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FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO
“This is a stupid game.”
PRESENT
And he was right.
Granted, Minseok is rarely ever wrong. That is, in fact, why they say he’s a genius. Whether it be predicting flashes, making slightly suspect macro calls or somehow getting away with a sliver of health after going all in as Nautilus, he always knows what he’s doing.
When he’s not being fucking inted by his topside.
“You lost,” he says, voice dangerously high, “the key?”
“Of course not!” Hyunjoon responds, indignance clear even via the tinny conduit of Minseok’s phone on speaker mode. “We would never do that.”
A pause. Minseok resists the urge to physically reach through the space-time continuum and strangle his former self in a piteous act of mercy. “So why can’t you open the door?” He’s reaching stratospheric levels of pitch now. Usually this is a sign that Minseok needs to calm down, but usually he’s not trapped inside a low-lit room the size of a supply closet with his ADC while Soyou croons lyrics about friends who act like lovers in the background.
Minseok has never enjoyed irony.
“Well, you see.” It’s Wooje who answers now, in a forced sort of cheerful tone that suggests his jungler’s elbow is currently digging into his side right now. “We never had the key. So technically, we didn’t lose it.”
Minseok grabs a microphone. You know what? There are plenty of good top laners and junglers in the league. They won’t have as much synergy as Wooje and Hyunjoon do, but then again, they probably wouldn’t spend so much time sticking their tongues down each other’s throats.
They also won’t lock their bot laners inside a fucking karaoke room. Which is, in itself, a big plus.
But before he can channel Olaf and break the door down before bashing his idiot friends’ heads in with his chosen weapon, he feels an arm curl loosely around his waist.
The thing is that Minhyung, despite being basically twice Minseok’s size and therefore having an appropriately proportionate amount of strength, is gentle. A gentle giant, one might even call him, at least where Minseok is concerned. Minseok can’t recall a single instance where Minhyung hasn’t treated him like he’s made of fine porcelain. Where he hasn’t handled Minseok without the highest degree of care, hasn’t touched him with anything more than the slightest of grips.
He doesn’t do it now, either. His arm just stays there, warm and taut against Minseok’s belly. But Minseok still freezes like he’s been stunlocked and CC-chained into imminent death.
“Maybe we should calm down,” Minhyung suggests lightly, his intonation not giving any indication whatsoever that he’s found their current situation vexing. Minseok swallows hard, throat suddenly arid.
“I’m gonna break the door down,” he tells Minhyung, somehow managing to get the words out relatively evenly.
Minhyung nods, quite seriously. “Yes, I’m sure it stands no chance.” He looks at the tiny microphone in Minseok’s hand, then at the reinforced steel door looming over them. “It’ll be expensive, though.”
Minseok instantly deflates. He likes his money. Minhyung’s arm slips away, as if he already knows where Minseok’s thought process is going, but he gives Minseok a consoling pat on the back before completely retreating.
Which does make Minseok feel better. A little. He picks up his phone, bringing it closer to his mouth so that his words don’t get muffled by the sound of Loco and Punch singing about true love. Wow, the RNG of this karaoke machine really has it out for Minseok, huh?
“You two better be thinking of some way to get us out of here,” he hisses. “Or I’m telling Sanghyuk hyung.”
Sanghyuk wouldn’t be angry, but he would be disappointed. And that’s definitely worse.
“Okay, okay,” Hyunjoon says hurriedly. “Relax. We’ll go hunt down the master key. Just sit tight.”
Minseok huffs, folding his arms. “And what are we supposed to do in here?”
“You could sing a duet,” Wooje suggests, clearly trying to suppress a giggle.
Hyunjoon chimes in, “Or make ou—”
Minseok hangs up. He hopes their mechanics are up to scratch, because he’s never warding topside ever again. Instead, he grabs his microphone and turns back to Minhyung. He can’t quite read Minhyung’s expression, not under the dim lighting of the karaoke room, but Minseok was molded in the fiery depths of solo queue hell and he knows how to pretend everything is fine or die trying.
“Okay, pick a song.”
TEN MINUTES IN
Minhyung picks Big Bang.
