Chapter Text
Minseok has never been more grateful for their packed, idol-like schedule. Before they even get the chance to fully sink into their intensive MSI preparations, they’re somehow swept into a relentless cycle of photoshoots and advertisement sets—which, for Minseok, works as a perfect buffer that keeps his usual 1-on-1 time with Suhwan to a minimum, with all five of them constantly moving and doing things together, surrounded by a sea of staff.
It’s exhausting, but it gives him exactly what he needs. Time. Space to steady himself after the sudden ‘awakening’ brought on by that whole damned ‘flower’ incident.
“Man, this fit is just not it,” Minseok grumbles to himself, pick-picking at the structured lapel of the white designer blazer he’s been stuffed into—which somehow caught the most unwanted attention.
Suhwan looks up from his phone, tilting his head in that quiet, attentive way of his. “Why, hyung? What’s wrong with it?”
“Why, you ask?” Minseok scoffs, tugging at the hem. “Because I’m short, and I just look like a middle-schooler at a graduation ceremony in this thing.” He’s trying so hard to sound casual while checking his reflection for the tenth time. It’s a blessing the mirror is there—gives him a legitimate excuse not to look directly into Suhwan’s eyes.
“You look good though.” Suhwan says, and how did he manage to sound so normal saying that? This guy can’t be real, Minseok thinks with rising panics, but the guy doesn’t stop there,
“Minseok-hyung would look good in anything,” he continues, his voice trailing off into a thoughtful hum. “…but I think you look especially cuter wearing a white suit like that.”
⟢
Huh?
…? Cute?
Minseok freezes. And before he could gather a single coherent reaction, Suhwan’s eyes go wide, and he starts frantically swatting the air with his hands. “Ah, right, sorry! You don’t like being called cute, do you, hyung? You’re a man, after all.”
Across from them, a loud scoff cuts through the air.
“Aah, seriously, you guys are disgusting,” Hyeonjun groans, leaning back in his chair. “Also, Suhwan-ah, are you blind? The earth must be flat if that guy actually hates being called cute.”
“Just because I like cute and pretty aesthetics doesn’t mean I like being called cute myself,” Minseok retorts, rolling his eyes at the jungler.
“Oh, really? Then why are you blushing like that?” Hyeonjun drawls, “I can see it from all the way over here by the way. Or is it because….” he trails off, giving Minseok a look that makes him regret that one life choice he’d made.
God. Minseok should’ve strangled him and dumped the body back when this idiot was blackout drunk.
Suhwan looks visibly flustered, and Minseok can’t stop the heat creeping up his cheeks anymore. “You—”
“Alright~ Peyz-seonsu, please come here~”
The staff’s timing sure is impeccable. Suhwan immediately gives a small, apologetic bow and scurries off toward the lighting rigs, leaving the room with only Minseok and Hyeonjun in it.
Minseok threw himself down the chair right beside the jungler, shooting him his most menacing glare. “Why are you always at us, huh? What’s your problem?”
“My problem,” Hyeonjun says, not even bothering to look up from his phone, “lies on watching you two acting dumb while pining for each other. It’s mentally exhausting watching it everyday, you know.”
“The fuck are you even saying?” Minseok whispers, glancing toward the door.
“Ryu Minseok,” Hyeonjun finally puts his phone down and leans over, “it’s fucking obvious that you have a crush on your adc. And guess what? He’s just as gone for you,” he pokes a finger into Minseok’s chest.
“Now, be a man like me and settle it already. End our suffering.”
“We’re focused professionals. We don’t have room for those distractions,” Minseok insists, swatting the finger away.
“Yeah?” Hyeonjun scoffs, leaning back casually. “And look at me and Hyunjoon-hyung. We work just fine. We’re still winning everything, aren’t we? It’s just your head overthinking everything into a disaster.”
“We’re not the same!” Minseok’s hands move animatedly as he talks. “Don’t you see how serious Suhwanie is lately? He’s camping in the practice room every single day. Imagine how disastrous it would be for him if he had a support who has a cr—” Minseok cuts himself off, his remaining words dying in his throat when he catches the triumphant, shark-like grin spreading across Hyeonjun’s face.
“Gotcha,” the jungler purrs. “So you do admit you have a crush on him.”
Damnit.
“That’s not the point!” Minseok groans, burying his face in his palms. “And even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. Winning is the only thing that matters, and we already are winning. Suhwanie is pushing himself for our team, and we too have to lock in for the MSI. The bullshit you’re spewing would just mess with his head and ruin our momentum.”
Hyeonjun tilts his head playfully. “Pushing himself for our team, huh? Yeah, pretty sure he’s grinding 16 hours a day for all five of us. Definitely not to keep a certain someone locked for the next year~”
“You’re delusional.“
“I’m simply observant.”
“Well, whatever.” Minseok shrugs, slumping deeper into his chair. “I know what’s best for the team. I’m keeping things stable.”
“We both know whatever you’re planning, it’s not gonna work ‘till the end, man,” Hyeonjun says, finally rising from his chair with a lazy stretch. “You can only dodge skill shots for so long before you run out of spells and space to sidestep.”
And that’s his final jab. He saunters off, leaving Minseok alone with the silence of the room and the loudness of his own head.
Huh.
