作品正文：
斯蒂芬·库里进入他生活的那一天，就像一道光从天而降，为他照亮了一条前进的道路。毫无疑问，只能去光明所引导的地方，而克莱正是这么做的。无论如何，没有保留。
他是一个安静的孩子，尽管他的父亲对他有远大的计划，但他并不真正认同这种想法。当你还是个孩子的时候，和父母一起加入少年联盟和训练营是很容易的，但是当克莱十六岁的时候，他基本上想做任何事情都在挣扎，这种情况一直持续到他的青少年时期。
他的父亲对篮球充满热情，他会带克莱去看很多比赛和诊所，而他总是会跟着一起去，只是因为。训练是可以忍受的，比赛至少是令人兴奋的，所以他并没有那么迫切地告诉他的父亲他实际上不想打职业篮球。
当然，他很喜欢它，但他想知道他是否还有其他可以热衷的事情。大自然一直是他的兴趣，他试图直言不讳地表达自己想成为一名生态学家，但他的兄弟米切尔却因此取笑了他。当他意识到自己在与生物学主题相关的大部分内容上都很糟糕时，他有点欠麦切尔。
后来他对文学产生了浓厚的兴趣，并想成为一名图书管理员。米歇尔取笑他的次数比他说他想成为一名生态学家时还要多。当他意识到如果你是图书管理员，你不应该真的睡在图书馆时，他又欠他一次了。
关键是，克莱无法真正坚持他余生想做的事情。
直到一个决定性的高尔夫周末。
他们家每年举办一次高尔夫锦标赛，所有人都必须参加。即使克莱这一天想做的就是玩电子游戏，他也在那里，戴着平顶帽，脚趾踩在草地上。当然，他的父亲正在通过麦克风说了些什么，但在第一句话之后他就再也没有真正注意过。无论如何，他们都很相似。
当有人轻推他的左臂时，他正在考虑装病。
他首先注意到的是一个半秃顶的孩子用淡绿色的眼睛看着他。他用没有插在口袋里的手握住帽子。克莱回望着他，想知道他是否认识他。这些年来，他见过很多人在这个活动中来来去去，但这次却一点也不引起注意。
克莱耸耸肩。不过，他最终还是以新面孔完成了整个课程。他的手臂时不时地撞到他身上，他们会时不时地交换一些意见，直到一天结束。
当他向父亲询问这个男孩的情况时，他的父亲明显高兴起来，称他为“戴尔·库里的儿子”。他的名字叫斯蒂芬·库里，实际上他比克莱大几岁。他在戴维森队打控球后卫，除了身材之外，看起来很有前途。
克莱很感兴趣。以这样的规模和如此多的其他人才进入 NBA 将是一件很困难的事情。即使他技术精湛或才华横溢，可能还有更多与他相同但体型更好的人。他并不是对斯蒂芬有什么敌意，这只是现实。和他父亲在一起意味着接触 NBA。接触过NBA基本上意味着他知道它是如何运作的。
但想象一下，当史蒂芬·库里（Stephen Curry）——那个与他碰肘的瘦小子——在第七顺位被勇士队选中时，他会感到多么惊讶。
它并没有就此停止。克莱在几乎没有时间的情况下就开始观看比赛，他盯着电视屏幕，知道自己遇到了一些特别的事情。
训练是可以忍受的，比赛是令人兴奋的，但随着库里的到来，他体内又燃起了新的火焰。这促使他更加努力地磨练，打得更好，每次踏上球场时都投入更多。
克莱那时有了一个新爱好。
他会在额外训练后回家，观看金州勇士队的重播和精彩片段。他的目光注视着一名球员，他在一场又一场的比赛中证明了自己的能力，慢慢地增加了上场时间。他会倒带比赛，大部分是三分球，并与他自己的比赛进行比较。
克莱对自己的投篮姿势感到自豪，这是教科书，很多场上的人总是这样告诉他。斯蒂芬的则更加非传统和独特。每当他投进一个不可能的三分球时，他都会感到脊背发凉，除了球网的嗖嗖声之外，什么也听不到。
当然，观看斯蒂芬的精彩集锦所带来的东西实际上是在观看他这个人。淡绿色的眼睛，娃娃脸和顽皮的笑容，小肩膀颤抖着。克莱会发现自己会重播这些内容，有时甚至比投篮和传球还要重播。
直到这位控球后卫出现在他的梦中，他才意识到自己欣赏斯蒂芬·库里的原因可能不仅仅是他的篮球。
The dream was a big blurry blob in his head but he remembered enough details not to be surprised by the sticky situation he woke up with. That whole day all he could really think about was how Steph appeared in his dream. Bright.
Even if he forgets what happens during his nightly fantasies, he’d forever remember how bright Steph always appeared to him. He was like the sun. It was as if you’re only allowed to look, never touch or you’d get burned otherwise.
So Klay continued to look. He’d continue to watch, sometimes even making it to live games when his dad gave him tickets. He’d look at Steph and bask in the light that emanates from him. Not only was this the man who got Klay to fall in love with basketball, he was also the one who made him realize a part of himself that he never even thought was there.
It’s Stephen Curry. The one who shone on the things he never would’ve thought were in him all along. The sun personified in Klay’s life.
***
There are perks of being the son of an NBA player.
The opportunities definitely come faster, so does the basketball IQ, oh, and the tickets too. It didn’t matter if you eat, sleep and breathe basketball, you’d have support all throughout.
Klay remembers meeting Michael Jordan when he was young, his classmates fawned over him for three straight days because of it. They stopped once they realized he couldn’t actually get his dad to organize a mini field trip for their whole class to meet players.
Automatic half-court in the backyard, latest shoes, new ball every time a smooth spot appears on his current one. Signed jerseys, professional players over to catch up and see him play. It was great when you’re all set for a basketball career.
There are some bad sides to it too, believe it or not. Of course, Klay’s high school teammates certainly didn’t.
It was hard to establish yourself as your own person. Klay had to live most of his life as Mychal Thompson’s son. The people who approached him, claiming to want to be friends, are usually only in it for connections. Like he could give a damn, though.
Klay had his eyes set on a goal and he wasn’t going to let teen angst get in the way of that.
The point is, being born as the son of an NBA player has its downsides. The worst of them is when people start to realize you’re not as good as they subconsciously expect you to be. Because that’s when you start to realize you’re not as good as you’re supposed to be.
People thought Klay would just get everything handed to him until he reached the national stage. When the truth is, Klay struggled.
He wasn’t naturally athletic and his playing style lacked aggression. It eventually led to quips about him being soft… Which then led to further quips about him being more white than black… And then led his teammates to come to a conclusion that he was a nepotism baby.
He struggled to let his type of basketball show and it didn’t help that no one really believed in his style either. They had him playing forward, sometimes even center when the team lacked height, when he was a guard in mind and in heart. It shouldn’t be an excuse, but it affected his game even if by a little. His father would work on him with his form and his footwork. He was all in it for Klay to play in the professional league, but the thing is, they never really got to talking about what type of ball he actually wanted to play.
In the end, Klay did get his high school team to championships. He won League MVP, set a state finals record with seven three-pointers and was crowned Division III State player of the year.
But he didn’t get any calls from colleges. He barely got any offers.
And it sucks because his father hyped him up about it, he hyped himself up about it. He thought they would see him, the way his dad talked about his potential, the way he saw his own potential. But they didn’t, and as a result, Klay stopped seeing it too.
College was dull.
He got into a small program in WSU and played as he was supposed to.
From then on it was get the ball, pass the ball, shoot the ball. Dribble, jump, run. Practice, condition, run plays.
It was like a montage of monochromatic scenes. Each frame is dull as the rest.
Klay felt like he was stuck in a simulation and he was honestly just waiting for the mastermind to say ‘cut’.
It didn’t get better for a long time.
Nobody knew anything was wrong, though. His father saw him playing and that was enough. His life was in order as long as he continued what he was supposed to do. And so he did.
It was enough for a while. He was breezing through college and he got his first boyfriend.
Austin kept Klay afloat at Washington. He got him out of the dorms to actually do something outside of the court. He extended his friends to Klay, which means Klay actually got to have friends outside of his family and college team. He was bigger than Klay too, a rare win for sure.
He was also the first person Klay had sex with. It was clumsy and awkward at first, gradually becoming routinary after some time. He liked the way he fit into Austin’s body. And he hadn’t ever said it out loud, but sometimes he wonders what it would feel like if Austin was in him.
That same Austin, though, also got him into really deep shit too, so it’s debatable if he should remember this guy as a good memory or not.
