SBB 2016 ENTRY #19: Ace (3/3)
Title: Ace
Pairing: Minho/Key
Rating: PG
Genre: Slice of Life
Warnings: None
Final Word Count: 16,500+ words
III
The Drive
“It’s starts with an idea,” Yunkyum says, the ball he directs towards Minho accelerating after it bounces on the ground. “Reaching the ball, that’s the first idea.”
Minho runs towards the corner of the baseline, feet moving quickly so he can find a comfortable position to return it. Just as he is about to look up to the place where he should aim it to, his father’s voice rumbles in the courts.
“Keep looking at that ball until the last second, Minho!”
Minho takes notice of the slight change in the angle of his racquet just before he lets go of the ball. He corrects his mistake and the top-spin added to the ball is effectively given. Yunkyum smiles as he throws another ball.
“Passing the ball across the net is the next idea. Reach every single one of them, it doesn’t matter if they go out. Focus on reaching each shot at a time and pass them to the other side. What do you need to pass them?” Yunkyum asks, hitting a lob right behind from where his son stands.
“The perfect height to hit them back!” Minho exclaims as he moves backwards. Then he jumps into his own axis to get in the perfect position to cut the angle of the ball.
Minho hits it with a sliced forehand and the ball bounces on the right line of the court to then spiral lowly out from reach. Yunkyum stares at the ball just like Minho does. A smile touches the elder's lips soon enough and Minho jumps in excitement, his smile so wide Yunkyum has no doubt this is his son's time.
“That’s how you focus.” Yunkyum says. “Victory is a consequence. For consequences to happen, there must be something that triggers them, an effect; for effects to exist, there has to be an idea first.”
Minho’s wide eyes return to his racquet. He understands.
“Don’t limit yourself, Minho. Do you get it now?”
Minho raises his gaze to look at his father, his Adam’s apples bobbling down as he nods.
* * * * * * *
Their last match for the next three years is everything but a friendly encounter. For the first time, Kibum has been cornered by Minho’s strength during the initial set to lose the second one. This is their third set and Kibum refuses to back down another inch. He knows he’s breathing as heavily as Minho does, but the rage boiling in his veins obscures his exhaustion.
“You cannot defeat me,” Kibum says, blue locks of hair dancing with the wind as he puts everything into his return to Minho’s serve.
Minho makes a sound of effort when his racquet faces Kibum’s shot.
“You are a sad story, and I’m done losing to you,” Minho says letting out all anger that has piled up for years at the back of his mind.
Nobody else is around as they continue playing until the afternoon ends. The fourth set becomes long enough to end in a 43 point-tiebreak. Minho has poured all his technique, strength and stamina in every shot, but he still loses to Kibum’s vicious backspin the moment the ball bounces backwards and is completely away from his reach.
They are panting for breath as they face each other from their side of the court. Tradition dictates they are to shake hands at the end of a match. They have always been everything to each other but conventional.
Kibum raises his chin and straightens his back, the line of his broad shoulders unbreakable.
“What’s success to you?” he asks Minho, but he doesn't wait for an answer. “What you think is the reason you can’t defeat me. Your mind is small, your vision is narrow. I aim for things bigger than your imagination allows you to see. You will never understand my resolve or why it will not waver for anything or anyone. I don’t care if there is success in winning, in getting other people’s praising and compliments, their envy or their admiration. I don’t care if there’s no success there after all, because I don’t care about any of the things that don’t last.”
Minho clenches his jaw, fists tight enough to turn his knuckles white.
“You will never be my equal because to be so, what you should call success cannot possibly ever come from people,” Kibum turns around, chest tight. “All I am is not a sad story, or anyone else’s. It is about what I want and what I will do to get it and from now on you are going to become a step-stone I will forget about.”
But he doesn't, he really doesn't forget.
* * * * * * *
Taemin fell in love with Kibum the moment they played against each other for the first time. He had been twelve then, and while he didn’t know right away the reason why he always trailed after Kibum was because of love, he still knew he liked the elder too much to not be around him often.
