#ikeurelic

i saw a ri-ki fanfic wjere he was a drug dealer and y/n ( me 😜 ) was getting smoke from him and we fell in love and i LOST IT BEFORE I COULD READ IT FAWK. ive read so many like that tho so ik the plot but damn i eat em up every single time. 💔

Second Serve , First Love

𖥔 prologue 𖥔

Becoming a tennis olympian has always been Alina’s dream. From waking up at 6 a.m. for training to staying up until 12 a.m. just to practice hitting a tennis ball over the net, y/n has always been determined to become the best at her sport… tennis. Having olympian tennis players as parents has always been something Alina looked up to. Dedication. Determination. Gold. Fear. Those are the things y/n is here to overcome—and to find. Starting at the age of three, Alina has had a tennis racket in her hand for as long as she can remember. Going to her parents’ practices, sitting through meetings, watching their games—she has truly seen the ups and downs they had to go through, and she wants it all too.

But she isn’t doing this alone. She has Heeseung. Lee Heeseung is her best friend—her childhood crush, even. The one who has been her second hand since the womb. Their parents call them soulmates… born in the same year, only two months apart, sharing the exact same dream of becoming the next olympians of the men’s and women’s tennis teams. They were always meant to be. Being the children of the best tennis players of their time—who also happen to be best friends—is not as easy as it seems. Isabella García, born in San Juan and a two-time Olympian representing Puerto Rico, and Jose García, a one-time Olympian born in New York City, are Alina’s inspirations. Her biggest supporters. Her most prized possessions. She wants to make them proud. She doesn’t want to disappoint them by letting the bloodline end with them. They always have her back—but sometimes, the pressure of wanting to make them happy becomes heavy. Sometimes, it’s hard to breathe under the weight of expectations that were never spoken out loud.  Heeseung knows that pressure all too well.

Lee Soo Ha and Lee Han Bin, born and raised in Seoul, South Korea, are Heeseung’s biggest strengths—and his greatest destruction. Both three-time olympians, their experience in the sport is unmatched. And because of that, they push him relentlessly. They expect perfection. They expect discipline. They expect results. It makes Heeseung harsh on himself—harder than anyone else ever could be. Ever since he first picked up a tennis racket, he’s been chasing something he’s not sure he’ll ever reach. But he has Alina. His true love.The one he’s been obsessed with since he was seven.The one who sees him as more than just a tennis player. More than a future olympian. She sees him as Heeseung. And he sees Alina as herself. They are a match made in heaven… or so they thought.

Because being raised by Olympians doesn’t just give you a dream — it gives you weight. A legacy that never stops breathing down your neck.A future that feels prewritten before you’re old enough to choose differently. For Alina , the court has never just been a court. It’s been a mirror. Every missed shot feels like it echoes louder because her last name already means something. Every win is expected. Every loss feels like a failure not just to herself, but to the history she was born into. People don’t ask if she’ll make it to the Olympics — they ask when. And sometimes, that question feels heavier than any trophy she’s ever held.

Her parents never demanded perfection. They never raised their voices or told her she wasn’t enough. But that almost made it harder. Because she wants to give them gold. She wants to give them a legacy. Wants to prove that everything they sacrificed — the injuries, the travel, the years away from home — was worth it. She wants to be more than their daughter. She wants to stand beside them, not behind them. Heeseung understands that pressure better than anyone.

For him, tennis was never a choice — it was an expectation. A responsibility. A standard set so high that even breathing felt competitive. Growing up under the eyes of two decorated olympians meant learning early that second place was still losing, that rest was laziness, that weakness was something you trained out of yourself. He learned discipline before joy. Results before passion. And yet, whenever the pressure threatened to crush him, y/n was there. She was the only place where tennis didn’t matter.Where he didn’t have to be a future olympian.Where he was allowed to just be a boy who laughed too loud and dreamed too big. Together, they made the pressure bearable. Together, they believed that love could soften the sharp edges of ambition. That if they chased the same dream side by side, it would never feel lonely. 

