SYNOPSIS : james is the school's football star, but one hallway crash with the new girl throws him off completely. you don't know who he is, and he can't forget you. now the golden boy's got one mission, find the girl who didn't even look back.
WC β 900
prev β masterlist β next
Tryout day arrives with a different kind of weight.
The field looks the same as it always does but the atmosphere isnβt. Conversations are quieter, movements more deliberate. Even the usual pre practice jokes are toned down. Cones are lined with precision, bibs sorted neatly by Coach Kimβs side and thereβs an unmistakable sense that today is being observed more closely than usual.
Because this isnβt practice, it's evaluation.
You spot James near the halfway line while adjusting your socks. Heβs stretching, focused but not tense, his movements controlled in that steady way he carries himself during serious sessions. When he notices you walking toward him, his expression shifts slightly.
βYouβre early,β he says as you approach. βSo are you.β He gives a small nod, then studies you for a moment longer than necessary. βYou nervous?β
You hesitate before answering. βA little. Okay, more than a little. I feel like Iβm going to overthink everything.β βYou wonβt,β he replies calmly.
βI might,β you insist. βEveryoneβs been here longer. They know the rhythm. I donβt want to slow anything down.β
James adjusts the tape around his wrist, considering his words before he speaks. βYou donβt slow anything down. You speed it up, actually. You read space fast. Coach likes that.β You exhale, not fully convinced but steadier than before. βAnd if I mess up?β He shrugs lightly, meeting your eyes. βThen you reset. Itβs football. One touch at a time. If you get overwhelmed, just look up. Iβll be there.β
Thereβs nothing dramatic in the way he says it. Itβs not a promise dressed in intensity. Itβs simple, grounded reassurance. Somehow, that makes it more convincing.
Before you can respond, Coach Kimβs whistle cuts through the air, sharp and commanding. He gathers everyone at midfield, clipboard tucked under his arm, gaze sweeping across the group.
βToday isnβt about flash,β he begins. βItβs about awareness. I want quick decisions, clean touches, and movement without the ball. Two touch unless you have space. If you hesitate, youβre already behind.β
He pauses, letting that settle. βYou will rotate every eight minutes. Iβm watching positioning just as much as execution. This tournament demands adaptability. If you canβt communicate without shouting, youβre not ready.β
The teams split and by coincidence you and James end up on the same side for the first small sided scrimmage. Thereβs no conversation about it. You just take your positions naturally, the field spreading out in front of you.
The pace is immediate. Tight passes and no room to dwell on mistakes. The first few touches come and go quickly and you focus on keeping your breathing steady, remembering not to rush.
The ball finds you near the edge of the midfield under pressure. You control it cleanly, scanning instinctively. A defender steps forward. You shift the ball to your right and James is already moving.
You send it to him without hesitation. One touch forward from him, drawing a marker. You push into open space automatically, not needing to call for it. The return pass comes perfectly weighted, landing just ahead of your stride. You take it, glance up, and spot him continuing his run. Without thinking, you thread it back through the gap heβs created.
He adjusts seamlessly and lays it off into space inside the box.
The ball hits the net with a clean snap.
For a moment, the field goes quiet.
Coach Kimβs whistle sounds once. βReset,β he says evenly but when play resumes, the rhythm continues. It isnβt forced or rehearsed. You arenβt trying to impress anyone. The timing simply feels natural. When he checks back, you adjust. When you drift wide, he fills the center. Neither of you calls loudly for the ball, the movement speaks for itself.
From the sidelines, a few murmurs begin to circulate. βTheyβve got good timing.β βDid they train together?β βThat sequence was clean.β You donβt react, though you feel the shift in attention. Even Donghwa, standing a few yards away during the next rotation, watches more carefully than before. His earlier confidence is replaced with something quieter, less dismissive. Coach Kim steps forward after the rotation ends, eyes sharp as he addresses the group. βThatβs the level of awareness I expect,β he says. βNotice the off ball movement. Notice how the space was created before the pass. Thatβs not accidental. Thatβs discipline.β
His gaze flickers briefly in your direction and Jamesβs, before he turns back to the rest of the players.
The drills continue. Defensive transitions, pressing exercises, quick build up play. Each time the ball moves between you and James, the coordination feels effortless, not because youβre trying to be in sync but because youβre both reacting at the same speed.
At one point, you nearly lose possession under heavy pressure but James adjusts his positioning just enough to give you an outlet. You release the ball cleanly, and the sequence resets without disruption. Itβs subtle, but effective.
By the time the final whistle blows, your earlier anxiety feels distant. You bend slightly, catching your breath, aware that youβve played at a level that felt honest and not forced.
James steps up beside you, hands on his hips. Coach Kim gathers everyone one last time.
βResults will be posted tomorrow,β he announces. βIf you want a place, today should feel like the baseline, not the peak. Dismissed.β As the players begin to disperse, conversations spark back to life.
βYou didnβt panic,β You hear James say. You straighten slowly. βMaybe a little.β βDidnβt look like it.β You glance at him. βI found you.β He looks away first. βYeah,β he says. βYou did.β βThanks,β you say quietly. βFor what?β βFor being there.β He shrugs. βTold you I would.β
Itβs simple with him, easy even. You've never felt like this at your old school. And somewhere behind you, someone says, βTheyβve got good chemistry.β You pretend not to hear it but this time, it doesnβt make you nervous It just makes you smile.
SYNOPSIS : james is the school's football star, but one hallway crash with the new girl throws him off completely. you don't know who he is, and he can't forget you. now the golden boy's got one mission, find the girl who didn't even look back.
WC β 900
prev β masterlist β next
Tryout day arrives with a different kind of weight.
The field looks the same as it always does but the atmosphere isnβt. Conversations are quieter, movements more deliberate. Even the usual pre practice jokes are toned down. Cones are lined with precision, bibs sorted neatly by Coach Kimβs side and thereβs an unmistakable sense that today is being observed more closely than usual.
Because this isnβt practice, it's evaluation.
You spot James near the halfway line while adjusting your socks. Heβs stretching, focused but not tense, his movements controlled in that steady way he carries himself during serious sessions. When he notices you walking toward him, his expression shifts slightly.
βYouβre early,β he says as you approach. βSo are you.β He gives a small nod, then studies you for a moment longer than necessary. βYou nervous?β
You hesitate before answering. βA little. Okay, more than a little. I feel like Iβm going to overthink everything.β βYou wonβt,β he replies calmly.
βI might,β you insist. βEveryoneβs been here longer. They know the rhythm. I donβt want to slow anything down.β
James adjusts the tape around his wrist, considering his words before he speaks. βYou donβt slow anything down. You speed it up, actually. You read space fast. Coach likes that.β You exhale, not fully convinced but steadier than before. βAnd if I mess up?β He shrugs lightly, meeting your eyes. βThen you reset. Itβs football. One touch at a time. If you get overwhelmed, just look up. Iβll be there.β
Thereβs nothing dramatic in the way he says it. Itβs not a promise dressed in intensity. Itβs simple, grounded reassurance. Somehow, that makes it more convincing.
Before you can respond, Coach Kimβs whistle cuts through the air, sharp and commanding. He gathers everyone at midfield, clipboard tucked under his arm, gaze sweeping across the group.
βToday isnβt about flash,β he begins. βItβs about awareness. I want quick decisions, clean touches, and movement without the ball. Two touch unless you have space. If you hesitate, youβre already behind.β
He pauses, letting that settle. βYou will rotate every eight minutes. Iβm watching positioning just as much as execution. This tournament demands adaptability. If you canβt communicate without shouting, youβre not ready.β
The teams split and by coincidence you and James end up on the same side for the first small sided scrimmage. Thereβs no conversation about it. You just take your positions naturally, the field spreading out in front of you.
The pace is immediate. Tight passes and no room to dwell on mistakes. The first few touches come and go quickly and you focus on keeping your breathing steady, remembering not to rush.