When Taemin began playing tennis it had been a result of curiosity. His former coach had said he had a natural talent for the sport, but when he first saw Kibum playing, he couldn’t help but think if he had a natural talent, then Kibum was a genius that wouldn't happen again in centuries. Where Taemin was perfect technique and harmony between strength and speed, Kibum was something wicked.
Taemin did everything in his power to fire Kibum up just to see more of his style, of his conviction. He had succeeded, and the price he had paid for witnessing the first moments of absolute brilliance in Kibum's play had been his heart.
As years passed by and Taemin became more and more aware of the feelings he harbored towards the elder, he also learned how to read him and understand him. The more he knew about Kibum, the more he was unable to deny Minho’s and Kibum’s story would be far from being over as soon as school ended.
It got hard to stand it.
Taemin knew Kibum was soft when he wasn’t playing, and that not many people were aware of this, Minho included. Taemin was greedy enough to not share most of his knowledge about his beloved, but it all found a stop when time continued to pass and Taemin became aware of the darkness enveloping Kibum’s future. Stars that burn brightly from the beginning would vanish first, Taemin had heard once. He could not allow this to happen.
So he followed Minho and Kibum silently when they held their last match before the Sub-17 World Cup took place. He left them alone while they played and only stepped into the court when all sounds of their voices and anger were gone with the wind.
Minho looked pitiful sitting on the ground, arms around his knees and his blue racquet abandoned a meter from him.
“He is that way with you because he cares about your tennis,” Taemin had said then, no beating around the bush as he leaned against the protection fence.
Minho was startled by the unexpected voice. Then he snorted, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Taemin knew he was actually rubbing the tracks of his tears away.
“Sure thing, of course Kibum would care,” he said, no bothering to hide his hurt and his anger.
Taemin pursed his lips.
“He does,” he insisted. “That’s why he gives his all every time he plays with you.”
The wind blew past them, but it didn’t take with it Minho’s pain or Taemin’s envy.
“It is you the one who doesn’t get the message,” Taemin huffed, crossing his arms against his chest.
“What message?” Minho blinked, finally looking up to see the younger boy.
Taemin took a deep breath. For all he loved Kibum, he knew the elder one wasn’t exactly in tune with the less tactless parts of himself. Kibum said and did exactly what made sense in his mind, but not everyone was an expert in his language like Taemin and Jinki were.
“He has been advising you all along, but you are too deep in your hole of self-deprecation and misplaced pride to take notice of it,” Taemin pushed himself off the fence, clicking his tongue. “I have had enough of him giving you his undivided attention. You cannot be his rival because you cannot control what he does, you cannot affect at all the way he thinks or the way he hits a ball. Your rival right now is the ball. That one you can affect, that one you can control if you are stronger than it is as soon as it crosses the net to get into your side of the court. Have I been clear enough or do I have to spell it out more?”
Minho seemed so surprised Taemin felt the urge to smack the back of his head. Then, the doe-eyed teen blinked almost owlishly. Taemin supposed he could kind of see what had won Kibum’s attention after all.
“Hey, why are you doing this?” Minho asked as soon as Taemin turned around after deeming his job there done.
“You must know,” Taemin answered, hands going into the pockets of his pants.
* * * * * * *
As far as first meetings go, Kibum knows he is a hopeless case. However, he hadn’t felt in years as awkward as he feels right then, with Minseok’s almond-shaped chocolate eyes on him. He wants to shift his weight from one foot to the other; instead, he keeps his back as straight as possible while he waits for the other to take the first step.
“Good evening, I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised to see you here, but that I am. Time has passed without a doubt.” Minseok chuckles, eyes crinkling in the corners. The sight does not send flutters to Kibum’s chest. But it does. “I guess coming from me it’s a bit meaningless, but I will still speak. Congratulations from the bottom of my heart on all your accomplishments. You have come a long way for the past 9 years.”