But dreams don’t always leave room for love.And legacies don’t care about hearts.Somewhere between expectations and ego, between legacy and fear, something began to crack. And neither of them noticed it at first — because when you’re raised to win at all costs, you don’t always realize what you’re losing until it’s already gone.

previous // masterlist // next

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹ ⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹ ⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹ ⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹ ⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿

Second Serve , First Love

pairings : ( ex ) bf! heeseung x poc reader ! x love interest! seok matthew

theme : tennis rivalry , heartbreak , healing , second chances

trope : college • rivalry • exes to lovers to strangers • slow burn new love • “he fell first” • “ you deserve better ” • side couple feat. !

genre : smau / written

synopsis :

Y/N and Heeseung were the golden couple of college tennis—unstoppable on the court, adored off it, and destined for pro greatness… until one brutal loss shattered his ego and their perfect love along with it. Their breakup was silent but devastating, leaving Y/N guarded and alone—until Seok Matthew, the fearless, charming captain of a rival team, crashed into her world with laughter, late-night strategy talks, and a freedom she’d forgotten existed. As rivalries explode, championships loom, and jealousy burns hotter than ever, three hearts collide in a high-stakes match where pride, regret, and new love fight for victory—and Y/N must choose between a past that once felt perfect and a future that finally feels like hers.

featuring : enhypen x zerobaseone

status : ongoing

A/N : holaa , this is my first series that i am writing ! i’m so excited to put my thoughts into story form and bring them to life to share with you all :) it will take me some time as i am still writing it as i go and like said before it is my first smau. i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i do and i will update you all on a schedule once i get more comfortable. if you want to be in a taglist lmk ! and yeah … i hope you all enjoy the chaos of events that are about to begin ( ꈍ◡ꈍ)

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹ ⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹ ⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹ ⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹ ⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿

profiles // playlist

the fantastic 4 x enhypen x zerobaseone

chapters //

prologue 𐙚

chapter one : before 𐙚

chapter 2 𐙚

- p.s new chapters will be out soon for ssfl , i just need to get over this rut im in. this kind of ruined it for me ngl bc the story is about heeseung. i am writing tho just a little slower but stay tuned 🫶🏼

Second Serve, First Love

𖥔 chapter one : before 𖥔 playlist // nobody gets me - sza

Three days before ♡ : 

It’s two days before our final competition of the season. The wind blows harshly on my skin as I hit each yellow and white ball that comes my way. I use my lucky tennis racket, custom-made for this competition, covered in pink and silver rhinestones and adorned with a custom nameplate on the handle. I channel all my energy into achieving perfection for the second-to-last practice of the season. As the last thirty minutes of practice pass, I begin to drift into my own thoughts. The rhythm of the game is supposed to clear my mind. That’s what tennis has always been for me—control, precision, and predictability. The ball comes, I return it. Simple. But lately, nothing feels simple. Every swing feels heavier, and every miss feels personal. I keep imagining the crowd at the invitational, the scouts in the stands, and the pressure sitting on my shoulders like wet cement. And it’s suffocating. I can feel it pressing into my spine, curling my posture forward, forcing my lungs to work harder just to pull in air. Every expectation—mine, the team’s, the scouts’—feels layered on top of me. I keep telling myself I’ve handled pressure before. I’ve won under worse conditions. But this feels different. This feels personal.

And then there’s him.

No matter how hard I hit the ball, he’s still there in the back of my mind. It makes me angry. Angry that I can’t separate the court from him. Angry that something that used to be mine—my escape, my clarity—now feels contaminated by doubt. I swing harder just to drown it out, just to punish the thought of him ignoring me. The ball rockets past the baseline. Out. Coach calls it, but I barely register the sound. My hands are shaking, and I don’t know if it’s from the cold or from everything I’ve been swallowing all week. I remember that once I leave, I have to be left with my irritations from the week—hoping that this doesn’t affect me during the competition if not solved. Heeseung is all I can think about. The way he has been ignoring me has been sending me into a psychosis. If you ask Layla, Sunoo, and Ricky, they would say that I need to step out of this delusion that I’m in and “speak up,” “stand on business,” and “stop letting him treat you like shit when he’s stressed.” If you asked anyone on campus, they would’ve said we were fine. Still, we’re the golden couple, still the captains, still the pair that practiced before sunrise and left the courts long after the lights flickered off. From far away, we probably looked unbreakable. Up close, I could feel the fracture. Invisible to everyone else. But I feel it every time I reach for my phone and hesitate. Every time I debate whether texting him is clingy or normal. Every time I rehearse conversations in my head that I’m too proud—or too scared—to actually say out loud. It started small. The good morning and good night texts stopped, meeting me before and after classes ended, and worst of all, we stopped meeting for practices. At first, I told myself it was nothing—maybe he was just busy? Maybe he was stressed? The invitational is in two days, and scouts are coming. This was the match. The one everyone had circled on the calendar since August. Still, I’d wake up and check my phone out of habit. Nothing. And the longer I stare at the empty screen, the more ridiculous I feel. I hate that I still expect something. Hate that a tiny part of me still believes the next refresh will fix everything. My thumb hovers over his name more times than I want to admit. I could text first. I could always text first. But I’m so tired of being the one who reaches.

