Liam walked into the locker room, the noise from the field fading behind him as the door closed. The room was quiet, almost too quiet. He went straight to his locker and opened it, taking out his neatly folded school uniform. The fabric felt familiar in his hands, grounding him a little.
He moved into the restroom section and stopped in front of the sink. Placing both hands on the cold porcelain, he leaned forward, gripping it tightly. He stared at his reflection, jaw clenched.
Why won't he leave my head?
No matter how hard Liam tried, Oliver was always there. In his thoughts. In his chest. In places he didn't want to admit. He had tried to move on after Oliver rejected him. He told himself it was over, that it had to be over. Oliver would never feel the same way. Oliver would never look at him the way he wanted.
And yet… hope still lingered. Quiet. Stubborn.
Liam exhaled sharply and began changing. He pulled off his sports jersey and wiped the sweat from his neck with it before tossing it aside. His body was lean and well-built—broad shoulders, defined arms, and a skin so white and smooth.
He slipped into his school pants and reached for his belt, focusing on the simple task. His upper body was still bare.
That was when he heard the door creak open slowly.
Liam assumed it was one of his teammates coming in to change. He didn't turn around. He just continued buckling his belt, eyes fixed on the mirror.
Then a voice spoke.
"L-Liam…"
It was quiet. Nervous.
Liam froze.
That voice—he knew it too well.
He turned around abruptly, his heart jumping before he quickly forced his face into calm indifference. Oliver stood there, just a few steps away, looking unsure, like he wasn't certain he should be there at all.
Liam straightened. His expression turned cold, distant. He stared at Oliver, waiting.
Whatever Oliver had come to say, Liam already knew—it wouldn't be what he wanted.
Oliver stood awkwardly in front of him. His skin looked pale under the restroom lights, his hair slightly messy like he had run his hands through it too many times. He looked nervous, eyes locked where they shouldn't be.
What Oliver didn't notice was Liam's gaze lingering on him, sharp and observant. Liam's eyebrows lifted slightly as he caught Oliver staring—not at his face, but lower, as if in a daze, almost drooling.
A faint smirk tugged at Liam's lips.
"Are you done looking?" he asked casually.
Oliver startled as if woken from a dream. His face flushed instantly, heat rushing to his cheeks. He turned away quickly, embarrassed.
"I—I wasn't—" he muttered, words failing him.
Liam turned back around and pulled on his shirt slowly, buttoning it up with deliberate movements. Only then did he speak again.
"So," he said calmly, "what do you want to say?"
Oliver swallowed. He hesitated, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve. Seconds passed as he gathered his courage.
"I…" he began, then stopped. He took a breath. "I want us to go back to how we were before."
The words hung in the air.
Liam stopped moving.
He turned slowly to face Oliver again, studying his face carefully, as if searching for something hidden beneath the words. After a long moment, he stepped closer and lifted his hand, gently ruffling Oliver's hair like he used to.
Oliver stiffened slightly.
However Liam's fingers moved lower , to his cheek, and then brushing against Oliver's lips—soft, long, almost questioning.
Oliver shivered and stepped back, heart pounding. He didn't understand what Liam was doing. He didn't understand what he himself was feeling. But despite everything, he didn't run.
"I…" Oliver whispered, confused. "Liam… you were my first friend. My first real one. You're my best friend."
Liam's hand fell back to his side.
That wasn't the answer he wanted.
Silence stretched between them. Liam stared at Oliver for a long time, his expression unreadable. Something dark and disappointed flickered in his eyes.
Without another word, he walked past Oliver toward the door.
But just before leaving, he stopped.
He turned back slightly, his voice low.
"I'm expecting an answer. You know what I mean."
Then he walked out, leaving Oliver alone in the restroom, heart racing, mind in complete chaos.
The Golden Crest Academy sports bus moved smoothly along the tarred road, its deep blue body shining under the afternoon sun. The bus was long and wide, with large tinted windows and the school name written boldly on the sides in white letters. Inside, the seats were arranged neatly, the air filled with quiet chatter, laughter, and the low hum of excitement.
The road ahead slowly began to rise, slanting upward like a gentle hill. This wasn't surprising. The whole area was naturally elevated. That was how the place got its name—Willows Hill. Tall willow trees lined both sides of the road, their long branches swaying lazily in the breeze, brushing against each other like they were whispering secrets. It looked similar to Willows Valley, but the two places were far apart, each resting in a different part of the city.
As the bus climbed higher, the view opened up.
Soon enough, the majestic roofs of Willows Hill High School came into sight. From above—like a drone view—the school stood proudly at the center of the wide green hill, surrounded by rows and rows of willow trees. The buildings looked organized and calm, as if they had been placed carefully to match the land itself.
Liam didn't react much.
He sat by the window beside Tommy, one earbud in, soft music flowing into his ears. His gaze drifted lazily outside, watching the willow trees pass by one after another. No excitement. No nervousness. Just quiet thoughts.
This was his former school, yes—but it didn't stir anything special in him.
The bus finally slowed down and rolled through the tall iron gates of Willows Hill High School. Inside the compound, several buses were already parked neatly in a designated area—three, maybe four, each from a different school.
As they entered fully, a group of female students in neat uniforms stood at the center of the grounds, smiling and clapping lightly to welcome the visiting teams. Some waved enthusiastically, others nudged their friends and whispered excitedly.
Willows Hill High School was truly beautiful.
The buildings weren't as massive or modern as Golden Crest Academy's, but they had charm. Cream-colored walls, red-tiled roofs, wide open courtyards, and well-kept lawns stretched across the hill. Stone paths connected the buildings, and trees were planted thoughtfully everywhere, giving the whole school a peaceful, almost elegant feeling.
As the Golden Crest students stepped down from the bus, the whispers grew louder.
"Is that him?"
"Look at Liam…"
"He's more handsome than before."
"I heard he transferred to Golden Crest."
Liam caught the murmurs and sighed quietly, his face completely unreadable. He glanced sideways at the girls, his eyes cold and uninterested, as if he hadn't heard a thing.
Tommy leaned closer and muttered, "Looks like someone's still famous."
Liam didn't reply. He just adjusted his earbud, clearly unimpressed.
Back when Liam was still a student at Willows Hill, he had been extremely popular—especially with the girls. Girlfriends came and went so often that people joked he changed them the way others changed clothes. Seeing the same reactions again now felt more tiring than flattering.
Just then, the Willows Hill coach walked toward them with a wide smile. He looked pleased, his eyes lighting up when they landed on Liam.
"Liam," the coach greeted warmly.
Liam removed his earbud and returned the smile politely. "Coach."
After shaking hands and exchanging a few words with the Golden Crest staff, the coach gestured for the team to follow him.
"This way," he said. "The changing room is already prepared for you."
The team moved together, following him toward the building where they would get ready for the sports activities ...