Ball-Boy Tactics

I wanted to ask why he kept giving me rides, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud. So instead, I ended up asking an irrelevant question: what color he liked. Kwon Jungwoo looked at me, puzzled, and then asked, “What about you?”

For a moment, the only thing that came to mind was his uniform.

“I… like blue.”

“I like blue too,” he replied immediately after I spoke, and strangely, from that moment on, I started liking blue as well.

We exchanged other meaningless conversations too. Looking back, it wasn’t even that funny, but I kept laughing anyway. In the midst of that, Kwon Jungwoo held my hand. He didn’t give a reason. We held hands a little longer than we did yesterday, and I found myself gently feeling the warmth of his skin.

I expected him to comment again about me wearing a hat, but until we parted ways, Kwon Jungwoo didn’t mention it. He just lightly patted the top of my cap with his palm, and I laughed awkwardly.

“Do you think he’s older again this time?” Byun Seungjin asked, and Yang Eunoh nodded slightly.

“Well, you’ve only ever dated older people. That’s probably why you leave early to see him on your way to work.”

“Yeah, he has a solid preference.”

“Oh! There’s an away match at Seohan University later, so that tall guy who got beaten up by Jungwoo last game is probably coming.”

“I can’t wait to see him try to show off again today. He couldn’t even play his position properly. I still don’t get why he keeps getting picked as a starter.”

Byun Seungjin and Yang Eunoh quickly shifted topics. The story about Kwon Jungwoo hitting someone was probably from right before the midterms.

Kwon Jungwoo was already known as a player who often got into physical confrontations during games. He’d been criticized for it, but in this recent incident, many people thought the other player deserved it. That player had been playing in an unsportsmanlike manner, repeatedly provoking fouls, so it seemed justified that Kwon Jungwoo hit him.

To be precise, it wasn’t even fair to say he “hit” him. It wasn’t against the rules. Kwon Jungwoo had just been dribbling the ball forward. The shoulder check he gave the opposing player was stronger than necessary, which caused the guy to fall hard, but in the end, it wasn’t really Kwon Jungwoo’s fault.

Anyway, I had heard about the incident in detail through the group chat, so I wasn’t curious anymore. What I was curious about now was something else….

“Hey, do you think Kwon Jungwoo really has such a solid preference?” I asked carefully, and both players looked at me with puzzled expressions.

“Preference? What, like, does he have a specific taste when it comes to beating people up? Nah, he just hits them because they play dirty and piss him off.”

“No, no, I mean like his ideal type or something. By the way, I was going to ask about your ideal types too!”

“Oh, that kind of preference. I think Jungwoo likes someone mature. Oh, here he comes now. You can ask him yourself.”

I turned around at Yang Eunoh’s nod and saw Kwon Jungwoo walking into the classroom. I quickly waved my hands, trying to signal that I wasn’t curious anymore, but the quietly kind Yang Eunoh asked the question on my behalf anyway.

“Hey, Jiwon wants to know what your ideal type is.”

“My ideal type?” Kwon Jungwoo raised an eyebrow as he asked, stepping closer. He looked surprisingly neat, not at all like someone who had just slept in the locker room. His long eyes scanned us slowly before he blinked lazily.

“I’ll tell you later,” he said casually, his easygoing demeanor making my earlier embarrassment feel silly, as he moved closer to me.

Byun Seungjin and I were sitting in the back row, with Yang Eunoh sitting alone in front of us. Normally, it would have made sense for Kwon Jungwoo to sit next to Yang Eunoh, as he usually did. But instead, he casually dropped his bag onto the seat to my left.

“Huh? Why are you sitting there?”

“What, do I smell or something? We use the same detergent, why are you avoiding me?”

As Yang Eunoh pouted, clearly hurt at being left to sit alone, Kwon Jungwoo frowned.

“Stop being clingy. It’s gross.”

Then, as if it were nothing, he looked at me and said, “I’ve just always wanted to sit here.”

We locked eyes. The distance between us was much closer than between the driver’s seat and the passenger seat, and I instinctively turned my head away. His comment about wanting to sit there made my heart race. It felt like he said it just for me to hear….

There was no logical reason for Kwon Jungwoo to prefer sitting by the window, especially since he was so studious, but my mind was already filled with unreasonable thoughts.

Yang Eunoh quickly gave up trying to convince him, resigned to his fate. He glanced at Byun Seungjin, his expression haughty.

“Hey, why don’t you sit over here then?”

“Don’t be lazy. Just sit down.”

“Who bought the coffee you’re drinking right now?”

“Oh, you stingy bastard.”

As Byun Seungjin gathered his things and sat next to Yang Eunoh, the professor entered the room. The once noisy classroom gradually quieted down, and Byun Seungjin turned to me, grumbling.

“Honestly, aren’t I the nicest one out of all of us?”

“Well… yeah, Seungjin, you are pretty nice.”

“Right? If he ever bothers you, just let me know. I’ll curse him out in my head for you.”

“Come on. Kwon Jungwoo is nice too.”

“Him? Nice?”

“Hey, pay attention up front.”

At Kwon Jungwoo’s single comment, Byun Seungjin exaggeratedly widened his eyes and stared at me. He scrunched up his lips, resembling some cartoon character, which made me burst out laughing. Shaking his head, he turned back around.

