On Monday morning, leaning against a cupboard, Ishan Kishan was making a mental list of the situations when Shubman Gill looked the best amongst all scenarios, because obviously, he didn't have anything better to do.

No, he wasn't being sarcastic.

He actually didn't have anything better to do.

Basically, earlier, after a miserable, miserable night, Ishan had dragged himself up to his room after a very tasteless breakfast of milk and cornflakes and Tabasco sauce. You'd think the Tabasco sauce would add some spice to the milk-and-cornflakes, but no, even that failed.

And even Surya bhai said the same: everything was tasteless, starting from milk-cornflakes-Tabasco sauce to bread-ham-jam-sambar.

Maybe the Australians had killed all their taste buds yesterday...

Shubman had woken up by the time Ishan dragged his feet in. He was just huddled in bed, his hair looking like a crow's nest and dark, dark circles under his eyes.

"You look terrible," Ishan greeted.

"Cheers," said Shubman.

"Um, what for?"

"For me being real. Isn't that what people are always saying. Stop faking it. If you feel terrible, it's good to look terrible. If any of us fifteen or anyone who has ever played for India or anyone in India who cares about cricket doesn't look terrible today, they are obviously faking the normal look. You should not be commenting about someone looking real, if you must comment, go and poke Rahul bhai, he was looking perfectly normal when he dropped by earlier, he is the real concern-! Or even Jassi bhai who-"

Ishan wisely decided to break in loudly.

"Shubi? Maybe it's a surprise to you, but I actually meant it's the feeling part that's the concern, not the looking part."

"-even woke up and video called-oh."

Ishan nodded. "Yes."

"Whatever," said Shubman, grudgingly.

He shook himself out of bed, and stumbled to the dresser. After two minutes of him groping the contents atop it, Ishan asked, "What exactly are you looking for?"

"My toothbrush."

"That's inside the bathroom."

"Oh," said Shubman. "Okay. Whatever," he repeated and stumbled towards the bathroom.

As he passed Ishan, close-by he looked even worse. His face was still tear-stained. Maybe that's why he was stumbling-he couldn't see clearly. Plus there were nail marks all over his forearms. He did that sometimes. Claw at himself to get out rage or grief. He was weird that way.

For a moment, Ishan considered pulling Shubman into a hug, but that was likely to get him clawed at, too...though it might be worth the hazard...

But before Ishan had decided, Shubman had already shut the door of the bathroom.

Which was how Ishan was left (with nothing better to do), resting his shoulder against the cupboard, gazing at the door which had just shut, and pondering when were the times Shubman looked best.

The top one would have to be when he returned after winning a match, all abuzz with happiness, contentment and excitement. His cheeks would be glowing and he would be smiling, both showing up the dimple even more prominently. His hair would be plastered to his forehead, his shirt to his body. And he just wouldn't be able to keep still, or stop smiling, and Ishan could never not smile back, not even if GT had won a match against MI.

That would definitely be the top...but what about when he just woke up?

On days except the morning after from losing a World Cup final, that is, Ishan amended mentally, and laughed at himself and felt destiny laughing at him, too.

The other days, basically everyday, when Shubman just woke up, all warm and swollen, grinning sleepily at Ishan if he was around, watching him. He always looked fairer than he normally was when he'd just woken up, which was kind of appealing. His hair would still be a bit of a crow's nest, but not in a hopeless way like today. Ishan would call it messily charming. And adorable.

That was a strong contender for Rank 1, too...

Closely competing with when he was actually sleeping.

Shubman looked like an angel when he slept, his chest rising and falling steadily, eyelids fluttering gently, looking so peaceful and beautiful that Ishan had sometimes whiled away hours watching him. Till, of course, a stirring of sense inside would remind him: creepy much?

Now, could Ishan keep an angel away from Rank 1?

The angel might curse him or something.

Unless.

Unless the devil protected him for putting him on Rank 1, that is, when Shubman dressed up for a party. Possibly where Sara would be present. Ishan scowled ever so slightly, but it vanished as he enjoyed the image of all the times he'd seen Shubman dressed up for a party, very often having borrowed a shirt from Ishan himself. When he actually did dress up and set his hair, he looked so drop-dead hot that Ishan would almost regret not having given him a goofy, nerdy shirt (not that he possessed any) so that the girls would stay away from him.

Honestly, though, he'd look every bit as hot even in a silly shirt. Maybe more.

But he definitely looked the hottest when he was changing after gym, flushed and sweaty...shirtless. The only time Ishan got to gaze at him shirtless, which he assuredly did unabashedly, apart from when he got out of the pool, with his hair down flat and water droplets running down all over his body which made Ishan want to-

The sensible voice inside him put in an appearance. Hello, sir?

Sorry, he told it hastily, and decided to keep the whole shirtless scenarios out of consideration. Those were for Shubman's girlfriends to judge. He didn't have any, at present, but he might have. Might soon. Ishan would have to be content with the other scenarios.

Like when he met Ishan after a long time and came flying to envelop him in a hug, eyes shining and smile spilling out of his face.

