Chapter Text
For Geonwoo, 2023 promised nothing but a cold winter.
There was nothing particularly memorable for them that year - at most, they had the sufferance to say they had finished within the upper half of the table. In reality, they were just fodder for the teams above them.
When the last nexus of Worlds finally shattered, Geonwoo could only clap mindlessly as the interview buzzed empty in his ears, automatic in his reaction while his brain had already begun steeling itself for what was sure to follow in the off-season.
The coaches and Dohyeon had already extended their contracts, and Geonwoo himself had been in discussions for his own renewal following his hyung. They would need a new jungler first, unless HLE wanted to continue into 2024 with their academy player. Top and support should be changing, too - Seonghoon had mentioned leaving earlier on, and all that was left was to wonder who would be coming to take his place.
“Looks like they already have someone in mind,” he’d added, with his easy smile and an arm around Geonwoo’s shoulder. “And I have a team to go to, soon, so there’s no need to worry about me, either.”
So they said their goodbyes, and Geonwoo told himself that they were lucky to have spent two seasons playing together - that seemed to be a decent average in eSports, and of course he understood the necessity of change when things don't work out.
It couldn’t quite stop the feeling of loss that had turned Geonwoo’s stomach when he glimpsed Seonghoon’s empty bunk. Still the world kept turning, and he’d barely gotten the time to wonder who the team had been gunning for when -
Welcome, HLE Doran
The trio from Gen.G had followed shortly after the announcements, cheeks pink and bitten from their trip and their eyes darting around to take the dorm in curiously. Geonwoo had peered at them from in front of his PC: there was Peanut, almost comically small next to his companions while also being the most relaxed - there was no tension in his shoulders as he did a quick sweep of their messy training room into settling on the two HLE players with a polite smile.
Delight had been less interested in them, opting to ogle curiously at the trinkets on display, scattered above the shelves. Occasionally he leaned in to nudge and whisper about something he’d noticed - Dohyeon’s EDG figures in the corner, a tangled mess of wires above Geonwoo’s head, a frame that reflected too much light to show which past teammates it featured - and Peanut would reward him with a shake of his head and a quiet, amused huff of breath.
And then there was Doran - the tallest out of the three and the most harmless to look at. Despite his height, he had managed to fold into himself in such a way that made him look almost smaller than Peanut. He been shifting from one foot to another in a slight sway, teeth peeking out every now and then as he chewed on his lip before remembering himself. His eyes had darted around the room in what looked like avoidance more than something born out of curiosity.
Geonwoo marvelled at the strangeness of it - here was a three-peat LCK Champion, the core of the most dominant team in their region, standing in the house of a team he’d beaten throughout the season, and still he looked painfully skittish as he gingerly sat down in his spot in the first seat in the row. Doran carried a restlessness, he realized a second later, of someone who was terrified and waiting to be told that he was in the wrong place.
He turned his head then, eyes just catching Geonwoo’s gaze fixed on him. Geonwoo flushed, neck hot, but he’d given the toplaner a quick nod and an awkward stretch of his lips, and it had been enough to melt away some of the tightness in his posture as he responded with a sheepish smile of his own, rabbit teeth showing through the heart-curve of his lips before he’d ducked his head down shyly once again.
Geonwoo hadn’t known then, but it had been enough to tip something over in his heart. All he could think of, as warmth seeped through his palms from the handshakes with the new players, was that he’d absolutely have to give his all in the coming year.
The snow fell heavy that year, blanketing the already isolated Camp One with an extra layer of quiet.
Geonwoo had been quite worried, earlier on, that their new team wouldn’t be able to mesh together well enough. With the previous roster, the dorm had been overflowing with noise - there was always the steady rhythm of equipment echoing from the gym, barked laughter bouncing off the walls, the constant hum of a PC under the sound of footsteps running down the hallway. He’d never actually known the Gen.G players, never really got to talk to them outside of match formalities, and now he and Dohyeon had three of them in the small bubble they called home.
But Delight laughed easily, and liked to make a show of putting his head together to whisper loudly what was for dinner that night. From his seat at the end, he liked to make snide replies and let his cackles carry across the practice room whenever someone made a dumb mistake, and Geonwoo found himself joining in quickly.
Geonwoo had forgotten, but this had been Peanut’s home before it was ever theirs. Their new captain settled in easily, like he was meant to be there all along. He breathed an air of confidence for the team, all calm directions and unhurried laughter and an ever-wide smile for all of them. He made for sharp exchanges and game discussions as well, which Dohyeon appreciated.
