𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀your best friend, lee sanghyeok, rewrites school history by winning the final game for your university. but that’s not what matters to him, because impressing you is way more important than glory and victory.
⠀ genre college au, best friends to potential lovers, fluff
⠀ contains attempted basketball lingo, sweaty athletes. disclaimer i am not a basketball player, nor have i watched a game before, and i only researched lightly so forgive me if things do not make sense!
⠀ notes HOOO HIATUS WHO??? I AM POSSESSED BY SOME KIND OF THING AFTER READING A FEW FICS so go thank the authornims who fueled something in me to FINALLY finish the request that has been brewing since july...2025. yea sue me but i hope you love this fic hehe! my first 2026 fic, and comeback to blr i suppose? anyways please leave feedback and reblog, as always, mwah! (stream boynextdoor live album)
ᅠ ＞︿ please leave feedbacks & reblog
◁ II ▷ from the start (laufey), soft spot (keshi), get in the ring (max), clueless (regina song), her (JVKE ft. annika wells), cherry blossom (dept, ashley alisha, sonny zero), love, maybe (secret number), say (keshi)
YOU were incredibly nervous, but this wasn’t even your game to play.
You got here quite early, managing to beat the long line of people outside of the indoor stadium. But you found yourself lingering between the first and second row closest to the court, unsure where to place yourself. You kept on adjusting the way the strap of your bag sits on your shoulder, fingers playing with the hem of your skirt.
Finally, you settled and chose to sit in the first row, at the very edge. As you sat, and watched as the indoor stadium began to fill up with students from both KOZ University and Belift University, you muttered a little prayer that you had chosen a good seat and would get a nice view of the game.
You glanced at the wristwatch you were wearing.
Ten minutes until the game starts.
You took your phone out, wanting to do some doomscrolling to pass time. But you couldn’t stop staring at the notification you’d been stalling to open.
It was from your best friend himself.
You’d never not open his messages unless you were sleeping or just having an anti-social kind of day. But this was different. Nothing like he’d ever sent before.
this game is for you.
Those were Sanghyeok’s last words to you before he left to join his team earlier.
You kept your smartphone back into your purse, zipping it securely.
THE game started loud and it never—not even once—slowed down.
From the start, it was never like any other basketball matches you had ever watched. You knew it wasn’t like the other games, as this was the KOZ-Belift final that everyone had been anticipating for the entire season. But you didn’t expect it to be… like this.
Bodies collided, sneakers screaming across the polished floor, elbows fighting for space below the rim.
Belift scored first.
Then again.
You gripped the edge of your seat, knuckles white.
Then from the corner—a three-point that pulled a roar from Belift’s side so loud it made your ears ring.
“Belift striking early!” the commentator announced. “These boys aren’t here to play nice tonight.”
They definitely weren’t.
You saw him—Sanghyeok, the man who flashed you a smile when he spotted you before the game began—hitting the floor three minutes into the game, sliding on his shoulder after a charge (an offensive foul). You felt yourself getting up from your seat, eyes widened, but he had already pushed himself back up, waving off help. Jaw tight. He didn’t even look at the referee, demanding a fair decision like his teammates—he looked at the scoreboard.
Your eyes followed suit.
KOZ missed twice in a row. Then turned it over. Then missed again.
The band of Belift students got louder with every mistake.
Midway through the 20-minute half, the game turned mean. A rebound scramble—a 50/50 fight for the ball—ended with four players on the floor, tangled, and one of them shouting. The whistle blew late. The crowd booed earlier.
“Temper is rising,” the commentator said. “Expected from a rivalry like this!”
You stopped sitting entirely.
By halftime, KOZ was trailing behind by eleven points. The loud never softened—Belift fans smelled blood, KOZ fans shouted opposition like prayers.
As the players headed to the tunnel for the break, Sanghyeok looked up into the stands.
Not around.
Up.
At you.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t mouth anything.
Simply looked.
Then, the second half came. It didn’t feel the same as the one before. This time, the game was tighter, faster, sharper. KOZ’s defence pressed full court—intensely putting all their energy into their defence strategy. Ball passes snapped through instead of floating in the air. A steal then turned into a dunk that shook the backboard, bringing back life into the KOZ side of the stadium.
“There it is!” the commentator shouted. “KOZ has awakened!”
Belift—players and fans alike–started arguing with the referee. KOZ began to feel the spirit in their bones.
Your heart thumped louder than the roars echoing through the stadium.
THE scoreboard glowed, harsh. A warning.
KOZ 68 — BELIFT 69.
Two minutes left.
The entire arena was on its feet—no one was sitting anymore, and everywhere you looked, people were just walls of bodies and colour and sound pressed together. You could feel the vibration of stomping shoes through the metal bleachers, your fingers locked around the railing in front of you, knuckles the palest they’ve ever been.
The roars, chants, and cheers didn’t sound like noise anymore. It was pressure.
Sanghyeok wiped his forearm across his face at the freethrow line, sweat dripping off his chin. Even from here, you could recognise the way he breathed when he was focused—chest rising sharply, breath out slow.
The same kind of breath he did before exams. Before those times he smiled at you weirdly and never finished what he meant to say.
