Chapter Text
Somewhere between 2013 (and really before) and 2016, things changed.
They were fuck buddies at best, and reluctant peer and mentor otherwise, and that was all either of them wanted. But things changed, because they grew older and none the wiser of how fail-able the heart is.
Not necessarily for the better, but things changed.
And it was dumb of him to expect anything but change, because his life was set on the precedent of constant growth and change, and he should have know this thing would change to.
It wasn’t love, or even affection in the beginning , but born from a simpler sort of want.
It was easier then, and LeBron thinks too hard about any of it, he will crack under the pressure.
Men like him, men like Steph cannot afford that luxury.
-
LeBron tells himself that if he could go back and change things, he would.
Tell that young kid that looked up to him that he wouldn’t make it, beat him a little harder in their first game against each other, anything to make something change. He wouldn’t go to those college games or invite the kid over to his house, and stare at the young man with something akin to hunger.
Tells himself that he wants change, that he doesn’t want more, that the less he keeps thinking about is okay. That if he could have this fully, he wouldn’t take it.
He wouldn’t but that’s out of fear than anything else.
If anything, if the fame dies down and that silly beautiful bright boy is still by his side, he’d do something proper, but dreams are foolish, and neither of them are in a position to dream.
He’d make that foolish thing between them disappear, change the way he got stuck on the very person who put him through so much pain. Because it’s painful, losing to the younger man, seeing him succeed, and wanting that all in the same breath. It would be easier if the thing between them was born from hate instead of admiration.
Steph is hard to hate, and even harder to love. And maybe it’s because that easy charm he has doesn’t affect LeBron much anymore, or maybe because it affected him too much before.
Love (and he’ll only call it this in the security of his mind, safe from stereotypes and fear, and from Steph finding out) is a terrible thing and it burns him, castrates him where he stands, and maybe that’s why it would be so easy to take it out on Steph instead.
He tells himself he would change things. Ruin things of it meant saving himself.
LeBron has never been great at lying to himself.
-
At first, it was pure curiosity that makes LeBron go and watch the game. The draft was soon, and any college player who hits the news usually means something great. LeBron built himself up to greatness, and maybe it’s his urge to always be more that makes him want to see the kid thrive.
Or maybe it’s selfishness, wanting the best on his team, if only so he can get what he wants. To prove that he is still great and that some kid from Davidson can’t beat him.
The idea that they both could be on top wasn’t a thought that occurred to him then, something that comes back to bite him now.
Of course, this was years ago, and he could hardly blame himself for the vague hatred that would grow between them. On court rivalries can only go so far before they start mixing with real life. And as fond as he is for the other man, all of that dissipates in the heat of the harsh lights, and his team relying on him to win. Hatred and love are too similar to separate, and he wonders if it will always feel like this, a burning desire coupled with a dangerous fury.
Or maybe basketball is the only real thing in his life, and that’s why post-season feels so dull and draining, being away from the very thing he’s built his life upon.
Regardless, Curry was (and is) great. Better than great, and too talented for college basketball and teammates that held him back. And they did, although Steph will never admit it, too nice for how tough of a player he is.
He wonders how the man can separate his life from his game, wonders how he can still look at LeBron with wide warm eyes and not feel some frustration, some pain at the sight of him. Maybe Steph is just better at hiding, or maybe LeBron is just soft in regards to this.
After all he is the one pining like a fool, and Steph is in the limelight basking in all the success that LeBron sometimes can’t stomach.
He wants to enjoy it, but he is old(er) and tired, and trying to find balance between all that he can have and all that he can’t.
LeBron realized this, and for a moment, even in those early years, he wondered what it would be like for the boy (even now it’s hard to see him as a man, so young and small and childishly happy) to be on his team.
He thinks about the distance between them, even when he stays in California. Some part of them will always feel distant, and maybe it’s the media, or his tendency to anger, or Steph’s ability to push his buttons like no other.
Some part of him wonders, not for the lack of trying, if this will ever stop.
