07 | BASKETBALL AT DAWN
I woke up at four in the morning and still missed school. What a good example of time management.

Ivan's POV

I wake up to the sound of an alarm clock (AKA the most obnoxious sound on the planet). The fact that it's Hope's alarm clock only makes it more unpleasant.

"What the heck?" I grumble. "Why did you wake me up at four in the morning?"

I just had a dream ("nightmare" is a better word for this situation, maybe) in which the Wildcats basketball court was covered with a layer of chewing gum spit out by the Falcons.

Asshole Hope sits up from his sleeping position and leans his back against his bed's headboard. He presses his palms to his eyes, wiping the sleep away, and yawns. "You're never here I wake up," he says groggily. His voice is thick with sleep. "So I thought this was when you usually get up."

"That was one day, idiot," I grunt. "And just because you wake up ten minutes before you have to show up in school doesn't mean everyone else wakes up at freaking four in the morning."

He yawns again, stretching his arms. He looks at his shirt. Some parts of it are wet. "Fuck," he mutters. He walks to his closet and picks up a shirt. "This is why I don't sleep with a shirt on," he mumbles, probably thinking he's inaudible to me. "I sweat way too much."

He slips out of his sweaty t-shirt, exposing his torso. I look down, staring at the sheets Sebastian gave me days ago. My sleep has been better ever since he lent them to me. I owe him one.

"Okay, come on," he says, and that's when I look up. He's wearing a navy colored sleeveless shirt that has a hood attached to it. He picks up the basketball from the corner of his room and flicks his car keys from the nightstand.

"Where are we going?" I ask, not getting off the bed.

"Trust me, it's nowhere bad." He crosses his arms against his chest and gives me a sincere hard look.

"Last time I decided to trust you, I had a rip off a falcon-head from my school's front gate."

He chuckles. "So you guys did notice. I thought all my hard work went in vain because we got no response. And you Wildcats don't usually give us the silent treatment."

I shrug and plunge back into my pillow. "Go wherever you like. Don't take me with you. I've got Prince here for company." The cat's been sleeping by my side (and sometimes one my face) ever since I let him. Not that I mind. At least I have one roommate I genuinely like.

"I swear this isn't like last time. You can check my car if you like."

"No thank you," I say, my eyes still closed. "Unlike someone in this room, I don't repeat my mistakes."

"Wow, Prince must really be as naughty as Bas says he is," Hope retaliates. He steps closer to my bed. "I'll let you drive. Please."

I open one eyelid. He's being completely serious. "Fuck off."

He sighs in defeat before saying, "You can play your music. Now come along."

My ears perk up. I immediately get up and grab the keys from his hand. "Where to?"

I end up not driving his car because Hope has a stupid stereotype about gay guys and driving. I try reminding him that I was the one who fixed his car the day his car broke down and drove ten times better than him but his stubborn ass wouldn't budge from the driver's seat.

I did end up checking the car for any item that can be a potential disgrace to the Wildcats. I end up discarding every single bottle of mints in the dashboard (he has seventeen, I counted) and a Falcons baseball cap (which is so worn you can barely see the symbol but still).

The music playing is all my choice, though. So I'm not completely pissed off even though Hope's in the car. He even asked me to get a spare shirt with me. What does he want from me?

"Which song is this?" he asks me.

"How have you not heard this? It was literally everywhere when it was released," I say.

"For your emo kids, maybe."

I punched him in the arm. "'Teenagers' is like MCR's most popular song. I can't-- Your father wasn't kidding when he said your taste was messed up."

He snorts. "What's MCR?"

I glare at him and punch him again, harder. He loses a little control of the car and it jerks towards the left. He swiftly turns and gains back control.

"Whoa, easy there," he tries to calm me down. "Not when I'm driving."

I ignore him. "Where did you say we were going again?"

"I didn't." He smirks. "But it's good, I promise."

"Why am I even trusting you?" I think out loud.

"Because I'm trustworthy," he says. I snort. He goes on. "Your secret's still with me, remember. I haven't told anyone."

"Right."

"I'm not lying! Petrov, you--"

"I believe you, Hope."

"Okay, good. It's the truth." He looks at his music system again. "What's the full form of MCR again?" He asks, diluting some of the tension.

I roll my eyes. "You're hopeless."

He chuckles. "I am Hope."

We're on the same forest trail I showed him when he dropped me to school the other day. I look at him with cautious eyes. He keeps driving, drumming his fingers on the steering wheels and looking back at me nervously. I've never seen Alexander Hope like this before - jittery and full of butterflies in the stomach. But I have to admit, it is a sight to behold.

He stops the car in front of the clearing in the middle of the woods and hops out of his car. He urges me to do the same as he hovers over the car's boot and brings his basketball out.

He passes the ball to me. I catch it as usual. He walks behind me and presses his palms over my eyes.

"What are you doing?" I ask, frustrated.

"Surprising you. Just walk, I promise nothing bad will happen."

Growling, I walk ahead. My hands are sweaty around the basketball and my legs are ready to run away. "Why is it taking so long?"

"We barely started, Petrov. You probably have to walk another mile," he says, jokingly.

"Come on, Hope. Just tell me already."

"You really do hate suspense, don't you?" He laughs. "How did you read all those Harry Potter books if you don't like suspense?"

"I knew everything would end on a good note. You really should read the books. There's so much the movies have missed out on," I say, growing impatient. "Can I open my eyes now?"

