Basketball was weird. You liked to watch soccer, watched golf with your dad sometimes and honestly you found hockey quite interesting whenever a fight broke out. But basketball... felt like a mini, weirder version of soccer.

Tonight, though, your close-minded opinion would change. 100% if five of your best friend's brother's friends had anything to do with it.

Everybody Here Wants You by Jeff Buckley leaked out of someone’s phone and the bass turned the heavy July air even thicker. Summer in the suburbs meant humidity that stuck to your skin with the sharp smell of cut grass, hot asphalt, and streetlights blinking on just as the sun dropped low enough to stain everything orange.

You’d been here a million times. Ji‑hye’s house sat at the end of the cul‑de‑sac, her driveway split down the middle by a crooked crack where a tree root had bullied the concrete years ago. The hoop at the top was one of those adjustable ones, net frayed, backboard cracked in the corner, a faded NIKE sticker peeling at the edges. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

The guys were already there.

Juhoon was mid‑shot when you and Ji‑hye walked up. The ball arced high, spun once against the streetlight glow, and dropped through the net with a clean swish. He didn’t celebrate, just stepped forward to catch the rebound, body moving on muscle memory, and bounced it once before swinging a pass out to James.

“Finally,” Keonho called from the grass. He was half‑lying on his side, propped on one elbow. His phone was in one hand and a half‑empty Gatorade in the other, socks already dirty from rolling around. “Thought you guys died.”

“We stopped for snacks,” Ji‑hye announced, shaking a plastic convenience‑store bag so the wrappers rustled. “Unlike you animals who probably haven’t eaten since lunch.”

“I had ramen like an hour ago,” Martin chimed in. He sat on the curb, bending over to tie his shoe. When he stood up, the height difference hit you all over again. Six‑three did not need to be that dramatic for someone who couldn’t make a free throw to save his fucking life.

“That doesn’t count,” you pointed out, following Ji‑hye toward the hammock strung between two trees at the edge of the driveway. “Ramen is like… water with flavor.”

“It’s carbs,” Martin argued, eyebrows pulling together to make that outraged face he loved so much.

“It’s sodium overload, you stupid idiot,” Ji‑hye shot back.

Seonghyeon laughed under his breath. He was leaning against the garage door, arms folded, hair pushed back from his forehead in a way that should’ve looked messy but of course it didn’t. Because it was Seonghyeon. “She’s right. You’re gonna have a heart attack before you’re twenty‑five.”

“Worth it,” Martin muttered, but he smiled.

You dropped into the hammock first. The nylon fabric dipped under your weight and creaked slightly as it rocked. Ji‑hye flopped in beside you, shoulder pressed to yours, one knee hooked over the side. She immediately started digging through the bag—chips, gummies, a chocolate bar that had probably already melted into one unfortunate slab.

As you got settled, James glanced over from the wing. His eyes flicking between you, the hammock, and the hoop like he was taking inventory of the whole scene. He lifted his hand in a small wave that was so casual. You wiggled your fingers back, and he ducked his head, the corners of his mouth tugging up before he reset his stance.

It hit you then. This funny, dumb revelation: they were all kind of cute. In their own different, annoying, very obvious ways. Tall and obnoxious. Handsome and deadly accurate. Fox‑eyed and too observant. Loud and ridiculous and way too into you. You didn’t say it out loud to Ji-hye—you weren’t insane, god—but the thought sat there anyway.

“You guys playing or what?” Juhoon asked. He started dribbling again and the steady thump‑thump of the ball against concrete cutting through the music.

“We’re supervising,” Ji‑hye replied, already tearing open a bag.

“That means no,” James translated without looking away from the hoop. He lifted the ball, flicked his wrist, and hit another swish that didn’t even touch the rim.

“Show‑off,” Keonho groaned.

You smiled into your shoulder. This was normal. It was comfortable in this specific way summer nights got.

“Tell me you’re at least hydrated,” Ji‑hye warned. “I’m not trying to watch any of you pass out in my driveway.”