-
Eventually that tension builds and breaks a bit. LeBron is left wanting more and Steph is caught between his desire to run and his desire to burrow deeper into LeBron’s chest.
LeBron pushes him over the line, and like a skittish animal, he falls apart, runs like Steph never does.
Or maybe he too has come to the conclusion that this is bad for them. Except Steph actually has the guts to stop.
LeBron stays in bed, sheets tugged over his hips, a modesty that doesn’t fit him. But as he watches Steph dress, eyes tracking the disappearing skin, he can afford the luxury of being covered up.
“Don’t have anything tomorrow.” He says quietly, aware of that unspoken rule that in the late night, they stay quiet. “Stay awhile.” He says despite the steady burn of embarrassment in his chest, the head-cold making his throat clogged.
He watches the smooth skin of Steph’s stomach disappear, and he bites back that uncomfortable longing inside him.
“Can’t, I said I’d meet my parents today.” Steph says back, eyes not quite meeting his.
LeBron tugs the sheets further up against him, and tries again.
“C’mon you can wait until morning.” He tries, eyes trailing lean hands tugging a jacket on, how they shake ever so slightly. Steph is hurting. They both are.
The younger man shakes his head, putting his phone into his pocket and adjusting the watch on his wrist.
“No.” His eyes meet LeBron’s, shuttered and wary, colder than they’ve been in a long time. “I don’t think I can.”
Despite the restlessness in him, despite everything wrong, his eyes flick down to the man’s lips, to his lean waist, and he wants. Wants to get up and kiss the man goodbye, beg him to stay and let him have this a little longer. But he remembers who he is and who he isn’t, and he stills with a sigh caught in his throat, still staring down Steph.
“Lock the door on your way out.” He says eventually, tired and angry, and unwilling to yell at Steph. They’ve done this before, the anger and the hatred, and LeBron is doing his best to get better, to fix whatever it is they broke.
If they had anything to break it certainly wasn’t enough to stay together. And that makes him idly miss the rough hotel sex and the on court violence, because at least then Steph sought him out, touched him.
Steph stills, hands burrowed into his jacket, hiding the shakiness from earlier, and his eyes flicker shut, before he slowly nods.
“Alright. See ya.”
The door clicks shut. LeBron doesn’t try to stop him.
-
“Hey.” Chris says, greeting him warmly with a smile as LeBron sits down in the private booth they rented out. He scoots to the far right so that the man can slide in next to him, and he nods in greeting to the two men in front of him.
“Did y’all order drinks yet?”
“Yeah.” Carmelo says, a smirk playing on his lips and LeBron raises an eyebrow in mock frustration.
“Where the fuck is mine then?”
“Get your own, we ain’t your roadies ‘Bron.” He shoots back and the both of them stare at each other before breaking into twin grins.
“Here man.” Dwayne says, and then he makes a little move with his back, mocking and fond all the same. “Anything for our model princess.”
“Yo shut up?” He says incredulously trying to block out the infamous picture of them together. He had enough mocking from that to last a lifetime, but Dwayne never seems to let it go.
“Aw come on, maybe you could take on modeling when you retire.” Melo adds, and LeBron turns to him with an eyebrow raised.
“I ain’t paying for dinner if you keep it up.” Instantly both Dwayne and Chris make exaggerated apologies, and it sends them all into a bout of laughter.
And then his phone makes a noise, one that gets him tense and frustrated all over again. He looks at his phone while Chris goes to get more drinks, and it takes all of him to not sigh like some pining fool.
Steph: hey man, i’m in la for a bit. lemme know if you wanna meet
It’s not much, and the message is one that has occurred between them a thousand times, but it still has enough power over him to distract him.
“You talk to Curry?” Dwayne asks over his shoulder, and LeBron jolts in surprise, phone slamming down into the table, so he can turn and glare at the man.
“No.” He denies and he gets an amused look in return.
And it’s vaguely true, they don’t talk much lately, not like they did in the early days, not even how they did when they were bent on pissing each other off. Part of them doesn’t need conversation anymore, and part of LeBron likes how simple things are getting, despite wanting more.
