do you even love me?
“So you’re the one dating Cooper Flagg? good luck.”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Dating Cooper Flagg for the past year has been the hardest decision you’ve ever made. Loving Copper is not what’s hard, dating him is.
Cooper is so stubborn, so selfish, he never knows when he’s wrong, and he certainly doesn’t want to know either.
Having you as a girlfriend is probably the biggest reality check for him. You’re completely the opposite. You always accept when you’re wrong, you help him when he’s stressed, you know how to put others over yourself.
But you always knew the boy behind the jersey, the one who liked quiet mornings and held your hand a little too tight when he was nervous. But as the Final Four approached, that boy was disappearing, his dreams were lost in a fog neither of you could pass.
The night before the biggest game of his life, your phone buzzed on the nightstand at 2:14 AM.
“Huh?" You whispered, tired. Your voice thick with sleep. “Coop?"
"I missed you," he slurred. The background noise was a mess. Music, bottles falling off the tables, screams, laughs and his voice was heavy, uncoordinated.
"Cooper... are you drunk?" The realization hit you like a physical punch. "What the fuck?” you asked. “Are you dumb? You have the semifinals tomorrow! The biggest game of your career!"
"So what?" he snapped, his tone turning sharp and defensive. "I’m tired of everyone telling me what to do. I just wanted to feel... not like a basketball player for an hour."
"You’re an idiot, you know that right? It doesn’t works like that Cooper. You chose this life, this pressure, you love basketball.” you answered, sitting up and rubbing your temples. "You’ve worked your whole life for this, and you're throwing it away for what? A few drinks?"
"What’s the problem with you, huh?" he growled. "You’re my girlfriend. You’re supposed to be on my side. Don't say that to me."
"I am on your side! That doesn’t mean I’ll just sit back and let you ruin what you worked so hard for, i won’t let you ruin your opportunities. This isn't just a game, this isn’t fun; it's your future."
The silence on the other end lasted so long you thought the call had dropped. Then, his voice came through, broken. "Do you even love me? Or do you just love the guy who wins games?"
"What the fuck do you mean by that?" you asked, tears of anger pricking your eyes. “That’s never what I said, Flagg.” Your voice broken.
"I don't want you at my game tomorrow," he said, his voice suddenly cold and sober. "If you’re just gonna judge me, stay away."
"You mean that, Cooper?" you asked, your voice trembling. “Just like that?”
"Yeah. I do."
And then, the line went dead.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The next day was a blur of anxiety. You tried to stay away, but by 4:00 PM, you found yourself pulling a hoodie cap low over your eyes and slipping into the arena with a ticket you’d bought off a reseller. You sat in the nosebleeds, surrounded by fans who didn't know your name.
Down on the floor, Cooper looked like a ghost. Like he realized his mistake. He was playing hard, but he was frantic. He kept glancing toward the section where you were supposed to be, the seats that sat empty.
The game was a grueling, back-and-forth battle. With 10 seconds left in the 4th quarter, the score was 74-71. Duke was down by three. The arena was a deafening roar of "Let's Go Duke!"
Everyone knew where the ball was going. You knew.
Cooper received the inbound pass. He shook his defender with a crossover, Stepped back, behind the three point line, and let the ball fly.
It felt like the entire world held its breath. The ball hit the inner rim, danced around it, and then, with a cruel twist, spun out.
The buzzer hit. The opposing team hugged in the court. The blue-and-white fans fell into a traumatic silence.
Cooper didn't fall to his knees; he just walked slowly to the bench and sat down, burying his face in a white towel. His teammates tried to pat his back, and coach schemed for words of comfort, but Cooper was unreachable. He was pure grief.
And then, you didn't think; you just moved. You walked the stairs, pushed through the crowd, and made your way to the court entrance. The security guards, seeing your face, stepped back. They knew you were his, even if everything had been cut the night before.
You walked across the polished floor, past the celebrating opponents, until you reached the Duke bench. Cooper was hunched over, his hands covering his face, his jersey soaked in sweat and failure.
You sat down on the chair next to him.
“You know, It’s not your fault..." you said softly. “Even if someone tells you it is, it isn’t.”
Cooper didn't move at first, but his breathing slowed. He knew that voice. He slowly lowered his hands, his eyes red.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice a ghost. "I told you... I told you I didn't want you here."
"I've never been very good at listening to you when you're being an idiot. Plus, i didn’t care. If you didn’t want me here, you should have broken up with me.” you said, a small, sad smile touching your lips.
He looked at you, really looked at you, and the wall crumbled. "I missed the shot. I ruined everything. The game... us... everything."
"You missed a shot, Coop. That's it," you said, reaching out to take his hand. His fingers were shaking. "And what do you mean 'us'? You could miss a thousand shots, you could not be as successful as you are, and I’d still be sitting right here. I don't care about the trophy. I care about the guy who works for his dreams."
He squeezed your hand so hard it hurt, leaning his head against yours right there in front of the cameras. "I'm so sorry. For everything I said. Please don't leave." He pleaded.
"I'm not going anywhere, baby." you whispered.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Eventually, the lights in the arena began to dim. You helped him stand up, his legs heavy like lead. You walked together through the tunnel, past the media rooms where reporters were waiting to tear his performance apart. You didn't stop. He entered the locker room, took a shower and changed.
Once you reached the quiet of the parking garage, the cool night air hit you both. Cooper stopped by the side of the car, looking up at the dark sky.
"I thought if I lost, you'd realize I wasn't worth the trouble." he admitted. "The pressure... it makes me crazy sometimes."
"Then i’ll keep you on your feet." you said. "But if you ever call me drunk the night before a game again, I’m hiding your sneakers."
He let out a short, wet laugh, the first real sound of joy he’d made in days. He pulled you into a hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck, smelling of sweat and Gatorade and home.
"Deal," he whispered. "Let’s just go home."
As he drove away from the stadium, the loss still stung, but the silence in the car wasn't deafening anymore. It was peaceful. The world wanted Cooper Flagg, you just wanted Cooper. And for the first time all week, he realized that was enough.
