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Minhyung knew this would happen at some point.
He knows himself well enough. His recurring worries and habits when it came to the end of the year were all familiar. Not much can be said, and that’s all that can really happen as Minhyung pretends nothing is bothering him.
It’s not that simple. He shouldn’t feel bothered in the first place.
Winning was nice. Winning is always nice, and when Minhyung thinks back to the pivotal moment he can still feel the buzz of excitement and relief under his skin. The cheers from the audience loud and proud and screaming at him.
He’s proud of himself. He doesn’t discredit his performance. He’s a part of the dazzling success the team achieved as much as the rest of his teammates are.
It doesn’t do much to mask the feelings that follow though.
Because if Minhyung really thinks about it, really concentrates on what’s buried underneath, it’s something much thicker. Like ink flowing alongside his blood, pooling and aching and undeniably there.
It feels like he’s being slowed down—a Braum Q stacking up as the days tick by, he thinks humoroursly—and he’s just waiting for the moment he’s inevitably caught.
Minhyung knows he’s stretched himself too thin with his overthinking, but he never snaps. He never breaks. Minhyung has never been the type to crash and collapse.
It’s just exhaustion.
He isn’t blind to the worried glances he gets from his teammates as they move around him during the following days either. As much as he wishes he can will the furrow of their eyebrows away, he can't.
Hyeonjun is the one who loses his patience first.
Minhyung knows his thin smiles do nothing to convince the jungler of his lies. He’d be more surprised if they did. He was always more perceptive than he let on. It fits his role, with how easily he notices everything on the rift, snowballing each step into their favour.
He just didn’t think it’d ever be brought up. Everyone was busy. Plans were being made to go home, maybe out of the country, out of the dorm and into the snow-covered streets. Vacation wasn’t taken for granted in their line of work after all.
Hyeonjun catches him off guard nonetheless.
It’s a quiet day. Minseok and Wooje sent pictures of the pastries they managed to snag earlier, and Sanghyeok’s out doing whatever he usually does. Hyeonjun left in the morning too. Minhyung even heard his complaints of someone else’s crappy scheduling through the walls.
So, he stays in bed. It’s not necessarily rare for the dorm to be quiet, but it’s been a while since he’s allowed himself a lazy day.
He goes in and out of sleep, letting something deeper fix him to his mattress. The noise in his head doesn’t ever stop, but it’s easier to subdue it into something more manageable with the ends of his blanket covering half his face.
The knock on his door comes later, a little past noon Minhyung realizes after he opens his eyes.
“Sleeping beauty’s not up yet?” Hyeonjun leans against the doorframe, amusement colouring his body language as he crosses his arms in front of his chest.
Minhyung snorts as he pulls himself up. “Prince Charming just woke me up,” he mumbles, resituating himself at the edge of his bed.
He glances at Hyeonjun, still standing by the door with a sort of ease that’s always suited him. He doesn’t look out of place, but he doesn’t really knock on Minhyung’s door without a reason either. That was usually his job when it came to their relationship.
“Did you need something?” Minhyung asks, raising an eyebrow at him.
Hyeonjun must take it as an invitation, because he properly steps into the room. He finds his way towards Minhyung’s desk, and Minhyung ignores how easy it is for Hyeonjun to pick up the leftover trash on his desk and throw it into the trash with an underhanded swing.
“Nah, just wanted to talk.”
Oh.
Hyeonjun levels him with a look. He doesn’t even give Minhyung the opportunity to think of an excuse. His gaze doesn’t even try to knock him down or pierce through him—and frankly, it wouldn’t have taken much considering how brittle he was—but Minhyung freezes nonetheless.
Minhyung can only stare back, as if his silence could mask the storm starting to grow behind his eyes.
It’s the biggest admission he could’ve made today.
A simple exhale leaves Hyeonjun’s mouth. Not a sigh, not exasperated in any way. It’s not relief either. It’s the kind of sound someone makes when they’ve gotten halfway.
“Be honest.”
The words ring out in his head, knocking against his empty skull, rattling him from the inside out.
There’s no room for argument. Yet, Hyeonjun left the door slightly cracked open before he sat down on Minhyung’s chair. He makes himself look like he’s here for something, but his eyes say that he can wait if he has to. Intentional actions cleverly disguised to let Minhyung make his decision. Make him feel like the one who pinged first.
He wants to laugh. A strong, confident sound that bubbles out straight from his chest. It’s what he’s known for—what he’s always been. A steady, bright, blinding, burning star that carries.