FXXK IT, so. Immaculate taste and, thank the gods above, not another fucking love song. Minseok gratefully raps G-Dragon’s parts with all the indomitable grace of a jungler flashing to smite scuttle crab at minute three, which is to say, not particularly much.
Minhyung handles himself with slightly more prowess. He’s always had a nice voice, soothing to listen to, and he actually likes singing. With some polish, and with his personality, he probably could’ve pursued being an idol instead of playing League.
Minseok doesn’t really like that thought.
They cycle through more of Big Bang’s discography and at one point even grow bold enough to make an attempt at the catalogue of Show Me The Money, before Minhyung taps out, wincing as he rubs at his throat. They don’t have any water in here, which means there is a very real possibility that they might actually dehydrate themselves to death before Wooje and Hyunjoon return.
Great. He’s gonna die without ever having won Worlds. At least he’s with Minhyung. Maybe the two of them can come back to haunt T1 headquarters together.
“You can keep going,” Minhyung says with a crooked smile. “I like hearing you sing.”
Liar. Minseok sounds like a yowling cat that’s just had its tail run over by a kid on a tricycle. At least, that’s how Hyunjoon describes him. It still doesn’t stop the flush of heat that creeps up his neck, because damn it, Minseok is a total sucker for compliments. “What do you want to hear?” He asks in return, reaching for the song catalogue.
Minhyung shrugs, throwing one leg over the other and reclining back in his seat. “Anything, I guess. You could sing me a love song,” he jokes—jokes. But Minseok’s stomach does a quick backflip anyway, unhelpful as always.
With a certain modicum of spite, he picks something from the Show Me The Money list. Mino and Taeyang. Fear. Definitely not a love song.
If Minhyung is disappointed, he doesn’t show it. He just laughs and cheers Minseok on, and when the song ends he gives Minseok this smile—this wide, toothy crescent smile brimming with so much affection that it kind of sends Minseok reeling.
He doesn’t know why. Minhyung always looks at him like that. He should be used to it by now.
“I think I’m done,” he mutters, tossing the microphone onto the table. His throat’s a little scratchy, but it’s nothing compared to the tightness in his chest.
Minhyung pats the leather beside him, an invitation if Minseok’s ever seen one. But when he actually sits down, Minhyung simultaneously moves a respectable three Teemos away, which eventually puts him at the other end of the bench entirely, and really?
As if on cue, the karaoke machine starts autoplaying TXT. Loser=Lover.
This is absurd. Minseok huffs, crossing his arms rather petulantly as he steals a quick glance at his phone. A cryptic message from Wooje informs him that he and Hyunjoon are scouring the streets of Seoul for the master key, whatever the fuck that means. It’s annoying, but there’s nothing Minseok can really do about it right now.
On the other hand, there is something he could do about this. This irritating, faintly awkward tension hanging in the air, taunting Minseok like Galio’s Shield of Duran, the one that’s been constantly omnipresent between him and Minhyung since a few weeks ago when they—
In the immortal words of Big Bang, Minseok thinks, fuck it. He gets up and marches over to Minhyung, not pausing to give his ADC any time to react before taking a decisive seat in Minhyung’s lap. To his credit, Minhyung doesn’t flinch, but he does arch his eyebrows in clear surprise even as his hand automatically settles on Minseok’s hip.
“So,” Minseok says. “Are you ever going to kiss me again?”
THREE WEEKS AGO
Everyone knows it’s never a good idea to mix business with pleasure, but when it comes to being professional esports players, Minseok thinks the line gets a little blurry.
Because they’re not just colleagues who occasionally hang out together. They’re friends, the five of them. They live together and eat together and play League together, which is really all that Minseok’s life is. He does try not to spend every waking moment with his teammates because that’s probably, like, really unhealthy, but at the end of the day he enjoys their company so naturally he just gravitates towards them.
What he’s trying to say is—they got drunk.
Ludicrously drunk. It’s technically still the off season and they’re all ensconced within the safety of the T1 building, so none of them are nearly as careful as they should have been. By the end of the night, Wooje is practically screaming Blackpink into a microphone, Hyunjoon is swearing unintelligibly while trying to wrench said microphone from Wooje’s grip, and Sanghyuk walks into the door no less than three times in one attempt to go to the bathroom and ends up having to use Seongwoong as a human crutch.