Kibum feels a bit like choking right then, but he’s stubborn enough to maintain his dignity intact. He bows instead, almost cracking a honest smile.
“Thank you for your words,” he hears himself saying.
Minseok must find something comical about Kibum’s face because he is soon covering his mouth lightly with his hand as he lets out a chuckle. The sound dies out in a few seconds to Kibum’s confusion, and for the life of him, he cannot understand why Minho’s older brother would look at him with such unabashed fondness. Hadn’t Kibum being the one who trashed the eldest dreams as a tennis player?
“You both have always been a special set. Pushing each other to new heights and creating different paths together without caring for the crash that could follow,” Minseok says, smiling still.
Kibum cannot understand anything about the Choi men. One makes the same mistakes repeatedly and is slow when learning, another one likes to bring sorrow to his kin and the final one… where should he even begin?
“Crazy runs deeply in the veins of your family. How does your mother deal with the lot of you?” Kibum blurts out.
Minseok chortles, the sound so unappealing it makes Kibum almost laugh in absolute horror.
“You boys are so strong,” Minseok says at last, turning around not without looking back at Kibum one last time over his shoulder. “You must be excited after waiting for so long, hm?”
Kibum scoffs, crossing his arms against his chest.
“Good luck tomorrow, shorty. Fighting!”
As much as Kibum tries to fight the smile toying with the corners of his lips, he still chuckles, head shaking.
He’s ready.
* * * * * * *
It is the night before the finals. Minho’s legs and shoulders ache as much as his abs do from overworking them in the past few days.
Somewhere outside, Kibum must be there playing a light rally with Taemin before they go to sleep. He can’t help but think about the jealousy in Taemin’s voice the day he stepped in to help them out. He also remembers the bitterness showing in the corners of his eyes before he turned around after losing that last match against him during the Sub-17 training camp. He also thinks about all the times Kibum mocked him in the courts and the way he himself reacted to each jab. Minho laughs then.
“What will you have left after you take the world, Kibum?” Minho asked the previous night right outside Kibum's room.
Kibum’s lips were red and the sakura shade of his hair looked beautiful on his slightly tanned skin. There was a fine line of kohl outlining feline-like eyes, but Kibum’s innocence as he laughed was everything.
They will be twenty-two next year and twenty-three the year after that one. Time will continue to pass through them and they will have tennis until they die. Matches will come and go along with accomplishments and disappointments. They will continue to try climbing up always up, until their limbs can’t keep up with them anymore. Some events will repeat themselves in the future, and some new ones will happen later. Amidst it all, Minho knows he won’t care about anything as much as he will always care about Kibum being there. Everything, everything stretches out into eternity and Minho can see it now.
* * * * * * *
It is like the first time they met and not at the same time.
They are across each other. The net is a tangible limit of where one of them is supposed to end and where the other is supposed to start. Kibum bounces the ball on the ground, and Minho takes position in his quadrant. There is a magnetic pull already tugging at Minho's heartstrings. His body sings with anticipation and the sound of his heartbeat resounds like background music in his ears. His eyes cannot miss the way Kibum’s will raises like an unstoppable wave in the middle of the ocean, high, so high, Minho cannot help but look a bit into the future.
And this is it, Minho realizes with a smile. This is where every step they have taken has led them to. This is his brutal defeat during their first match and the pull of emotion that had opened his eyes at last. It is the sun illuminating Kibum’s profile in the morning as he fights to become stronger and the way they have gravitated around each other for years. It’s their practice matches at the Sub-17 training camp and the tenacity and dedication toughening their bones when they refused to give an inch to the other. It’s their last match three years ago and Kibum’s expectations and Minho’s dreams all merging into fate. Everything hangs right there, in their hands.
Kibum tosses the ball and the past spills between them. His shoulders and body rotate to put every little thing he is right into his serve. It should be an ace, and it is, until Minho is right there to catch it.
