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The first petal fell on a Tuesday.
Choi Hyeonjun was reviewing VODs alone in the practice room when he felt it: a tickle in his throat, uncomfortable and persistent. He coughed once, twice, and something soft landed in his palm.
A single blue petal, delicate as silk, the color of a clear winter sky.
Hyeonjun stared at it, his heart sinking like a stone. He knew what this meant. Everyone knew what it meant. Hanahaki disease: the flowers that bloomed in the chest of those whose love went unrequited, growing until they either confessed and were loved in return, or chose surgery to remove both flowers and feelings.
Or until the flowers consumed them entirely.
He closed his fist around the petal, feeling it crumble against his skin. Of course. Of course this would happen to him. He'd been so careful, so controlled about his feelings for Moon Hyunjoon. He'd never confessed, never even hinted at anything beyond friendship and professional respect.
But apparently, his heart had other ideas.
The practice room door opened, and as if summoned by thought alone, Hyunjoon walked in, his face bright with that easy smile that made Hyeonjun's chest ache.
"Hyung! There you are," Hyunjoon said, dropping into the chair beside him without hesitation. Unlike the distance some people maintained, Hyunjoon was always tactile, always close. A hand on Hyeonjun's shoulder, a playful shove, sitting near enough that their arms brushed. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Want to duo queue? I want to try that new jungle-top synergy we talked about."
Hyeonjun quickly wiped his palm on his pants, hiding the evidence. "Sure. Let me just finish this game review."
"What are you watching?" Hyunjoon leaned closer, his shoulder pressing against Hyeonjun's as he peered at the screen. He smelled like the mint shampoo he always used, fresh and clean and entirely too distracting.
"Just our last series. Analyzing my trades in the Jax matchup."
"You played that perfectly," Hyunjoon said immediately, with the kind of unquestioning confidence that he always seemed to have in Hyeonjun's abilities. "That solo kill at level 6 was clean."
"I got too aggressive at 15 minutes though. If their jungler had been there—"
"But I was tracking him," Hyunjoon interrupted, grinning. "I knew where he was. That's why I pinged you to go in. You trusted me and it worked out."
That was the thing about Hyunjoon. He always spoke about their coordination like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like the way they communicated in-game, the way they trusted each other implicitly, was just standard teammate behavior and not something special.
Like he had no idea what it did to Hyeonjun's heart every time he smiled like that.
"Right," Hyeonjun said, his throat feeling tight. "You always have my back."
"Of course I do," Hyunjoon said, as if it was obvious. "That's what we do. Come on, let's play. I want to try Mundo."
They played for two hours, and it was perfect and terrible all at once. Perfect because their synergy was flawless: Hyunjoon's ganks were always perfectly timed with Hyeonjun's lane pressure, their coordination so smooth it felt like they shared one mind. Terrible because every "nice play, hyung," every laugh over voice chat, every moment of easy camaraderie reminded Hyeonjun of exactly how one-sided his feelings were.
Hyunjoon saw him as a teammate. A friend. Someone to rely on in-game and joke with outside of it.
Nothing more.
When they finally logged off, Hyeonjun felt the tickle in his throat again. He managed to hold it back until Hyunjoon left for the night, waving goodbye with that bright smile. Then Hyeonjun rushed to the bathroom and coughed up three more petals, each one a perfect blue forget-me-not.
How fitting, he thought bitterly, staring at the petals in the sink. Forget-me-nots. The flower of true love and remembrance. His body was literally begging Hyunjoon not to forget him, not to overlook him, even as his mind knew it was hopeless.
He cleaned up the evidence and went to bed, trying not to think about how the flowers in his chest were just beginning to bloom.
─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ 〔✿〕 ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─
[two months earlier]
"You're staring again," Minseok said, his voice amused.
Hyeonjun jumped, nearly spilling his coffee. "I'm not staring."
"You are absolutely staring," Minseok insisted, following Hyeonjun's gaze to where Hyunjoon was across the practice room, laughing at something on Minhyung's phone. "You've been staring at Hyunjoon for like five minutes straight."
"I was just—thinking."
"About Hyunjoon, clearly." Minseok's expression softened. "Hyung, you should tell him. You never know, he might—"
"He won't," Hyeonjun cut him off firmly. "Hyunjoon sees me as a teammate. A friend. That's all."
"You don't know that."
"I do know that." Hyeonjun stood up, gathering his things. "He's friendly with everyone, Minseok-ah. It doesn't mean anything special."
"But he's different with you," Minseok protested. "The way he always seeks you out, the way he lights up when you're around, the way he trusts you in-game—"
"That's just good teamwork," Hyeonjun said, his voice tired. "Please drop it. I'm not going to ruin what we have by making things awkward with a confession he doesn't want."
Minseok looked like he wanted to argue more, but Sanghyeok appeared beside them, his presence immediately commanding attention.
"Drop what?" their captain asked mildly.
Minseok glanced at Hyeonjun, who shook his head minutely. But Minseok had never been good at keeping secrets from Sanghyeok.
"Hyeonjun hyung has feelings for Hyunjoon," Minseok said quietly. "But he won't tell him."
"Minseok-ah—" Hyeonjun started, but Sanghyeok held up a hand.
"Is this true?" Sanghyeok asked, his expression serious.
Hyeonjun wanted to deny it, but lying to Sanghyeok felt impossible. Their captain had a way of seeing through everything. "Yes," he admitted quietly. "But I'm handling it. It won't affect the team."
"I'm not worried about the team," Sanghyeok said gently. "I'm worried about you. Unrequited feelings are difficult to carry."
"I'll be fine."
Sanghyeok studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "If you need to talk, I'm here. And Hyeonjun-ah, you might be surprised. Hyunjoon isn't as oblivious as you think."
Before Hyeonjun could ask what he meant, Hyunjoon's voice called across the room: "Hyung! Come look at this play I'm trying to figure out!"
And like always, Hyeonjun went, pulled by gravity he couldn't resist.
---
Over the next two months, the team watched.