And then there was Doran, who completed the team with a heavy tenderness to fill in their edges. He had stuck to Peanut, at first - they were going on their third year together, after all, and it was no surprise that they were most comfortable with each other. Lately, he’d started finding his way next to Dohyeon, too, in quiet companionship at the table, and Geonwoo had grown achingly curious about him. He’d seen clips here and there of the toplaner being hyper, but all he’d glimpsed of him so far were nothing quite near - a small playfight with Delight when he’d tried to tickle him, a playful bump on the shoulder here and there for the rest of them, and more often a faint whine towards Peanut over something he didn’t want to do.
Geonwoo couldn’t quite help himself, but he couldn’t also figure out how to properly get close, so he had begun not-really-subtle tailing Doran instead: standing behind him as he played solo queue, shuffling just a little closer to his side on the couch, offering to order a burger for him. And he was rewarded, slowly but surely, with a surprised giggles and moon-eyes that lit a gentle warmth in his chest.
“Shouldn’t you be playing your own game?” Doran had asked, after the fourth day he’d looked up to see Geonwoo next to his seat, his screen still displaying a brutal red score from his latest loss. “Ah, stop looking at my screen… It’s your fault I lost 22 points.”
“How could you blame me for that flash?” Geonwoo laughed, a hand hovering over the edge of Doran’s seat before he quickly decided to shove it back into his pocket. “I was even waiting for you to go get dinner, hyung.”
Doran’s face softened with a smile then, stuttering the beat of Geonwoo’s chest over something he couldn’t quite name yet. “Okay,” he said, amusement lingering in the corners of his mouth as he clicked ‘X’ on the League client. “You don’t need to keep doing that, you know. You should go eat if you’re hungry.”
Geonwoo knew he didn’t need to wait, just as he knew then it wasn’t the food that had mattered in those moments that he’d started collecting.
Winter had tried to sink its bitter teeth into Camp One, but it remained home all the same.
By the time the season started, Geonwoo had learned a thing or two about his new toplaner.
He’d learned by then how picky Hyunjoon is, and that he would get his Americano iced even in the middle of a snowstorm. He’d grown familiar, too, with the stretching routine Hyunjoon liked to do before playing, and that Wangho loved to join him when he felt like it.
A few matches in, and he didn't need to look to see the way Hyunjoon would sweep the table clean, fingers picking tirelessly at a spot he finds too dirty before finally putting his headset on. He could almost feel, even from one seat away, the way Hyunjoon would fidget restlessly as he tried to find the just-right angle to place his keyboard and pad, perpendicular to his meticulously adjusted monitor.
A month into the 2024 season, and Geonwoo sees the brittleness in Hyunjoon’s eyes after they’d finally come to face Gen.G for the first time.
GEN Chovy is Unstoppable!
Geonwoo had hoped to win. He had expected, at least, that they were good enough to make a close 1-2 loss. Instead they had gone down 0-2, and he could only sigh as he stood up for the first bumps.
Losing to T1 the other week had been a downer, but losing to reigning Worlds champions was a fairly easy result to rationalize and digest. Losing to Gen.G brought a different kind of weight when half of your team had come from their previous lineup. And while Geonwoo knew, to an extent, that it had been Hanwha to make an offer for all three of them - that they hadn't been kicked out, as people liked to put it - they still carried their own pride, and a hunger to prove that their choice had been correct.
He could only vaguely remember the brisk touches of the Gen.G players’ knuckles against his own, with just enough awareness to maintain his manners, nodding and bowing for each person that passed. In truth, he could only think about how he’d caught the way Hyunjoon’s eyes had shot straight to the floor as the enemy midlaner had come up to him, neck bent at an awkward, almost painful angle, and the way Chovy had turned his head from him most diminutively, his lips tight at the corners - impossible to notice, if Geonwoo hadn’t been unable to tear his eyes away from where Hyunjoon was.
The usual noise of their waiting room afterwards was muted - still there, but noticeably dampened by their disappointment. Geonwoo had been watching Hyunjoon out of the corner of his eye, as the toplaner watched Chovy’s killing spree flash on the screen as it played the highlights from their match.
“He’s really good,” Geonwoo muttered, eyes drifting away at the perfect moment to see himself die on the screen.
Hyunjoon blinked at the sound of his voice, like he’d just realized he was there. “... Yeah,” he breathed out, not yet looking away from the replays. “Jihoon’s… He always shines on the Rift. It’s kind of unfair.” And in the way he said his name, there had been an underlying ache - something soft and raw.