Hyeonjun’s words can be a critical hit when he least expects them.
But Minseok doesn’t have the time to overthink it, because not long after they’re called to the set, the ultimate distraction drifts into view.
Suhwan steps out in a white shirt that makes him look… Minseok doesn’t even know how to put it into words. He’s never been particularly eloquent about things like this.“Pretty” is the closest he can get—because for as long as he can remember, Minseok has always had a weakness for pretty things. And standing there now, bathed in the soft glow of the set, Suhwan is the very definition of that weakness.
Minseok watches from the sidelines, leaning against a heavy equipment case, struck by how well the light treats him. The white of the shirt acts like a reflector, sharpening the lines of his features and drawing every ounce of attention to his face—especially his eyes.
Across the set, the staff and photographer shouts some direction, but Minseok barely hears it. He’s too busy being mesmerized by the way his adc looks—and he finds himself stuck on the thought that Suhwan really does look his prettiest in white.
⟢ .
It’s only when Hyeonjun lets out an aggressive, long-suffering sigh from the chair beside him that Minseok realizes he’s probably been staring with his heart on his sleeve.
“Shit, here we go again. At least make it less obvious, man.” the jungler mutters, and Minseok doesn’t even have to glance to his side to feel the man rolling his eyes.
Well, it’s too late already, isn’t it?
“Shut up.”
Whatever. It is what it is.
There is no way around it anymore. It is at this exact moment that Minseok has to really admit that he officially had a crush on Kim Suhwan. God knows from when.
But it’s not like it would change anything.
Right?
It absolutely changes nothing—he tells himself again, and with that comes his decision to do absolutely nothing about it. They’re fine as they are, and Minseok knows better than anyone that wanting more is exactly how one could lose everything.
Okay. Actually, scratch that.
Minseok is clearly overestimating his capability to do nothing about it.
Because after that photoshoot, he can’t even bring himself to look at Suhwan straight in the eye. It’s a full-on difficulty spike—from nearly impossible to straight-up impossible, if that needs clarifying.
It’s not a new discovery that Suhwan is handsome, Minseok has to admit that sometimes he does get distracted for milliseconds by his looks during their draft and strategy discussions—which is inevitable because, again, Minseok has always been a sucker for aesthetics, BUT It used to be manageable enough for him to act through it.
Now, it feels like the boy has evolved—or has finally figured out how to apply a permanent beauty filter to real life, because why else would Minseok’s heart start pounding faster the second their eyes meet?
Minseok absolutely hates it. It ruins and clutters his whole thought process, making it exhausting to act "normal" whenever they're left alone.
“Look at the sequence here, Suhwan-ah” Minseok says, as he points out one scene in their replay. “Had we conceded our prio and taken the long path through this bush while you froze the wave, we could’ve caught at least the support off-guard through this flank angle. It’s riskier, but worth the reward than taking a standard front-to-back trade.”
“Would they really fall for the bait, though?” Suhwan shifts closer, and Minseok can definitely smell the scent of his shampoo—meaning that he has officially encroached past Minseok’s safe-zone.
“Had we pathed that far around,” the younger continues as he points at the screen, seemingly unaware of his support’s rising panic, “And it’s a situation where here is warded? They’d know instantly. We’d lose our prio for nothing. We’re essentially gifting them a free freeze, and I’d be down 15 cs by the next reset.”
“That’s why I said—” Minseok turns around to counter the point, and finds that Suhwan is already looking directly at him. Every words forming in Minseok’s head immediately evaporates as their gazes meet.
⟢
“….”
Suhwan keeps staring at him intently, and Minseok’s chest begins pounding again, making the situation even worse.
“T-that’s w-why I s-said—” he repeats again, already feeling a wave of humiliation kicking in as heat begins to crawl up his face. Goddamnit. Minseok abruptly snaps his head back toward the monitor, trying to gather his thoughts piece by piece by strictly focusing on the map.
“T-that’s why I…s-said…” He clears his throat, desperate for a reset. “T-The vision denial is more valuable than the cs lead in this specific…m-matchup.”
That was absolutely mortifying.
And, fuck. Minseok is pretty much done for.
Because that keeps happening on repeat, to the point where Minseok seriously doubts his own integrity as a professional. What is a man who can’t even control his own thoughts and emotions? Why can’t he channel his composure the way Sanghyeok does? Or be as dumb and reckless as Hyeonjun to just wing it without getting anxious?
How long is this going to last? They’re in the middle of MSI prep, and Minseok highly suspects everyone on the team can sense the suffocating awkwardness radiating off their botlane.
It’s only a matter of time before someone finally decides to gank him over it—because while their scrim is going pretty well, these kinds of things can definitely hinder their synergy building in the long run. Everyone knows that. And Minseok knows it better than anyone, considering he’s been in this exact situation before.
Well?
True to his prediction, here they come. First has to be, of course, Suhwan’s sole protector and self-appointed guardian, his Hyeonjun-hyung.
The said guy is currently sitting cross-legged in front of Minseok, looking like a boss after successfully blocking Minseok’s path when he was trying to tail Sanghyeok to his lunch with Wangho under the flimsy excuse of a "free meal"—a questionable effort, considering he was basically volunteering to be a third-wheeler.