They watched as Hyunjoon gravitated toward Hyeonjun constantly: sitting next to him at meals, seeking him out during breaks, always choosing him first for duo queue. They watched as Hyeonjun's expression would soften whenever Hyunjoon wasn't looking, only to carefully school itself back to friendly neutrality when Hyunjoon turned around.
They watched and they tried.
Minhyung started "accidentally" leaving Hyeonjun and Hyunjoon alone together, suddenly remembering he had to make phone calls or do interviews. Minseok would suggest team dinners and then conveniently arrange the seating so Hyeonjun and Hyunjoon ended up next to each other. Even Sanghyeok, normally subtle, started assigning them to work together on strategy projects more often than strictly necessary.
"You're all being ridiculous," Hyeonjun told them one evening after another transparent attempt to leave him and Hyunjoon alone in the practice room.
"We're being supportive," Minseok corrected. "There's a difference."
"Supporting what? My embarrassing crush on someone who only sees me as a friend?"
"He doesn't only see you as a friend," Minhyung insisted. "Hyung, he looks at you like—"
"Like a teammate," Hyeonjun interrupted. "Like a friend he values. That's all."
"But what if it's not?" Minseok pressed. "What if he feels the same way but is just as scared as you are?"
"He's not scared because he has nothing to be scared of," Hyeonjun said, his patience wearing thin. "He doesn't have feelings for me. And even if he did—which he doesn't—I'm not going to risk our team dynamic by confessing. Can we please just drop this?"
They didn't drop it, of course. They just got more subtle about it.
But it didn't matter. Because a few weeks later, the first petal fell, and Hyeonjun realized with dawning horror that time was no longer on his side.
─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ 〔✿〕 ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─
[present day - three weeks after the first petal]
The flowers grew quickly.
At first, it was just a few petals here and there. Easy enough to hide, to cough up in private bathrooms and dispose of discreetly. But as the weeks passed, the frequency increased. A handful of petals after a particularly intense practice session where Hyunjoon had been especially attentive. A whole flower after Hyunjoon had brought him coffee unprompted, remembering exactly how he liked it.
The flowers knew what his heart knew: every kind gesture, every smile, every moment of easy companionship was just deepening feelings that would never be returned.
Hyeonjun started carrying tissues everywhere. He learned to recognize the warning signs—the tightness in his chest, the tickle in his throat—and excuse himself before anyone could see. He wore high-collared shirts and hoodies to hide the occasional petal that he couldn't catch in time.
But he couldn't hide the weight loss, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his stamina in games was decreasing.
"Hyung, are you okay?" Hyunjoon asked one afternoon, his brow furrowed with concern. "You've seemed tired lately."
They were in the practice room, just the two of them. Hyunjoon had pulled his chair right up next to Hyeonjun's, close enough that Hyeonjun could count his eyelashes if he wanted to. Which he definitely didn't want to do because that would be weird and obvious and—
The tickle started in his throat.
"I'm fine," Hyeonjun managed, even as his lungs screamed at him to cough. "Just didn't sleep well last night."
"You should rest more," Hyunjoon said, and there was genuine worry in his voice. He reached out, pressing the back of his hand against Hyeonjun's forehead like checking for a fever. "You feel a bit warm. Are you getting sick?"
The casual touch, the concern, the way Hyunjoon was looking at him with those soft, worried eyes—it was too much. The tickle became an overwhelming urge to cough.
"Excuse me," Hyeonjun gasped, stumbling to his feet and rushing out of the practice room.
He barely made it to the bathroom before he was coughing violently, petals and small blooms cascading into the sink. Blue forget-me-nots, dozens of them, some still attached to stems. The most he'd coughed up at once.
"Fuck," he whispered, staring at the evidence of his deteriorating condition. The flowers were getting bigger. It wouldn't be long before they became difficult to dislodge, before they started affecting his breathing permanently.
The bathroom door opened. Hyeonjun tried to quickly clean up, but it was too late.
Sanghyeok stood in the doorway, his expression grim as he took in the sink full of blue flowers.
"How long?" Sanghyeok asked quietly.
"Three weeks."
"Hyeonjun-ah." Sanghyeok's voice was gentle but firm. "You need to tell him. Or get the surgery. You can't let this continue."
"I know."
"Do you? Because from where I'm standing, you're killing yourself slowly rather than just admitting how you feel."
"I can't tell him," Hyeonjun said, his voice breaking. "Sang-hyeok hyung, I can't. It'll ruin everything. The team dynamics, our friendship, his comfort—"
"What about your life?" Sanghyeok interrupted. "That matters too."
"Not more than the team."
"Yes," Sanghyeok said firmly. "More than the team. You matter more than the team."
Hyeonjun shook his head, cleaning up the flowers with shaking hands. "I'll get the surgery. Soon. I just need a little more time."
"Time for what?"
To memorize the way Hyunjoon smiles. To savor every moment of his easy affection before surgery takes away the ability to feel anything for him. To say goodbye to feelings that have become as much a part of Hyeonjun as breathing.
"Just time," Hyeonjun said quietly.
Sanghyeok looked at him with something that might have been pity or understanding or both. "You have until the end of the week," he said. "Then I'm telling Hyunjoon myself, or dragging you to the hospital. Your choice."
---
Hyeonjun meant to tell Hyunjoon. He really did.
But every time he tried, the words stuck in his throat, sometimes literally, petals threatening to spill out if he opened his mouth. How could he confess when he couldn't even speak without coughing up the evidence of his unrequited love?
The team was growing more worried. Minseok had started following him to the bathroom, standing guard outside to make sure he was okay. Minhyung kept trying to feed him, as if food could solve the problem of flowers growing in his lungs. Even their coach had pulled him aside, asking if he needed medical leave.
"I'm fine," Hyeonjun lied, again and again. "Just a persistent cough."
But he wasn't fine. The flowers were growing faster now, full blooms instead of just petals. His breathing was becoming labored. His performance in scrims was declining noticeably. And worst of all, Hyunjoon was getting more concerned, more attentive, which only made everything worse.