“I have Gatorade,” Keonho bragged, holding it up like a trophy before taking a long, obnoxious sip.

“That’s sugar salt water,” you pointed out.

“And?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Tastes like winning.”

“You literally just missed your last three shots,” Martin reminded him.

“Minor detail.”

The song switched. SUMMER by BROCKHAMPTON came on, the bass heavier and the vocals muffled through the tiny speaker on the hood of Juhoon’s mom’s car. The sound distorted on the louder parts, but it still wrapped around the driveway like a blanket.

“This is my song,” Keonho declared, pointing at his phone like he’d invented it.

“You say that about every song,” Seonghyeon commented and rolled his eyes.

“Because I have taste.”

“You have ADHD, bruh,” Martin deadpanned.

Keonho kicked the ball at him. Martin caught it with one hand, unimpressed.

“Can we play an actual game, or are we just gonna brick shots all night?” Juhoon asked. He spun the ball lazily on his palm, gaze flicking between them.

“I vote actual game,” James said. He rolled his shoulders once, like he was finally waking up.

“Teams?” Seonghyeon suggested, pushing off the garage. Up close, you could see a faint sheen of sweat along his hairline, his shirt sticking slightly at the collarbone as he adjusted his chain.

“Nah.” Keonho straightened, dribbling between his legs in a way that looked more chaotic than impressive. “Let’s do a challenge. Make it interesting.”

“Interesting how?” Juhoon pressed and arms folded over his chest, full skeptical.

Keonho’s eyes flicked toward the hammock. Toward you. He didn’t even bother hiding it this time. Then he looked back at the others, a grin already working its way onto his face.

“Hold up,” he said, letting the ball roll toward James. “Team meeting.”

He hooked a hand into Martin’s hoodie sleeve and yanked him forward. Seonghyeon stepped in automatically. James drifted closer like gravity had tugged him. Juhoon sighed, but walked into the circle last, because pretending he didn’t care was pointless and everyone knew it.

They huddled near the free‑throw line, backs half‑turned to you and Ji‑hye. From the hammock, you caught flashes of faces and half‑heard words over the music.

“—most makes—”

“That’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, it’s incentive.”

“You’re gonna lose anyway.”

“Shut up, I’m manifesting.”

Martin said something you couldn’t catch. His jaw was clenched, eyes cutting your way for a second before he snapped them back to the group. James shook his head slowly, but his mouth twitched like he was amused despite himself. Seonghyeon had his hand over his lips like he was hiding a smile.

“What does the winner even get?” Martin asked. His voice was a little louder.

Keonho dropped his voice, but the night carried enough over to the hammock.

“ISO,” he whispered, all cheerful like he birthed the greatest idea ever. “One‑on‑one time. Duh.”

Juhoon groaned immediately. “You are not turning my driveway into a fucking dating show.”

“It’s not a dating show,” Keonho argued. “It’s a friendly performance incentive.”

“That’s literally worse,” James muttered, eyes crinkling.

“You’re actually insane,” Seonghyeon added, but he was fully smiling now.

“It’s summer,” Keonho insisted. “Let me be delusional in peace, damn.”

“Bullshit, you’re 'delulu' year‑round,” Martin replied.

“Exactly. I’m consistent.”

From beside you, Ji‑hye whispered, “If Keonho gets any closer to you with that ‘ISO’ crap, I’m locking you in the house.”

“The fact that you think I’d willingly do that,” you murmured back, “is crazy.”

She snorted.

You already knew Keonho had a crush. He’d been soft‑launching it for months. But oh my... it was in the loudest, most obvious way possible. Pointed “you’re pretty”s and carrying your bag then forgetting it on the bus. Tonight was just like… more. The others, though—that was where your brain short‑circuited. You’d always filed them under “Juhoon’s friends,” safe category. They were not acting safe right now.

The huddle broke. The boys drifted back to their spots. They were all pretending that had been a very normal, not a conversation for plotting.

“All right,” Keonho announced, clapping his hands once. “New rules. Everyone shoots. Most makes wins.”

