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Choi Hyeonjoon was a four-time LCK champion, six-year veteran top laner, and one very creepy Sanghyeok fan currently sniffing a jacket he had worn. More precisely, Hyeonjoon’s own jacket.
The warmth that had tingled Hyeonjoon’s fingertips when Sanghyeok oh-so-casually passed it back to him had long since faded, but the little thrill that surged through him when he held it in his hands remained present and as electrifying as ever.
Minhyeong had joked earlier that Hyeonjoon should put the item up for auction if only to see how much people were willing to pay for a Faker-scented jacket, but Hyeonjoon had other ideas. Ironically, it was Minhyeong’s suggestion that bred those ideas.
Money was something that could be earned back. This wasn’t. With his face buried in the jacket’s front, Hyeonjoon inhaled deeply.
A clean, refreshing scent, like mild soap and aftershave, tickled his nose. The sweetness was light, citrusy, nothing like the cloying colognes that always gave Hyeonjoon a headache. No, this scent was completely, wonderfully Sanghyeok, and each breath brought a new wave of rejuvenation – and guilt.
If Sanghyeok saw him now, wouldn’t he be disgusted…?
Lowering his hands, Hyeonjoon shoved away his conflicted thoughts and gathered himself. What Sanghyeok didn’t know wouldn’t kill him – and there was no way Hyeonjoon would let him find out about it.
Ever.
Digging his own grave and retreating into it sounded far more preferable than Sanghyeok discovering this.
“Aren’t you coming down?”
Hyeonjoon jumped, the incriminating jacket slipping from his hands. He whirled around, coming face to face with Sanghyeok, who was hovering at the doorway and staring at him curiously.
“What?” Hyeonjoon squeaked out, heart pounding wildly.
“Minhyeong ordered fried chicken,” Sanghyeok explained. “There’s enough for everyone.”
“That sounds nice,” Hyeonjoon managed to say, though inwardly he was praying that Sanghyeok hadn’t seen anything. “Have you been, um, standing there for long? Did you see anything?”
Sanghyeok tilted his head. “Should I have seen something?”
“No!” Hyeonjoon shook his head fervently. “I mean, let’s go. I’m hungry.”
He strode forward, almost tripping over his feet.
“Are you going to leave that on the floor?” Sanghyeok signaled the fallen jacket with his chin.
Hyeonjoon stopped in his tracks. Hesitating. Then, he backpedalled, bending down to scoop up the jacket and laying it carefully on his bed like it was his baby. Because it was.
“There.” And just in case Sanghyeok did see something earlier, he hastily added, “I was inspecting it just now. For, uh, damage and stuff. Because those jackets can be kind of flimsy, you know? Haha.”
Sanghyeok studied him for a moment. Then he smiled. A small one, there and gone, but so beautiful it stole Hyeonjoon’s breath and heart in one fleeting second. “I'm glad to see you're taking good care of it. It’s our lucky jacket, after all. We won with me wearing it.”
Our lucky jacket.
Those words sprang around in Hyeonjoon’s head, tooting party horns and filling him with a sudden burst of joyful energy. Sanghyeok just said “our”. There was an “our” between them, and while it might be something as trivial as a jacket, it still made him giddy nonetheless.
He was donning the most idiotic grin, thoughts racing with the most delusional of fantasies, which was how he utterly missed Sanghyeok’s contemplative look as his keen gaze ran over the innocuous jacket now draped across Hyeonjoon’s bed.
“Hmm.”
***
From that day on it became customary for Hyeonjoon to squeeze “our lucky jacket” to his face before a match. It was almost like a ritual, except even a ritual was less embarrassing than his jacket-sniffing routine. He did it in the privacy of his bedroom, remembering to keep his door locked, and other than the first close shave with Sanghyeok, no one else stumbled across his newly acquired and admittedly strange habit.
Sanghyeok’s scent was whittled away by time’s hammer, but by then it no longer mattered, especially with how T1’s winning streak had remained unbroken ever since that day. A coincidence, perhaps, yet Hyeonjoon wasn’t someone who liked to challenge fate. It became something Hyeonjoon had to keep doing, a practice drilled into his body, an instinct governed by his hands and face.
