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The smell characteristic of tennis courts has been bringing Bai Shiting comfort for longer than he could remember.
He was a child when he first started playing, and unlike most of the kids he’d met at the tennis school back then, he stuck to the sport for years to come. The scent of those fuzzy yellow balls, of towels stuffed into the bag between rackets, even of the damp-with-sweat material of his headband- all of them mixed together were a unique combination that he would always immediately associate with what he loved doing most. Even if he hadn’t felt it for as little as a day, he’d miss it just the same.
Which is why, when he got to inhale air that smelled just like this for the first time in almost a year, his eyes got a little misty.
Bai Shiting didn’t bother to hide it. He just smiled and wiped them dry with the back of his hand.
He was home.
“Captain,” came a warm voice from his side, making Shiting turn his head. “Good to see you back where you belong.”
Liu Lian. Tall, dependable, always calm and knowing what to say. Shiting missed seeing him by his side like this- not as a classmate who brought him schoolwork to the hospital, not as the boy who tutored him so he wouldn’t need to repeat the year despite his absences, but as the strategist of his team; the one who made meticulous observations on their opponents’ playstyles and personalised training plans for each member of the team.
“It is good to be back,” Shiting replied honestly, not even attempting to disguise the small tremble of his lips. Liu Lian was good at reading people. He would know anyway. “Well, enough of this,” he said, clasping his hands together, his genuine smile widening. “Where’s my pack of unruly children?”
“Probably getting barked at by your Doberman,” Liu Lian muttered, earning himself an unimpressed look.
Shiting shook his head, though the corners of his mouth lifted a little as he started walking towards the locker room.
Indeed, as soon as Hai Guang’s captain pushed the doors open, he was greeted by the scene of his right-hand man scolding a group of mildly unfazed boys who kept changing into their uniforms like it was just another Tuesday.
As Shiting entered the room, so did interest and excitement. Five heads snapped up towards him, grins finding way onto their faces until one of them couldn’t contain it anymore.
“Captain!” Yuan Chi exclaimed, leaving his shoelaces untied as he jumped to his feet to greet him. Bai Shiting knew part of it was relief of being spared the entirety of Tian Zilong’s lecture. He let it slide and placed a hand on his junior’s shoulder, resisting the urge to ruffle his already messy curls.
Tian Zilong’s reaction was immediate, his sharp glare fixing on the youngest regular on the team. “You dare interrupt me-”
“Oi, pack it up, gramps,” Yaren cut in unceremoniously, thoroughly unbothered by how much that would infuriate the vice-captain as per usual. “Cap’s back.”
“Wang Yaren,” Zilong warned, and Shiting could see how tightly his jaw was set as, one after another, the team began squeezing between the benches to crowd around their captain.
The sight of the familiar chaos unfolding was almost enough to make Shiting laugh- his undeterred teammates going against their stern vice-captain, knowing their captain was back to shield them from his reprimands. “Alright, alright,” he soothed, ushering everyone back to where they had been before he came in. “Finish getting changed. I will tell Zilong to make you run suicides if practice starts late,” he said lightly, but everyone knew well by now that the gentleness in his tone didn’t mean he was joking.
A chorus of groans echoed through the locker room, and Shiting didn’t stifle a chuckle this time.
He made his way to his own locker, clean despite having been unused for months. He sighed fondly, knowing exactly who had kept it that way.
As he reached out to undo his tie, he noticed at least three pairs of eyes staring at him. Shiting exhaled, rolling his eyes dramatically as he took off his shirt, exposing the bandage on his back. The room seemed to be either disappointed or relieved, Shiting couldn’t tell for sure.
“Don’t worry, it’s not disgusting. It’s healing well,” he said, knowing all of them were too curious for their own good. “It’s just to keep it clean.”
With the corner of his eye, Shiting could see Zilong nodding slightly to himself, likely storing the information away in that specific place in his brain where he kept all his worries regarding Shiting’s well-being, sure to nag him about redressing the wound properly in the near future.