“Wins what?” Juhoon questioned, like he didn’t already know.

“Bragging rights,” Keonho replied smoothly. “Obviously.”

“That’s it?” Martin pushed, eyebrows raised.

“That’s it,” Keonho confirmed, but he didn’t look at Martin when he said it. He looked at you.

James exhaled through his nose, the tiniest almost‑laugh. “Sure. I’m in.”

“Same, I guess,” Seonghyeon agreed, spinning the ball once before passing it to Juhoon.

Juhoon stepped up to the top of the key, adjusted his grip once, then shot. The ball sailed clean and hit the net with a satisfying swish.

“One,” he announced, casual like it hadn’t even been a question.

James moved into place, checked his footing, then lifted. His shot hit nothing but net.

“Two,” he counted, nodding once.

As he backpedaled, James’s eyes found you again for a beat. He didn’t say anything, just gave this small, almost shy half‑smile like he was quietly pleased you’d seen it. You raised your brows like, obviously, and his shoulders relaxed a fraction before he slid back into position.

Seonghyeon took his, form smooth. Those stupid broad shoulders relaxed. Swish.

“Okay, I see you,” Juhoon called, clapping his hands once.

You watched the way Seonghyeon’s wrist snapped, the way he followed through. He didn’t glance over right away, but when he did, it was quick—eyes dragging from your face down to your legs and back up in one smooth pass before he looked away like nothing had happened. It was so fast you probably could’ve pretended you imagined it. You chose not to. Your face felt warmer.

Martin stepped to the free‑throw line. He bounced the ball twice, jaw working. For a second, his eyes flicked to you again, like he needed to check you were still watching. Then he looked back at the hoop, exhaled, and shot.

The ball hit the back of the rim and spun out.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

“Skill issue,” Keonho tossed in immediately and clapped his hands.

“You literally just airballed a layup ten minutes ago,” Martin shot back.

“That was different.”

“How?”

“It just was.”

You bit back a laugh, pressing your lips together. The hammock swayed slightly as Ji‑hye shifted, her head dropping against your shoulder.

“They’re so stupid,” she murmured.

“The stupidest,” you agreed.

But your eyes stayed on the court.

When it was finally his turn, Keonho jogged to a spot somewhere between the free‑throw line and the three‑point line. He dribbled once, twice, shoulders a little too loose, energy buzzing under his skin. Then he turned his head fully toward the hammock.

“This one’s for you,” he announced, pointing at you with the ball.

“Oh my god,” you muttered and shook your head.

Ji‑hye didn’t even try to hide her grin. “He’s so embarrassing.”

He shot.

It hit the rim and bounced off with a loud, tragic clank. The ball skidded toward the grass.

“That was definitely for her,” Ji‑hye cackledv.

“In spirit,” Keonho defended as he jogged after it. “The ball just didn’t get the memo.”

“Skill issue, lil bro,” Martin added, mocking the youngest.

“Shut up.”

The song switched. Rollercoaster by Justin Bieber started playing and immediately Keonho's head whipped toward his phone on the car hood.

"Ugh, this song," he groaned, but there was zero bite to it. He was grinning.

"Yo bruh, whose playlist is this?" Martin asked while lining up another shot.

You raised your hand lazily from the hammock. "I just put Keonho's on."

Keonho froze mid-dribble. "Wait, what?"

"Your phone was unlocked," you explained innocently. "So I commandeered the aux."

"Commandeered," Seonghyeon repeated, laughing under his breath. "She's fancy with it."

"I just didn't want to listen to you complain about every song," you defended.

"I don't complain about every song," Keonho protested.

"You literally do," Juhoon confirmed while catching a pass from James.

"Name one time."

"Last week. The entire car ride to the mall."

"That was constructive criticism."

"You said the Jonas Brothers made your ears bleed."

"And I stand by that."

Ji-hye snorted next to you. "He's got a point though. Your music taste is questionable."