No “good luck at practice. No “eat before class.” No “I love you.” Just blank space where he used to be.

I try to convince myself that love doesn’t disappear over a few missed texts. But when habits break, it feels like something sacred has been interrupted. And I hate that something so small can make me feel so unsure because it doesn’t feel small to me. It feels like being slowly erased. Like watching someone dim the lights in a room and pretending not to notice it’s getting darker.

Two days before ♡ : 

The silence felt louder every morning leading up to today. By the time I reached the courts, he’d already be there. Shirt damp with sweat. Jaw clenched. Serving like the ball had personally offended him. The crack of impact echoed too sharply in the quiet air. He didn’t see me at first. That shouldn’t have mattered, but it did—at least for me. Because there was a time he would’ve felt me there without looking. A time he would’ve turned instinctively, like we were tethered by something invisible. Now I feel like I’m standing outside of his world, knocking politely instead of belonging in it. “Morning,” I called, trying to sound normal. He was wearing his favorite tennis tee, the one he was given when he won his first real tennis trophy back two years ago during senior year of high school… I’m surprised he can still fit it. His hair was long over his face, damp and sweaty… it looked more black than normal. His eyebrows scrunched and no thought behind his eyes. It was kind of inhumane. Not cruel. Just distant. Like he’s operating on survival mode and everything unnecessary has been stripped away. And lately, I don’t know if I count as necessary.

I haven’t seen him like this in so long. He’s always been intense. That’s what made him great. But this isn’t intensity — it’s desperation. The kind that eats at you. The kind that makes you forget the people standing right next to you.

I used to be the person he looked at after every good serve.

Now I feel like background noise. Like the echo of applause after it fades. Like something that was once loud and important but is now just… there. Existing. Easy to ignore.

He’s so dedicated—too dedicated, so harsh on himself. The last time was during our final game about a year ago when he played against Seok Matthew. His worst rivalry. He glanced over, just briefly. “Hey.” No smile. No quick kiss pressed to my temple. No teasing comment about me being late — even though I wasn’t. Just another serve. Harder this time. The ball slammed into the fence behind the baseline. He muttered something under his breath and grabbed another. I stood there for a second longer than necessary, waiting for him to look at me again. He didn’t. So I started stretching by myself.

It wasn’t just the mornings. It was the in-between. The spaces where we used to exist naturally. Lunch together became “I’ll grab something later.” Late-night calls turned into “I’m studying.” Even walking back from practice felt different — like we were on the same sidewalk but not in the same world. He was still next to me. But he wasn’t with me. And that’s the kind of loneliness no one prepares you for. The kind where the person you love is physically close enough to touch, but emotionally miles away. I could reach out and grab his wrist, but I don’t know if he’d feel it.

I tried to tell myself it was temporary.

Pressure did this to people. Big matches did this. Especially when that match was against Matthew’s team. The rivalry wasn’t subtle. It never had been. And I’ve always told myself I understood it. That I supported it. That I would never let myself become another pressure point in his already crowded head. But what if I already am? What if loving me feels like something else he has to manage? Every year it was the same narrative: Two captains. Two schools. One title. And every year, the question floated around campus like a mosquito no one could quite swat away—Would Heeseung finally beat him?