All in all, it’s pretty fun. Minseok’s feeling all light and woozy, swaying on his feet as he wanders around the tiny karaoke room for fun. On his fifth lap, it suddenly occurs to him that the seat beside Sanghyuk looks conspicuously emptier than it should be.
Lee ‘Gumayusi’ Minhyung is the last person in the Republic of South Korea who’d ever leave a karaoke party first, which means there are only two probable options to explain his absence. One: he got kidnapped by perma hardstuck Bronze 4 aliens who are now dissecting his brain to figure out how ADCs are supposed to position. Which, good for them. Any means of climbing the ranked ladder goes now that Riot removed duo queue.
Or two: he’s still around. Just hiding out somewhere until Wooje gets tired of imitating Cho’Gath. Statistically unlikely, given he’s obviously doing it just to fuck with Hyunjoon. Chances are higher that Hyunjoon will eventually just snap and smother him with a couch cushion. Then they’ll probably go make out in a broom closet or something. Minseok is never going to understand those two.
As Blackpink segues seamlessly into ITZY, Minseok finds himself possessed by a sudden urge to look for Minhyung. Just to make sure the aliens don’t have him. If anything, Minseok’s a little upset that no aliens have come looking for his brain. He’s the genius in their duo. Minhyung’s the giant. His giant. That’s simply how it works.
He’s so engrossed in his inner musings that he almost walks into the door himself. But he manages to make it out into the hallway unscathed, so that’s one any% speedrun he can say he beat Lee Sanghyuk on.
His search doesn’t take him particularly far. In the end, it turns out that Minhyung is actually right next door, in one of the smaller karaoke rooms. A song’s playing, something vaguely familiar by Zico, but Minhyung isn’t singing. He’s just sitting there in the semi-darkness, bathed by the multicoloured lights of the karaoke TV, his eyes closed as he leans his head back against the wall behind him.
He looks so peaceful. Minseok almost doesn’t want to disturb him, but for some reason his mouth is moving before his brain can catch up. “Hey,” he blurts out.
Minhyung doesn’t even flinch. He just cracks one eye open lazily and answers, “Hey. What’s up?”
Somewhere in the distance, Wooje’s screeching abruptly cuts off. Looks like Hyunjoon found a couch cushion.
Minseok steps into the room and gingerly closes the door behind him. “I didn’t wanna be a witness to murder.”
Minhyung laughs out loud, his eyes crinkling up in the way they so often do around Minseok. “Hyunjoon would never. He’s too whipped.”
Fair enough. Minseok squints at him. There’s something different about Minhyung today, but Minseok can’t quite put his finger on what. His hair? It’s loose right now, hanging over his forehead. His face? Not really, other than the fact that his cheeks are flushed light red from the alcohol. His clothes? Just an ordinary T1 hoodie and sweatpants.
Huh. Maybe Minseok’s tipsier than he thought. Or maybe this isn’t Minhyung. “Are you an alien?” He asks suspiciously, even though he’s pretty sure that’s the one thing you’re not supposed to ask possible aliens who may or may not have kidnapped your ADC and replaced him with an uncanny replica.
But Minhyung just looks confused. Endeared, yes, but mostly confused. “No?”
Well, that’s exactly what an alien would say. “Prove it,” Minseok says, crossing his arms. “What’s something only Minhyung would know?”
Minhyung hums thoughtfully. “Hmm. I’m good at Varus.”
“Everyone knows that.”
“Okay, then…” Minhyung grins, something like mischief dancing in his eyes. “I called you princess once and you dropped Hyunjoon’s favourite mug then told him Wooje broke it.”
Minseok remembers that particular incident. And the context—something about him not wanting to wash the dishes and begging Minhyung to do it instead, Minhyung jokingly calling him a princess in return but then rolling up his sleeves and grabbing a sponge anyway. The memory makes heat flood up his neck, though he’s not entirely sure if it’s because he’s embarrassed about it or because now he’s thinking about water dripping down Minhyung’s biceps.
What were they talking about again?
“Aliens,” Minhyung supplies, which also helpfully lets Minseok know that he’s doing that thing where he says his thoughts out loud and doesn’t realise it. “Yeah, you are. I think it’s cute, though.”
