Chapter Text
The first thing WuYan learned as a Clash Laner was this:
You don’t get help.
Not often, at least.
While the midlane was the heart of the map and the jungle its pulse, the Clash Lane was… distant. Quiet. A place where you fought your own battles and survived on your own instincts.
It suited Zhao Haoyu just fine.
“WuYan, hold top. I’m invading blue.”
JiuHao’s voice came through the team comms, calm and steady as always.
“Got it.”
His fingers moved across his phone screen without hesitation, controlling his hero with practiced ease. The enemy Clash Laner was aggressive today, constantly pressuring the lane, trying to force a mistake.
WuYan didn’t give him one.
Across the map, a small skirmish broke out.
“Careful,” LiuLang’s voice cut in, soft but firm. “JiuHao, their support is missing.”
“I see him.”
A pause.
Then—
“Got first blood.”
JiuHao sounded pleased, but not overly so. Just enough to let the team know things were under control.
WuYan didn’t need to look to know what happened next.
“Nice,” LiuLang said, and there it was—that faint smile you could hear even through voice chat.
WuYan’s thumb faltered for just a fraction of a second before correcting.
He had seen it countless times.
He knew the rhythm.
JiuHao would say something short, something understated. LiuLang would respond, gentle but warm. Not exaggerated. Not showy. Just… natural.
Like breathing.
Like they were meant to exist in the same space.
“WuYan, you good up there?” YiSheng’s voice broke through, carrying that usual teasing undertone.
“Yeah,” WuYan replied. “He can’t kill me.”
“Confidence,” YiSheng hummed. “I like it.”
Another teamfight broke out near midlane, faster this time. Calls overlapped, skills were thrown, and within seconds—
“Ace.”
The game ended shortly after.
Victory.
—
Back in the training room, the tension dissolved almost instantly.
Phones were set down. Chairs creaked. Someone stretched loudly.
WuYan leaned back, rolling his shoulders slightly.
“Not bad,” YiSheng said, adjusting his glasses. “But WuYan—your teleport timing was late.”
“Three seconds,” LiuLang added, already reviewing the replay on his phone. “If you came earlier, we could’ve ended faster.”
WuYan nodded. “Got it. I’ll fix it.”
He always did.
That was his role.
Reliable. Stable. Quiet.
“Hey,” JiuHao suddenly leaned over, nudging his shoulder lightly. “Still held your lane though. That guy couldn’t touch you.”
WuYan blinked.
“…Thanks.”
It was nothing. Just a casual compliment.
The kind teammates gave each other all the time.
So why did it linger?
“Of course he held,” LiuLang said, glancing up with a small smile. “He’s WuYan.”
Simple. Certain.
WuYan looked away.
Across the room, YiSheng watched them with that familiar glint of amusement behind his glasses.
“Ah,” he sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “Youth.”
“Captain,” JiuHao groaned. “Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything,” YiSheng replied innocently.
But everyone knew what he meant.
Because LiuLang and JiuHao didn’t hide it.
Not really.
They didn’t need to.
It was in the way JiuHao naturally gravitated toward LiuLang’s side. The way LiuLang always noticed when JiuHao went quiet. The way they spoke—effortless, unforced.
Steady.
Unshakable.
WuYan stood up.
“I’m grabbing water,” he said.
No one stopped him.
—
The hallway was quieter.
Cooler.
WuYan leaned against the vending machine, staring at the rows of drinks without really seeing them.
He already knew what he was going to pick.
He just… didn’t press the button.
For a moment, he let himself breathe.
Then—
“You’re avoiding us?”
WuYan stiffened slightly.
JiuHao.
Of course.
He turned his head just enough to see him standing there, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
“Not really,” WuYan said. “Just thirsty.”
JiuHao stepped closer, pressing the button for him without asking. The machine hummed, and a bottle dropped.
WuYan caught it automatically.
“…Thanks.”
“You’ve been quiet,” JiuHao said.
“I’m always quiet.”
“Not this quiet.”
WuYan didn’t answer.
Because what was he supposed to say?
That he noticed everything?
That he noticed the way JiuHao smiled more when LiuLang was around?
That he noticed how natural it all felt?
That he—
“You okay?” JiuHao asked again, softer this time.
WuYan tightened his grip on the bottle.
“I’m fine.”
A beat of silence.
Then JiuHao nodded, like he accepted it.
“Alright.”
He turned to leave.
“Don’t overthink things.”
WuYan froze.
JiuHao didn’t look back.
“Just play your game.”
And then he was gone.
—
WuYan stood there for a long time.
Then he let out a quiet breath, pressing the cold bottle against his forehead.
“…Yeah,” he murmured.
“I will.”
Because that was all this was.
A game.
A role.
A lane he was meant to hold alone.
And whatever this feeling was—
He would bury it.
Just like everything else.