The ball finds you near the edge of the midfield under pressure. You control it cleanly, scanning instinctively. A defender steps forward. You shift the ball to your right and James is already moving.
You send it to him without hesitation. One touch forward from him, drawing a marker. You push into open space automatically, not needing to call for it. The return pass comes perfectly weighted, landing just ahead of your stride. You take it, glance up, and spot him continuing his run. Without thinking, you thread it back through the gap heβs created.
He adjusts seamlessly and lays it off into space inside the box.
The ball hits the net with a clean snap.
For a moment, the field goes quiet.
Coach Kimβs whistle sounds once. βReset,β he says evenly but when play resumes, the rhythm continues. It isnβt forced or rehearsed. You arenβt trying to impress anyone. The timing simply feels natural. When he checks back, you adjust. When you drift wide, he fills the center. Neither of you calls loudly for the ball, the movement speaks for itself.
From the sidelines, a few murmurs begin to circulate. βTheyβve got good timing.β βDid they train together?β βThat sequence was clean.β You donβt react, though you feel the shift in attention. Even Donghwa, standing a few yards away during the next rotation, watches more carefully than before. His earlier confidence is replaced with something quieter, less dismissive. Coach Kim steps forward after the rotation ends, eyes sharp as he addresses the group. βThatβs the level of awareness I expect,β he says. βNotice the off ball movement. Notice how the space was created before the pass. Thatβs not accidental. Thatβs discipline.β
His gaze flickers briefly in your direction and Jamesβs, before he turns back to the rest of the players.
The drills continue. Defensive transitions, pressing exercises, quick build up play. Each time the ball moves between you and James, the coordination feels effortless, not because youβre trying to be in sync but because youβre both reacting at the same speed.
At one point, you nearly lose possession under heavy pressure but James adjusts his positioning just enough to give you an outlet. You release the ball cleanly, and the sequence resets without disruption. Itβs subtle, but effective.
By the time the final whistle blows, your earlier anxiety feels distant. You bend slightly, catching your breath, aware that youβve played at a level that felt honest and not forced.
James steps up beside you, hands on his hips. Coach Kim gathers everyone one last time.
βResults will be posted tomorrow,β he announces. βIf you want a place, today should feel like the baseline, not the peak. Dismissed.β As the players begin to disperse, conversations spark back to life.
βYou didnβt panic,β You hear James say. You straighten slowly. βMaybe a little.β βDidnβt look like it.β You glance at him. βI found you.β He looks away first. βYeah,β he says. βYou did.β βThanks,β you say quietly. βFor what?β βFor being there.β He shrugs. βTold you I would.β
Itβs simple with him, easy even. You've never felt like this at your old school. And somewhere behind you, someone says, βTheyβve got good chemistry.β You pretend not to hear it but this time, it doesnβt make you nervous It just makes you smile.
SYNOPSIS : james is the school's football star, but one hallway crash with the new girl throws him off completely. you don't know who he is, and he can't forget you. now the golden boy's got one mission, find the girl who didn't even look back.
WC β 900
prev β masterlist β next
Tryout day arrives with a different kind of weight.
The field looks the same as it always does but the atmosphere isnβt. Conversations are quieter, movements more deliberate. Even the usual pre practice jokes are toned down. Cones are lined with precision, bibs sorted neatly by Coach Kimβs side and thereβs an unmistakable sense that today is being observed more closely than usual.
Because this isnβt practice, it's evaluation.
You spot James near the halfway line while adjusting your socks. Heβs stretching, focused but not tense, his movements controlled in that steady way he carries himself during serious sessions. When he notices you walking toward him, his expression shifts slightly.
βYouβre early,β he says as you approach. βSo are you.β He gives a small nod, then studies you for a moment longer than necessary. βYou nervous?β
You hesitate before answering. βA little. Okay, more than a little. I feel like Iβm going to overthink everything.β βYou wonβt,β he replies calmly.
βI might,β you insist. βEveryoneβs been here longer. They know the rhythm. I donβt want to slow anything down.β
James adjusts the tape around his wrist, considering his words before he speaks. βYou donβt slow anything down. You speed it up, actually. You read space fast. Coach likes that.β You exhale, not fully convinced but steadier than before. βAnd if I mess up?β He shrugs lightly, meeting your eyes. βThen you reset. Itβs football. One touch at a time. If you get overwhelmed, just look up. Iβll be there.β
Thereβs nothing dramatic in the way he says it. Itβs not a promise dressed in intensity. Itβs simple, grounded reassurance. Somehow, that makes it more convincing.
Before you can respond, Coach Kimβs whistle cuts through the air, sharp and commanding. He gathers everyone at midfield, clipboard tucked under his arm, gaze sweeping across the group.
βToday isnβt about flash,β he begins. βItβs about awareness. I want quick decisions, clean touches, and movement without the ball. Two touch unless you have space. If you hesitate, youβre already behind.β
He pauses, letting that settle. βYou will rotate every eight minutes. Iβm watching positioning just as much as execution. This tournament demands adaptability. If you canβt communicate without shouting, youβre not ready.β
The teams split and by coincidence you and James end up on the same side for the first small sided scrimmage. Thereβs no conversation about it. You just take your positions naturally, the field spreading out in front of you.
The pace is immediate. Tight passes and no room to dwell on mistakes. The first few touches come and go quickly and you focus on keeping your breathing steady, remembering not to rush.
The ball finds you near the edge of the midfield under pressure. You control it cleanly, scanning instinctively. A defender steps forward. You shift the ball to your right and James is already moving.
You send it to him without hesitation. One touch forward from him, drawing a marker. You push into open space automatically, not needing to call for it. The return pass comes perfectly weighted, landing just ahead of your stride. You take it, glance up, and spot him continuing his run. Without thinking, you thread it back through the gap heβs created.
He adjusts seamlessly and lays it off into space inside the box.
The ball hits the net with a clean snap.
For a moment, the field goes quiet.
Coach Kimβs whistle sounds once. βReset,β he says evenly but when play resumes, the rhythm continues. It isnβt forced or rehearsed. You arenβt trying to impress anyone. The timing simply feels natural. When he checks back, you adjust. When you drift wide, he fills the center. Neither of you calls loudly for the ball, the movement speaks for itself.
From the sidelines, a few murmurs begin to circulate. βTheyβve got good timing.β βDid they train together?β βThat sequence was clean.β You donβt react, though you feel the shift in attention. Even Donghwa, standing a few yards away during the next rotation, watches more carefully than before. His earlier confidence is replaced with something quieter, less dismissive. Coach Kim steps forward after the rotation ends, eyes sharp as he addresses the group. βThatβs the level of awareness I expect,β he says. βNotice the off ball movement. Notice how the space was created before the pass. Thatβs not accidental. Thatβs discipline.β
His gaze flickers briefly in your direction and Jamesβs, before he turns back to the rest of the players.
The drills continue. Defensive transitions, pressing exercises, quick build up play. Each time the ball moves between you and James, the coordination feels effortless, not because youβre trying to be in sync but because youβre both reacting at the same speed.
At one point, you nearly lose possession under heavy pressure but James adjusts his positioning just enough to give you an outlet. You release the ball cleanly, and the sequence resets without disruption. Itβs subtle, but effective.
By the time the final whistle blows, your earlier anxiety feels distant. You bend slightly, catching your breath, aware that youβve played at a level that felt honest and not forced.
James steps up beside you, hands on his hips. Coach Kim gathers everyone one last time.
βResults will be posted tomorrow,β he announces. βIf you want a place, today should feel like the baseline, not the peak. Dismissed.β As the players begin to disperse, conversations spark back to life.
βYou didnβt panic,β You hear James say. You straighten slowly. βMaybe a little.β βDidnβt look like it.β You glance at him. βI found you.β He looks away first. βYeah,β he says. βYou did.β βThanks,β you say quietly. βFor what?β βFor being there.β He shrugs. βTold you I would.β
Itβs simple with him, easy even. You've never felt like this at your old school. And somewhere behind you, someone says, βTheyβve got good chemistry.β You pretend not to hear it but this time, it doesnβt make you nervous It just makes you smile.
