Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It started out harmless, really.

A song used on an Instagram post. A like on an edit. A casual mention in an interview when a fan asked who his favorite K-pop group was.

That was all it took, those few harmless things, for chaos to explode.

Before he knew it, the internet had decided that hockey’s rising star, Park Sunghoon, was secretly (or, publicly) in love with Kim Sunoo, the golden boy of one of the biggest K-pop groups in the world.

And honestly? It was entirely Sunghoon’s fault.

Being a K-pop stan wasn’t something he ever thought would become a scandal. It wasn’t like he was hiding a criminal record, it was just music. But in the testosterone-heavy locker rooms of his team, where playlists were dominated by rock, rap, and the occasional Beabadoobee track, admitting that he followed K-pop, boy groups least of all, felt like announcing he collected glitter pens.

So he kept it quiet.

He’d hum songs in his car, watch content after practice, and secretly keep a playlist titled DO NOT OPEN. Only his sister knew. Well, her, and now, apparently, the entire internet.

It started small. A few observant fans who liked sports and music noticed that the background track in one of his story posts was “Polaroid Love.” Cute, catchy, trending, completely harmless. Or so he thought because apparently K-pop stans are nothing if not detectives with PhDs in over-analysis.

Soon, someone realized that Sunghoon had liked a fan edit of Kim Sunoo on Instagram (he didn’t even know that was public!!). Then another fan dug up an old post from, like, three years ago, where, if you zoomed in just right, you could see the faint shape of a lightstick on his shelf.

And then came the concert photo.

That one made him want to throw his phone across the room. It was a grainy picture from when he was twelve (his sister’s doing, again). He hadn’t even particularly liked the group performing that day, but apparently, that didn’t matter. The narrative was set: “He’s been a K-pop fan all along!”

But what really set it off was when someone handed him a Sunoo photocard during send off and he couldn’t hold back his excited expression. 

From there, everything spiraled.

Viral tweets. Fan threads. Compilation videos titled ‘Proof Park Sunghoon and Kim Sunoo Are Secretly Dating’ flooded his feed. And to put simply, all of his socials were a disaster zone. He was scared to even open his notifications on twitter and instagram because, one, his interaction had spiked dramatically, and two, there was just so much new content fans were pushing out surrounding the ship of Sunoo and Sunghoon. 

He didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or delete every account he’d ever made.

The irony in it was that they weren’t entirely wrong.

Sure, they weren’t secretly dating or anything like that, but Sunghoon had been a fan of Sunoo from the very beginning. There was something about him (maybe his stage presence, his warmth, or his confidence that somehow never crossed into arrogance) that hit Sunghoon in a way no one else ever had. Watching Sunoo perform felt like watching sunlight move.

He told himself it was just admiration. Inspiration, even.

But then he found himself smiling at Sunoo’s variety show clips, listening to interviews late at night, and watching fancams between training sessions.

He was doomed.

He tried to keep it subtle, but love (or something dangerously close to it) was a loud thing. And when it started bleeding into his public life, he realized there wasn’t much he could do to contain it anymore.

So maybe that’s why, one day, he just… stopped fighting it.

If people wanted to believe in some star-crossed romance between a hockey player and a K-pop idol, why not? The rumors were getting him attention anyway, more followers, more sponsors, even fans showing up to games with banners that read “Sunghoon x Sunoo Forever!” Surprisingly, his teammates didn’t tease him for it either. 

And, obviously, a huge part of him enjoyed it. Because what kind of idiot hated seeing ship edits of themselves and their favorite K-pop idol?! Not Sunghoon, that’s for sure.

He’d never admit it out loud, but some of those fan edits were really good. Like, cinematic-level good. Sometimes they made Sunghoon’s stomach flutter. He would get second-hand embarrassment for himself. Sometimes he’d scroll through the comments and laugh, sometimes he’d blush so hard he had to throw his phone across the bed.

It was ridiculous. And kind of amazing.

So of course, karma had to ruin his fun eventually.

One afternoon during practice, while everyone was cooling down after drills, Jake decided to open his mouth and destroy what little peace Sunghoon had left.

“Are you dating an idol and not telling us?”

Sunghoon was mid-sip of water when the words hit, and the water went everywhere.

He doubled over coughing. “Where’d you hear that from?”

Jake blinked, as if Sunghoon had just asked if the sky was blue. “Um, literally everywhere, dude.”

Sunghoon nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Touché.  “I’m not dating him, no.” His tone was flat, calm, maybe even a little too defensive.

He wasn’t expecting his teammates to bring it up so soon, he was kind of hoping it would fade out before they noticed. But judging by the smirk forming on Jake’s face, that was wishful thinking.

Jake let out a low whistle. “So if you’re not dating him… how are we going to set you two up, then?”

Sunghoon choked again, this time on air. “I’m sorry, what?”

Jake grinned, that dangerous kind of grin that meant he was fully committed to chaos. “How are we going to get Kim Sunoo to notice you?”

Sunghoon just stared. “Jake, this isn’t— you can’t just— I can’t—”

“Oh, relax,” Jake interrupted, tossing a towel at him. “You’re acting like I said we’re going to kidnap him. I’m talking about something subtle. Like, I don’t know, getting you to follow him back on Instagram?”

Sunghoon froze. 

Jake noticed immediately. “You didn't know?” he gasped dramatically. “Dude! He followed you first!”

“He did not! When?”

“He totally did, like an hour ago. I just saw the headline. Go check.” Jake pointed his finger at Sunghoon’s bag furiously. 

Sunghoon’s stomach dropped. He fumbled for his phone like a man searching for oxygen, ignoring the way Jake was practically vibrating beside him. He opened the app, searching to find Sunoo’s personal account, and. 

“Oh my god,” he muttered.

Because there it was. Clear as day. The words follow back taunting him. 

He blinked. Once. Twice. A third time, just to make sure the words weren’t hallucinations caused by dehydration or humiliation.

Jake leaned over his shoulder. “Ohhh, he’s definitely seen the edits.”

Sunghoon wanted the ice to open up and swallow him whole. “He’s literally only following me and his group members. What the hell.”

“Follow him back and DM him, quickly, quickly.”

Sunghoon locked his phone like it was cursed.

Jake’s jaw dropped and he jutted his head out. “Sunghoon! We’re talking about how your K-pop crush just followed you on Instagram. Fucking do something! Anything!”

“Okay, okay!” He unlocked his phone again, thumb hovering nervously over the glowing blue button that read follow back. His palms were suddenly sweaty, his pulse way too fast for something that technically wasn’t a life-or-death situation.

Seconds upon seconds pass with Sunghoon standing still like a chunk of frozen ice.

Jake’s sigh could have powered a wind turbine. “Oh my god,” he muttered, completely exasperated, before snatching the phone right out of Sunghoon’s trembling hands.

“Jake, what the hell are you doing–”

But it was too late. He had already tapped the button.

Sunghoon froze. His entire soul left his body.

“Congratulations,” Jake said, grinning like he’d just scored a winning goal. “You officially followed back your celebrity crush. You’re welcome.”

“I hate you,” Sunghoon muttered, dragging his hands down his face. He could feel the heat crawling up his neck. “Do you realize what you’ve done?!”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah. Made your dreams come true?”

“Jake.”

“What?”

Sunghoon groaned. “What if he—what if he notices?”

“That’s literally the point,” Jake shot back, deadpan. “Do you hear yourself right now?”

But Sunghoon was spiraling. His mind was already running through every possible outcome, from Sunoo never noticing him at all (humiliating) to Sunoo actually responding (which was somehow worse).

He pictured the headlines: ‘Hockey Star Park Sunghoon Follows Idol Kim Sunoo Back Amid Dating Rumors’ ‘Fans Speculate It’s Real After Mutual Follows’

“Oh god,” he mumbled. “I’m gonna have to delete my whole account. Move countries. Retire from hockey.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

Sunghoon glared. “You’ve doomed me.”

But as Jake laughed and tossed the phone back to him, Sunghoon couldn’t stop himself from checking the screen one more time.

Following. And right beside it, a new button. 

Message. 

— 

He never actually messaged Sunoo.

He wasn’t going to lie and say he forgot or something, because he most definitely did not. No, in fact, it was all he could think about, for every second, of every hour, of every single day.

He’d lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, his phone glowing faintly on the nightstand like it was mocking him. His thumb would hover over the screen, over the tiny airplane icon that opened Sunoo’s DMs. He’d type something dumb like “Hey” or “Good luck on your comeback!” then immediately delete it, mortified at how stupid it sounded.

If that made him a coward, then so be it.

Because every time he opened Sunoo’s profile, the sight of that perfect little circle (Sunoo’s soft smile, hair swept across his forehead) and that blue checkmark next to his name felt like a taunt. Like the universe saying, You really think you belong in his inbox?

So he didn’t message him. He couldn’t.

Three days passed like that. Three painfully long days of silence.

But the internet wasn’t silent. Not even close.

Headlines kept popping up faster than he could ignore them. 