Well, it is what it is. Now comes the interrogation.
“You’ve been avoiding Suhwanie. You gotta do better if you want to make it less obvious, Minseok-ah.”
Had he, though? All Minseok has done so far is sticking like glue to Sanghyeok, or Uijin, or even the other Hyeonjun whenever it’s time to eat. It’s not like he’s intentionally running away from Suhwan. It’s just... It’s him trying to change pace to keep up with the stress. Yup. Besides, even Suhwan disappears from time to time too, doesn't he?
As for his usual habit of camping out in Suhwan’s room—well, since they don't have any matches scheduled, he doesn't need to seek refuge, right? It’s only natural for Minseok to stay in his own room instead of bothering his teammate.
“You’re reading into it too much, hyung,” he relents, forcing his voice to sound as nonchalant as possible.
“Am I?”
Damn. Minseok knows it’s not a question.
“…Fine,” he finally admits, dropping his gaze to his shoes to hide the creeping embarrassment. “It’s just... things got a little awkward between us.”
“I know,” Hyunjoon says. “Hyeonjunie said you guys are dumb for not just going for it. But I get you, Minseok-ah. I know why you’re doing this to Suhwanie.”
Huh?
Minseok looks up to his hyung, a little bit baffled, to be honest. While Hyunjoon has always been generous and warm toward them, he’s not exactly the type of person to pry into deeper and messier topic like this, since he usually leaves the "meddling" to his louder counterpart.
“Ahhhh... actually I don’t even wanna talk about this,” Hyunjoon groans, stretching his arms over his head as if the mere mention of the topic is exhausting already. “But I think it’s the fastest way to cut to the heart of the problem.”
“You’re scared aren’t you… Minseok-ah?”
Oh?
Oh, so he might actually get it.
Minseok looks up to his hyung, and finds him already inspecting Minseok’s reaction. At this point, there is no point in denying it, anyway.
“Haaa…can’t believe we’re discussing this stuff when we have MSI next week.” Hyunjoon complains again, and Minseok is starting to doubt if Hyunjoon really is trying to help him of he just wanted to shit on his situation—is it possible that Hyeonjun has finally succeeded in corrupting Hyunjoon’s mind?
“Minseok-ah,” But then Hyunjoon suddenly starts,
“Do you still have feelings for Minhyeongie?”
with an extremely jarring question.
“Huh?” is the only response Minseok can muster. He really didn’t expect Minhyeong's name to be dragged into this conversation. But, huh. Maybe Hyunjoon doesn’t really get him after all.
“Ugh…wait.” Hyunjoon sighs again, shaking his head at Minseok’s probably stunned expression. “let me change my question then. Do you still miss him?”
Minseok looked at his hands. Does he? Maybe he missed the old version of them—the 'Gumayusi and Keria' that existed before everything changed, before they weren't the current Minseok and Minhyeong anymore. But as for now…
“You don’t have to tell me,” Hyunjoon interjects, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m not that nosy, you know that. But let me ask you this.”
“Now, between him or Suhwanie, if you could have any of them standing next to you right now, who would it be?”
Ironically, It doesn’t even take a second until that exact pair of eyes appears in Minseok’s head. Despite all his efforts to keep Suhwan at arm’s length, Minseok missed him. He missed times where being around him was easier—but wait, “Why are you asking these questions, hyung? Is this a trap or what?”
“Trust me, I’m going somewhere with this.” Why is Hyunjoon the one sounding annoyed when Minseok is the one being ambushed with these unhinged questions?
“Then get there, please, hyung.” Minseok rubs his temples, “Because right now, you’re just giving me a headache.”
Hyeonjun stares at him for a moment—is that supposed to be intimidating? Then he rolls his eyes, takes a deep breath, and somehow the air in the room shifts.
“Jihoonie was my first love,” Hyunjoon confesses all of sudden, his voice sounds quieter than it already was. “We had it messy in the end, but it doesn’t change the fact that I used to love him—”
Minseok looked at him, surprised by the honesty. Well, of course he already knew, he’s friends with both of them afterall—but for Hyunjoon himself to bring it up out of the blue is totally unexpected.
“—and I don’t think I could love and cherish my current Hyeonjunie the way I do right now if I hadn’t gone through the wreckage I had with Jihoonie,”
It’s only then that Minseok realizes how similar their situations are. The fact that Hyunjoon can be this happy now, despite everything, lets a thin beam of light slip through Minseok’s tunnel of overthinking. But still…
Hyeonjun lets out a heavy, weary breath. “… it was a long journey. But I eventually found my peace.”
Hyunjoon stares at Minseok for a moment, before looking down on his knees.
“Instead of regretting the past and being too scared to start something new, I like to think that everything happens for a reason,” he finally says. “The value of experiencing love and heartbreak—you can’t see the exact amount, right? It’s not like the champions we play, where we can see the exp bar ticking up.”
He pauses, finally turning to look back at Minseok. “But aren’t we similar to them, in a way? Champions gain experience and become stronger. And as for us…”
“…We learn not to repeat the mistakes of the past, what exactly made us break apart, so that we can love better.”
Hyunjoon leans in closer, looking straight at Minseok with an uncharacteristically piercing gaze, cutting through his forming pieces of thoughts.
