Chapter Text
“Suhwan-ah, wanna head back now?”
It’s almost 3 AM, and with a match tomorrow, it doesn’t make any more sense to stay for practice this late. Even the Hyeonjoon duo have already surrendered and gone back to the dorms.
Minseok stands beside his adc, who is still glued to his chair. If he were on a loss streak, Minseok would understand. He’s often found himself unable to stop when his own history is a red carpet of defeat. Suhwan, however, is on his 5th win streak. Why isn’t he stopping?
The younger gives no response, eyes still pinned to his screen. Minseok has to tap his desk to finally earn his attention.
“Hey, Suhwan-ah,” he chides gently. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late? We have a match tomorrow. Even Hyunjoon-hyung gave up and went home already.”
Suhwan blinks, snapping his head up as he pulls his headphones out. “Huh? Minseokie-hyung? You’re waiting for me?”
Minseok’s jaw nearly drops. Huh? All these hours, and the kid didn’t even realize he was being waited for? Seriously, this guy... Minseok clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes with a dramatic huff. “Of course I am. Come on, let’s go back.”
Surprisingly, Suhwan doesn’t argue. He cancels his queue immediately and starts packing his things. Still, ten hours of straight solo queue right before a match day is reckless. He must really be overestimating his youth stamina. It’s borderline concerning at this point.
“I’m sorry for making you wait this late, hyung. I didn’t realize you were waiting for me,” Suhwan eventually says, as they walk their way throughout the quiet street toward their dorm.
Minseok huffs, shaking his head. “It’s fine... but Suhwan-ah, you should really start taking care of your body.” He gestures vaguely toward Suhwan’s chest to emphasize his point. “If you keep pushing yourself like this, you’ll eventually hit a wall and burn out. This is coming from your senior, with actual experience.”
Suhwan lets out a weary sigh. “I know, Hyung. But…”
“But?”
Suhwan only hums, leaving nothing but the rhythmic sound of their footsteps to fill the silence. But just as they reach the dorm, he speaks up,
“I have a mission to do this year.”
Before Minseok can even process the whole meaning behind that statement or ask for details, the younger turns around slightly,
“You’re sleeping in my room again, aren’t you, hyung?”
Minseok’s steps halt, and for a second, so do his thoughts. He stares at Suhwan’s back for a few quiet moments before finally answering.
“Yes.”
It’s almost funny how much square footage of living space they’re wasting. Their dorm is massive, with five separate rooms that are basically self-contained units, and yet, as a team, they’ve collectively decided to use less than half of the floor plan.
Hyeonjun has basically migrated to Hyunjoon’s room, claiming that his own is "too messy" for him to get any proper rest. Sure, understandable. Take whatever excuse, everyone knows that they’re dating anyway. Sanghyeok is perpetually MIA, and Minseok seriously doubts if their captain has even stepped foot in his own unit since the day Han Wangho moved into his own apartment near their HQ.
Then there is Minseok and Suhwan. Their situation is purely for the sake of efficiency—of course.
Since the rest of the roster is unavailable most nights, Suhwan became the only candidate left to serve as Minseok’s "Sleep Paralysis Emergency Rescue." It happened once, then twice, and now, Suhwan’s bed feels significantly more comfortable than his own.
Poor Suhwan? In Minseok’s defense, it was Suhwan himself who insisted that if Minseok ever feels his pre-paralysis dread creeping in, he has to make sure Suhwan is the first person he reaches for. So, really, Minseok is just being a good listener and strategist here. Convenience. Efficiency. Good for their synergy as well. That’s their story, and Minseok’s sticking to it.
The blue-hued room is now quiet. The only sound left is the soft hum of the AC and already-asleep-Suhwan’s steady breathing.
Under the covers, Minseok tightens his grip, lacing his arm firmly around the younger. Sensing the movement, Suhwan deliberately shifts his weight to accommodate.
“Mm? Is it coming again, hyung?” his voice is a sleep-thickened rumble, not even a slight nervousness in it.
He’s talking about Minseok’s sleep-paralysis, of course, but damn, he’s becoming so used to this already.
Nope. Minseok feels perfectly fine tonight. He just feels a little cold, but admitting that out loud is far too awkward, so Minseok just offers a small, muffled hum of confirmation.
Suhwan then rolls onto his side, settling into the now familiar zero-distance space they’ve basically perfected by now. They’re face-to-face, so close that even in the dim light, Minseok can almost see the moment Suhwan’s brain decides to check out for the night.
“Goodnight, hyung.” Suhwan whispers, his eyes closing again as he pulls the blanket a little higher over both of them.
“Night,” Minseok replies.
He stays like that for a few minutes, listening to the steady rhythm of Suhwan's breathing and thinking about all those perfectly good, empty rooms in their dorm. What a waste of good living space.
Then, right as he’s about to drift off,
⟢
the glitch appears again, one thing that he’s been trying to push away every single time it emerges.
… Again,huh?
Annoyed, Minseok shakes his head against the pillow. He forces his brain to shut down, demanding sleep. They have a match tomorrow. He can’t afford to let trivial thoughts keep him awake.
Nope. Not tonight, and definitely not on any day.