I found out about Chloe by accident. I wasn’t looking for anything or being suspicious. I was just walking past the academic center after weights when I saw him through the glass doors. He was sitting across from a girl with a pitch-black low ponytail. A laptop was open between them. Papers were scattered across the table. He leaned forward, listening. And then he laughed. Not polite. Not distracted. Just real and open. The sound hit me harder than it should’ve. It felt sharp. Immediate. Like someone pressed on a bruise I didn’t know was there. I didn’t realize how much I missed that sound until I heard it directed at someone else. I hadn’t heard that laugh in days. The crisp sound of his voice being used on another woman made me feel something I feel that I shouldn’t have. I can’t tell if it’s jealousy, insecurity, or just me overthinking - maybe a mix of the three ? All I know is that I feel hurt ? Guilty even ? Why hasn’t he been like that with me ? My feet stopped moving. I stood there like an idiot, pretending to scroll on my phone while watching the reflection in the glass. She nudged his arm playfully when he got something wrong. He nudged her back. It looked easy. It looked light. It looked like the version of him I fell for. And that realization made something ugly twist in my chest. Because if he can still be that version… why hasn’t he been it with me?It didn’t look like the version of him I’d been getting. When was the last time he looked that relaxed with me?

I replay our recent conversations in my head, searching for a moment where he smiled like that. I can’t find one. And that realization stings worse than the sight of her hand brushing his arm. I tell myself I’m being dramatic. I tell myself I’m exhausted. I tell myself it’s stress. I tell myself I’m projecting. But none of those explanations stop the ache. None of them quiet the voice asking why I feel replaced in something that’s supposed to be mine. But drama doesn’t make your chest tighten like this. A group of students pushed past me, and I stumbled forward, forced to keep walking. I didn’t confront him that night. I told myself I didn’t need to. If it mattered, he’d tell me, but he didn’t. And that silence feels louder than any confession would have. Because if it truly meant nothing, why hide it? Why let me find out like this—through glass, like I’m looking into something I’m not invited into?

 My friends told me that I need to have a deep discussion with him about it. I know I need to, but I can’t help but be somewhat embarrassed. That’s the part I can’t shake. If it truly meant nothing, why keep it quiet? Why let me find out through windows and screenshots? Why make me feel like I’m the one intruding on something? Why do I feel like I’m the outsider in my own relationship? Like I’m the one overstepping by wanting to know where he’s been. I shouldn’t feel embarrassed for caring. I shouldn’t feel guilty for noticing. But I do. And that’s what scares me the most.

One day before ♡ : 

By Wednesday, the knot in my stomach had teeth. He left morning practice early. He said he had “stuff” to do, which doesn’t make sense because it’s practice week. He would be spending all his days making sure everything is perfect—no matter what time of day it was…if he had free time, he was practicing. Later that evening, Layla sent me a screenshot. Heeseung tagged in a study room.

With Chloe once again. I stared at it too long.

It wasn’t the picture itself—they weren’t even sitting close. It was that I hadn’t known—the fact that he had been hanging out with someone else and giving them the attention I have been asking for. Okay, it’s jealousy; I guilt myself. 

“I think I’m going crazy,” I muttered, sinking into the chair across from Layla and Ricky.

They were nestled together like gravity worked differently for them. I tried not to notice, but my mind kept drifting — to how easy they looked. How secure.

“You’re not crazy,” Layla said immediately.

“You’re spiraling,” Ricky corrected gently, making quotation marks with his fingers.I glared at him. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking,” he said softly. “You haven’t been sleeping. You jump every time your phone lights up.”

“That’s because it’s usually not him,” I shot back.

The table went quiet for half a second.

Layla leaned forward. “Okay. Let’s slow down. What exactly is bothering you? The tutor? Or the fact that he didn’t tell you?”

“The fact that I feel stupid,” I said quickly. “Like everyone knows what’s going on except me.”

Ricky frowned. “Nothing is going on.”

“You don’t know that,” I snapped.

He blinked, surprised.

“I mean — I’m not saying he’s cheating,” I corrected, rubbing my temples. “I’m just saying… why does it feel like I’m being phased out of my own relationship?”

Layla’s expression softened. “Have you told him that? Exactly like that?”

“Yes,” I said. “And he said it’s ‘not a big deal.’”

They both winced.

That phrase again.