The commentator’s voice boomed through the speakers ahead.
“KOZ has fought their way back up from their twelve-point deficit—but Belift is still holding on strong! And now, all our eyes are on KOZ player Lee Sanghyeok!”
The Belift student section booed loud, but KOZ’s side answered with a thunderous chant.
LEE! SANG! HYEOK!
You mouthed the cheer with them, your voice somehow not finding its way out.
Then he looked up.
Not at the basket first, aiming for his score.
He was finding someone in the stands.
You.
Your breath caught when his eyes met yours. His mouth curved slightly—not a smile, really—but it was that same look he once gave you when he shouted that it was your birthday in the cafeteria and invited everyone to sing for you. Reckless, brave, but then pretended it was nothing.
The whistle blew.
He turned back to the game.
Shot the free throw.
Swish.
It tied the game.
The arena detonated into one of the loudest roars of the day.
“Devoured!” the commentator shouted into the speakers. “That’s twenty-seven for Lee!”
Belift played the ball, inbounding fast. Too fast. Their guard rushed hard down the lane. Bodies collided again. Shoes shrieked against the polished wooden floor.
A crash under the basket.
Players hit the floor.
The whistle screamed loud above the chaos of the stands.
“Offensive foul! He took the charge!” the commentator barked. “KOZ ball!”
The KOZ section exploded. Sanghyeok slapped the floor as he jumped up, shouting something that you couldn’t hear but felt in your ribs.
1:21 minutes left.
“KOZ has flipped the table here!” the commentator said. “Belift is rattled.”
KOZ pushed the ball upcourt. Pass. Wing. Corner. Back to Sanghyeok at the top. A defender, taller Nishimura, glued to his chest. Another Belift player right behind.
You never really fully understood basketball, but you knew they were trapping Sanghyeok.
Then, he pivoted. Did a pump fake, and the defender jumped.
Sanghyeok’s eyes sharpened to the basket.
A drive.
He came into contact with another defender, Sim Jake. Hard—shoulder to ribs—but he forced through it, lifting his shot high up.
It dropped. Clean.
“And the bucket counts! AND ONE!”
The whistle followed the deafening cheers like thunder after lightning.
You didn’t realise you were yelling too, until your throat hurt.
Sanghyeok hit the floor, slid, and popped right back up. He lifted his head, looking at the stands, but this time, there was no mistaking it. No doubt at all.
He tapped his chest once, then pointed. Once. Quick and subtle, but clear enough for you to notice.
Straight to your section, right at you.
A message.
Your heart stuttered so hard you felt it in your throat.
KOZ 71 — BELIFT 69.
58 seconds left, and Belift gave three net snaps. Three perfect scores. Silence took over KOZ’s side.
The commentator said something along the lines of the rivalry bringing out cold blood between the teams, but you didn’t hear it properly. Not anymore.
KOZ 71 — BELIFT 72.
The coach called KOZ for a timeout.
The arena was quickly engulfed by a storm of voices. Both bands played too loud. People talked over each other, strangers grabbing each other’s shoulders. You sat in the middle, frozen, unsure what to feel. Pulse racing in your ears.
On the court, Sanghyeok bent with the rest of his teammates, hands on knees, listening to their coach. You watched without a word, without a thought running through your head. You simply couldn’t take your eyes off him.
At the last second before the game resumed, he looked up. Right at you.
He said something you couldn’t hear.
But you read it off his lips.
I’ll do it. Watch me.
0:32
KOZ’s ball.
“They’re clearing the floor,” announced the commentator. “This is it. They’re giving it up for Lee.”
The clock was against all of them.
Sanghyeok began by dribbling at the top. The defender crouched low to match his level.
Ten seconds.
Cross.
Spin.
He stepped back.
The defender’s hand was in his face. But he did it anyway—the shot flying high, arching impossibly…
Time didn’t feel real.
Net.
Swish.
The roar that followed didn’t even process in your brain.
“HE HITS IT! LEE SANGHYEOK DOES IT AGAIN!”
0:11
Belift was rushing now. They shot up. Missed.
Rebound tipped. Loose. Bodies diving. Sneakers skidding. Sanghyeok slid across the floor and trapped the ball against his chest like it mattered more than air.
Foul.
Whistle.
Free throws.
“Belift had one last chance,” the commentator said, breathless. “And Lee just ripped it away.”
He stood at the line again.
The Belift side of the arena tried to break his focus: screaming, stomping, shaking thundersticks.
But Sanghyeok wasn’t looking.
Not even at the basket.
He was looking at you. Again.
Though, he actually looked this time.
It felt different. It was just you and him, no distance, no crowd.
His lips moved in words so clear you almost heard him.
For you.
He shot it.
Perfect in.
Then, came the second shoot.
Good.
KOZ 76 — BELIFT 72
3 seconds left and Belift was desperate, gasping for one last chance.
Miss.
Then the buzzer came off.
Everyone exploded. Bodies flooded the court, KOZ students vaulting the barriers. Teammates tackled Sanghyeok in waves of blue and yellow.
The commentator’s voice drowned into the laughter and shouting.