His notifications were insane. Mentions, tags, even his fan pages were in full meltdown mode. There were fanpages made specifically for ‘SunSun’ content (that was their ship name and it was everywhere). One of his teammates sent him a tweet that had over half a million views.

He couldn’t even scroll in peace. Every time he opened Instagram, there it was again: message. It was both thrilling and horrifying.

And honestly, Sunghoon had no idea what was going to happen next. Because this kind of thing never just stopped. It always escalated.

And with Sunoo following no one except his group members and him? Yeah. People noticed.

“What’s his deal?” Sunghoon muttered one night, scrolling through the chaos, his heart pounding. “Is he trying to kill me?”

He knew Sunoo unfollowing him was out of the question, it would make things so much worse, but the idea of him keeping the follow, like it was some kind of silent acknowledgment, wasn’t helping either. It was limbo. Beautiful, unbearable limbo.

And then, of course, the universe decided to set him on fire.

Because the last thing Sunghoon ever expected was for Sunoo to mention it on a Weverse Live.

He wasn’t even watching it live at first. He saw a notification, a few tweets about Sunoo going online, and clicked in half out of habit, until he started talking about it. 

In. real. time. 

He froze. What the hell?

There was Sunoo, sitting casually in one of the practice rooms, hoodie half-zipped, hair slightly messy like he’d just finished rehearsals. The soft studio lights made him look unreal. He was reading comments off the screen, his voice playful and warm.

“Everyone,” Sunoo said, squinting at the flood of messages, “I see your comments about who I’m following on Instagram, and—wait, can I say this?”

He tapped his chin, pretending to think, eyes glinting mischievously. “Well, it already happened, so I’ll give you a TMI about it.”

Sunghoon’s stomach dropped. He felt dizzy.

“I actually didn’t mean to follow him,” Sunoo confessed, groaning and pressing a hand to his forehead. “I misclicked.” He let out an embarrassed laugh, shaking his head. “It was seriously a mistake! Seriously!”

Sunghoon’s jaw went slack. “Oh, come on,” he whispered to his phone.

But before he could process the mortification eating through him, Sunoo was reading another comment aloud.

“‘Did you see that he followed you back?’ Yes, of course,” Sunoo said cheerfully, smiling at the camera. “Thank you very much, Sunghoon-ssi. I wish you luck on your upcoming game! I’ll be watching.”

Sunghoon froze.

His game? He’d mentioned his game.

“Wait, how the hell–” Sunghoon whispered. He leaned closer to the screen, heart thudding.

Sunoo kept up with his schedule?

“Guys,” Sunoo laughed again, waving his hand like he was trying to calm the chat down, “I have never met him. Really, I haven’t!”

The chat exploded into chaos, thousands of comments flooding in, mainly just pink hearts and the name Sunsun with an exorbitant amount of exclamation points. 

Sunghoon just sat there, slack-jawed and pale, phone clutched in his hand like it might bite him.

He should’ve felt relief that Sunoo denied it so cleanly, that he’d made it sound harmless. But somehow, hearing Sunoo say his name out loud, watching him smile a little when he did, it didn’t feel harmless at all.

He watched the rest of the live, waiting to see if Sunoo mentioned him again. He didn’t, which made Sunghoon feel partially disappointed but also relieved. 

There was a sense of dread at the pit of his stomach. There was no way he could avoid messaging Sunoo after that. 

So, before he could chicken out, he opened his instagram dms and typed out the first thing he could think of: 

How about you come watch my game in person instead of through the screen?

Chapter Text

Maybe it was a little self-deprecating, but Sunghoon was convinced he was the most stupid, idiotic, reckless person to ever walk the earth.

And he wasn’t exaggerating, but he was currently hiding.

Not metaphorically. Literally hiding. In full hockey gear, skates and all, crouched behind a row of lockers like a criminal evading arrest. The locker room smelled like sweat and metal and cheap axe spray, and the sound of the crowd roaring outside made his stomach feel ugly and fluttery at the same time.

There was no way in hell he was going out there right now.

Because Park Sunghoon, professional athlete (and apparent masochist), had done the unthinkable.

He had invited Kim Sunoo (yes, that Kim Sunoo) to his hockey match.

And the even more unthinkable part?

He showed up.

“What the fuck?!” Sunghoon whispered to himself. “Why would he actually come?”

Didn’t K-pop idols have insane schedules? Sunoo was supposed to be in rehearsals or filming something or literally doing anything else. Not sitting in a freezing arena watching Sunghoon skate around like an idiot in a bulky uniform.

“Come on, man!” Jay’s voice snapped him out of his meltdown. His teammate was standing above him, already suited up, eyes wide with disbelief as he tried to haul Sunghoon off the floor. “We’re supposed to be out in like, two minutes!”

“No,” Sunghoon muttered, shaking his head violently, gripping the bench like his life depended on it. “I can’t.”

Jay tugged harder, nearly yanking him up by the armpits. “What do you mean, you can’t? You’re literally starting as the forward!”

“I’m not going out there,” Sunghoon insisted.

Jay let out a long, suffering sigh, standing up straight and wiping sweat from his forehead. “Okay, I’m asking this as calmly as possible,” he said through gritted teeth. “What the hell are you doing?”

Sunghoon’s eyes darted toward the door like it might bite him. He lowered his voice to a sharp whisper. “Did you see who’s out there?”

Jay blinked, confused. “You mean… all of our fans?”

“No, no, no.” Sunghoon shook his head furiously. “Kim Sunoo is out there. That’s who.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Jay groaned, pressing two fingers against his temple like he was massaging a migraine.

“You’re seriously hiding in here because your crush showed up to your game?”

“You would be too if he was your crush!” Sunghoon shot back, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence.

Jay just stared at him, expression flat. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Put yourself in my shoes for a day!”

Jay didn’t even bother replying. He just reached down, grabbed Sunghoon by both arms, and, using the kind of brute strength only exasperation could summon, hauled him up to his feet.

“Jay, wait–stop!” Sunghoon protested, digging his covered skates into the floor, but Jay was relentless, pushing him toward the double doors that led to the rink. “Oh my god, I can’t–don’t open it yet!” Sunghoon hissed, slamming his palms against the metal just as Jay shoved him against the doors. 

He pressed his face against the narrow rectangular glass, squinting desperately through the sea of people. The crowd was massive, rows upon rows of cheering fans waving signs, flashing lights, a blur of team colors. Trying to find Sunoo among them was like trying to find a specific snowflake in a blizzard (not saying Sunoo doesn’t stand out because obviously he does. The average person doesn’t have the face and demeanor that he has, but that's besides the point).

And yet he knew he was out there. Somewhere. The thought made his knees weak.

Jay crossed his arms. “Well? See him?”

Sunghoon swallowed. “No, but that doesn’t mean he’s not out there though,” he said quickly. “I’m staying here. Where it's safe. ”

Jay rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. “You’re going out there in thirty seconds whether you like it or not.”

Sunghoon groaned, dragging his helmet down over his eyes in defeat. “I’m going to die out there.”

“He’s not going to jump from the stands and attack you,” Jay muttered.

The funny part, well, funny for everyone else, was that this was exactly why Sunghoon had a strict no-phone rule before games (not exactly exactly, because he never expected for this to happen). He avoided his socials completely, just in case something stupid happened that would mess with his focus. Except, this wasn’t just something stupid. This was Sunoo showing up in person. And it was by Sunghoon’s (lousy) invitation. 

He only knew because Jake, ever the master of chaos, had decided to shove his phone in Sunghoon’s face ten minutes ago with a grin.

“Bro, look at this!” Jake had said, practically vibrating. “A fansite posted a photo, Sunoo’s here!”

Sunghoon had looked. Big mistake.

Because there it was: a photo taken from the stands. Sunoo, in a simple black cap and mask, sitting near the glass, his eyes visible just above the fabric, watching the rink. Waiting to watch him.

Sunghoon’s soul had left his body right then and there.

So now, with Jay shoving him toward the ice and his pulse racing in his throat, all Sunghoon could think was that this was it, this was the end of his career, his dignity, his sanity. Because Park Sunghoon had invited Kim Sunoo to his hockey match, thinking he would kindly decline. And Sunoo had actually shown up.

He made a plan about twenty seconds before heading onto the ice. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was a plan nonetheless. He was just going to: one, avoid the crowd. Two, not lock eyes with Kim Sunoo. And three, definitely not have one of those slow-motion drama moments where their gazes meet through the glass and the world stops spinning. Nope. None of that. He was going to push Sunoo entirely out of his mind. Focus on the game. Skate fast, score goals, look cool, maybe get a hat trick, and win. It was a foolproof plan, really. 

Except it wasn't. 