He liked to party and get blackout drunk, and as an extension, Klay got to drinking with him and his friends as well. He missed a significant amount of practices and was almost kicked off the team if it weren’t for his dad calling the front office. It irked Klay to use his father’s name like that but he didn’t want to let basketball go. Even if he was not as enthusiastic as he was before over it, he couldn’t. Not yet.
Austin was also really into weed. He was also really into making Klay get into weed, said it was a college rite and that he couldn’t say he’d experience college if he didn’t take a puff.
Klay refused to try it at first, he’d never done anything remotely illegal, his parents would fry him. He relented when they had a fight in his car. Austin was going off about something related to a twitter thread and Klay had just gotten back from their coach’s office after his dad called.
“Could you, like, stop? For a minute. Please?” Klay had his hands on his face by that time, his patience running thin. He wasn’t really one to let emotions get the better of him but he was having such a terrible day and Austin ranting about the supposed stupidity of others was just too much. “God, Austin. I don’t think I can do this right now.”
Austin stopped for a minute and then he was going all up on Klay’s face, making him feel stupid for not being a good boyfriend and listening. It went on like that and when Klay couldn’t take it anymore, he took the blunt from his boyfriend’s fingers and went for it. The car was quiet after that.
They broke up a few weeks after, when the police detected the tracks from his car and he got suspended from playing the whole season of his senior year.
***
Klay made it to the NBA even with the whole marijuana stint.
He was surprised teams were talking about him in the first place. He thought he played shitty basketball his whole college. Nevermind that, when the police took him in that one fateful day, he got himself convinced that he just ruined his career before it even started.
His dad was there, though. He was angry, but he came through.
So Klay became a Clipper on the 11th pick of the first round draft. He smiled for the cameras, hugged his mom, got his shoulder pats from his dad. It was a happy celebration so Klay smiled and looked happy.
Something in his chest still felt heavy, though. He’s just not sure what it was until hazel-green eyes looked into his from the table just beside theirs.
And damn, how could Klay forget?
There he was, Stephen Curry smiling and clapping for him. His whole face was bright, he looked younger than most of the draft class. Klay felt himself flash a genuine smile. He was sure Steph didn’t remember him from golf, but he still wanted to take this moment and make it his own.
Steph gave Klay something he was missing in all those years when he wasn't particularly passionate about basketball. He lost it for a few years, but Steph gave it back by simply being there, not even for Klay.
Stephen Curry gave him hope.
Something to look forward to.
He was a light that people can't help but gravitate towards and Klay is no exception to that.
***
Surprisingly, or maybe not, he got his groove back.
The days and the months that followed the draft night were the best he’d ever had in years. It went on until his NBA debut and Klay felt a new level of high out on the court. It made him feel like everything was worth it. It came down to the big stage and every blood, sweat and tear he shed paid off.
He got good minutes even as a rookie. He was making shots that made the home crowd of LA roar wild. Most of all, he was getting closer to playing the basketball he wanted to play, the basketball he gets to play with Stephen Curry.
It was stupid, really. His little crush on Steph sounded so pathetic even in his own ears. There he was, bound to make googly eyes at his idol when they finally played together, or well, against each other that is.
That game, Klay got a career-high seventeen points.
He was adjusting well to life as an NBA player. It helped that his teammates were actually decent people who won’t get on your business if it wasn’t about basketball or the team. They were actually cool to be around and they didn’t mistake Klay’s silent persona for arrogance.
And so he ended up going out with them for a few nights, each night he opened up a bit more. He told them about what it was like having Mychal Thompson as a dad, about Rocco, having two brothers who were competitive as hell. He ended up telling them about his sexuality, too. Or, well, revealing his sexuality.
“What? No take-homes for you, Thompson?”
“Well, I don’t exactly see anyone with a dick coming over.”
It was an offhand comment. He wasn’t really thinking when he said it, might’ve have to do with the amount of whiskey he’d been sipping.
He was surprised when the guys just let it go, though. There were some widened eyes and awkward nonchalance, but really, he was expecting a whole lot more slurs and aggressive snides.
“You do you.” They had said and it was enough to boost his confidence into thinking that maybe he could be gay and not get crap for it.
He never denied his sexuality, he was just careful with it.
So the next night they went out for drinks, this one for a close win against the Raptors, he went on ahead and tried to get himself laid.
It’s been a while and his last action had been with Austin almost two years ago. Klay wasn’t a horny person but he does miss sex.
The guy’s name was Kilian and he was a graduate student. He talked in a rich and smooth tone that made Klay shiver from anticipation. It’s been too long. Touches were exchanged here and there and their conversation kept light and suggestive.
Once they finished their drinks, they were in an alleyway at the back of the club, their tongues against each other and their hands roaming every surface of warm muscle they could find.
It felt really good.
Until it didn’t.
“Fucking faggots!”
Klay couldn’t really remember what happened that moment. He was pulled off, maybe by a hand. Killian was screaming, the sound of a fist colliding with skin reverberated through Klay’s skin as if it was him who was being punched. Maybe it was.
He drank too much, he realized. He felt himself take a hold of the person who was saying such foul words but his hand was shrugged off like he was carrying a disease.
Klay felt the fall.
His body crashed into the ground but at that time he didn’t really feel it. He was drunk and was high off the night and everything just happened too fast he couldn’t comprehend how he got to that point at all.
He tried to stand but he stayed on the ground. It might be because of the foot that repeatedly stomped on his chest like a wild animal. He closed his eyes ‘cause keeping them open only made him dizzy. He felt his nose break at one point. Something was gushing out of him, blood probably.
And then something hit his leg and he felt something in his knee shatter.
The kicks stopped. The punching too. But the damage was already engraved in Klay’s bones and he could feel it in every breath he tried to take.
Pain.
That was the only thing that resonated through his mind. He was cold and everything hurt. Someone was screaming and it took a while before he realized it was him. It also took a while before he realized he was suddenly alone.
Everything was cold and the only thing clear to him was the pain.
No. No. No.
He knows pain and he knows he shouldn’t be feeling it. Not like this. Not by this much.
Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.
Along with the pain came images Klay never thought would cross his mind at this point of his life. He can’t fail. He can’t lose this. He can’t. Not yet.
Please. Please. Please.
I haven’t gotten there yet.
Not yet.
Stop. Make it stop.
He didn’t know how long he struggled there on the ground before someone found him.
Someone eventually did. It was a random dude, probably stepped out for a cigarette, probably wanted nothing to do with what the hell just happened to Klay, but he was desperate.
He didn’t know what he said or what he did but the guy bolted and his teammates were with him immediately. They were alarmed, he could hear some asking what happened or if he was okay, others were talking but not to him, maybe to their phones.
He didn’t know who called for help but it came.
Everything around him set into motion but all he could really pick out was the pain.
It hurt so much. It feels as though his left leg was a different entity altogether only connected to his body by pain. So much pain, inside out.
His teammates were there with him, and suddenly, other people were. He didn’t know how much time passed before his dad was there and his mom. Then, his brothers.
The surroundings were a blur to him and a hundred thoughts occupied his mind, fighting with the physical torture that wouldn’t leave him.
It’s over.
Please don’t be over.
Not yet.
Please.
I’m sorry.
He was probably crying at some point, but at what, he wasn't quite sure.
***
Klay remembers someone saying, ‘Sometimes when things are falling apart they may actually be falling into place.’ God knows he can’t remember for shit who actually said it but it did leave an impact on him, enough to remember the quote altogether.
So he thinks maybe this is just what he’s been leading up to all his life.
All this time, he’s been falling apart.
Maybe now, he’s right where he’s supposed to be.
Living together with his dog in his dad’s old apartment. Spending more time inside playing video games than soaking in the sun. Drinking beer every night as if it’s going to make things even just a little better.
His brothers try to get him out, though. His father too, on the rare days he can look at Klay and not be disappointed in how he ended up. His mother comes over often but can’t really stay long without getting teary-eyed the moment she looks at him for too long.
He shrugs it off. Or at least he tells himself to. The shame never fully leaves.
Tonight, though, is one of the rare nights he actually tries to forget about it. Even if it’s just for a while.
He’s coming to regret it now that he’s actually sitting alone while people were having the time of their lives. He scoffs as he drinks his bourbon. It’s funny how he used to love this scene, getting drunk and laughing his ass off with teammates or the friends of his ex-boyfriend.
He used to love it. Grinding around sweaty bodies, drinking ‘till he drops, laughing at lame jokes just for the sake of it. He used to love the lights that danced on his skin, that fell over the motion of everyone like a veil. The loud music that gets his heart beating along with the bass.