SYNOPSIS : james is the school's football star, but one hallway crash with the new girl throws him off completely. you don't know who he is, and he can't forget you. now the golden boy's got one mission, find the girl who didn't even look back.
WC β 900
prev β masterlist β next
Tryout day arrives with a different kind of weight.
The field looks the same as it always does but the atmosphere isnβt. Conversations are quieter, movements more deliberate. Even the usual pre practice jokes are toned down. Cones are lined with precision, bibs sorted neatly by Coach Kimβs side and thereβs an unmistakable sense that today is being observed more closely than usual.
Because this isnβt practice, it's evaluation.
You spot James near the halfway line while adjusting your socks. Heβs stretching, focused but not tense, his movements controlled in that steady way he carries himself during serious sessions. When he notices you walking toward him, his expression shifts slightly.
βYouβre early,β he says as you approach. βSo are you.β He gives a small nod, then studies you for a moment longer than necessary. βYou nervous?β
You hesitate before answering. βA little. Okay, more than a little. I feel like Iβm going to overthink everything.β βYou wonβt,β he replies calmly.
βI might,β you insist. βEveryoneβs been here longer. They know the rhythm. I donβt want to slow anything down.β
James adjusts the tape around his wrist, considering his words before he speaks. βYou donβt slow anything down. You speed it up, actually. You read space fast. Coach likes that.β You exhale, not fully convinced but steadier than before. βAnd if I mess up?β He shrugs lightly, meeting your eyes. βThen you reset. Itβs football. One touch at a time. If you get overwhelmed, just look up. Iβll be there.β
Thereβs nothing dramatic in the way he says it. Itβs not a promise dressed in intensity. Itβs simple, grounded reassurance. Somehow, that makes it more convincing.
Before you can respond, Coach Kimβs whistle cuts through the air, sharp and commanding. He gathers everyone at midfield, clipboard tucked under his arm, gaze sweeping across the group.
βToday isnβt about flash,β he begins. βItβs about awareness. I want quick decisions, clean touches, and movement without the ball. Two touch unless you have space. If you hesitate, youβre already behind.β
He pauses, letting that settle. βYou will rotate every eight minutes. Iβm watching positioning just as much as execution. This tournament demands adaptability. If you canβt communicate without shouting, youβre not ready.β
The teams split and by coincidence you and James end up on the same side for the first small sided scrimmage. Thereβs no conversation about it. You just take your positions naturally, the field spreading out in front of you.
The pace is immediate. Tight passes and no room to dwell on mistakes. The first few touches come and go quickly and you focus on keeping your breathing steady, remembering not to rush.
The ball finds you near the edge of the midfield under pressure. You control it cleanly, scanning instinctively. A defender steps forward. You shift the ball to your right and James is already moving.
You send it to him without hesitation. One touch forward from him, drawing a marker. You push into open space automatically, not needing to call for it. The return pass comes perfectly weighted, landing just ahead of your stride. You take it, glance up, and spot him continuing his run. Without thinking, you thread it back through the gap heβs created.
He adjusts seamlessly and lays it off into space inside the box.
The ball hits the net with a clean snap.
For a moment, the field goes quiet.
Coach Kimβs whistle sounds once. βReset,β he says evenly but when play resumes, the rhythm continues. It isnβt forced or rehearsed. You arenβt trying to impress anyone. The timing simply feels natural. When he checks back, you adjust. When you drift wide, he fills the center. Neither of you calls loudly for the ball, the movement speaks for itself.
From the sidelines, a few murmurs begin to circulate. βTheyβve got good timing.β βDid they train together?β βThat sequence was clean.β You donβt react, though you feel the shift in attention. Even Donghwa, standing a few yards away during the next rotation, watches more carefully than before. His earlier confidence is replaced with something quieter, less dismissive. Coach Kim steps forward after the rotation ends, eyes sharp as he addresses the group. βThatβs the level of awareness I expect,β he says. βNotice the off ball movement. Notice how the space was created before the pass. Thatβs not accidental. Thatβs discipline.β
His gaze flickers briefly in your direction and Jamesβs, before he turns back to the rest of the players.
The drills continue. Defensive transitions, pressing exercises, quick build up play. Each time the ball moves between you and James, the coordination feels effortless, not because youβre trying to be in sync but because youβre both reacting at the same speed.
At one point, you nearly lose possession under heavy pressure but James adjusts his positioning just enough to give you an outlet. You release the ball cleanly, and the sequence resets without disruption. Itβs subtle, but effective.
By the time the final whistle blows, your earlier anxiety feels distant. You bend slightly, catching your breath, aware that youβve played at a level that felt honest and not forced.
James steps up beside you, hands on his hips. Coach Kim gathers everyone one last time.
βResults will be posted tomorrow,β he announces. βIf you want a place, today should feel like the baseline, not the peak. Dismissed.β As the players begin to disperse, conversations spark back to life.
βYou didnβt panic,β You hear James say. You straighten slowly. βMaybe a little.β βDidnβt look like it.β You glance at him. βI found you.β He looks away first. βYeah,β he says. βYou did.β βThanks,β you say quietly. βFor what?β βFor being there.β He shrugs. βTold you I would.β
Itβs simple with him, easy even. You've never felt like this at your old school. And somewhere behind you, someone says, βTheyβve got good chemistry.β You pretend not to hear it but this time, it doesnβt make you nervous It just makes you smile.
SYNOPSIS : james is the school's football star, but one hallway crash with the new girl throws him off completely. you don't know who he is, and he can't forget you. now the golden boy's got one mission, find the girl who didn't even look back.
WC β 900
prev β masterlist β next
Tryout day arrives with a different kind of weight.
The field looks the same as it always does but the atmosphere isnβt. Conversations are quieter, movements more deliberate. Even the usual pre practice jokes are toned down. Cones are lined with precision, bibs sorted neatly by Coach Kimβs side and thereβs an unmistakable sense that today is being observed more closely than usual.
Because this isnβt practice, it's evaluation.
You spot James near the halfway line while adjusting your socks. Heβs stretching, focused but not tense, his movements controlled in that steady way he carries himself during serious sessions. When he notices you walking toward him, his expression shifts slightly.
βYouβre early,β he says as you approach. βSo are you.β He gives a small nod, then studies you for a moment longer than necessary. βYou nervous?β
You hesitate before answering. βA little. Okay, more than a little. I feel like Iβm going to overthink everything.β βYou wonβt,β he replies calmly.
βI might,β you insist. βEveryoneβs been here longer. They know the rhythm. I donβt want to slow anything down.β
James adjusts the tape around his wrist, considering his words before he speaks. βYou donβt slow anything down. You speed it up, actually. You read space fast. Coach likes that.β You exhale, not fully convinced but steadier than before. βAnd if I mess up?β He shrugs lightly, meeting your eyes. βThen you reset. Itβs football. One touch at a time. If you get overwhelmed, just look up. Iβll be there.β
Thereβs nothing dramatic in the way he says it. Itβs not a promise dressed in intensity. Itβs simple, grounded reassurance. Somehow, that makes it more convincing.
Before you can respond, Coach Kimβs whistle cuts through the air, sharp and commanding. He gathers everyone at midfield, clipboard tucked under his arm, gaze sweeping across the group.
βToday isnβt about flash,β he begins. βItβs about awareness. I want quick decisions, clean touches, and movement without the ball. Two touch unless you have space. If you hesitate, youβre already behind.β
He pauses, letting that settle. βYou will rotate every eight minutes. Iβm watching positioning just as much as execution. This tournament demands adaptability. If you canβt communicate without shouting, youβre not ready.β
The teams split and by coincidence you and James end up on the same side for the first small sided scrimmage. Thereβs no conversation about it. You just take your positions naturally, the field spreading out in front of you.