Because apparently, the entire arena, and specifically, the camera crew, had decided that the real highlight of the game wasn’t the actual hockey. No, it was Sunoo. From the moment the puck dropped, every few minutes the jumbotron cut to him sitting prettily in the stands, cap low over his hair, bundled up in a team hoodie that Sunghoon had no idea where it came from. The crowd lost their minds every single time, It was like the cameras were magnetically drawn to him (or worse, the camera operators were). Every time Sunghoon made a play, they’d immediately cut to Sunoo’s reaction. Smiling, clapping, leaning forward a little too adorably. The commentators even started joking about it.

At one point, he swore he heard someone from the bench say, “It’s like watching a live fan cam.”

IS this how Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce feel at Chiefs games?? Was he Travis Kelce in this situation??

The first time it happened, it was like a horror movie. 

The start of the game was going well. Better than well, actually, he scored. A clean, beautiful shot that sent the puck gliding straight into the net. For about three blissful seconds, he forgot everything. The adrenaline hit, the crowd roared, his teammates swarmed him, helmets clashing and sticks tapping in celebration.

And then he looked up to the jumbotron, where Sunoo’s smiling eyes were being projected.

Oh.

Oh no.

It was like time folded in on itself. The noise of the crowd blurred into a muffled hum, the lights felt too bright, and for a split second, all he could see was him (and Sunghoon ruined his plan: to not have one of those slow-motion drama moments). 

The corners of Sunoo’s eyes curved like crescents, and even from that distance, he could see the faint sparkle of laughter there, the kind that could and would ruin lives.

Sunghoon almost fell over. He barely caught himself on his skates before turning away, pretending to fidget his hockey stick while internally screaming.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. And this wasn’t in a “he’s stealing my spotlight” kind of way, it was worse. So much worse. Because every time he did something good, the camera showed Sunoo’s face, and Sunghoon’s brain just... melted. It wasn’t even a fair fight. How was he supposed to focus when his favorite idol/crush was right there, being proud of him?

Did this affect the way he played? Abso-fucking-lutely.

By the second half, his coach was losing it.

“Sunghoon! Get your head out of your ass!” Coach roared from the bench, slamming his clipboard for emphasis. Too late. Sunghoon’s head was most definitely all the way up his ass, or maybe it was fully detached from his body and floating somewhere near where Sunoo was sitting. He couldn’t tell.

He wasn’t just avoiding Sunoo’s row now; he was avoiding the puck. Every time it flew toward him, his brain flashed with an image of Sunoo’s smile, and suddenly breathing felt optional.

He’d hear his name being shouted across the rink. Things like ‘pass it!,’ ‘take the shot!’ and ‘Park, wake up!!’ But he couldn’t. He was too busy imagining Sunoo watching him, hands clasped together, cheering him on with that sweet, devastating expression. He missed a pass. Then another. The crowd gasped. His teammates groaned. His coach looked one minor inconvenience away from cardiac arrest. Meanwhile, Sunghoon was over here thinking, He’s so gorgeous. He’s so, so–oh god, he’s looking this way. 

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take another shot. If he did, his heart might actually explode right there on the ice, and that would be one hell of a headline. 

BREAKING NEWS: Hockey Star Dies Mid-Game After Making Eye Contact With Kim Sunoo.

In all honesty? It sounded about right and realistic.

—

“What the hell is your deal, Sunghoon?” His coach’s voice boomed across the bench like thunder. He stood over Sunghoon, clipboard in one hand, jaw clenched so tightly it could probably shatter glass.

Sunghoon sat slumped on the bench, helmet off, hair sticking to his forehead, sweat running down the back of his neck. He didn’t even bother looking up. He already knew what he’d see, his coach’s face red with frustration, the rest of the team standing awkwardly behind him, pretending to be very interested in the ground.

It was halftime, and all eyes were on their star player who was suddenly playing like a man who had forgotten what sport he was in.

“Do you want to lose?” Coach barked. “Because right now you’re skating like a rookie with a head injury!”

Sunghoon winced. “Sorry, Coach.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t put the puck in the net, Park!”

Somewhere behind them, a quiet snort broke the tension.

Their coach froze, slowly turning his head. “What could possibly be so funny, Sim?”

Jake immediately stiffened, hands behind his back like he was reporting for duty. “Nothing, Coach!” he said, voice cracking slightly. “It’s just, uh, Sunghoon is really pathetic and it’s kind of funny, that’s all!”

The entire bench went silent for half a second.

Then the laughter started. Low at first, then louder. A few players muffled it behind their gloves; one even had to turn around completely to avoid making eye contact.

Sunghoon just sighed, dragging a towel over his face. Great. Public humiliation and betrayal, all in one intermission.

Coach, however, did not find it funny.

“Pathetic?” he repeated, incredulous. “You think it’s funny that our lead scorer can’t even focus on the damn puck?!”

Jake immediately sobered up, posture snapping straighter. “No, sir! Not funny! Deeply concerning! I’m worried sick, sir!”

Coach threw his hands in the air. “Someone want to tell me what happened to make him act like this?”

A few players exchanged looks. No one volunteered.

Until Jay cleared his throat.

“Coach, if I may?” he said, stepping forward with the kind of caution usually reserved for wild animals and angry parents.

Coach gestured sharply with his clipboard. “By all means, enlighten me.”

Jay straightened his shoulders and shot Sunghoon a look that could only be described as you’re going to kill me later but it’s so worth it.

“Well,” he began carefully, “it seems our Sunghoon here is… a little distracted.”

“Distracted?” Coach repeated, narrowing his eyes. “By what?”

Jay didn’t answer immediately. He looked at Sunghoon again, who was silently shaking his head no, no, no like a man pleading for mercy, and then looked back at the coach.

Jay smiled, almost apologetically. “By a special guest.”

A murmur rippled through the team.

Coach blinked. “A what?”

Jake piped up before Jay could even finish, voice way too eager. “Kim Sunoo! He’s literally sitting in the stands, Coach!”

Sunghoon buried his face in his hands. Zeus, please strike me down right now.

Their coach stared at Jake for a long, silent moment. “Who?”

“The K-pop idol,” Jay explained. “You know, the one everyone’s been talking about? The rumors, the follow thing…” He still looked confused so Jay started singing one of Sunoo’s songs and doing an awkward shoulder shimmy. Sunghoon thought it should be banned, Jay’s dance that is. 

The coach’s eyebrows rose so high they nearly disappeared under his cap. “You’re telling me my player can’t focus because some pop singer is watching him?”

“It’s not just some pop singer!” Jake blurted before he could stop himself. “It’s Kim Sunoo!”

That did not help.

Their coach let out a noise somewhere between a growl and a sigh, running both hands over his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I wish we were,” Jay muttered.

Coach turned back to Sunghoon, who was still hunched over, wishing he could sink through the floor. “Is this true, Park?”

Sunghoon looked up, cheeks burning. “...Maybe.”

“Maybe?!”

He shrank a little under the weight of his coach’s glare. “Look, it’s–he just–he’s out there, okay? And the cameras keep showing him and–”

“Oh my god,” Coach groaned, cutting him off. “This is what I get for coaching a bunch of teenagers with hormones.” (Sunghoon ignored that because he was almost 23 years old).

Jay elbowed Jake, trying not to laugh. Jake immediately failed.

Coach jabbed his clipboard toward Sunghoon. “You’ve got three minutes to get your head straight. I don’t care if Beyoncé herself shows up—you’re going out there and you’re playing like the professional you are, got it?”

“Yes, Coach.”

Coach stormed off toward the other end of the rink, still muttering under his breath about ‘kids these days’ and ‘unbelievable nonsense.’

The second he was gone, the team erupted in laughter.

Jake practically fell onto the bench, wheezing. “You should’ve seen your face, man. I thought you were gonna faint.”

Sunghoon groaned, head falling back against the wall. “I wish I’d fainted.”

Jay patted his shoulder. “Hey, look on the bright side. At least your crush knows you exist now.”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon said dryly, “and he’s watching me ruin my career in real time.”

Jay and Jake just exchanged a look that screamed we’re definitely not done teasing him about this later.

Sunghoon focused on his skates instead, tightening the laces like if he just pulled hard enough, maybe the embarrassment would vanish. He was planning on using the few extra minutes before the second period of the game to actually regain some focus, breathe, and maybe not think about Sunoo for once.

That was before he became vaguely aware of what was happening out in the stands. The jumbotron had switched from a replay of the last goal to one of those crowd games, the kind where they scan for look-alikes. It started simple: some guy who looked vaguely like Iron Man, someone that had a passing resemblance to Santa, a kid who got compared to Ryan Gosling for some reason (which, fair, the kid had good hair). Sunghoon wasn’t paying much attention, until the camera panned. The crowd screamed. He glanced up just in time to see the big screen display a shot of Kim Sunoo, sitting in the front section with a cup of soda and the biggest, brightest smile known to mankind. 

Sunghoon froze mid-motion. His heart just stopped.

He could hear Jake’s immediate wheezing a few feet behind him. “Oh, no way. No way they actually-”

And then, as if to freak Sunghoon even more, an arena staff member, holding a microphone, started walking toward the stands.

“Don’t you dare,” Sunghoon muttered under his breath, eyes widening in disbelief.

