television romance

there's beer spilled all over her sneakers, grass stains streaking the white canvas shoes as though she had been treading back and forth through the grounds the entire night. the poor things are one shake away from being deemed absolutely ruined, but danbi hadn't expected anything less from wearing them tonight — she's used to things like this, especially when there are three things involved: a competition, alcohol and the women's football team. it's the holy trinity for disaster, but park danbi has long-since grown accustomed to the web of trouble that is often weaved by her teammates. this weekend was no exception either, even if all of the girls weren't technically on the same team — she might not have been rooming with any of the other girls, but she still found herself gravitating around them.

"we might be down a few players," she says, smiling despite the circumstances, digging her shoes into the ground as dani hands her one of the LED lights. where her friend and captain had gotten the light sticks, she isn't sure, but there are arguably some more pressing matters at hand — an example being that two of their offensive players are looking a little queasy next to the bonfire, so they may not be the best choices for the capture the flag game that's suddenly come to fruition. she's not really sure how it happened — one second, she had been chatting with dani about sleeping arrangements, and the next there were a bunch of tipsy athletes swarming around wanting to know when the game was going to start. she wasn't so sure about joining in, but the fire in dani's eyes when someone mentioned the friendly game was enough to 'convince' her to join.

thankfully, nobody’s gone for the jugulars of the men’s team yet — keyword yet. it’s still only a little past ten.

dani feels a wave of sympathy for danbi, arguably the women’s squad’s most tame member (so tame that half the team still jokes about how she ended up here in the first place). she’d caught sight of the poor girl earlier crouched on the grass, frantically scrubbing at her sneakers after a red solo cup’s worth of alcohol cascaded down them courtesy of some staggering idiot. dani had nearly stepped in to call them out until another teammate beat her to it, which was probably for the best — she’s already in captain mode enough as is.

the inevitable spark comes when someone, too drunk for their own good, slurs out the suggestion of capture the flag. like wildfire, it spreads around the bonfire circle — a game of telephone where every retelling adds more enthusiasm until suddenly all the athletes, especially the ones wired to sprint after a black-and-white ball for ninety minutes at a time, are practically vibrating with the need to play.

the yogurt soju bottle she’d downed not even twenty minutes ago starts to hit as the football players — men’s and women’s teams alike — immediately zero in on her like she’s been drafted as game captain. dani knows it’s unfair. she knows it’s borderline evil. but also… when else do you get to watch an entire roster of varsity athletes annihilate a pack of unsuspecting arts and humanities majors?

yet the mood swings drastically once more at the mention of her ex — so quickly that he doesn’t even get a chance to jab back, verbally or physically, before things settle down.

ella? honestly, he must admit that he’s starting to get some of these tales and stories a bit scrambled. but from the tone in dani’s voice, he finds confirmation that this is the girl that she actually liked. supposedly a lot.

there’s a brief moment of silence. for once, he doesn’t have an immediate quip or retort to offer. does he have the resumé to offer any substantive advice or solace in this situation? no. he’s not a storied dater; or really much of a dater at all. despite his music taste which could delude one to believe he’s been through a dozen breakups and four divorces at least, it just wasn’t true. for a whole plethora of reasons, some better than others, he’d always been more of a ‘pick up game’ guy than a ‘multi year contract with a single franchise’ type of guy; but this wasn’t about him.

also, whatever experience he does have with comforting someone post-breakup is not that translatable right now. this isn’t like one of his serial dater guy friends with whom he can just pour shots down their throat and half-assed assure him that there are ‘plenty of women in the ocean.’ women? fish? which was it? shit, this just illustrates the point.

given the slim chances he has of being a good relationship counselor right now, he decides he might as well just try to be a good friend. a novel concept.

“oh. well… it could’ve been worse.” you know, like angry tears, talking venom, a slap in the face, another partner on their arm; all or a subset may be informed by personal experience. either way, he can tell his opening line is far from stellar. “sorry. i know indifference can sting too.” his verbal attempt at providing comfort is choppy, but mostly genuine. his actions are slightly better, as he shuffles around under the covers, curling onto his side a bit so that he can better see where she’s seated at the edge of the bed. he blinks a few times hard, trying to get his pupils to adjust to the darkness.

but a lump creeps into her throat anyway, refusing to budge. it sits there in the fragile silence that stretches between them — the quiet only broken by jinyoung’s even breathing on one side of the mattress while she curls into the other, twisting the ends of her hair into loose braids just to undo and re-do them again.

she feels exposed. like if any of the girls on the team knew how fragile her heart actually was, they’d never see her the same. but at least she knows jinyoung won’t weaponize it. as much as he’s always primed with a retort, as much as he’ll fight tooth and nail to never let her take a scrimmage off him, he’ll still be one of the loudest on her sidelines — whether it’s for the game, or something deeper.

"i think indifference is probably the worst," she mutters, quiet enough like it’s something controversial to say out loud. the image of ella flickers sharp in her mind — knees streaked green from grass stains, jersey hanging loose with the number 12 plastered bold on the back, laces of her cleats dragging half-untied the way she always forgot to double-knot. and then that look. the complete lack of recognition as dani passed by, like they’d never traded goals on the same pitch, like she was just another player jogging off the field. it hollowed her out, left that pit gnawing in her stomach again. yeah, she’d been the one to end it over text, to bolt to korea, to play the villain in their story. but don’t supervillains get to feel things, too?

dani’s glad the lights are off, because she’d be too ashamed to look jinyoung in the eye when she answers. “yes.” she exhales through her nose, slow and shaky, the word sitting heavy between them. for all her instincts to defend her team with excuses and never take a penalty without protest, she’s never been able to lie.

