The Starboy Complex

Crossing Lines

The stadium wasn't loud yet.

Not properly.

No roaring crowd, no pressure, no match tension—just scattered noise, music playing somewhere in the background, staff walking around, and the occasional shout from players warming up.

This was your favourite time.

Before everything got serious.

You were sprawled across the dugout bench like you owned it—which, according to Ishan Kishan, you basically did.

"Shift ho thoda," he said, nudging your leg. "This isn't your bedroom."
"Then stop treating it like your living room," you shot back without moving.
"I actually play here."
"And I supervise."
From the other side, Abhishek Sharma let out a laugh. "Supervise kya? Tu bas baithi rehti hai."
"Emotional support is a full-time job," you said calmly.
"Tu toh emotional damage hai," he muttered.
You kicked him. Hard.
"ABE—" he grabbed his shin. "Pagal hai kya?"
"Deserved."

A few seats down, Nitish Kumar Reddy and Shivang Kumar were in the middle of some stupid bit, trying to balance a water bottle on Shivang's head.
"Don't move," Nitish said seriously.
"I'm not moving!"
"You're breathing too much."
"How do I not breathe, idiot?"
"Control kar!"
The bottle fell.
Both of them burst into laughter like it was the funniest thing in the world.
You shook your head. "Actual clowns."
"Better than you," Shivang shot back.
"Impossible."

Near the edge of the dugout, Praful Hinge and Sakib Hussain were whispering like they were planning a heist.
You narrowed your eyes at them. "Kya chal raha hai?"
"Nothing," Praful said immediately.
"Definitely something," Sakib grinned.
You got up and walked over, dropping down between them. "Include me or I expose you."
"Betrayal," Praful said.
"Loyalty has conditions."
Sakib leaned in. "After the match, we sneak out."
You stared at him. "You've said that three times already."
"And one day it will happen."
"With your planning? Never."
"Wow."
Praful shook his head. "She has no faith in us."
"You've given me no reason to."

Behind you, you heard English.
"You guys are unbelievable."
You turned to see Travis Head leaning back casually, watching everyone like it was a live show.
Next to him, Pat Cummins crossed his arms, amused.
"This is what you deal with every day?" Travis asked you.
"Unfortunately."
Pat nodded. "Tough life."
"Very," you said, deadpan.
From nearby, Liam Livingstone was mid-argument with Harshal Patel again.
"I'm telling you, that's not how it works—"
"Tu phir se shuru ho gaya?" Harshal groaned.
"Mate, it's basic logic!"
"Logic tera dimaag mein hi rehta hai."
You laughed under your breath.
Some things never changed.

At the far end, Heinrich Klaasen sat quieter than the rest, gloves in hand, observing more than talking.
Beside him, Aniket Verma and Salil Arora were talking low, occasionally glancing over at the chaos and smiling.
Everyone had their place.
And somehow—
You were part of all of it.

You ended up back near Ishan and Abhishek again, because you always did.

Ishan handed you a drink without asking. "Pee le."

"You're obsessed with my hydration."

"Because you forget."

"I don't forget."

"You literally do."

Abhishek leaned forward suddenly, squinting out toward the field. "They're here."
"Kaun?" you asked.
He didn't answer.
And neither did Ishan.
So you followed their line of sight.

And that's when you saw them.
The Mumbai Indians players, scattered across the ground, warming up, stretching, talking.
You weren't really paying attention—
Until your eyes stopped.
On him.
Tilak Varma.
He wasn't doing anything special.
Just standing there, adjusting his gloves, listening to someone beside him.
But—
You didn't look away.
Didn't even realize you'd gone quiet again.
"...Y/N?" Ishan said slowly.
No response.
Abhishek followed your gaze.
And then—
"Oh."
You blinked. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Start."
"Tu usko dekh rahi hai."
"I'm not."
"Seedha jhooth."
"I'm literally just looking—"
"At him," he finished.
Ishan smirked slightly. "Interesting."
"Both of you shut up."

But they didn't.
Of course they didn't.
Abhishek stood up.
You immediately grabbed his wrist. "Sit down."
"Nahi."
"Abhishek—"
"Relax."
"I am not relaxing."
He gently pulled his hand away. "Bas aa raha hoon."
Your stomach dropped. "Mat ja—"
Too late.
He was already walking out.
Straight toward him.
"Yeh ladka na..." you muttered, dragging your hands over your face. "I swear, main isko maar dungi."
Ishan leaned back, enjoying this way too much. "No you won't."
"I will."
"Let's see."

Out on the field, Abhishek reached him.
Tilak looked up, a little confused at first—then relaxed as they started talking.
From here, you couldn't hear a word. But you could see enough.
Abhishek talking.
Tilak listening.
Then Abhishek saying something—
Something that made Tilak glance past him.
Toward the dugout.
Toward—
You.
"Shit," you whispered.
"Too late now," Ishan said.
Abhishek turned slightly.
And pointed.
Directly.
At you.
"OH MY GOD," you hissed. "I'm actually going to kill him. Pagal hai kya woh?"
Ishan was laughing. "You're done."
Tilak followed the direction.
Slowly.
Until his eyes met yours.
And this time—
He didn't look away.
Everything else blurred.
The noise.
The team.
The jokes.
All of it.
Gone.
Just that one look.
And then—
He smiled.
Small.
Easy.
Like it wasn't a big deal.
Like he hadn't just completely ruined your ability to think straight.
You forgot to breathe for a second. Actually forgot.
And somewhere behind you—
"GAME OVER," Nitish shouted.
"Bhai she's gone," Shivang added.
"Arre yaar," Praful groaned.
Sakib just laughed. "Caught."
"Shut UP," you snapped, not even turning around. But you didn't look away either. Not until Tilak did.

Abhishek came jogging back like he hadn't just caused a life-altering moment.
You stood up immediately.
"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?"
"Relax."
"I will not relax. Kya bola tu usko?"
"Bas introduce kiya."
"Introduce KIYA?"
"Haan."
You stared at him. "Without me?"
"Confidence build kar raha hoon tera."
"I will end you."
Ishan stepped in, still smiling. "He smiled, by the way."
"I saw," Shivang said.
"Same," Nitish added.
"Bro," Sakib laughed.
Praful shook his head. "She's finished."
You closed your eyes for a second.
"Sab chup ho jao. All of you."
No one listened. Of course they didn't.
Because for the first time—
You weren't just part of the dugout. You weren't just one of them.
You were—
Aware. Of someone outside it. And the worst part?
Across the field—
You could still feel it. Like that look hadn't ended. Like it had just started something.

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