Practice on Hai Guang’s courts was hardly ever anything but perfectly conducted. Stretching first, warm-up laps next, then lining up and getting the training plan for the day, all before the drills began. At this point of the season, there weren’t any surprises there, either. The best doubles pairs of the year were long since established, and the singles players knew what parts of their game needed improvement as well.
Still, while somewhat of a chaotic person, Bai Shiting enjoyed this particular routine. He liked listening to Liu Lian’s steady voice as he told everyone what to do, and it entertained him to see just how hard Tian Zilong could glare at the regulars to make sure they stood attentively in an even line.
“Is everything clear?” he asked after Liu Lian finished explaining, not expecting any different answer than a collective ‘Yes, captain!’. Hearing it again made his chest feel warm with familiarity. “Good. Begin practice,” he ordered, sending them off with a smooth movement of his hand.
As six of the regulars jogged off to start static warm-up someplace out of his hearing range so he could pretend he didn’t see them chatting, lingering beside him stood Tian Zilong. Now, far away enough from the rest of the team, Shiting could allow himself the little liberty of giving his vice-captain a gentle smile.
“You’ve handled them well while I wasn’t here,” he praised, even though he knew it would barely bump against that thick layer of Zilong’s carefully constructed self-restraint. “They are slightly more disciplined.”
Zilong’s expression, of course, remained unchanged despite Shiting’s half-hearted attempt at humour. “Liu Lian helped.”
Shiting hummed, thoughtful. “I’m glad you had each other to rely on during my absence. Honestly, you two could take over the team fully and still crush nationals, I’m sure of that.”
“It’s not worth it without you.”
“Oh?”
“I meant-” Zilong cleared his throat, visibly trying to find words that would be more proper and less heartfelt. “I meant that we had an agreement. To do it together,” he clarified, his sentences as clipped and endearing as Shiting always found them. “And what’s a promise worth if it’s not kept?” he added, tone quietening, gaze drifting away.
Bai Shiting sighed.
“Zilong,” he said gently, trying to catch his eyes. “Just for how much time are you planning to keep beating yourself up over this?”
“I was supposed to win.”
Tian Zilong was an impossibly stubborn individual. Most of the time, it was a good attribute of his. He never gave up on anything, never did anything halfway. If he set himself a goal, he was sure to attain it.
But it also meant that if he made himself believe something, it was exceptionally difficult to convince him otherwise.
Currently, he was set on thinking that he’d thoroughly failed Shiting by losing the deciding match in the final of regionals and wasn’t deserving of forgiveness.
To Bai Shiting, Tian Zilong was many things. His best friend, his vice-captain, his one person he could count on no matter what. Hard-working, disciplined, always present.
He was also dramatic.
Almost insufferably so.
“You told me not to lose. And I did exactly that,” the vice-captain went on. “I let you down, Shiting. I didn’t keep my promise. And you ought to stop making light of this.”
“What do you want me to do, then?” Shiting asked. “Would you prefer I stop talking to you? Relieve you from vice-captaincy? Make you run punishment laps?” he teased, trying to make Zilong see how ridiculous this was.
But of course, Tian Zilong was seriously considering his answer as if he had just been given options to choose from. Bai Shiting shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he glanced sideways at his ever-frowning best friend. He had to fight the urge to pinch his cheek and tell him he’s really, really overthinking things, and he almost lost the battle.
“Tian Zilong,” Shiting urged, halfway unable to contain his grin no more. “For the love of everything. Just let it go. We are talking about a high school sports tournament,” he reminded him, hanging on to anything that might make him snap out of it.
“You know that’s not what this is about.”
Bai Shiting just looked at him for a moment, eyes dancing between disbelief and something playful.
“Do you want to make it up to me?”
He absolutely couldn’t ignore the way Zilong perked up slightly at the question, always ready to do as he’s told, always willing to do whatever it took to earn his place.
But Bai Shiting was one sly man.
“Forgive yourself, then.”
Bai Shiting watched the crease between Tian Zilong’s brows deepen, and he couldn’t tell if his own expression was getting increasingly more mischievous or gentle. Either way, he’d cracked the impossible code, and he felt like he’d earned the right to mentally pat himself on the back.
