Chapter Text
July 2019. Seoul.
Jihoon, like everyone else on the team, had known this was going to be the plan.
Not the whole plan, obviously ― there’s more to qualifying for the Olympics than roping in a single player, no matter how good ― but Jihoon can acknowledge that this is an important part of their process nonetheless. The roster they went with to PyeongChang now has more empty space than the ice in a return to play after a scrum. The rebuild has to start somewhere, and Jihoon’s been prepped to expect to be looking at the cornerstone.
The thing is, there's a world of difference between knowing the plan, and actually seeing it in action; living and breathing and standing 5ft away, looking far too good for someone who's supposed to be jet lagged. And honestly? It’s in the flesh that Jihoon’s scepticism becomes the most difficult to tamp down. It’s only his deep respect for Coach Paek that stops him from blurting out the question that has been bothering him all along, which is—
Why in the ever-loving fuck would they bring on a player who is so seriously concussed that he’s unable to think straight?
Of course, Kang Daniel’s one and – miraculously – only concussion on record was years ago now, likely no more than a blip on the radar of team doctors who’d assessed him upon his arrival in Seoul. Yet, Jihoon is unable to think of any other explanation. Why else would someone choose to ditch the N-H-fucking-L in the prime of their career, to contract-hop between leagues and join the Olympic team of a country that can barely keep one ALIH team afloat?
Like, clearly the guy isn’t doing too well upstairs. Jihoon is honestly concerned. Maybe he should say something—
“I’m really looking forward to playing with you all,” the man at Coach’s shoulder is saying with a sickeningly bashful air. “Please look after me,” he entreats politely.
Jihoon is the last person to hang shit on someone’s accent but he can’t help the curl of his upper lip at the affected humility, even if all he’s really doing is offering a standard salutation. Jihoon barely manages to suppress a disparaging eye roll. Good thing he succeeds, though, because Kang’s gaze settles on him as he straightens up and it's warmer than it has any right to be.
Should save that for Dalton, he thinks and, as if on cue, the Canadian goaltender breaks their locker room formation, stepping forward to be the first to clap Kang on the shoulder in welcome.
Once they’re out on the ice, it’s only a matter of time before Jihoon eases up a bit. Though, maybe he’s noticeably harsher on the puck whilst practising his slapshot because it’s also only a matter of time before their Captain is skating over for a casual chat. Jisung watches, quiet and attentive, as Jihoon lines up his next shot and winces in sympathy when it pings violently off the crossbar. With a sigh, Jihoon resolves to fetch it later and, on impulse, he glances back at the other end of the rink, where their NHL import is practising his stick work, tracing the LOTTE logo like he thinks he’s Sidney Crosby or something. When he looks away, back at the man beside him, Jisung is pursing his mouth thoughtfully.
“Still sore from Herning?” The question comes with the speculative arch of an eyebrow under his helmet’s visor.
Jihoon doesn't respond, too busy trying not to cringe over the wording, which Jisung takes as a sign to continue.
“You’re going to have to get over that, you know,” he observes in a way that would peeve the shit out of Jihoon if it came from anyone else… but, hell, he’d love Jisung even if he didn’t wear the C for them, so—
“Gee, thanks, hyung,” he replies, sarcasm more fond than acerbic. “I hadn’t figured.”
“‘M just saying. I get it, I was there,” Jisung says of their smarting 10-nil loss to Canada at Worlds last year, “but we’re working together towards the same thing now and… I’ve got a really good feeling about this.” Jisung offers him a wry but undeniably hopeful smile and Jihoon, of course, melts.
“I’m not going to stuff this up for us, I promise, I just…”
“I know.” The affirmation is warm, accompanied by a pat on the crown of his helmet. “You couldn’t stuff anything up if you tried.”
Jihoon fakes a pout. “But hyung, you’re the one who always says I can do anything I put my mind to…”
“Ah, of course,” Jisung acquiesces, generous in his amusement. “Then let’s put that mind of yours to the positives, then.”
Easier said than done, Jihoon realises, when Coach Paek pulls him aside as everyone else files off the ice later that morning.
“What?”
“It’s not set in stone, of course, but I’d like to try you guys together starting next week.”
It’s probably Jihoon’s own fault for not thinking this far ahead, but he and Woojin have been linemates for so long that it didn’t even occur to him that Daniel’s obvious addition to the first line would push one of them out. None of them would be able to do what they do without faith in the direction of their coach, but the provisional end to the bunssodan shift is still a bitter pill to swallow and it does little to sweeten Jihoon’s already acrid attitude towards the newcomer.