The glitch in Minseok’s head first appeared after the day they visited Suhwan’s house. Specifically, the moment Minseok saw one of Suhwan’s childhood pictures.
Apparently, Suhwan had spent a significant portion of his childhood being dressed in girls' clothing. Minseok himself had a few dark moments in his childhood where he was put in dresses as well, resulting in pictures he still dreads and curses to this day. Suhwan’s pictures, however, are different. The look actually suits him. But then again, if anyone has the features to pull it off, it is him.
Minseok stole a glance toward the kitchen, where the adult Suhwan was helping his mother set the table. Sometimes, Minseok wondered what it would feel like to wake up with a face that perfect.
But wait.
Actually, he didn’t have to wonder that far; Minseok had been waking up next to that face often enough lately to know the glimpse of it. The fact that his chest still performs a tiny, unprompted kick every single time, even after months of seeing him first thing in the morning, says a lot about that face.
The point is, Suhwan is a gorgeous man. So naturally, he would look just as good in a lace dress as he does in T1 uniform.
Minseok continued to scan through the album until he spotted one particular picture: little Suhwan, hair tied like a girl, wearing a white dress. He was holding a flower bucket in front of a cathedral. Oh, it looked like he somehow ended up as a flower girl for a wedding? Interesting. He looked cute, of course.
But something about it somehow caught Minseok’s entire attention.
⟢
Huh?
…What the hell is going on?
Why does it feel like he had a glitch in his head?
Perplexed, Minseok idly scratched his head as he scanned the picture.
The hairstyle, the dress, the flowers. That cathedral. Then the little note written beside it, decorated with a shabby-looking red ribbon. November 2009.
Why did Minseok feel that there is something strange about it? It almost feels like… a problem that he has to solve?
Why is he feeling this way?
“Ah… It’s starting to get embarrassing. Minseokie, why are you staring so hard at Suhwanie’s pics?” Hyeonjun nudged him sharply, snapping him out of his trance. “You’re being creepy and very obvious there.”
Huh. It’s probably just some misplaced hunch.
“Shut up.” Minseok retorted, nudging the jungler back with his elbow. “Or I’ll sneak into your room, steal your phone, and delete your entire Hyunjoon-hyung photo album.”
“Fuck! How did you know—”
“Hyung… the meal is ready.” Suhwan’s voice cut through the banter. He walked over, his eyes landing on the open album. “Waaahh… why are you guys looking at those? That’s so embarrassing,” he groaned, his face flushing.
As Suhwan looked up from the book, his eyes met Minseok’s, and for a split second,
⟢
the glitch appeared again.
But the moment shattered as Hyeonjun laughed, pivoting to tease the youngest as they moved toward the dining table. “Our cute Suhwanie~ should we just call you 'Princess' from now on?”
“Ugh, come on, hyung,” Suhwan groaned, shifting his attention.
Minseok followed along, scratching the back of his head once more. At the time, he just tried to ignore the strange glitch, unaware that it was only the beginning.
“Hey, are you two dating?”
Minseok is having lunch with Hyeonjun in the cafeteria when the guy decides to throw another ragebait prompt across the table. Minseok nearly inhales a sprout. He chokes, coughing into his fist until his eyes water.
“Who?” he finally manages to wheeze out.
“You and Suhwanie,” Hyeonjun says, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Obviously.”
“—the fuck are you even asking?” Minseok sputters, reaching blindly for his water bottle to douse his throat. “Of course we’re not. Where is this even coming from?”
Hyeonjun just blinks at him, entirely unmoved by the outburst. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why aren’t you two dating?”
“Why—“ Why does this question even exist? “Because we’re professionals! And believe it or not, Hyeonjun-ah, not every bot-duo has to be in a romantic relationship. Some of us actually just play the game.”
Hyeonjun hums skeptically as he picks at his rice. “Hmm. That’s weird. We all know you guys always do everything together these days. You even sleep in Suhwanie’s room. Just like…” He trails off. Looks like Hyeonjun is still respectful enough, despite being the most annoying jungler alive, to not finish that sentence. Fine. Minseok gives him one point for that. He’s still annoying, though.
“Oh yeah?” Minseok rolls his eyes, “Why do you think it is?” he takes a bite, trying to act as casual as he can. “My whole team knows about my sleep condition and yet everyone—including you! still decided to magically disappear every night, even before big matches!”
The table goes quiet for a second, the only sound being the clatter of other players eating. Then, Hyeonjun leans in,
“Do you like him, though?”
…huh? Like? As in….
⟢
“Yah! Are you crazy? He’s a kid compared to us! I’m his senior.” Minseok huffs, stabbing at his side dish. “You know what? I’m not going to be the subject of your dumb ragebaits.”
“Yikes. You’re being really loud for someone who has ‘no feelings’,” Hyeonjun sighs, picking up his chopsticks again. “I was just asking.”
“Well, there is your answer. Now drop it.”
Hyeonjun resumes with his meal, chewing slowly, and so does Minseok, thinking that they are going to have a peaceful meal at last.
“Damn, I feel bad for our Suhwanie.” Hyeonjun suddenly mumbles through a mouthful of rice.