"Hyung, seriously, you need to see a doctor," Hyunjoon insisted one evening, after Hyeonjun had excused himself for the third time during practice. "This isn't just a cough. What if it's something serious?"
"It's nothing," Hyeonjun said, even as his chest ached with the weight of all the unspoken words.
"It's not nothing," Hyunjoon argued, his expression frustrated. "You're clearly not okay. Why won't you let us help you?"
Because you can't help me. Because the only cure is something I can't have.
"I'm handling it," Hyeonjun said, standing up to leave before he could cough again.
But Hyunjoon grabbed his wrist, stopping him. "Hyung, please. I'm worried about you. We all are. Just tell me what's wrong."
The touch, the worry, the genuine care in Hyunjoon's voice. It was everything Hyeonjun wanted and nothing he could have. The flowers in his chest bloomed with painful intensity, and before he could stop himself, he was coughing.
This time, he couldn't hide it.
Forget-me-nots spilled from his lips, full blooms cascading onto the floor between them. Hyunjoon's eyes went wide with shock, his grip on Hyeonjun's wrist loosening.
"Hyung," Hyunjoon breathed, staring at the flowers. "You have... you're..."
"I'm sorry," Hyeonjun gasped between coughs, more flowers falling. "I didn't want you to know. I was going to get the surgery, I just needed more time—"
"Who?" Hyunjoon asked, and there was something strange in his voice. Something Hyeonjun couldn't identify. "Who is it? Who do you—"
"It doesn't matter," Hyeonjun cut him off, finally getting control of the coughing. "They don't feel the same way. That's why I'm getting the surgery."
"When?"
"Soon."
"But the surgery—" Hyunjoon looked stricken. "Hyung, you'll lose your feelings. You'll forget—"
"I know what the surgery does," Hyeonjun said quietly. "It's better than the alternative."
"Does it hurt?" Hyunjoon's voice was soft, his eyes fixed on the blue flowers scattered on the floor. "The flowers, I mean. Does it hurt?"
"Yes," Hyeonjun admitted. "But not as much as—"
He stopped himself, but it was too late. Hyunjoon was looking at him now, really looking, and Hyeonjun could see the moment understanding began to dawn.
"Hyung," Hyunjoon said slowly. "Who is it?"
Hyeonjun couldn't answer. He just shook his head and walked away, leaving Hyunjoon standing among the forget-me-nots, looking lost and confused.
That night, Hyeonjun scheduled the surgery for the end of the week.
---
The news spread quickly through the team.
"You can't get the surgery," Minseok said desperately. "Hyung, please. Just tell Hyunjoon how you feel. Give him a chance to—"
"To what?" Hyeonjun asked tiredly. "To let me down gently? To feel guilty? To have our friendship become awkward and strained? No, Minseok-ah. This is better."
"Better for who?" Minhyung demanded. "Because it's not better for you. You're going to lose the ability to love him."
"I'll also lose the flowers killing me," Hyeonjun pointed out. "It's a fair trade."
"It's not," Sanghyeok said, his voice quiet but firm. "Hyeonjun-ah, I understand you're scared. But you're making this decision based on assumptions. You don't know how Hyunjoon feels."
"I know enough."
"Do you?" Sanghyeok challenged. "Have you noticed the way he looks at you? The way he always seeks you out? The way he got upset when you were hiding this from him?"
"That's just friendship," Hyeonjun insisted, even as doubt crept into his voice.
"What if it's not?" Minseok pressed. "What if he feels the same way but has been just as scared as you to say anything?"
"Then he would have said something when he saw the flowers," Hyeonjun said. "He would have realized. But he didn't, because he doesn't see me that way."
The team exchanged glances, a silent conversation happening that Hyeonjun was too exhausted to decipher.
"Where is Hyunjoon anyway?" Minhyung asked. "He hasn't been at practice all day."
"Coach gave him the day off," Sanghyeok said. "He needed to think."
About what? Hyeonjun wondered, but didn't ask. It didn't matter. In three days, he'd have the surgery, and none of this would matter anymore.
---
The storm came on the second day.
Hyeonjun was in the practice room alone, trying to get in as much gameplay as possible before the surgery. Once he recovered, he'd still be able to play professionally, still be part of the team. He just wouldn't feel anything when he looked at Moon Hyunjoon.
The thought should have been comforting. Instead, it felt like mourning.
The practice room door slammed open, and Hyunjoon stormed in, rain-soaked and furious.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, his voice raw.
Hyeonjun turned in his chair, startled. "Tell you what?"
"That it's me!" Hyunjoon shouted, and there were tears mixing with the rain on his face. "The flowers! They're for me, aren't they? I'm the one you—"
He couldn't seem to finish the sentence. Hyeonjun felt his chest constrict, flowers blooming painfully in his lungs.
"How did you—"
"Forget-me-nots," Hyunjoon said, his voice breaking. "Blue forget-me-nots. My favorite flower. The one I told you about last year when you asked. The one you said you'd remember." He laughed bitterly. "How fitting."
Hyeonjun couldn't deny it. What was the point? In two days, it wouldn't matter anyway.
"Yes," he said quietly. "It's you."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Hyunjoon asked again, and this time his voice was barely above a whisper. "Why did you let it get this bad?"
"Because you don't feel the same way," Hyeonjun said simply. "And I didn't want to burden you with feelings you couldn't return."
"You don't know how I feel," Hyunjoon protested.
"Don't I?" Hyeonjun stood up, facing him fully. "Hyunjoon-ah, you're kind to everyone. Friendly with everyone. The way you treat me, it's not special. It's just who you are."
"That's not true," Hyunjoon said desperately. "Hyung, I—"
But he stopped, seeming to struggle with words. And in that pause, Hyeonjun felt his last hope die.