“They’re totally doing it,” Jay said, grinning ear to ear.

Sure enough, the camera operator was trailing the staffer, and the crowd went nuts as the mic was handed to Sunoo.

“Oh, my god,” Sunghoon whispered. “They’re giving him the mic.”

Sunoo looked adorably startled at first, pointing at himself as if to ask me? really? But the fans were already chanting his name. He stood up a little, adjusting his cap and giving a small wave to the camera. The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers: “Looks like we’ve got a special guest tonight, everyone! Kim Sunoo is in the building!”

The entire arena lost it. Screaming, cheering, banners waving. Even all of the guys on Sunghoon’s team were craning their necks to get a glimpse of the screen. Sunghoon was gripping his stick like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Let’s hear some words of advice for our star player, Park Sunghoon!” the announcer continued.

Jake nearly fell over laughing. “Oh, this is gold.”

Sunghoon was halfway to tackling him before he heard Sunoo’s voice, sweet, cheerful, and echoing through the entire damn stadium.

“Um, hi!” Sunoo said into the mic, giving a small wave that was probably lethal to thousands of hearts at once. “I don’t know if I’m really qualified to give advice, but…” He paused, smiling shyly. “Sunghoon-ssi, fighting! You’re doing great, so… do your best!”

The entire crowd erupted. Chants of ‘Sunsun! Sunsun!’ rippled through the arena. Sunghoon was frozen solid. His teammates were not helping. Jake was slapping his knee, crying from laughter. Jay was watching so hard he didn’t blink once. Even the coach was fighting back a smirk.

Sunoo looked as if he was contemplating something before adding, “Oh, and, uh, I’m sorry if I distracted you earlier!”

Sunghoon’s stomach dropped straight through the floor. Before he could even process what had just happened, the jumbotron, of course, cut immediately to him on the bench. His face filled the entire screen, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. The second he saw himself on the big screen, he panicked, trying to hide his face behind his gloves, but not fast enough. The cameras caught everything. His red ears, his flushed cheeks, that mortified half-smile that screamed I can’t believe this is happening right now.

The audience loved it. They cheered even louder, phones flashing, people waving foam fingers and banners with his name on them. Sunghoon could practically hear the commentators now: “Look at that reaction! Sunghoon blushing at the kind words, how cute is that?”

Jake was barely holding it together beside him, his laughter muffled behind his glove. Jay looked like he might pass out from trying not to cackle.

Sunghoon lowered his gloves slightly, face still burning. “Oh my god,” he muttered. He couldn’t help the small, helpless smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He didn’t even feel mad, just ridiculously embarrassed, like his entire chest was made of static electricity.

Jay leaned over, nudging him lightly. “Well, hey, if you needed motivation…”

Jake pointed toward the ice. “You have to score now, dude. Your idol literally told you to do your best. You have to after that.”

Sunghoon groaned, shaking his head but laughing a little. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Obviously,” Jake said without hesitation. “This is history.”

Sunghoon huffed a laugh, dragging himself up as the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the break. He grabbed his stick, tugged his helmet down, and tried, really tried, to push the warmth in his face away.

Chapter Text

They were celebrating after the game, loud whoops bouncing off the locker room walls and the sharp metallic sound of sticks clattering against benches. Hands slapped against Sunghoon’s back, against his helmet, against his shoulder pads. He was pushed and pulled through the stampede of hockey players until he was shoved right through the double doors, away from the crowd, and unfortunately, away from Sunoo.

Fortunately, they had ‘clutched up’ (that’s how Jake liked to put it) right before the game ended. Sunghoon had scored the winning point in the last seconds of the match, purely out of a cocktail of adrenaline, desperation, and sheer fear of humiliation. He wasn’t about to lose, not after that.

Not after Sunoo had been handed a microphone in front of the whole world and told him to do his best. Sunghoon could still hear the echo of that soft, cheerful voice in his head, still feel the weight of those words as if they’d been whispered right against his ear instead of through stadium speakers.

The idea of losing after that? Absolutely not. His pride (and heart) wouldn’t have survived it.

Now, as he stumbled through his team’s chaos, Sunghoon craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the crowd still trickling out of the stands. He swore he could spot flashes of blonde hair, a figure in a baseball cap, but it was impossible. No matter how much determination he had, ten grown men in full hockey gear still overpowered him with ease, sweeping him up in another round of celebration.

His teammates were still slapping his helmet, shouting things like “Nice shot, Ice Prince!” and “That’s our boy!” like they hadn’t spent the first half of the game screaming at him to get his head together. They acted like they’d forgotten about his humiliating first period, and about Sunoo’s very public pep talk.

Which was ridiculous, because that was all he could think about.

His skin was prickling with leftover adrenaline, nerves buzzing like electricity. Every part of him was screaming to find him. To talk to Sunoo. To at least say thank you, before the world swallowed the moment whole.

He moved through the rest of the locker room on autopilot, showering so quickly that Jake yelled at him for using half the shampoo bottle. He changed into his regular clothes, black jeans, hoodie, hair still damp, and ignored every question thrown his way about whether he was coming to the post-game dinner.

“No,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Somewhere being more like who, obviously.

After what felt like ten excruciatingly long minutes of trying to look casual while speedwalking through the halls, he was finally near the exit tunnel when someone caught his wrist.

“What?” Sunghoon whipped around, a little breathless, his voice coming out half-panicked and half-pathetic.

Jay stood there, one eyebrow raised, eyes scanning him like he was putting the pieces together. “Use protection,” he said flatly.

Sunghoon ripped his hand away like he’d been electrocuted. “Ew! Gross! Who do you think I am, you pervert?”

Jay smirked, unbothered. “Stop acting like a teenager,” he called out as Sunghoon stormed away down the hallway. “You’re glowing like one who just discovered crushes exist again!”

Sunghoon didn’t bother turning around. He just lifted a hand in a half-hearted wave, muttering under his breath, “Idiot.”

The stadium corridors were quieter now, the crowd gone, the energy from the game replaced by the hum of cleaning machines and distant chatter. His sneakers squeaked faintly against the polished floors as he walked faster, heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with cardio.

He wasn’t even sure what he was going to say if he did find Sunoo. Thanks for coming? Sorry for embarrassing myself? Wanna grab food?

But then, just as he turned the corner past the staff doors, his body jerked in position, freezing. He stilled so quickly, he swore that his shoes made a squeal noise and his brain shook. Because there, standing under the dim glow of a vending machine, looking small but unmistakably radiant in a cream hoodie and cap, was Kim Sunoo. Phone in hand, scrolling idly. 

It felt like a snail was stuck in Sunghoon’s throat. He had forgotten everything he was (kind of) planning on saying. 

As if the air shifted, Sunoo looked up, his ear brows raised ever so slightly in shock. “Ah, you’re here.” He said, his voice light and calm. 

Sunghoon short circuited. 

“I hope it’s alright that I waited. Your coach said you would be out here soon.” Sunghoon hadn’t even seen his coach after the game ended, let alone had a conversation with him. He blinked, trying to process the words that were leaving Sunoo’s mouth. He waited? For him? His brain felt like someone had unplugged it and tried to restart it using dial-up internet.

“I, uh, yeah,” he finally managed, his voice cracking halfway through. Great start. “Yeah, it’s–it’s alright. Totally fine. Normal, even.”

Sunoo’s lips twitched, amused, and that tiny smile nearly sent Sunghoon into cardiac arrest. “Normal?” he repeated softly. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“I just didn’t expect…” Sunghoon trailed off, waving his hands vaguely as if the right words would appear in the air between them. “Didn’t expect you, I guess.”

“Hmm.” Sunoo tilted his head, his earrings catching the light. “You did invite me, though.”

Oh. Right. That.

Sunghoon wanted to facepalm himself into another dimension. “I did,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just didn’t think you’d actually come. Don’t idols have, like, world tours and music shows and… sparkly outfits to wear or something?”

Sunoo laughed and the sound was so pretty that Sunghoon said that if Sunoo released a recording of it online, it would get a million, no, a billion streams. “Sparkly outfits?” he repeated. “That’s what you think we do all day?”

Sunghoon nodded, kind of embarrassed. 

Sunoo grinned wider now, shaking his head. “You’re not entirely wrong.”

They both laughed, the tension between them easing just slightly, enough for Sunghoon to finally breathe again. 

“I really enjoyed the game,” Sunoo said after a beat, his voice warm and genuine. “You were amazing out there. Especially that last goal.”

Sunghoon’s ears turned a shade of red that could rival his team’s jerseys. “Oh, uh, thanks,” he muttered, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. “Guess your pep talk helped.”

That made Sunoo giggle, soft, melodic, and unfairly cute. “I can’t believe they actually handed me a microphone,” he admitted, covering his mouth. “I was so nervous I almost told the crowd that we’ve never actually met.”

“I would’ve died,” Sunghoon said flatly.

“You almost did anyway.”

Sunghoon groaned and Sunoo held back a laugh, the sound overlapping and lingering in the quiet hallway.

