#katseyetumblr

you hate her, you absolutely despise her. at least that’s what you’ve convinced yourself every time her name flashes across the tournament board next to yours. Manon Bannerman and the Swiss Volley glowing in bold, almost like it’s taunting you from the screen. but yet there was a pit feeling in your stomach, it almost felt like butterflies, but why? 

you’re supposed to hate her, she's your biggest rival on the court, the outside hitter that everyone fears. the same one who ruined your perfect season with a spike that cost you the playoffs.

she's the girl who stole your spotlight, who makes a fool out of yourself to showboat herself. she’s sharp, smug yet so perfect. she knew exactly how to get under your skin, using it to her advantage to catch you off guard. 

however, every time you trade glances with her through the net your stomach does these stupid somersaults.

it’s not nerves, you don’t get nervous. never. but this?

it almost feels like you're losing control of yourself, over what exactly? 

the crowd goes wild, the gym’s energy is electric tonight. the score is tight, yet all you can see in your tunnel vision is

her. 

you examine how she moves through the court, it was effortless. sharp steps, perfect approaches to the net, hair sticking to her forehead with sweat. every time she jumps, your eyes immediately dials onto her, even when you shouldn’t.

yet, you’re so lost in your own world that you don’t even notice that she sees you watching. she always sees.

when it’s her turn to serve. she holds a gaze a second too long before tossing the ball. you thought to yourself, “she's just trying to get you to lose focus. don't fall into it y/n.". but your heartbeat stutters at that exact moment, but you pretend that it didn’t. 

you block her next hit,

*BOOM*

the ball drops right at her feet. 

her eyes widen at the sight of the action, as she carries herself up. the look she gave you, it wasn’t anger, it was heat, that fiery tension.

like she’s daring you to keep up. 

later on, during a messy rally, you both sprint for a tight ball towards the net.

you jump.

she jumps.

both of your forearms smash together, your feet hit the ground tangled. you stumble into her chest, her hands gripping your waist to keep you steady.

everything stops, it felt like the world was put on freeze. you can feel her breath, slightly caressing your cheek, her fingers stay on your hips a beat too long. you can feel her pulse beating against your shoulder.

”watch yourself, loser.” she mutters, but her voice isn’t steady.

 “let go of me manz.” you whisper,

 “you first.” she chuckled at the nickname, as a small smirk gradually appeared on her arrogant face.

neither of you move a single inch, not until the ref’s whistle cuts the moment apart, and manon pulls away like she touched fire. but to you, everything feels muted, too bright, too loud and too unreal

because after all of that, all you can feel is

her.

the imprint of her hand still burning on your waist, the heat of her breath still lingering on your cheek. the echo of her voice, spiraling your head.

you try to shake this feeling off, jog back into the court like nothing ever happened. but when you start to look across the net again, she’s already staring you down. Not smirking, not gloating. simply staring.

like the collision you had with her moments ago, cracked something open inside her and now she doesn’t know how to contain herself.

your coach calls you to huddle up with the rest of the team, “y/n you need to watch out for #12. she’s deadly, look she already got you with the collision. so watch out.”

you nod, and your teammates talk around you in the huddle.

but none of it registers in your head. 

manon looked back at you, and her eyes stayed locked onto yours even as she walked to her spot. you see that she rolls her shoulders, her jaw clenched so tightly it almost looks like she’ll break a tooth.

she’s angry. but not at you at least. she’s angry at herself, at the thought of wanting something she’s not supposed to want.

the moment breaking again with the ref blowing his whistle to start the next match, the serve goes up.

she doesn’t take her eyes off you until the last possible second, and when she does, she plays like she’s possessed. her hits are much faster, her footwork sharper by the minute, every time you see her getting the ball, she looks like she’s trying to burn off whatever happened a minute ago between you two, and how it lit something within her.

she spikes the ball straight down the line, earning her team a point. her teammates turn to look at her to cheer, yet she doesn’t turn to them. her eyes are gazed onto you.

her chest heaving, her face flushed, her eyes wild, bright and alive. you see this through the net, your eyes meet. you tried to look away, but something about this stare just reeled you in. like you wanted more and can’t look away from it.

seeing your reaction, her lips part slightly. a fire flickers there, the same fire she had during the collision. this special fire that was ignited by both of you stated, “you make me want things i shouldn’t want.” 

the ref tosses the ball back, manon catches it without looking. her eyes still staring you down.  by the next rally, fate puts you both at the net again, opposite positions. your fingertips slightly brushing at the slight fabric of the net. 