"It's okay," Hyeonjun said gently. "I never expected you to feel the same way. That's why I'm getting the surgery. So we can go back to normal. So I don't have to—"
He was cut off by a violent coughing fit. This time, entire stems came up, full blooms of forget-me-nots tangled with blood. Hyunjoon rushed forward, catching him as his knees buckled.
"Hyung," Hyunjoon gasped, lowering them both to the floor. "Oh god, there's blood. We need to get you to a hospital—"
"It's fine," Hyeonjun managed between coughs. "The surgery is in two days. I just need to hold on until—"
"Two days?" Hyunjoon looked horrified. "Hyung, you might not have two days. Look at this! You're coughing up blood!"
"I'll be fine."
"No, you won't!" Hyunjoon was shouting now, tears streaming down his face. "You're dying because of me, and I—I can't—"
He pulled out his phone, dialing emergency services with shaking hands. Hyeonjun tried to protest, but another coughing fit stole his words. More flowers, more blood, more proof that time was running out faster than he'd thought.
The ambulance arrived within ten minutes. The team appeared from nowhere—they must have been nearby, waiting, worrying. Minseok was crying openly. Minhyung looked pale and scared. Sanghyeok was coordinating with the paramedics, his captain's voice steady even as his eyes betrayed his fear.
And Hyunjoon held Hyeonjun's hand the entire time, refusing to let go even when the paramedics needed to check his vitals.
"I'm coming with him," Hyunjoon said, his voice leaving no room for argument.
"Family only," one paramedic started, but Sanghyeok interrupted.
"He's family," Sanghyeok said firmly. "They both are."
So Hyunjoon climbed into the ambulance, still holding Hyeonjun's hand, still crying, still looking at him with an expression that Hyeonjun couldn't quite read through the haze of pain and oxygen deprivation.
"Hyunjoon-ah," Hyeonjun managed to say as they rushed toward the hospital. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Don't apologize," Hyunjoon said fiercely. "Don't you dare apologize for this. Just—just hold on, okay? Please hold on."
But Hyeonjun could feel consciousness slipping away, the flowers in his lungs consuming all the oxygen, all the space, all the life. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was Hyunjoon's face, devastated and scared and beautiful.
The last thing he heard was Hyunjoon saying, "I love you, please don't leave me, I love you too—"
But by then, Hyeonjun was already gone.
─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ 〔✿〕 ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─
Hyeonjun woke up to white ceiling tiles and the steady beep of hospital monitors.
For a moment, he was disoriented, unsure where he was or why. Then the memories flooded back—the flowers, the blood, the ambulance, Hyunjoon's face—
Hyunjoon.
He tried to sit up, but his body protested, weak from surgery and blood loss. A nurse appeared immediately, gently pushing him back down.
"Easy, Mr. Choi. You've just had major surgery. You need to rest."
"What happened?" Hyeonjun's voice was hoarse, his throat raw.
"You were brought in with advanced Hanahaki disease. The flowers had spread significantly through your lungs—you were in critical condition. We had to perform emergency surgery to remove them."
Emergency surgery. Not the planned procedure in two days, but immediate intervention to save his life.
"Did it work?" Hyeonjun asked, though he could already feel the difference. His chest felt empty, hollow. Not in a physical way—he could breathe easily for the first time in weeks—but emotionally. Like something vital had been carved out of him.
"The surgery was successful," the nurse confirmed. "All the flowers have been removed. You'll need time to recover physically, but you should make a full return to normal function."
Normal function. What a clinical way to describe losing the ability to love someone.
"There's someone here to see you," the nurse continued. "He's been waiting since you got out of surgery yesterday. Should I send him in?"
Yesterday. He'd been unconscious for over a day.
"Who?" Hyeonjun asked, though he already knew.
"Moon Hyunjoon. He says he's your teammate."
Hyeonjun's heart should have skipped at the name. Should have filled with warmth or longing or any of the thousand emotions that name used to evoke. Instead, he felt... nothing. Recognition, certainly. Memory of friendship and professional respect. But the love, the aching desperate love that had consumed him—it was gone.
The surgery had worked.
"Send him in," Hyeonjun said, surprised by how steady his voice was.
The nurse nodded and left. A moment later, the door opened, and Moon Hyunjoon walked in.
He looked terrible. His eyes were red and swollen from crying, his hair a mess, his clothes rumpled like he'd slept in them. He stopped just inside the door, his expression a mixture of hope and fear and something that might have been guilt.
"Hyung," Hyunjoon breathed. "You're awake."
"Yeah," Hyeonjun said. "The nurse said you've been here since the surgery?"
"I couldn't leave." Hyunjoon moved closer, cautiously, like approaching a wounded animal. "I needed to know you were okay. That you—" He swallowed hard. "That you survived."
"I did. The surgery was successful."
Something in Hyunjoon's expression crumbled. "So the flowers are gone."
"Yes."
"And your feelings—" Hyunjoon's voice broke. "You don't... you can't..."
"I remember you," Hyeonjun said gently, understanding what Hyunjoon was trying to ask. "I remember our friendship, our time as teammates. I just don't feel... what I used to feel. The romantic feelings are gone."
Hyunjoon sat down heavily in the chair beside the bed, his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with silent sobs.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "This is all my fault. If I had just—if I'd been brave enough to tell you—"
"Tell me what?" Hyeonjun asked, genuinely curious. Without the haze of love clouding his perception, he could see Hyunjoon clearly now—the devastation on his face, the way his hands shook, the tears that wouldn't stop falling.
Hyunjoon looked up, his eyes red and anguished. "That I love you too. That I've been in love with you for months. I was just too scared to say anything because I thought you only saw me as a friend, and I didn't want to ruin what we had. So I kept it to myself, and now—" His voice broke completely. "Now you can't love me back. And it's all my fault."
The words should have meant something. Should have sparked joy or relief or any emotion at all. But Hyeonjun just felt a distant sense of sadness, like watching a tragedy happen to someone else.
"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it in the abstract way one feels sorry for anyone suffering. "I wish... I wish things had been different."
"Me too," Hyunjoon whispered. "God, me too."
They sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, Hyunjoon stood up, wiping his eyes roughly.
"I should let you rest," he said. "The team wants to visit once you're feeling up to it. And Coach said to tell you that your spot on the team is secure. Take all the time you need to recover."
"Thank you," Hyeonjun said. "And Hyunjoon-ah, we can still be friends. Still be teammates. I may not feel what I used to, but I still care about you. Just... differently now."
Hyunjoon nodded, but he didn't look comforted. "I'll come back tomorrow. If that's okay."
"Of course."
Hyunjoon left, and Hyeonjun was alone with the beeping monitors and the empty feeling in his chest where love used to be.
He should have felt relieved. Free. Cured.
Instead, he just felt hollow.
─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ 〔✿〕 ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─
[six months post-surgery]
Recovery was slow but steady.
Physically, Hyeonjun healed well. Within two months, he was back to full practice with the team. His lung capacity returned to normal, his stamina recovered, his gameplay sharp as ever. On paper, everything was perfect.
Emotionally, things were more complicated.
The team treated him carefully at first, like he might break if they said the wrong thing. But gradually, they relaxed back into their old dynamics. Minseok's teasing, Minhyung's bad jokes, Sanghyeok's quiet leadership. Everything was almost normal.
Almost.
Because while Hyeonjun had returned to the team, something fundamental had shifted with Hyunjoon.
Hyunjoon was different now. Oh, he was still friendly, still professional, still the talented jungler who coordinated perfectly with Hyeonjun's top lane. But the easy physical affection was gone. No more casual touches, no more sitting close during VOD review, no more seeking Hyeonjun out during breaks.
Hyunjoon maintained a careful distance, professional but cold. And Hyeonjun understood why. It must hurt to be around someone who used to love you but didn't anymore, to know that your feelings were returned too late.
But understanding didn't make it less strange. Didn't make Hyeonjun less aware of the absence of something he couldn't even remember properly anymore.
"He's different with you now," Minseok observed one day during a break. "Hyunjoon, I mean."
"I know," Hyeonjun said. "It makes sense though. It must be hard for him."
"It's hard for you too, isn't it?" Minseok's eyes were sympathetic. "Even if you don't feel the same way anymore, you must notice the change."
"I do," Hyeonjun admitted. "Sometimes I try to remember what it felt like. To love him, I mean. But it's like trying to remember a dream. I know it happened, I know it was intense, but I can't actually feel it anymore."
"Do you wish you could?"
Hyeonjun considered the question. Did he wish he could feel that consuming, painful love again? The love that had literally grown flowers in his lungs, that had nearly killed him?
"I don't know," he said honestly. "Part of me thinks it would be easier if I could. At least then I'd understand why Hyunjoon looks so sad all the time."
"He's in mourning," Sanghyeok said, appearing beside them. "Mourning what could have been, if he'd been braver earlier."
"It's not his fault," Hyeonjun protested.
"No," Sanghyeok agreed. "But that doesn't make it hurt less. For either of you."
---
The turning point came during a rain storm, six months after Hyeonjun's return.
They'd just finished a difficult series—a loss that put their playoff chances in jeopardy. The team was subdued, reviewing their mistakes with Coach, discussing what they needed to improve. When the meeting finally ended, everyone dispersed quickly, wanting to escape the heaviness in the air.
Hyeonjun stayed behind to review his own VODs, focusing on a team fight that had gone disastrously wrong. He was so absorbed that he didn't notice Hyunjoon until he spoke.
"That fight wasn't your fault."
Hyeonjun looked up, startled. Hyunjoon stood in the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder, hesitating like he wasn't sure he should have spoken.
"I should have tracked their jungler better," Hyeonjun said, turning back to the screen. "If I'd known he was top side—"
"I pinged that he was bot," Hyunjoon interrupted, moving closer despite his obvious hesitation. "You made the right call based on the information you had. Their support roamed and we didn't catch it in time. That's a team mistake, not yours."
It was the most Hyunjoon had said to him in months that wasn't strictly necessary for gameplay. Hyeonjun felt something shift in his chest—not the flowers, those were long gone, but something else. Curiosity, maybe. Or the ghost of familiarity.
"You don't have to comfort me," Hyeonjun said quietly. "I know it's hard for you to be around me."
Hyunjoon flinched. "It's not—" He stopped, ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "It's not hard because I don't want to be around you, hyung. It's hard because I want to be close to you the way I used to be, but I know I don't have that right anymore."
"You never lost that right," Hyeonjun said, confused. "We're still friends. Still teammates."
"Are we?" Hyunjoon asked, and there was something raw in his voice. "Because I don't know how to be your friend when all I want is—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."
He turned to leave, but Hyeonjun stood up quickly. "Wait."
Hyunjoon stopped but didn't turn around.
"I know I can't feel what I used to feel," Hyeonjun said carefully. "And I know that must hurt you. But Hyunjoon-ah, I miss you. I miss the way we used to be. Even if I can't love you the way you want, I still care about you. You're important to me."
"Just differently now," Hyunjoon said, echoing Hyeonjun's words from the hospital all those months ago. His voice was hollow.
"Yes," Hyeonjun admitted. "But that doesn't mean it's less real. You're still the person I trust most in-game. Still the teammate I rely on. Still someone I—" He paused, searching for the right word. "—someone I value deeply."
Hyunjoon finally turned around, and his eyes were wet. "It's not enough though, is it? What I feel versus what you can feel. It's not balanced anymore."
"Maybe not," Hyeonjun acknowledged. "But does it have to be balanced to matter?"
Thunder rumbled outside, and rain began to pound against the windows. Hyunjoon looked at him for a long moment, something complicated passing across his face.
"I don't know how to stop loving you," Hyunjoon said quietly. "I've tried. God, I've tried. But every time I see you, every time we coordinate in-game, every time you smile at something stupid Minseok says, it just reminds me of what I lost because I was too scared to speak up sooner."
"You didn't lose anything," Hyeonjun said. "I lost the ability to love you, not the other way around."