Clearly, though, it bleeds into his attitude in general, because once he’s back in the locker room with everyone else, Woojin seems fed up with Hurricane Jihoon disrobing in the neighbouring stall.
“What exactly did those shin guards do to you?”
“If you’re in the mood to be a dick, you probably should’ve kept yours on,” Jihoon barely looks up from where he’s started unlacing his waistband.
Woojin’s mouth scrunches, and he shares a look with someone over Jihoon’s shoulder. He doesn’t have to turn to know it’s probably Hyuck. “Uh, yeah, sure. Someone’s in a dick mood, but it’s not me, babe.”
Whenever Jihoon is tightly wound, Woojin’s tactic has always been to poke and prod until the tension breaks and he loosens up. It usually works, Jihoon can acknowledge even as he’s in its midst, and it certainly beats his own strategy which is to lean into the seething, smouldering ball of frustration in his sternum whenever he’s too tired to do anything about keeping it contained.
He sighs heavily. “Just say whatever it is you want to say.”
“Just that, maybe if you quit acting like someone pissed in your Pocari Swea—”
Not this shit again. “Okay, first of all? Fuck you, that was one time and it was Hydralyte —”
“And again,” Woojin counters with a familiar argument, clearly trying not to smile at how easily his friend is wound up, “why would you put Hydralyte in Pocari ? It’s already—”
“I was hungover! — Your fault, by the way — so it was either I pulled out all the stops or I puked all over the puck. Which would you have preferred?”
“Oh, definitely the latter,” Woojin chimes in without hesitation, shit-eating grin now fully fledged. “Would’ve given me years of material. Would’ve been golden! Speaking of golden…”
Jihoon makes an inhuman noise of rage and gives up on words, taking a swing at his best friend and (former) linemate. The locker room tussle that ensues is fairly standard for them, most of their teammates barely glance up. This time around, Woojin is laughing too hard to put up much of a defence and inevitably ends up the one on his back after wrestling his opponent to the floor.
“Uh...”
Looking up from where he has Woojin straddled and successfully pinned to the grimy tile, Jihoon finds himself obstructing the path of No. 96 who has just returned from the showers, if the towel around his waist is anything to go by. Bemused, Daniel looks to their Captain for guidance.
“He deserved it,” Jisung adjudicates in a bored tone in response to Daniel’s querying look and their new star forward seems to accept it.
Instead of skirting around the duo, though, he bends down and offers Jihoon a hand up. The latter blinks at it for a moment, confused by the gesture as much as by the faith Daniel seems to have in the way he’s tucked the hem of his towel in on itself to fasten it above his hip bone. In fact, from that perspective, the situation starts to feel kind of dire and Jihoon can’t take Daniel’s hand fast enough. Granted a consequent reprieve, Woojin makes a show of gasping for breath as he sits up. Chirping a hockey player for their weight, how redundant.
“Oh fuck off,” Jihoon is quick to turn back and scowl but there’s no heat in it anymore. When he looks down, he realises a little belatedly that he’s still holding Daniel’s hand. He drops it even faster than he'd reached for it.
After that, he keeps catching Daniel looking over at him and he does his best to pretend that the attention doesn’t turn his spine molten hot, even though Jihoon knows it probably has less to do with him slipping his undershirt over his head and more to do with the other man scoping out an appropriate interval at which to approach and strike up a conversation that Jihoon doesn’t want to have. With that horrific prospect looming, Jihoon hastens to leave before it can happen and revels in his success when he’s one of the first out the door despite everyone else’s head start. The excuse to put distance between himself and the rink helps, too. He's never been so glad to have class after morning skate.
Later that day, Jihoon is queuing with Minah for their ritual post-morning-lecture coffee when he gets a call from Woojin. The ringtone serves as enough of a distraction to his companion that Jihoon is able to tap and pay before she gets the chance to realise the EFTPOS has loaded. High on victory, he feels generous enough to answer the call, excusing himself and mouthing, I'll be outside .
"Hey, what's up?" Jihoon greets as he makes his way out of their preferred campus coffee place and lingers across the pavement by one of the garden beds.
"Just on break at work and missing you," is Woojin's nonchalant reply, and Jihoon can imagine him kicked back in the stock room; phone in one hand, sugar-free Monster in the other.
"Nothing new, then?"
"Obviously. About this morning, though--"
Jihoon cuts in. "I needed to snap out of it, you were right."
"I'm not- like, you're allowed to be upset sometimes. You're permitted the full ambit of emotion―"
"― wow, thank you for the permission―"
"―but I'm still going to worry about you, y'know? If I didn’t know you, I’d say you were a sore loser. But I do know you, and you’re just a regular loser—”
“—I’m hanging up on you—”
“—so, what’s your deal?”