Not a big deal.

“It feels like being gently dismissed,” I continued, my voice tightening. “Like I’m dramatic for even caring. Like I’m supposed to just sit there and wait until he decides I matter again.”

Sunoo walked over and slammed his tray down.

“I say team screw Heeseung and move on,” he said bluntly. “Because this happens every single match season. Lina, I can’t stand watching you shrink yourself every time he gets stressed.”

“I’m not shrinking myself,” I snapped automatically.

“Yes, you are,” Layla said, surprisingly firm.

I looked at her.

“You get quieter,” she continued. “You over-explain him. You defend him before anyone even attacks him.”

“That’s because you guys don’t get it,” I said, my voice rising. “You didn’t see what losing to Matthew did to him last year. He was wrecked. He couldn’t even look at the court for weeks.”

“And that gives him permission to treat you like an afterthought?” Sunoo shot back.

“He’s not treating me like an afterthought.”

“Then what would you call it?” Ricky asked gently.

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

“It just feels like…” I swallowed. “Like I’m convenient when he’s calm. And disposable when he’s under pressure.”

The words hung there heavier than I meant them to.

Layla reached across the table. “That’s not nothing, Lina.”

“I know,” I whispered. “But I also know he loves me.”

“Loving you and prioritizing you are two different things,” Sunoo said.

“That’s not fair,” I said quickly. “He’s trying to secure his future.”

“And what are you?” Layla asked quietly. “A placeholder until scouts leave?”

“That’s not what this is,” I insisted, but it came out weaker.

Ricky leaned forward. “Then what is it?”

I felt heat rise up my neck. “I just want to feel chosen. Is that insane? I want him to look at me the way he used to. I want him to tell me what’s going on instead of finding out from screenshots.”

My hands curled into fists on the table.

“I don’t care about Chloe. I care that he didn’t think I deserved to know.”

Sunoo exhaled sharply. “That’s valid.”

Layla nodded. “You’re not crazy. You’re hurt.”

“I’m annoyed,” I corrected quickly. “I’m annoyed that I’m even in this position. I’m annoyed that I’m questioning him before the biggest match of the season. I’m annoyed that I look jealous.”

“You don’t look jealous,” Ricky said.

“I feel jealous,” I admitted. “And I hate that. Because I’ve never had to compete for his attention before.”

That hit them.

Layla’s voice softened again. “Then don’t compete.”

The words startled me.

“What?”

“Don’t compete,” she repeated. “If he wants to shut you out, that’s his decision. But don’t chase him for basic respect.”

Sunoo nodded. “You’re a captain too. You’re not some sideline girlfriend.”

I laughed weakly. “Tell him that.”

“Have you?” Ricky asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I told him I’m not a distraction.”

“And?” Layla pressed.

“He hesitated,” I admitted. “Like he didn’t know what to say.”

They all exchanged a look.

“That hesitation tells you everything,” Sunoo muttered.

“No,” I said immediately. “It tells me he’s overwhelmed.”

“It tells me,” Layla said carefully, “that he doesn’t know how to balance you and his ambition.”

Silence settled over the table.

“And that scares you,” Ricky added gently.

I stared down at the table.

“Yes.”

Because I don’t want to be the thing he sacrifices.

And I don’t want to be the thing that distracts him either.

I just want to be with him.

Sunoo squeezed my shoulder. “Then make him say what you are to him. Don’t let him hide behind stress.”

Layla nodded. “You deserve clarity before that match. Not after.”

“And if he chooses tennis over you?” Ricky asked quietly.

My chest tightened.

“Then at least I’ll know,” I said.

And for the first time all week, that felt stronger than waiting.

It felt like being gently dismissed, like I was making something out of nothing.

But if it was nothing… why didn’t he tell me?

Because I knew how badly he wanted this.

Because I knew how much losing to Matthew last time had wrecked him.

Matthew, the rival captain, was known for his calm, controlled, and skilled demeanor. He was even hilarious at times, and he always maintained a steady presence across the net. Heeseung couldn’t stand losing to him.

Rumor had it that Matthew had once liked me. I had never entertained the idea, as I had Heeseung. But I knew Heeseung remembered and never forgot the day he found out about it. His rage for him intensified, and I haven’t spoken to Matthew in months. We only exchanged the usual captain-to-captain nod across the courts.

