Chapter Text
“So what lane are you taking, Bu?” Giin pressed, leaning forward with a glint in his eye. His expression practically screamed, You can trust me. I won’t tell a soul.
Geonbu simply scoffed. “Nice try.”
Jaehyuk let out a short laugh from the other side of the room. “Give it up, Giin. He’s not gonna crack. You should know that by now.”
Giin groaned, tossing a stress ball towards Jaehyuk’s way in retaliation. “Are you that unsure about your own team?” Jaehyuk teased, catching the ball with ease.
“Our team’s solid,” Giin shot back. “And our maknae’s pretty good, you know.”
Jihoon, ever the instigator, lifted his chin smugly. “Keep telling yourself that. Royal Mid is taking this one, anyway.”
Minkyu let out a low whistle. “Team Mid’s roster should be illegal. How did Faker-nim even manage to get you guys together with a disadvantaged picking position?”
Faker had drawn the worst possible pick in the snake draft, yet somehow, he still ended up with BDD, Showmaker, Chovy, and VicLa. It was almost comical how stacked their lineup was, as if fate itself had intervened in his favor.
“The stars always seem to align for Dae Sanghyeok,” Geonbu mused. His gaze flickered to Jihoon, who looked entirely too relaxed despite the mounting pressure from having to represent their lanes. “Though, I’m guessing he made a deal with Minhyung to get you on his team, huh?”
“I know ,” Giin agreed, excited at the sudden mention of unusual behavior. “He got Jihoon for Team Mid last year, too, and the year before that, he mentioned that he wanted Jihoon on his team.”
Jihoon smirked. “That’s because I’m good, and he knows it. Game recognizes game. ”
“That, and…” Jaehyuk slid up next to him, poking at Jihoon’s side with a knowing grin. “Sanghyeok hyung has his favorites.”
Minkyu nodded in agreement. “I noticed that too! Faker-nim is particularly nice to Jihoon hyung—even backstage.”
Jihoon scoffed, shaking his head as if they had just uttered the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “He’s kind to everyone .”
And that was true. Sanghyeok was unlike bigheaded industry legends; he was a genuinely good person. Jihoon had seen it firsthand. The guy had been in this scene for over a decade and he was still adored by fans, acquiatances, and rookies alike. But sometimes, Jihoon wondered if he was too nice. It wouldn’t hurt him to build a few more walls—to stop people from taking advantage of that kindness.
“Yeah, yeah,” Giin waved a hand. “He’s nice to everyone, but it’s different with you. You got some dirt on him or something?”
Jihoon snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Think about it. A lot of people have tried getting close to him, but you? You’re just there , like it’s nothing.”
“It’s because of the Asian Games,” Jihoon reasoned, arms crossed.
Jaehyuk raised a brow. “Hey, I was on that team too, but I’m nowhere near as close to him as you are.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I heard a lot of people have been asking for his number. Do you have his number?” Geonbu inquired.
“Yes, but—”
“See? Even BDD doesn’t have his number, and it’s been years!” Giin cut in, his voice rising with brief wonder.
Jihoon frowned. “That’s different.”
Jaehyuk leaned in, smirking. “I’m just saying… if you asked Sanghyeok hyung for a huge favor—like, I don’t know, borrowing 50 million won—he’d gladly lend it to you.”
Jihoon rolled his eyes. “Why would I even ask him for money?”
“Okay, rich guy.” Giin exchanged looks with Jaehyuk before shaking his head in exasperation. “But we all see it. He’d say yes to anything you ask.”
“He’s just really kind,” Jihoon defended, but Jaehyuk wasn’t letting up.
“Yeah, like, if you confessed to him, he’d be like, ‘Alright, Jihoon-ah,’ and smile at you the way he always does.”
Geonbu nodded along, clearly entertained by what Jihoon would call conspiracy theories at this point.
Jaehyuk suddenly perked up, his eyes gleaming mischievously. “Wait. Didn’t you have a crush on Sanghyeok hyung during the Asian Games?”
Jihoon sucked in a sharp breath, scandalized. “I did not !”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Jaehyuk tilted his head, studying Jihoon with mock contemplation. “What if you asked him out and he said yes? Then what?”
Jihoon blinked. “Why would I do that?”
“Think about it.” Jaehyuk leaned forward, voice dripping with persuasion. “If he says yes, we confirm our hypothesis. And you get to go on a date with your crush.”
Jihoon opened his mouth to interject, but Jaehyuk swiftly cut him off. “If he says no, then it’s just a no. No big deal, right? You don’t have a crush on him, so what does it matter?”
Silence settled over Jihoon. He hadn’t thought about crushes. He hadn’t considered anything beyond the game. And now, somehow, in the middle of what was supposed to be a brief break before scrims, his so-called friends were spinning some wild, alternate reality where he and Sanghyeok could be anything more than rivals outside the rift.