“You always think I’m cute,” Minseok mutters, somewhat mortified by his own lack of a filter.
Of course, Minhyung just grins. “True,” he agrees amiably. “At least you know I’m not an alien, then.”
He makes an excellent point. Reasonably satisfied, Minseok turns his attention to the music video playing on the TV. As fate would have it, Troye Sivan is on-screen crooning the lyrics to Youth.
Minhyung follows his gaze. “Isn’t this the song you said was about me?”
Technically, Minseok didn’t say that. He had, in a fit of poor judgement, told about two thousand stream viewers that the song reminded him of Minhyung, before proceeding to spend nearly three agonising minutes explaining in great detail that it was just because of the way the lyrics were pronounced. As with most of his life choices, the clips make him cringe now whenever he looks back on them, but Minseok can hardly be blamed for the fact that Minhyung picked Gumayusi for an in-game name all those years ago in Starcraft.
“I said it sounded like your name,” Minseok corrects. “The chorus where it goes… My youth. Gumayus. You know what I mean.”
Minhyung watches the screen, where two boys are leaning their heads together, far too close to convey any indication of a wholly platonic relationship. That, and they’re staring at each other’s mouths.
“I’ve never watched the music video,” Minseok adds, with a touch of defensiveness.
“Hmm,” is Minhyung’s answer. The purple-hued light flickers against his tanned skin, making him look vaguely like Dr Mundo. The thought is strangely amusing, and a giggle bubbles past Minseok’s throat before he can stop it. “What’s so funny?”
“You’re Dr Mundo,” Minseok informs him, rather unhelpfully.
Of course, Minhyung takes it in stride. Because it’s Minhyung. “Should I role-swap top then?”
Immediately, Minseok feels his lips turn downward. Top is so far away from bot. “No. You’re bad at top.”
“I used to be a Kled main,” Minhyung points out, his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to laugh.
“And now you’re not,” Minseok counters. “Besides, Wooje’s terrible at bot. He’d play Gwen ADC and only Hyunjoon can deal with that shit.” Unable to resist, he mumbles, “And who’s gonna save you when you face-check random bushes?”
“You are.” Minhyung seems pretty confident about that fact, cocking his head as he grins at Minseok. “You can take Smite, I’ll build Locket and we’ll funnel you while Hyunjoon and Wooje play double melee bot.”
Stupid. Minseok ducks his head to hide his ridiculously wide grin. Minhyung is dumb. “So you want me to carry you? What do I get in return?”
“What do you want?”
The song switches to one Minseok doesn’t recognize, a dulcet R&B in English with an almost hypnotic melody. He kind of likes it. It makes the atmosphere seem softer, almost viscous. It makes time itself slow down around them in this little cocoon away from the outside world. It makes Minseok feel bold.
“Sing me a song,” he demands.
Gamely, Minhyung shuffles over to the control screen. “Any song?”
Minseok hadn’t exactly thought that far. He nods, watching inquisitively as Minhyung taps the letters into the search bar without even stopping to think about it. It’s a testament to how much soju is flowing through Minseok’s digestive system that he doesn’t recognize the song until it’s playing.
“I’ll sing,” Minhyung says, smirking as he stands up and offers a hand to Minseok, who takes it mostly out of surprise but also a little bit because he just wants to. “But only if you dance.”
Hype Boy. Minseok groans, feeling heat crawl up his neck. No one’s ever going to let that go, are they? “Haven’t you seen enough of my dancing?”
“Never,” Minhyung proclaims cheerfully, before launching into the first verse.
And, well, it’s a little adorable. Minhyung is clearly putting on a show, complete with appropriate facial expressions and even a flailing attempt at the choreography. Minseok finds himself smiling, and by the time Minhyung starts on the chorus, he’s up on his feet. He’s not exactly a professional idol, but he at least knows the steps better than Minhyung. And there’s just something about their current situation, about the room they’re in, maybe about Minhyung himself, that makes Minseok feel so relaxed, so uninhibited and free.
He’s belting along to the lyrics, all pitchy and out of tune, and Minhyung’s laughing into the microphone so loudly that the walls around them vibrate with the sound. When the song ends, they collapse onto the bench in a heap, panting and giggling uncontrollably.