Back then, the rumor had spread quickly that Matthew had liked me. I remember the way Heeseung’s jaw tightened the day he heard it. It wasn’t just rivalry anymore; it had become personal. Maybe that’s why this week feels even heavier. If he loses again, I don’t know what that will do to him. Or to us.

Layla leaned back in her chair slowly. “You know… Matthew doesn’t shut people out like that before matches.”

The name slipped into the air too easily.

I blinked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Ricky shrugged, but there was something deliberate in the way he did it. “I’m just saying. He handles pressure differently.”

Sunoo hummed. “Last year, even before finals, he was still showing up to team dinners. Still talking. Still… present.”

My eyebrows pulled together. “Why are we talking about Matthew right now?”

Layla exchanged a look with Ricky.

“What?” I pressed.

“I just think it’s interesting,” Layla said carefully, “how two captains can want the same thing just as badly… and choose to act completely differently while chasing it.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” I said quickly. Too quickly.

Ricky tilted his head. “We didn’t say it did.”

“It’s not comparable,” I insisted. “Matthew’s different.”

“Different how?” Sunoo asked, folding his arms.

“He just is,” I said, irritation creeping into my voice. “He’s always calm. That’s his thing. Heeseung’s intense. That’s his thing.”

“And one of those things,” Layla said gently, “doesn’t make you feel like you’re competing for attention.”

Silence.

I felt heat rise to my face.

“That’s not fair,” I muttered.

“Isn’t it?” Sunoo replied quietly.

Ricky leaned forward slightly. “You said it yourself. You don’t want to feel like you’re competing. So why does it feel like that with your own boyfriend… but not with the guy he’s competing against?”

My stomach twisted.

“I’m not thinking about Matthew like that,” I said firmly.

“We know,” Layla said softly. “But he used to.”

I looked up sharply. “Used to what?”

“Like you,” Sunoo said plainly.

The words landed heavier than they should have.

“That was a rumor,” I said, but it sounded weaker now.

Ricky’s expression was unreadable. “Was it?”

I swallowed.

“Heeseung remembers it,” Layla added. “Trust me.”

My jaw tightened. “So what are you implying?”

“Nothing,” Sunoo said, raising his hands slightly. “We’re just saying… if losing to Matthew already gets under his skin? And Matthew’s name is tied to you?”

The implication settled in slowly.

My chest tightened for a different reason now.

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “He wouldn’t… he’s not… that’s not why he’s acting like this.”

“Okay,” Layla said gently.

But she didn’t look convinced.

And for the first time all week, I wasn’t entirely sure I was either.

Tonight, I waited outside the courts. The sky was already dark when he finally emerged. He appeared exhausted, with damp hair and tense shoulders.

 “Hey,” I said. He blinked, as if he hadn’t anticipated my presence. “Oh, hey.”

“I saw you at the academic center this week,” I said.

He went still, just slightly.

“Yeah,” he replied with no emotion.

“With Chloe,” I said, tensing up at the name.

“She’s helping me with statistics,” he said flatly, almost rehearsed.

“You didn’t tell me,” I said.

“And don’t say you forgot,” I continued before he could respond. “Because you didn’t forget. You just didn’t think I needed to know.”

I folded my arms, refusing to break eye contact.

“I shouldn’t have to find out about who you’re spending every day with from .”

“It’s not a big deal,” he rolled his eyes and turned away, as if it bothered him that I was even in his face.

“Stop saying that,” I snapped.

My voice came out sharper than I expected, but I didn’t pull it back.

“Every time something bothers me, it suddenly becomes ‘not a big deal.’ To you.”

He tried to step around me. I stepped in front of him.

“It’s not a big deal,” he rolled his eyes and turned away, as if it bothered him that I was even in his face. My chest tightened, harder than ever. Am I really losing him? I thought to myself.

“You’ve been with her every day,” I said.

“Every day, Heeseung. While I’m standing on the sidelines trying to figure out when I stopped being part of your life.”

I shook my head.

“I’m not jealous of a tutor. I’m frustrated that you didn’t respect me enough to mention it.”

