Chapter 5: Bloodlines and Backboards

🏚️ Scene One – Sky's House

From the outside, the house looked normal.

Tidy little porch. A sleepy cat on the windowsill. Wind chimes that only made sound when no one was listening.

But inside?

Secrets.

Sky stood in his bedroom, brushing his hair in the mirror like any ordinary college student. But behind his closed door, the air smelled faintly of antiseptic. The lock on his father's basement was a fingerprint scanner. And every now and then, a truck would stop by after midnight and leave with something… cold.

His father was an organ dealer.

The kind who didn't ask where the kidneys came from, just if they were fresh.

Sky hated it.

But he lived with it. Avoided the basement. Wore headphones when metal clinked against metal. Shut his eyes to things he couldn't change.

Because upstairs — in his room — he had a different kind of obsession.

The walls were covered in Young One.

Posters. Candid photos. Newspaper clippings from college sports pages. One of them — the famous slam dunk shot from last year's final — had a heart doodled in the corner. In ink. (That he totally didn't realize showed up in flash photos.)

Sky dropped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling.

"Get it together," he whispered to himself.

Because today… he'd be playing against him.

🏀 Scene Two – Game Day, Pentagon University Gym

The court gleamed under the lights. The crowd buzzed, a blur of school colors and fake chants. And there, center court, standing across from each other in rival jerseys — Young One and Sky.

Teammates no more. For today, they were enemies.

Young One grinned, spinning the ball on one finger. "Don't go easy on me, Sky."

Sky gave the tiniest smile. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Truth is — both were freaking out inside.

Young One was doing that thing where he winked and joked with teammates but couldn't stop watching the way Sky's hair curled slightly behind his ears.

Sky was trying to act cool while wondering if Young One had noticed that his socks had tiny Y.O. initials stitched on them. (He definitely hadn't. Yet.)

The whistle blew.

First quarter: fire.

Sky dodged a screen and nailed a smooth three-pointer right in Young One's face.

Young One laughed. "Okay. We're doing this."

Second quarter: chaos.

Young One drove past two defenders, leapt, and dunked so hard the rim trembled. Crowd went feral.

Sky bit his lip.

Third quarter: tension.

They collided under the basket — bodies tangled for a rebound. For one heartbeat, Young One's hand brushed Sky's waist. Electric. Dangerous. Forbidden.

They both flinched back like it burned.

But neither said a word.

By the end of the game, the score was neck and neck. Sweat dripped. Eyes locked. Every move a conversation they were too scared to say out loud.

And as the final buzzer approached…

They both knew:

Someone was going to win the game.But someone else was going to lose their heart.