Like when he was scolded by Shahneel di or Virat bhaiya about something and the corner of his mouths turned down and his eyes turned so hurt and melting that he was instantly forgiven. Actually, he did that with everyone, even Ishan. That was why Ishan could never stay mad at him.

Like when he celebrated his teammates' achievements. Like when he clung to his dad. Like when he got the sad sort of drunk. Like when-

Shubman emerged from the bathroom, face dripping water.

"You're a knockout, you know," said Ishan, conversationally. "I can't recall a single instance before today that you looked terrible."

"Thank you," said Shubman acidly.

"You're welcome," politely.

Shubman scowled.

"You don't have the right to say I'm a knockout," he said, clearly in a very disagreeable mood. "You don't look that terrible even today. I can't recall a single instance you looked terrible. You're a knockout even today."

Ishan turned to look at himself in the mirror. He might not look as terrible as Shubman because the tear stains were missing, but even he had dark circles and crow's nest hair, neither of which went with being a knockout-

Then he caught sight of Shubman in the mirror.

Okay, who said a dark-circled, tear-stained, messy-haired person couldn't be attractive as hell?

"Actually, so do you," admitted Ishan. "The heartbroken sort of knockout, but definitely a knockout."

Shubman's scowl deepened.

"Anything I can do to reduce the heartbroken part a bit?" Ishan asked, only half-jokingly.

That was the worst thing about him-he was terrible at cheering people up. He was relatively good at cheering himself up (a trick he'd learnt from Jaddu bhai: laugh, laugh and keep laughing), but others...people like Shubman...wouldn't appreciate jokes or laughter after horrible things happened.

"Maybe steal the trophy from Pat, modify Rohit bhaiya and Virat bhaiya's memories for five minutes and let them hold the trophy thinking it's theirs," said Shubman glumly. "Can you do that, Ishan?"

"Uh," said Ishan. "Maybe if I could get Harry's wand or Doraemon's pocket, I could try."

"So you can't do that because we can't get Harry's wand or Doraemon's pocket," said Shubman, sounding bad-tempered like it was Ishan's fault they couldn't get the wand or the pocket.

Ishan decided to accept the accusation quietly.

"I guess so," he said. "Anything else I could do?"

"Yeah," said Shubman. "You could kiss me."

Ishan laughed nervously.

See, he always laughed at the wrong times.

Shubman came towards him so suddenly, Ishan almost thought he was about to get a well-deserved slap for his mistimed jokes and laughter...

But he got a kiss instead.

A pepperminty, warm, soft kiss that elevated into a rather dangerously head-spinning one within seconds.

When Shubman drew back, he looked both confused and triumphant, and he was blinking like he couldn't believe himself. Ishan couldn't say he believed Shubman either.

"I'm sorry," said Shubman. "I shouldn't have-I should have asked-"

Idiot.

"Are you kissing me because we lost the final yesterday?" Ishan asked, cautiously, and was immediately hit with what a stupid, stupid, irrelevant question that was-

"Yes," said Shubman.

A miffed Ishan was about to pull away, though Shubman didn't seem to have any intention of ever letting go...

"Then I'll remember this final loss not just as a mean twist of fate but as the usefully mean twist of fate that finally gave me the courage to do what I've wanted to do for years."

"Years? Oh-" Ishan stopped trying to pull away. "How...how many years would you say?"

Shubman's brow creased.

"At least three?" he wondered aloud. "Four, possibly."

Oh...my...God.

"You coward," Ishan said, grabbing Shubman's head and pulling it down-a lot down because of course god could not have taken a couple of inches off Shubman's lanky body and given it to Ishan-and kissed him again.

"Coward?" Shubman's protest got lost in Ishan's mouth.

As soon as they'd finished regaining breath, they kissed again.

Again. Again.

The best part was, it was everything Ishan had ever dreamt of. It wasn't more, because he had already conjured up how kissing Shubman Gill would be like floating in heaven but it wasn't any less either. A very Delhi-summer heaven, because the surroundings felt all hot. Ishan would have thought heaven would have air conditioning, or Bangalore-summer weather, but really, the heat was the second-best part of it.

With a face and a heart and a body like that-an angel and a teddy bear and a knockout all in one-Ishan supposed Shubman could never disappoint, not in any aspect.

Some time later, Ishan's knees were trembling too much to hold him up. To his satisfaction, Shubman's was, too, so they sat down, or collapsed on the couch for a bit, both of them gasping. And clutching each other's hands really, really hard.

"You called me a coward," was the first thing Shubman said.

"Yeah, I called a coward a coward," said Ishan, shakily.

"How come you suddenly wanted to kiss me back?" asked Shubman.

"I didn't want it suddenly-!" Ishan said vehemently, before realizing it had been counterproductive.

"Really?" Shubman's eyes lit up with surprise and delight. "How long did you want to, then?"

Ishan felt himself flushing.

Now this was going into Dubai-summer weather.

"Ishan!"

"Uh, possibly as long as we've known each other, but-"

"And I'm the coward?" said Shubman, stunned.

"Yes," said Ishan, and shut Shubman off with his mouth before he could say anything more.