Zilong’s nostrils flared slightly as he sighed deeply, conscious of having been outwitted into surrendering.
“I’m serious, Zilong,” Shiting pressed, trying to prevent him from shutting down. “Stop being so hard on yourself. At least about this one thing. For me. Please.”
It was silent for a brief moment, the vice-captain visibly considering his reply, then-
“Fine.”
Bai Shiting’s eyebrows shot up slightly, incredulous.
“Just ‘fine’?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he confirmed, turning his attention to where his gaze had been the whole time- on his team.
Halfway through pre-practice stretches, Hai Guang’s regulars were as thorough in their preparations for training as they were serious about their currently unfolding gossip circle. Bai Shiting watched them from a distance like a guardian, jacket draped over his back, similarly to how a cape would be.
While he couldn’t make exact words out, the noises they made carried to his ears- Yuan Chi’s obnoxious laugh, Ke Jie’s gentle voice as he tried to quiet their junior down, Wentai’s bubble gum popping repeatedly, Lu Sheng’s outraged tone as he scolded his doubles partner for the umpteenth time, Liu Lian’s shoes squeaking rhythmically against the court as he began the dynamic warm-up.
Bai Shiting was a man of artistic chaos, and his team, he concluded, was exactly that.
Supervising practice matches was one of Bai Shiting’s favourite captain duties. Getting to observe his team play was always both entertaining as well as necessary for progress. Some of his teammates needed soft encouragement to come out of their shells, some needed scolding to be kept in line, some needed tips and suggestions, and others needed all three in different amounts.
Before his long absence, Bai Shiting had scarcely let himself indulge in watching his vice-captain. Tian Zilong knew how to catch his own shortcomings and correct them instantly. He did not need to be handed praise, criticism or advice in order to improve and feel motivated to keep doing so.
But this time, under the excuse of wanting to find out whether Zilong’s game had changed during the past months and needing to see their feral junior in action for himself, Bai Shiting let the simultaneously ongoing doubles match unfold by itself on the court behind his back. He would probably later regret leaving Wang Yaren and Jin Wentai to their own devices, but for the time being, he let it slide.
Meticulous as always, Tian Zilong bounced the ball off the ground exactly four times before serving it. His motions were precise, almost like watching an instruction video: feet perpendicular to the baseline, non-dominant leg slightly in front of the other, a smooth transition into a flawless ‘trophy’ position, ball tossed at exactly one o’clock, struck right in time with a clean sound that sent a pleasant shiver down Bai Shiting’s spine.
He moved methodically- knees bent slightly, footwork precise, always anticipating the next shot even when it was impossible for his opponent to return the one he had sent. With each strike of the ball, he exhaled through his mouth without any noise, much unlike Yuan Chi, who seemed to be yelling louder with every swing of his racket. Tian Zilong stayed undeterred by the obvious distraction, not allowing himself to lose concentration.
On the other side of the net, Yuan Chi struggled but clearly tried his best to keep up. As chaotic as everything he did was, Bai Shiting had to admit that the junior’s footwork was immaculate- countless tiny steps always in an amount that was just right to get in a good position before each hit.
“He’s been honing his footwork,” Shiting commented, sensing Liu Lian’s presence behind him. “Good job on helping him improve it this much. Keep it up.”
“Will do, captain,” Liu Lian replied smoothly, steadily writing something down in his notebook like nothing had happened, but slight pride could be heard in his tone.
“Yuan Chi!” Tian Zilong’s voice rang out, stern and infuriated. He was clutching a tennis ball in his left hand so tightly that Shiting wondered if it was possible for it to get crushed just like that, by the sheer power of his grip. “In what words does a moron like you need to be told that smashing balls into other people on purpose is strictly prohibited to finally understand it?!”
“Ouch,” Liu Lian muttered under his breath, hiding the way his lips curved upwards behind his notebook. “Wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that.”
Yuan Chi stammered, clearly at loss for words, not having expected that the vice-captain would actually corner him about it this time.
“Bringing out the big guns, I see?” Shiting asked quietly, amused, glancing at the team’s strategist.
“Yes, well, as you can see,” Liu Lian gestured vaguely, “gentle parenting hasn’t exactly been… fruitful with this one.