"i wasn’t willing to just accept it," she admits after a pause. "that i knew i’d be moving to korea, that things wouldn’t work out no matter how much i wanted them to. toward the end, i just… started going numb, emotionally. like i was already checking out before i even packed my bags." her fingers twist the sheets into loose folds she doesn’t notice. "i think i told you — i broke up with her over text the night before i left. because i was too much of a coward to do it face-to-face."

“god damn, you scared me,” he flinches, genuinely shook before he can gather his wits and shoos away at her like she’s some spider that’s dropped from the ceiling. “you’re even uglier upside down.” extremely uncalled for, he knows; but there’s no real malice behind his words. if anything, they just illustrate exactly why nobody had any qualms about sticking the two of them together in the only co-ed room in the establishment — definitely no threat of any hook ups happening here. but had they considered assault or murder?

“well i’d enjoy them even more if it weren’t for the smell of your nail polish,” fake coughing at the end to make a point. really, he doesn’t understand why she even bothers — the coating wouldn’t last another three more days in cleats. he fishes for another biscuit, making sure to make rustling contact with every square centimeter of the wrapper, and waves one in her face before popping it into his mouth. “mmm,” he groans obnoxiously, a smile more sugary than the horrific number of tim tams that he’s consumed tonight. being around small children all day has really awakened his sweet tooth… and amplified his childish immaturity.

“just let me enjoy them in peace,” he says with a satisfied sigh once he’s done chewing. “it’s like… the only good thing that’s ever come out of australia.” a pointed comment directed at her with a raised brow, though who knows if she can even see his expressions in the dark. maybe there's enough moonlight sifting through the windows. another tim tam — the precious last one — disappears into his mouth, and he sighs again, this time in disappointment as he chucks the wrapper into the dark void of their crusty dorm room. he’ll find it in the morning; will probably slip on it too and hurt himself, given his luck (or lack thereof).

"you don’t need to curse," she says dryly, like a fed-up older sister scolding a gremlin sibling — despite the fact he’s twenty-seven days older and will never let her forget it. maybe jinyoung’s dad thought he was signing him up for the kids' camp, not as a volunteer. it’d explain the elementary school boy still living rent-free in his 184cm body.

he tries to swat her hand away and she slaps his back in retaliation, giggling when he grumbles something about fumes. his words roll off her like a slick pitch after rainfall — annoying, sure, but harmless.

"whatever, wolverine," she mutters, waving off his commentary like she didn’t just spend 30 minutes painting her toes in silence to keep her brain from spiraling. she doesn’t know why he’s suddenly acting like nail polish is a war crime — then again, considering the ten-foot emotional moat he maintains between himself and literally every woman that isn’t her, maybe the scent really is uncharted territory for him.

still, did he really fly across the country just to be annoying? were they on some godforsaken SBS hidden camera prank show?

his smugness is enough to make her abandon the nail polish altogether. she hops off her bunk, half-painted toenails hitting the floor with a light thunk as she makes a lunge for the last tim tam — but it’s already half gone in his mouth. the wrapper misses the bin by a long shot, and she snorts, balls her hand into a fist, and pretends to punch him in the groin. "fuck off," she mutters, letting the sigh slip out like she’s already used up her daily tolerance of him.

when he makes himself comfy under a blanket clearly meant for a child with a superhero obsession, she plops down at the edge of his bed, her shins bruised from drills and her toenails still a mess. the mood shifts with the question he throws her way. her voice softens.

despite all the ways he drives her insane — despite the goddamn cursed smile she’s pretty sure he was born with — she can still appreciate the rare moments where he actually tunes in to her.

he speaks just loudly enough for his voice to rise above the repetitive noise of the pc bang — keyboards clacking, someone shouting across the room about lag or cheating or how they owned you, or some strategies applied only to the virtual world while they swear they learned it in the army — but still keeping his words aimed at her only. it's sort of a balancing act he's gotten good at: making sure no one else hears the full extent of how petty and stupidly competitive minjae can be. always there and omnipresent, be it in the actual sport, him failing to dribble miserably, or when their skills are transferred to the world of 2d.

"we're gonna solve this the old-fashioned way." the plastic controller drops into his lap, and his face pulls into a grimace, one so finely exercised that it's impossible to tell if it's real frustration, or something he plays up just to rile her up. knuckles crack and then, "rock paper scissors. three out of three. fair and square."

sure, he’s an athlete, so she can respect the grind. the innate drive to win, to be the best, she understands. she’s seen the michael phelps documentaries, follows katie ledecky on instagram, and like anyone with a brain, she tuned in to the 2024 olympics just to watch ledecky obliterate the 1500 freestyle final. but that’s swimming. that’s its own beast. in dani’s world, it’s apples and oranges. you don’t compare son heungmin to an olympic backstroker, not even in a video game.

and maybe this is where dani really is built different, because even with a controller in her hands, she feels it—the same pinprick tightness that clamps down on her chest on the field. the urgency. the all-or-nothing.

she fucking hates rock-paper-scissors.

not because it’s silly — because it’s unfair. there’s no strategy, no way to earn the win. it’s pure, dumb luck. and it is absolutely, painstakingly important to her that she wins this round. and because earlier, she’d already lost a scrimmage to jinyoung. and god, the way he’d smiled after slipping past her in the final play had ruined her entire afternoon. smug bastard. damn him for being twenty something centimeters taller, for those legs that can always get to the ball a split-second faster.

Good luck, babe!