“Oh, I get it.” Jaehyuk grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”
***
“Cheers to Royal Mid!” Boseong yelled, lifting his shot glass high. His voice, meant to be bold and celebratory, barely reached above the clatter of dishes and conversation.
The table erupted into laughter.
“Louder, Mr. MVP,” Sanghyeok teased, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Boseong flushed instantly, his fair cheeks turning crimson. The teasing only intensified—whistles, knowing chuckles, and playful jabs flying from all directions. Well, almost all directions. One person remained conspicuously silent, masking his irritation with a barely-there smile. If anyone had bothered to look closely, they might have noticed the slight tension in Jihoon’s jaw, the way his fingers curled subtly against the edge of the table. But no one did.
“Cheers to Royal Mid!” Boseong tried again, louder this time, though his naturally gentle voice softened the edges of the declaration.
As the platters of raw meat arrived, Daekwang immediately grabbed the tongs and scissors, resigned to his role as the group's designated cook—an unspoken rule of tradition dictated by his status as the youngest.
“You don’t have to do that for me.” Sanghyeok waved off Daekwang’s efforts, his voice warm but firm. “Let’s just enjoy the meal.”
Yet, before Daekwang could even protest, Sanghyeok picked up a few perfectly grilled slices and placed them onto the younger’s plate. “Eat these before they get cold.”
Jihoon’s grip on his chopsticks tightened. ‘See? If I were really his favorite, he would’ve given those to me instead,’ he told himself, as if repetition could turn the thought into truth. But deep down, something gnawed at him. ‘He’s just nice to everyone.’
He watched as Sanghyeok flipped more meat over the glowing embers, the warmth of the grill tinting his usually pale cheeks a delicate pink. When Sanghyeok absentmindedly pushed his bangs back as he usually does as an habit, his fingers brushing against the frame of his glasses, Jihoon’s breath hitched.
‘Is hyung feeling hot?’
Jihoon parted his lips to offer help, the words ready to slip past his tongue, but—
“Sanghyeok hyung, you should eat more,” Boseong’s soft voice cut in first. Jihoon froze. Boseong, now wielding the tongs like some overeager chef wanting to impress Gordon Ramsay, gently took the other tong from Sanghyeok to cook with both hands, his movements clumsy but enthusiastic.
Sanghyeok laughed, the sound rich and unguarded. “You look like you’re struggling.”
“I can do this all day, hyung!” Boseong declared proudly.
‘Fuck. I should’ve sat next to him instead.’
Jihoon stabbed at his plate, his expression unreadable as Boseong put the cooked pieces on their plates. He counted—three for him, nine for Sanghyeok. No, he totally didn’t count. That would be ridiculous.
Without another word, he pushed back his chair and excused himself, weaving through the tables toward the washroom. He needed a moment.
This wasn’t like him. Okay, maybe the sulking part was, but not so openly—not in front of people he was supposed to be bonding with. He took a deep breath, willing himself to get a grip. He came here to enjoy the night, not to sit there , all broody like some male lead from a melodrama.
When he finally stepped out of the stall, the last thing he expected was to see Sanghyeok waiting by the sink, hands under the running faucet.
“Are you alright, Jihoon?” Sanghyeok asked, turning to him with that familiar, effortless kindness. “You look a little down.”
Jihoon’s heart stuttered. Hequickly shook his head, not wanting to be mistaken for someone insubordinate and unfriendly because he truly had been looking forward to this dinner—spending time with the other members of Team Mid wasn’t an everyday occurrence. “No! I’m fine. Just… maybe a little tired. But really, I’m good.”
Sanghyeok studied him for a second longer than necessary, then nodded. “If you say so. But if you want to head out, just let me know. I’ll help you.”
Jihoon’s lips parted, surprise flickering in his chest. Kind. So damn kind. Of course, Sanghyeok would notice. Of course Sanghyeok would notice when his wimpy ass was sulking. Of course, he wasn’t focused on just Boseong alone. And just like that, Jihoon forgot what he was brooding about.
Of course, he would care. Jihoon suddenly forgot what he had been sulking about in the first place.
“Seems like you’re the one who wants to leave, hyung,” Jihoon teased, tilting his head slightly.
Sanghyeok ducked his head, lips quirking into a guilty smile. “Was it that obvious?”
Oh, he’s so damn cute.
Jihoon saw an opportunity to tease his hyung even more and took it. “If you want to leave, just say the word. I’ll come up with an excuse that’ll have everyone wrapping up in no time. Then, we can go home together since we’re going the same way anyway.”
Sanghyeok raised a brow, amused. “Oh? And what kind of excuse do you have in mind?”
Jihoon grinned. “I’ll just tell them I have some serious stomach issues.”
Sanghyeok chuckled, shaking his head.
“I’m serious, hyung! We’ve been in here for a while already—someone’s bound to think one of us has food poisoning. I might as well take one for the team.”
“You don’t have to go that far for me, Jihoon-ah,” Sanghyeok said, his laughter still dancing between them.