…huh?
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing~” Hyeonjun hums as he resumes on digging on his food, leaving Minseok to stare at him.
Huh.
Well, contrary to what people think, Minseok isn’t that thick. He knows exactly what that signifies, what Hyeonjun is trying to imply with that pitying tone. Clearly, that guy knows nothing.
A young and focused guy like Suhwan would never entertain such an idea. He’s a professional through and through, and Minseok is pretty much the same—or even more so.
Their relationship is solely, strictly based on their shared ambition for trophies, simply because they’re both equally damn good at league, and Minseok would very much love to stick with that, thank you very much.
Well. Actually, Minseok can sort of see why Hyeonjun thinks of him and Suhwan like that. Hyeonjun can be a little dumb at times, but he’s also undeniably perceptive. And it’s true that Minseok and Suhwan are getting closer than Minseok ever anticipated.
Being a botduo with Suhwan quickly integrates in Minseok’s life in almost terrifying speed. They even spend their time together a lot these days. Minseok isn't exactly sure when their schedules started to sync up so perfectly, but they always seem to be the last two standing when it’s time to find food.
It started with Hyunjoon playing the role of the reliable hyung-slash-middleman, dragging them both out for dinner until the habit simply stuck. Now, the "host" is often missing in action, busy paying the inevitable boyfriend tax. That’s totally understandable. Hyeonjun can be an absolute terror when he’s determined to steal his Hyunjoon-hyung away for himself, which leaves Minseok and Suhwan as the default duo.
Minseok doesn’t mind the one-on-one time, though. For one, they share an identical taste for desserts and snacks—a good snack companion is always a blessing amidst their gruesome schedule. But more importantly, they’re surprisingly compatible at the dinner table. Suhwan has this almost aggressive, childhood-level grudge against most vegetables, while Minseok is the type who actually likes the crunch of a good salad—or at the very least, he doesn’t mind them.
They quickly synergize so well it has reached a point where it’s just second nature for Suhwan to just slide his unwanted veggies onto Minseok’s plate, and Minseok finishes them off without a word—or sometimes, he’d just take it himself as soon as he sees one of those “Suhwan’s counters” in the younger’s plate.
And thus, soon, the almost-every-dinner turns into every-meal.
Today’s cafeteria menu however, for all intents and purposes, is a feast of hard counter to Suhwan’s entire existence. It’s almost as if the kitchen staff held a meeting and decided to collectively ruin his day. Every station is basically a fungal minefield—creamy mushroom risotto and stir-fried shiitake side dishes—leaving them both deeply regretting the fact that they didn't just sneak out for a quick bite before the afternoon scrim block.
Now it’s too late, anyway. So they both ended up sitting there, staring down at their inevitable plates of “Suhwan’s counter”, Suhwan slumped in his chair, looking exactly like he just lost a soul-crushing, 5 game series.
“Why do you hate mushrooms so much, Suhwan-ah?”
“I don’t know... it’s the texture,” the younger says, eyeing his plate with a visible frown. “I just hate that weird, squishy burst of juice when you bite into them.” He begins meticulously picking the mushroom bits out of the risotto and setting them aside—and by the time he’s finished, the cafeteria will probably be empty, and he’ll be left with nothing but plain rice and sticky cream.
Minseok watches him, finding it a little ridiculous. To him, mushrooms are exactly what makes them good? It’s the extra depth—the savory punch that rounds out the dish. Feeling a sudden spark of mischief, Minseok leans in, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he idly twirls his fork.
“Is that so?” he says, dropping his voice into a teasing tone. “They’re actually really good, though.”
Suhwan stares at him for a moment,
“Should I… try it, hyung?”
Huh?
Minseok tilts his head and looks up at Suhwan, baffled by his sudden change of mind.
“Why would you even want to try it?”
Suhwan raises a brow, looking at him as if the answer were obvious. “You said they’re really good.”
The more Minseok probes, the more baffling the reaction becomes. What exactly is going on inside this kid’s head?
“But… huh? You would actually eat this just because I told you to?” Minseok points his fork at the pile of stir-fried shiitake mushrooms on his plate.
“Yes.”
His answer is so immediate, so completely lack of hesitation that Minseok freezes, and his next prepared joke dies in his throat. He had expected a laugh, a sarcastic retort, or at least a further explanation on why people should avoid eating mushroom and why Minseok’s idea is basically a proposal to just commit suicide, but Suhwan is just looking at him with a startlingly clear gaze, as if eating something he hates is the easiest request in the world if it comes from Minseok.
“But why?”
“Why not?” Suhwan shrugs, his eyes don't even waver. “Since you’re the one asking.”
Minseok lets out a short, nervous huff of a laugh, his face suddenly feeling a bit too warm.
“I… I was just t-teasing you, Suhwan-ah. Don’t eat things you hate for no reason.”
Funnily enough, Suhwan lets out a massive sigh of relief the moment he hears that.
Of course, Minseok ends up fetching him a cup of ramen anyway. The kid is too shy for his own good, mulling over how he’d feel bad for the chefs if he asked for an alternative right away. Minseok handles it for him, acting as his real-life support in this quiet act of spite against the menu. He even makes a mental note to order some proper takeaway for his adc the second their scrim block ends—just to make sure Suhwan is actually fueled up properly and not surviving on instant noodles alone.
