A Gem of A Story
He'd never been outside of his home.
At least, he'd never been out there alone and unprepared. A bodyguard or two, clothes covering his head, and DoorDash were the only things allowing him to live a safe and secure life. Of course, he loved the attention, but not this type. He loved the joy of the field, not fake fans loving him for having a number on his name and invading his privacy. This situation is one that he'd only wish to convict on his main rival. In order to do that- however- he'll have to step a little bit out of his comfort zone. He pulled back the curtain carefully and inspected his yard. No one seemed to be present. It was quiet…too quiet. He didn't trust it. He shouldn't trust it, but if he wanted to achieve his goals and step out of the shadows that entrapped him, he'd have to overcome it.
He approached the door. The plan should be simple; just say something quickly, and then, rush out of there as fast as he can. Get in, get out. Just ignore the beating in his chest, his palms getting sweaty, and the deep gut feeling of his conscience trying to pull him back.
That last part he just couldn't do properly. The butterflies of guilt were sickening him on the inside. Even for his standards, this type of behavior was low. What was he supposed to do, though? Keep on living his life while that…poser takes all his glory? He's worked too hard for his chances to be forgone by some fandom magnet. Yet, why can't his mind justify this decision for him?
He can't go through with this injustice any longer. He can't deal with the emotional turmoil. He just wants- no- needs the attention and praise, the shining limelight that he deserves…
Yes. He deserves to shine…
Like a diamond.
He opened the door quickly and stepped outside. Not too long after, many began to surround him. His bodyguards shielded him from the fans, the news crew, and the flashing cameras. Closing his eyes, he could almost imagine it; him, running across the field and winning it all for his team. The fans cheer for him, restricted by the bleachers. His name would be plastered on every form of media. Oh, the dream…
No. He must focus for now. He kept his eyes forward and pointed at a random microphone. It inched forward, and the voice behind it shouted over the crowd.
"So, Ben! We haven't heard from you yet! What are the highlights of living the athletic life?"
Bingo. It was almost too easy. He smirked and spoke slyly.
"Ohhh, nothing much, really. Just partying with the boys, winning our Superbowl. It's all been really fun, especially the relationships the others have gained!"
The crowd looked around at each other and chatted among themselves. The microphone person inquired further.
"Relationships? What do you mean?"
Ben looked up from pretending to examine his nails, acting surprised and oblivious.
"Oh, you didn't know? Some of the guys are getting partners now, including Bus!"
"BUS!?!?"
You could hear all the girls from the crowd shout and gasp at the news, and Ben had to restrict himself from smirking. The Bus fans through his eyes were worse than K-pop stans: annoying, obsessive, and almost cult-like. You never knew which ones would be normal fans or which ones would hyperfixate on them and make tons of fan art. It was almost adorable…and sad…sad-orable?
In any case, that vague statement wasn't enough. In order for this plan to work, he'd have to give away more.
"Yeah, Bus! Ah, he loves her. What was her name again? Tired, I think? All I can remember are the bags under her eyes. Quite fitting for a name like hers, no?"
The guys in the crowd seemed unfazed and disconnected. The girls, on the other hand…
Ohhh, the girls.
They knew exactly who he was talking about, and they were not happy. Perhaps, he was joking, but how would Ben know about Tired otherwise, and furthermore, why would Ben lie to them? He wouldn't do that, right? He wouldn't attempt to deceive his most devoted followers…
Would he?
The microphone person inched closer.
"You said relationships, correct? Could you name more than one for us?"
Ben snapped his fingers, and immediately, his guards blocked the microphone from his face and escorted him away. The crowd wouldn't stop following him, trying to shove their microphones, T-shirts, and cameras through the gaps. Nonetheless, even through all of this, Ben's gross feeling disappeared. It was like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. Where's all the guilt he expected? Why have pain and regret hidden their faces from him? It could be his heartlessness, his stone-cold masculinity, or…
Maybe, all of this was supposed to happen after all.
At least, so he thought.
Unbeknownst to him, ol' #50 was watching through the TV this entire time, and although he has his annoyances over certain members of his team, the only thing that annoys him more are scumbags like Ben.
He won't let him get his way.