“Who says I have a deal?” Jihoon objects mulishly, “why are we assuming I’m the one with the issue and not, like, stopping to ask if the guy has bad vibes— or if he’s just unpleasant to be around?”
Woojin snorts, and fuck, Jihoon realises, he'd basically confirmed that this was about Daniel.
“You didn’t have any problem being around him in Copenhagen. Not that I saw, anyway.”
There was a lot that Woojin didn’t see, actually – and thank God for that – but Jihoon’s not going to bring that up.
“Look, I know today was only the first team skate, but as your liney it’s my job to make sure you’re checking all other bullshit at the door before you get on the ice. More importantly, though… as your best friend it’s my job to check that you’re alright.”
Jihoon looks down, absent-mindedly scuffing the toe of his tennis shoe against the edge of the garden bed as he holds his phone to his ear and tries to work out how to answer Woojin’s sincerity with his own.
“Didn’t you hear?” he asks with leagues less snark than he might have five minutes earlier. “You’re not my liney anymore.”
Woojin, for his part, doesn’t sound cut up about it. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’d still be your linemate if I was dead and in Hell and there probably isn’t even any ice there.”
Okay, now Jihoon is, like, super touched. “Bro…”
“Liney isn’t a position on the ice, it’s a position in the heart. Now tell me what your real issue is.”
It’s sweet how he thinks there’s just one. At this point, Jihoon could probably give GQ a run for their money.
“No, you’re, um, you’re right, it’s not… I’ll get over it, I just…”
“Just?”
“Don’t want anything to undermine our effort, that’s all.”
Woojin makes a noise of comprehension. “You don’t want him acting like he has to hardcarry.”
“Basically.”
“He doesn’t seem like the type, if I’m honest.”
“You know what they say about covers.” That people can be different under them. Book covers, that is.
“Okay, I hear you– and, look, you don’t have to tell me but…” Jihoon stills, wondering if Woojin is going to name drop a capital city the two of them had visited in Europe. Pretty much any of them would prove his point. He doesn’t, though. Instead Woojin says firmly, “If you ever needed to go to Coach about him, I’d have your back. You know that, right?”
He does. Needing to hasn't crossed his mind but he's never doubted Woojin would be in his corner, no matter what. Even so, hearing him say it…
"Thank you," he says softly. Out of the corner of his eye he spots Minah approaching, her iced latte and his own iced americano in hand. "I've gotta go, but I'll catch you later okay?"
"See you tomorrow," Woojin confirms. This week they have back-to-back mornings at the rink.
For Jihoon, Woojin has always been part of what makes the ice feel like home. He'll be there tomorrow, but so will someone else.
Daniel is persistent in a quiet, determined way that probably would have flown under Jihoon's radar until it was too late if not for the fact that Jihoon's radar is entirely trained on him. Nonetheless, he still manages to sidle up after practice as Jihoon zips up his kit bag and makes to leave.
"Hey, got a minute?" Daniel asks, voice as soft as the hand he's placed on his teammate's elbow.
“Sorry, I’ve gotta go.” Jihoon tries to look genuinely apologetic, but it probably just comes off as a grimace.
“Right now?”
“I’ve got class.”
“It’s Summer,” Daniel points out, clearly thinking he’s caught Jihoon out in a lie. Which, rude, he might be a lot of things but he's not a liar.
“Okay, and I have Summer classes ,” Jihoon replies just as pointedly, shaking his arm out of the other man’s grip. “Not all of us get paid enough to sit around on our asses when we’re not on the ice.”
Whatever conversation Daniel had wanted to have, not only is it not happening but now its substitute is on display for the rest of the team.
“You get paid for going to class?” is Daniel’s sardonic reply.
Jihoon rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“No, not really. Am I getting some special bonus from KSOC that I don’t know about? Because last I checked, we’re all in the same boat here.”
“That’s obviously not what I mean, everyone knows KSOC’s sponsorships have Gangwon’s name on them. I just wonder how you fit under Anyang’s cap.” With that big fucking head of yours .
Across the room in his stall, Sungwoon groans. “Jihoon…”
“What? I’m just wondering!”
Daniel is starting to become visibly fed up with the conversation. Good. Jihoon didn’t even want to be conversing in the first place.
“So I took a pay cut to join their roster, so what?”
“A pretty big one, I bet, but if you couldn’t get picked up by anyone else after Calgary dropped you, I guess this was your best offer.”
“Nice, but Calgary didn’t ‘drop’ me.”
“Then why else would you be here?”
“I could give you any number of reasons, all of them true, but I doubt you’d believe me if you think I’m just here for the paycheck.”