This could’ve ended up worse, but well. Minseok is a good, dependable hyung—or at least, that’s what he’d like to be for Suhwan.
Again.
They are doing just fine like this.
There is no way Minseok is going to entertain the idea of liking Suhwan in that way.
Why? Because Minseok has already learned his lesson, and he isn’t the type to fail the same engage twice.
Now he knows, that liking a teammate in romantic way is like investing hard-earned gold into a newly released item without even looking at the patch note. Wait—that doesn’t actually make sense. Who would be dumb enough to buy an item without reading the stats?
But that’s exactly the point!
It’s a high-risk gamble with a horrible risk-to-reward ratio, one that’s far more likely to end in a total loss. And the reason people are still dumb enough to do it—is because of the thrill of trying something new.
Minseok understands that far too well already.
After all, he’s done it before.
When Minseok was 20, liking someone was like receiving a permanent buff. Back then, it felt like he was constantly leveling up because he wanted to be the best version of himself for the person beside him. That’s what he and Minhyeong had done. It was an era of discovery, learning the real world and the game meta at the same time. Winning together was a peak like no other, and even losing felt bearable because the burden was shared.
But the difference between the 20 year old Minseok and the current 23 year old is that this current Minseok had seen the final stage. He knows that in his world, no matter how much he invested in another person, the cracks will eventually start to form, and separation will become inevitable.
And the separation is only more devastating the more he’d sunk into that person.
The point is, Minseok had seen the ‘game-over’ screen and he isn't looking to hit 'New Game’ just to watch the same thing happening all over.
The playoffs are getting closer.
Tomorrow will be their final regular-season match, and it’s going to be against Minhyeong and Wooje’s team. It’s so very clear that with their ongoing win-streaks, the stakes are high, but for Minseok, it’s even higher because despite him and Minhyeong having ended things on good terms, there’s still that petty, competitive voice in his head that refuses to lose to an ex—which is why he’s still glued to his chair here in the practice room at 2 AM.
Well, that, and the fact that his personal “sleep-paralysis-counter” is seemingly inhaling the competitive spirit in full doses right now. Suhwan is still on a solo-queue roll, despite having started his session much earlier than Minseok.
“Hey… I think you should take it slow for a bit, Suhwan-ah,” Minseok says, stretching out as he retreats from his desk. “We have a match tomorrow, after all.”
“I’ll be done after this game, hyung. You can leave first,” Suhwan mumbles, eyes glued to the screen.
Minseok sighs, but instead of heading for the door, he settles back into his chair. He swivels to the left to watch Suhwan’s monitor, knowing full well that “after this game” is a lie that would turn into a dozen more if he actually left him alone.
“Must be nice to be young, huh? I swear my body can’t handle 10 hours of solo queue after 6 hours of practice anymore,” Minseok muses, watching Suhwan’s Ezreal weave through a chaotic skirmish.
The younger flinches for a split second, stealing a quick glance at Minseok before snapping his focus back to the rift. “Since I’m on a mission, I might as well make use of my physical advantage.”
Ah. This ‘mission’ thing again.
“What mission?” Minseok finds himself asking. He’s genuinely curious by now since this ‘mission’ thing seems to be worth a few years of Suhwan’s lifespan.
“It’s a secret,” Suhwan says, exactly as expected. They sit in silence through another teamfight, the only sound the aggressive clicking of Suhwan’s mouse. Once the 'Ace' announcement rings out, Suhwan finally adds,
“It’s to fulfill a promise I made to myself a long time ago.”
⟢
Ah.
Minseok is getting used to the glitch by now. That weird sensation in his brain seems to have a higher proc rate whenever he’s around Suhwan.
“Hmm,” Minseok hums, watching the screen to distract himself. “Ah. You should’ve based right there, Suhwan-ah. Vi was hovering that top-side bush like ten seconds ago.”
“Ack!” Right on cue, the screen turns grey as a three-man gank deletes Ezreal. Suhwan lets out a frustrated groan, sinking back into his chair. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier~?
“I don’t know~” Minseok says with a lazy grin, enjoying the way Suhwan reacts. “Guess I had a little too much faith in your map awareness.”
“That’s not fair!” Suhwan groans, swiveling his chair around to glare—though it’s more of a pout. Cute, Minseok thinks, stifling his own laughter.
“I only missed it because I was busy talking to you, hyung!”
It looks like Suhwan’s extra hours of practice actually paid off—or maybe it doesn’t even matter, because the kid is just naturally terrifying at the game anyway.
Surprisingly, they won quite comfortably—which in their team’s term, isn’t really a stomp but rather what Sanghyeok often refers to as ‘calculated chaos’—which was one of the few unexpected outcomes of the night. The expected part, of course, was how Minhyeong actually gave them a hard time in the beginning of their laning phase. Minhyeong played brilliantly—he’s always been excellent in Minseok’s eyes, and it’s clear he’s finally found his footing in his new home. Minseok is genuinely happy for him, and for Wooje too. He’d been quietly worried about them since the LCK Cup, so seeing them flourish in the other side is a big relief.
