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Draven closed his eyes.

Every day during practice, he would sit like this and let the mesmerizing thwack of shuttle against nylon consume him. The scrawny pied raven had never heard a gunshot before, but he was convinced that it must have sounded like this. The sweet sound began to grace his ears after he had convinced his best friend, Ramiro, to join the badminton club. Getting him to join the desperate club was its own struggle.

Ramiro was more than your typical nerdy kid. He was every teacher's favorite: a quiet, well-mannered hybrid who sat in the front of the class and knew when it was appropriate to answer questions over his more "normal" classmates. His uniforms were always ironed to perfection, every corner crisp to the touch. And glasses were basically a given for someone who could always be found in the library, often pulling all nighters and passing out where he sat. (The school always took pity on him though). However, Ramiro didn't just look the part. He carried his previous school's quiz bowl team to national stardom, becoming the first all hybrid team to make it to nationals. He was more than just a student. He was an icon.

So, when Draven approached Alden Academy's brightest student with sports club prospects, Ramiro politely declined the offer.

It was time for plan B.

The next step, in Draven's mind, was appealing to this genius' sense of reason. Ramiro was a logical guy so if he talked to him about the club's struggles, he might get the guy to budge. He brought up how the club desperately needed more players. The raven estimated that if they didn't recruit a certain number of new members, they wouldn't even have enough players to attend matches.

No dice.

Draven mulled over his options for a whole week before coming to the conclusion that the only way to get Ramiro to join the club was to tell him the truth. So, on a particularly stormy afternoon while everyone was cramped in the cafeteria, Draven took the opportunity to slide closer to Ramiro on the ruby red booth, place his hand on top of his, and say, "I really just want to spend more time with you."

Only then did Ramiro truly consider Draven's offer.

The first week of practice with the badminton club's newest addition was amazing. Draven loved being the teacher for once. He had to teach Ramiro everything; even how to hold the racket. Standing in front of him, Draven would pluck those delicate fingers one by one into the shape they needed to be in to grip the tape correctly. During these moments, he could feel the heat coming from Ramiro's frantic post-warm up breathing. It felt nice being that close to someone.

Soon enough, Ramiro was competent enough to play full matches. So the two of them would scrim at the beginning and end of every practice. At first these scrimmages were pretty lighthearted. Draven didn't want to go too hard on Ramiro but still felt the need to beat him. He settled on playing with his food, forcing the hybrid to run around the court endlessly.

Unfortunately, that control over the game didn't last for long. After a few weeks, Draven began struggling to beat Ramiro. Despite still winning the matches, the raven didn't understand why he was playing so poorly. Or was Ramiro just playing really well? Draven couldn't tell. As he tried to teach him new tricks, he noticed that Ramiro would still listen intently, nodding his head along and following Draven's instructions. But, in the actual scrimmages, he would play differently, doing maneuvers he was never taught but kept stumping Draven over and over again.

What took Draven months of private lessons to master, seemingly took Ramiro days. And after a month, not only were Ramiro's smashes looking stronger than Draven's, but he could clear from one far side of the court to the other and had much more consistent shuttle placement. He was in complete control of his body and his racket.

It was now clear to Draven that Ramiro was gifted in more than academics and he wondered why his friend was so resistant to joining the club in the first place if he could do this. Because in just over a month, Ramiro began giving Alex, the club's captain, the best challenge he had in Alden for a very long time. In fact, that's what he was doing right now.

Draven opened his eyes.

He couldn't help but smile watching Ramiro dart around the court. He felt like a proud parent, watching his son conquer all the challenges he couldn't in life. It was such a treat. Ramiro's footwork was already advanced, being able to reach each corner of the court in a single step. He explained to Draven that the key was to always try to return to the center of the court after your shot. That way you had the smallest amount of distance to move to return the next one. Draven gripped his racket tighter.

It was one of those gunshot smashes Draven so often heard nowadays that ended today's scrimmage between Alex and Ramiro.

21-14, 18-21, 12-21.

It was the first time Alex had been defeated this year. After the two shook hands, Draven vaulted from his chair on the sidelines and walked over to the court.

"Hey!" he called, getting the hybrid's attention. He didn't know how those long, floppy ears didn't get in his way while running around. But at least they were good for one thing. "Wanna play today's match?" Draven asked. Ramiro held up a finger before quickly running over to his bag and pulling out a water bottle. After nearly downing the entire thing, he ran back up to the net.

"A whole match or just a set?" Ramiro questioned.

"Let's play a match."

Ramiro smirked and hit the shuttle in the air. When Draven looked up, he could hardly see the birdie due to the intensity of the lights.

"Okaaaaaaaay but I'm not gonna go easy on ya~" Ramiro teased as the shuttle fell back to the floor, its tip facing Draven. "Your serve." he said, scooping up the shuttle with his racket and hitting it over the net. Draven caught it and forced a smile back.

"Wouldn't want that anyway."