Pairing: Minho/Key
Rating: PG
Genre: Slice of Life
Warnings: None
Final Word Count: 16,500+ words
III
The Drive
“It’s starts with an idea,” Yunkyum says, the ball he directs towards Minho accelerating after it bounces on the ground. “Reaching the ball, that’s the first idea.”
Minho runs towards the corner of the baseline, feet moving quickly so he can find a comfortable position to return it. Just as he is about to look up to the place where he should aim it to, his father’s voice rumbles in the courts.
“Keep looking at that ball until the last second, Minho!”
Minho takes notice of the slight change in the angle of his racquet just before he lets go of the ball. He corrects his mistake and the top-spin added to the ball is effectively given. Yunkyum smiles as he throws another ball.
“Passing the ball across the net is the next idea. Reach every single one of them, it doesn’t matter if they go out. Focus on reaching each shot at a time and pass them to the other side. What do you need to pass them?” Yunkyum asks, hitting a lob right behind from where his son stands.
“The perfect height to hit them back!” Minho exclaims as he moves backwards. Then he jumps into his own axis to get in the perfect position to cut the angle of the ball.
Minho hits it with a sliced forehand and the ball bounces on the right line of the court to then spiral lowly out from reach. Yunkyum stares at the ball just like Minho does. A smile touches the elder's lips soon enough and Minho jumps in excitement, his smile so wide Yunkyum has no doubt this is his son's time.
“That’s how you focus.” Yunkyum says. “Victory is a consequence. For consequences to happen, there must be something that triggers them, an effect; for effects to exist, there has to be an idea first.”
Minho’s wide eyes return to his racquet. He understands.
“Don’t limit yourself, Minho. Do you get it now?”
Minho raises his gaze to look at his father, his Adam’s apples bobbling down as he nods.
* * * * * * *
Their last match for the next three years is everything but a friendly encounter. For the first time, Kibum has been cornered by Minho’s strength during the initial set to lose the second one. This is their third set and Kibum refuses to back down another inch. He knows he’s breathing as heavily as Minho does, but the rage boiling in his veins obscures his exhaustion.
“You cannot defeat me,” Kibum says, blue locks of hair dancing with the wind as he puts everything into his return to Minho’s serve.
Minho makes a sound of effort when his racquet faces Kibum’s shot.
“You are a sad story, and I’m done losing to you,” Minho says letting out all anger that has piled up for years at the back of his mind.
Nobody else is around as they continue playing until the afternoon ends. The fourth set becomes long enough to end in a 43 point-tiebreak. Minho has poured all his technique, strength and stamina in every shot, but he still loses to Kibum’s vicious backspin the moment the ball bounces backwards and is completely away from his reach.
They are panting for breath as they face each other from their side of the court. Tradition dictates they are to shake hands at the end of a match. They have always been everything to each other but conventional.
Kibum raises his chin and straightens his back, the line of his broad shoulders unbreakable.
“What’s success to you?” he asks Minho, but he doesn't wait for an answer. “What you think is the reason you can’t defeat me. Your mind is small, your vision is narrow. I aim for things bigger than your imagination allows you to see. You will never understand my resolve or why it will not waver for anything or anyone. I don’t care if there is success in winning, in getting other people’s praising and compliments, their envy or their admiration. I don’t care if there’s no success there after all, because I don’t care about any of the things that don’t last.”
Minho clenches his jaw, fists tight enough to turn his knuckles white.
“You will never be my equal because to be so, what you should call success cannot possibly ever come from people,” Kibum turns around, chest tight. “All I am is not a sad story, or anyone else’s. It is about what I want and what I will do to get it and from now on you are going to become a step-stone I will forget about.”
But he doesn't, he really doesn't forget.
* * * * * * *
Taemin fell in love with Kibum the moment they played against each other for the first time. He had been twelve then, and while he didn’t know right away the reason why he always trailed after Kibum was because of love, he still knew he liked the elder too much to not be around him often.