“So,” Sunoo said, rocking on his heels. “I heard your team’s going out to celebrate. Are you joining them?”

Sunghoon shook his head immediately. “No. I was actually… hoping to find you.”

Sunoo blinked, caught off guard for a moment before smiling again, gentler this time. “Well,” he said, tucking his phone into his pocket, “you found me.”

Sunghoon swallowed hard, his pulse roaring in his ears. “Right. I did.”

A pause.

Then, before he could chicken out completely, he blurted, “Wanna grab something to eat?”

Sunoo’s smile turned into something almost mischievous. “I thought you’d never ask.”

—

Fortunately, Sunghoon had a car. And a license. That was about all he had going for him right now.

The night air was chilly when they stepped out of the arena. Sunghoon clicked his keys nervously in his hand, trying not to trip over his own words (or feet) as he discretely led Sunoo to the parking lot for the team and staff.

He still couldn’t quite believe that this was real. Kim Sunoo was in his passenger seat.  He didn’t even know where to put his hands.

They were driving to a restaurant, somewhere quiet and tucked away enough that no one would notice them. Sunghoon had been adamant that he wanted to take Sunoo somewhere nice, something with candles, maybe a private room, the kind of place you took someone important.

But Sunoo had waved it off immediately. “It’s late,” he’d argued, twisting in his seat so that his voice carried over the low rumble of the car engine. “And look at me, I’m not dressed for anything fancy!”

In Sunghoon’s very honest and very unhelpful opinion, Sunoo looked perfect. Not idol-perfect, either, just real. Casual in a way that made Sunghoon’s heart ache a little.

He wasn’t upset about their destination, just mildly disappointed that someone like Sunoo would be sitting under fluorescent diner lights instead of something golden and warm. Sunoo deserved chandeliers. Not the neon OPEN 24 HOURS sign flickering over the windshield.

Sunghoon learned quickly that Sunoo was his exact opposite, not just a little different, but a perfect inversion of everything about him. Where Sunghoon was introverted, Sunoo was extroverted. Sunghoon was a listener; Sunoo filled every silence with stories and laughter. 

And even though Sunghoon already knew most of the facts Sunoo shared (from, well… fan interviews, social media clips, and the occasional Weverse live he absolutely did not stalk), it still felt different hearing and experiencing it directly from him.

He felt a little guilty, like he was cheating on a test.

He wondered if Sunoo had done his own research on him. The thought alone made Sunghoon’s stomach twist. God, what if he’s seen my old figure skating photos? Or that 2014 YouTube interview where I had braces?

He forced his brain to stop before it could spiral further.

“…and that’s why flamingos turn pink when they eat shrimp!”

Sunghoon blinked. Wait, when did that conversation start?

He looked over at Sunoo, whose hands were gesturing in the air as he continued explaining with complete seriousness. “So, anyways, that’s why I’d choose a flamingo if I could have a pet bird.” The night moonlight spilled across Sunoo’s face, the soft silver catching the curve of his cheek, glinting against his lashes. “I’m not even sure if it’s allowed, though,” Sunoo added, finally turning to look at him.

Sunghoon jerked his gaze back to the road so fast he nearly missed a turn. “What? Owning a flamingo? Yeah, no, I don’t think that’s legal.”

Sunoo laughed, “No, I mean, well–yeah, that too,” he said, shaking his head. “But I meant… I don’t think my company would let me have a pet bird.”

Sunghoon glanced at him, surprised. “Oh? I thought idols had pets all the time. Doesn’t your member have a dog?”

Sunoo nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Jungwon does. But Maeum doesn’t live with us.”

“Oh.” Sunghoon’s voice softened. “I see.” There was something quiet about that answer, something that made him strangely sad. 

Sunoo turned his head to the window, watching the blur of streetlights streak past. “Sometimes it feels weird, you know? We travel so much, and there’s barely time to rest. I think having a pet would just make me miss home more.”

Sunghoon didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t used to hearing idols talk like this, honestly, gently. They were just people too. He gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. “You could always visit mine,” he said before his brain could stop his mouth.

Sunoo turned toward him, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“My dog,” Sunghoon corrected quickly, his ears going red. “You could visit my dog. He’s, uh… great company.”

Sunoo bit back a smile. “I’d like that,” he said simply.

Sunghoon pulled into the food shop, parking close to the entrance and turning off the car. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Sunoo reached for his mask, tugging it higher over his nose. 

They walked in together, hoods up and masks on. The bell above the door gave a soft ding, and the smell of fried food and warm broth filled the air immediately.

It was quiet, just a couple of college kids hunched over a table in the corner, a delivery guy waiting near the counter, and an older lady behind the register scrolling through her phone.

Sunghoon’s eyes flickered to the tiny jeweled details along the cuffs of Sunoo’s hoodie, small, glittering rhinestones that caught the light every time Sunoo moved his hands. His fingers twitched instinctively, wanting to reach out and touch him, but instead he shoved his hand into his back pocket like it was a reflex.

They made their way to one of the kiosks near the counter. The screen flickered to life, the menu popping up in bold letters. Sunoo leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against Sunghoon’s arm, and that alone nearly made Sunghoon jump out of his skin. 

“You pick,” Sunghoon said, pretending to scroll casually even though he wasn’t reading anything.

“Me?” Sunoo looked at him, wide-eyed. “I don’t even know what’s good here.”

“Everything’s good,” Sunghoon lied. He’d only been here once, and it was because Jake forgot his wallet that time.

“Then you pick,” Sunoo said, smiling under his mask. “You look like you know what you’re doing.”

Sunghoon tried to focus on the screen instead of how Sunoo’s voice somehow made every word sound like a melody. He cleared his throat. “Uh, do you like spicy food,” Sunghoon asked, even though he already knew Sunoo enjoyed spicy food. 

“Of course, it’s my favorite.” 

A few taps later, their order was placed, and they sat down at a booth near the window. The light outside was dim, and their reflections shimmered faintly on the glass. There was a moment of silence, just the sound of the fryer hissing in the kitchen, before Sunghoon finally spoke.

“I have to admit, Sunoo,” he said, leaning back against the seat, “I was… shocked you actually came to the game.”

“Everyone else was too. But it was hard to avoid.” He paused, glancing at him through his lashes. “Not that I was avoiding you or anything, but-”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “That sounds exactly like something someone who was avoiding me would say.”

Sunoo laughed, flustered. “No! I just mean, ” He waved his hands, trying to explain. “I get shipped with people all the time. Even my members. But this time, every single comment I got on every platform was asking about you. It was impossible to ignore.”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one,” Sunghoon said, picking at the edge of his napkin. “I seriously gained like a million followers overnight.”

“Haha, sorry about that,” Sunoo said sheepishly. “I hope it didn’t stress you out.”

Sunghoon shook his head immediately. “No, please don’t say that. It’s my fault.”

Sunoo blinked, confused. “What? No way, my fans were just… I don’t even know. I don’t know why they started ‘shipping’ us.”

Sunghoon hesitated, then looked up at him. “You don’t?”

Sunoo tilted his head, genuinely curious. “Should I?”

Sunghoon stared at him for a moment, his lips pressing together to hide a smile. He could play dumb, pretend he didn’t know, but where was the fun in that?

“Well…” he began slowly, leaning forward on his elbows. “I kind of… started it.”

Sunoo’s eyes widened. “You–what?”

Sunghoon rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling awkwardly. “Yeah, I’m surprised you didn’t know. It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but I’ve been a fan of yours for a while now.”

Sunoo blinked. Then his mouth dropped open slightly, his eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and disbelief. “You started all this?”

Sunghoon grimaced.

Sunoo laughed, a real, loud laugh that drew the attention of the woman at the counter. He covered his mouth, shoulders shaking. “Oh my god, Park Sunghoon, you did this to yourself.”

“I know,” Sunghoon groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I didn’t expect it to turn out like this.”

“What? No way, you’re… you’re like a national treasure.” Sunoo said, teasing. “You just didn’t expect me to follow you back.”

Sunghoon looked up, embarrassed at the national treasure comment, meeting his gaze. “You’re right. I didn’t. I’m glad you did though, Sunoo.”

Chapter Text

Sunghoon was sitting in his room, phone propped against his knee, watching a fan edit with 'supernatural' by Ariana Grande as the audio. It was just different clips of every single angle of Sunoo at the hockey game. It was, quite frankly, the second most humiliating thing he’d done all week. The number one spot was reserved for his blushed expression being caught on the jumbotron after Sunoo cheered him on in the bleachers. 

God. 

He knew he shouldn’t be watching it. He really shouldn’t be watching it. He was a grown ass man who was abusing his privileges of being famous. But every time that glittery transition hit and the chorus swelled, his thumb betrayed him. Replay. Replay. Replay again. It was a pure dopamine crash. 