But really, Jihoon didn’t mind sharing the state of his digestive system to them if it meant that he could finally go home, together with Sanghyeok, of course.
“Let’s go,” Sanghyeok said, gesturing toward the door. “They must be waiting for us.”
“W-wait, hyung.” Jihoon blurted out, reaching for Sanghyeok’s wrist, his grip firm but hesitant. “After this… can you set aside some time for me?”
Sanghyeok’s gaze softened. He nodded. “Of course.”
***
Jihoon wasn’t sure if it was his stupidly competitive nature or Jaehyuk’s relentless teasing that got him into this mess, but either way, he had no one to blame but himself.
This was a bad idea. A terrible, irreversible, should’ve-known-better kind of idea.
He took a shaky breath. Just do it. Get it over with. Accept Sanghyeok’s rejection like a man pretend it didn’t sting like hell, and move on. Sure, rejection sucked, but just like getting hit by a car, if you braced for impact then it would hurt a lot less. It’s all fake anyway. At least, that’s what he tells himself.
“So, uh…” He started, then stopped. His voice wavered. Damn it, just say the damn words, Jihoon.
Sanghyeok stood there, his expression open, patient. Not an ounce of judgment. Just the kind of quiet understanding that makes Jihoon’s stomach twist. He swallowed but his mouth felt like sandpaper.
“What I want to say is…” He hesitated, cursing himself internally. Just say it. Spit it out.
Jihoon lifted his eyes, heart hammering. The dim glow of the flickering streetlamp casted shadows over Sanghyeok’s face, softening the sharp lines of his jaw. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those steady, dark eyes—were locked on Jihoon.
And then, before he could stop himself—
“Sanghyeok hyung, I think I like you.” Jihoon confessed, gripping his sweater with too much force that his knuckles had turned almost white. “Would you go out with me?”
A beat.
I think I like you?
I think?
Oh god. His own words echoed in his head, and Jihoon wanted to sink into the pavement. That was the worst confession ever. Messy. Awkward. A complete disaster.
He forced himself to look away, scanning the dingy, empty street, the flickering neon buzz from the old streetlight above them. The setting was utterly terrible. That’s good, he convinced himself. The worse the atmosphere, the faster the rejection. Right?
And then—
“Alright, Jihoon-ah.”
Wait.
Wait, what?
He looked up to see Sanghyeok smiling—that same soft, gentle smile he always gives Jihoon. The one that makes everything feel steady. Safe.
But this time, Jihoon’s chestw as anything but steady. His heart wss slamming against his ribs like it was trying to break free, and suddenly, everything felt off-balance.
Did he hear that right?
Did he—
Jihoon swore his entire body was short-circuiting.
“W-what?”
Sanghyeok tilted his head, grinning like he held the entire sky in his hands. “Why do you look so surprised?”
Jihoon swallowed hard. The dim glow of the streetlamp cast warm shadows on Sanghyeok’s face, making him look even more angelic. Or maybe it was just Jihoon’s conscience eating him alive that he's finally seeing something supernatural.
“I just— I thought—” He couldn’t find the words. He was supposed to get rejected. That was the plan. A quick, clean cut. He’d fake a little heartbreak, laugh it off after some awkwardness, and then life would go back to normal.
But this?
This definitely wasn’t part of the plan.
“Is this why you were so distracted at dinner?” Sanghyeok’s voice was gentle, filled with concern, and it only made Jihoon feel a thousand times worse. “You were the most excited about the victory dinner but you barely ate. I was starting to get worried.”
Shit.
Right. Boseong.
If he thought about it—really thought about it—none of this would’ve happened if Boseong hadn’t been hovering around Sanghyeok all night. Too close, too friendly, too—
No. No excuses. Jihoon knew what he was doing when he agreed to this dare. Knew it was a stupid, reckless thing to do. And yet, here he was.
He needed to come clean. Now. Before this turned into something worse.
“Hyung,” he started, but the words lodged in his throat like a knife.
How was he supposed to say this? Hey, hyung, I'm so sorry but that was just a dare, I didn’t mean it.
Scum. He was scum.
“I didn’t think it was mutual, you know.”
Jihoon froze. Mutual?
Sanghyeok’s voice was soft, laced with something delicate and vulnerable, like a confession dipped in honey. “That’s why I was scared. Now I feel ashamed. I wish I had just as much courage as you do.”
Jihoon felt his stomach drop.
Pang.
A sharp, twisting ache in his chest.
“N-no, it’s not like that, hyung,” Jihoon stammered, but he didn’t even know what he was trying to say.
Sanghyeok reached for his hand, his fingers cold and trembling slightly. Jihoon noted how soft they were, how carefully his slende rfingers curled around his.
“This is as much courage as I could muster for today,” Sanghyeok whispered. “But I hope you’ll give me time to catch up to you, Jihoon-ah.”
Jihoon stopped breathing.
He was not rejected.
And he felt himself crumble.