“You’re right, I wouldn’t believe you.”
“Thanks for saving me the energy, then.”
“You’re welcome,” Jihoon snipes, unable to resist the urge to have the last word.
But, to his chagrin, the conversation isn’t over because as he hauls the strap of his bag up higher on his shoulder and turns for the door, Mark comes back in from a one-on-one with Paek.
“Just in time,” Daniel greets glibly, "Jihoon's got some questions for us NHL-ers."
Jihoon chooses to ignore him instead of pointing out that, unlike Mark, Daniel isn't on an NHL contract anymore. He heads for the door but Daniel doesn't let him go just yet.
"Hey, wait, you don't wanna ask Mark the same question?" Aren't we both interlopers? the glint in his eye seems to say.
Jihoon is almost offended at the similarity Daniel is trying to draw, even though he knows they both know it's a false one. Mark's been with them longer. He might be based in Toronto most of the year but he's been in training and development with the National Team since before the 2018 prohibition was a twinkle in Bettman's eye. Mark is family, as much as the rest of the team from the ALIH ranks.
Jihoon's not going to waste his breath on telling Daniel something he no doubt already realises, but for the sake of cutting this interaction short, he says, "Until we get closer to qualifiers Mark's only on loan to us during the off season. No offence," he tacks on, glancing over at the player in question before snapping back to Daniel. "Plus, have you seen Mark? He's fucking adorable. I'd happily pay top dollar for that."
"Uh, thanks? I think…" Mark scratches at the back of his neck and glances at Jeno for help.
"Now, I do seriously have to go. If I get chewed out in front of everyone by my TA because you made me late, I'm gonna come back here directly after class just to piss in your skates. Alright? Alright."
He doesn't bother waiting for Daniel's reaction. If his own was a little overboard, then whatever― hopefully that just serves to keep Daniel away from him.
Unfortunately for Jihoon, Daniel’s job is to stay near him. On the ice, at least. They manage to keep it civil for the most part, but they haven’t started unit-specific drills yet so Jihoon’s not going to get ahead of himself in assuming they’ll play nice for long. He’s trying, though. Like Woojin, Jihoon takes the importance of mindset seriously, and anything that’s going to disrupt their flow on the ice has to stay behind the boards.
Jisung, because he’s Jisung, organises a welcome party for Daniel over the weekend. ‘Party’ as in drinks at his place, and ‘organises’ as in he puts a day and a time in the groupchat with the implicit expectation that they be there. They all show up, of course. Jihoon’s not going to blow Jisung off just for the sake of avoiding Daniel in a social setting.
(He did think about it, though.)
He spends most of the night sandwiched between Jaehwan and Sungwoon on the couch, pleasantly buzzed. The mistake he makes, as he always does, is letting Hyuck mix some of his drinks and eventually he moves from participating in conversation to simply listening, plastered to Sungwoon’s side, cheek resting on his shoulder. Fresh air starts to sound like a good idea around about when he stops being able to follow the conversation and finds himself just laughing when everyone else does. As he starts to get up (read: unstick himself from the vinyl), Sungwoon puts a hand on his thigh and gives him a look but Jihoon just pats his hand with his own. “I’m good, I’m good,” he murmurs in reassurance and Sungwoon lets him go.
Jisung’s place isn’t anything fancy, but it’s got a balcony big enough to house more than just the washing, and Jihoon makes a beeline for it, taking his half-empty beer with him. He doesn’t realise how truly stuffy it is inside until he’s out breathing the night air and listening to the sounds of the rest of the neighbourhood up late on a Summer Saturday. The moment of peace, like any other, doesn’t last forever and Jihoon looks up at the sound of the sliding door.
“Please don’t run away.”
The dry humour of Daniel’s opening line does little to assuage the alarm that has Jihoon contemplating doing exactly that. The older man reaches up to rub the back of his neck and Jihoon takes the moment to admire the line of his body from waist to elbow. He looks good. Jihoon has no qualms admitting it, he just preferred it when Daniel was looking good at a distance, across the room with Mark and Yeongjun.
“I just, I need to speak to you one on one for a moment. It’s important,” he explains, all but confirming Jihoon’s fears, and—
Fuck no.
No way.
No thank you.
The sliver of a chance for a half-assed apology isn’t worth it.
But Daniel looks… well, not distressed … but there’s an urgency to his tone and expression that keeps Jihoon where he is.
“You have until I finish my beer,” he allows tersely, watching Daniel glance down at the three fingers left in his bottle.
Jihoon could easily finish it in one go if he wanted to and Daniel almost seems to be waiting for him to do just that. He doesn’t, though, and the other man takes the meagre encouragement for what it is.