“Now Minseok-ah, you should know by now, don't you? What you should and shouldn't do with Suhwanie?”
“Huh?”
“Urgh… I have to admit, it feels weird for me,” Hyunjoon pulls himself with a groan, rubbing his eyes. “Watching you two feels like watching my own two kids going at it. But I guess Suhwanie isn’t a child anymore. Gosh, how old is he? He's 20 already isn’t he? I kept thinking he’s still a child… damn, now I feel so old…”
“…And you—well, I know you’re good for him, Minseok-ah.”
Huh???
“Wait—hyung!” Minseok starts panicking, his voice hitching as he realizes exactly how much he’s been giving away from his own reaction. “W-Why are you already talking like we’re... like we’re actually already into each other? C-Clearly, we’re not—“
In stark contrast to Minseok’s rising panic, the older just rolls his eyes once more, looking entirely unimpressed. “That’s because, apparently, I have eyes.”
Before Minseok can even utter a single word of protest, he pushes himself up from his chair and begins to walk away. “Alright then~ I’m heading out. Got a streaming session tonight,” he says, already holding the door knob. “You guys do your thing. Just make sure not to mess with the game, okay? Even Hyeonjunie is locking in these days.”
Click.
The door clicks shut, leaving Minseok with a lot of thinking to do.
Thinking is one of those things Minseok is kind of good at—in fact, he does it too much, and more often than not it leads to an excessive amount of overthinking.
Minseok’s thoughts drift to the man Hyunjoon had mentioned.
Aaah. What exactly went wrong between him and Minhyeong?
For one, Minseok had been nothing but a coward. He could’ve done so much more, could’ve appreciated him more, loved him better. But it’s hard not to act like a coward when they were constantly bracing for the impact of an ending they knew was coming.
They had spent so long trying to patch things, mending the broken pieces, but eventually, they simply ran out of patches. Now, Minseok is left with nothing but regret.
A part of him regrets not being a better lover. But the selfish, ugly part of himself regrets ever starting whatever it had been with Minhyeong in the first place.
They could’ve just been close friends, and they would’ve ended up like Hyeonjun to Minhyeong. Still talking, still texting, even grabbing a meal every now and then without the ghost of their complicated past over the table. But because Minseok was too greedy, because he wanted to hold on to something he couldn't maintain—and didn’t deserve, he ended up losing Minhyeong altogether.
He thinks about Kim Suhwan.
He thinks about what he is doing to Suhwan right now. How, in a way, it actually mirrors what he had done to Minhyeong in the past.
It’s actually crazy how the human brain works. It feels as though his own is already being molded, falling into old patterns and doing things it has grown used to without his full consciousness even being at the helm. Minseok is operating on muscle memory, even knowing that what he’s doing is the very thing that causes the outcome he fears most.
Minseok could have stayed just like this—if Hyunjoon hadn’t reminded him otherwise.
Now he realizes that the distance he’s been forcing has done more harm than good for both of them anyway. And he’s starting to figure out that even staying in his initial place is just another way of falling behind.
Minseok doesn’t realize how long he’s been lost in thought until Suhwan’s voice breaks the silence, drifting over from his phone screen.
“Alright everyone, that’s it for tonight. I’m heading off.” The Suhwan in the stream camera removes his headset, packs his gear, and heads out.
“Have a good rest, everyone.”
The real Suhwan looks genuinely surprised when he spots Minseok waiting near the hallway of their streaming room.
“…Minseok-hyung?”
“Yo, Suhwan-ah” Minseok says, trying to inject as much casual energy into his voice as humanly possible. Despite the bravado, he still can’t quite bring himself to meet those eyes head-on.
“…You haven’t had dinner yet, have you?”
“Ah…” Suhwan scratches his neck awkwardly, and Minseok instantly knows what that means.
As expected. He wonders if this is how things always go when he isn’t there to play keeper. He wonders how many meals the kid has skipped while Minseok was busy being a coward in his own room.
“Come have a meal with me,” Minseok says, finally looking up. “I’ll treat you.”
Actually, it has been quite a while since they last shared a meal like this. For Minseok, the past few weeks have been a constant cycle of inventing excuses to avoid being trapped in a 1-on-1 session with Suhwan. But now that they’re finally here, sitting in the quiet of the empty cafeteria with a mountain of takeaway fried chicken and side dishes between them, it isn’t nearly as suffocating as he’d feared.
Maybe he needs to learn to appreciate his surroundings more instead of obsessing over his own thoughts. Which—speaking of surroundings, his current view is a massive distraction itself.
“Why are you smiling so much?” Minseok asks, narrowing his eyes at the boy across the table.
Suhwan has been beaming ever since they sat down. “Why, hyung? Is it a bad thing?” He tilts his head, setting his phone aside. The smile remains, but his eyes are now locked onto Minseok’s, and Minseok’s heart nearly jumps out of his chest.
Yes, it is, Minseok thinks. It’s terrible for my heart. But aloud, he just pops a radish into his mouth and gives a noncommittal, “Nope~”
“I’m just happy,” Suhwan says, still smiling. “It feels like Minseok-hyung is finally back to looking after me properly.”
“Huh?” Minseok scoffs, even as his brain melts into a puddle. How can he act that cute so casually? it should be illegal. “Have I really been such a bad hyung to you lately, Suhwanie?”