"Didn't I though?" Hyunjoon's laugh was bitter. "I lost the chance to love you when you could love me back. I lost the possibility of us. I lost—" His voice cracked. "I lost you, hyung. Even though you're standing right here, I lost you."
The rain continued its assault on the windows, each drop like punctuation to Hyunjoon's pain. Hyeonjun felt that strange ache in his chest again—not flowers, but something almost like regret. Regret for feelings he couldn't even remember having.
"I wish I could give you what you want," Hyeonjun said honestly. "I wish the surgery hadn't taken those feelings. Not because I miss the pain of unrequited love, but because I hate seeing you hurt like this."
"You don't have to feel guilty," Hyunjoon said, wiping his eyes roughly. "This isn't your fault."
"Isn't it? I'm the one who waited too long. Who didn't confess when I had the chance."
"I did the same thing," Hyunjoon pointed out. "We both waited too long. We're both responsible for this mess."
They stood there in the practice room, the rain creating a curtain between them and the outside world, and something unspoken passed between them. Not love, at least not the kind that had once bloomed flowers in Hyeonjun's chest. But understanding, maybe. Shared grief for a future that would never exist.
"Can I ask you something?" Hyunjoon said after a long silence.
"Of course."
"Do you ever wonder what it was like? Loving me, I mean. Before the surgery."
Hyeonjun considered the question. "Sometimes," he admitted. "I remember the facts, that I had feelings for you, that they were strong enough to cause Hanahaki. But I can't remember the feeling itself. It's like knowing you were once injured but not being able to remember the pain."
"Does that bother you?"
"Yes and no. It bothers me that I can't understand what past-me was going through. But it's also a relief not to carry that pain anymore." He paused. "Does that make me selfish?"
"No," Hyunjoon said immediately. "It makes you human. And honestly, I'm glad you're not in pain anymore. Even if it means..." He trailed off, unable to finish.
"Even if it means I can't love you back," Hyeonjun finished for him.
"Yeah."
The rain was starting to let up, the storm passing as quickly as it had come. Hyunjoon shouldered his backpack again, preparing to leave.
"Hyunjoon-ah," Hyeonjun called as he reached the door. "Would it be okay if we tried? To be friends again, I mean. Real friends, not just professional teammates."
Hyunjoon looked back, and there was something cautiously hopeful in his expression despite the lingering sadness. "You want that?"
"I do. I know it won't be the same as before, and I know it might be hard for you. But I miss having you in my life beyond just game coordination."
"I miss that too," Hyunjoon admitted quietly. Then, with visible effort, he smiled. A small, fragile thing, but genuine. "Okay. Let's try."
---
Rebuilding their friendship was slow, careful work.
At first, it was small things. Hyunjoon started sitting closer during team meals again, not quite touching but no longer maintaining that rigid distance. He'd make comments during VOD review, offering insights on Hyeonjun's play. He'd send memes in the group chat, some clearly meant for Hyeonjun.
Hyeonjun reciprocated cautiously, aware that every interaction was something Hyunjoon had to navigate while still being in love. He was careful not to be too warm, too friendly, not wanting to give false hope. But he also didn't want to be cold, didn't want Hyunjoon to feel rejected all over again.
It was a delicate balance, and sometimes they got it wrong.
"Sorry," Hyunjoon would say when he caught himself staring too long, or when his hand would drift toward Hyeonjun before he remembered to keep his distance.
"It's okay," Hyeonjun would reply, meaning it. Understanding that unlearning love was harder than unfeeling it.
The team noticed the slow thaw between them and seemed relieved. Minseok stopped watching them with that worried expression. Minhyung's jokes became more relaxed. Even Sanghyeok looked pleased with their gradual return to something resembling their old dynamic.
But it wasn't the same. It couldn't be the same.
There were moments when Hyeonjun would catch Hyunjoon looking at him with such naked longing that it hurt to witness. Moments when Hyunjoon would start to say something, then stop himself, clearly editing his words to remove any hint of his feelings. Moments when the weight of unrequited love hung so heavy in the air that everyone could feel it.
"Is it getting easier?" Minseok asked Hyunjoon one day when he thought Hyeonjun couldn't hear.
"No," Hyunjoon admitted. "But I'm learning to live with it. And having him as a friend is better than not having him at all."
Hyeonjun pretended he hadn't heard, but the words stayed with him. Better than not having him at all. Was that true? Or was Hyunjoon just torturing himself by staying close to something he could never fully have?
─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ 〔✿〕 ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─
[eight months post-surgery]
"Hyung, you're doing it again."
Hyeonjun blinked, realizing he'd been staring at Hyunjoon across the practice room. Again. He'd been doing that a lot lately: watching Hyunjoon when he thought the younger wasn't looking, studying his expressions, his movements, trying to understand something he couldn't quite name.
"Sorry," Hyeonjun said, turning back to his own screen.
"What are you looking for?" Sanghyeok asked quietly. He'd appeared beside Hyeonjun without making a sound, as was his habit.
"I don't know," Hyeonjun admitted. "It's just... sometimes when I look at him, I feel like I'm supposed to remember something. Like there's something important I'm forgetting."
"Your feelings for him," Sanghyeok said gently.
"But I can't feel them anymore. The surgery made sure of that."
"The surgery removed the romantic feelings," Sanghyeok corrected. "But you're still you, Hyeonjun-ah. And part of you remembers that Hyunjoon is important. That he means something. Your heart might not remember the specifics, but your soul does."
"That sounds like something from a drama," Hyeonjun said, but there was no heat in it.
"Doesn't make it less true." Sanghyeok glanced at Hyunjoon, who was focused intently on his screen, unaware of being discussed. "He still loves you, you know. It hasn't faded even a little."
"I know. I can see it." Hyeonjun felt that strange ache again. "Sometimes I wish I could feel it too. Just so it would be fair."
"Life rarely is," Sanghyeok observed. "But maybe that's not the point. Maybe the point is what you choose to do despite the unfairness."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that you can't love him the way he loves you. That's a fact, not a choice. But you can choose how you treat him. How you value him. How you show him that even without romantic love, he still matters to you."