"Thank you," Keonho replied, then paused. "Wait, is that a compliment or—"

"It's not," you and Ji-hye said at the same time.

They kept shooting. And slowly, the atmosphere changed.

Juhoon and James stayed locked in, each make earning a low hum of approval from the other. Seonghyeon hovered just behind them, form tightening, eyes flicking in your direction now and then like he was quietly checking if you'd noticed he was actually kind of good at this. Martin missed more than he made, but every time he got the ball, his shoulders squared like he was trying to will the rim into cooperating.

And every time it was Keonho's turn, he turned to you first.

Sometimes he pointed. Sometimes he just held your gaze a second too long. Sometimes he muttered, "Okay, watch this," under his breath like a prayer to no one in particular.

Half the time he missed badly. Once, he launched it so hard it sailed right over the backboard into the bushes.

It was calm for a second while the moment set in and... then the entire driveway cracked.

“OVER THE BACKBOARD?” Martin doubled over, hands on his knees. “HOW.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Keonho blurted, staring at the bushes like they’d betrayed him.

“You launched it into a different fucking time zone,” Seonghyeon laughed. For a minute his voice cracked and that stuttering version of himself came out.

“That was close though,” Keonho tried.

“It wasn’t even close to close,” James pointed out and shook his head while going to retrieve the ball until Keonho, the culprit himself—stopped him.

“Mentally it was close,” Keonho insisted, running a hand through his sweaty hair in desperation.

You were absolutely gone. The hammock shook under you, Ji‑hye wheezing into your shoulder.

“That’s your man,” she whispered and patted you on the shoulder again.

“What the hell? He is not my anything,” you protested, wiping at your eyes.

“Okay, but he just attempted intergalactic basketball in your honor. Airball times a million, deadass. I feel like that counts for something.”

Keonho trudged into the bushes and the branches scraping his legs, and came back holding the ball.

“I’m done,” he declared. “Retiring while I’m ahead, sorry to my fans.”

“You’re at like three,” Juhoon reminded him.

“Exactly. I’m preserving my legacy.”

“What legacy?” Martin asked.

“The legacy of trying my best,” Keonho replied. “And looking so sexy while doing it.”

“Very debatable,” you called with a hand to accentuate your voice.

He pressed a hand to his chest. “Wow. Can’t believe you—out of anyone—would say something this harsh to my face.”

“Accurate,” you rebutted.

The music shifted again. Tell Me by Wonder Girls filtered through the speaker and Keonho's entire face lit up.

"Oh shit, this is THE song," he announced, immediately starting to do the choreography. Badly. Very badly.

His arms flailed in what was probably supposed to be the signature move but looked more like he was swatting invisible flies. His footwork was nonexistent. He was just vibing, fully committed to the bit.

"Please stop," Juhoon begged, laughing so hard he had to brace himself against the garage.

"Never," Keonho shot back, spinning in a circle that was definitely not part of the actual choreo.

Martin covered his face with both hands. "This is painful to watch."

"This is art," Keonho corrected, still going. He pointed at you during what was supposed to be a hip roll but looked more like a full-body twitch. "You see this? This is dedication."

You and Ji-hye were dying. Like... fully losing it. She was laughing so hard no sound was coming out, just this silent wheeze while tears streamed down her face.

"He's so stupid," she managed.

"The stupidest," you agreed, trying to catch your breath.

Keonho finished with a dramatic spin and bow and his chest heaving. "So how was my performance? A ten, right?"

"Three out of ten," you offered generously.

"THREE?"

"Maybe two and a half."

"You're brutal," he accused while clutching his chest like you'd shot him.

"You asked."

"I didn't think you'd actually roast me."

"Should've thought that through," Ji-hye added, still wiping her eyes.

Seonghyeon was bent over laughing, one hand on his knee. Even James had cracked, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Martin just shook his head, grinning despite himself.

"Alright, alright," Juhoon cut in, trying to regain some control. "Can we please get back to the game before Keonho decides to audition to be an idol?"

"I would kill that audition," Keonho defended.