"I know you don’t exactly like me, but I just wanted to say…you know, if you're worried-- like, I would never say anything to anyone. I want you to know that. I―"
" Oh— my God…" Jihoon draws out the first syllable, a little horrified to realise that Daniel thinks he's been acting out because he's scared.
Not that he isn’t, it’s just-- Daniel’s presence hadn’t done anything to exacerbate what is an old, wearyingly familiar fear. They're both professional athletes, and Daniel isn't in Canada anymore. They both have just as much at stake in that realm alone.
"No, it's fine," he hurriedly rushes to assure. "I didn't think you would… I mean, I know you're not that much of a jerk." Jihoon feels a little like one himself right now.
Daniel looks like he’s suppressing a smile as he moves to join him at the balcony railing, facing out at the urban glow. “But you do think I’m a jerk?”
Jihoon is so not gonna go there. At least not today. Not with Daniel standing so close, rumpled button-up rolled to his elbows, radiating a warmth that almost makes Jihoon want to reach out and t—
“ What I think,” Jihoon says, instead of white-knuckling the metal railing, “is that this team is better than you might give us credit for. Last year… there was all this media talk around import-stacking and saving face, as if we all learnt to skate yesterday. As if we were all kids on the international stage compared to you.”
There’s an unreadable look on Daniel’s face as he opens his mouth to say something, but he stops, perhaps thinking better of it. He settles on, “Bettman didn’t let us go that year.”
Jihoon nods, "I remember." They'd contemplated putting out a hit on the NHL Commissioner on Mark's behalf. “The scouts at Channel One looked like they were constantly on the verge of a migraine.” That makes Daniel laugh, and Jihoon is a little more relaxed as he goes on, “I think that made it worse for us, to be honest. The almighty NHL roster wasn’t even there for us to prove ourselves against.”
Even so, they’d been shut out in two of three— but Jihoon’s not going to mention that. Besides, they’d had their chance at Worlds that year; finally breaking into the top division— but Jihoon’s not going to mention that either. Especially not to Daniel, not if he can avoid it.
“What does that have to do with me?” Daniel isn’t even defensive when he asks. It’s like he genuinely wants to hear what Jihoon has to say.
Jihoon turns and leans back against the balcony rail, looking in through the glass sliding door at where the rest of the team are splayed out around Jisung’s lounge area like a renaissance painting. “Those guys in there are like family to me. They care about hockey just as much as anyone, even if not all of them have the luxury to live and breathe it. They deserve more than being looked down upon.”
“I don’t—”
“We’re not anyone’s pity project, okay?” Jihoon cuts over Daniel’s objection, turning to look him hard in the eye. “We want you, but we don’t need you.”
Daniel swallows. “Am I here because I’m an NHL drop-out desperate to earn a living, or because I’m an NHL star who thinks I’m doing you all a favour? Pick one, Jihoon, because it can’t be both.”
“It could be,” Jihoon points out, rejecting the false dichotomy. “It could be both.”
“And it could be neither,” Daniel counters, looking a little pleased that they’ve essentially agreed on something. “At the end of the day, I don’t have to explain myself to you — but I do want you to know that I have a lot of respect for you guys on the ice. I hope soon you’ll be able to see that.”
Only time will tell, but Jihoon resolves to at least give him the chance to prove himself. He’d surprised him tonight, after all.
“And trust me,” Daniel adds, mischievous, “if I'd wanted to do charity work I would've just asked for a trade to the Sens.”
Jihoon lets out a laugh at that one, and Daniel looks delighted. In the ensuing lull, neither of them look away.
Until, of course, they do.
Even with the door closed, a muffled raucous cheer can still be heard from inside and they look over to see what the commotion is.
“I’m gonna go save Mark,” Daniel determines with amusement, reacting to what looks like the man in question getting bullied into doing a body shot off of a shirtless Jeno laid out on Jisung’s coffee table.
Donghyuck is the one doing the bullying, obviously. Even at a distance through a pane of glass, the tips of Mark’s ear are clearly red but Jihoon’s not sure he’d appreciate the intervention as much as Daniel seems to think.
“Careful,” Jihoon says, raising an eyebrow, “This isn’t looking good for your argument about not having a saviour complex.”
“I think this counts more as ‘concerned bystander,’” Daniel counters, sending him a wink. Then the door is sliding shut and he’s gone; off to save the baby Leaf’s virtue. Jihoon wonders when he started caring about that kind of thing.
He knocks back the rest of his drink but stays out on the balcony a little longer, lost to his thoughts and the welcome caress of a cool breeze against the flush crawling up the back of his neck.