The pace is immediate. Tight passes and no room to dwell on mistakes. The first few touches come and go quickly and you focus on keeping your breathing steady, remembering not to rush.
The ball finds you near the edge of the midfield under pressure. You control it cleanly, scanning instinctively. A defender steps forward. You shift the ball to your right and James is already moving.
You send it to him without hesitation. One touch forward from him, drawing a marker. You push into open space automatically, not needing to call for it. The return pass comes perfectly weighted, landing just ahead of your stride. You take it, glance up, and spot him continuing his run. Without thinking, you thread it back through the gap heβs created.
He adjusts seamlessly and lays it off into space inside the box.
The ball hits the net with a clean snap.
For a moment, the field goes quiet.
Coach Kimβs whistle sounds once. βReset,β he says evenly but when play resumes, the rhythm continues. It isnβt forced or rehearsed. You arenβt trying to impress anyone. The timing simply feels natural. When he checks back, you adjust. When you drift wide, he fills the center. Neither of you calls loudly for the ball, the movement speaks for itself.
From the sidelines, a few murmurs begin to circulate. βTheyβve got good timing.β βDid they train together?β βThat sequence was clean.β You donβt react, though you feel the shift in attention. Even Donghwa, standing a few yards away during the next rotation, watches more carefully than before. His earlier confidence is replaced with something quieter, less dismissive. Coach Kim steps forward after the rotation ends, eyes sharp as he addresses the group. βThatβs the level of awareness I expect,β he says. βNotice the off ball movement. Notice how the space was created before the pass. Thatβs not accidental. Thatβs discipline.β
His gaze flickers briefly in your direction and Jamesβs, before he turns back to the rest of the players.
The drills continue. Defensive transitions, pressing exercises, quick build up play. Each time the ball moves between you and James, the coordination feels effortless, not because youβre trying to be in sync but because youβre both reacting at the same speed.
At one point, you nearly lose possession under heavy pressure but James adjusts his positioning just enough to give you an outlet. You release the ball cleanly, and the sequence resets without disruption. Itβs subtle, but effective.
By the time the final whistle blows, your earlier anxiety feels distant. You bend slightly, catching your breath, aware that youβve played at a level that felt honest and not forced.
James steps up beside you, hands on his hips. Coach Kim gathers everyone one last time.
βResults will be posted tomorrow,β he announces. βIf you want a place, today should feel like the baseline, not the peak. Dismissed.β As the players begin to disperse, conversations spark back to life.
βYou didnβt panic,β You hear James say. You straighten slowly. βMaybe a little.β βDidnβt look like it.β You glance at him. βI found you.β He looks away first. βYeah,β he says. βYou did.β βThanks,β you say quietly. βFor what?β βFor being there.β He shrugs. βTold you I would.β
Itβs simple with him, easy even. You've never felt like this at your old school. And somewhere behind you, someone says, βTheyβve got good chemistry.β You pretend not to hear it but this time, it doesnβt make you nervous It just makes you smile.
SYNOPSIS : james is the school's football star, but one hallway crash with the new girl throws him off completely. you don't know who he is, and he can't forget you. now the golden boy's got one mission, find the girl who didn't even look back.
prev β masterlist β next
Minju nearly collides with you at your locker, shoes squeaking against the floor as she skids to a stop. Her bag is slipping off one shoulder, hair slightly messy, expression urgent.
βThereβs a meeting,β she says breathless. βGirls and boys, after school.β You pause mid movement, fingers still wrapped around the spine of your notebook. βToday?β She nods. βYeah. Coaches called it. Something about the mixed tournament. Attendanceβs important.β You sigh quietly, already resigned. βOkay, Iβll be there.β Minju grins, satisfied, and jogs off before you can say anything else.
The rest of the day passes slowly.
Classes have never been the part of school you cared about most. You attend when you have to, enough to avoid trouble, enough to keep your name on the roster without questions being asked. Sitting through lectures feels more like a formality than anything else, something required to access the parts of Brookhaven you actually love.
Still, you donβt hate it. You don't think you'll ever hate this school.
You like the rhythm of the hallways between periods. The familiar faces, the way teachers recognize you now, even if youβre not always present, you like how Brookhaven feels alive, busy with students who care deeply about something, whether itβs grades, sports, or reputation.
Most of all, you love the fields.
Even on days you skip classes, you find yourself wandering near them. The smell of grass, the echo of whistles, the quiet determination that settles in your chest when you think about playing.
Brookhaven gave you a place where effort mattered more than history or at least you hoped it did.
By the time the final bell rings, you head toward the football field with a calm acceptance that you won't be able to practice James today, somehow that disappointed you.
Coach Kim has everyone sit on the bleachers instead of moving out to the field. Girls and boys mix without much thought, clusters forming naturally. You scan the rows once before spotting James.
Heβs seated a few steps up, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. When he notices you, his posture straightens almost immediately.
You take the empty space beside him.
βGuess no practice for us today,β he says quietly, glancing toward the coaches. βDoesnβt look like it,β you reply. He exhales through his nose, half amused. βCoach Kim hates staying back after school more than anything, that's why we have our practices in the mornings. This must be important.β You smile faintly. Sitting next to him feels easy. Comfortable. Close enough that your shoulders nearly brush when either of you shifts.
Coach Kim steps forward, clapping his hands once. βAlright. Settle down,β he says, voice firm but calm. βThis wonβt take long if everyone listens.β
The noise fades.
βAs youβve probably heard, Brookhaven will be participating in a mixedgender tournament this term,β he continues. βThis isnβt an exhibition. Itβs competitive, structured, and taken seriously by every school involved.β
He paces slowly in front of the bleachers.
βIβll be overseeing the program alongside the girlsβ coaching staff. Tryouts will be strict. Attendance, discipline, and adaptability will matter just as much as skill.β
A few students shift, suddenly attentive.
βThis is not guaranteed playing time,β Coach Kim adds. βAnd it is not a popularity contest. If you want in, you earn it.β
When he asks whoβs interested in trying out or volunteering, hands rise across the bleachers.
You hesitate, then you raise yours and for a moment, nothing happens.
Then you hear someone scoff above you.
βSeriously?β
The voice is loud enough to cut through the air. You turn your head slightly and recognize Donghwa immediately. One of the boys mid defenders. Hes Confident, loud, and entirely unapologetic.
βShe hasnβt even been here that long,β he says. βThis isnβt something you just walk into.β A few people laugh under their breath.
Your hand drops back into your lap. The familiar weight of doubt settles in your chest, sharp and unwelcome. You stare ahead, heat creeping into your face, suddenly very aware of how new you still are.
James notices and straightens beside you.
βThatβs not your call,β he says.
His voice isnβt raised, but itβs firm enough that the bleachers quiet almost instantly. He turns toward Donghwa, expression controlled.
βCoach asked whoβs interested. She answered. Being new doesnβt mean she hasnβt earned the right to try.β
Donghwa scoffs, but James doesnβt stop.
βIf effortβs the standard, let the coaches decide. Not you.β
You glance at him, surprised. He doesnβt look at you, gaze fixed forward, shoulders squared. Thereβs no hesitation in him, no doubt.
Coach Kim clears his throat.
βThatβs enough,β he says. βComments like that arenβt productive. Everyone gets evaluated the same way. Letβs move on.β
The tension dissipates slowly. Conversation returns to logistics, schedules, and expectations. But something has changed.
You sit there quietly, heart beating faster than before, hands folded together. James leans slightly toward you.
βYou okay?β he asks under his breath. You nod. βYeah. Thank you.β He shrugs, almost awkward. βDidnβt say anything that wasnβt true.β
When the meeting ends, students file out in no particular hurry. You and James walk side by side toward the exit, steps unhurried.
You donβt bring it up again but the thought lingers, steady and warm.
James noticed, he stepped in and somehow, that matters more than you expect it to.