But maybe, Minseok shouldn’t voice these thoughts too loudly in his head. Because these thoughts seems to manifest in quite an unfavorable way.
Fuck. Minseok hates himself for having a good muscle memory, so freaking bad. Because of that mindless instinct most humans possess, his feet have carried him straight into a familiar hallway he used to know by heart, and right into the path of the one person he isn't ready to face.
“Ah.”
Of course. It turns out muscle memory isn't a solo affliction. It’s a shared habit, and his ex is currently standing right in the middle of it.
Damnit. It’s too late to turn around and run, isn’t it?
A fistbump and casual greetings on stage—Minseok can handle those well enough. But this scene is clearly out of his skill range.
“Ah, hello, Minseok-ah.”
Fuck. Act normal, Ryu Minseok, please. Just for once. Channel some of that shot-calling ability here.
“H-hi.”
Okay, that was pathetic as fuck.
Minhyeong takes a slow breath, leaning back against the wall. He looks taller somehow, or maybe it’s just the distance between them making it feel that way.
Minseok just stands there, frozen, unable to think of what to do. After all, they haven’t really spoken in god knows how long. The last time they actually talked, Minseok remembers, was through text—initiated by a long text he himself had spent hours agonizing over, trying to muster every scrap of his feelings.
Now, looking at Minhyeong, Minseok’s throat is completely locked. He finds it nearly impossible to utter a single word directly to his ex’s face.
It’s ironic how something that used to be Minseok’s ultimate comfort, something he often did so naturally, has turned into his most feared and difficult challenge.
“You played well, Minseokie,” Minhyeong eventually says, breaking the silence. “Those pocket picks… it was good to see you playing with that much confidence.”
“I—it wasn't really me! Jaehyun-hyung just told me to pick it, so I just did what I was told.”
Dammit. That sounded way too defensive. What is he even defending himself against? It was a compliment, you idiot.
“I see.”
And then there was silence. And despite him being used to silence due to Suhwan’s tendency to give it off, this particular silence feels almost suffocating for Minseok.
God, Minseok’s tongue aches to say, “You were great too, Minhyeongie.” But he knows the man in front of him too well. He knows that behind the "Gumayusi" shield of absolute confidence, Minhyeong is his own harshest critic. Coming from the person who just handed him a loss, a compliment would sound like pity, and Minhyeong has always hated being pitied.
Ah. What to do now?
“I-I have to go, Minhyeong-ah.” Minseok finally says as he begins to turn around. “The team… we’re supposed to have dinner. I’m late.”
“Ah—”
“I’ll see you again, later,” which is clearly an empty promise coming off Minseok’s mouth.
He really can’t bring himself to look at Minhyeong’s face, but he glances anyway. It’s painfully clear that Minhyeong still has a mountain of words left to say.
But Minseok realizes, in this exact second, that he is a coward.
Even knowing there is more between them that is still left unsaid, he still scrambles and runs away, just like he always does.
And he hates himself for that, too.
The victory dinner at their usual bbq spot is charged with a brighter energy than ever. A celebration after a win is always cheerful, but this one feels special since for some of them, it’s a milestone they never expected could actually be reached, especially in the regular season. For Minseok, however, it’s his second time already.
“Congratulations, everyone. It’s been a while since we’ve pulled off a clean run like this,” Jeonggyun announces from the head of the table, flashing his proud smile. “We still have a long way to go, but let’s celebrate a little tonight. You guys earned it.”
A chorus of cheers erupts from the table, followed by clink of glasses.
“I know playoffs are the real test,” Hyeonjun chimes in, “but man, I still can’t believe we kept the win streak alive until the very end!”
Even Sanghyeok seems more cheerful than usual. He leans back into the chair, giving out a cheeky smile. “It’s all thanks to our fully synergized bot duo~”
“Ah, Suhwanie definitely stepped up today,” Hyunjoon adds, giving Suhwan’s back an appreciative pat.
“You all did great too, hyung,” Suhwan demurs, his ears already turning a faint pink. “Sanghyeok-hyung was the one racking up POMs, anyway.”
“Which reminds me! That last teamfight at Baron was actually insane,” Minseok says, unable to contain his excitement. “Waah... Sanghyeok-hyung, it was like watching you back in your prime.”
“What do you mean ‘back in’? Sanghyeok-hyung has always been in permanent state of his prime.” Hyeonjun retorts with a grin.
“Aish, you kids.” Sanghyeok says with a fond shake of his head. “Fine, I get it. I’ll pick up the tab for snacks after we’re done here.”
Everyone immediately cheers again.
Jaehyun clicks his tongue “Aigoo… you two are such pros at playing around Sanghyeokie’s wallet,” then barks a laugh, and the rest of the table follows along.
The vibe settles into comfortable semi-quiet mode as the meat starts sizzling on the grill, the focus shifting to the food. But of course, the peace is short-lived. Because Hyeonjun somehow decides it’s the perfect moment to remind Minseok why he sits firmly at the top of the "Most Annoying Person in the World" list.