Minseok’s cheeks are sore from how hard he’s been grinning, and he’s so breathless that his chest burns, but he still reaches out to poke Minhyung in the arm. “That doesn’t count. You sang for me, I danced for you. We’re even.”
Minhyung tilts his head to look at him. The lighting in the room is dimmer now, but his eyes still somehow manage to reflect what little there is, glittering with a kaleidoscope of emotion. Amusement, bemusement, curiosity… and clear, unbridled fondness. “That’s fair. So what else do you want, then?”
It’s strange, Minseok thinks. Strange that they’ve been dancing around this thing between them for so long now, locked in a constant back-and-forth, push-and-pull, a tug of war. Drawn to each other like magnets, but slowly, restraining themselves to remain inert. It’s strange because they could have, and should have done this months ago.
“I want you to kiss me.”
PRESENT AGAIN, JUST MORE AWKWARD NOW
Yeah, okay, so maybe this wasn’t Minseok’s greatest idea.
The rush of adrenaline wears off about half a second after the words leave his mouth, and then Minseok’s just sitting there, perched in Minhyung’s lap like a weird newborn baby chick. To be fair, it doesn’t seem as though Minhyung minds that much.
“I didn’t know you wanted me to,” is his reply, but Minseok’s brain has already shut down from mortification and he can’t for the life of him remember what they were talking about.
So, of course, he says, “Uh?”
“Kiss you,” Minhyung clarifies, and Minseok doesn’t know if he’s imagining things or not but he swears Minhyung’s face seems a little pink. Which would be big, if true. He never knew Minhyung could blush through that thick skin of his. For as long as Minseok has known him, it’s always been Minhyung making other people blush. Like Minseok. “I mean, I just thought we were drunk and it was a one-time thing.”
Oh. Minseok deflates a little at that. Of course, that’s what Minhyung assumed. Because it’s not like he owes Minseok anything, and clearly, it’s also not like he wants Minseok to owe him anything.
Minhyung must see the change in his expression, because his tone immediately turns alarmed. “But I don’t want it to be only a one-time thing.”
Wait, what? Minseok frowns, looking up as his brain tries its hardest to process the words. Does that mean what he thinks it means? “If you wanted to do it again, why didn’t you say anything?”
Minhyung seems somewhat embarrassed to reply, “I thought you didn’t want to.”
Minseok kind of feels like tearing his hair out. “Well, I thought you didn’t want to.”
“If I didn’t want to kiss you I wouldn’t have done it?” Minhyung sounds bewildered, but he can’t quite kick the note of faintly exasperated affection in his tone.
“And if I didn’t want to kiss you I wouldn’t have asked,” Minseok retorts, rather cranky himself.
A brief pause. “Touché.”
THREE WEEKS AGO BUT HALF AN HOUR LATER
Minhyung doesn't even hesitate. After all, they’re two opposite poles, inexplicably attracted to each other. It only takes the slightest hint of an unbalanced force to send them flying into motion. He kisses Minseok gently, softly, and there’s something almost reverent about the way he handles Minseok, the way his lips move, the tenderness of his touch against Minseok’s skin.
“I’m not gonna break,” Minseok mumbles into Minhyung’s mouth, and feels more than hears his ADC huff a laugh. But then, to Minseok’s abject dismay, he feels Minhyung start to pull away. “Wait— Minhyung. Get back here.”
He can’t help but be a little petulant, a little demanding. It’s in his very nature, especially when he wants something and now he’s had a taste of that something but Minhyung is, for some reason unbeknownst to mankind, taking it away.
He’d better have a damn good reason for this. Minhyung at least has the grace to look sheepish, and somewhat rueful. “If I keep kissing you then we’re just gonna go back to being even,” he confesses, which to Minseok, sounds like the world’s most convoluted way of admitting that he wants to make out.
Minseok sighs, wondering why ADCs have to have such impeccable self-control. “I’ll think of something else. Just come back. Please,” he tacks on for good measure.
At the end of the day, he still has Minhyung wrapped around his pinky finger. Minhyung leans down like he can’t quite help himself, and Minseok surges forward, curling his fingers into Minhyung’s dark hair and sealing their lips together.