Every few seconds, he’d look up from his phone, glancing suspiciously around his room like there were hidden cameras catching him in the act, because that’s how it felt. Like the entire world would be laughing if they knew that Park Sunghoon, the hockey prodigy, was sitting cross-legged on his bed watching ship edits about himself and his favorite kpop idol. But who wouldn't? 

The glow from his phone screen cast a pale blue wash over the room, catching the messy strands of his hair and the faint crease between his brows. He sat slouched on his bed, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, thumb hovering over the screen like it might bite him. The replayed clip loaded, and the light flickered across his face.

He grimaced, then groaned, dragging a hand down his face until his palm covered his eyes. “Jeez… I look so stupid.”

He braced himself for another angle of the game, but the next video that autoplayed wasn’t from the game at all.

“Wait, what—?” He jerked upright, suddenly wide awake.

The scenes flickered past too quickly, like someone had stitched together a timeline of his worst (or best, depending on his honesty) moments. A blurry photo of them leaving the stadium parking lot, Sunoo’s mask tugged down just enough to show his bright smile. A shaky vertical fan-cam caught them walking into a restaurant, shoulders brushing. Another shot, taken through a window, if the glare on the glass was anything to go by. Sunghoon was leaning forward, elbows on the table, looking at Sunoo with a smile that was unmistakably soft.

His heart caught in his throat, then dropped, then lurched upward all at once. No, no, no. He scrambled to check the caption. 

‘Sunghoon and Sunoo seen together after today’s match’ Posted ten minutes ago.

“Oh, no…” he breathed.

He swiped to twitter and immediately regretted it. His name was trending. Sunoo’s too. And somehow, in only ten minutes, #SunSun had climbed to the number one topic worldwide.

Every post he clicked had a new angle, a different blurry picture. Fans speculating wildly, others zooming in on tiny details, Sunoo’s mask, the color of their jackets, and most damningly, a screenshot someone circled in red where Sunghoon’s hand had apparently almost brushed Sunoo’s.

“Oh god,” he whispered, tossing his phone onto the bed like it was on fire, only to snatch it right back up because he couldn’t not look.

His notifications were blowing up, texts from Jake, one from Jay that literally just said bro with nothing else, and another from their manager that made his stomach flip: Call me. He didn’t hesitate. His thumb hit the call button instantly, heart hammering in his chest. The phone rang twice before his manager picked up.

“Sunghoon,” came the familiar, dry voice on the other end, calm as ever, like this wasn’t the start of a PR disaster. That made Sunghoon turn green. 

“Hey, uh, I saw the photos. And the videos. It’s bad, right?”  His voice cracked embarrassingly on the last word. “People already think we’re dating and—” A frustrated sigh tore out of him as he shoved a hand into his hair. “This is bad. This is really, really bad.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Long enough that Sunghoon briefly pulled the phone away from his ear to check if the call had dropped.

“Can I ask you something?”  His manager said finally, tone slow and maddeningly calm, 

“Of course…?” he said, bracing himself for a lecture, a crisis plan, something. Anything. 

“Why,” the man asked, completely unfazed, “do you think it’s bad?”

Sunghoon blinked at the wall. “What? Because–because…!” His mouth opened and closed uselessly. “You’ve seen the articles, right? Fans are freaking out. The team’s probably having a meltdown. The entire internet thinks we’re– that I’m-”

“And?” he cut in, voice steady enough to make Sunghoon falter. “Did you do something wrong?”

“What? No! I mean, no. We just ate dinner, and walked around, and, well, okay, that does sound like a date when I say it out loud but–”

“Did you lie? Sneak off to cause trouble? Break a rule?” his manager asked, still sounding like he could’ve been discussing the weather.

“…No.”

“Then why are you acting like this?”

Sunghoon opened his mouth again and nothing came out. 

His manager let out a low hum, as if he’d solved a small puzzle. “You’re allowed to have a life, you know. A personal one. A messy one, even. You’re not a robot. I’d be mad if you keyed a car or punched a reporter,” he said. “Going out for food? I think we’ll survive.””

Sunghoon leaned back against his headboard, staring at the ceiling. “I just, I didn’t want to make things harder for you. Or the team.”

“That’s nice of you,” his manager said, and Sunghoon could hear the faint smile in his voice. “But listen. You’re allowed to live your life. You don’t have to apologize for being human. Just… be smart about it next time, okay? Public places, fans, cameras, you know the drill.”

“I know,” Sunghoon murmured.

Sunghoon let out a small, helpless laugh.

“I’m not telling you to stop seeing him. That’s your business,” his manager said plainly. “Just… be aware. Protect yourselves. Don’t let the internet decide what this is for you.”

He hadn’t expected support. Not like this. Not so casual and honest.

“…Okay,” he whispered. “Yeah. I will.”

“I mean, honestly,” his manager added, sounding way too casual for Sunghoon’s liking, “it’s not even bad publicity. You two looked good together. The internet’s eating it up.”

That made his stomach twist. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. You’re trending at number two worldwide, by the way.”

“One,” Sunghoon corrected automatically.

All his manager said in response was, “Huh.” But not in a confused way, more of a knowing, annoyingly I-told-you-so kind of huh. The kind that made Sunghoon’s skin prickle because it meant his manager had already figured something out before he did.

Sunghoon let out a noise somewhere between a laugh, a groan, and a whine. “I hate this.”

“No, you don’t,” his manager said, pulling up to a red light. “You just hate that it’s out of your control. You don’t mind people knowing.”

Sunghoon froze. His breath caught. “…What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” his manager said lightly. “Just, get some sleep. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll handle the press if it gets bigger. And next time, maybe text me before your date with an international pop star, yeah?”

The call ended. Sunghoon’s screen returned back to the image of him and Sunoo he was looking at previously. There was a weird reflection because it was taken through the window of the restaurant, but you could still see Sunghoon’s wide smile. A smile that Sunoo caused. A smile he had never seen on himself before. You couldn’t see Sunoo’s face, but he couldn’t forget it even if he tried. 

He wasn’t sure how online Sunoo was. If the photos had only leaked fifteen minutes ago, maybe he hadn’t even seen them yet. Maybe he was napping. Or maybe he was at practice, dancing his heart out with no clue that half the internet had just lost its mind over leaked photos.

Sunghoon couldn’t decide if he should text him first. Would that make it worse? Too forward? Too soon? Was it his responsibility to break the news to someone who was probably used to this kind of thing? He’d never had a dating scandal before, and certainly not one with a superstar.

But after the call with his manager, the sharp panic that had initially clutched his chest began to ease. What replaced it wasn’t exactly peace, but a strange calm. You’re allowed to live your life.

Still, the anxiety nipped at the edges of his mind. The scale of the news. The implications that came along.

He wasn’t coming out as gay to the public, not exactly. He had never hidden who he was, but he’d never had to make it anyone’s business either. It wasn’t shame or secrecy. It was just something he kept quiet and personal.

But now, with Sunoo’s bright smile captured in every other headline next to his own face, it felt like the world had cracked open that private part of his life and put it under a magnifying glass.

He thought back to what Sunoo had said at dinner, about the comments, the flood of mentions linking them together. It was almost funny now, in a cruelly ironic way. If anything, a public sighting of them together only made things worse, or better, depending on who you asked. 

But that wasn’t what Sunghoon wanted. He didn’t want this to turn into a performance, another piece of content for people to consume and dissect. He didn’t want their friendship (or whatever it was, whatever it could be) to become a marketing strategy.

He had gone out with Sunoo because he liked him. Because Sunoo was warm and kind and didn’t mind when Sunghoon ran out of things to say and went silent. Because dinner with him felt real and easy. Not because he wanted to give anyone something to post about.

Still, he couldn’t ignore reality. 

Sunoo had shown up to his match, publicly. Cameras everywhere, fans recording from every angle, livestreams and fancams within minutes. That wasn’t denial; if anything, it was confirmation without words. Sunghoon doubted Sunoo had done it intentionally, but it was a statement all the same.

It wasn’t even the fact that they’d been spotted together afterward that stung the most. It was how soon it had happened. The photos were raw, unfiltered, unposed. He wasn’t prepared. He hadn’t gotten the chance to protect Sunoo, or himself. 

He exhaled, leaning back against his headboard, the phone still glowing dimly in his palm.

It was foolish, really. He should’ve been more careful. If not for himself, then for Sunoo, who had so much more at stake. He really, really hoped Sunoo didn’t hate him now. Even if he had gone to the game under his own will (albeit, slightly pressured from netizens and also Sunghoon). 

He couldn’t bring himself to regret it though. No matter how loud the internet got, or how fast the rumors spread, or even the possibility that Sunoo would be angry. Because that night with him was still something warm. He wanted to try his hardest to keep the details tucked away for himself, despite a lot of it being public now.

He clicked his phone back on, the light briefly washing over his face. He took one last glance at a photo before he sighed. He swiped out of the app completely. No more scrolling. No more checking what people were saying. Not tonight.

His contacts list opened almost on instinct, thumb pausing over a name that still felt too new, too surreal to be sitting there between Mom and Jake. Sunoo. Not an Instagram DM, but instead an actual number. 