Suhwan just stares at him for a few seconds, before reaching for a piece of chicken.
“Mmm,” he chews, looking thoughtful. “Maybe ‘bad’ is the wrong word. But because of you, my days have definitely felt a bit dull lately.”
“Hmm? Why do you think so?”
“Dunno. It’s just... things were way less exciting than they were a few months ago, back when you were around more,” Suhwan says simply.
Damnnit. Okay, Ryu Minseok. Ignore that, be a cool guy, and keep it casual.
“What? Isn’t that just because we don’t have any LCK matches right now?” That’s Minseok’s best effort to steer the conversation.
There is a short delay of silence. It’s Suhwan’s silence, where he visibly weighs his words before letting them slip. It’s a habit Minseok has grown accustomed to over their months together, and with a sudden, sharp pang, he realizes he’s actually missed it.
“Huh. Maybe that’s it.” the younger finally says as he wipes a bit of salt from his thumb, his gaze dropping. “Maybe I just wanted to play more matches with you.”
Minseok sighs, leaning back in his chair. “One of these days, I’m not going to be surprised if you end up just like Sanghyeok-hyung when you’re older.”
Suhwan looks at him with a confused tilt of his head. “Huh? What do you mean by that, hyung?”
“Well, it’s because you love the game too much. Not all pros want to play more matches, you know. Some of us actually enjoy the break.” Minseok explains.
“...Huh?”
Ah. This guy, really, Minseok thinks, shaking his head. It’s funny how he can be a bit slow on the uptake, yet lightning-fast when it’s least expected.
“You know, that old joke saying that Sanghyeok-hyung is basically married to League—“
⟢
Suhwan’s reaction is totally not what Minseok has expected.
He abruptly drops his chicken back onto the plate, his gaze snapping up to lock onto Minseok’s with startling intensity. Minseok tilts his head, a bit baffled, wondering if he’s accidentally tripped a wire he didn't know was there.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get married to League, hyung,” Suhwan finally says, his voice uncharacteristically firm, and it catches Minseok completely off guard.
⟢
What—?
“What—“ Minseok lets out a nervous chuckle, trying to ignore that strange glitch in his head. “That… that was just a joke, Suhwan-ah. Besides, Sanghyeok-hyung actually has a boyfriend, in case you didn't know.” He fixes his attention on his chicken, determined not to make things worse.
Ah.
Suhwan is staring at him right? Minseok can feel it—and he’s been staring for quite a while. Minseok keeps his head down, counting the seconds. Only after a few more of it does Suhwan finally look back down at his food.
“…I see,” the younger mutters, his voice dropping into a quiet, thoughtful tone that leaves Minseok wondering exactly what kind of thought Suhwan is currently processing.
And now, here they are, standing in the hallway right in front of their rooms.
The most difficult part Minseok definitely didn’t expect, is the moment he actually has to make a tough decision. Well, it feels a bit dramatic to call it that—"making a decision"—when it’s really just about which door he should open. But the options are brutal. It’s either his awkward-situation-crush’s room, or his own—which means a direct statement of ‘yes, I’m keeping my distance from you, Suhwan-ah’. And goddamnit, it really is a decision when Suhwan is looking at him like that, with eyes like that, while Minseok’s thoughts are swirling like this.
Amidst his thoughts, somehow, a slight pain blooms in Minseok’s chest, followed by a creeping instinct to retreat, whose origin he can't quite pin down. It feels as though if he steps into Suhwan’s room, he’ll be swallowed by the same hole that led his last story to its end.
Fear.
That’s what it is, though Minseok isn't ready to admit it.
So instead of facing that, he tries to rationalize everything. Afterall, Minseok knows what’s best for them. He tries to pinpoint the initial reason he used to visit Suhwan’s room so often—his recurring sleep paralysis—and knowing the symptoms aren't there tonight, plus the almost nonexistent urgency of it, he feels he has to make the "right"—yes, the right—decision.
“Goodnight, Suhwan-ah,” Minseok says as he pivots toward his own room.
Suhwan says nothing at first, until Minseok reaches for his door knob.
“…Goodnight, Minseok-hyung,” he finally says, his voice sounding smaller, stripped of the playfulness from earlier
Ah.
Minseok can still feel a pair of eyes on his back.
God, he hates himself for being so aware of the way Suhwan stares at him. He doesn’t need to turn around to know that Suhwan is still standing there, rooted to the spot. He knows exactly what’s on the younger’s mind.
Because the pre-disaster Minseok would’ve slipped into that room, invading the space before the owner could even kick off his slippers.
But the current Minseok is walking away to retreat into his own room. He is making a clean exit without so much as a backward glance. It turns out that after everything he’s discovered, after every lesson he’s allegedly learned, he is still, at his core, a coward.
And because he is still a coward, even knowing full well what he’s doing, he lets the door click shut. He enters his own room, and as the latch engages, the space starting feel suffocatingly familiar—while the room right beside him feels like it’s drifting miles away into the distance.
Days blurred into an unforgiving cycle of practice, practice, and more practice. Well, Minseok is already well-acquainted with this grind—in fact it is actually his natural state. Suhwan as well, seems like he’s truly been released into his natural habitat, switching into his practice maniac mode at ease. More League is actually a good thing for them, Minseok tells himself. Whether he likes it or not, winning has a way of fixing everything—no matter how messy a love life gets.