They’re both kind of tipsy and therefore not totally in control of their motor functions, so overall there isn’t much finesse involved. Their teeth click together and Minseok doesn’t really know where to put his hands and his cheeks feel like they’re about to spontaneously burst into flames. But it’s good. Minhyung tastes like a shot of strawberry soju. His body heat is almost overwhelming, radiating off his skin and straight into Minseok’s veins, but it’s nice being pressed up against him, a solid mass of muscle that makes Minseok feel all warm and cozy and safe.
Minhyung’s hands flutter around Minseok’s hips, a ghost of a grip. “Minseok,” he murmurs, and the way his mouth shapes Minseok’s name, that deep, throaty, almost wrecked quality to his baritone—it’s fucking addictive.
“Yes,” he whispers back, and it sounds like some kind of half-plea. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, but it seems like Minhyung does.
He pulls Minseok into his lap in a movement so smooth that it kind of makes Minseok’s head spin. His tongue traces the seam of Minseok’s lips, and Minseok parts them without even thinking about it. In response, Minhyung hums an appreciative sound into his mouth, teeth nipping gently at Minseok’s lower lip.
Minhyung’s palm slips underneath the hem of his sweater, tentative at first, but then with increasing confidence as Minseok, clearly, doesn’t object. His fingers dance across Minseok’s belly, around his hip, up the curve of his spine, leaving a white-hot trail of Liandry’s burn wherever Minhyung touches. It seeps into Minseok’s skin, sets his blood alight with the feeling, like pure lava is flowing through his veins.
Minseok’s melting and he knows it, turning into an incoherent puddle of want and yes and Minhyung. The song playing in the background is an almost distant melody, the voices soft and dreamy—but Minseok hears the lyrics like they’re playing directly into his eardrums.
Skin sweet, incomplete.
But you know what I like.
PRESENT (STILL WEIRD BUT MARGINALLY LESS AWKWARD)
They’re getting absolutely nowhere with this. Minhyung is so confusing.
“Why would I not want to kiss you again?” Minseok demands. Does Minhyung not even remember all the sounds Minseok had been making? Apparently his ADC is a really good kisser. Minseok definitely has not been thinking about that particular fact every day. Definitely.
Minhyung seems quite earnest when he answers, “Because whenever we run into each other recently, you look like you’re playing Phasmophobia in real life.”
“No I don’t.” Okay, maybe he does, a little bit.
TWO AND A HALF WEEKS AGO
“Oh,” Minseok says as he rounds a corner and runs right smack into Minhyung’s chest. “Hi.”
Minhyung clears his throat. “Hey,” he answers, sounding almost painfully formal. “You okay?”
“Fine.” Minseok swears his voice sounds higher pitched than normal. It’s probably… because it’s cold outside. Or something.
“Good.” Minhyung gives him a smile, but it’s so obviously awkward that Minseok internally cringes. The ADC makes to move past him, and normally Minseok would just squeeze against the wall to let him because short people don’t have rights or whatever, but a sudden irrational spike of irritation blooms in his chest and so Minseok stubbornly stays put.
Minhyung glances down at him, clearly confused, and Minseok panics. “Hi,” he blurts out. Again.
“… Hi.” The corner of Minhyung’s mouth curls upwards.
Minseok finds himself looking at it. Just three days ago that mouth was pressing insistent kisses down the length of his bare neck, and he still has the strawberry red marks to show for it, albeit hidden under about half a tube of weapons-grade concealer. If Minhyung finds it weird that his painstaking handiwork disappeared pretty much overnight, he hasn’t said a word about it.
Well, in general he hasn’t really said anything to Minseok. Even when they’re playing League. Just yesterday Minhyung Flashed forward to tank an Ace in the Hole for Minseok, perfectly followed up on Minseok’s Ashe arrow with Varus ult, and then calmly kited his way to a triple kill in a 2v4. All without making a single sound but for the clicking of his keyboard.
Yes, it was hot. But that’s not relevant right now. At least, that’s what Minseok valiantly attempts to remind himself.
“Minseok?”