"I already try to do that."
"I know. And he sees it." Sanghyeok squeezed Hyeonjun's shoulder. "Just keep trying. That's all any of us can do."
---
The shift happened gradually, so slowly that Hyeonjun didn't notice it at first.
It started with small observations. The way Hyunjoon's eyes crinkled when he smiled. The focused expression he got during intense games. The unconscious habit he had of biting his lower lip when he was thinking hard about something.
Then it was bigger things. The way Hyeonjun's day felt incomplete if he didn't talk to Hyunjoon at least once. The way he found himself looking forward to their duo queue sessions. The way he started noticing when Hyunjoon seemed tired or stressed, and feeling the urge to help.
It wasn't love. At least, it wasn't the same desperate, consuming love that had grown flowers in his lungs. But it was something. A warmth. A fondness. A sense that Hyunjoon was important in a way that went beyond professional respect or casual friendship.
"You're getting closer again," Minseok observed one day. "You and Hyunjoon. It's nice to see."
"We're trying," Hyeonjun said. "To be friends again."
"Is that what you'd call it?" Minseok's expression was knowing. "Just friendship?"
"What else would it be? I can't feel. The surgery removed my ability to love him romantically."
"Did it though?" Minseok challenged. "Or did it just remove the specific feelings you had at that moment? You're not the same person you were eight months ago, hyung. You've changed. Grown. Who's to say you can't develop new feelings?"
The thought was startling. Hyeonjun had assumed the surgery was permanent, that he'd never be able to love Hyunjoon romantically again. But what if Minseok was right? What if the surgery had only removed the old feelings, leaving space for new ones to potentially grow?
"That's not how it works," Hyeonjun said, but he sounded uncertain even to himself.
"Really?" Minseok shrugged. "I'm not an expert. But I know what I see. And I see someone who's slowly falling for the same person all over again. You just don't recognize it yet because it feels different from before."
Hyeonjun wanted to dismiss it, to insist that Minseok was wrong. But he couldn't. Because the more he thought about it, the more he realized that what he felt for Hyunjoon now—this growing warmth, this increasing desire to be near him, this sense of rightness when they were together—it did feel suspiciously like the early stages of falling in love.
Just without the flowers. Without the pain. Without the desperation.
But maybe that was better. Maybe love didn't have to hurt to be real.
─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ 〔✿〕 ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─
[ten months post-surgery]
"Hyunjoon-ah, can we talk?"
It was late evening, the practice room empty except for the two of them. Hyunjoon looked up from his screen, surprised. They'd gotten better at being around each other, but Hyeonjun rarely initiated serious conversations.
"Of course, hyung. What's on your mind?"
Hyeonjun sat down in the chair next to Hyunjoon's, closer than he would have dared a few months ago. "I've been thinking about something Minseok said."
"Should I be worried?" Hyunjoon's tone was light, teasing, but there was uncertainty in his eyes.
"He said that maybe the surgery only removed my old feelings. That I could potentially develop new ones."
Hyunjoon went very still. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that lately, when I'm around you, I feel... something." Hyeonjun struggled to articulate it. "It's not the same as what I'm told I felt before. It's gentler. Quieter. But it's there. This warmth, this desire to be near you, this sense that you're important to me in a way that goes beyond friendship."
"Hyung—" Hyunjoon's voice was strained. "Please don't say things like that unless you're sure. I can't—I can't hope again just to have it taken away."
"I'm not sure," Hyeonjun admitted. "I don't know if what I'm feeling is the beginning of romantic love or just deep friendship or something else entirely. But I wanted you to know that I'm feeling something. That you're not alone in this anymore."
Hyunjoon's eyes were wet. "You don't have to feel obligated to try to love me back. I've made my peace with—"
"Have you?" Hyeonjun challenged gently. "Because I see the way you look at me. I see how much it still hurts. And I want—" He took a breath. "I want to try. To see if I can feel for you what you feel for me. I don't know if it's possible, but I want to try."
"Why?" Hyunjoon asked, and his voice was so small, so fragile. "Why would you put yourself through that?"
"Because you're worth it," Hyeonjun said simply. "Because even without being in love with you, I care about you deeply. Because the thought of you being in pain hurts me. And because maybe, just maybe, we could have a second chance at something that was taken from us the first time."
Hyunjoon was crying now, silent tears streaming down his face. "I don't want you to force yourself. I don't want you to try to love me out of pity or guilt."
"It's not pity or guilt," Hyeonjun insisted. He reached out slowly, telegraphing his movement, and took Hyunjoon's hand. It was the first time he'd initiated physical contact since the surgery. "It's genuine care. Genuine interest in exploring what this could be."
Hyunjoon looked down at their joined hands, his expression a mixture of hope and fear. "What if you try and it doesn't work? What if you can't develop those feelings?"
"Then at least we'll know," Hyeonjun said. "And we'll still be friends. Still be teammates. I'm not going anywhere, Hyunjoon-ah. Regardless of whether this becomes romantic or stays platonic, you're stuck with me."
A laugh burst out of Hyunjoon, watery but genuine. "That's the most unromantic way to propose dating someone I've ever heard."
"I'm out of practice," Hyeonjun said with a small smile. "It's been almost a year since I had romantic feelings for anyone."
"Can I—" Hyunjoon hesitated. "Can I ask what changed? What made you want to try?"
Hyeonjun thought about it. "I started noticing things about you again. Not the way I apparently noticed them before, but in new ways. The way you still bring me coffee sometimes, even though you're scared of being too much. The way you trust me in-game without question. The way you've been patient with me, even when it must have been killing you. And I realized that someone who loves like that—consistently, patiently, without expectation of return—that's someone worth trying to love back."
"Hyung," Hyunjoon whispered, squeezing his hand.
"I can't promise it will work," Hyeonjun warned. "I can't promise I'll fall in love with you again. But I can promise I'll try. If you're willing to take that risk."