When Taemin began playing tennis it had been a result of curiosity. His former coach had said he had a natural talent for the sport, but when he first saw Kibum playing, he couldn’t help but think if he had a natural talent, then Kibum was a genius that wouldn't happen again in centuries. Where Taemin was perfect technique and harmony between strength and speed, Kibum was something wicked.
Taemin did everything in his power to fire Kibum up just to see more of his style, of his conviction. He had succeeded, and the price he had paid for witnessing the first moments of absolute brilliance in Kibum's play had been his heart.
As years passed by and Taemin became more and more aware of the feelings he harbored towards the elder, he also learned how to read him and understand him. The more he knew about Kibum, the more he was unable to deny Minho’s and Kibum’s story would be far from being over as soon as school ended.
It got hard to stand it.
Taemin knew Kibum was soft when he wasn’t playing, and that not many people were aware of this, Minho included. Taemin was greedy enough to not share most of his knowledge about his beloved, but it all found a stop when time continued to pass and Taemin became aware of the darkness enveloping Kibum’s future. Stars that burn brightly from the beginning would vanish first, Taemin had heard once. He could not allow this to happen.
So he followed Minho and Kibum silently when they held their last match before the Sub-17 World Cup took place. He left them alone while they played and only stepped into the court when all sounds of their voices and anger were gone with the wind.
Minho looked pitiful sitting on the ground, arms around his knees and his blue racquet abandoned a meter from him.
“He is that way with you because he cares about your tennis,” Taemin had said then, no beating around the bush as he leaned against the protection fence.
Minho was startled by the unexpected voice. Then he snorted, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Taemin knew he was actually rubbing the tracks of his tears away.
“Sure thing, of course Kibum would care,” he said, no bothering to hide his hurt and his anger.
Taemin pursed his lips.
“He does,” he insisted. “That’s why he gives his all every time he plays with you.”
The wind blew past them, but it didn’t take with it Minho’s pain or Taemin’s envy.
“It is you the one who doesn’t get the message,” Taemin huffed, crossing his arms against his chest.
“What message?” Minho blinked, finally looking up to see the younger boy.
Taemin took a deep breath. For all he loved Kibum, he knew the elder one wasn’t exactly in tune with the less tactless parts of himself. Kibum said and did exactly what made sense in his mind, but not everyone was an expert in his language like Taemin and Jinki were.
“He has been advising you all along, but you are too deep in your hole of self-deprecation and misplaced pride to take notice of it,” Taemin pushed himself off the fence, clicking his tongue. “I have had enough of him giving you his undivided attention. You cannot be his rival because you cannot control what he does, you cannot affect at all the way he thinks or the way he hits a ball. Your rival right now is the ball. That one you can affect, that one you can control if you are stronger than it is as soon as it crosses the net to get into your side of the court. Have I been clear enough or do I have to spell it out more?”
Minho seemed so surprised Taemin felt the urge to smack the back of his head. Then, the doe-eyed teen blinked almost owlishly. Taemin supposed he could kind of see what had won Kibum’s attention after all.
“Hey, why are you doing this?” Minho asked as soon as Taemin turned around after deeming his job there done.
“You must know,” Taemin answered, hands going into the pockets of his pants.
* * * * * * *
As far as first meetings go, Kibum knows he is a hopeless case. However, he hadn’t felt in years as awkward as he feels right then, with Minseok’s almond-shaped chocolate eyes on him. He wants to shift his weight from one foot to the other; instead, he keeps his back as straight as possible while he waits for the other to take the first step.
“Good evening, I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised to see you here, but that I am. Time has passed without a doubt.” Minseok chuckles, eyes crinkling in the corners. The sight does not send flutters to Kibum’s chest. But it does. “I guess coming from me it’s a bit meaningless, but I will still speak. Congratulations from the bottom of my heart on all your accomplishments. You have come a long way for the past 9 years.”