SYNOPSIS : james is the school's football star, but one hallway crash with the new girl throws him off completely. you don't know who he is, and he can't forget you. now the golden boy's got one mission, find the girl who didn't even look back.
prev β masterlist β next
Minju nearly collides with you at your locker, shoes squeaking against the floor as she skids to a stop. Her bag is slipping off one shoulder, hair slightly messy, expression urgent.
βThereβs a meeting,β she says breathless. βGirls and boys, after school.β You pause mid movement, fingers still wrapped around the spine of your notebook. βToday?β She nods. βYeah. Coaches called it. Something about the mixed tournament. Attendanceβs important.β You sigh quietly, already resigned. βOkay, Iβll be there.β Minju grins, satisfied, and jogs off before you can say anything else.
The rest of the day passes slowly.
Classes have never been the part of school you cared about most. You attend when you have to, enough to avoid trouble, enough to keep your name on the roster without questions being asked. Sitting through lectures feels more like a formality than anything else, something required to access the parts of Brookhaven you actually love.
Still, you donβt hate it. You don't think you'll ever hate this school.
You like the rhythm of the hallways between periods. The familiar faces, the way teachers recognize you now, even if youβre not always present, you like how Brookhaven feels alive, busy with students who care deeply about something, whether itβs grades, sports, or reputation.
Most of all, you love the fields.
Even on days you skip classes, you find yourself wandering near them. The smell of grass, the echo of whistles, the quiet determination that settles in your chest when you think about playing.
Brookhaven gave you a place where effort mattered more than history or at least you hoped it did.
By the time the final bell rings, you head toward the football field with a calm acceptance that you won't be able to practice James today, somehow that disappointed you.
Coach Kim has everyone sit on the bleachers instead of moving out to the field. Girls and boys mix without much thought, clusters forming naturally. You scan the rows once before spotting James.
Heβs seated a few steps up, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. When he notices you, his posture straightens almost immediately.
You take the empty space beside him.
βGuess no practice for us today,β he says quietly, glancing toward the coaches. βDoesnβt look like it,β you reply. He exhales through his nose, half amused. βCoach Kim hates staying back after school more than anything, that's why we have our practices in the mornings. This must be important.β You smile faintly. Sitting next to him feels easy. Comfortable. Close enough that your shoulders nearly brush when either of you shifts.
Coach Kim steps forward, clapping his hands once. βAlright. Settle down,β he says, voice firm but calm. βThis wonβt take long if everyone listens.β
The noise fades.
βAs youβve probably heard, Brookhaven will be participating in a mixedgender tournament this term,β he continues. βThis isnβt an exhibition. Itβs competitive, structured, and taken seriously by every school involved.β
He paces slowly in front of the bleachers.
βIβll be overseeing the program alongside the girlsβ coaching staff. Tryouts will be strict. Attendance, discipline, and adaptability will matter just as much as skill.β
A few students shift, suddenly attentive.
βThis is not guaranteed playing time,β Coach Kim adds. βAnd it is not a popularity contest. If you want in, you earn it.β
When he asks whoβs interested in trying out or volunteering, hands rise across the bleachers.
You hesitate, then you raise yours and for a moment, nothing happens.
Then you hear someone scoff above you.
βSeriously?β
The voice is loud enough to cut through the air. You turn your head slightly and recognize Donghwa immediately. One of the boys mid defenders. Hes Confident, loud, and entirely unapologetic.
βShe hasnβt even been here that long,β he says. βThis isnβt something you just walk into.β A few people laugh under their breath.
Your hand drops back into your lap. The familiar weight of doubt settles in your chest, sharp and unwelcome. You stare ahead, heat creeping into your face, suddenly very aware of how new you still are.
James notices and straightens beside you.
βThatβs not your call,β he says.
His voice isnβt raised, but itβs firm enough that the bleachers quiet almost instantly. He turns toward Donghwa, expression controlled.
βCoach asked whoβs interested. She answered. Being new doesnβt mean she hasnβt earned the right to try.β
Donghwa scoffs, but James doesnβt stop.
βIf effortβs the standard, let the coaches decide. Not you.β
You glance at him, surprised. He doesnβt look at you, gaze fixed forward, shoulders squared. Thereβs no hesitation in him, no doubt.
Coach Kim clears his throat.
βThatβs enough,β he says. βComments like that arenβt productive. Everyone gets evaluated the same way. Letβs move on.β
The tension dissipates slowly. Conversation returns to logistics, schedules, and expectations. But something has changed.
You sit there quietly, heart beating faster than before, hands folded together. James leans slightly toward you.
βYou okay?β he asks under his breath. You nod. βYeah. Thank you.β He shrugs, almost awkward. βDidnβt say anything that wasnβt true.β
When the meeting ends, students file out in no particular hurry. You and James walk side by side toward the exit, steps unhurried.
You donβt bring it up again but the thought lingers, steady and warm.
James noticed, he stepped in and somehow, that matters more than you expect it to.
SYNOPSIS : james is the school's football star, but one hallway crash with the new girl throws him off completely. you don't know who he is, and he can't forget you. now the golden boy's got one mission, find the girl who didn't even look back.
prev β masterlist β next
Minju nearly collides with you at your locker, shoes squeaking against the floor as she skids to a stop. Her bag is slipping off one shoulder, hair slightly messy, expression urgent.
βThereβs a meeting,β she says breathless. βGirls and boys, after school.β You pause mid movement, fingers still wrapped around the spine of your notebook. βToday?β She nods. βYeah. Coaches called it. Something about the mixed tournament. Attendanceβs important.β You sigh quietly, already resigned. βOkay, Iβll be there.β Minju grins, satisfied, and jogs off before you can say anything else.
The rest of the day passes slowly.
Classes have never been the part of school you cared about most. You attend when you have to, enough to avoid trouble, enough to keep your name on the roster without questions being asked. Sitting through lectures feels more like a formality than anything else, something required to access the parts of Brookhaven you actually love.
Still, you donβt hate it. You don't think you'll ever hate this school.
You like the rhythm of the hallways between periods. The familiar faces, the way teachers recognize you now, even if youβre not always present, you like how Brookhaven feels alive, busy with students who care deeply about something, whether itβs grades, sports, or reputation.
Most of all, you love the fields.
Even on days you skip classes, you find yourself wandering near them. The smell of grass, the echo of whistles, the quiet determination that settles in your chest when you think about playing.
Brookhaven gave you a place where effort mattered more than history or at least you hoped it did.
By the time the final bell rings, you head toward the football field with a calm acceptance that you won't be able to practice James today, somehow that disappointed you.
Coach Kim has everyone sit on the bleachers instead of moving out to the field. Girls and boys mix without much thought, clusters forming naturally. You scan the rows once before spotting James.
Heβs seated a few steps up, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. When he notices you, his posture straightens almost immediately.
You take the empty space beside him.
βGuess no practice for us today,β he says quietly, glancing toward the coaches. βDoesnβt look like it,β you reply. He exhales through his nose, half amused. βCoach Kim hates staying back after school more than anything, that's why we have our practices in the mornings. This must be important.β You smile faintly. Sitting next to him feels easy. Comfortable. Close enough that your shoulders nearly brush when either of you shifts.
Coach Kim steps forward, clapping his hands once. βAlright. Settle down,β he says, voice firm but calm. βThis wonβt take long if everyone listens.β
The noise fades.
βAs youβve probably heard, Brookhaven will be participating in a mixedgender tournament this term,β he continues. βThis isnβt an exhibition. Itβs competitive, structured, and taken seriously by every school involved.β
He paces slowly in front of the bleachers.
βIβll be overseeing the program alongside the girlsβ coaching staff. Tryouts will be strict. Attendance, discipline, and adaptability will matter just as much as skill.β
A few students shift, suddenly attentive.
βThis is not guaranteed playing time,β Coach Kim adds. βAnd it is not a popularity contest. If you want in, you earn it.β
When he asks whoβs interested in trying out or volunteering, hands rise across the bleachers.
You hesitate, then you raise yours and for a moment, nothing happens.
Then you hear someone scoff above you.