Hyunjoon looked at him for a long moment, searching his face for something. Whatever he found must have satisfied him, because he nodded slowly.
"Okay," he said. "Let's try."
─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ 〔✿〕 ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─
[twelve months post-surgery]
They took it slow.
Painfully, carefully slow. Hyeonjun didn't want to rush into anything, didn't want to give Hyunjoon false hope if his feelings didn't develop the way they both hoped. And Hyunjoon, for his part, seemed content just to have the possibility of more.
They went on what Hyeonjun supposed could be called dates, though they never explicitly labeled them as such. Coffee shops and late-night convenience store runs and walks along the Han River. They talked about everything and nothing: game strategy and childhood memories and dreams for the future.
And gradually, incrementally, Hyeonjun felt that warmth growing.
It still wasn't the same as what he was told he'd felt before. There were no flowers blooming in his chest, no desperate longing, no pain. But there was fondness. There was desire to see Hyunjoon smile. There was pleasure in his company that went beyond mere friendship.
There was, Hyeonjun was starting to realize, love. Just a different kind than before.
The realization hit him fully on a rainy afternoon, one year after his surgery.
They were in the practice room, always the practice room, the site of so many important moments in their relationship. Hyunjoon was focused on his screen, practicing a new jungle clear, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration.
And Hyeonjun looked at him and felt his heart do something strange. Not painful, but significant. A flutter. A warmth. A sense of this is right, this is where I'm supposed to be.
"Hyunjoon-ah," he said quietly.
Hyunjoon paused his game, turning to look at him. "Yeah, hyung?"
"I think I'm falling in love with you."
Hyunjoon's hands froze over his keyboard. "What?"
"I'm falling in love with you," Hyeonjun repeated, more certain this time. "It's not the same as before, at least I don't think it is, since I can't remember what before felt like. But it's real. And it's growing. And I wanted you to know."
Hyunjoon's eyes filled with tears, but this time they looked like happy tears. "You're sure? You're really sure?"
"As sure as I can be," Hyeonjun said. He stood up, moving to where Hyunjoon sat, and knelt down so they were eye level. "I know I can't give you back what was lost. The old feelings, the old version of us, that's gone. But I can give you this. New feelings. A new version of us. If you want it."
"If I want it?" Hyunjoon laughed incredulously. "Hyung, I've wanted nothing else for the past year. For longer than that."
"Then can I—" Hyeonjun hesitated, nervous in a way he hadn't been since before the surgery. "Can I kiss you?"
Hyunjoon nodded, not trusting his voice. Hyeonjun leaned in slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wanted. But Hyunjoon didn't pull away. He met Hyeonjun halfway, and their lips touched softly, tentatively.
It was nothing like the dramatic first kisses in movies. It was gentle and slightly awkward and over in just a few seconds. But when they pulled apart, both of them were smiling.
"Was that okay?" Hyeonjun asked.
"It was perfect," Hyunjoon said. "Can we do it again?"
So they did. And this time it was less tentative, more sure. This time Hyeonjun let himself feel the warmth spreading through his chest, let himself acknowledge that yes, this is love. Different from before, born from friendship and patience and conscious choice rather than instant attraction and desperate longing.
But love nonetheless.
When they finally broke apart, Hyunjoon was crying again, and Hyeonjun wiped the tears away gently.
"I love you," Hyeonjun said, testing the words. They felt right. True. "I love you, Moon Hyunjoon."
"I love you too," Hyunjoon replied. "I never stopped."
"I know. And I'm sorry it took me so long to find my way back to you."
"You're here now," Hyunjoon said, taking Hyeonjun's hands in his. "That's all that matters."
Outside, the rain continued to fall, washing away the old and making space for the new. Inside the practice room, two people who had lost each other and found each other again sat close together, holding hands, and believed in second chances.
─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ 〔✿〕 ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─
[eighteen months post-surgery]
"Are you nervous?" Minseok asked, helping Hyeonjun adjust his jersey.
"A little," Hyeonjun admitted. It was the championship finals, the biggest match of the season, and the crowd outside was already deafening.
"You'll be fine. You always are." Minseok paused, then grinned. "How does it feel to be playing the most important match of your career while dating your jungler?"
"The same as playing any other match while dating my jungler," Hyeonjun said dryly. "We're professionals."
"Sure you are," Minhyung chimed in. "That's why Hyunjoon was making heart signs at you during yesterday's interview."
"He was not—" Hyeonjun started, but Hyunjoon walked in at that moment, and his entire face lit up in a way that made Hyeonjun's protest die on his lips.
"Ready, hyung?" Hyunjoon asked, coming to stand beside him. His hand found Hyeonjun's automatically, their fingers intertwining.
"Ready," Hyeonjun confirmed.
They walked toward the stage together, the rest of the team flanking them. The roar of the crowd was overwhelming, thousands of fans cheering for them, believing in them.
"Hey," Hyunjoon said quietly, just before they stepped into the lights. "I love you."
"I love you too," Hyeonjun replied, and meant it with his whole heart—this new heart, this healed heart, this heart that had learned to love again.
The flowers were gone. The pain was gone. But the love remained, different but deeper, chosen rather than compelled.
And as they stepped onto the stage to compete in the biggest match of their careers, Hyeonjun looked at Moon Hyunjoon—the person who had loved him through sickness and surgery, who had waited patiently while Hyeonjun found his way back to feeling, who had never given up hope even when hope seemed impossible—and thought:
This. This was worth everything.
The past year and a half had been painful and complicated and uncertain. But it had led them here, to this moment, together.
And that was all that mattered.
As they took their seats and the match began, Hyeonjun felt no flowers blooming in his chest. Just warmth. Just love. Just the certainty that regardless of whether they won or lost this match, they'd already won something more important.
They'd won each other. Again. In a new way.
And this time, Hyeonjun thought as Hyunjoon's Mundo ganked his lane perfectly, their coordination as flawless as ever—this time, they would get to keep it.