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Worlds was a whirlwind. The high highs and low lows of competitive esports took a turn for the worse, as of course did the entire team's dynamic, happiness with each other, and communication. Iván had to deal with his own feelings and play mistakes, while trying to remain a rock for his team and deal with them as a captain. Sejun's coldness during this time he understood, or did his best to, with all the other shit rattling around in his head. He had been captain too, right? Did it really feel like this? Wasn’t this worse? Wasn’t making Worlds better? He really didn’t know. The stress just pulled him apart.
The match days and the pulls were drawn out, you could tell if you were going to get turbo fisted in the morning and come down to reality by that evening if you were a more enlightened individual. No one really expected the west to beat eastern teams. Their issues were glaring, you put on your best face and stand tall, trying to fake it till you make it… Then it was another loss. Another incompetence, another failure in a long line of failures. Classic LEC, classic Fnatic, classic insert player name here. It's easy to keep losing, which made it all the harder to take. How many times could they all lose ?
The exit video, the words they exchanged had been nice. Fraught with sadness and even fear they might not see someone again, but nice. So when everyone went their separate ways for break to reset, the lack of contact between the team was expected. Everyone needed the time alone. "In case there is a loss in cabin pressure, yellow oxygen masks will deploy from the ceiling compartment located above you. Please secure your own mask before assisting others around you”, after all.
That part hurt. Not even getting to go on a plane for quarters, no Paris at all, playing on the same old stage. It came biting back at Iván a lot. They didn't even get to leave Berlin . He was out that day. He left immediately, with no nonsense. He had practically run out the door to make the earliest flight home. It wasn’t hard. He was already packed, as he assumed most of his teammates were. Maybe that had been admitting defeat.
Maybe he should just enjoy his time back home while he could, stop losing sleep, opening and closing messaging apps, thinking about time differences. Maybe it was time to be honest. With himself, with his parents, with a lot of things. With Jun.
If he had to focus on part of the botlane duo, it really ought to have been Noah. Noah was out of Iván's depth though. His, Jun's, the whole team's. He couldn’t save Noah either. Noah had wanted to leave and he ultimately had understood. So if, for a second, his thoughts went back to Jun it wouldn't hurt, would it? Noah had gotten help. Noah was great, their botlane carried. If that wasn’t enough, what could have possibly saved him? Iván was lost. That hurt A LOT. His powerlessness, or his resignation to that. Botlane carried and he was a massive blunder as a whole. What did his position really matter with his performance? His performance… well. He knew that without any vods. Not that they were watching any now.
Maybe he had been a coward. Iván felt it like bile at the back of his throat. It was one of his least favorite moments of the year. Knowing the team wouldn’t stick together. No matter how much they were friends, more than friends, not speaking to each other. The way the team felt had nothing to do with the decisions being made. At least that's what he loved to tell himself. Contracts were locked. Something had to change. It wasn’t going to be him, them , they all knew that.
Jun had dared to tell him otherwise. And it was worse, he had decided. Being friends with his teammates, being… Whatever they were, boyfriends (he gritted his teeth, he would always call themselves that no matter how much Jun hated that), at the end of the season. Somehow being the most beloved jungler of the LEC never worked out for him during their talks. “Your career is fine, Iván”, Sejun had said, and said it so coldly. It had been days since they last talked and that stuck in his head so badly he’d even told his mother after dinner one night.
He would change if it he could. Jun would never let him though, he fought tooth and nail practically against any bit of ground Iván had won. It had taken at least a month after Iván had slept over a few times, or Jun slept over at his place, to at least confirm what they were doing to Noah, who Jun had lived with.
As much as he understood, it was still hard. He always had his heart on his sleeve, everyone could see it. He felt like everyone could see how he looked at Jun, try as he might not to, even on camera. His mother had chided him on that.
“You wanted to take a picture with someone you see every day over us!” But she laughed, and kissed his forehead. “But that's why you were so happy about that, huh?"
But maybe he had pushed it a little posting on instagram so soon. Not telling Jun goodbye. Sure after team dinner every one got a hug between all of them, but it wasn't special. Pete had his camera, there was still a sense of grief among them, and Jun didn't act any differently either. Not telling him anything. But no one wanted to fucking talk after all of that. It really wasn’t all on him.
But that’s not what his father told him a week later. He clearly didn’t share everything, but all the sitting silently, absentmindedly petting Syra looking morose was enough for him to ask more than a few questions.
That was a harder conversation than he thought it would be. Carefully unloading his feelings and stress from the whole year, to admitting he felt like a coward and a bad boy friend. And to be told that he probably was. That admonishment hurt. He’d left Jun a voice message not two hours later.
“Please, Juni can you reply? I don’t care what the time is, I want to hear from you.” And he had to sit back and listen to his own voice say it back to him. He cringed and pressed “send” anyway.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t said anything … but nothing important or that needed a reply, which he also hadn't received. However, he was pleasantly surprised when he woke up the next morning with a notification and a picture of some Korean food on a counter. Everyone knew how picky Jun could be about food and Iván genuinely did want him to eat well when he got home. It sent a little throb through his chest that there were no words, but a bounce in his step that he did get an answer.
By the time Worlds rolled around, he felt like he was going crazy. When he flew to London he felt like turning around in the terminal and flying to Korea himself. It was clear that they were not talking about the gigantic elephant in the room between them. They were barely talking at all, in fact. The chat history was mostly pictures of Syra.. It was like they were back to previous levels of communication, struggling to pull things out of Jun by cornering him, which he didn't want to do. It felt like the whole thing could blow up. He only got a real response when complaining about the media day.