Draven stood in the left service book, watching Ramiro's position in the right. The hybrid was standing perfectly in the middle of it and Draven didn't know whether to serve long or short. After a few seconds of staring into Ramiro's eyes, he decided to serve long. Bad decision. The serve went a little too high, which made it easy for Ramiro to take a step back and smash the shuttle right back down in his face.

"Ow..." Draven muttered, rubbing his stinging cheek.

"Sorry!" Ramiro called and ran up to the net. "You okay?" The raven nodded and tossed the shuttle over to him.

"Your serve."

The next few points went to Ramiro based off of his serves alone. After watching him for a month, Draven knew that the hybrid always served the same way. However, having this information didn't make it any easier to return them. Each serve barely missed the tip of the net and landed perfectly on the front service line. It was so close to being out that Draven didn't swing the first time. When he did swing, the shuttle was so low in the air that he was forced to clear it high and long to the back of the court. This just resulted in more smashes from Ramiro. Smashes he wasn't good enough to return.

Draven squinted; these lights were so annoying. He began to hold his racket so tight that his nails dug into his skin. But he knew that he was rushing. He had to do something to ruin Ramiro's momentum. So, on his next serve, Draven stepped up to meet the shuttle just as it grazed the top of the net and pushed it in the opposite direction to where Ramiro was standing. The sudden change of pace caught the hybrid off guard and it was Draven's point.

"Oooh, that was nice!" Ramiro called while hitting the shuttle over to Draven who missed it with his hand and watched as the shuttle tumbled to the floor.

"Um, thanks. It's..." Draven trailed off.

"1-7."

"Yes. 1-7."

Draven sighed and picked up the shuttle from the ground. And now he was back to the guessing game. Should he serve short or long? Ramiro wouldn't expect him to serve long again, would he? As he watched his friend, the raven suddenly came up with an idea.

Draven served it as hard as he could at Ramiro's face. This seemed to cause the hybrid to panic as he hit the shuttle right into the net. But afterwards laughed it off and pushed the shuttle back over to Draven.

"Using dirty tactics now, aren't we?"

"I guess," Draven responded while laughing nervously.

The rest of the set didn't go his way. After that cheese strategy, Ramiro proceeded to score point after point after point. Draven was able to get a couple more here and there but Ramiro dominated that court. He was everywhere at the same time. If Draven hit it to the far end, Ramiro was there to clear it back to him. If he tried to drop the shuttle over the net, Ramiro was right there to make Draven run back for a clear. The hybrid even managed to return each one of Draven's smashes. He was unbeatable.

5-21.

"Ready for the second set?" Ramiro asked, a playful smile on his face. Draven looked up at the clock stationed over their school's banner. There was still 30 minutes left but he was done. The raven picked up his phone and grimaced.

"Shit. I forgot that my mom wanted help with something at home. I got to catch an earlier bus." Ramiro squinted his eyes and frowned. For a second, Draven worried that he would be called out on his bluff but Ramiro waved him off anyway.

"Fun match, dude."

Draven scoffed, picked up his bags, kicked them behind the bleachers before sneaking out the far side door. With only his racket and a change of clothes in tow, the raven stomped his way up the stairs and made the long walk down the hallway to the boys locker room.

Once inside, he sat down on the closest bench. His breathing ran wild. As his chest expanded and deflated faster than a life-saving cpr receiver, Draven looked at his racket. The thing was truly a piece of art. Strings perfectly tightened for the control he wanted to have. He liked that style, control over power. The frame was also just light enough, making his smashes cut through the air like a chef's prized knife. It was the most expensive thing his parents ever bought him. But, they happily forked over the money because they were just so happy that their son finally found something he was interested in.

The sound it made being smashed against the wall was pathetic. Even at his most raw, he couldn't recreate that sound he heard every day.

Draven forgot how to talk. All he could do was make these pain-fueled grunts and cries as he threw his racket over and over and over again. He screamed. He kicked the wall. He scratched at his face. When he picked it up for a final throw, he let out a scream so loud that it could be heard faintly from the courts below. Nothing made him feel better. Why wasn't he feeling better?

Draven began to pace around the room, his hands on the back of his head. What was wrong with him? Why was he so angry?

Then he smashed his foot against the wall. Then he did it again. And again. And again until he had broken it. Miraculously, Draven didn't even feel the pain. He was high on the rage which lit his blood on fire.

"Draven?"

He slid down to the floor, back against the cold lockers. Tears streamed down his face. He couldn't stop them but he didn't even want to try. All the raven could think about was how much of a failure he was and how unfair all of this was and how angry he was. Everything turned out the same way.

"Draven!"

Suddenly, Draven was enveloped in the warmth of the person he both loved and hated most in the world. The hug wanted to melt away his pain and insecurities but Draven didn't know if he'd let it. All he did know, and would never admit, was that it felt good.

"Just breathe," Ramiro whispered, stroking his back. "Just breathe."

Draven took a deep breath.