“Who’s Steph then?” Carmelo asks from the other side of him, and he’s known him for a bit longer, so he sacks the other man with his elbow, smirking at the grunt of pain he gets in return.
“It’s nothing. Had to keep in contact with him for the All-Star game.” He admits, and it’s not a lie if it’s sort of true. They did talk more because of the game, were closer for a while because of it.
“That was awhile ago.”
LeBron shrugs, and he eyes Chris’ figure at the bar, suddenly desperate for alcohol in his stomach.
Both Dwayne and Carmelo stare at him for a long while, and LeBron does his best to stare back, ever aware of the presence he is supposed to have, and everything he is not supposed to be.
“What?” He eventually asks after the staring grows unnerving, and the two of them share a weird look, before Dwayne elbows Carmelo encouragingly.
“You fucking him or something?” Carmelo jokes, teeth shining in the low light, and LeBron must have done something because he stops laughing, and stares at him for a long while.
In his foolishness he is unable to deny it, and for a moment it’s an awkward silence that should of been filled with LeBron laughing or readily taking the joke further. Something like ‘Oh yeah, he’s a bitch on the court and a bigger one in the sheets.’
He probably would’ve a few years ago, but he’s old and soft, and a little weak at the knees for the stupid man, and it keeps him silent in a moment where he shouldn’t be.
“Shut the fuck up Mel.” His teeth grind a bit, and he stares down the empty expanse of his glass, and envisions smashing it or do something terribly ridiculous just to change the subject.
“No shit?” Dwayne chips in, looking both confused but also grim at the same time, and LeBron stiffens, pulling himself to full height.
“Shut the fuck up.” He repeats, and eventually he’ll have to come up with a better comeback, but it works momentarily, as all three of them stare at each other with mixed expressions from amusement to disbelief to anger.
“Man I’m not judging you.” Dwayne says slowly, expression softening to something more sincere. “You know Zaya, I ain’t like that.”
Carmelo nods and stays silent, but he is smiling, and LeBron takes a big breath in, and then exhales trying to shed off this layer of awkwardness.
“Forget about it alright?” He asks, tone unforgiving of the kindness his friends are showing, and if he were more honest or less hateful of himself he could open up about this.
“Just be careful yeah?” Melo says, eyes still kind but face serious. “Don’t want you getting into trouble for things that aren’t your fault.”
“I’m careful.”
“Anyone could read your phone messages, it’s easy to get caught man.”
“We are careful.” LeBron states, and some part of his stomach jolts in fondness and memories of a decade flying by. “This has been going on for a long time, alright?” He asks as if their opinion would change anything.
No matter how scared the two of them are, if they were genuinely worried about other opinions, they would have stopped a long time ago.
LeBron has forgotten what it’s like to genuinely worry about it, instead of that false fear in him that he knows he should have.
He’s not ashamed of it, but he figures he probably should be.
“Damn. So y’all are a thing?” Dwayne asks, a bit excited and LeBron feels a jolt of guilt with how fast he shakes his head.
“No. Of course not.” A sigh and then his phone buzzes again, jolting him into speaking more. “I fucking hated him for too long for us to be anything.”
It’s an admission he wasn’t aware of until it left his mouth, and he sits there for a moment because what the fuck?
He reaches for his phone, the knowledge that he got another text bothering him, and he reads in silence, ignoring the two sets of eyes on him.
Steph: i was thinking we could play ball?
Steph: saw how much you went for 3’s this season, though i’d show you some tips ;)
Steph: just let me know okay?
LeBron stares at them for a moment, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth, and he has to swallow it back for fear that it will keep growing.
LeBron: sounds good 👍 imma kick ur ass though 😂
He shoots the text back quickly, chest achy and excited all at once, and he looks up in time to see Chris slide in next to him, the tray in his hand overfilling with liquor.
“Fuck yeah. Thanks Chris.” He says reaching for a shot and downing it, ignoring the burn in his throat.
Dwayne and Carmelo keep staring at him, and some part of him knows they just want him to be happy and safe.
He doesn’t know how to tell them it’s too late for that.