And then, the awaited MSI finally arrives. The fact that it’s being held in Daejeon makes it a little less thrilling for a travel-lover like Minseok, but it doesn't dampen his hunger. He wants that trophy. He needs it—considering it’s the only one missing from his collection.
Since they don't have to do the play-ins, and only had to deal with media days in their first few days, they actually find a bit of breathing room to settle into their temporary housing. But even the extra time isn't enough to ward off Minseok’s oldest, most unwelcomed friend.
Fuck. It’s happening again. Minseok can definitely feel it.
It’s been quite a while since he last dealt with his sleep paralysis, and honestly, he should have seen it coming. He just didn't expect it to strike on his very first night in Daejeon.
Problem is, Minseok really can’t afford a sleepless night right now since has to maintain his condition for the tournament. And while he knows Suhwan’s door is technically open to him, he just isn't ready to face that—yet. Which is how he ends up standing in a different doorway.
“The fuck are you doing here?”
Minseok doesn't even flinch at the ‘friendly’ greeting. He just stares at his jungler with a deadpan expression.
“Moon Hyeonjun, you only have two choices,” Minseok says flatly. “Either you sleep with me, or you sleep with Hyunjoon-hyung and me. Pick one.”
“Ye??”
Minseok gives him a look, raising one brow. He said it clearly enough already.
“Who the—nope. I’m out.” Hyeonjun aggressively shakes his head, hands on the door to slam it close, “Good luck on finding another victim.”
But of course, not on Minseok’s watch.
“I’ve got the keys for both your room and Hyunjoon-hyung’s,” he says again, twirling the two cards he just got from the receptionist, “You can tolerate me in peace right now, or I’ll make sure to barge in at the most inconvenient moment possible later. You know I’ll do it.”
Hyeonjun shoots a glare at him, Minseok knows he meant ‘I will end you, you absolute motherfucker’by that, but who cares anyway.
“God, I fucking hate you.”
“The feeling is entirely mutual,” Minseok replies easily, already kicking off his slippers and making himself at home.
Holding hands is definitely not Minseok’s way of using Hyeonjun as his human anti-sleep-paralysis tool. In fact, he’d rather die from sleep deprivation than do that. Usually, they just sleep near each other and let their arms brush. Since they’re both messy sleepers, they’re bound to get tangled up anyway. Minseok will consider himself lucky if he doesn’t end up with Hyeonjun’s feet on his face by morning.
So here they are, doing exactly that. The room is dark because it’s better that way—in fact the darker the room gets, the better it is.
“Why do you have to be so dramatic, Minseok-ah?” Hyeonjun’s voice drifts through the dark, still scrolling through his phone. “Just go and confess already. It’s not like it’s a secret that the kid is obsessed with you. Save us all the headache.”
“Unfortunately,” Minseok lets out a tired, cynical huff. “Life isn't as simple as your jungle pathing, bro.”
“Fuck off. You’re saying it like playing support is the hardest thing in the world.”
A brief silence follows, filled only by the rapid, muffled tap-tap-tap of Hyeonjun’s fingers typing out a message. Finally, he clicks his phone shut and sets it on the nightstand, and then the room plunges into absolute darkness.
“Was it really that messy with Minhyeongie, though? I thought you two had a clean break-up.”
“It’s not because of that,” Minseok replies after a while.
“Then what?”
“It’s….” Minseok sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Your brain would never be able to catch up. Just leave it.”
“Whatever,” Hyeonjun scoffs, the bed creaking as he rolls over to face the wall. “I wouldn’t mind watching a second season of Two Idiot Monkeys in Love. It’s better than any variety show.”
“Look who’s talking.” Minseok mutters.
Minseok really wants to sleep, he really wants to. But the anxiousness won't die down, and he knows he has to somehow channel it out to keep his sleep paralysis from crawling in and settling.
“Hey, Hyeonjun-ah.”
Hyeonjun lets out a low grunt. He’s faking sleep, but Minseok knows he’s still listening.
“Are you happy? Being with Hyunjoon-hyung?”
The jungler snorts into his pillow. “What kind of question is that? Of course I am. Hyunjoon-hyung is the best person in the world.”
“What if one day… you two have to separate ways?”
This time, Hyeonjun actually takes his time to weigh his words instead of resorting to his usual impulsive ‘just wing it’ style.
“Then at least I knew I had been the happiest when we’re together,” he says at last.
“I mean, life keeps changing isn’t it? We can't be happy all the time,” he continues, “I just don’t wanna look back when I’m 40 and realize I traded the happiest years of my life for a ‘safe’ feeling. I want the ‘was’. I’d rather have that than nothing at all. At the very least I got to say, ‘Yeah, it ended, but goddamn, it was incredible while it lasted.’ “
Minseok hums. The answer is so very Hyeonjun he has to admit that the guy is being as honest as he can be—he knows his friend too well to think otherwise.
“Sounds valid,” is the only thing Minseok can say in response.