"No. Patience, my friend. You read those books instead of taking the shortcut and watching the less-boring movies."

Friend?

He goes on. "I thought "patient" was another thing on the long list of great things you are." I can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not. "Bas won't stop talking about how much better you are than me."

"Well he's not wrong," I tease

"We'll see about that," he says, daring me to beat him. "We're playing each other in, what? Three weeks?"

"Are you challenging me, Hope? And three weeks is a long time. Be prepared to get thrashed."

He ignores my warning. "Three weeks is a long time. But I was thinking, we two could face off earlier." His voice is suggestive; he has something planned.

Confusion spreads in my head. Where on earth does he expect us to play? "Too bad your shitty neighborhood doesn't have any open courts for us to play in."

He smirks. "Not anymore." He slips his hands off my face and I can finally open my eyes. Was it always this bright?

After adjusting to the faint light of the rising sun, I can make out what's in front of me. On a tree at the far end of the clearing, a basketball backboard is attached. There's also white markings of a half-court on the ground.

Holy shit. In front of me is a fucking basketball court. Well, half of it at least.

"Bloody hell, Hope," I mutter. I walk over and feel the ground, dribbling the basketball. The field isn't made of wood, obviously. It looks as if someone leveled the field artificially.

I turn to Hope. He's grinning, looking satisfied. "I told you this wasn't a bad idea."

I shake my head. "You did all of this on your own?"

"Uh..." He slips his hands into his pockets and looks up at the sky. The morning sun makes his gorgeously disheveled hair look golden. "Well, the board belonged to our neighbor. Her daughter just left for college and she's clearing all her old stuff. I flicked the Athletic Field Spray from the sports room. They've got so much of it there."

"More than the number of mints you have?" I ask teasingly.

"They're chewing gum," he corrects. "And yeah, way more. Before you thank me or decide to give me a whole fucking speech about how pitiful I am - I'm not - just know that I didn't spend any money on this." He walks over and grabs the basketball from my hands. "But I did spend a lot of time setting this up. So your gratitude is still accepted."

"Of course." I roll my eyes. One moment I think he isn't an asshole and he has to prove me wrong. Well, that's what assholes do.

Hope takes a shot. It bounces off the backboard and I collect the rebound. I dribble the ball twice, jump off both feet and take a shot.

"Nice dunk," he says, collecting the ball after it goes through the hoop.

"Obviously," I mutter. "Been doing this for years."

"So it's true then; you could dunk when you were fifteen."

"Ha! Fourteen, actually."

His jaw drops. We're passing and taking shots consecutively. "No fucking way. How tall were you?"

"Like five feet, five," I responded, taking another shot. "If you haven't noticed, my jumps compensate for all my missing inches in height."

"I have," he agrees. "That's bloody spectacular. Wanna play a game?"

"Raise to what? Twenty-five? Fifty?"

"How 'bout thirty-five? We can't miss school and Michael Jordan wore that number when he played for the Scorpions."

"Fangirling, Hope?" I tease.

"Everyone fangirls for legends."

That, I cannot argue with. Jordan is every basketball player's role model. Without more conversation, we start playing. I can tell he isn't playing his best. I'm not either. He's my enemy after all. But we still had a relatively good game.

I reached thirty-five before him (obviously) and he raised the mark to fifty. Sore loser. He kept raising the mark (because he kept losing, obviously) and we stopped only when we were too tired to continue playing.

We go back to his car, I'm leaning against it. Hope changes into his spare t-shirt. I keep my eyes on the ground. I don't want to change because I'll be showering anyways. And as much as I don't want to be wearing sweaty clothes, I don't have many shirts to spare at all.

Hope peeks into his phone, covering the edges so that the sun's bright light won't glare at it.

"It's nine already," he says, showing me his phone screen. The time display says it's 09:16.

"How did we play for so long..." my voice trails off as I start panting. I wipe away some sweat from my forehead. "I'm late for school," I whine. I'm too tired to actually show my frustration. I'm too tired to even go to school, actually.

"What? You still plan on going there?" Surprise laces Hope's out-of-breath voice. "I'm ditching today. But I can always drop you if you want." He takes a long sip from his water bottle and then looks at me. "Want some?" He gestures at the half-empty bottle.

"No thank you."

"Which question are you responding to?" He's still holding the bottle towards me.

I snort and slip into the passenger seat of the car. "Both."

He shoves his bottle in the cylindrical hollow at the bottom of the car's door and slides onto his seat. His eyes are glinting. "So you're ditching too, huh? Bas will be disappointed to know his role model ditches school too."

"I'm not his role model." I sigh. "Besides, what excuse can I give for being late? I spent the whole morning playing basketball with a Falcon? They'll surely like that."

He shakes his head. "I don't know about you but this was probably the best Thursday morning I've had in a long time."

"Can't say it's the same for me, Hope." I don't know if I'm lying or telling the truth. As for Thursday mornings, this one was quite good. Not that I'll ever admit it. "Wait, today's a Thursday?"

"Yeah, why?" He sounds worried. "What happened?"

My eyes are fixed on the dashboard. The whole atmosphere has changed. "I..." I breathe in slowly. "I have to meet my mother." 

xxx

A/N

So... That happened. Hope's in an unreasonably good mood here. He isn't that big of an asshole now, is he? 

Thanks for reading! Drink water and stay safe:)) 

Also: do you guys like the memes I used to put up at the end of the chapter?