Now, all he wants is to go home and sleep. This hasn’t been his scene for a while now. It hasn’t been his scene since the incident and he fears it would never be his type of scene ever again.
He was about to call it a night, a horrible one at that, when a rowdy group made their way over to a reserved table. They were in the private section so Klay figured these were either models or athletes with how tall they were.
“Nah, man. Forget about that shot, I blocked the shit out of that motherfucker, it shoulda been the highlight of the whole night.”
Athletes, it is.
Now he’s really motivated to call it a night.
He finished his drink in one gulp and moved to get ahold of his walking stick but he managed to push it with his fingers instead because of how frantic he was moving.
Fuck.
He thinks of a way to get it without looking like an absolute cripple, even if he is technically one. He didn’t have to think long, though, ‘cause it stops rolling and steadies on the foot of someone from the group of basketball players who were right across from him.
Klay keeps his head down, his gaze on the clean white sneakers his stick decided to park on. It was until his stick was picked and the sneakers were moving towards him that he actually took a peek at who the player might be.
His heart raced when hazel-green eyes met his own brown ones.
Of course. It just had to be him.
Great. As if it wasn’t enough that he couldn’t look at his parents straight, he’s now face to face with the person who inspired him to actually go for the NBA. The person he failed the most, although he doesn’t know it.
“Uhm.. Hi? This yours?”
Stephen Curry’s eyes were wide when he looked at him and Klay has to fight the urge to stay mute like a stupid idiot.
He doesn’t say anything in the end and opts for a nod.
His walking stick was handed back to him and he let out a small “thanks” before getting up. He moves slowly but precise, determined not to make a fool out of himself.
What he didn't expect was the hand that found its way into gripping his arm as if trying to help.
His ears must be red so it’s a good thing he can blame it on the alcohol.
“Careful.”
And that’s when the spell snapped.
Klay’s suddenly reminded of what he is and forces a smile.
He’s walking out to exit when he feels a presence beside him.
Stephen Curry. Walking, significantly slow, with him.
When Steph caught him looking he looked a little sheepish. “Do you mind? I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before…” He smiles, a little awkward, but still that bright Stephen Curry smile.
I do mind, actually.
The first door he had to exit was near so he decided to humor Steph at least for now.
"Probably on the court, we played together once." And it's still heavy in Klay's heart, how they only ever played one game together and will never be able to repeat that forever.
Steph's eyes widened more. "Really?" He must see the unconscious way Klay fought a wince because he immediately spoke again, in a frantic voice this time. "Wait! I didn't mean it like that! I'm not… Uhm… You're not… Uhm… I just… It's just… I'm pretty sure I'd remember if I ever played with you…"
Well, surprise.
Klay is amazed at how Steph stuttered and cut himself off so much so he'll let that go.
He settles for a shrug, the doors getting closer. "It was one game."
Steph was quiet after that. He continues to walk with him and Klay's starting to freak out a little since they're at the door now.
He looks at Steph and Steph looks back at him, waiting.
"Well… Thanks again." The other just looks at him some more, still smiling. Klay feels something flutter in his stomach. "I'm going now."
He exits the private section and moves through bodies trying to get to the backdoor of the club. Avoiding anybody is his priority at the moment and no wariness of alleyways is gonna stop that.
"Hey, I know this really cool twenty-four seven cafe. The night's still early, I'm just sayin'..."
Klay has to stop himself from cursing.
What the fuck?
He didn't even notice he was being followed out the club. The culprit being a thirty something year old with a boyish grin and twinkling eyes.
"What?"
"There's this café, really close, that has amazing spiked drinks. You should come with me."
"I should?"
"Yeah, we'll have to take your ride, though. I came with the guys."
Klay looks at him skeptically wondering what the hell is happening and why the hell it's happening to him.
A drink with Stephen Curry in a quiet café some hours before midnight?
Things like this don't happen to Klay Thompson.
He concedes in the end just because he doesn't really have it in him to say no. They take his car but he lets Steph drive since, as he said, "Not to be rude, man, but you look a little boozed." He doesn't argue with that.
When they stop at the aforementioned cool café that serves spiked drinks Klay snorts. Steph hears this and laughingly asks him "what?"
"Nothing, just nice to hear that the MVP thinks my venture is cool." He joked and it surprised him a little. Since when has he been this comfortable with someone he just, technically, met?
Steph's face looks so surprised and this time, Klay fights the urge to laugh.
Klay wanted this café to be a place of calm and quiet. Its walls are warm and the air smells like his grandma’s house. The lights gave every table a personal feel and Klay’s glad they kept it.
They found a table after ordering from the counter. Steph insisted that Klay choose for him since he owns the place, which apparently, in Steph's world means that he was the master of drinks and could curate an order that would blow his mind.
Their conversation centers on basketball and Klay finds himself easily picking up. He watches the games on TV and sometimes he'd go to games to humor his father, just can't bring himself to step foot on a court and touch a basketball. Steph is as talkative as he's always been even back in that one day they played golf. He carries the conversation and Klay goes along with it.
They ask for refills a ton of times and normally they'd have to come to the counter over and over again, but since Klay's the so-called man-boss, as Steph worded it, he simply calls for the servers.
It was just about to hit two am when Steph opened a topic that made Klay's body feel heavier and his chest hollow.
"Dude! You were that rookie who hit a three over my head!" He looked excited as he said it and Klay wished he could match the enthusiasm but he wanted nothing more than to bolt. "How could I forget?"
You should forget.
Klay doesn't have a problem talking about basketball. It's a sport he's known his whole life. He could talk stats and plays all day. But there are certain things relating to that same sport that he wants to avoid as much as possible.
Like the time he was able to play basketball. How good he had been. How better he would've been. How he can't do shit now. He can't hear them and not feel himself break inside-out.
He really doesn't want to talk about this.
"That was cold, man."
Klay wants to snap at Steph and walk out. Instead, he keeps quiet. He sits and listens to Steph gush about his form and his guts but all Klay feels is shame.
Shame 'cause he won't ever be the same person Steph is talking about. That guy sounds awesome but it isn't him. Not anymore.
He downs his drink for the second time that night and Steph goes quiet.
Shit.
He looked at the grains of the hardwood table, avoiding his company's gaze.
He doesn't know.
He won't understand.
Steph takes a sip of the southern limerick Klay ordered for him.
The silence is deafening and he wants to get out of there but he doesn’t even have the confidence to get up and do just that. Instead, he sits still and watches the drops of moisture settled on his now empty glass.
Steph clears his throat and forces a chuckle. “We should hang out sometime, big guy.”
Klay looks at him then. His voice was awkward and a little guarded but his eyes were sincere.
“We should?”
I should really stop sounding so stupid.
Then again, Klay didn’t expect this suggestion from Steph at all. Here he is acting out and being sensitive to normal shit people are supposed to be able to talk about casually. He doesn’t know what exactly it is in him that Steph thinks is worthy of his time, he has half a mind to think if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Why would someone like Stephen Curry want to hang out with someone like him? Why would he want to spend time with this wannabe superstar who couldn’t even make it past a single season before fucking up his own silver-cloched opportunity?
Pity.
He pities you.
He feels bad that he’s everything you aspire to be.
“We totally should! Klay, right?” It’s pathetic how his heart jumped at how Steph said his name. “I heard one of the employees call you that. Can I get your number?”
Perhaps he’s known about it for a while now. He can never be rational when it comes to Stephen Curry. This is the first time they actually met and talked with substance. He should be guarded and casual and careful, but… He can’t help but take it too seriously. He can’t help the ease by which his emotions come through.
It was a new state of high.
Higher than he’s ever been for a long time and it’s a scary way down. It’s ridiculous. Being this high means being too close to the sun and catching fire, but falling from this high up would destroy him either way.
It was inevitable to crash and burn.
Just as he did when he first felt this euphoric feeling.
He should stop it while he can, should avoid it entirely. He didn’t have a place in Steph’s life. Befriending Klay is like buying a ratty old carpet just because no one else wants it. It takes up space, doesn’t match your furniture and is depressing to look at. Maintaining it is a bitch and it’s not even worth it.
But then he looks at Steph’s eyes, always beaming, and Klay wants to believe. He wants to believe in the hope in those eyes and get lost in them. Steph is a bright light. A symbol of aspiration, desire and ambition. When Klay looks at them for a moment, he feels like he can do something, anything.
But he can’t.
The reality of it all is that he shouldn’t believe ‘cause he would only be disappointed in the end. It’s just the way it is. It’s been like this even before the incident and it will always be like this. So killing this pointless feeling would be the most logical thing to do.
He gives his number anyway.