Oh. Minseok coughs, his cheeks flushing red as Minhyung stares at him, genuine concern laced through his features. “I… uh, where are you going?” He likes to think his improv isn’t completely terrible, although they’re literally standing outside Minhyung’s streaming room and Minseok was actually even on his way to his own room so, okay, points for effort.
“I have a stream scheduled,” Minhyung explains rather graciously, not commenting on any of the aforementioned facts. “Don’t you do too?”
“Yes,” Minseok replies in a strained voice, but what he really wants to ask/scream/whimper pathetically is why haven’t you kissed me again? “Better get going,” he adds, even though he was the one who stopped Minhyung in the first place and this is just, this is a mess, snowballing out of Minseok’s control like a Master Yi with five kills before the third minute.
Minhyung still smiles at him, though. Soft and sweet and maybe even a little fond. “Yeah. See you upstairs later?”
Right. They’re supposed to be having dinner after streams, with Wooje and Hyunjoon and Sanghyuk if he can be convinced to leave his bridge-building behind. Minseok absolutely remembered that because he’s not busy having a crisis over his ADC kissing him and then never mentioning it again.
He feels like he’s in a long, extremely arduous lucid dream. “Yup,” he squeaks out. Finally, Minhyung turns and walks into his room, waving cheerfully at Minseok before closing the door behind him.
Minseok exhales the longest breath he’s ever held in his life, then turns around.
Only to find Wooje lounging in his chair at the open entrance of his room, snacking on potato chips that he almost certainly coerced Hyunjoon into buying for him, and grinning knowingly at Minseok. “So,” he drawls. “You and Minhyung hyung hooked up, right?”
BACK TO THE PRESENT
“I wasn’t sure if you regretted it or something,” Minhyung confesses, scratching his head as he looks away. “I mean, you were being kind of weird.”
“So were you,” Minseok informs him. “I had no idea what you were thinking. I even had to call in the cavalry for help.”
Minhyung raises his eyebrows, looking intrigued by that. “The cavalry?”
TWO WEEKS AGO
“What does it mean when you get drunk and make out with someone who you kinda like but then things get really fucking weird and you basically can’t look at each other anymore and he never tries to kiss you again even though he was really enthusiastic about sticking his tongue down your throat the first time?”
Several pairs of wide eyes stare back at Minseok. “Asking for a friend,” he adds.
“Riiight,” Jihoon snorts.
“That’s such an oddly specific question,” Hyeonjun comments idly. “Which, ah, friend is this?”
“Kwanghee hyung,” Minseok lies.
“Pretty sure Kwanghee hyung and Woochan hyung are practically engaged by now,” Changhyun points out. Minseok scowls at him, but Changhyun just grins back knowingly.
“Fine, Wooje.”
“The one who everyone saw sneaking into your jungler’s room every night at worlds? That Wooje?” Hyukkyu chimes in with a smile.
Minseok gapes at him, betrayed. Et tu, Deft? “Are you guys going to help me—my friend or not?”
Jihoon raises his hand lazily. “I have a suggestion. Your friend should suck it up and actually tell his ADC that he likes him.”
Very brave of him, considering who else is sitting among their little circle of friends. Minseok raises an eyebrow at him. “That’s rich coming from you.”
Jihoon clears his throat loudly, the tips of his ears flushing red. Luckily for him, his top laner has been just about the most oblivious person in the world for the past four years and he’s not about to stop now.
“Never mind.”
“And I didn’t mention an ADC,” Minseok mutters mulishly. For that he gets a couple of derisive laughs, a sympathetic pat on the head, and a straight up dead-eyed stare. Guess who.
He’s really starting to regret asking now. Granted, he’s had a couple of beers so he’s not entirely stone-cold sober, which is probably why he thought it was a good idea in the first place. Because it’s not like he can consult his teammates who are also Minhyung’s teammates. Word gets around fast in their household, usually because Sanghyuk tells everyone everything, sometimes without even meaning to.
“Honestly, though,” Hyukkyu says after a brief lull in the conversation. “You and Minhyung have been avoiding this topic for a long time now.”
“Yeah,” Changhyun pipes up. “I thought you guys would hook up, like, the second you walked into T1.”
So did Minseok. But maybe that’s just hindsight talking.
“Why don’t you just kiss him yourself?” Hyeonjun asks, innocent as ever. “You don’t have to wait for him to kiss you.”
