off every now and then. Ivan had restricted that to games only, but it was the start of the year and a rookie had invited his friend to watch the practice.
Obviously, he had to be a leader and speak privately with the rookie, but he preferred talking to the doe-eyed friend who looked past him at the other players waiting for Ivan's signal. He didn't hesitate to move closer, sliding his hands onto the railing. Lovro, who was almost leaning back, retreated defensively. Ivan wasn't trying to scare him; he just wanted to see him closer. His sweaty friend beside him frowned cautiously.
"Don't you want to join?"
Lovro, his posture bristling like a cat, shook his head quickly. Ivan almost wanted to reach out his hands to touch or persist, with the fleeting grace he could mimic from memory after seeing girls do the same to him. But the voice of Joshua, the exchange student and his right hand, approached at a jog.
"Ivan! We're ready to start," Joshua spoke loud and clear, still knowing his place, looking at the rookie with questions. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, it's just that I didn't know no one else could enter the practice."
Joshua snorted. "It’s in the registration rules... What’s your name?"
"Jakov."
"Alright, Jakov, get back to your position. We’ll be there in a moment."
The rookie, Jakov, looked back at Lovro, who gave him a firm nod, and with a look of concern, he jogged onto the court. Ivan remained leaning on the railing, watching Lovro, who narrowed his eyes cautiously at him. Ivan felt like he was in heaven.
"Hey, Ivan. We have to start. Kick this kid out already."
Lovro, offended, opened his mouth. "Kick out? I'm not trash."
Joshua looked him up and down and sighed. "Ivan."
He nodded and signaled Joshua, who returned more confidently to the court. Lovro was still on the defensive, his backpack on the bleachers and traces of ink on his fingers. The paleness of his neck contrasted with the dark, alternative outfit he wore, which undoubtedly captivated Ivan. He didn't see many stylish boys at school; he considered himself very basic in his daily choices, but seeing Lovro made him feel attracted in a special way.
Ivan didn't usually notice people this quickly.
"You should come to the next practice. Bring shorts or a tracksuit so you don't 'guess' that we're strict. Once you get used to it, the rest is history," he explained.
Lovro gave a headshake of denial. "No, seeing Jakov all wrecked is enough for me. I'm leaving anyway, so don't take it out on him. We didn't know about that rule. If it helps, I'm the one who insisted."
Ivan nodded.
"Or are you one of those guys who punishes one person specifically for ruining your day?" Lovro questioned, an eyebrow raised, still on guard. "You definitely look like one of those."
Ivan shook his head.
The whistle blew again, the chatter dying down. Lovro spared them a glance before fixing his eyes on Ivan; he nodded to himself and began to back away. Ivan realized he was probably leaving and did something he never allowed himself to do, though he saw other players do it occasionally—addressing someone in the bleachers to get attention or a reaction, usually girls.
"Hey!" Ivan called out, still amused by the situation, ignoring the gazes of the other students. "Stay!"
Lovro stopped with an interrogative grimace. Ivan didn't back down, even as he returned to Joshua's side, who kept shaking his head without humor. At the end of the line, Jakov watched him intensely, like an angry puppy guarding his pack from a fierce madman. Ivan laughed brightly before looking back at the bleachers. Lovro was still there.
From a distance, he could see the green hair. He smiled widely and allowed himself to give the students a simple exercise, for which they were grateful given his good mood.