***
SC30: hey!!! do u wanna watch the game this friday??? i got u tix
This was the first thing that greeted Klay when he woke up the day after the whole unexpected nightclub escape. And he’s usually a heavy sleeper but this felt like a bucket of cold water was dumped into his body.
He rubs his eyes to see if it was a hallucination only to find out it’s actually really there. His brows furrow.
When he doesn’t reply the whole day, he gets another one.
SC30: klay????
He sighs.
yeah, sure steph
He gets a smiley in return.
***
Talking to Steph reminded him of the cheesy teenage movies his cousins would watch whenever they were over and his father warned him to make friends so he’d watch it with them. There’s this almost eerie weight that would fill his middle whenever his phone buzzes.
It was a weird feeling.
Steph would text him about the most random things and would call at the most random times of the day. He texts about forgetting his leggings or ruining another mouth guard or eating spoiled pickles, to which Klay asks him how pickles could spoil. One time he called at three in the morning and Klay almost threw his phone out his window.
It was bliss, just came out of nowhere and became part of his routine like it’s always been there.
And he’d been fine with the texting and the calling. It was nice just to have someone to talk to about anything and everything. The weather, the gas prices, politics, which Star Wars movie is the best. He was content with it, an arrangement bordering small talk and casual drunk-but-not-drunk conversations. He was fine with it.
Really, the gift and the visits were a bonus.
They were also a constant reminder that the person Klay is talking to is actually Stephen Curry, not a random stranger he met online which he can ghost whenever. No, that ain’t happening ‘cause this was the real-life MVP he’s talking to, who can reach his home and send him random stuff and also himself for that matter.
***
SC30: i got new shoes coming out!!!
SC30: i def put u on the list
SC30: not to wear
SC30: i mean
SC30: u can put em in a shelf or smth
SC30: or just for casual yknow??
SC30: or display
SC30: s okay if u dont wear them tho!!
Klay snorts knowing Steph was probably freaking out about offending him by sending him basketball shoes when he technically can’t play anymore. He finds that he doesn’t mind the sentiment.
SC30: send ur address???
A new pair of Curry shoes arrives at his doorstep three days later.
***
SC30: i’m sending the tix
***
SC30: im coming over, my dawg
SC30: gonna kick ur ass at smash
***
SC30: ur dad called our game
SC30: say hi to your pops for me
nice dunk u got there
SC30: such a hater thompson
SC30: ill show u better next time :P
***
SC30: so why r u never at ur cafe anw??
SC30: took the team for drinks
i hire people for that
and thx for the free promo
SC30: u bet!!
SC30: anything for da best spiked coffee d bay has ever had!!
gee ur making me blush
SC30: just sayin :D
***
SC30: do u need anything from the grocery??
SC30: ran out of whipped cream so im at the store rn
actually yea
u seen what breakfast for me looks like ryt
just a box
SC30: box of cheerios n instant pancakes cominrightup
SC30: and maple syrup???
SC30: i think ure out
yea dat 2
SC30: dont wait up
SC30: jus leave the door open
SC30: ill be fast
drive safe
SC30: ofc dawg
SC30: :D
***
SC30: im coming over killa
***
SC30: feel like im takin my last breath
SC30: havent felt like im dying in a long long logn time
SC30: u better know we winning on friday
SC30: but hey
SC30: i think i left my keys inside the house
u can come over no problem
SC30: u a real one klay thompson
keep ur eyes open
n on the road
***
Unknown: dude i forgot my phone at ur place
Unknown: dis steph btw
Unknown: im coming to get it now
ill leave the door open
drive safe
***
SC30: def tell rocco im comin for im
cant believe u to be such a sore loser curry
rocco can take on u anytme
SC30: maybe after the game we could
SC30: u still on for friday ryt????
***
Klay has been to some of the games before. Even after the whole career-ending injury.
His father would use it as a way to spend time with him without having to actually talk to him. He always agrees because he kind of doesn’t want to have a talk with his father too. The games were okay to watch, entertaining. But the tremors were gone. The anticipation was gone. Watching basketball to him now is like watching the news. Something he can get a good thought out of, but that’s it.
Games weren’t a big deal. He doesn’t root for teams to win, doesn’t keep track of players’ potentials, he just watches and understands and accepts.
Come Friday, he stays and watches the Golden State game at home.
His phone was ringing non stop earlier and he was 99% sure it was Steph.
He knew he was being a little bit of an asshole blowing off Steph like that but he just couldn’t get himself to go and so he didn’t.
The Warriors are still killing it, though.
He thinks he sees Steph search the crowd from time to time but tells himself it’s just his mind playing tricks on him.
When the Warriors are up by nineteen with two minutes left in the fourth quarter, he shuts the TV off and dozes on his couch. He was starting to dream when his phone rang again. The caller ID revealed an SC30 which Klay is still a bit in awe of.
He watches it ring and waits for it to stop. It eventually does and then it rings again. The cycle continues and when he doesn’t answer after five rounds of it, he gets a text instead.
SC30: not cool man
He doesn’t get anything after that.
Klay’s chest feels hollow, maybe out of guilt, maybe regret. He’s itching to call Steph back or maybe just text him a shitty excuse but he can’t bring himself to. It’s not like Steph will remember him a week or two from now, he was right to save himself from the threat of attachment to a person who’d forget about him as soon as the winds turn.
It’s better this way.
Guilt is a weight that will crush you whether you deserve it or not.
Regret is an eternal question that you will never have the answer to.
***
A week ago, Steph texted him at least once a day.
Now, nothing.
It feels stupid, this heavy feeling in his chest. As if the thought that he can’t even go to the bathroom without a walking stick wasn’t enough, life just had to throw him this. And it’s dumb that he’s hating this feeling when he already knew it was coming. He knew it when he dodged calls from Steph, knew it when he was a no-show for the game they’d been talking about all week, knew it when he slept all day willing the guilt to go away instead of apologizing.
He knew it the moment he let Steph take a chance on him.
He should’ve known.
He shouldn’t have expected anything from me.
Except, Steph did.
And, stupidly enough, Klay let him.
It wasn’t fair. It’s easy for someone like Klay to grasp at a single slip of attention from Steph. Someone special and someone who’ll matter for years to come. To have someone that big, that remarkable, look at him and not see a ‘what if’... it’s kryptonite to Klay’s depleted ego.
Spending time with Steph made him feel normal. They’d play video games, drink, watch movies, argue about advanced stats. It felt so normal. Klay didn’t know how much he'd been deprived of that feeling until Steph took a look at him and decided he wasn’t damaged goods. That he didn’t need to be coddled or that he didn’t need somebody helping him up every time he makes a move to stand. Steph never treated him like glass whenever he came over. He never made Klay feel like he was a problem, a handicap, when he actually is.
And it’s unfair to him that Steph just barged into his life and instantly made him feel better about himself, when his family and his friends have been trying so damn much but Klay couldn’t even get himself to let them in.
He shouldn’t have.
Why would he?
The fifth night after the game with not a call nor a text from Steph, he decided he had to stop his mind from wandering into that brightly lit reservoir of memories. He had his fun, time to face reality.
Reality included wasting away at his couch and muting his cellphone while watching people live his dream.
Of course, this doesn’t even give him a break.
“Warriors’ Stephen Curry, will reportedly miss a significant number of games this regular season. The point guard injured a foot ligament vs the Celtics Friday night.”
It doesn’t concern him. An injury is normal for an athlete, especially in a sport like basketball. He should change the channel and forget about it. Put it at the back of his mind and focus on his own life, one that does not have much to fuss on.
The heavy feeling in his body seems to disagree, though.
***
It took Klay four days to call Steph, and one more for Steph to answer.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Sarcastic. Cold. Masked. Really, what did he expect? Steph isn’t going to welcome him like his ninety-year-old grandma that’s for sure. And he expected it to go like this but his tongue still feels like lead in his mouth and it’s taking him so much just to utter a single word back.
“Hey, Steph…”
He hears a sigh at the other end and he’s tempted to just drop the call right then and there.
“Look, Klay. D’you actually need something?” His voice is still distant but it carries more of an exhaustion than passive aggressiveness. He sounds tired and resigned. Klay doesn’t know how much of it is because of him, maybe none because he shouldn’t really mean much to Steph, but he does know that he hates it.
“Can I… maybe… come over?”
One. Two. Three. Four.
Five seconds of silence.
Klay almost took it back. Almost.
“Yeah… sure. I’ll send the address and ring you in with the security.”
He waits for the call to drop.
“Drive safe.”
***
Klay has one thing to do.
Apologize for bailing on the game.