As the two friends sat with their backs to each other and the professor began his cheerful greeting, bringing silence to the room, I finally became aware that Kwon Jungwoo was sitting right next to me.

Even though I was hyper-aware of his presence, I kept my gaze fixed on the front, staring blankly at the podium.

Then, Kwon Jungwoo called out, “Jiwon.”

Startled by his low voice, I quickly turned my head and met his gaze as he looked at me quietly.

“Why is it that you call him Seungjin, but you always call me Kwon Jungwoo?”

“Huh?”

“Why don’t you call me by my name, more affectionately?”

Even though his whispered words sounded like a complaint, there was a sweetness to them.

It was true—I always used his full name when talking about him. I’d tried to call him just by his first name a few times but felt awkward and ended up adding his last name. I thought it didn’t matter to him, especially since he always called me that way too.

Feeling like he had hit the mark, I could only nod awkwardly, struggling to find a place for my eyes to rest. Just then, handouts started passing from the front. I busied myself with writing my name and department at the top, pretending to focus on the professor.

Recently, Kwon Jungwoo had been acting strange. It wasn’t something I could easily pinpoint, but it was confusing. Yes, confusing was the right word. The way he interacted with me versus others was clearly different, and there was a noticeable distinction. It was hard to dismiss it as mere wishful thinking from someone nursing a one-sided crush—he gave me too many signs.

Suddenly, I remembered someone saying that Kwon Jungwoo liked mature types.

Was I mature?

Even with a generous self-assessment, the answer was no. I didn’t take care of the people around me, which was far from being mature.

I sneaked a glance at Kwon Jungwoo. As I did, he shifted his gaze from the front and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. I hadn’t noticed it earlier, but now I saw how tired he looked. Had he been pulling an all-nighter like Byun Seungjin because of a report? His eyelids seemed heavy with sleep.

“Didn’t get much sleep last night?” I asked, hoping that recognizing his fatigue might seem mature.

He blinked slowly. “Yeah.”

“Aw… why not?”

“I was watching videos of your old competitions.”

“…”

“I didn’t realize before, but your gymnastics outfit was really tight. If it had been just a bit less tight, I might’ve slept better. But no, it had to be ridiculously tight.”

He glanced at me as if blaming me for his sleepless night.

Just to clear up any misunderstandings, while the top of my gymnastics uniform was form-fitting, the bottom half was pretty standard (though a bit short), so there was nothing particularly embarrassing about it. If anything, Kwon Jungwoo playing basketball with his sweaty hair flying around was more embarrassing, but that was just my biased opinion.

His unexpected response made me laugh even though it wasn’t funny. Whether or not my uniform was tight had nothing to do with his sleep, but I had no witty retort. Instead, I was left dodging the topic, acting less mature and more like my usual, childish self.

“If you look at the handouts I’ve just given you—”

The professor’s lecture on architectural theory floated in one ear and out the other, just like it had for the past half of the semester.

Apologies to the professor, but the only things I remembered from each class weren’t the lecture content but Kwon Jungwoo’s words, his clothes, and the subtle scent of his cologne. There was only one month left until the end of

. I wasn’t sure what grade I’d get, but it would certainly be inversely proportional to the attention I’d given Kwon Jungwoo.

Suddenly, the passing of time hit me, and I felt an overwhelming sense of regret. Straightening my back, I leaned against the chair. My hand fell limply to my side, swaying slightly.

Just as my hand felt heavy with the blood pooling in my fingers, a warm hand quietly reached out and entwined itself with mine.

Kwon Jungwoo no longer felt the need to give a reason for holding my hand. He acted as if it were the most natural thing, yet he was still so cautious, barely holding it, just lightly touching. He had no idea that this made me crave his warmth even more.

Willingly, I gave my hand to Kwon Jungwoo and gently stroked his skin. For someone who played basketball, his hands were surprisingly soft, with no calluses, to the point of feeling almost sensually smooth. Holding hands beneath the desk made it even harder to look at him.

While I was quietly staring at the printed materials, Kwon Jungwoo switched his grip on my hand to his other one, and with his right hand, he began to write in the corner of my handout. Suddenly, the hand he had captured was placed on his thigh.

I didn’t know why he was suddenly curious about my ideal type, but he wrote that, then looked at me with a grin. Any trace of the drowsiness from earlier had vanished, replaced by his usual laid-back confidence.

In his beautifully neat handwriting, he jotted it down without hesitation and handed the pen to me. “What about you?” he asked, and a wave of uncertainty washed over me. I awkwardly readjusted the pen several times after taking it.

I…

I felt an overwhelming urge to write the three syllables of “Kwon Jungwoo.” My heart pounded as if the tip of the pen were a detonator. Unaware of my internal struggle, Kwon Jungwoo gently rubbed the back of my hand, urging me to answer.

I…

Someone I can’t stop touching, no matter how much I do…

I wanted to punctuate the sentence ten more times but restrained myself, putting the pen down. I expected Kwon Jungwoo to laugh playfully, but instead, he stared at my note with an unusually serious expression.

“That’s tough,” he muttered, his ears turning bright red.

At that moment, I realized—he might consider me more special than just a friend.

Amid the vague excitement, I found myself hoping that things between us would stay like this for a while longer. Even if I wasn’t mature, at least I had soft hands, which I was suddenly thankful for.