Dependable when it mattered the least.
Minhyung makes an attempt despite regret already telling him it’s not worth it, and the sound that comes out of his mouth is strangled, ugly, pitiful.
He wants to shove it back into his throat. Maybe it’d hurt less. Maybe he’d hurt more than he’s allowed himself to.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen next year.”
Hyeonjun stares, unmoving from where he sits on the chair across from him, but not unkind. Just steady, but not unravelling.
Minhyung does it anyway, choking on his next words as they stumble out of his mouth. “I don’t know what direction I’m running in. Where I’ll go. Where I’ll end up. If I’ll run out of steam, and everything I’ve worked for will slip between my fingers.”
His fingers ball into fists, digging into his skin.
“The agency hasn’t said a word. I never cared before. Why does it sting so much now?” Another laugh crawls out of Minhyung’s mouth, bitter and too forced and such a weak attempt at trying to be okay.
“I’m scared. I hate being scared.”
The words are whispered out, as if the quiet admission could make the reality less real. Like Minhyung wasn’t spiralling out of his mind over what-ifs. It wasn’t like him, and maybe the lack of control is what he hated the most.
It’s not like Minhyung didn’t know fear, but it seized in different ways. If fear was a gauntlet, uncertainty was the final blow.
For a moment, silence blankets the two of them. It feels like a heavy weight on Minhyung’s shoulders. He doesn’t dare raise his head to see what it looks like on Hyeonjun.
He hears it first anyway. The sounds of wheels rolling against the floor.
He feels it next. Hyeonjun’s knees lightly knocking into his. Cold hands sliding around his, gentle but enough to temporarily stop the shaking he hadn’t even noticed until now.
And when he finally looks up, Minhyung’s chest tightens.
Not in a bad way. Just the way inevitable feels, like seeing the sun in your eyes even after you’ve teared your gaze away after looking at it for too long. Light in his eyes in the absence of it.
Hyeonjun is staring right at him. Like he’s never teared his eyes away from him. Not even once.
“You treat yourself like a star about to burn out, and I never understood it.” Hyeonjun starts. The statement isn’t soft, and not accusing either. Just honest. Minhyung doesn’t know how to react. He stares back at Hyeonjun’s eyes, as if they held the answer.
“I don’t know why you feel like you have to hold yourself above being human.”
Minhyung looks away and flinches as if he’s been struck. Hyeonjun only smooths his fingers over Minhyung’s knuckles, gentle and firm. The clammy feeling distracts him for a bit, but not for long enough. Before he can help it, Minhyung wonders why Hyeonjun doesn’t pull away. He wonders more than the statement lets on.
The words stay floating around in the air for a bit longer. It makes Minhyung want to laugh again, but swallowing the tangled barbs down is easier this time.
It doesn’t even come from him, but it’s what both of them were thinking. Hyeonjun knows. Minhyung knows too. He’s always had a bad habit of not allowing himself to make mistakes, especially ones that would put burdens on others.
He still doesn’t want to allow it—still thinks back on his stutters and stumbles and hesitations in the year that might’ve thrown all his future opportunities out the window—but something in his chest loosens anyway.
“Being scared is just that. And all your worries. It’s proof you’re living, not just surviving.”
Hyeonjun’s hands gently squeeze his hands. “I can’t help you with your agency stuff. I wish I could. I want to. But no matter what happens, you’ll still be Lee Minhyung.”
Minhyung blinks, and his entire world goes off kilter.
Or maybe he’s been reoriented? Minhyung doesn’t know. The tightness in his chest is gone, but the inevitability is still there. Like things will keep happening and happening and tumble forward whether Minhyung wants it or not.
And the epiphany comes a beat after. He doesn’t have to weigh time as if it had costs, as if his mistakes would make the clock hands move faster. As long as he doesn’t make any more regrets. He’s human. He’ll always be Lee Minhyung.
Not Gumayusi, but Lee Minhyung.
He’s closer to the inevitable than he thinks he is.
“Got it?” Hyeonjun asks after the silence stretches for a little longer once again. A flash of hesitation flickering in his eyes. Minhyung sees it—the anxiety that he’s said all the wrong things. It’s the farthest from the truth.
Minhyung laughs.
Lighter, softer, with something freeing around the edges. It doesn’t taste like the certainty he’s been desperately chasing, but it’s enough.
“Got it.”