Kibum feels a bit like choking right then, but he’s stubborn enough to maintain his dignity intact. He bows instead, almost cracking a honest smile.
“Thank you for your words,” he hears himself saying.
Minseok must find something comical about Kibum’s face because he is soon covering his mouth lightly with his hand as he lets out a chuckle. The sound dies out in a few seconds to Kibum’s confusion, and for the life of him, he cannot understand why Minho’s older brother would look at him with such unabashed fondness. Hadn’t Kibum being the one who trashed the eldest dreams as a tennis player?
“You both have always been a special set. Pushing each other to new heights and creating different paths together without caring for the crash that could follow,” Minseok says, smiling still.
Kibum cannot understand anything about the Choi men. One makes the same mistakes repeatedly and is slow when learning, another one likes to bring sorrow to his kin and the final one… where should he even begin?
“Crazy runs deeply in the veins of your family. How does your mother deal with the lot of you?” Kibum blurts out.
Minseok chortles, the sound so unappealing it makes Kibum almost laugh in absolute horror.
“You boys are so strong,” Minseok says at last, turning around not without looking back at Kibum one last time over his shoulder. “You must be excited after waiting for so long, hm?”
Kibum scoffs, crossing his arms against his chest.
“Good luck tomorrow, shorty. Fighting!”
As much as Kibum tries to fight the smile toying with the corners of his lips, he still chuckles, head shaking.
He’s ready.
* * * * * * *
It is the night before the finals. Minho’s legs and shoulders ache as much as his abs do from overworking them in the past few days.
Somewhere outside, Kibum must be there playing a light rally with Taemin before they go to sleep. He can’t help but think about the jealousy in Taemin’s voice the day he stepped in to help them out. He also remembers the bitterness showing in the corners of his eyes before he turned around after losing that last match against him during the Sub-17 training camp. He also thinks about all the times Kibum mocked him in the courts and the way he himself reacted to each jab. Minho laughs then.
“What will you have left after you take the world, Kibum?” Minho asked the previous night right outside Kibum's room.
Kibum’s lips were red and the sakura shade of his hair looked beautiful on his slightly tanned skin. There was a fine line of kohl outlining feline-like eyes, but Kibum’s innocence as he laughed was everything.
They will be twenty-two next year and twenty-three the year after that one. Time will continue to pass through them and they will have tennis until they die. Matches will come and go along with accomplishments and disappointments. They will continue to try climbing up always up, until their limbs can’t keep up with them anymore. Some events will repeat themselves in the future, and some new ones will happen later. Amidst it all, Minho knows he won’t care about anything as much as he will always care about Kibum being there. Everything, everything stretches out into eternity and Minho can see it now.
* * * * * * *
It is like the first time they met and not at the same time.
They are across each other. The net is a tangible limit of where one of them is supposed to end and where the other is supposed to start. Kibum bounces the ball on the ground, and Minho takes position in his quadrant. There is a magnetic pull already tugging at Minho's heartstrings. His body sings with anticipation and the sound of his heartbeat resounds like background music in his ears. His eyes cannot miss the way Kibum’s will raises like an unstoppable wave in the middle of the ocean, high, so high, Minho cannot help but look a bit into the future.
And this is it, Minho realizes with a smile. This is where every step they have taken has led them to. This is his brutal defeat during their first match and the pull of emotion that had opened his eyes at last. It is the sun illuminating Kibum’s profile in the morning as he fights to become stronger and the way they have gravitated around each other for years. It’s their practice matches at the Sub-17 training camp and the tenacity and dedication toughening their bones when they refused to give an inch to the other. It’s their last match three years ago and Kibum’s expectations and Minho’s dreams all merging into fate. Everything hangs right there, in their hands.
Kibum tosses the ball and the past spills between them. His shoulders and body rotate to put every little thing he is right into his serve. It should be an ace, and it is, until Minho is right there to catch it.