“So… you had a little reunion with Minhyeong back there, didn’t you, Minseokie?”
“Huh? H-how did you know?” was Minseok’s spontaneous reaction—more like a giveaway reaction, actually—which is completely idiotic of him. Might as well have gift-wrapped his dignity and handed it to the jungler on a silver platter as his victory gift.
“Ah, come on. We’ve been teammates for—how many years now?” Hyeonjun smirks, leaning back into his chair. “I know you two used to have that secret hallway or whatever. I saw you heading that way.”
Fuck.
“Well... it kinda just happened,” Minseok mutters, trying hard to focus intently on the grill. “We barely said anything. It’s not exactly easy to make small talk with an opponent you just knocked down the standings.”
“Hmm. If you say so. Very professional of you~”
Minseok shoots a lethal glare across the table at the jungler, trying to internally say, 'I will end you, you absolute motherfucker,' but Hyeonjun just winks and goes back to his meat. Minseok flashes him a middle finger under the edge of the table before aggressively digging back into his meat. He swears one of these days, he’s going to hang that guy for real—maybe after they win a few more trophies. Just to make it worth the jail time.
Seriously, Minseok doesn’t understand why Hyeonjun looks even more excited instead of backing away.
Well, maybe that’s because Minnseok was too busy thinking about dealing with Hyeonjun he didn’t even realize what his jungler saw in the first place—specifically, the growing disaster sitting right on Minseok’s side.
The atmosphere shifts the moment they relocate to Sanghyeok’s regular place. It’s a private, upscale spot, and true to his word, the veteran midlaner keeps the bottles coming, and before long, the table is cluttered with empty soju carafes and half-finished glasses of somaek.
“Woah, Suhwanie~ way to go!” Hyeonjun cheers, lifting a fresh shot in a lazy toast. “You really are a good drinker, huh~”
Minseok watches as Suhwan, on his side, politely receives his god-knows-how-many-th glass from Sanghyeok, then downs it in one smooth motion.
“Hey, isn’t this getting a bit out of hand?” Minseok is getting genuinely concerned by now, “he‘s going to be a drunken zombie by tomorrow afternoon, and we still have a full practice block.” Minseok tries his hardest to be the only sane one in the room—which is so rare coming from him, but what to do when even Sanghyeok has decided to be a menace as well?
Suhwan tilts his head toward Minseok,
“What? I’m not a kid, hyung. I can handle this easily.” His tone is so unusually cold that,
“Ye?” Minseok is at a loss for words. Who the hell is this person? Since when did his sweet and quiet adc develop a bite like that?
Panicked, Minseok shoots a silent ‘Emergency! Please settle this already, hyung!’ look toward Sanghyeok. The older man just shrugs with a faint, knowing smirk, already tipping back a shot of his own as if he’s watching a particularly entertaining drama.
Minseok shifts his gaze to Hyunjoon, hoping for a voice of reason, but finds him completely indifferent. Hyunjoon is calmly scrolling through his phone, looking as peaceful as if he were in a library instead of a den of impending hangovers. Unbelievable.
What even is this? This is just total madness.
“Hey, Minseokie. Stop acting like his mom,” Hyeonjun teases, already looking a little glazed himself. “Suhwanie is clearly enjoying the vibe~ let him push himself to the brink of his limit. We’re limitless afterall.”
Limitless, his ass.
That was a dumb take, entirely to be expected though, because while Suhwan’s alcohol tolerance is surprisingly high—maybe even rivaling Sanghyeok’s—he’s still only human against the combined chaos of his hyungs. By the end of the night, the "pro drinker" has finally hit his limit.
The exit is kind of a disaster. Sanghyeok is left handling a rowdy, singing Hyeonjun, while Minseok and Hyunjoon are stuck hauling a sluggish Suhwan back to the dorms.
Minseok finally finishes the ordeal, wrestling Suhwan out of his jacket and shoes and safely tucking him into bed. He’s just a few steps from the door when Suhwan suddenly croaks out a question that halts his step.
“…You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”
Huh? He’s still conscious?
Minseok turns around, squinting in the low light. “What’s the matter, Suhwan-ah? You need something?”
“Stay… don’t go yet. Just stay here, hyung. Please.”
…What?
“Uh—I don’t think that’s a good idea for now,” Minseok stammers, his mind racing fast to figure out what the hell is happening here.
“Why not?”
“Why—because,” honestly, even Minseok himself doesn’t know why. Logically speaking, it shouldn’t matter that much, right? Since he’s slept in Suhwan’s room more than he ever has on his own already. But somehow, this newly known version of Suhwan is making him incredibly nervous. Staying in his bed suddenly feels like a terrifyingly high-stakes call.
“Hyung…” Suhwan says again, his voice cracking into a whiny, desperate tone that is so unlike him it’s jarring. “Please don’t leave me again. I swear I’ll play even better… I’ll win it all for you.”
“Wh-what are you even talking about, Suhwan-ah? You’re already winning it all.”
“You like it better with Gumayusi-seonsu, don't you, hyung?” Suhwan suddenly says, and Minseok’s heart halts for a moment at the exact time the name was mentioned.