"You would kill the PDs," Martin muttered. "With secondhand embarrassment."

They picked up where they'd left off. The competition was ramping up now. You could feel it in the way they moved. It was a bit less casual and more locked in. Every shot seemed to matter a tiny bit more.

Juhoon took his next shot. Swish.

“Nine,” he said, a little proud of himself.

James followed. Another clean make.

“Eight.”

Seonghyeon stepped up. His shot kissed the rim before dropping through. His hand flexed at his side and his tongue rolled inside of his cheek.

“Seven.”

They were stacked now. A little toooo close. You could feel it in the air, that unspoken thing thickening between the bouncing ball and the soft vocals bleeding out of the tiny speaker.

Martin made another one—somehow—and actually let out a small, disbelieving laugh, running a hand through his hair like he couldn’t believe it either.

“Two,” he counted.

“Character development,” you called and stifled a laugh.

He glanced over, cheeks a little pink, and that was enough to make your stomach turn a little.

"Rewind" by Wonder Girls came on next and the vibe shifted. The song was dreamier, slower. The driveway seemed to exhale with it.

"Oh, I love this one," Ji-hye murmured next to you, eyes closed as she swayed slightly.

You did too. Something about the melody made the night feel more suspended, almost like you were all moving through honey.

The ball rolled back to Seonghyeon. He caught it, spun it in his hands once, then walked a little closer to where you sat, like he’d drifted off‑mark on purpose.

“You’re judging, huh?” he asked, looking right at you. His gaze almost knocked the wind out of you.

Seriously, this guy's eye contact hit like a spotlight. He didn’t look away, but leaned into it—deep, scanning your face almost as if he was memorizing it. The attention made your throat feel dry for the first time tonight, changing it from the joking and t4easing persona you took on for Keonho and Martin.

“Somebody has to keep you humble,” you managed and tucked a stray hair behind your ear.

He nodded slowly. His gaze dropped for half a second— to your shirt, shorts, bare knees crossed in the hammock—and then back up to your face. It wasn’t gross or anything. But just… incredibly obvious. It was weirdly confident in a way he usually wasn’t around you. Or anyone, actually. Your heart flipped over in your chest like a fish or something.

“Then watch this one,” he said, simple and smirking.

He stepped back to his spot, lifted, and sank it clean.

Of fucking course he did.

The song melted into the next and you found yourself getting lost in the rhythm of it all. The bounce of the ball. The swish of the net. The occasional groan when someone missed. The laughter when Keonho inevitably did something stupid.

They kept playing until Hurt by NewJeans started playing and the whole energy shifted again. It was sweet and more introspective. The kinda song that made you want to lie on your back and stare at the sky.

The ball rolled back to Keonho again. He caught it against his hip and didn't move right away, chest lifting with each breath. Sweat glowed along his throat and collarbone. Up close, the little scrapes on his shins and the tiny cut on his knuckle made him look less like the loud clown who never shut up and more like a boy who'd actually run himself into the ground for this stupid game.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Lock the fuck in.”

“You say that every time,” Juhoon remarked.

“This time I mean it,” Keonho replied narrowing his eyes at his supposed friend turned competition.

“You meant it last time,” James reminded him.

“Let him cook,” Seonghyeon said, even though he was clearly laughing at his misery.

Keonho dribbled once, then looked at you again. Less of a bit this time. Sort of more of a question he hadn’t figured out how to ask out loud.

“Rate my shot if I make this,” he called.

“If you make it, I’ll think about it,” you shot back.

“About rating it?”

“About watching you embarrass yourself again.”

He grinned, shook out his shoulders, and finally shot.

The ball left his hands clean. For a second, it hung there, cutting through the yellow light. Then it dropped, hitting nothing but net.

The driveway exploded.

“OKAY,” he yelled, running in a small, stupid circle. “OKAY, THAT’S HOW YOU FRICKIN' DO IT, CLOWNS.”

“Finally,” Juhoon said but he was smiling anyway.