“So you and Zilong decided to go for the good cop/bad cop strategy?”
Undeniably so, Shiting watched as the youngest of his team’s regulars tried to put up a fight with the vice-captain. But Tian Zilong’s way of ruling with an iron fist, or in this case, disciplining, did not waver even one bit whilst countered by Yuan Chi’s disobedience. He tried scolding him calmly, but raised his tone when needed. Zilong was ruthless, yes, but fair. Always fair. That’s why Bai Shiting could always trust him to handle the troublemakers without worrying it would become a pointless tug-of-war between stubborn wills.
On the other hand, Liu Lian was endlessly patient. He never raised his voice, always handled any conflict with elegance. Even a troublemaker like Yuan Chi drew to him, and Liu Lian allowed him, offering gentleness and willingness to endure the fits thrown by the junior. In Bai Shiting’s eyes, the strategist was a saint.
Liu Lian snorted. “No, that I leave to you and Zilong. I have no intention of meddling in your trademark way of upbringing the team.”
“Our trademark way?”
“Bai Shiting,” Liu Lian laughed. “You want to tell me that there’s any person from another team who, upon being asked about Hai Guang, won’t tell me something along the lines of: ‘their captain has the nicest smile until you realise it’s actually lethal, and the vice-captain glares like he wants all joy gone from the world’? ‘Cause I have data… and it’s not looking too good for you.”
“Okay, wow.”
“What can I say? Data doesn’t lie, Shiting.”
“You-” Bai Shiting poked him playfully in the chest with his finger, “-are having way too much fun.”
“Can’t a guy entertain himself a little?”
“He sure can,” Shiting agreed. “Speaking of entertainment,” he said, nodding at the resumed match.
“Thought it was a ‘captain’s duty’.”
“It certainly is,” he confirmed. “Doesn’t change the fact that it’s an interesting match.”
“Zilong is going to crush him.”
“Mm,” Shiting hummed. “I know.”
“Isn’t the doubles sparring more fun for a spectator, then?” Liu Lian pressed, ever curious for first-hand answers that would confirm his suspicions. “It provides the element of surprise. Though if I were to predict, twenty says Ke Jie and Wentai are winning today.”
“Liu Lian,” Shiting deadpanned.
“Yes, captain?”
“Have you lot, pray tell,” he began, tone too calm, “been running a betting pool here during my absence?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny, captain.”
Bai Shiting pinched the bridge of his nose. “Does Zilong know?” he asked, then reflected on it: “Okay, no, that’s a stupid question, of course he doesn’t.”
Liu Lian stayed silent, letting Shiting know all he wanted to without outwardly telling him anything. Clever man.
“Was, by any chance, the initiator Wang Yaren?” he massaged his temples and realised it was another question that didn’t need an answer. “Also, which one of these morons is stupid enough to bet against your predictions?” he asked, now genuinely interested.
“Who said I took direct part in any betting?”
“I swear on all things holy, Liu Lian,” Shiting sighed, exasperated. “You are the only one on this team who gets away with things like this. And I, for some undignified reason, keep letting you.”
“Yes, because you need your inside man, and the team needs their intel on the captains. Both sides benefit from it. And if I’m smart enough to get good money out of it, then, well-” the strategist shrugged, looking all too innocent.
Bai Shiting makes a mental note to erase the scribbling in his brain that said Liu Lian was a saint. He was a devil disguised as one.
Tian Zilong ended the practice match with an efficient 6-3 score, having held his service games each time and having broken Yuan Chi’s once, as he’d spent the remaining three dodging balls that were meant to hit his face.
Unruffled as always, he made his way to the courtside bench without a word. Liu Lian had wandered off to Yuan Chi, but waiting for the vice-captain stayed Bai Shiting.
“You played well,” the captain praised, handing him a towel.
Zilong raised an eyebrow but took it, wiping the sweat off his face. “Shouldn’t you be watching the other match?”
“I was gone for long, yes, but I stay uninterested in Yaren and Wentai’s theatrics,” Shiting said, a small, teasing smile finding its way onto his face.