“Wish you were here.” he typed quickly, while he had Jun’s attention. He had to be honest to a fault of course, risking no response or worse, a bad one. He was sick of it and it was true, he missed the botlane and Jun terribly. Chaulk it up to Jun’s constant reserved nature and the language barrier, not seeing eachother every day made it much harder for Iván to feel where exactly their relationship was.
It was the day he and Jun were supposed to arrive. It was perfect, it was too shit to be perfect, but it could have been perfect. If only his flight was delayed by a few hours, if only Jun’s was early many. He didn’t get airplane sickness but his nerves made him equally, if not more so sick. He could do nothing to quell the desire to trap Jun like he used to do, get answers the only way he really knew how. “ We’ll talk then ”, he said. Then, then, then. “ When we’re both back in Berlin ,” “ After media day , we can’t talk here ”, until Jun could put it off no more.
It was only a weekend away but the time seemed to go by so slowly, trying to get back into old habits. They could scrim together now, they could see eachother now, they could know if this team could work out, Jun couldn’t keep him at arm’s length with short responses, pretending things were “fine”, maybe the extra english immersion would do Jun good, Upset couldn’t pretend like Jun wasn’t absolutely cracked. If they could just hold it all together in his hands once more, for the new year and new split. Un-new team.
He saw Jun, and everything else faded away.
He grabbed his arm and drug him from the room. Dramatically enough, everyone including Sejun looked panicked. Into the bathroom they went, Sejun on his two feet, finally not wearing that brace, Iván falling down to the floor after.
“I’m sorry Juni. I’m sorry for not being a better jungler, for not being a better boyfriend, a better captain, all of it. I’m sorry.” Everything just tumbled out of his mouth. Iván could only keep from crying because it was all so bitter. “I’m sorry, but if we ever …” He trails off, finally looking up at Sejun from the tiled floor.
He looked scared and sad too.
“I’ll go right into that room and tell them about us Juni, I don’t want you to leave, or ever think you’re leaving again, ok?” It of course, ends in a question like he usually does, but it’s not a question. He wraps himself around Jun’s legs, a sob dying in his throat when he can finally feel his warmth. It’s been more than a month and even like this…
“Iván,” comes the voice, saying his name. Like music to Iván’s ears. “Iván, get up, get up.”
It’s not music though, Sejun is still looking panicked, looking at him, looking at the door, back and forth.
“I’ll tell them Jun,” he promises, burying his head between the slender thighs he’s so fond of.
Jun is grabbing on his arms and shirt now though. “Iván, get up! I…”
Iván does look back up, and sees Sejun’s worried face. How sadly it looks down at him in turn, and he remembers. How much of this was always Jun’s idea. Never tell anyone, never show it, never . But he just needs Sejun to say his feelings, after all this time, between all the break, and he’ll maybe be ok. He’ll go back to keeping up all the appearances, trying his hardest to not slip up and just touch him when he can’t take it anymore. He swears in his head, eyes trying to convey this all silently, because his mouth isn’t working right anymore. He’ll do it all if he knows Jun still feels the same way.
“Juni, I don’t want it like this…” Iván pleads, but stands. Slowly. Trying his hardest not to grab and desperately hang onto the man in front of him.
But his resolve fades when Jun stops looking at the door, and looks solely at him. Not moving quickly enough for the skittish Sejun to step back, which would break his heart into a million pieces, he slides his hands around his neck, up the back of his head.
“Juni, please, kiss me. Tell me to kiss you.” Iván begs now.
Sejun doesn’t look at the door at all, just takes Iván in. His face, his touch, his round splotchy red cheeks, he looks like he has so often. Snuffed nose, always sick, stressed, sad, desperate to somehow change things he thinks he should have power over. His always honest eyes, glassy, too dark to see his irises, imploring him, his short as short stubble that he’s recently shaved, grown out just a little. How familiar Jun knows it feels on his skin, on his own face. His chest pounds with danger.
And it reminds him how young they both are. And maybe it is only a fling. And maybe it’s only puppy love. And maybe Iván is very, very much like a puppy. He loves fully. And he loves him . And maybe the weight of his father’s gaze cant reach him here. Scared, unalone, still emotionally tethered to Iván no matter what had happened so far. Every single one of those things is catastrophe, management finding out, BEING TOLD the worst of all. It’s impossible to believe it wouldn’t be absolute career suicide, he’s baffled by Iván. He doesn’t get it at all, but he just stands there, determined to … still have each other.
“Don’t tell yet.” He breathes.
Iván deflates onto his shoulder at this.
Maybe that’s fine. For as long as it works, it’s fine. Iván’s familiar weight, chin digging into his shoulder. Memories of skin on skin, under his clothes even in this same fluorescent lit bathroom. And not doing this, not feeling this, might be so much worse.
“...Kiss me,” he relents, like a wave crashing over him, over his head. All the outside noises go quiet under the water, and then Iván is on him. Kissing him. And his heart sings. Every bad feeling for one moment bubbles up up up and out of him. He kisses him back and his arms try to wrap around him as far as they’ll go, pulling him as close and he can, and it’s right again.
“We go again, okay?”
And it doesn’t matter if it’s the next split or their relationship, or trying to keep everything together for the management or videos. Iván and Razork have both feet planted, facing forward. Ready to face it all for now, with Jun. Just a little, little longer.