“Three makes,” James noted. “Your field‑goal percentage is still awful, by the way.”

“Let me have this,” Keonho pleaded. He looked back at you, breathing hard, cheeks flushed. “So?”

You shrugged, even though your heart had gone weird in your chest. “Seven out of ten.”

“SEVEN?” He looked personally offended, throwing up a hand. “That was at least a nine.”

“The ball barely went in.”

“It went in. That’s all that matters”

“If you say so.”

Ji-hye leaned close and whispered so quietly only you could hear. "They look like squirrels racing for an acorn. Bro, what is this competition?"

You bit your lip to keep from laughing because she was absolutely right. That's exactly what it looked like. Five guys suddenly trying way too hard, taking this way too seriously, and for what?

Bragging rights. Sure.

They kept playing until bodies started slowing down and the air turned from heavy to chilled. Somebody checked a phone and squinted at the time.

“It’s almost midnight,” James reported. “For real this time.”

“That’s late?” Martin asked.

“For a school night? Yeah.”

“It’s summer,” Seonghyeon reminded him.

“Oh. Right.”

Eventually they collapsed onto the grass and curb in a loose sprawl. The game dissolved into half‑hearted shots and lazy passes. The music dropped to background noise and fireflies blinked out near the neighbor’s yard. The street felt quieter, like the whole cul‑de‑sac empty save for you guys.

You slipped out of the hammock carefully so you didn’t wake Ji‑hye—she’d gone fully limp against the fabric, mouth slightly open, phone still in her hand. Your legs were stiff from sitting so long, but the ache was a good one to stretch out.

You walked over and sank down on the grass next to where Keonho had starfished out, arms spread like he’d tried to hug the entire planet and lost.

“You good?” you asked.

“Never better,” he mumbled without opening his eyes.

“You played terrible.”

“I’m aware.”

“Like really terrible.”

“You don’t have to keep saying it,” he complained.

You nudged his shin with your foot. He cracked one eye open, squinting up at you.

“Rude.”

“Accurate.”

On the curb, Martin watched the exchange, chin propped on his knees. “She’s not wrong,” he added.

You turned your head toward him. “You’re talking a lot for someone who finally hit a free throw in, like, overtime.”

He laughed once, surprised. “That’s slander.”

“It’s literally what happened.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was a softness there you weren’t used to. “You make it sound like a documentary,” he said. “ ‘Local man bricks twelve in a row in front of the girl his friend is in love with.’ ”

The words slipped out and hung there. Your brain short‑circuited for a second.

“Martin,” Keonho warned.

“What?” Martin said, shrugging. “Everybody knows.”

You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting to all of them.

Seonghyeon laughed softly from where he’d slid back against the garage again. “You guys are hopeless,” he said.

A quiet rustle next to you made you glance over. He had pushed off the wall and dropped down to sit a little closer, stretching his legs out in front of him. From this angle, you could see the faint purple of a bruise on his shin and the way his socks didn’t match.

“You were really watching, huh?” he asked, his deep voice low enough that it didn’t carry past the small patch of grass you were both in.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “You’re kind of stupidly good at this.”

He huffed out a small laugh, mouth curving. His eyes locked on yours again, and this time he didn’t look away. “Don’t tell them that. I like when they underestimate me,” he said. “Makes it easier to surprise them. It feels like I'm the goated underdog.”

The way he held your gaze made your stomach do something ridiculous. He didn’t stutter and or fumble over his words like usual. Seonghyeon just sat there, looking at you like he was done pretending he hadn’t already noticed you’re always here.

You dropped your eyes first. You were staring very hard at a piece of grass near your shoe.

The conversation drifted back into comfortable nothing—half‑plans about the beach, arguments about which convenience store had the best kimbap, someone insisting they needed to do this again “for real” next week. You leaned back on your hands and looked up at the sky, that weird almost‑black, almost‑purple color with a couple of stubborn stars fighting through the light pollution.

“This was fun,” you said quietly, more to the air than to anyone specific.