Might see if Steph’s actually alright.
And maybe try to redeem himself.
Okay. So maybe he has more than just one thing on the plate.
The apology is definitely the priority, though. He owes Steph that much. He was the one always expanding his time to fit Klay into his busy life just so he can offer some kind of friendship or whatever it is he actually had in mind.
Klay’s also a little worried about the foot. Steph’s legs are worth millions, and sure, athletes get injured all the time so Klay shouldn’t be so worried. He’s certain Steph’s getting the best treatments, but still…
Redemption, on the other hand… He doesn’t know why that sparked his mind. It’s not like he had a golden image in the first place. Who knows, maybe Steph already had him labeled as an asshole deep deep inside. He did tend to leave Steph on read when he texted, also ignored his calls when Klay’s not feeling it.
Whatever.
The best he can do now is to just knock on Steph’s door and apologize. He’ll leave and then Steph will forget about him if he hasn’t already, and Klay’s guilt will be placated. The regret of destroying something good would most likely follow him, but he can deal with another one of that in his lifetime.
Steph has been to Klay’s place too many times for a span of one week. He was there almost everyday if it weren’t for some when he’d fall asleep from too much practice, but even then, he’d sometimes drop himself off at Klay’s doorstep. It was more or less because he forgot something there and he’d text Klay about it in the middle of the day.
He’s made Klay’s home his own for the times he visited. He now knew where everything was, which spots were most comfortable for Klay to lean on, which corners were a little difficult to access. He has it memorized from a week of coming over, literally taking no time at all.
On the flipside, it’s the first time Klay even saw Steph’s house. He expected something grand, something modern, something the highest paid NBA player would have. And it is, to a point. It’s definitely big like a mansion. The thing that took him aback by a bit is how little extravagance it gives off. Instead of lux and grandeur, hearty and full of life would fit better to describe it.
Steph’s door was smooth on his knuckles as he knocked. Three times.
When no response came, he twisted the door handles carefully and it opened. His steps were as light as he can make them out to be and he’s careful with the way he leans on his walking aid in worry of leaving scuff marks.
He finds Steph laying on his large L-shaped couch, eyes closed and foot in cast, propped up on a pillow.
“What’re you doing here?”
“I uh… You said I could.”
“But why?” He opens his eyes and looks at Klay with blank eyes. “I don’t get it.”
Klay keeps his eyes on Steph and keeps his weight on his good leg as he stays standing there. The house was warm and cozy but the atmosphere at the moment was sharp and consuming.
“You… I thought we were friends.” It would sound ridiculous if it didn’t come from Steph’s mouth with his eyes looking a little hurt and accusing. “You didn’t even answer anything.”
Klay took a deep breath.
Just apologize.
Tell him about your bullshit reasons.
And promise him that you’ll never bother him with it again.
“I’m sorry, Steph.” He takes slow steps towards the end of the couch and sits down, not bothering to ask for permission and just swallows his pride. “I know I was real shitty-.”
“You were.” Klay fought back a wince at the bitterness in his words.
“I’m sorry about the game.” He blurts out and Steph looks very much livid.
“Forget about the fucking game, Klay. I was damn worried.” That… was something he did not expect. He was sure Steph would be mad for being blown off, but Klay never even considered that he would be this worked up about Klay’s safety. Heck, even he didn’t worry about himself like that. “I thought something happened. I called you but you didn’t answer any of my calls, not one. I tried looking for you at the stands, my mind was half in the game. Then I get to your house, see you through the window and you’re just fucking there making a fucking sandwich. What’s up with that, huh?”
Steph was panting by the time he finished. Klay is stunned to say the least. He didn’t know what to say, still taken aback by the genuine worry he could feel off of Steph. It was one thing for his family to fuss over him every time they were together, it was another thing to have this person, who was almost a stranger to him two or three weeks ago, go looking for him after he basically just chose to bail.
“I don’t know what to say to you. Honestly, Steph, I just… I had to cut it off at some point, don’t you think?” Their eyes meet and Klay is faced with confusion in Steph’s.
“What are you talking about?” His voice was a little leveled now, no longer hard.
Klay takes a deep breath and gathers his words.
“You were gonna get rid of me at some point. I just thought maybe I could cut it off now.”
Before you do because that would hurt more.
Steph looks downright angry now.
“Klay, what the hell? D’you think I’m some kind of serial friendster?” His eyebrows are drawn together and his face is showing such raw emotion that Klay feels shivers down his spine. “You think I talk to you just for the heck of it? When I have hundreds of people dm’ing me shit everyday?” He’s sitting up by now, looking like he’s going to tackle Klay, only restraining himself by the tight grip he has on his throw pillows. “You think I came over to your place all those times just because? You didn’t even get up and think that maybe I genuinely liked hanging out with you for the reason that it’s you? Or maybe that I choose to talk to you everyday, not because you’re available but because you’re actually fun to converse with?”
Why would you?
Steph freezes for a second before his eyes soften and his lips turn into a slight frown. It was only then that Klay realized he actually said it out loud.
“Because you’re someone I want to be around, Klay. You’re you and I genuinely like you.” His heart skips a beat and it feels like horses were racing down his chest. “I really want us to be friends. For the long-run, y’know?”
His heart calms. His breath shakes a little but his thought is clear on that one word that Steph uttered.
Friends.
How long has it been since he even made new friends?
Will Steph be that friend who would constantly be there for his birthday? Will he go with Klay to watch new Marvel releases? Will he make up excuses for Klay when he doesn’t want to see his family when that time of the month comes?
It feels stupid but Klay wants to cry.
Having someone outright say to him that he’s wanted even if he’s like what he is… It feels nice. His family has always been there for him, yeah. But they’re obligated to do that. He doesn’t want to be ungrateful, but it’s easier to stick with someone when you’re related and when you’ve known that person your whole life. Loyalty, unconditional love and all. But having someone want you when they’ve only known you at your worst… Klay realized he hasn’t felt this nice in a long time. He hasn’t had friends in a long time. Most people are more like nurses and social workers to him now instead of friends.
He wanted to be worth something to Stephen Curry and he realizes now that the reason he was so wary of accepting Steph’s sudden interest with him was because of this.
He’s always wanted to be something to Steph. Even if it’s not the way Steph is for Klay, he wanted to be a part of Steph’s life even if it’s small. But when Steph took the first step, he was too afraid that he’d eventually realize how his life couldn’t fit someone like Klay or how Klay would never be able to fit in his. He’d leave once he sees what Klay really is.
Damaged. Crippled. Stale.
What’s worse than being unnoticed is being rejected.
And yet here is Steph. Offering him a place in his life, giving him assurance that he fits and that Steph wants him to be able to fit, wants him to stay.
How can I say no to that?
Klay takes a deep breath and the dam breaks.
“I got beat up.” He started. Steph kept quiet. “On my rookie year, I went to celebrate with my team and I got beat up by a homophobic asshole.”
The question lingered in the air but Klay kept going, not caring about the implication of his words nor Steph’s reaction to it.
“That season felt good, you know? I had this on-again-off-again thing with basketball. My mind got sidetracked a lot, lost my focus from time to time, but it was a constant thing in my life. I felt good. I was on the way to becoming what I wanted to be. I thought that was it. There was no question anymore whether it was what I really wanted to do, I wanted it and I was getting it.”
Klay paused. It only occurred to him now how he never actually opened up about this to anyone nor had he actually thought about it before. Some of it, he’s only acknowledging at this moment, thoughts drowned by inevitable hurt and anger.
“I’m so angry, Steph.” The wetness of his eyes was inevitable. “That fucking asshole ruined everything for me.” Tears were streaming down his face but he didn't make a move to stop. This is his truth. Everything holed up in his broken body and he’s only voicing it now. “You wanna know what the worst part is?” Hazel-green orbs stared back at him as he looked at Steph. “I helped him do it.” He closed his eyes and took a ragged breath. “I was stupid, naive. Thought I could fuck it all just because of the high I felt from finally doing something that felt good in my life. I shouldn’t have… It was my fault as much as it was his.”
Everything leaked out of him all at once. The frustration he's never shared with anyone, the guilt he's only acknowledging now. It was pathetic how sorry he felt for himself.
Rough hands found his and squeezed. The warmth started with his palms and the next thing he knew he was engulfed with it. His face met a sturdy chest and an arm circles around him in an embrace while the other cradles his head. Tears kept falling from his eyes but someone was there to catch them all.
Years of pain, anger and regret oozing out of his being.
If only I wasn’t stupid enough to pull that stunt.
If only I had just stayed home that night.