“Yuan Chi has been incorrigible for months,” the vice-captain admitted, bending down to pick up his bottle of water. “But we are working on it.”
“Yes, Liu Lian mentioned it. And now that I’m back, l can help as well.”
“I’ve missed it.”
“Missed what?”
Tian Zilong took a deep breath. “Having you here.”
Bai Shiting’s eyes widened a bit. From Tian Zilong’s mouth, words like that were practically a confession.
“I missed being here, too,” he replied, tone warm with fondness, gaze soft with affection. “Care to be my first rally partner after my return? You could use a cooldown.”
Zilong’s eyes lit up a little with excitement, just enough for Shiting to catch it.
“Of course,” he said, a tiny curve tugging his lips upwards.
Bai Shiting’s racket was a lot like him: chaotic in a controlled way, inconspicuous at first glance, but capable all the same.
If he were to ask Tian Zilong, the vice-captain would probably call its colour scheme obnoxious. But to Bai Shiting, it was all thought through. The racket’s basis was black, with irregular specks of white, and a pattern in highlighter-like neon yellow that matched his favourite headband. He used a yellow grip tape because it went with the team’s jackets, and he preferred to play without a vibration dampener.
He picked it up with a kind of reverence, tracing along the handle before picking it up, letting it settle in his hand after so much time. Closing his eyes for a short moment, he let a smile curl on his lips. Quiet, private, and rewarding.
Then, a second later, he winced slightly, feeling how the grip tape got crusty with months of not having been changed. Its tackiness was gone, the colour faded, and old imprints of his hand in it became more prominent. Its state was, overall, depressing.
He let out a sigh, not exactly impatient, not exactly resigned, but just a tinge bit annoyed. With himself, obviously - he’d spent the whole of yesterday practically buzzing with excitement to get back on court, and he somehow didn’t even bother to check the state of his racket.
To his further disappointment, the strings were giving out on him as well. He bumped the racket against the palm of his hand a few times, then tried pulling on a few strings with his fingers, and shook his head in disapproval. They were ready to snap at any moment. And Bai Shiting wasn’t fond of that sound. Not at all.
Ever perceptive, Tian Zilong approached him, holding out one of his rackets to him without a word. Bai Shiting eyed it with reluctance, eyebrow raised slightly, but ultimately reached out and took it for further inspection.
All of it: the frame, the strings, the grip tape, the vibration dampener, everything was black. The racket was in pristine condition. Not a scratch in sight, not any sign of a mishap or negligence. Shiting also knew that this was one of Zilong’s older rackets, definitely at least a couple of years old, but he could swear it still somehow had that shine of new to it.
It wasn’t that Bai Shiting didn’t respect or take care of his equipment - it was that Tian Zilong took the assignment very seriously. He never left his racket just lying around somewhere, changed the grip tape every Tuesday morning, and got it restrung as soon as he felt something was even a little off.
“You want me to use one of your killer machines?” he asked rhetorically, amused but thankful.
“It’s a racket like any other.”
“No, it’s your racket,” Shiting emphasised, smiling. “We both know those things are lethal. And off-limits to everyone.”
“You’re not everyone.”
“Aren’t I now?”
Tian Zilong cleared his throat. “You’re the captain.”
“Ah,” Shiting nodded. “Of course.”
Ever swift to change the topic, Zilong did just that. “Take out the dampener if it bothers you. Put it somewhere near my bag,” he all but grunted, then turned and started walking onto the court.
Bai Shiting smiled, slid the piece of rubber off the strings, put it neatly where he was asked to and went after him.
The first ball Bai Shiting tried to feed went far outside the half of the court they’d decided to start the rally in.
“What is the tension of those strings?” he asked, frowning but amused. “Do you even feel the ball at all with this?”
“It’s efficient.”
“I’ve just sent the ball out by a good few metres, Zilong,” Shiting teased. “But never mind that. I’ll simply adjust.”