βSeriously?β
The voice is loud enough to cut through the air. You turn your head slightly and recognize Donghwa immediately. One of the boys mid defenders. Hes Confident, loud, and entirely unapologetic.
βShe hasnβt even been here that long,β he says. βThis isnβt something you just walk into.β A few people laugh under their breath.
Your hand drops back into your lap. The familiar weight of doubt settles in your chest, sharp and unwelcome. You stare ahead, heat creeping into your face, suddenly very aware of how new you still are.
James notices and straightens beside you.
βThatβs not your call,β he says.
His voice isnβt raised, but itβs firm enough that the bleachers quiet almost instantly. He turns toward Donghwa, expression controlled.
βCoach asked whoβs interested. She answered. Being new doesnβt mean she hasnβt earned the right to try.β
Donghwa scoffs, but James doesnβt stop.
βIf effortβs the standard, let the coaches decide. Not you.β
You glance at him, surprised. He doesnβt look at you, gaze fixed forward, shoulders squared. Thereβs no hesitation in him, no doubt.
Coach Kim clears his throat.
βThatβs enough,β he says. βComments like that arenβt productive. Everyone gets evaluated the same way. Letβs move on.β
The tension dissipates slowly. Conversation returns to logistics, schedules, and expectations. But something has changed.
You sit there quietly, heart beating faster than before, hands folded together. James leans slightly toward you.
βYou okay?β he asks under his breath. You nod. βYeah. Thank you.β He shrugs, almost awkward. βDidnβt say anything that wasnβt true.β
When the meeting ends, students file out in no particular hurry. You and James walk side by side toward the exit, steps unhurried.
You donβt bring it up again but the thought lingers, steady and warm.
James noticed, he stepped in and somehow, that matters more than you expect it to.
SYNOPSIS : james is the school's football star, but one hallway crash with the new girl throws him off completely. you don't know who he is, and he can't forget you. now the golden boy's got one mission, find the girl who didn't even look back.
prev β masterlist β next
The field is quieter after school.
Not empty, just calm in a way it never is during matches. The sun hangs lower, light spilling across the turf in warm streaks. You arrive with your bag slung over one shoulder, boots tucked under your arm, nerves humming lightly beneath your skin. This feels different from team practice. Smaller and more personal.
James is already there.
He stands near the center circle, stretching like heβs done this a hundred times, but the second he notices you, he straightens too fast. You almost laugh. Almost.
βHey,β you say. βHey,β he replies, voice steady enough that he clearly worked for it.
You drop your bag, pull on your boots and for a moment thereβs an awkward pause where neither of you knows who should move first. Then James clears his throat and gestures toward the cones heβs set up.
βSo Coach Kim,β he starts. βHeβs big on first touches. Like, really big. If your controlβs clean, he already likes you more.β You nod, listening closely. βHe hates wasted movement,β James continues, pacing as he talks. βIf you sprint, there has to be a reason. He watches positioning more than people think. Where you are before the pass matters just as much as what you do with it.β
You glance at him, surprised. βYou sound like youβve been through this trauma.β He snorts. βYears of it.β
You start moving through drills together. Short passes and euick turns. He corrects you gently, never condescending, just small adjustments.
At one point, he demonstrates a movement and you try to mirror it but your foot catches awkwardly in the turf. You stumble forward before you can catch yourself.
James reacts instantly.
His hands come up, gripping your arms and steadying you before you fully fall. Your momentum carries you closer anyway, chest brushing his, his grip firm but careful. For a split second, neither of you move.
Youβre painfully aware of how close he is. His breath is warm, jis hands are still on your arms, his eyes flick down, then back up clearly unsure where to look.
βOh,β you say, blinking. βSorry.β βNo! I mean, Itβs fine,β he says quickly, releasing you like heβs been burned. βI shouldβve warned you about that patch.β You laugh softly, shaking it off. βGuess the ground wanted me humbled.β
He smiles before he can stop himself, the kind that sneaks out when youβre not guarding it.
Practice continues, but something changes.
James keeps his distance now, like heβs afraid of repeating the moment but his focus on you sharpens. He watches the way you move through drills, how fast you adapt, how easily you absorb feedback and make it your own. You donβt hesitate nor second guess, you play like this is where youβre meant to be and he really likes that about you.
Thatβs when it hits him.
Not all at once. More like a slow, sinking realization that settles deep in his chest, This isnβt just a crush, no. He genuinely likes you for the person you are.
He tells himself to calm down, to stop being dramatic, youβre just good, youβre just nice and heβs just being helpful, thatβs it.
Except his eyes keep following you even when he looks away and that his chest feels tight when you laugh at something he says.
Except the thought of anyone else training you like this makes something ugly twist in his stomach.
He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. Get it together.
From the corner of his eye, he catches movement near the fence to see his friends. All four of them pretending very badly not to watch. Keonho mimes exaggerated binoculars, Martin is already laughing, Juhoon nudges Seonghyeon, who covers his mouth like heβs witnessing live entertainment.
James groans quietly and rolls his eyes.
You notice his distraction. βEverything okay?β βYeah,β he says quickly. βJustβ¦ ignore them.β You glance over, spot the boys instantly, and laugh. βYour friends?β βUnfortunately.β
The sun dips lower by the time you wrap up. Youβre both sweaty, tired, but lighter somehow. James kneels briefly to adjust a cone, then looks up at you, more confident now.
βYou did really well,β he says. βEspecially your off the ball movement. Coach Kimβs gonna notice that.β Your smile is small but genuine. βThanks. This helped. A lot.β
βWe can do this again,β he offers, trying to sound casual. βIf you want.β βIβd like that,β you say easily. βSame time tomorrow?β He nods, heart doing something stupid in his chest. βYeah. Tomorrow.β
You shoulder your bag and wave before heading off, leaving James standing there a moment longer than necessary, watching your back disappear past the bleachers.
SYNOPSIS : james is the school's football star, but one hallway crash with the new girl throws him off completely. you don't know who he is, and he can't forget you. now the golden boy's got one mission, find the girl who didn't even look back.
prev β masterlist β next
The field is quieter after school.
Not empty, just calm in a way it never is during matches. The sun hangs lower, light spilling across the turf in warm streaks. You arrive with your bag slung over one shoulder, boots tucked under your arm, nerves humming lightly beneath your skin. This feels different from team practice. Smaller and more personal.
James is already there.
He stands near the center circle, stretching like heβs done this a hundred times, but the second he notices you, he straightens too fast. You almost laugh. Almost.
βHey,β you say. βHey,β he replies, voice steady enough that he clearly worked for it.
You drop your bag, pull on your boots and for a moment thereβs an awkward pause where neither of you knows who should move first. Then James clears his throat and gestures toward the cones heβs set up.
βSo Coach Kim,β he starts. βHeβs big on first touches. Like, really big. If your controlβs clean, he already likes you more.β You nod, listening closely. βHe hates wasted movement,β James continues, pacing as he talks. βIf you sprint, there has to be a reason. He watches positioning more than people think. Where you are before the pass matters just as much as what you do with it.β
You glance at him, surprised. βYou sound like youβve been through this trauma.β He snorts. βYears of it.β
You start moving through drills together. Short passes and euick turns. He corrects you gently, never condescending, just small adjustments.
At one point, he demonstrates a movement and you try to mirror it but your foot catches awkwardly in the turf. You stumble forward before you can catch yourself.
James reacts instantly.
His hands come up, gripping your arms and steadying you before you fully fall. Your momentum carries you closer anyway, chest brushing his, his grip firm but careful. For a split second, neither of you move.
Youβre painfully aware of how close he is. His breath is warm, jis hands are still on your arms, his eyes flick down, then back up clearly unsure where to look.
βOh,β you say, blinking. βSorry.β βNo! I mean, Itβs fine,β he says quickly, releasing you like heβs been burned. βI shouldβve warned you about that patch.β You laugh softly, shaking it off. βGuess the ground wanted me humbled.β
He smiles before he can stop himself, the kind that sneaks out when youβre not guarding it.