“He’s more stable. His early laning is excellent... he dies less than I do... he’s more dependable,too…”
What’s with this sudden mention of Minhyeong? Minseok’s mind races, frantically scrubbing through the night's events for a trigger. The accidental reunion in the hallway, the dinner, Hyeonjun’s relentless teasing, the sudden "I’m not a kid" defiance—fuck. Minseok realizes exactly what it is.
“Wait—” he tries to interject, but it only manages to stop Suhwan for a few seconds, before he starts blabbering more nonsense
“He’s handsome, tall, and more mature than me, and everyone looks up to him…not to mention his giant fanbase. He’s an esports superstar and I’m just…just the guy you’re stuck with. I know I’m not as dependable as him, but if you stay, I’ll—”
Oh. My God.
Minseok immediately lunges forward, leaning over the bed to clamp both his palms over the younger’s babbling mouth. It’s the only way to kill his words before Suhwan guts them both with his unfiltered confession—and because Minseok has absolute zero freaking idea on how to handle this version of Suhwan he didn’t even know actually exists.
“Hey, just breathe and calm down for a second, Suhwan-ah,” Minseok coos, hovering inches away from the boy's face.
Suhwan falls silent—well, his mouth is covered, so he doesn't have much choice. But his eyes speak volumes, offering up a look that is painfully hopeful and expectant.
“Okay, first of all, I’m staying,” Minseok declares, startled by the loud volume of his own voice. He clears his throat and lowers it. “I mean, I’m staying in your room tonight, if that makes you feel better, Suhwan-ah. Though I’m pretty sure you won’t even remember this tomorrow. So… uh, no more whining like that, okay?”
Suhwan nods slowly, his gaze still locked onto Minseok’s.
“Secondly, stop comparing yourself to Minhyeong. You’re two are completely different but equally amazing players, and I’ve never been anything but grateful to have played with both of you.” He hesitates, then adds, more quietly, “But with you, Suhwan-ah… I’m seeing the game in a whole new way. You have your own rhythm and your own brilliance. And I think you—you’re, uh… truly…admirable.”
“And uh…” Minseok scratches the back of his neck, scrambling for something else to say for the third, but he quickly realizes that by moving his hand, he’s left Suhwan’s mouth uncovered. The fact that the younger remains silent, simply watching him with heavy, glassy eyes, suggests the storm has passed. So…problem solved?
“There’s no third,” Minseok mutters, letting out a frustrated breath. “Fuck, I’m really bad at this stuff.”
He retracts himself from the edge of the bed, and before Suhwan can find his voice again or launch into another heartbreaking comparison, Minseok points a finger at him.
“I’m going to change first, okay? There’s no way I’m sleeping in these clothes. Now just lay there, wait, and be a good boy, okay?”
Oof. His own last words just sent him a literal wave of goosebumps up his own arms. Be a good boy? Really, Ryu Minseok? He shakes his head, dismissing the cringe. It doesn’t matter anyway, he’s talking to someone who’s probably three-quarters soju at this point. By the time the sun rises, none of these cringey words will stick.
Sure enough, when Minseok stumbles back into the room after washing up and changing into his pajamas, Suhwan is already sound asleep.
Minseok stands by the bed for a long moment, watching the way the shadows play across Suhwan's face. He could leave. He could go back to his own room and pretend he never said anything.
But he lies down beside him and quietly tucks himself under the covers, anyway.
Because Minseok is a man who keeps his promises.
⟢
—or at least that’s what he’s always trying to be.
The play-offs passes so quickly, and their schedule becomes even more brutal as they are finally set to a new international goal.
Usually, this part is the most stressful phase of the year in their career in T1. Life-consuming, if Minseok has to be dramatic. He swears days like these probably shave years off his lifespan. But then there’s Lee Sanghyeok—looking literally immortal after going through more than twice the number of playoffs and international tournament preparations Minseok has ever faced—so yeah. That’s probably just him being dramatic.
This time, however, the exhaustion doesn't taste quite as bitter.
Actually, Minseok feels great.
Mainly because they have been winning a lot, of course—but a small portion is because playing alongside Suhwan has been really, really exciting.
“I’ll play any champ you ask me to, hyung,” Suhwan had told him with terrifying confidence. “I’d even play Yasuo bot lane for you in a deciding Game 5. You can even bring out the Yuumi again if you want.”
That sounded crazy, right?
In their world where stakes are high and every mistake is scrutinized, that sounded like the biggest joke ever uttered by a pro—
except they actually did it.
Minseok had a much better idea than Yuumi, obviously, but they really did pull out the Yasuo, stomped the lane, and won the whole thing! Whoosh! and now, they’re heading to MSI.
God. It feels surreal. It’s like being around Suhwan has somehow awakened a dormant part of Minseok’s brain—that old version of himself that actually gets restless with excitement before a match. Well, maybe winning simply just changes everything, because Minseok is suddenly looking forward to the mundane stuff—even their upcoming, very long scrim blocks.
“Excuse me, young man?”
A soft voice pulls Minseok out of his internal monologue. He blinks, realizing he’s been drifting down the sidewalk on autopilot. Gosh. One of these days, he’s going to walk straight into traffic if he keeps living inside his own head like this.
