Love at First Spike (Sort of)
Jisung had always prided himself on being level-headed. Sure, he had a temper when it came to volleyball, and yes, Minho had a way of pushing every single one of his buttons, but he was rational. Logical. Grounded. Or so he thought.
It started small. During one of their drills, Minho had laughed—really laughed—at something Jisung had said. Not a sarcastic chuckle or a mocking snort, but an actual, genuine laugh that lit up his face. Jisung had felt his stomach flip, which he immediately blamed on the protein bar he’d eaten earlier. But then it happened again. And again. And suddenly, Jisung found himself hyper-aware of every little thing Minho did. The way his hair stuck to his forehead when he was sweating. The way he absentmindedly spun the volleyball on his finger like it was second nature. The way his smirk softened into something almost kind when he thought no one was looking.
The breaking point came during a particularly grueling practice. Minho had just nailed a perfect spike, and Jisung, distracted by the way Minho’s shirt clung to his shoulders, completely missed the ball. It smacked him square in the face, sending him stumbling backward as the gym erupted in laughter.
Jisung clutched his face, the volleyball rolling forgotten across the polished floor. His teammates didn’t even try to stifle their laughter, doubling over in near-tears as they struggled to catch their breath.
Felix was practically on the ground, sprawled out on the gym floor like he’d been knocked out by the sheer comedic brilliance of the situation. He gasped for air between giggles, slapping the floor with his palm as if that would somehow help him recover.
“Bro—your face! That was—I can’t—” he wheezed, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Hyunjin, who had initially tried to be sympathetic, abandoned all attempts at keeping his composure the second Jisung stumbled backward like a scene out of a slapstick comedy. He leaned against the wall for support, his shoulders shaking as his laughter grew louder and louder. “You’re killing me, Jisung!” he howled, clutching his stomach. “What was that even supposed to be—a defense move or an audition for a clown act?”
Jisung groaned, face still buried in his hands as the sheer volume of their laughter somehow made the embarrassment ten times worse. “I hate all of you,” he muttered, his voice muffled and thoroughly unconvincing.
Felix managed to sit up, still giggling but now trying—unsuccessfully—to pull himself together. “No, no, you don’t. You love us for making this a core memory.” He grinned so wide his cheeks practically hurt.
Hyunjin wiped his eyes, still shaking his head as he leaned over to pick up the abandoned ball. “I swear, that is going in the highlight reel. I’m going to make a montage of Jisung’s Greatest Hits—and by ‘hits,’ I mean balls to the face.”
“I’m deleting your video editing software,” Jisung shot back, finally lowering his hands to glare at them both. But the redness of his cheeks gave away just how mortified he really was.
Minho, having jogged over to survey the carnage, simply smirked as he handed Jisung a bottle of water. “Not bad,” he said dryly, leaning casually against the wall. “You’ve got star potential—for a slapstick comedy, that is.”
Hyunjin laughed even louder, almost falling over in his amusement, while Felix gave Jisung an exaggerated thumbs-up. Jisung groaned again, dropping onto the bench and mentally counting the days until the off-season was over—or maybe just the days until he could somehow escape his best friends’ relentless teasing.
“Nice defense, Jisung,” Minho said, crouching beside him. His tone was equal parts amused and concerned. “You okay, or did I finally knock some sense into you?”
Jisung groaned, waving him off with one hand while keeping the other firmly on his face. “I’m fine. Totally fine. Just… testing the durability of my nose. It’s for science.”
Minho barked out a laugh, sitting back on his heels. “For science? Well, your nose definitely passed the durability test. Ten out of ten.”
Jisung’s cheeks burned—not just from the impact, but from the way Minho was still looking at him with that stupidly endearing smile. He scrambled to his feet, brushing himself off as if that would also brush away the memory of Minho’s grin.
Later that day, things only got worse. As they were packing up, Minho casually tossed Jisung a water bottle. Normally, it would have been an easy catch, but Jisung was still too distracted—by the memory of Minho’s laugh, by the way his hair fell into his eyes when he spiked, by the realization that Minho was… well… infuriatingly him. The water bottle slipped through his fingers, flew over his shoulder, and skidded halfway across the gym floor.
The entire team froze, watching as Jisung stood there, frozen in his humiliation. Minho, of course, burst out laughing, slapping his knee for emphasis.
“Wow,” Minho said between bouts of laughter. “First the ball, now the water bottle? Are you trying to set a new record for the most fumbles in one practice?”
Jisung glared at him, his face redder than a volleyball. “I’m just… off my game today, okay? It happens.”
Minho wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Butterfingers.”
By the time they left the gym, Jisung’s embarrassment had reached its peak. As Minho prattled on about the drills they’d run earlier, Jisung walked silently beside him, his mind spinning. The way Minho’s voice dipped when he got serious, the way he could annoy Jisung one second and then genuinely encourage him the next—it was like an infuriating contradiction that Jisung couldn’t stop thinking about. And then it hit him, like one of Minho’s spikes straight to the face.
Oh no. He liked him.
The realization stopped Jisung in his tracks, his eyes widening as the horrifying thought settled in. No, no, no, he thought. This can’t be happening. This is a mistake. A brain malfunction. A temporary lapse in judgment.
Minho turned around, arching an eyebrow. “You good, or did you forget how to walk now too?”
Jisung snapped out of his daze, quickly forcing himself to keep moving. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice a little too high-pitched to sound convincing. “Totally fine. I just—uh—I was thinking about… strategy.”
“Strategy,” Minho repeated, narrowing his eyes in mock suspicion. “For walking?”
“Yes. For walking,” Jisung said flatly, refusing to meet Minho’s gaze.
Minho let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly enjoying himself. “You’re a weird guy, Jisung.”
“You’re an annoying guy, Minho,” Jisung shot back, but there was no real venom in his words.
“That’s a lie,” Minho said brightly, clapping him on the back, “I’m way more fun than a dentist.”
Jisung muttered something unintelligible under his breath, shaking his head as they walked toward the parking lot.