Until one day he couldn’t.
Hyeonjoon tore through the house, practically ransacking it. He flipped over cushions, upturned the unwashed laundry basket, hunted through the common spaces, eyes wild and lips pulled down. He marched back into the living room where his dongsaengs were trying to put things back into order after he had unceremoniously bulldozed through the room while they were playing Wild Rift.
“Hyung, what’s gotten into you?” Hyeonjun complained. “You’re never like this!”
“Have any of you seen my jacket?” Hyeonjoon demanded.
Minhyeong rolled his eyes. “All this over a jacket? Don’t you have spares?” It was a rhetorical question; all of them were given at least three copies of their full set of uniforms.
Only Minseok seemed to consider his question seriously. “I think I saw Sanghyeok hyung bringing the washed laundry up to dry. Your jacket was in the pile.”
Hyeonjoon’s heart sank. No!
Abandoning the others, he headed for the stairs, climbing them two at a time until he reached the garden rooftop, wheezing and panting. Their dryer had broken down last week, and Sanghyeok had suggested they hang their laundry on the rooftop for the time being. Hyeonjoon had seconded the idea, called him a genius. Now he regretted it as he pushed through the doors, staggering in.
The sunlight hit him first, bright and cheery. Then the sight of his jacket swaying gently in the breeze, suspended on the makeshift clothes line, hit him like a bowling ball. He should have been knocked over backward, flattened and fainted, but Sanghyeon appeared in his line of vision.
“Oh, did you come to give me a hand? I’m already done.”
Hyeonjoon should thank him, should express his gratitude, because this was Sanghyeok standing in front of him wearing his gentle, thoughtful smile, but all he could choke out was, “We have a match tomorrow.”
The slightest furrow appeared in Sanghyeok’s brows. “Yes. Are you worried about it?”
Hyeonjoon lifted his arm, heavy as lead, and pointed. “That’s our jacket.”
The crease deepened. “Yes. We’ve always washed all our jackets together, so –”
“No, that’s our jacket. Our lucky jacket.”
Sanghyeok blinked. Then it seemed to hit him too. “Oh.”
Hyeonjoon let his arm fall. His eyes prickled. This was stupid. So stupid. He was stupid. But he found himself saying in a tiny voice, “Now it’s gone. The luck is washed away.” Your scent is washed away. He managed to suppress the final thought, thank god.
Sanghyeok ran a hand through his hair. He was always hard to read, but he appeared flustered. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you first. I knew how important that jacket was to you.”
Hyeonjoon’s brain short-circuited. “Wait. You knew?”
“Yes? You weren’t exactly being subtle about it… Oh. You were.”
More than anything else, more than losing his – their – lucky jacket, it was this revelation that Sanghyeok knew all along what a creep he had been that tipped him over. Hyeonjoon ducked his head, wanting to curl in on himself.
Sanghyeok knew. He would be revolted, he would be turned off –
“But Joonie, I’m a little disappointed.”
Here it was. Hyeonjoon braced himself for the inevitable final blow.
“The real one is right here, so why would you settle for just a jacket?”
… What?
Hyeonjoon raised his head, wondering if he was starting to hear things now. Sanghyeok was walking toward him, arms outstretched. He wasn’t walking away. He wasn’t running for the hills, screaming about his gross top laner. And to Hyeonjoon’s bewilderment, Sanghyeok wrapped those heavenly arms around him.
He was being hugged.
Despite the bizarreness of the situation, he found he liked it very much.
“Hyung, what is this?” he whispered, scarcely daring to talk lest the moment disappeared like a dream.
“Breathe,” Sanghyeok murmured.
And Hyeonjoon did just that.
Sanghyeok was right. The real deal was superior, incomparable. The light, fruity scent permeated all his senses, sending slow shivers tingling up and down his spine until he was burrowing his face into Sanghyeok’s neck, desperate to capture more of it.
And Sanghyeok laughed. Right in his ear, a deep chuckle that sent another sort of delicious shiver through him. One accompanied by searing heat that flushed through his body, leaving him craving more. Desperate for more.
“I’ll be your lucky jacket from now on.” Sanghyeok’s hot breath caressed his ear. “So hug me instead.”