“Yes?” Minseok turns to find a middle-aged woman standing by his side, holding a bundle of small, delicately wrapped flowers.
“You look like you're lost in a very heavy place,” she says kindly. “Here, take this.”
She offers a single stem. Minseok is too stunned to do anything but take it. “Oh—thank you,” he mumbles.
He genuinely appreciates the gesture, he really does, but what the lady said really bugs him. “Lost in a heavy place”? Is that some kind of joke? Clearly, she’s a poor judge of character, because Minseok is probably the happiest he’s been in years.
The woman just gives a knowing nod and continues on her way, leaving him standing there with a piece of nature in his hand.
Minseok looks at the flower, it’s a pink flower wrapped in white and tied with a red ribbon.
⟢
…Huh?
The glitch appears again. Minseok shakes his head, trying to steer his thoughts to anything but that.
Okay. He’s not really into flowers, so he has no idea what it’s called. But flowers are pretty, and Minseok has always had a weakness for pretty things. It’s been so long since he received a flower that isn’t part of a formal fan meet or a victory ceremony anyways, too.
Without overthinking it, Minseok holds the flower carefully, shielding it from the wind as he resumes his walk back to the HQ.
It’s 1 AM already. The practice room is still filled with rhythmic clacks of keyboard and mouse. Everyone is reaching the end of their individual practice session. Minseok, still in the mood, feels like squeezing in a bit of solo queue, so he queues up a game just because.
“Huh? What’s that flower, Minseokie? You had a date or what?”
Minseok looks up at Hyeonjun, who’s all packed up and ready to leave. He follows his eyes to the single stem of flower he idly placed on his desk. Huh? Is it really that weird? it’s not that rare for them to receive flowers anyway.
“Mhm, yeah, sure,” Minseok hums dismissively, far too drained to explain the random encounter with the lady on the street to someone as loud as Hyeonjun. He sinks back into the rift, losing himself in the grind until his last game ends. As Minseok leans back, he realizes that to his left, Suhwan is staring at him—with gaze fixed and uncharacteristically intense.
“Suhwan-ah? What’s up?”
The younger boy jolts, his eyes darting to his monitor for a split second before returning to Minseok. “Nothing,” he says hesitantly.
And after a few seconds of silence, he speaks again.
“Was the date fun, hyung?”
Huh? What is this question? Out of nowhere? Minseok stays silent, then barks a laugh as soon as he realizes the absurdity of the situation.
“No way... I was just joking!” he says, almost breathlessly, “Hyeonjun was being annoying, so I just went along with it.”
Suhwan blinks, and it’s painfully obvious how relieved he is. His shoulders drop as he lets out a quiet sigh. God, Minseok wishes he weren’t this observant. Is him dating really a bad idea? Well, it certainly is for pro gamers at stakes like theirs. A distracted support is a nightmare for any adc—especially one as driven as Suhwan.
“Oh,” Suhwan says quietly, eyes dropping to the desk. “I see. Then… the flower?”
“Some ajumma handed it to me on the street out of nowhere,” Minseok answers, already busying himself with packing his gears. “You’re staying for extra practice again, Suhwan-ah?”
“Mmm.” he replies, about to put his headphones back.
Minseok sighs. This kid is really pushing himself to his limit, huh? he really doesn’t know how to stop.
He watches Suhwan’s back for a moment, feeling a strange sensation of fondness swell in his chest. Then, on impulse, he reaches out and pats his back softly. When Suhwan turns around, Minseok picks up the flower.
“Here. A luck buff for your games tonight.” He holds it out to him. “Don’t stay up too late, Suhwan-ah.”
“T-thanks, hyung,” says Suhwan, looking up as he reaches for the flower,
⟢
And then, as both their gazes meet and hands brushing—time suddenly freezes for a few seconds.
It’s a gigantic disaster in a small span of silence because amidst that small freezing moment, Minseok’s mind decides to be the biggest betrayer of the year.
God, Suhwan’s eyes… are actually so pretty.
⟢
Time seems to crawl back in slow motion, because in their shared stillness, Minseok can now see the dark flush creeping from Suhwan’s collar all the way to the tips of his ears. The younger blinks, and Minseok immediately jerks his hand away.
Damn it. Why is his chest suddenly acting so…weird?
“No biggie,” he mumbles, spinning on his heel toward the exit. “G-good luck, Suhwan-ah. I’m heading back now.”
And then Minseok runs—because he needs something to justify the loud thudding in his chest. Even when he steps out into the cool night air of the outside world, it still refuses to calm.
Damn it.
Minseok has watched enough cheesy dramas with scenes just like this. He used to laugh at how much they dramatized something so ordinary. But now, experiencing it firsthand, he finally understands why moments like these are treated as such a big deal.
With a sinking sense of dread, he realizes his impulsive gesture has smashed through the very wall of reasons he’s been trying to build.
“Do you like him, though?”
Damn it!
This isn’t even the first time he’s felt something similar to this. He knows exactly what just happened back in the practice room. He can already picture Hyeonjun laughing in his face for eating his own words.
What the hell did Minseok just do?