“You guys are close, right?” Geonwoo found himself asking lightly. “Can’t you tell him to go easy next time?”
Hyunjoon stiffened next to him, helplessly obvious. It had struck something, then - the realization that his departure from Gen.G may have left him with more baggage than Geonwoo had thought. Something that went beyond their jobs as players. There was an immediate twinge of regret in his chest.
“We. Um, we were pretty close,” is what Hyunjoon replied, slow and hesitant. “We’ve both been busy, though… And we haven’t had the chance to catch up with each other ever since I left the team.”
Geonwoo hums, this time thinking over what he could say in return. “I haven’t hung out with Seonghoon hyung, either... We’re stuck with Hwanjoong until May, hyung.”
Hyunjoon snorted. “Don’t sound so excited,” he says, giving him a smile at that - a little strained, but not so downcast. “At least I’ve had enough time to get used to him last year.”
Hwanjoong had walked in then, back from the bathroom. He and Hyunjoon looked at each other and laughed, and Geonwoo felt his chest finally lose a knot he hadn’t realized was there after his earlier blunder.
Geonwoo didn’t mean to be so nosy. But the thought had already stuck itself to the back of his mind, ever since that first match and the conversation after.
Sometimes he would get videos on his algorithm: Chovy, younger and lankier, leaning into the toplaner with his face curled up in that mischievous, catlike smile. Breathing the same air, giggling over a shared secret, nestled in Hyunjoon’s space like it was his own.
Sometimes he would hear Wangho mention visiting Gen.G - to ‘drop by and say hi to Peyz and Lehends,’ and he would pause before adding, “Jihoon, too. Do you want to come with..?”
Geonwoo couldn’t quite see or hear Hyunjoon’s response, but he had always assumed the shake of his head in the silence that followed.
But there were times, Geonwoo knew, when they would get matched in queue together. And he’d begun to learn, too, the strangely tender smile that creeps across Hyunjoon’s lips as his chatbox would light up after certain games, one that he’d hang his head low to hide.
Curiosity churns into something sour in his stomach. Geonwoo doesn’t ask him about Chovy again.
He finds himself in Hyunjoon’s room lately.
It had started with him poking his head through the doorway once, edging into the room under the guise of asking how he’d found his roams last match.
He’d come back a few nights later, bragging about his winstreak in solo queue and poking lightly at Hyunjoon’s own red streak.
A few visits later, he would find himself sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching a little bit of the K-Drama playing on Hyunjoon’s laptop before his eyes end up wandering back to Hyunjoon himself. His profile blurred against the bright light of his screen; his eyes were droopy, lashes fluttering as he blinked back his sleep, and his pout had been deepening as the show went on.
The sight had stirred something in Geonwoo, something that had begun to push against his ribs to make itself known. He felt the urge to reach over, pull Hyunjoon’s head to his shoulder. Wanted to press his fingers against the fluff of Hyunjoon’s cheeks and the swell of his bottom lip, to see if it was as soft as it looked.
What?
He blinked, quietly snapped out of his trance by his own thoughts. Hyunjoon was still watching with half-lidded eyes. Geonwoo swallowed.
“Hyung,” he called out, straightening from his half-slumped posture on the edge of the bed. “Hyunjoon hyung, are you sleepy?”
Hyunjoon’s head snapped up, eyes wide and round. Like a startled little animal,cheeks flushing at the realization that he’d been caught nodding off. “Sorry, I didn’t realize,” he said. “Do you want to keep watching…?”
“It’s okay, hyung,” Geonwoo said. “Get some sleep, okay? We can hang out again next time.”
Hyunjoon had agreed quickly, too visibly out of fuel to offer more for the night. Geonwoo offered him a smile as he lingered by the door, allowing himself to watch as Hyunjoon gingerly tucked himself into the covers before finally slipping out the hallway.
He stumbled back to his room in a stupor, almost agitated with this newfound awareness; he thought of the image of Hyunjoon, lovely and melting into near vulnerability in his proximity, and something in him ached for more: to run back to his room, take Hyunjoon in his restless hands and put him in the space he’d unknowingly carved out of Geonwoo’s heart.
But that would have been embarrassing and stupidly out of line, even if it wasn’t almost three in the morning. So as his eyes began to hurt from staring at the dim ceiling while he processed the burning weight in his chest, Geonwoo told himself: it’s fine. It’s a crush, not the end of the world.
He had plenty of time to figure it out.