Practice continues, but something changes.
James keeps his distance now, like heβs afraid of repeating the moment but his focus on you sharpens. He watches the way you move through drills, how fast you adapt, how easily you absorb feedback and make it your own. You donβt hesitate nor second guess, you play like this is where youβre meant to be and he really likes that about you.
Thatβs when it hits him.
Not all at once. More like a slow, sinking realization that settles deep in his chest, This isnβt just a crush, no. He genuinely likes you for the person you are.
He tells himself to calm down, to stop being dramatic, youβre just good, youβre just nice and heβs just being helpful, thatβs it.
Except his eyes keep following you even when he looks away and that his chest feels tight when you laugh at something he says.
Except the thought of anyone else training you like this makes something ugly twist in his stomach.
He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. Get it together.
From the corner of his eye, he catches movement near the fence to see his friends. All four of them pretending very badly not to watch. Keonho mimes exaggerated binoculars, Martin is already laughing, Juhoon nudges Seonghyeon, who covers his mouth like heβs witnessing live entertainment.
James groans quietly and rolls his eyes.
You notice his distraction. βEverything okay?β βYeah,β he says quickly. βJustβ¦ ignore them.β You glance over, spot the boys instantly, and laugh. βYour friends?β βUnfortunately.β
The sun dips lower by the time you wrap up. Youβre both sweaty, tired, but lighter somehow. James kneels briefly to adjust a cone, then looks up at you, more confident now.
βYou did really well,β he says. βEspecially your off the ball movement. Coach Kimβs gonna notice that.β Your smile is small but genuine. βThanks. This helped. A lot.β
βWe can do this again,β he offers, trying to sound casual. βIf you want.β βIβd like that,β you say easily. βSame time tomorrow?β He nods, heart doing something stupid in his chest. βYeah. Tomorrow.β
You shoulder your bag and wave before heading off, leaving James standing there a moment longer than necessary, watching your back disappear past the bleachers.
SYNOPSIS : james is the school's football star, but one hallway crash with the new girl throws him off completely. you don't know who he is, and he can't forget you. now the golden boy's got one mission, find the girl who didn't even look back.
prev β masterlist β next
The field is quieter after school.
Not empty, just calm in a way it never is during matches. The sun hangs lower, light spilling across the turf in warm streaks. You arrive with your bag slung over one shoulder, boots tucked under your arm, nerves humming lightly beneath your skin. This feels different from team practice. Smaller and more personal.
James is already there.
He stands near the center circle, stretching like heβs done this a hundred times, but the second he notices you, he straightens too fast. You almost laugh. Almost.
βHey,β you say. βHey,β he replies, voice steady enough that he clearly worked for it.
You drop your bag, pull on your boots and for a moment thereβs an awkward pause where neither of you knows who should move first. Then James clears his throat and gestures toward the cones heβs set up.
βSo Coach Kim,β he starts. βHeβs big on first touches. Like, really big. If your controlβs clean, he already likes you more.β You nod, listening closely. βHe hates wasted movement,β James continues, pacing as he talks. βIf you sprint, there has to be a reason. He watches positioning more than people think. Where you are before the pass matters just as much as what you do with it.β
You glance at him, surprised. βYou sound like youβve been through this trauma.β He snorts. βYears of it.β
You start moving through drills together. Short passes and euick turns. He corrects you gently, never condescending, just small adjustments.
At one point, he demonstrates a movement and you try to mirror it but your foot catches awkwardly in the turf. You stumble forward before you can catch yourself.
James reacts instantly.
His hands come up, gripping your arms and steadying you before you fully fall. Your momentum carries you closer anyway, chest brushing his, his grip firm but careful. For a split second, neither of you move.
Youβre painfully aware of how close he is. His breath is warm, jis hands are still on your arms, his eyes flick down, then back up clearly unsure where to look.
βOh,β you say, blinking. βSorry.β βNo! I mean, Itβs fine,β he says quickly, releasing you like heβs been burned. βI shouldβve warned you about that patch.β You laugh softly, shaking it off. βGuess the ground wanted me humbled.β
He smiles before he can stop himself, the kind that sneaks out when youβre not guarding it.
Practice continues, but something changes.
James keeps his distance now, like heβs afraid of repeating the moment but his focus on you sharpens. He watches the way you move through drills, how fast you adapt, how easily you absorb feedback and make it your own. You donβt hesitate nor second guess, you play like this is where youβre meant to be and he really likes that about you.
Thatβs when it hits him.
Not all at once. More like a slow, sinking realization that settles deep in his chest, This isnβt just a crush, no. He genuinely likes you for the person you are.
He tells himself to calm down, to stop being dramatic, youβre just good, youβre just nice and heβs just being helpful, thatβs it.
Except his eyes keep following you even when he looks away and that his chest feels tight when you laugh at something he says.
Except the thought of anyone else training you like this makes something ugly twist in his stomach.
He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. Get it together.
From the corner of his eye, he catches movement near the fence to see his friends. All four of them pretending very badly not to watch. Keonho mimes exaggerated binoculars, Martin is already laughing, Juhoon nudges Seonghyeon, who covers his mouth like heβs witnessing live entertainment.
James groans quietly and rolls his eyes.
You notice his distraction. βEverything okay?β βYeah,β he says quickly. βJustβ¦ ignore them.β You glance over, spot the boys instantly, and laugh. βYour friends?β βUnfortunately.β
The sun dips lower by the time you wrap up. Youβre both sweaty, tired, but lighter somehow. James kneels briefly to adjust a cone, then looks up at you, more confident now.
βYou did really well,β he says. βEspecially your off the ball movement. Coach Kimβs gonna notice that.β Your smile is small but genuine. βThanks. This helped. A lot.β
βWe can do this again,β he offers, trying to sound casual. βIf you want.β βIβd like that,β you say easily. βSame time tomorrow?β He nods, heart doing something stupid in his chest. βYeah. Tomorrow.β
You shoulder your bag and wave before heading off, leaving James standing there a moment longer than necessary, watching your back disappear past the bleachers.
SYNOPSIS : james is the school's football star, but one hallway crash with the new girl throws him off completely. you don't know who he is, and he can't forget you. now the golden boy's got one mission, find the girl who didn't even look back.
prev β masterlist β next
The field is quieter after school.
Not empty, just calm in a way it never is during matches. The sun hangs lower, light spilling across the turf in warm streaks. You arrive with your bag slung over one shoulder, boots tucked under your arm, nerves humming lightly beneath your skin. This feels different from team practice. Smaller and more personal.
James is already there.
He stands near the center circle, stretching like heβs done this a hundred times, but the second he notices you, he straightens too fast. You almost laugh. Almost.
βHey,β you say. βHey,β he replies, voice steady enough that he clearly worked for it.
You drop your bag, pull on your boots and for a moment thereβs an awkward pause where neither of you knows who should move first. Then James clears his throat and gestures toward the cones heβs set up.
βSo Coach Kim,β he starts. βHeβs big on first touches. Like, really big. If your controlβs clean, he already likes you more.β You nod, listening closely. βHe hates wasted movement,β James continues, pacing as he talks. βIf you sprint, there has to be a reason. He watches positioning more than people think. Where you are before the pass matters just as much as what you do with it.β
You glance at him, surprised. βYou sound like youβve been through this trauma.β He snorts. βYears of it.β
You start moving through drills together. Short passes and euick turns. He corrects you gently, never condescending, just small adjustments.
At one point, he demonstrates a movement and you try to mirror it but your foot catches awkwardly in the turf. You stumble forward before you can catch yourself.
James reacts instantly.
His hands come up, gripping your arms and steadying you before you fully fall. Your momentum carries you closer anyway, chest brushing his, his grip firm but careful. For a split second, neither of you move.
Youβre painfully aware of how close he is. His breath is warm, jis hands are still on your arms, his eyes flick down, then back up clearly unsure where to look.
