rematch | ishman

flashback

Ishan gritted his teeth, stifling a scream as he wrapped the compression bandage tightly around his waist. The pressure provided a sense of security, but the pain still throbbed relentlessly.

“God, please don't do this to me,” he mumbled, feeling a feverish heat coursing through his body.

It was almost time for the toss. He hastily fixed his collar, taking a deep breath before stepping out of the dressing room.

“Ishan!”

He turned at the sound of his name, frowning at the sight of a panicked Rishabh, his eyes wide with alarm.

“What, did you lose your bat again?”

Rishabh didn't even have the heart to shake his head. “Ish, your- your name’s n-not on the playing eleven.”

Ishan blinked. “What the hell are you on about?”

Rishabh walked in hesitantly. “They were announcing the players for both the teams and yours wasn’t among them.”

“They might have missed it,” Ishan said, though a cold feeling of dread formed a knot in his stomach.

“Who misses the Captain’s name, Ishan?” Rishabh looked angry. He should be too. Right. Why wasn't he angry?

“The toss,” he shakily muttered, turning his gaze to the clock. “I-I should go.”

“Shubman went.”

Ishan's eyes widened. “What?”

Rishabh swallowed hard, averting his gaze. “Shubman... he went for the toss.”

Ishan didn't know how to react to that. He remained standing, frozen, until his mind spoke:

Traitor.

Ishan had always had a complicated relationship with himself. Maybe he lived too much in his head. He knew that if he let his thoughts control him, he would end up hurting both himself and those around him. “Hurt people hurt people,” Shubman had once told him. Ishan had laughed it off, asking where he'd picked up all those edgy lines.

But at times like this, when Ishan felt like he was stripped of his defenses, he did not see his best friend. He did not see the boy who meant to him more than his own insecurities. He did not see his Shubi.

He saw Shubman Gill. The Vice Captain of the team. The Prince. The better choice.

Ishan hadn't realized he was already standing face-to-face with him.

“Why?”

Shubman almost flinched at the harsh tone before clenching his fists. "Let's talk it out later," he replied slowly, his voice strained.

“Why am I benched, Shubman?” he demanded.

“I said let’s talk later-”

Ishan wouldn't have any of it. He closed the gap between them, poking Shubman's chest as he spoke, his frustration evident in every word. “Who gave you the right to decide this?”

“You’re injured. I’m allowed to make the call, you know it.”

“I’m not fucking injured,” Ishan snapped. “I can play just fine. Why do you always act like you know everything about me?”

Shubman scowled. “I’m doing what's required for the team, Ishan. Don't be so fucking selfish.”

Ishan felt a dry laugh bubble in his chest. What had he not given for this team? And for what? To be called selfish by his own best friend?