They didn't explode in celebration. They melted.
The final whistle blew.
Victory.
Not just in points—but in blood, sweat, and everything in between.
But no one screamed.
Because exhaustion hit first.
Not the kind that made you sleepy, but the kind that made your soul collapse inward like a folding chair. Legs shaking. Hands trembling. Hearts still pounding—but not from adrenaline now, from the weight of finally putting it all down.
Dane fell to his knees and laughed, then immediately laid flat on the gym floor, arms outstretched like he was about to be lifted into heaven.
Alona leaned against the net post, eyes fluttering closed, a smile curling faintly at the edges of her lips as if she knew they had done it, but her body hadn't gotten the memo.
They had poured themselves into Regionals—every drop of fire, pride, and pressure. Now the storm had passed, and what remained was quiet joy and utter ruin.
In the corner, Coach Dan wiped his eyes suspiciously.
Coach Cely sprawled out next to Coach Tonton, who had thrown a towel over his face and declared, "I am reborn… and I never want to be reborn again."
Leia just nodded slowly and said, "That was... everything."
And still—no one moved much.
The celebration was spiritual, not loud.
They had already screamed, cried, bled, and burned for this.
Now they simply exhaled.
🏸 Dinner for Two
Later that night, the badminton gym—once alive with footsteps, yells, and rapid-fire rallies—stood still, bathed in moonlight through the high windows.
There, on a clean mat set at center court, Dane and Alona sat cross-legged, still in their uniforms, quietly eating dinner from takeout boxes.
It wasn't fancy. Fried fish, cold rice, a couple of boiled eggs they'd stolen from the team stash.
But under the moonlight, it might as well have been magic.
"So," Alona said between bites, "you really confessed before dinner. Risky."
Dane chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "I figured if you rejected me, I'd still have fish to cry into."
"Bold of you to assume I'd let you eat in peace after that."
They grinned.
The exhaustion remained, but the tension was gone. It was the kind of tired that makes you honest. Soft. Brave in a quiet, non-sweaty kind of way.
Their shoes were kicked off. Their shoulders leaned in closer without thinking.
"You remember our first practice together?" Dane asked.
"You kept calling the shuttlecock a 'feather bullet.' I thought you were insane."
"I was trying to impress you."
"You impressed me by being terrible."
Laughter spilled between them, light and free.
Their knees brushed. She nudged him with her foot. He stole her last bite of egg and almost died for it.
Then, somewhere between teasing and silence, the laughter slowed. Their eyes met.
No music. No grand setup. Just the hush of the gym and the glow of moonlight painting silver halos on their skin.
Alona leaned her head against his shoulder.
"I'm glad it was you," she murmured. "All of this. Everything."
Dane swallowed, heart in his throat. "Me too."
He turned slightly. She looked up.
And in that moment, they kissed.
It was soft—like they didn't want to wake the gym. Like they were sealing something unspoken that had been growing between serves and passes and all the sweaty, awkward, aching moments of the last few months.
They didn't need to say anything after.
The kiss said enough.
Outside, the moon hung low like it was watching over them.
Inside, the gym was quiet again—but this time, filled with something lighter.
Something beautiful.