If only…
But there’s nothing to be done now. All he has are these tears of regret and longing for that one thing he’ll never get to have again.
Every moment of his life came to this. Every part of him created this single broken self he has now. He has no choice but to live with it. It’s all he’s got. No more dreams, nothing to look forward to, just staying afloat, invisible in the ways that matter.
He is a disappointment. A failure. He failed himself and everybody else. There’s no going back from it too. He’d gone and damaged himself forever. There’s nothing he can do, nothing left to say, nothing to hope for.
For a long time this was how he saw himself.
But having careful arms surrounding him and exuding warmth to his very cold heart is comforting. It makes him feel like maybe there is something to look forward to everyday. Maybe he is worth more, maybe he isn’t so invisible. He should really save himself the heartbreak of hoping, but he finds that he doesn’t want to shy away from the warmth anymore.
***
He stays at Steph’s house and tells him everything.
He talked about how he never really fit into his basketball teams until the NBA. Talked about the training camps his dad sent him too, which Steph attended some as well. He told him about his initial dreams of becoming an ecologist and how his brothers shut them down. He told him about college, the parties, his little segue with weed and Austin. Steph wouldn’t believe it when he told him about the golf tournament.
“No way! I would’ve remembered!”
“Keep telling yourself that, Steph.”
In return, Steph asked him various more questions. Most about random details from his stories, like if he preferred jerseys with sleeves or without, or if he had a go-to ice cream flavor whenever his parents scold him. Some about how he got into basketball.
“I know it’s easy to start basketball with your dad being who he is and all, but what made you really go for it?”
If it was any other person and any other day, Klay would’ve shut down the question immediately. But this was Steph and he’s already poured most of his heart out so it doesn’t really seem like a big deal anymore.
“I didn’t believe you were gonna make it in the NBA.”
“Rude.”
“I watched your games a lot when I was in high school. I waited for you to fail only to be surprised every night when you managed to exceed everyone’s expectations. It didn’t really take much to be motivated after that.”
Steph’s eyes were on him, a little wide but solemn.
Klay throws a pillow to his face.
It continued just like that, with Klay telling stories of his childhood and Steph over sharing, until they both fell hazy with sleep.
The atmosphere carried a comforting tune all throughout. He could hear the constant reminder of Steph's unsaid words hanging in the air, just there for him to take in when he finds himself doubting.
I won't get rid of you.
So please keep being here.
In the end he thinks he radiates similar sentiments for Steph to hold onto.
I want to keep being with you.
Stay with me.
***
Being friends with Stephen Curry has its perks.
He gets the same benefits he gets with his dad and then some.
The free tickets are there, of course. Best view of the court and best place for Klay’s crippled ass to sit as comfortably as he could without worrying about passionate fans accidentally stepping on him. There’s also the limited edition shoes he keeps being sent. Even if playing is a far off dream, he could still appreciate nice kicks. He gets everything a Warriors fan would die for. The merch, the invites to watch practices, the free rides to the stadium with Steph Curry himself, meeting the players and getting drinks with Draymond Green.
There is also other stuff.
Like having someone watch Semi-Pro with him and listen to him ramble about his favorite movie philosophies. Someone who’d scratch Rocco’s belly when his arm gets tired, remind him to pay his bills ‘cause he always forgets, sit with him and tell him about anything and everything when he doesn’t feel like getting up, whether through the phone or in person. His dishes are almost always done every other day, courtesy of the MVP’s regular visits. Oh, and he never runs out of groceries too.
Being friends with the reigning face of the NBA also has its pitfalls, however.
One, he’s very busy. It gets to a point where he shows up at Klay’s house half asleep. Klay can’t fathom why he still chooses to come during really packed days. He understands how demanding Steph’s schedule is, he won’t be any liability to that.
Two, he shows up even when Klay doesn’t want him to. Klay knows himself to be an introvert. There are days when he really feels the need to be alone and sometimes it gets really hard to force Steph to just rest at his own house and it’s like he forgets that he doesn’t need to be with Klay to recuperate.
Three, and probably the worst of all, he’s famous. Every time they hang out outside of their houses, they either get mobbed by kids or see paparazzi hanging in bushes. It’s a weird feat. Another thing with Steph’s fame is that people are constantly talking about him, this leads them to wonder about this 6’6” guy with a walking stick always around him. They don’t get much since Klay isn’t active on social media, though.
“I can play tomorrow night.” Steph’s voice resonates across the room. It’s lunch time and he got a call exactly after his first bite of pastrami on rye. “You really shouldn’t miss this one, feel like dropping 60.”
Klay snorts and rolls his eyes. “You know I’ll come as long as you pay for everything, right? I’m really just leeching off you.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you’re definitely not a business tycoon.” He can hear the sarcasm in the way it was said and he had to chuckle. He was the owner of a trendy cafe and a quickly growing nightclub and Steph’s never going to let it go.
“Speak for yourself, Curry brand.”
He ends the call, opting to focus on his delicious lunch, and gets a bunch of texts from Steph.
SC30: u should have 30 on u tom
SC30: so they know ur cheering for me!!
SC30: not draymond
SC30: he thinks u come for him sometimes.
He chokes on nothing and coughs his lungs out. Heat rises to his face and he has to kick himself to calm down.
Really, Thompson?
SC30: welp
SC30: dat didnt sound nice
He should get rid of any lingering feelings he has for Steph that isn’t platonic. It isn’t fair to him and it’s definitely not safe for Klay’s sanity either. He honestly thought he was over this but there are still moments like this when he’s caught off guard at Steph’s weirdly affectionate and territorial friendship.
What was Steph thinking anyway? It’s as if it isn’t enough that he’s at every Warriors game, now he gets to wear Steph’s number too. Something about that makes his heart skip a beat. Wearing Steph’s number for everyone to see even if they aren’t necessarily going to be focusing on him…
Yeah. No way.
***
Klay ended up going to the home game vs the Lakers wearing a blue GSW hoodie. It has the logo in the front and a huge ‘30 CURRY’ in the back. His former black walking aid exchanged for a blue one, sponsored by the same player he’s got plastered on his back.
When Steph got him the new stick he was speechless for a whole thirty seconds before chuckles erupted from his mouth because of the silliness of it all.
“I can’t believe you.”
“What? Why are you laughing?”
He had to suppress his laughter for three minutes before he realized Steph was actually being serious about branding him as some kind of golden state Curry mascot or something.
He’s wearing the new Curry shoes too. A prototype pair that hasn’t been released. He’d wonder how much he can sell them for, if he can get Steph to sign them too, but it wasn't evident to him that it would hurt the latter’s feelings if he did. Really, Steph is a bit sentimental and that’s big coming from Klay. Who would want to deliberately cross Stephen Curry? Definitely not him.
“You really came through.” Steph looked to him from the court in the middle of warm ups. He looked almost shocked that Klay didn’t bail on him again and was actually there. “Thought you weren’t coming when you said you’d find your own ride.”
Klay shrugged and nodded toward where his dad was calling the game for the Lakers. “Pops drove me here, looked at me funny too.” He motioned to the hoodie and waved the blue stick. “I already said I was gonna come.”
“Yeah well, I went to your place anyway. You weren’t there.”
He rolled his eyes. “My pops likes being early.” He took a sip of his soda to ease the tension building inside him because the stares were there again. He could feel the people around him fixate on their conversation and it’s a little uncomfortable. Thank the heavens for the screaming fans, though.
“Welcome back, Steph!”
“How’s the foot?”
“My daughter’s your biggest fan!”
Steph smiles at them and rides some of the jokes but his eyes would find Klay’s in between.
Klay decides to focus on his Doritos.
The Warriors were down for most of the game but they started to gain momentum within the last four minutes of the third quarter. The whole stadium felt like the play-offs and Klay can’t say he didn’t find himself celebrating with the Dubs whenever the ball went in, his Doritos long forgotten.
They win the game with an eight point lead and Klay’s about to up and wait for his dad outside the stadium when Steph went over to him before continuing to the dugout.
“Hey, wait for me, would you?” There is a towel resting on his head and Klay has the strange urge to take it and wipe Steph’s sweaty face. He cringes at his own thoughts.
“Aren’t you celebrating with the team?” He asked absentmindedly, eyes finding his father who looks to be packing up already.
“I’d rather have a quiet drink at your place right now, to be honest.” It was almost whispered and Klay's wondering whether he'd be able to catch it if he wasn't looking at Steph mouthing the words. His eyes still carried some of the intensity he had playing the game, a little glassy. His breathing still a little fast, skin flushed. It's a good thing he was still in post-game haze or else he'd notice Klay going quiet for more than normal.
