The shout cut through the noise of the court.
"Liam!"
His body reacted before his mind did. His chest tightened, his heart snapping hard against his ribs as he turned his head sharply toward the crowd. For a second, everything else—the bouncing ball, the shouting coach, the roaring spectators—fell away.
Oliver was standing there.
Breathless. Slightly bent forward, as if he had run just to get there. His eyes were locked on Liam, wide and shining, refusing to look anywhere else. This Oliver looked different. The Oliver Liam knew avoided crowds, hated attention, and spoke softly as if afraid his voice might bother someone. Yet here he was, standing among other students, not shrinking, not hiding—he came because of him.
Liam's throat went dry.
"So I wasn't imagining it…" he thought.
"He really does care."
The mess inside his head finally quieted. The confusion, the anger, the ache of rejection—it all faded into the background. All that remained was Oliver. Liam straightened his back, clenching his jaw. He wanted to impress him. He needed to.
His ankle throbbed sharply as he moved, a warning pain, but he ignored it. He pushed forward.
The ball returned to his hands, and suddenly, it was as if the court belonged to him again. His passes were fast and clean. He broke through defense like he was cutting through air. A sharp turn, a quick dribble, a jump shot—score. The crowd erupted. Even players from other schools began to murmur in surprise.
Some eyes followed his movements. Others followed his gaze—because every time Liam scored, his eyes flicked back to the stands. To Oliver.
He jumped again, higher than he should have.
When he landed, pain shot violently through his ankle. His knees buckled, and for a terrifying second, it looked like he would collapse. A sharp gasp tore from his chest, sweat soaking his hair, his face pale.
Oliver saw it.
His hands clenched around the railing as his heart skipped. Something was wrong. Liam was forcing himself—pushing far beyond what he should. Oliver felt torn apart inside. He wanted Liam to win. He wanted to cheer. But more than that… he wanted Liam to stop.
The whistle blew again. The score was close. Too close.
One last chance.
Liam wiped his face, breathing hard. His ankle screamed with every step, but he bit down on the pain. The ball came to him. Time slowed. The court blurred. All he could see was the hoop—and Oliver's eyes behind it.
He jumped.
The ball left his hands.
Swish.
The whistle shrilled loudly.
Golden Crest won by one point.
For half a second, the world froze. Then the court exploded with cheers. Shouts echoed, shoes pounded the floor, teammates rushed forward. But Liam didn't celebrate. He turned and ran—softly, carefully—toward the stands, ignoring the ache pulling at his leg.
His eyes never left Oliver.
People noticed. Whispers followed his movement. Cameras lifted.
Liam stopped in front of Oliver, who stood among other students, still smiling, still not backing away. That smile broke him.
"I like you," Liam thought desperately.
"Too much."
Without thinking, he pulled Oliver into his arms and hugged him tightly. His grip was firm, almost desperate, as if letting go would shatter him. Gasps rose behind them. Some students stared with wide eyes. Phones flashed. Someone whispered loudly.
Oliver stiffened in shock, his face heating instantly. After a moment, he gently pushed Liam back, lowering his voice.
"Liam… the results will be announced soon."
Liam hesitated, clearly unwilling to step away, but finally nodded. He limped back toward his team.
Tommy stared at him, stunned.
"What was that?" he demanded.
Liam didn't answer.
Across the court, Lorette's fingers curled tightly at her side. Her smile was gone. She watched Liam's retreating back with sharp, burning eyes. She knew. She had been cast aside.
Not long after, the announcer's voice boomed across the field as students gathered.
"Sprint race results!
First place- Eastwood Boys School.
Second place- Golden Crest Academy!"
Cheers rose.
"High jump results!
First place- Golden Crest Academy!"
Second place - Willows Hill High School
The Golden Crest students roared.
"Basketball final match!
Winner—Golden Crest Academy!"
The noise was deafening.
Other sports followed—relay races, field events, minor games. Golden Crest placed high again and again. When the final numbers were added, the conclusion was clear.
"Overall winner of the interschool competition—Golden Crest Academy!"
Students hugged. Teachers clapped. Pride lit every face.
Then the announcer paused. The announcement everyone had anticipated.
"And finally… Best Sports Student of the Year."
The crowd leaned in.
"Liam Adrien—Golden Crest Academy."
Applause thundered.
Liam stood there, chest rising and falling, ankle aching, sweat drying on his skin. He didn't smile widely. Instead, he turned toward the crowd, searching.
Oliver met his eyes and smiled.
And in that moment, Liam knew—
This victory meant nothing without him...
The clinic was quiet, filled with the soft smell of antiseptic and the low hum of the air conditioner. Liam lay on the narrow bed, his ankle wrapped neatly, one leg propped up with a pillow. He kept insisting he was fine, trying to sit up, trying to leave, but the medic pushed him back gently every time.
"Rest for a few hours," she said firmly. "If you strain it now, it'll get worse."
One by one, his teammates left, their voices fading down the hallway. Soon, only Tommy remained by the door. Liam turned his head toward him.
"Tommy," he said, lowering his voice, "can you… help me find Oliver? Tell him I'm here."
Tommy didn't answer right away. He just stared at Liam, long and hard, as if seeing him clearly for the first time. His jaw tightened. There were many things he could say. If he said he hadn't noticed that Liam's feelings for Oliver went far beyond friendship, then he would be lying to himself. After all, Thomas also had someone he cared about deeply—and that person was a boy too. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, swallowing the words.
"I'll tell him," Tommy said at last.
When he left, the room fell silent again.
Not long after, the door creaked open softly. Liam didn't need to look to know who it was. His heart already knew. Oliver stepped inside and closed the door behind him, his movements careful, almost shy. He walked over and sat on the small stool beside the bed, his hands resting on his knees.
Liam frowned deeply, squeezing his face as if he were in terrible pain. "Ah… my ankle," he muttered dramatically.
Oliver looked at him for a second, then sighed. "You're acting," he said quietly.
Liam peeked at him, then smiled, unable to keep it up. Oliver shook his head, but there was warmth in his eyes. This version of Liam- soft, childish, pretending just to keep him close- felt strangely adorable. Oliver reached out and gently adjusted the pillow under Liam's leg.
"You scared me," Oliver said. "You kept pushing yourself."
Liam's smile faded a little. "I wanted to win," he said. "And… I wanted you to see."
Oliver's chest tightened. He had been thinking for days. Running from it hadn't helped. Denying it hadn't helped. Sitting here now, seeing Liam like this, he finally understood what his heart had been trying to say all along.
Slowly, almost trembling, Oliver leaned forward.
And before Liam could speak, before he could even breathe properly, Oliver pressed his lips gently against Liam's.
Liam's eyes flew wide open...