He hesitated, tapping the message box and immediately backspacing twice. He felt like he teleported back to when he texted him for the first time.

Hey, the internet found us. Sorry for ruining your career. Too dramatic. Did you see the photos? Too obvious. Miss you already. Way too bold.

How was it possible that he could skate across a sheet of ice with people screaming his name, but couldn’t send a single text without overthinking it? A few more seconds of silence ticked by before he finally exhaled and started typing.

hey, call me when you’re free?

Simple. Short. Neutral. He read it over a dozen times, trying to decide if it sounded too cold or too desperate. In the end, it was honest, which felt like enough. He hit send before he could change his mind, the whoosh of the message flying off sounding louder than it should’ve in the quiet room.

Then he tossed his phone onto the bed beside him and dragged a hand down his face, muttering to himself, “God, I really need to get better at texting soon.” 

The message sat there, unread but delivered, the text bubble glaring at him from across the bed. He tried not to think about what would happen when Sunoo finally called.

The room had gone eerily quiet. He glanced at the screen once more, no reply. Maybe Sunoo was asleep. Or maybe he was pretending to be, the same way Sunghoon was pretending not to wait.

He leaned back against the headboard, meaning to rest his eyes for a few minutes. Just a few. His thoughts drifted, to Sunoo’s laugh, to the way the restaurant light had caught in his hair, to the moment their shoulders had brushed when they walked out the door.

Before he knew it, the glow of the phone had dimmed to black, still resting loosely in his palm. 

When he woke up again, it was to the sound of his phone vibrating against his leg and the cold night air sneaking in through the cracked window. The screen lit up the room in a pale blue hue, Incoming call: Kim Sunoo.

He thought he was dreaming. For a few seconds, the sound of the ringtone didn’t even register as real, it felt distant, like something coming from a dream he hadn’t finished yet.

Then, as if someone flipped a switch in his brain and he suddenly gained consciousness, he jolted upright. His phone nearly slipped from his hand as he brought it so close to his face it almost touched his nose.

“Oh shit!” he hissed, fumbling to smooth down his hair with his free hand, because of course his first instinct was to look somewhat presentable for a phone call.

He stared at the screen. Kim Sunoo. Not a hallucination. Not a dream. The real deal.

His thumb hovered over the green button like it was some kind of detonator. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips.

Was it weird to answer too quickly? Did waiting a few seconds make him seem cooler? Confident? Totally unbothered that a literal superstar was calling him in the middle of the night? Wait, how long had Sunoo even been calling him? Had Sunghoon slept through the first few calls? What if Sunoo thought he was ignoring him?

The phone buzzed again. He panicked and answered immediately.

“H-hello?” His voice cracked halfway through the word. Great start.

“Did I wake you up?”

Sunghoon rubbed his face with his palm, willing his heart to slow down. “Uh, no. No, I was just-” He glanced around his room for a believable excuse. “-meditating.”

That earned a laugh. “Meditating? At one in the morning?”

He shrunk back into his pillows. “Okay, fine. I fell asleep.”

“Good,” Sunoo said lightly. “You should rest more. But, um… have you been online.”

Sunghoon’s throat went dry. “Yeah,” he managed. “I already talked with my manager.”

Another small silence. 

“Then you know,” Sunoo said finally, his voice even gentler now.

“I know,” Sunghoon said quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush before he could stop himself. “And I’m sorry. I swear, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I should’ve been more careful, I should’ve–”

“Hyung–”

“--looked out for cameras, or at least warned you, or something.” He dragged a hand down his face, pacing the length of his room. “God, I should’ve thought ahead. You’re the one they’ll target the most, and it’s not fair. If your company gets mad, or if this messes with your promotions, or–”

“Hey,” Sunoo tried again, but Sunghoon was already spiraling.

“--if you never want to see me again, I understand.” The words came out smaller than he intended, barely above a whisper. “Really, I do. You don’t have to say anything.”

The line went silent for a moment. Long enough for Sunghoon to hear the background noise of wherever Sunoo was. He sat back on the edge of the bed, running through every possible way he could’ve ruined things in under a week.

Then Sunoo exhaled, a soft laugh breaking through the static. “You know, for someone who doesn’t talk much in general, you sure do talk a lot when you panic.”

Sunghoon froze mid-stride, heart stopping for half a second. “What?”

“I said,” came the reply, teasing but certain, “I want to keep seeing you.”

That simple sentence knocked the air clean out of his lungs.

“I don’t care what everyone else says,” Sunoo continued, quieter now, voice slipping into something sincere. “Or what articles say. Or what my company thinks. I like spending time with you. That’s all that matters to me right now.”

Sunghoon blinked, trying to process the words. “You’re… serious?” he asked, voice barely a breath.

“Of course I am.” There was a little laugh on the other end, light and nervous. “Unless you don’t want to see me again?”

“What—no!” Sunghoon blurted too quickly, mortified by the sound of his own voice cracking. “I mean, yeah. I do. Obviously. I really do.”

There was a small pause, then Sunoo said softly, “Good.”

Just one word, but it wrapped around Sunghoon like a heated blanket.

He sat there smiling like an idiot, phone pressed against his cheek, unable to stop the stupid grin from spreading. His foot kicked against the mattress unconsciously, and he didn’t even care how ridiculous he looked.

“You’re smiling, aren’t you?” Sunoo’s voice carried that knowing lilt.

“Maybe,” Sunghoon admitted, cheeks burning. “You sound way too confident for someone who just caused a national scandal.”

“You’re the one that just blabbered off about how you should’ve been watching out for cameras,” Sunoo said easily, the grin audible in his voice.

Sunghoon groaned, half laughing. “Are you teasing me right now?”

“Hmm,” Sunoo hummed. “Maybe. You’re kind of fun to tease.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, trying to hide how wide his smile had gotten.

“Get used to it,” Sunoo said, and there was a smile in his tone that made Sunghoon’s chest feel lighter than it had in days. “Goodnight, Hyung.”

The line went quiet except for the faint sound of Sunoo’s breath before the call clicked off, leaving Sunghoon alone in the glow of his phone screen, grinning like a fool and very, very certain he was in trouble.

Chapter Text

A week after news broke, to not only the internet but apparently the entire world, that Park Sunghoon and Kim Sunoo were–more or less–dating, Sunghoon found himself stressed for many, many reasons. 

Slamming the car door shut with a heavy sigh, he let his forehead fall against the cool exterior. Not that it was even his car, no, of course not. Those days were gone, driving his own car in peace. No, instead, this was his manager’s car. He closed his eyes, breathing in the metallic scent of cold air that was trapped in after he slammed the door, along with that, the faint trace of gasoline. He needed just a second. One single second to pretend he wasn’t the center of attention everywhere he went. 

It’s not that Sunghoon didn’t like attention. But he never had a craving sensation to constantly be the hot topic in the room. Despite that, ever since the photos leaked, everything had been flipped upside down. Due to the sudden swarm of reporters, he wasn’t allowed to drive himself home anymore. He wasn’t allowed to walk out the front entrance. He wasn’t allowed to go anywhere alone.

His manager had explained it a dozen times, patiently, then sternly, then in that managerial don’t test me tone, but it still made no sense. He wasn’t a celebrity. At least not in the way Sunoo was. He didn’t have bodyguards. He didn’t have staff monitoring his social media. He didn’t have a personal PR team. 

Now reporters camped at the exit of the rink and even outside his apartment building. Someone once stuck a microphone inside his car door the other day, no joke. He nearly slammed the door on their fingers. It was suffocating, the press that is. 

“You good?” his manager called from the driver’s seat, looking at him through the rearview mirror. His eyes were hidden behind blackout sunglasses despite it being evening in a parking garage.

Sunghoon lifted his head from the car with another sigh and clicked his seatbelt securely. “Define good.”

“Alive. Not crying. Not punching anyone. All three are acceptable at this point.”

Sunghoon slumped deeper into the seat, dragging his hoodie over his head and mumbling, “Then yeah, sure. I’m great. Fantastic. Living the dream.”

His manager let out a short amused snort, one of those tiny laughs that Sunghoon rarely heard from him. He shifted the car into gear, checking the mirrors like they were expecting a car chase.

Which, knowing the past week, wasn’t impossible.

“Reporters moved from the front entrance,” his manager informed him casually, as if reading the weather. “Saw three more by the dumpsters. Two pretending to check their tires. One hiding behind a bush.”

Sunghoon stared at him. “The bush?”

“I made eye contact.”

Sunghoon groaned and buried his face in his hands. “You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

Sunghoon peeked over the seat at him through his fingers. “I can’t tell. Your sunglasses are covering up half of your face.” His manager had no response to that, as usual. 

The car rolled forward, slow and careful, the way someone would drive through an early morning fog. Except it wasn’t fog they were avoiding, it was people with cameras. A small part of Sunghoon wondered how unethical and evil it would be if his manager happened to bump into a reporter with the car. Just.. a light tap, that's all.