"Yeah, just let me tell my dad first."
That’s how he basically ended up with a drunk Stephen Curry on his couch on a Monday night.
It’s way past Klay’s bedtime but the way Steph was talking, with his slurred words and chuckles leaving his lips every minute, was so fucking endearing. He doesn’t have it in him to stop his intoxicated companion. So he does what he probably shouldn’t have…
He got drunk with him.
Then the world really felt like it slowed down.
“It’s not fair, y’know?” Steph had his eyes closed now, his head atop the backrest while Klay has his on the armrest opposite him.
He looks at Steph for a moment. He was facing the ceiling so the dimmed light was gently highlighting his features. It was a picture-perfect look of solemnity but his voice was hoarse. It made him think that they were getting into something a little beyond the drunken complaints of dirty defense and biased officiating.
The easy way out would be to shrug it off and reclaim the conversation with a jab at missed passes or just some sloppy play. He could joke about Steph missing yet another dunk off a steal or how he airballed his first open look since the injury. It’d be better that way. Keep everything light and good so as to not ruin the serenity of the atmosphere.
But Klay’s too drunk off the night for his walls to come up. Instead of diverting the conversation or snapping at Steph, he stays quiet save for a soft hum of acknowledgement. He’s left himself open, not flaunting nor confident, no. He’s left himself open for Steph to pick at.
“It’s not fair how you’re not playing anymore just because of some idiot bastard who doesn’t know any better.”
There it is. The ever-present frustration waiting to be voiced out.
He would’ve snapped at Steph to just forget about it. Talking about his missed opportunities just brought all the negatives to him. No, he can’t see a silver lining. All that accident brought to him was pain and regret. There’s no moral, no bigger picture. Not for him. It was just bad. Unfortunate. It left him with a permanent scar, a permanent disability and a permanent helplessness.
But really, when will he ever be okay with talking about it? As much as he hates it, it’s a done deal. He’s lived with it for years now and while he’s always done his best to avoid discussing it, it won’t stop being there. And if anyone were to open the box of conjectures Klay’s been steering clear of, it might as well be the person who inspired his now crushed dreams.
“I've watched your previous games from years ago, do you know that?” Klay takes another swig. “I watch you over and over and over…” He would’ve laughed at Steph’s obviously drunken state but the weight of what he’s saying is just too personal to Klay. He can’t laugh about it even if he tries to. “You were so good, Klay. Such a pretty shot. Such a pretty form. So collected. So calm. It’s fucking unfair.”
You were so good.
I wish I still were.
Steph lets out an almost pained chuckle. His eyes now open, on Klay, glassy. “I’ve got all these ideas in my head, y’know? We coulda been playing together. Best fucking shooting backcourt in the NBA and all that. I playmake, you’re two-way catch and shoot. It would’ve been legendary. Fuck, Klay.”
Fuck.
We could’ve been playing together.
It’s what I’ve always wanted, Steph.
It hurts. The broken dreams. Everything that could’ve been, everything that should’ve been.
It hurts so much more now that he sees it in someone else. Everything Klay feels is reflected into Steph’s eyes and it makes everything more painful. The hopelessness, the regret, the remorse. There was no pity in the way he looked at Klay. Instead, there was empathy.
It hurts.
He wants to say that it’s okay, that it’s all water under a bridge or some philosophical quip like that. He wants to tell Steph that he doesn’t have to live with the repercussions of the accident, wants to tell him that he’s got it, he’s been living with it for a long time now and he can continue living with it on his own. But how can he? He’s not okay, hasn’t been okay for years. It’s not water under the bridge when he’s still drowning in it.
In the end, he stays quiet.
“You’re so good.” Steph starts to come closer and he stays frozen, too mesmerized by the emotion in those hazel-green eyes. “Jumpshot was unbelievable, so beautiful and perfect.” Two hands cradle his face like he was something precious and alluring. “You’re so beautiful. So perfect for me.”
Their noses were touching, faces incredibly so close and they were both very drunk. He should push Steph away but by now, Klay figures he’s pretty much powerless when faced with Stephen Curry. He’s come to face this truth and it’s been cemented with the way his body melts as plush lips finally meet his own.
***
The kisses continued for about an hour before they fell asleep tangled together on the couch.
Klay wakes up at noon and Steph’s gone.
***
‘Two-time Season MVP Stephen Curry appears to be dating Canadian-American actress Ayesha Alexander. The two were spotted sharing bagels this morning and eventually left together on the NBA star’s Porsche 911. Sources told E! that the two were good friends and churchmates and that everyone knew they would end up together at some point…’
‘Rising actress Ayesha Alexander bags the Golden-State Warriors’ guard, Stephen Curry and oh, some Emmy nominations too!’
‘Curry fan in tears after dating news arises.’
‘Was Stephen Curry’s latest signature shoe dedicated to actress Ayesha Alexander? Find out more about the new limited edition Curry Flow 9’s!’
“... the new signature pair features what appears to be waves on its insole… may be paying tribute to the actress’ love for the beach…”
‘Stephen Curry and Ayesha Alexander: All the clues we missed.’
“... the two were often together during Curry’s rookie years… in a previous interview, the actress also hinted at watching college basketball games before… Alexander was also seen in Curry’s All-Access video from the 2009 draft…”
***
“At least get some lunch, honey.” His mother’s voice was muffled from the other side of his door and he could hear the faint desperation in the way her words were choked at the ends.
The day he went home to his parents, he didn’t know what exactly made him go. He thinks maybe it’s because he didn’t want to be alone but ever since he arrived at the doorstep he tuned everything out and locked himself in his old room. Or maybe just hearing his parents’ footsteps were enough, hearing his mother calling him for meals, or maybe just being near them brings him a certain comfort.
He left his phone at his house, packed a bag, got Rocco and just drove. All the way to Lake Oswego. His leg started to hurt only three hours in, he had seven more to go. He didn’t know how he made it. His mother was shocked when he pulled up, then she cried while helping him into the house.
They don’t ask about the sudden visit. They let him be, only coming around once in a while to remind him to eat or to try to convince him to walk a little. He humors them, hardly. Most of the time, he’d leave his room only when everyone else is asleep.
It’s not fair.
It was his worst fear and it became his reality. He opened himself to the idea of Steph and he got burned.
You were fine.
You shouldn’t have kissed him.
You should’ve pushed him away.
Maybe then it wouldn’t have been too late.
Maybe you’d still be okay.
It was a punch to the gut. Waking up without Steph, knowing he’d gone and messed up the one good thing that brought a light to his life, a light he hasn’t seen and felt in so long… It was another regret, another loss, another painful memory.
And it hurts more knowing that he surrendered it all that night for Steph to take, but he ended up shoving it back into Klay’s face.
Then the tabloids started…
It was his fault at the end of the day.
He hoped when he shouldn’t have. He should’ve been content with their friendship but that night, he knew in himself that he hoped for something more. He basked in Steph’s emotions and took them for something they’re not. Now he has his heart broken and there’s no one else to blame but himself.
He shut his eyes, willing himself to forget. He needs to forget the depth in hazel-green eyes, needs to forget the warmth of gentle hands and the firm kisses of plush lips.
Forget about the late-night calls and the loud drives to games. Forget about the gifts to Rocco and the ever-growing shoe collection. Forget about the easy smiles and the light banters, the corny jokes and the awkwardly phrased texts.
Forget about the light. He’s lived in his own darkness for so long, he can continue to do so. He doesn’t need it. No matter if it clears his vision and melts his little cold heart. Then he’d live seeing an obscure world, no problem. What else is there to find anyway?
He was nothing. In the end, Steph will always have the power to sweep him under a rug. He’d let him because he’s weak. He’s defenseless against everything that Steph is.
Too bright. Too blinding. Too warm. Too radiant.
He never stood a chance. He should’ve known…
And now he’s gone and lost it forever.
Forget. Forget. Forget.
He needs to forget Stephen Curry.
***
“Klay, someone’s here for you.” He shot up at that. It’s been three weeks since he left his own house and camped in his high school bedroom at his parents’.
Who can that be?
There was nobody he could think of who’d know he was here. He didn’t have many friends from the bay area save for his employees, it’s why he moved there in the first place. So no one would know him. He didn’t tell anyone about coming home to Oregon either. Heck, he doesn’t even have his phone with him for anyone to track or something.
He walked slowly towards his window and… there’s a Porsche 911 in front of his parents’ home.
No.
He sat back down on his bed, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach.
Don’t.