“Yeah?” Keonho asked. He’d pushed himself up on his elbows now, looking at you with an expression that wasn’t a bit, not really.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

He held your gaze for one second, two, three—you didnt know, but long enough for your heartbeat to stutter.

Then a bottle cap pinged off his arm.

“Stop being weird,” Juhoon ordered.

“I’m not being weird.”

“You’re being so weird,” Martin agreed.

“All of you are weird,” Ji‑hye’s voice cut through from the hammock. Apparently she’d resurfaced. “And loud. I’m going inside.”

She peeled herself out of the hammock with her hair a mess, and stomped toward the front door, letting the screen slam behind her.

“She’s so pleasant,” Keonho muttered.

“She’s my sister,” Juhoon reminded him.

“And?”

“And shut up.”

You pushed yourself to your feet, brushing grass off the backs of your legs. “I should probably go too.”

“Already?” Seonghyeon askedand he sounded genuinely disappointed.

“It’s midnight.”

“So?”

“So I have a curfew.”

“Lame,” Keonho complained.

“Responsible,” James corrected.

“Same thing.”

You pulled your phone out, thumb hovering over your mom’s contact, but before you could tap it, Juhoon shook his head and stood.

“I’ll drive you,” he offered with a wave of his hand. “It’s late, don’t bother your parents.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. It’s fine.”

The boys started moving again, gathering bottles and phones and the rogue snack wrappers that had escaped. The music finally cut off when someone grabbed the phone from the car hood, and the sudden quiet felt strange after hours of constant noise.

“Same time next week?” Keonho called as Juhoon headed for the porch.

“Probably,” Juhoon answered.

“Cool.”

Keonho glanced at you one more time. The same easy, tilted smile back in place like he hadn’t spent the entire night accidentally confessing via terrible jump shots. “See you around.”

“See ya, airballee,” you echoed and he rolled his eyes with zero bite whatsoever.

As you turned toward the car, James drifted closer, hands tucked into the pocket of his shorts.

“Hey,” he started. His voice was low enough that it didn’t feel like part of the group noise. “Thanks for… uh, staying the whole time.”

“You guys would’ve cried if you lost your audience,” you replied.

He actually laughed at that, head dropping for a second. “Probably. It’s more fun when you’re here, anyway.” He said it so casually you almost missed how honest it sounded. “Text me if you get home too late and your mom kills you, okay? I’ll tell my parents it was my fault.”

“You’re volunteering as tribute?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I owe you for having to watch all those embarrassing bricks.”

You smiled and said bye after he gave you a high-five.

You followed Juhoon to the car. The drive home was a blur of empty streets and blinking traffic lights and some Daniel Caesar song humming low on the radio while you stared out the window and replayed everything: the music, the missed shots, the laughter, the way they’d all kept looking over like there was more at stake than a stupid bet.

Ji‑hye’s voice echoed in your head. They look like squirrels racing for an acorn.

You fought a smile at the thought.

Juhoon pulled up to your house and put the car in park. He turned to you and stared at you with a tilt of his head. "Here we are."

"Thanks," you offered.

"Anytime."

You unbuckled and opened the door with a pause.

"Hey Juhoon?"

"Yeah?"

"Your friends are idiots."

He laughed. "Yeah. I know."

You shut the door and headed inside. Waved once from the porch. He waited until you were fully in before driving away.

When you finally collapsed into bed—hair smelling like sweat and summer air and someone else’s fabric softener—your brain wouldn’t shut up. It looped through every glance and every pointed “this one’s for you,” every quiet look from Seonghyeon, every rare grin from Martin, James’s small smiles and even Juhoon’s “this is weird” comment.

And the way Keonho had kept looking at you like maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t all a joke anymore.

That dumb basketball game did not feel like just fun and games now.

You didn’t know what to do about that, so you were gonna do nothing. You just laid there, thinking, wondering and trying so very hard not to admit that you found all of them a little bit dangerous, in different ways. The ghost of bass still thudded somewhere in your chest like the night hadn’t actually ended yet.