People were waiting for him, all because Sunoo smiled at him at a hockey game. And went out to dinner with him, smiling wide and touching his arm. 

His manager glanced back at him again. “You’re thinking too much.”

Sunghoon pressed his head against the cold window. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“Hm.” His manager shrugged. “You could start by telling me what’s actually going on in that brain of yours. Because I know it’s not just the reporters.”

Sunghoon clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

Of course he knew. His manager always knew.

After a moment, he swallowed and whispered, “…It’s Sunoo.”

“No shit.” He replied with a quiet snort. Sunghoon rolled his eyes closed, bracing for judgement. But instead, his manager just continued, “Start talking.”

He thought for a few seconds, trying to form a coherent sentence. He wasn’t particularly close with his manager, who was seven years older, annoyingly mature, and fond of calling Sunghoon kid whenever he felt like asserting dominance. But somehow, against all logic, Sunghoon found comfort in him. Maybe because he never sugar-coated anything. Maybe because he was the only person who seemed completely unfazed by the chaos.

Finally, Sunghoon exhaled. “He hasn’t texted me back in a few days.”

Without missing a beat, his manager said, “Well, he probably hates you.”

Sunghoon shot upright so fast his seatbelt locked. “Huh?!”

Also, he tended to pull what he called ‘jokes’ at the wrong times (ones Sunghoon did not find amusing, even in the slightest). 

“I’m kidding,” his manager cleared his throat. Not even a twitch of a smile. “He’s probably busy.”

Sunghoon held his breath. Then he started spiraling.  Busy… too busy to text? Too busy to say anything? Did he get in trouble for the photos? Did his company tell him to cut things off? Did he decide it wasn’t worth it?

“Sunghoon,” his manager said flatly, “stop that. I was trying to joke.”

“You stop that. Stop joking,” he groaned, slumping back into the seat like his bones gave up on life. He shoved his hood further over his head, like he could hide from his own thoughts.

His manager shook his head and changed lanes. “Look, kid. If he were avoiding you, you’d know. Trust me. Idols don’t play subtle when their companies pull the plug. It would’ve been a statement, some vague post about privacy or focusing on work or whatever.”

Sunghoon didn’t lift his head, but he listened. If he knew any better, he probably would take the advice with a grain of salt, because what could a 30 year old man know about k-pop idols? But, then again, some grown men don’t play around with their favorite idols.  

“And besides,” his manager added, drumming his fingers on the wheel, “from what I saw, that boy looked at you like you hung the stars in the damn sky.”

Sunghoon nodded along, filing away the reassurance. He ignored how his checks looked red in the rear view mirror. He told himself that it was from the cold air. 

A motorbike paparazzi zoomed by, slowing down when they recognized the car that Sunghoon had been photographed in lately. He shrank lower.

His manager sighed. “See what I mean? They’re not gonna let up anytime soon. So you need to keep your head on straight. If you and Sunoo are… whatever you are, that’s fine. Really. You’re adults..”

Sunghoon nodded weakly. “I know.”

“And you need to stop assuming the worst,” his manager added. “Just text him. Or wait for him to text you. Normal human behavior. You two aren’t in some drama.”

Sunghoon muttered into his sleeve, “Feels like one.”

“Sure. But hopefully this one doesn’t end with someone getting hit by a truck.”

Sunghoon snorted.

His manager parked in the underground garage. “Look,” he said, turning slightly in his seat, “if he likes you, he likes you. Photos or no photos. And from what I’ve seen? He’s not running.”

Sunghoon stared at the back of the seat, the nerves in his stomach easing just the slightest bit. “…You think?”

“I don’t think so,” his manager said. “I know.”

“Thanks,” he murmured.

His manager waved a hand. “Don’t thank me. Just don’t do anything stupid.” Sunghoon stepped out of the car, slinging his bag over his shoulder. But before he could close the door, his manager added lightly, “And hey, if he still doesn’t text by tonight? I give you permission to panic.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, then he closed the door, stepped into the quiet garage and his phone buzzed. He dug into his back pocket, clicking on the black slim phone. 

Hey, I’m sorry for just now responding. Are you home? 

The text and name stared back at him and he suddenly became aware of the sting in his cheeks. He was smiling so hard. 

—

Sunoo ended up coming over to Sunghoon’s apartment.

The plan (and Sunghoon used the word plan very loosely) was thrown together in about seven frantic text messages. It seemed that, as of late, Sunghoon was throwing together plans at the very last minute. It was a huge hassle to sneak him over, and the whole ordeal made Sunghoon feel like he was starring in a rom-com where the girl sneaks her boyfriend through a bedroom window. Or maybe a spy movie.

He had to use actual brain power for this. Strategic thinking, stealth and planning. All the things he was normally good at…. on the ice. In real life? Not so much.

There were a few ways they could go upon this.

Option one. Sunoo bundles up in all black, hood up, mask on, sunglasses, maybe even a scarf for dramatic anonymity, and just… walks in like a totally normal civilian. Sunghoon vetoed that immediately. Too risky. Sunoo couldn’t walk in a straight line without attracting admirers; disguises barely helped.

Option two. Sneak him in through the back entrance of the apartment complex. But the chances of reporters crouched behind trash bins or parked in unmarked cars were not zero. In fact, they were extremely, painfully high, he’d seen them himself.

Option three. Use the underground parking garage. This was the most secure, especially with the private elevators and special access keycards. His manager helped him get through without lingering too long, but even that required timing, luck, and Sunoo ducked into the backseat like a fugitive.

Sunghoon stood at the garage entrance, heart pounding, watching as Sunoo practically rolled out of the car and sprinted behind him with his hood half-falling off.

“This is insane,” Sunghoon whispered.

Sunoo straightened his hat, breathless but smiling. “It feels like I’m in a secret mission.”

“It was more stressful than necessary,” Sunghoon hissed, punching the elevator button like it personally offended him.

When the elevator doors opened, they slipped inside quickly. Sunghoon kept his head low, as if the security camera could somehow leak photos to Dispatch. His body was so tense that Sunoo reached over and gently poked his arm.

“Relax,” he said softly. “No one saw me. We did it.”

Sunghoon swallowed. “Okay but, if someone did–” 

“No one did,” Sunoo repeated, a little amused now. “Can you… breathe? Please?”

The doors closed.

And just like that, it was silent.

Just the two of them, alone in the elevator. The air felt different in such a confined space. Sunghoon thought if Sunoo had reached out and touched his arm, a zap would run through his body from the amount of buzzing and tension he was feeling. Sunghoon’s nerves didn’t quite settle after they escaped the camera’s view, instead they shifted from sharp panic into something warmer, fluffier, and far more dangerous. The kind of feeling that made his chest tighten and loosen simultaneously .

Sunoo reached up and tugged his mask down, tucking it under his chin. The fabric slipped away to reveal the curve of his mouth, the faint pink tint of his lips, and a smile that was small but genuine, tired around the edges, like he’d been holding it in all day. His cheeks were slightly flushed from rushing through the garage, and a loose strand of blond hair fell out from beneath his hat, brushing the side of his face. He had seen photos of Sunoo barefaced, but nothing compared to it in person. Sunoo, who usually was dusted in glittery eyeshadow and makeup, looked just as alluring even without the cosmetics. It was unfair, Sunghoon thought distantly, how someone could look so put-together and beautiful even in sweatpants and a hoodie. 

The elevator’s dim lighting softened. It cast shadows under Sunoo’s eyes, and Sunghoon thought he looked more real like this, without stage lights, just a boy who trusted Sunghoon enough to come here.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon could practically feel every inch of his body too vividly, his hands still shaking from where he’d pressed the elevator button. He hadn’t seen Sunoo in days, let alone been this close to him, and the absence had carved out a hollow he didn’t realize he’d been carrying until now.

He studied Sunoo’s face in the quiet moment: the way his eyes softened slightly as he exhaled, the faint rise and fall of his shoulders, the relaxed curve of his posture now that they were finally out of sight. Sunghoon didn’t know what it meant that he noticed all these things, or why it made something in him ache in this stupid, gentle way. He only knew he didn’t want this moment to end. 

Sunghoon’s reflection wavered faintly in the metal doors, but all he could really see was Sunoo. 

“Hi,” Sunoo said quietly, simply.

Sunghoon’s voice betrayed him, “Hi,” it wavered a little and he cleared his throat awkwardly after. Sunoo gave a teasing smile that made his pink cheeks rise. Sunghoon had to clench his hands into fists to resist reaching out and poking them. 

The elevator dinged at Sunghoon’s floor, snapping him back to reality. He fumbled with the lock, his hands suddenly too big and too awkward for the simple task of pressing in the code.

Finally, it buzzed open.

He stepped aside, heart thundering, and let Sunoo walk into his apartment for the very first time. 

If someone had told Sunghoon from the month before that his idol crush was standing in his apartment, right next to his dying succulent plant, he would’ve laughed in their face and then ignored them for the rest of the day for playing with his heart like that.