He just comes running over to me
“Oh, come the fuck on! That was inside!” Mickey bellows, springing to his feet as the sharp whistle cuts through the game. The referee signals, arms extending up and folded at the elbows before—fuck this shit—sweeping one arm to the right side of the court.
The other team rotates. The tension is thick at this point—a solid 2 - 2 with the fifth set led by the Reds. At least, until Fucker 12 hit the ball too hard and launched it right outside the line, now leaving both teams grasping for that one last point.
With a bated breath, Mickey turns his gaze to the other side of the court. Ian stands at the center, towering over everyone with his long legs even as he’s bent over with his hands on his knees. His eyes are laser-focused as they peer at the Blues. In a sudden sweep, those greens scan the crowd before they knowingly lock at the courtside right where Mickey stands.
And then the asshole winks.
Mickey’s knees barely manage to hold himself upright. He flips him off instead.
Ian grins like a bastard as if his team isn’t one point away from losing the nationals.
It’s a long rally—a fucking hell of the back-and-forth that has Mickey on the tips of his toes. The ball doesn’t meet the ground, only ever meeting the palms of each player. Eventually, 4 sets the ball up high and 7 gears up to deliver a nasty spike right at the net.
It would’ve been a losing game for the Reds, if Ian didn’t time his jump perfectly and his hands didn’t completely block the careening of the ball.
But he does. And the ball bounces back to the other team’s court with a resounding thud.
The arena explodes with red, cheers and screams echoing throughout the space. The players and the coaches and the reporters swarm the court and they all make a beeline for Ian.
He fucking dodges and weaves away those cameras, even shrugs off his own teammates. They helplessly call for him, trying to get a statement or even a photo but he’s an unstoppable force that heads straight for the only person that matters.
Mickey patiently waits where he stands, not even needing to move a single muscle like all these other fuckers desperately trying to pin Ian down. Eventually, the cameras turn towards him when Ian finally, fucking finally, reaches him.
Ian wraps him in a crushing hug, panting lungfuls of giddy breaths and shining like the goddamn sun. “Mick, Mickey, I did it.”
And Mickey holds him just as tight, his own heart beating right out of his chest and painfully swelling with pride. He wants the whole world to know, so he whispers right into Ian’s ear. “Yeah, you fucking did, baby.”