the tension is so thick you swear on your life, you can almost slice it with a knife. manon leans in slightly, like she’s trying to keep the world from hearing. “still up for the challenge, y/n?” she murmurs under her breath.

you swallow hard, you can’t tell if she’s mocking or testing you. “should I be?” you whispered back. 

her eyes dropped to your mouth for half a second before she snaps herself out of whatever zone she was in, and looks back at your eyes. “you tell me.”

the ball wasn’t even in play yet, the whistle hadn't been blown, but your heart felt like it was going to explode, pounding out of your chest making it seemed like you two were on match point. 

her hands shift on the net, her knuckles brushing against it, slightly near your hands. it was close enough that if either of you moved an inch, your fingers would touch.

you hear her slightly clear her voice before she parted her lips, under her breath. “you’re in my head y/n”

the way she said it, it didn’t sound arrogant or playful but rather raw. like having a confession forced upon her against her will. you exhale, “good. that was the point manon.” 

her breath hitched at the sudden comment, a slight smirk creeps up onto her face to hide the flustered state she’s in. “you don’t mean that.” her snarky tone bites back, as her eyes slowly make their way to yours. but before you could make a comment back towards her, her teammate shouts her name. it was loud, sharp and urgent. 

yet she doesn’t move, not a single inch. manon’s stare still lingers onto you, like you’re the only thing in this damn gym worth looking at. like this whole match is just noise, compared to the electricity buzzing between you. 

“meret! do I have to call you twice?” this time, she snaps out of it. she jerks her head towards her teammates. their faces slightly angered, but she didn’t notice. she was too busy looking at what was important on the other side of the court. 

this time, the emotions she’d felt earlier, surged back. stronger, raw. almost feral. 

her chest rose and fell too fast, her eyes dragging over your face like she was committing it to her memory. the same wildness that you’d felt when she collided with you. 

you hold her gaze until the whistle blows again, sharp and unforgiving. and just like that, the moment ruptures. The final point is played, the crowd roars in excitement, hands slap against each other in forced sportsmanship.

her eyes notice yours one last time before she turns away. it wasn’t soft nor apologetic. but rather it was a look that promised unfinished business.

you barely managed to make it three steps into the hallway, before a hand grips your wrist and yanks you back. the noise of the gym dies instantly, the locker room door swings shut behind you.

she stands a few feet away, her back towards you, shoulders tense, fists clenched at her sides like she’s holding herself back. “you know, you’re evil. you don’t get to look at me like that and then walk away.” she murmured the last words under her breath. 

“like what exactly?” you stood there, your arms crossed, slightly leaning against one of the cabinets. 

she chuckled, but there wasn’t a hint of humor in it. “like i’m the only thing you can see. like you want me to break first.”

she turns around slowly to face you, slowly approaching you. “you know i don’t lose focus.” she continues, “not in matches, never. but when you’re on the court–” her voice drops for half a second, before it becomes steady again. “i forget everything else.” 

the air feels too thick to breathe in right now. “then why are you here?” you questioned. 

“because i can’t pretend this is nothing.” she uttered, “because i’ve tried to hate you, i wanted to, but it hasn’t worked.” her breath hitched, “and that scares me more than losing ever could.”

her eyes search yours, raw and unguarded. “i don’t want you, i don’t want this distraction. god, please no.” but before you can mutter up a sentence, she kept going. “but every time you look at me like that, i feel something within me, like something that i’m not supposed to feel.” her breath shudders.

the sudden confession hangs between you two, it feels heavy and fragile. you swallow, “so do i, manon.” and that’s all it took.

her shoulders drop, just a little. like she’s been carrying something alone for way too long. she looks at you differently now, it’s not feral nor challenging no more. it’s more honest, sincere. 

“no, no. this doesn’t make sense.” she mutters.

“no.” you agree, “yet, it’s real."

she nods one time, slowly even. like she’s committing something to memory. “promise me one thing, don’t disappear.” her voice falters to a soft tone, “not after this.” 

"i promise." you gave a slight smile towards her. "i never had the thought to do so anyways." you reassured.

she gives a slight smile back then turns around, and steps towards the door. before either of you can do something irreversible, she pauses, her hand resting on the doorknob. 

“we’ll talk.” she adds, her eyes gazing onto yours. “later.”

as she leaves, you’re left standing there. your heart racing, knowing one thing’s for sure.