rematch | ishman

CH: 10

Ishan was grateful that he did not have to put up with Shubman’s overbearing presence for the rest of the month. With the tournament keeping everyone on their toes, there wasn't much time for anything else. They won their first two games, which was a good start to the season. Despite everything seemingly falling into place, Ishan couldn't help but feel a bit on edge, like the simmering heat of a summer day waiting for a sudden downpour to break the tension.

But it was matchday and he did not want useless doubts clouding up his mind, so he tried to distract himself by watching replays of Shubman’s previous games. Not out of curiosity or interest. They had their third match with Meridan so he was looking for any last-minute details he could pick up. The last time Summit played with them, Ishan wasn’t the captain while Shubman was. So there wasn’t much Ishan could do when it came to convincing his seniors that he could predict the shots Shubman was going to play. 

Shubman greeted Ishan with his all-knowing, obnoxious smirk when they met for the toss– which Meridian won and chose to bat first.

"Ready to lose?" Shubman teased as they strolled back to the pavilion.

Ishan flashed a strained smile. "You wish."

Shubman chuckled, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Let's spice things up a bit, shall we?"

Ishan eyed him suspiciously. "What’re you upto?"

"Just a little fun," Shubman replied casually. "Scared?"

"Hell, no. Spit it out.” 

Shubman grinned, a familiar glint in his eye. "If I win—"

"Wait, I'm calling the shots first," Ishan interrupted. Rolling his eyes, Shubman relented, allowing the boy to speak.

“You'll have to admit in today's post-match interview that you're jealous of my skills,” Ishan declared with a smirk.

Shubman wasn't sure how to feel about Ishan thinking Shubman needed to lose a bet to admire him (from a professional point of view of course).

“You can just tell me if you want me to praise you, Ish.” 

Ishan shot him an unimpressed stare before silently mouthing a "fuck you." Shubman couldn't help but notice (and feel a little giddy about it) that Ishan no longer scolded him for calling him Ish. He drew his eyes away from the shorter boy and rubbed his neck awkwardly, scanning the ground to find a decent number of people in the stands. 

“If I win, you’ll have to unblock me,” Shubman said softly.

That took Ishan by surprise. “W-Why?”

Shubman abruptly stopped in his tracks, his unreadable eyes staring at Ishan. The crowd disappeared for a moment and the excited chatters in the air faded out. Ishan felt suffocated under the weight of the undivided attention. Why was Shubman like this? One moment, he was hurling insults, and the next, he was gazing at Ishan as if he were the moon. 

Ishan despised it. He loathed the faint hope in Shubman’s eyes.

Shubman finally smiled, breaking off the tension. “So that I can annoy you without having to travel hours.”

Ishan scoffed, looking away. “Whatever, Gill.”

Blocking Shubman after the fight was the right thing to do. Ishan did not want to see the string of ‘sorrys’ and ‘I love yous’ that he knew would chip away at the walls he was starting to build around himself. It was hard, incredibly so. When he stopped talking to his best friend, it was as if he stopped breathing. Shubman was his oxygen, his habit. You shouldn't make a habit out of a person.