And adjust he did. The rallies quickly became comfortable, and they soon moved to play on the entire court. The shots weren’t fast or powerful, but they weren’t lazy, either. Both of them worked on their legs precisely, sent the balls alternately down-the-line and cross-court. Once Shiting started properly feeling the rhythm, he began varying his game. A slice here, a lob there. It was all effortless and in good fun, and a player like Tian Zilong didn’t have to break a sweat to return those shots. He was a steady partner- matched Shiting’s pace, didn’t try to challenge him, but rose to the tempo he was given.
They went on like that for a good fifteen minutes or so, and eventually, Bai Shiting couldn’t stop himself, and instead of making an easily accessible shot, he whipped the ball and sent it flying rapidly across the net at a sharp angle out of Zilong’s reach.
Bai Shiting let himself grin. He was willing to put up with anything Tian Zilong would throw at him now, whether it was a disapproving frown or a lecture about taking things slow and not overexerting himself.
But neither of those things happened. Instead, Tian Zilong smiled.
Actually smiled.
“You were right about the efficiency,” Bai Shiting called out.
“I know,” came the reply.
Bai Shiting grinned wider.
By the time practice was over for the day, Bai Shiting couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.
His feel of the game was still there, even after such a long break. He could still control the ball, still could hit a variety of shots. The wound on his back had yet to heal enough for him to be able to serve safely, but he would get there.
His team was holding up well, too. Sharp as ever, deep in their preparations for nationals. His two best friends were still in perfect sync with him, as if even a day hadn’t passed.
All was well.
As the team’s captain, Bai Shiting should be used to being the last one out after practice. He needed to make sure everything was cleaned up and in place, and then lock the courts.
But he never was the only person lingering after.
He stepped out of the showers, clad in loose sweatpants, standing in front of his locker as he took off the plastic protecting his scar from getting wet. He redressed the wound mindfully, straining his arms in awkward directions but used to the motions as they’d been a part of his routine for the past few weeks already.
For a minute, he felt eyes on his back. Then came a question:
“Would you like any help with that?”
Tian Zilong has always had this unusual way of offering assistance: he never phrased it as if the other person required it, but instead asked if they wanted it.
It was a small thing, but for people like Bai Shiting, proud and not wanting to be perceived as weak or incapable, it meant something. It gave them room to refuse gently and allowed them to accept the help without feeling weak at the same time.
“I can manage,” he said gently, holding the gauze steady with one hand while securing it with the other.
Zilong nodded. “Alright,” he replied, turning around to keep his attention elsewhere.
The silence stretched out between them, welcome and companionable. Shiting finished dressing his wound, pulled an undershirt on and a hoodie over it. He strolled over to the bench and sat down, trying not to bend his back too much as he put on socks.
Tian Zilong, of course, noticed. “Does it still hurt?”
“Not really, no,” Shiting brushed it off, then admitted, “Sometimes,” he shrugged. “I’m just careful not to tear what’s already healed.”
“Good,” the vice-captain approved, taking a seat next to him, watching mindlessly as Shiting tied his shoes, then, as they stood up, declared, “I’ll walk you home.”
Bai Shiting could’ve told him he didn’t need to, argued that he was fine, told him to get some rest and stop worrying about him, that he’d done so for months and could finally stop.
“Alright,” he said instead. “Thank you, Zilong.”
He knew this was Zilong’s way of showing care. He knew Zilong needed to see he was doing well, that there actually wasn’t anything to worry about.
“You know I’m okay now, though, right?”
But, just maybe, Bai Shiting needed him to see it, too.
“I do.”
Shiting sighed quietly, bowing his head until his forehead rested against Zilong’s hair.
“And are you?”
Zilong didn’t flinch away from the gesture, didn’t pull away either. He just closed his eyes for a moment, feeling Shiting’s presence.
He reached out carefully and wrapped his hand around his best friend’s wrist, feeling the steady pulse beneath his fingertips.
“Yeah,” he said, voice a bit rough, taking half a step back to meet Shiting’s gaze as he let go of his hand. “I’m okay.”
Bai Shiting smiled at him gently, linking their pinky fingers together.
“C’mon, then,” he said, picking his bag up with his free hand. “Let’s get going.”
For the first time in months, everything was just how it should be. And Bai Shiting couldn’t be happier about it.