“KOZ TAKES THE RIVALRY GAME IN VICTORY! REMEMBER THIS DAY, FOLKS, REMEMBER THEIR NAME!”
You just realised you were crying and laughing at the same time, relief and pride washing over you.
Down on the court, Sanghyeok twisted enough to look toward the stands one last time.
He found you. Even through the chaos, like he always did.
THE court dissolved into waves of people. Students broke through the barriers—banners, flags, painted faces, strangers screaming into strangers’ shoulders. The band was still playing, but it sounded wonky and weak now, swallowed by human noise. Someone nearly knocked you down rushing past, and someone else grabbed you by the arm and celebrated the score with you like you hadn’t just witnessed it live.
KOZ had won.
KOZ had actually won.
Your eyes burned before you even realised why.
This was your university’s first win after three consecutive years. And now, you all won bragging rights for the rest of the year.
You watched everything with blurry vision. How the security gave up pretending to control anything. How the floor was now a blur of team colours and camera flashes and jumping bodies.
But you didn’t see Sanghyeok anywhere.
A slight panic shot through you, cutting through the euphoria.
Then you saw the jersey number through the crowd.
He was half-lifted, half-dragged by his teammates, silver hair plastered to his forehead, grin wide and disbelieving. Someone dumped water over his head. He spluttered, laughed, shoved them off, then turned in a circle like he was finding something.
Someone.
He stepped away from the celebration, ruffling his damp hair.
For you.
It took him three and a half tries to break free from the chaos—ducked under an arm, slid between photographers, and barely dodged another jumping-in-circles situation.
Then he saw you at the edge of the court.
Everything about his face changed.
Relief broke through in a smile. Softer at first, then lighter.
He ran towards you, jogging the last few steps. He was breathless, eyes electric. His skin shone with sweat, hair dripping with water at the edges, jersey clinging to his body.
Your breath got stuck in your lungs.
Up close, he was… unreal. Like he was moving at game-speed, and the rest of the world lagged and blurred behind him.
“Hey,” he said casually, like you two were meeting up at the crosswalk. Like he hadn’t just written new school history. Like he hadn’t just… did whatever he did earlier in the game.
“How’d I do?”
Your mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
You didn’t have an answer.
Your throat closed up, betraying you in the moment when you needed it most. Your ears still rang from the leftover pride and thrill of watching the last shoot leave his hands. You laughed instead of answering him, wiping under your eyes with the heel of your palm, embarrassed that it was wet.
“You–” you tried. “You were–”
Of course, even your words failed you.
But he waited. Didn’t joke. Didn’t grin it off or helped move on to a new topic.
“Amazing. You were amazing,” you managed, finally.
His head tilted slightly. His grin was smaller now. Hopeful. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The noise faded around the two of you. The chants, the celebration, the band still playing—it all felt far away, like rain outside of a window.
Sanghyeok rocked once on his heel, shoving his hands into his pockets that weren’t there on his basketball shorts. His hands fell to his side, awkward.
He was nervous. You could see it, now that his in-game persona was turned off.
He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting around for a moment.
“Cool,” he said. “Yeah. Very. Thanks. I mean, good. Yeah. Good that you think that. Oh, and um, thanks, again.”
You didn’t know what to say to that.
A beat.
It came fast, like he was afraid his courage would run out before he could finish his sentence.
“Amazing enough to take you out tonight?”
Everything in you simply stopped. Every organ in your body forgot how to function. For a second.
“You… just won our school the biggest game in three years,” you breathed. A slightly broken laugh that went under your breath, overwhelmed, teary, victorious—everything colliding into one.
Sanghyeok had this tiny hopeful streak in his eyes. “Yeah. And? I should celebrate properly.”
“With rest. Sleep.” You narrowed your eyes at him.
“With you,” he corrected instantly. Softer.
That was it.
You finally gave up ignoring it.
You stepped forward and hugged him—hard—not caring that he was all gross and sweaty, soaked with Gatorade and victory. He froze for the slightest second, surprised.
Then his arms wrapped around you just as tight, like he’d been holding back for longer than you thought he did.
You could feel his heart racing against yours.
“So, um,” he said into your hair, “is that a yes, or should I try again next season?”
You pulled back, smiling through the last of your tears. This idiot.
“Yes it is,” you shook your head fondly. “But don’t ask again and make it weird. I might take it back.”
“Hey!” Sanghyeok laughed, “No take backsies!”
You raised a brow at him.
His shoulders slumped slightly. “Fine. It was already weird.”
“It was.”
“Worth it?”
You looked at him—really looked—at the pride, the exhaustion, the disbelief, the hope, and the pure happiness on his face.
hi lili! i love your bnd fics, especially “not that i care or anything” i was wondering if you could write something about basketball player riwoo? (this is based off of that one time he wore that red shohoku jersey he was so fine in that) there isnt a lot of riwoo fics out there and as a riwoo bias im pretty sure i read everything already… thank you for your time i know you might be busy with your other works :)
hi sweet person >< i’m VERY sorry for the late, late reply but here it is! i hope you enjoy the fic, and that you won’t hesitate to come around and request more from me~