Hyeonjoon thought he could die right now without any regrets. Thankfully, the door to the afterlife remained firmly closed and he remained firmly engulfed in Sanghyeok’s arms, feeling every inch of his lean body pressing into his. They stayed there for a long time, the mellow sunlight watching over their embraced figures.
When they parted, Sanghyeok patted Hyeonjoon’s head. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
Hyeonjoon blinked confusedly, stuck in a daze. “Hugging me?”
“Yeah. And this.” His hand was still stroking Hyeonjoon’s head. Hyeonjoon found that he liked that very much as well. “Everything.”
“Do it then,” Hyeonjoon said, shocking himself with his boldness. “Do whatever you want. Do everything with me.”
Sanghyeok laughed. Hyeonjoon wanted to capture that sound and keep it inside him forever.
“Okay. Then let’s start from here.”
He tugged Hyeonjoon’s head down and kissed him.
Warmth spread from the spot where their lips were pressed together. Sanghyeok’s mouth was moist, tender, every stroke of it rousing as much as it was awkward. And that realization stirred Hyeonjoon even more – for once he discovered something he was more experienced in, if only by a slight margin, than Sanghyeok. He took the lead, lips moving insistently, coaxing Sanghyeok’s mouth to open. His tongue slipped in.
Sanghyeok jolted. He pulled away, eyes wide, face flushed.
“Sorry. That surprised me.”
“Bad surprise?”
Sanghyeok paused to think over it. “No.” A slow smile bloomed on his face. “A good surprise.”
“You’re too cute,” Hyeonjoon blurted out. His face grew even redder than Sanghyeok’s, but it was the truth.
Sanghyeok narrowed his eyes at him. “And you’re too good at this.”
“Aww hyung, are you feeling jealous?” Hyeonjoon teased, even as a part of him marveled at this development. Was he actually saying that? Was he actually… flirting with Sanghyeok? Which valiant ghost had possessed him, and could they never leave?
“Yes,” Sanghyeok said, and his honesty was every bit as endearing as himself. That crease in his brows was back. “I hope you’re not doing that with anyone else.”
“There is no one else,” Hyeonjoon assured him, wanting to wipe away his frown. He succeeded with his next words. “Only you.”
Hyeonjoon never thought he would see the day where Sanghyeok puffed up. Like a proud little penguin.
“Well, I suppose we’re…” Sanghyeok tucked an invisible strand of hair behind one ear. Was he nervous? Was Hyeonjoon imagining things? “… dating?”
“If you’re okay with it,” Hyeonjoon said, hearing the hope in his voice and praying for it to be reciprocated.
“If I’m okay with it?” Sanghyeok repeated with a note of incredulity. “I love it.”
This time, when their lips met, Sanghyeok didn’t shy away.
***
The next day, Hyeonjoon woke up excited and fluttery. At first he wondered why, and then yesterday’s events hit him.
He was dating Sanghyeok.
Sanghyeok was his boyfriend.
Those two sentences tumbled around his head as he rolled around in bed kicking his feet up and down while giggling. His foot snagged onto something. A zipper slider slammed into his heel.
“Ow!”
Tossing aside his covers and sitting up, he massaged his foot. His gaze landed on the culprit.
A… jacket?
Scrambling forward, he picked it up with both hands. Not just any random jacket. It was a T1 jacket, and on the back, staring at Hyeonjoon with the same stark frankness of its owner, was the name FAKER. He drew it to his face and inhaled. It smelled like Sanghyeok.
Which could only mean one thing. This was Sanghyeok’s jacket. And now he had given it to Hyeonjoon.
The biggest grin broke out on his face. He was holding the most priceless artifact in his hands. Even other pro players and celebrities would fight for it. In the past Hyeonjoon would have been one of them, watching Sanghyeok from afar, hoping to catch his attention, knowing he never would. Wondering which lucky bastard would end up catching his heart, then keeping it.
Now he knew.
That lucky bastard was him.
More than the jacket, it was the gift of Sanghyeok’s heart that he vowed to treasure forever. Then he shrugged on the jacket and went in search of his boyfriend.