βOh,β you say, blinking. βSorry.β βNo! I mean, Itβs fine,β he says quickly, releasing you like heβs been burned. βI shouldβve warned you about that patch.β You laugh softly, shaking it off. βGuess the ground wanted me humbled.β
He smiles before he can stop himself, the kind that sneaks out when youβre not guarding it.
Practice continues, but something changes.
James keeps his distance now, like heβs afraid of repeating the moment but his focus on you sharpens. He watches the way you move through drills, how fast you adapt, how easily you absorb feedback and make it your own. You donβt hesitate nor second guess, you play like this is where youβre meant to be and he really likes that about you.
Thatβs when it hits him.
Not all at once. More like a slow, sinking realization that settles deep in his chest, This isnβt just a crush, no. He genuinely likes you for the person you are.
He tells himself to calm down, to stop being dramatic, youβre just good, youβre just nice and heβs just being helpful, thatβs it.
Except his eyes keep following you even when he looks away and that his chest feels tight when you laugh at something he says.
Except the thought of anyone else training you like this makes something ugly twist in his stomach.
He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. Get it together.
From the corner of his eye, he catches movement near the fence to see his friends. All four of them pretending very badly not to watch. Keonho mimes exaggerated binoculars, Martin is already laughing, Juhoon nudges Seonghyeon, who covers his mouth like heβs witnessing live entertainment.
James groans quietly and rolls his eyes.
You notice his distraction. βEverything okay?β βYeah,β he says quickly. βJustβ¦ ignore them.β You glance over, spot the boys instantly, and laugh. βYour friends?β βUnfortunately.β
The sun dips lower by the time you wrap up. Youβre both sweaty, tired, but lighter somehow. James kneels briefly to adjust a cone, then looks up at you, more confident now.
βYou did really well,β he says. βEspecially your off the ball movement. Coach Kimβs gonna notice that.β Your smile is small but genuine. βThanks. This helped. A lot.β
βWe can do this again,β he offers, trying to sound casual. βIf you want.β βIβd like that,β you say easily. βSame time tomorrow?β He nods, heart doing something stupid in his chest. βYeah. Tomorrow.β
You shoulder your bag and wave before heading off, leaving James standing there a moment longer than necessary, watching your back disappear past the bleachers.
SYNOPSIS : james is the school's football star, but one hallway crash with the new girl throws him off completely. you don't know who he is, and he can't forget you. now the golden boy's got one mission, find the girl who didn't even look back.
SYNOPSIS : james is the school's football star, but one hallway crash with the new girl throws him off completely. you don't know who he is, and he can't forget you. now the golden boy's got one mission, find the girl who didn't even look back.
SYNOPSIS : james is the school's football star, but one hallway crash with the new girl throws him off completely. you don't know who he is, and he can't forget you. now the golden boy's got one mission, find the girl who didn't even look back.
SYNOPSIS : james is the school's football star, but one hallway crash with the new girl throws him off completely. you don't know who he is, and he can't forget you. now the golden boy's got one mission, find the girl who didn't even look back.
luna's diary : did I have to swap from memeimessage to ifake for the gc? yes i did. was it annoying fuck yeah it was
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The stadium feels heavier than usual as you step onto the pitch. Not tense exactly, but charged in a way that hums under your skin.
Silverridge Prep waits across the field in neat lines, movements sharp even during warm ups. Their girls team looks disciplined and confident, the kind that punishes mistakes instead of gifting chances. Along the sideline, their boys team stretches and laughs, already done with their own match.
Ivy jogs past you on the right wing, ankle taped but her movement smooth and strong. She bumps your shoulder lightly, a grin tugging at her mouth. βTold you Iβm fine.β
Minju adjusts her socks on the left, eyes fixed forward. Wonhee and Hyein talk quietly in the center, hands moving as they map out coverage. At the goal, Yunah bounces once on her heels and flexes her gloves.
The whistle cuts through the noise.
Silverridge presses immediately, their midfield collapsing fast and choking passing lanes before Brookhaven can settle. Yunjin takes the first hit and stays upright, jaw clenched. Iroha and Moka drop deeper, clearing balls before they turn dangerous. Yunah is forced into an early save, diving low and punching the ball wide of the post.
The commentators latch onto it.
βSilverridge starting strong. Brookhaven under pressure early.β
You track back, then surge forward again. Minju swings in a cross that skims just past your foot. Ivy beats her defender and cracks a shot off the post. The crowd groans, then swells again as Wonhee recovers the rebound and keeps the play alive.
Silverridge strikes first.
A turnover. One sharp through ball. Yunah dives, fingertips brushing the shot, but it slips past her. For a moment the stadium falls quiet before frustration ripples through the stands.
You clap once, loud and sharp.
βReset.β
Brookhaven responds.
Wonhee slows the game, dictating tempo, intercepting passes and pushing the ball wide. Hyein wins a brutal duel and sends it forward. Minju cuts inside, dragging defenders with her, and Ivy ghosts into space on the right.
She shoots but the keeper blocks it and the rebound spills loose.
You're already moving towards the ball as it comes to you and you kick it before anyone else can react.
The sound explodes.
βNUMBER ELEVEN WITH THE GOAL. BROOKHAVEN EQUALIZES.β
Silverridge refuses to fade.
Their captainβs voice carries even over the crowd as she rallies them. The second half turns rough. One miscommunication at the back of your team is all Silverridge needs.
Two to one.
Your lungs burn and sweat stings your eyes. The field feels tighter now, louder. Yunah shouts instructions. Moka clears a dangerous cross. Hanni slides in perfectly to stop a breakaway. Iroha blocks a shot and winces, but stays on her feet.
Minju sends in another cross, low and fast. Ivy meets it clean, driving the ball past the keeper with pure force.
Two to two. "We can win this." You hear one of the girls mutter behind you as you watch the scoreboard change.
Time drains away. Legs ache. Every touch feels heavier than the last.
Wonhee threads a pass through midfield, splitting two defenders. You receive it just outside the box, turn, and see space open for a fraction of a second.
You don't hesitate. You shoot and he ball kisses the net.
For one heartbeat, everything freezes. Then the stadium detonates. Brookhaven wins.
Hands grab you from every direction. Ivy laughs into your shoulder. Minju cries openly, wiping her face with her sleeve. Yunah sprints the length of the field and nearly knocks you over in celebration. Someone lifts you off the ground before you can protest, breathless and shaking with adrenaline.
Across the field, as the crowd slowly breaks into smaller pockets of noise, someone steps toward you.
Silverridgeβs boys team captain.
Heβs already changed out of his jersey, jacket zipped halfway, hair still damp like he didnβt bother drying it properly. He stops a few steps away, looking at you like heβs been watching longer than just the last goal.
βNumber eleven,β he says. βYou always play like that, or was that just for today?β You laugh, caught off guard. βI donβt know. Guess it depends who Iβm playing against.β He smiles at that, clearly pleased. βFigures.β
Thereβs a pause. Not awkward. Intentional.
βIβm Maki,β he adds. βI was supposed to cool down after our match, but I couldnβt stop watching yours.β Your ears feel warm. βY/N.β βI know.β His eyes flick briefly to your jersey number, then back to your face. βHard to miss.β
He steps back just enough to look you over properly, respectful but obvious. βYou were insane out there. That last goal?β He exhales like heβs impressed against his will. βYeah. That was something.β βThanks,β you say, softer now.
He grins, easy and confident. βIf I say Iβm jealous I didnβt get to play against you, would that be weird?β βMaybe a little.β βWorth it,β he replies without missing a beat.
A team member calls out for Silverridge players from across the field. Maki glances back, then returns his attention to you.
βAnyway,β he says, voice lower. βGood game. And congrats.β
He lingers for half a second longer than necessary, then turns and jogs off, leaving you standing there, heart doing something annoying and fast.
You don't see James in the stands but he sees everything β the goals, the cheers, the way someone else looks at you like that and it completely ruins him.
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