“I have to say,” Hyeonjun adds, his voice regaining its usual bite as he shifts under the duvet, “If I played the jungle as scared as you’re playing your love life, we’d be 10 thousand gold down at 10 minutes and lose every single game, let alone win Worlds. Just face-check the fucking bush for once and get it over with, for god’s sake, Minseokie.”
Huh.
“You’re a terrible life advisor,” Minseok scoffs, finally closing his eyes. “Thank god you’re just a pro-gamer.”
“…Whatever, man. Just let me sleep.”
Minseok does, but as he drifts off, the last thing on his mind is the bitter realization of his own cowardice.
And even knowing that, he’s still unable to do a damn thing about it.
As the media days conclude and they draw closer to the bracket stage, Minseok feels the familiar shift in his head. He is finally entering his "competition" state.
It’s a specialized headspace where the world around him mutes and blurs, leaving nothing in focus but the game. drafts, pathing, and win conditions. He originally learned the foundation of this discipline from Sanghyeok, but he has since perfected it to suit his own temperament. In this state, his confidence peaks to a near-arrogant height, where he stops worrying about who the enemy is and starts treating them like a puzzle he’s already solved. It’s where his most brilliant strategic suggestions are born, and where his engages win them games.
Sometimes he really feels like he’s embodying the name “Genius Monster” when he’s like this. Call it a "beast mode" or whatever—Minseok simply calls it his "winning state."
And sure enough, they are winning, quite convincingly. At least at the beginning.
On Round 1, Bracket Stage.
3:0 Win.
“Hyung, that was really cool! You really carried us.”
“Hyung, did I do well?”
On Round 2, Bracket Stage
3:2 Win
“Wow, that was hard. Thank god we won. GG, hyung.”
“I did well didn’t I, hyung?”
On Round 3, Oh! One more game to finals?
2:3 Lost
Wait…we…lost?
“…”
They actually… lost.
Minseok shouldn’t be that surprised—it’s not like they’ve never lost before. Up until last year, they were famous for taking "the road less taken," grinding through losers' brackets and finding miracles in the dirt. But lately, the consistent high of winning had somehow rewritten his brain. He had grown to expect the victory screen as a given.
But, well, it is what it is and now here they are, suffocated by their own “what ifs” and the replay of those games they lost.
The waiting room is heavy with it. They gather for a short debrief before disengaging, and Jeonggyun’s expression already gives it away—of how harsh this debrief is going to be. The rest of the guys are slumped into the sofas, staring at their shoes. Minseok knows, with a sinking feeling in his gut, exactly who is about to be put under the microscope.
“You guys are doing well overall,” Jeonggyung starts, but the praise is clearly just the padding for the blow. “But I’m sorry, I have to be blunt this time.”
“Why is the bot lane playing so out of sync?”
He doesn't wait for an answer.
“Adc needs to listen more to the call. Suhwan-ah, I get that you see an angle for a play over there, but we didn’t have enough information to back it up. You're reacting too much on your own instinct and ended up ignoring the whole roadmap we planned.”
He turns his gaze to Minseok. “And Support... Minseok-ah, you're doing well, but you’re out of sync with your adc. Your calls are technically right, but it feels like you aren't even looking at where Suhwan is positioned before you go in.”
Jeonggyung lets the silence hang for a second before dropping the very fact Minseok has suspected since he stepped out the arena.
“….It’s like you guys aren’t trusting each other.”
Oh.
Here comes the main issue. As expected.
“I don’t know what is going on between you two, but it would be best if you communicate through it. I think we got too comfortable because of how much we’ve been winning. We’ve reached this far thanks to our advantage in experience and individual mechanics, but just that certainly won’t be enough to carry us through the final.”
This is the situation where no one speaks, where each word starts to echo in their heads and act like a whip, no matter how soft and calm Jeonggyun’s tone is.
“We are lucky to have this as a wake-up call,” he says at last, the sign his speech is nearing the end,
“because next game will be our do-or-die.”
He closes his notebook with a definitive snap, and shifts his eyes to Minseok, who meets it with a newfound sense of responsibility, and Suhwan, who hasn't looked up from his shoes once.
“I believe in you. Use these next four days wisely. Reflect, talk, and fix it.”
Well, life sure has its ups and downs, doesn't it?
Who would’ve thought the botlane that has been carrying them and once their main threat point, would turn into their weakest point? Right at their most important matches too.
But deep down, Minseok had seen this coming from a mile away. Botlane is, as he’s always told his students, a delicate and complicated lane. It’s built on 2 players where sole individual mechanics and game knowledge alone aren’t enough. It runs on constant synergy and trust—on reading each other without having to say a word. Because most of the time, there’s no room left to make calls at all they have to just move, believing the other person will be there.
And well—that trust and synergy have been slowly scraped away from the very moment Minseok decided to keep his distance from Suhwan.
It’s actually amazing that they’ve managed this far doing it like this—it’s a testament to how damn good they naturally are at their roles. Their individual hands and instincts are just that cracked they’ve been able to brute-force their way through the lack of synergy. Clearly, that can only help them so far.
Now, the game is forcing his hand. Minseok has to fix it, whether he’s emotionally ready to bridge that gap or not. And they don’t have much time at all.
“…which is why I think we should improve our laning in these specific unfavorable matchups. I have a few comp options that we can practice so that we can—“ Minseok has to cut himself off when he realizes the footsteps beside him have stopped. He turns around to find Suhwan standing still a few steps behind him.