“Because I’m trying to maintain my GPA before scouts review everything,” he snapped.

“And where exactly do I fit into that?” I shot back immediately.

“You’re acting like I’m competing with your schedule.” My jaw tightened.

“I’m your girlfriend. Not a distraction.” The words came quickly, defensive. Then he scrubbed a hand down his face, as if he regretted the tone.

“I can’t mess this up,” he added more quietly.

“And you think talking to me is what’s going to mess it up?” I asked.

“That’s what this feels like. Like I’m the risk.”

“I’m not asking you to mess anything up,” I said. “I’m asking you to talk to me.”

“I shouldn’t have to beg for basic communication.”

My voice wavered for half a second, but I steadied it.

“You don’t get to shut me out and then act surprised when I’m upset.”

“I don’t have time for this right now,” he said.

I let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Right. Of course you don’t.”

I stepped back, but my eyes stayed locked on his.

“You’ve had time for her. You’ve had time for stats. You’ve had time for practice.”

My voice lowered.

“But you don’t have time for me.”

“I don’t have time for this right now,” he said, shaking his head away from me while rubbing his eyes. 

There it was. The line that made my throat burn. The words landed between us like something breakable hitting the ground. I searched his face for softness, for reassurance, for the version of him who would pull me into his chest and tell me I was overthinking. But all I saw was exhaustion and irritation..like loving me right now was another task on his list.

“For what?” I asked softly, but this time there was steel under it. “For me?”

“Say it,” I pushed. “Look at me and tell me you don’t have time for me.”

The silence stretched between us.

He hesitated. His eyes softened, but he still didn’t let up.

That hesitation felt louder than any answer.

“I just need to get through this week,” he said finally.

Through this week.

Through the match. Through the pressure.

“And then what?” I pressed quietly, but firmly. “Do I get you back after the trophy ceremony? After the applause?”

He didn’t answer.

“I’m not asking for all of you,” I continued. “I’m asking for something.”

“And if you can’t give me that, then say it.”

Like I was something he’d deal with afterward.We walked back in silence.Not fighting. Not okay. I’m just suspended somewhere uncomfortable and fragile.When I got to my dorm, my phone buzzed.

It was Heeseung. 

heeseung : sorry. been stressed. big game.

I stared at the message for a long time.

I typed: Stressed doesn’t mean you get to disappear. I deleted it.

I typed: I’m here for you. Deleted that too.

I typed: Then act like it. Deleted that as well.

Across campus, I had imagined him falling asleep easily. However, I didn’t. I lay awake, replaying the way he had laughed with her, the way he had said he didn’t have time, and the way I felt like I was slowly being edged out of my own relationship. Perhaps he wasn’t cheating; maybe Chloe was just a tutor. But something was slipping, and I didn’t know if it was him—or me. One day until the match. One day until everything either snapped back into place—or broke completely. The worst part is, I don’t even know which outcome I’m bracing for anymore. Because if he wins and still treats me like this, what does that say? And if he loses… I don’t know if we survive that either. I’ve always believed that love and ambition could coexist. But lately, it feels like I’m competing with something I can’t beat. I’m not sure I want to keep playing a match where I don’t even know the score. And for the first time since we started dating, I wasn’t sure which outcome scared me more.

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A/N : hii everyone, long time no see! i am sorry about the long delay in writing, i had a lot going on but i am back. the second and third chapter will be out today as well so stay tuned! again if you want to be apart of the taglist, comment and i will tag you >3 enjoy my loves ˃ 𖥦 ˂

Second Serve , First Love

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enhypen

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ikeurelic's blog ♡

⋆｡𖦹° hola ! my name is onaa and i am a first time writer on tumblrr // i am very excited to show my works here ! ⋆｡𖦹° 06 // istp // she-her // afro-latina (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ⋆｡𖦹° i stan many groups but enha ( ot7 ) , p1h , &team and zb1 are my ults ! ⋆｡𖦹° as i write i will add of course but you guys can suggest ideas and talk to me as well ^ i wont be writing anything with fetishes or insanely weird - i do write smut , one shots, smaus, m.lists (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑) ⋆｡𖦹° i hope you guys enjoy as much as i do ♡