𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬 - TMR AU

𝟣𝟢， 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞

And he did it. So fast, that Sam couldn't even blink or the ball was in Jeff's hands. She cheered when he scored again.

"First half's over," Teresa breathed. "They got thirty points. That's awesome."

Sam learned that it depended on what location you scored from. Sometimes it gave you three points, sometimes two... except she didn't totally understand how it worked yet.

"Wait." Newt leaned closer. "Something's wrong."

Her heart dropped before she even knew what he was going on about. "What do you mean?"

"Minho's pissed," he murmured, pointing at the boy who now sat on a bench, his eyebrows furrowed, gaze between death and cold, and jaw clenched. "Did you see what happened? The cause?"

"No." She shook her head. Frowned. "I don't know. Maybe he's just thinking about a new tactic."

Newt also shook his head. "I've known him for over fifteen years and I've never seen him think of new tactics like... this."

"But have you seen him angry during a game?"

"Yeah. A few times." He swallowed. "But back then, I saw what happened. It was mostly just a kid hurting him or something. When that happened, he just started throwing punches. He doesn't... do this."

Sam bit her lip. Tried to get all the theories her mind was making up to leave. "It's probably nothing."

Soon enough, the game continued, but this time she had a strange feeling in her stomach. Watching Minho not encourage his teammates anymore, was weird. He did pass the ball or caught it, but it wasn't like he was yelling for it, or cheering when Alby scored.

"Hey." Newt's elbowed poked in her side to draw her attention. "Look at that guy. Over there. He's shooting looks at Minho."

Sam followed his gaze and indeed, found out Newt was right. "Minho's not really staring back. Sometimes, but then he—"

"—averts his eyes, yeah," Newt agreed. "I think they're not close to friends."

Sam sighed deeply, running two hands through her tangled hair. The tension of the game had already warmed her up, though seeing Minho act this differently made her blood run cold.

"Oh shit," Newt cursed. "The guy's bloody blocking Minho. Not a good idea when he's already pissed, the hell!"

Sam watched closely. "They're speaking. Hey, can you read lips?"

"Wish I could, girl." He groaned. "Woah. Did you see that?"

"What?"

"Minho, he— fuck!" Newt yelped, and jumped up from the bench. Sam's eyes widened. God, it was going the wrong way: Minho decided to push the guy.

And when Newt cursed like that, you knew it was bad.

The guy pushed back just as hard, yet Minho wasn't taken aback at all. His lips moved fast: he was saying things that Sam couldn't understand from the distance, and the guy in green said things back straight in Minho's face.

The two ignored the coach whistling at them. At some point, Minho pushed the guy even harder.

Oh, god.
Sam palmed her face. Seriously?