“Suhwan-ah? What’s wrong?”
“I guess I was trying too hard to impress you…” Suhwan’s voice is small, a mere murmur that barely carries in the empty corridor.
“…I ended up playing like shit. I’m sorry, hyung.”
Minseok looks at the younger boy's slumped shoulders, and the wave of guilt hits him immediately. Ah. So Suhwan has been beating himself up, thinking he’s the one failing, while Minseok has been busy playing hide-and-seek with his own heart. Excellent. Very mature of you, Ryu Minseok.
“No. It was my fault as well,” Minseok admits, “I wasn’t really paying attention… to the surroundings, or to you, Suhwan-ah.”
He walks back, matching his stride to Suhwan’s stationary one, and tilts his head to catch the younger’s downcast gaze. He forces a small, encouraging smile. “Shall we make it up and aim for extra practice hours today, then?”
Suhwan looks up, and the flicker of pure relief that crosses his face makes Minseok’s chest tighten.
“I think we should, hyung. Yeah.”
Hours and hours passed by inside their makeshift practice room.
It’s not exactly hard to be around Suhwan when they are getting all serious in practice like this.The second his eyes hit the monitor, Suhwan would immerse himself in his own world, and whatever Minseok does simply ceases to exist in his peripheral vision—which grants his mind some dangerous amount of freedom to wander.
Minseok stares at the man focusing on his side.
Sometimes he wonders how a person he’s only known for a few months has managed to seize this much space in his mind. It’s reached the point where Minseok’s terrified of taking a single step.
He thinks about possibilities far removed from the safe ground they stand on now. About possibilities of jumping into another possibility. He weighs the cost of finally pouring out his feelings, of taking that one irreversible step and potentially shattering things that might have stayed whole if only he’d kept his mouth shut.
And he suddenly finds the prospect of losing Kim Suhwan altogether a little bit terrifying.
Which makes him wonder,
What exactly makes Minseok so drawn to him?
Is it really just his looks?
Minseok traces the way Suhwan’s side profile is sculpted—the sharp line of his jaw, the prominent bridge of his nose, and the way those eyelashes cast subtle, flickering shadows against his cheeks as he blinks. His eyes—even from this angle, his eyes are still striking, the way they narrow with focus as he leans closer to the monitor.
Well, Suhwan is for sure a looker, and Minseok has always known that’s his primary weak spot. But if it were only about a handsome face, he should have been in trouble years ago. He’s been acquainted with plenty of good-looking celebrities and influencers, and not once did his heart falter for even a fraction of a second.
Or, ah. That glitch.
Maybe it’s because of that strange glitch in his head.
Even now, Minseok hasn't figured out what that strange glitch in his head is all about. He wants to understand it, but he’s fairly certain that if he went to a doctor and described the experience, they’d skip the physical and recommend a psychiatrist instead. So, nope. Not happening. He figures he’ll just have to live with the glitch, considering it does no real harm—other than constantly reminding him that Kim Suhwan is taking up far too much space in his brain.
“Hyung? Do you have something to say?”
The sound of Suhwan’s voice snaps the thread of Minseok’s thoughts. Oh. Minseok realizes that he’s been staring and spacing out for too long he hadn’t noticed Suhwan has finished with his practice and is now staring back at him with those eyes of his. Those damn eyes. So pretty.
⟢ . ݁₊ ⊹
Why are your eyes so pretty?
…
…huh?
Huh?!
Wait?! Did Minseok just said that out loud?!
God-fucking-damnit he really did, didn’t he? He really did, because why else would Suhwan flinch and freeze like that?
“I—I’m not… Hyung. I—” the younger stammers, the blush climbing his neck until his face is burning red.
“A-ah, sorry!” Fuck. How the hell is he supposed to make a comeback from this? “I meant—I meant…”
“…”
“I meant… well, it’s a compliment! Yes. A compliment! I d-don’t mean it in a weird way or anything!” Minseok lets out an awkward laugh. The situation is absolutely not getting better. If anything, the hole he’s digging is getting deeper, especially since Suhwan is just staring at him, completely stunned.
There is silence that feels like eternity, Minseok failing to find any other words to recover, before Suhwan clears his throat, breaking it. He looks away when he speaks,
“…Someone said that to me as well. In the past,”
The words were spoken so quietly Minseok almost misses them, but they’re sharp enough to pierce right through his panic.
Huh?
Minseok tilts his head, the embarrassment momentarily sidelined his curiosity.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” Suhwan’s response was unexpectedly quick. He pushes his chair back, stands up, and starts packing his gear—pretty much ignoring the disaster Minseok had just summoned from his impulsive thinking.
“Shall we head back, hyung? You look tired.”
That was… a weird response.
“…Yeah.”
But at least Minseok somehow managed to escape the immediate fallout of what is very possibly the dumbest thing he has ever done in his life.
As he follows his adc out of the practice room, Minseok carries two heavy realizations into the hallway; first, that the "glitch" Suhwan causes in his head is still there and isn’t going anywhere soon, and second, that he is actually terrified of the day Kim Suhwan might not be there to cause it.
And with that, one single absolute resolution—not to do anything even dumber than what he already did.