“Klay? Steph’s here to see you.” This time it was his father’s voice that crept through the door. He heard a sigh and his heart clenched a little in his chest. He never meant to be the son who knocks on his parents’ door all bruised and broken, no way to fix. “Son, just hear him out.”
Everything stopped for a short while and Klay’s mind finally caught up with the undertone of what his father had said.
He knows.
His body then moves on autopilot and he finds himself standing in his childhood living room, except there is an odd entity sitting on the couch, holding a glass of water. He can hear his mother cooking in the kitchen, bacon and eggs probably since it was seven in the fucking morning.
“What are you doing here?” He finds himself saying out of sheer impulse.
It was just the two of them then, his mother busy and his father probably trying to provide them a semblance of privacy.
Steph looks at him with heavy eyes and it takes a lot for Klay not to punch him right there and then. He spent so much time wallowing in self-pity and blaming himself, his anger chooses to show itself now.
How dare he look like he got the shorter end of the stick.
He left when he said he wouldn’t.
He set me up so high only to leave me hanging.
He was the one who kissed me first.
“Can we talk somewhere more private?”
Klay hates it. Hates the way Steph is trying to keep his voice leveled as if he’s the one with the baggage. He hates the way Steph shows up looking rumpled with bags under his eyes and his face devoid of its usual glow as if he was the one who was discarded.
“Like heck we will!”
His mother can probably hear them but all that’s in his mind right now is Stephen Curry, in his parents’ home, dropping by like he was hurt and Klay was the reason.
He tries to shrug Steph off but he really must be taking his workouts seriously if his grip had anything to say about it.
“Come on, Klay. Please.”
Earnest. That’s what his eyes always held. Steph wore his heart in his sleeve and Klay wished he could find something there that was less genuine and less raw, but Steph’s eyes were always honest and true.
Ultimately, he should just get this over with.
He takes a deep breath and limps outside through the backdoor to which Steph follows.
He sits on one of the swings that his dad installed when they were younger, the chains are a little rusty but it held his weight. Steph sits beside him on the other swing. They were quiet for a while before he heard Steph breathe out so loud.
“I-.”
“Why’d you kiss me, Steph?” Funnily enough, Klay cut him off. It had been itching at his skin and he needed to get over it now. He feels Steph’s stare on him but he can’t look back. He just needed to know so he could go back to being alone.
“I like you, Klay.” A warm feeling spreads throughout his body but there was still that doubt that lingers in the edges. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it, but you never really gave me the chance to.”
Klay faces him as he hears the hardness in the way the last words were uttered.
“Fuck you, Steph. You were the one who fucking left.” He spits out. It would feel good if only to get his frustrations out but the words leaving his mouth still left a bitter taste. “I got nothing from you, not even a text. Stop fucking lying.” Tears soon come to his eyes and he doesn't bother to hide them. “Next thing I knew you were apparently dating an actress.”
Steph’s eyes widened and he reached for Klay’s face. He wipes the tears away but they keep going so it was a lost cause. Klay closes his eyes, he doesn’t want to drown in Steph’s.
“Klay, fuck. I’m sorry. Look at me, please.” He keeps wiping at Klay’s face and Klay would feel embarrassed if he weren’t feeling so much. Steph’s voice was gentle now, almost lulling. It was like he was afraid that Klay would break more than he already is. His fingers are grazing his face so softly, he gives in and opens his eyes. “Shit. I’m sorry, Klay. I’m not dating anybody, it’s you I want. You’d know if you saw my note… But I guess you didn’t.”
“What note?” He whispers, emotions dwindling little by little at Steph’s revelation.
“I left a note on your fridge door, was a whole letter really.” He looks a bit sheepish admitting it. “I had a meeting with Under Armour and I was already late by the time I woke up that day so I didn’t really have time to clear things up with you.”
“You don’t hate it?”
“What? The kiss? No. God, no. If it isn’t obvious enough, I’m like that for you, Klay. I reached out to Ayesha ‘cause she knows me a whole lot and I didn’t want to dive into this without being sure, y’know? I already know I feel deeply about you but I had to be sure about everything. I didn’t want to half-ass anything with you, I won’t risk it.”
He’s bluffing.
He has to be.
Klay Thompson couldn’t have good things.
He’d learned it the hard way. He knew it when no school wanted him in college, knew it when his knee was shattered by a baseball bat, he knew it when Stephen Curry left him that morning after getting his hopes up.
But what was this?
Could it be that he was just really stupid and misunderstood the whole thing?
Seems like it.
“How’d you even get here, Steph?” He croaked out. He feels spent even if the day just started.
“I took a chance and asked your pops if he knew where you were.” He looks away, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “He called our game.”
He looks at Steph, now kneeling in front of him, he didn’t even notice him getting up. His hands were still on his face, sometimes making their way to his hair with soft, gentle touches.
Maybe this is a fragment of his dream that he gets to keep.
If his dreams were all broken now, then let this be the shard that impales his being.
“You mean it?”
Steph looked at him then and Klay knew.
He didn’t need big words nor remarkable gestures. Looking into Steph’s eyes gave him all the confirmation he needed.
“I’m falling in love with you, Klay. Really, really fast. I mean it with all my heart, so please believe me.” Steph’s almost frantic like he knows how brittle Klay’s trust was. How fragile his confidence is. “I know I’ve hurt you but I swear I never meant to and it will never be in my intentions to cause you pain.” He was almost pleading now. His hands trembled a little and Klay finds it endearing, how nervous he was sitting in Klay’s childhood backyard. “I want a life with you, so please let me be with you… I promise to put my notes where you can see them easily.” He adds as if it would be the final tick of persuasion.
Klay chuckles at this.
What is he supposed to say to that?
“I think part of me has always been in love with you, Steph.”
Klay finds that was always the truth.
Stephen Curry is his light, he always has been. What more can he do but bask in the radiance that is this person who walked into his life, acting like he owned everything Klay is. Maybe in a way, he did. Steph was the one constant light at the end of his tunnel. He’d forever follow that light no matter how many hurdles there are. He’ll keep following that light as long as it keeps shining for him.
Tomorrow, Klay might find himself alone again.
Today, he’s not.
And by the look in Steph’s eyes, he’s a little more than certain that he won’t be alone for a very long time.
Forever, if he’s feeling generous with himself.
***
Hey, Klay
I’m really sorry you’ll wake up without me. I know you know I’m kinda sappy and I would’ve definitely cuddled more. But I have a thing with UA and I’m already an hour late so I’ll just stick with writing this note for now.
Don’t freak out.
I know you tend to do that sometimes. Don’t worry, it’s a little cute how your normally chill eyes widen. But don’t freak out, I don’t want you to worry. I definitely mean everything from last night. You have to wait for a little while, okay? I promise I’ll figure everything out and not just throw everything at you. I know you’d have your reservations so I’m telling you right now, I’m figuring it out as quickly as possible (cause I really wanna be with you already).
I’m going to call my best friend to sort myself out to make sure I’m all good for you, okay? Her name’s Ayesha, you might’ve seen her on TV or something. She’s an actress.
You know, I remember something she told me way before. She said, one day I’d find something that I wouldn’t know I’ve been missing my whole life. I never believed her then ‘cause I was satisfied with the life I had. But when I met you I got what she meant. You filled me like no one else did. It’s why I get extra sad when you look like a kicked puppy whenever your leg is brought up. You’re beautiful and it frustrates me beyond words when I see you struggling to see that. (and please let me help you when it hurts, I see you wince sometimes but you always snap at me whenever I reach for you.) Your presence is enough to sate me, your words always seem to calm me and your smile brings me tenfold joy. Before I knew it, I found myself anticipating every moment I got to spend with you. It’s such a high but I’m not afraid of falling. If it’s with you, then I’ll be glad to do so. (don’t get weirded out, it’s the sleepiness I swear! I mean every word, though.)
Anyway, I really have to go now.
Before I do… I just want to say that I’m really really happy you dropped your walking stick that night at the club. Sounds rude, I know, but without that, we wouldn’t have met. Or maybe we would because I can’t seem to think of my life without you anymore. Maybe we were always meant to meet, don’t you think?
~ Steph
P.S. I really really like you
In a very non-platonic way
But you’re also a great friend, don’t get me wrong
I just want to be more than just your friend, so I can kiss you and hold you
I hope you don’t like anyone else
I think you like me too ‘cause we kissed for so long, I think it’s safe to say it wasn’t all one-sided? Yikes!
Thank you for coming to my life.
P.P.S oh hey, guess what?
We’re designing this new signature shoe in honor of you
Wait for it
P.P.P.S I really like you, Klay
A whole lot
I think I’m actually falling for you, hard
You’re it for me
Please don’t ever doubt that