Which is… not a bad idea, actually. It’s somewhat similar to Jihoon’s suggestion—cosmic destiny, of course, with just a hint of irony. The day those two get their shit together is the day Minseok marches down to the convenience store and buys ten lotto tickets.
“But how? I can’t just walk up to him and, like, shove him against a wall,” Minseok grumbles.
“Obviously not. You’d look like a chipmunk trying to tackle a bear.”
Thanks, Jihoon. Minseok closes his eyes, resisting the urge to shove his own head into his beer bottle. “Or what if… what if he doesn’t want to kiss me again?”
The words feel acidic travelling up his throat, spilling out of him like a waterfall. It’s a logical conclusion to draw given how Minseok and Minhyung have been interacting recently. Minseok’s spent many a night lying awake in bed mulling it over, and all he can think about is whether or not Minhyung regrets it.
“Well.” Hyukkyu’s voice cuts straight through Minseok’s spiral of depression, reasonable and sensible and rational as always. “I agree with Jihoon.”
“Thank you,” Jihoon mutters, then does a double take. “Wait, what?
“You have to talk to Minhyung,” Hyukkyu tells Minseok, his tone brooking no room for argument. “It’s the only way to figure this out. Just ignore the awkwardness and sit him down and ask him what’s going on.”
Words of wisdom, as always. It makes sense, really. Minseok’s friends aren’t Minhyung, but only Minhyung can answer his questions.
Minseok lays his head flat against the table and groans. Loudly. “If he rejects me and I have to leave T1 out of shame, you all have to quit your teams so we can run 2020 DRX back.”
Jihoon rolls his eyes as he steals Hyeonjun’s drink and takes a swig of it. “Just invite us to your wedding, drama queen.”
PRESENT (HOW ARE THEY STILL STUCK IN THIS GODFORSAKEN PLACE?)
“Oh,” Minhyung says, blinking a few times like he’s surprised. “They already knew that I like you?”
Scarlet heat floods Minseok’s cheeks as the words register in his head a second too late. It’s the first time Minhyung’s ever actually told him that, and even though Minseok pretty much already knew, he kind of really likes hearing Minhyung say it. “Everyone knows,” he mumbles in reply instead, fervently hoping the dim lighting of the room covers up his blush. It doesn’t feel quite right to just leave it at that, so Minseok stares at the angular dip of Minhyung’s collarbone and mutters, “And everyone knows I like you too.”
He can’t see Minhyung’s expression, but he can practically hear the grin in his ADC’s voice when he muses, “I didn’t realise we were so obvious.”
That’s what he says, but Minseok knows him well enough to spot the smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, right,” he snorts. “As if you don’t spend all your time on stream worshipping me.”
Um. That was probably the wrong choice of word. In fact, as Minhyung arches an eyebrow at him, his expression turning devilish, Minseok decides that it was definitely the wrong word.
“If I were really worshipping you,” Minhyuns says, his tone a little softer, a little more coy, “we’d get demonetized.”
A shiver runs its way up Minseok’s spine entirely of its own accord. Minhyung is leaning forward slightly, his face a mere few inches away from Minseok’s. Unconsciously, Minseok finds himself pressing closer, chasing proximity until their noses are practically bumping against each other.
“Says the person who only kissed me once and then never mentioned it again,” Minseok manages, his voice coming out relatively even for the situation they’re in. “You’ve got a lot of making up to do.”
Minhyung’s responding smile nearly splits his face apart. “Then I’d better start now.”
When he kisses Minseok (again!), the room is quiet. Maybe that goddamn machine finally ran out of love songs to play at inopportune times. Or maybe Minseok is too distracted by the feeling of Minhyung’s lips molded perfectly against his own to care.
In fact, he’s sure the only thing that could get him to pull away right now, other than a literal biological need for oxygen, is—
The door magically flies open, revealing a triumphant Wooje and a mildly exasperated Hyunjoon on its threshold, neither of them looking like they’ve been scouring anywhere but the inside of a broom closet.
“Wow,” Wooje sings, a high note of sheer chaotic delight in his tone. “I can’t believe that actually worked!”
Minseok’s going to kill him.