Chapter Text
Keria had always prided himself on possessing a cold head when facing life’s upheavals. He stayed sharp, strong, and even a bit ruthless with his own emotions to shield his heart from unnecessary scars. To him, no one in this world had the right to hurt him - except himself. So, if anyone asked what he thought about him leaving the team, he would simply reply: “Everything is fine.”
And he truly meant it. In a pro-player's career, five years together was already an immense privilege; parting ways was an inevitable consequence of time. It wasn’t that he was pessimistic, but rather that he was a realist. He had prepared himself long ago, from restless nights filled with a thousand "what ifs" to the moment the omens of separation became blindingly clear.
He knew. He had calculated it all. Therefore, his departure should have been as light as a feather.
But could Gumayusi’s departure even be considered an "upheaval"?
It wouldn’t be an upheaval if you saw it coming, right? Yet, even after building the sturdiest fortress in his heart to face reality, Keria realized he couldn't actually accept the truth until it finally struck. When Gumayusi told him - told the team, told anyone - he didn’t believe it. Even as they lifted the World Championship trophy together, he stubbornly refused to believe. And during that interview full of veiled regrets about unreached achievements, he chose to look away.
A pre-announced upheaval.
So he was fine, normal as hell, without a hint of bitterness or misery.
Really, except the fact that some habits were etched into his very marrow, and they were difficult to discard.
Like, subconsciously turning to find his face the moment a match ended.
Like, shifting just a little bit closer to him to borrow that familiar warmth.
Like, constantly turning his head to wait for him, so they could go everywhere together.
He waited for a look, a smile, or just a light touch on his back, at his fingertips.
As it turned out, it wasn't just "some habits"... his entire life had been occupied by that silhouette.
Keria wasn't sad, really. He was just exhausted from having to relearn how to rebuild the half of his world that had vanished.
Following that logic, he chose to end this chapter of his life in what he deemed the most mature and sophisticated way: sending a long KakaoTalk message, thanking Gumayusi for the long journey they had shared. No sappiness, no heartbreaking regrets; just simple gratitude for being together and a wish for success on his new path.
The path he decided not to walk with Keria.
Oh, and he added a hope that they would remain good friends.
Gumayusi agreed quickly. Of course, everyone knew how much he cherished Keria. They were adults now, no longer the teenagers with explosive emotions they once were; they had learned restraint, knowing what was best for themselves and for each other. There would be no heated arguments, and certainly no fractured friendship just because one person chose to leave.
Besides, they didn't really have a reason to break apart.
Keria had checked the internet: from Ilsan to Gangnam, it only took seven hours on foot, two hours by bus, an hour and a half by subway, or even - if Gumayusi could get his driver's license next year - less than an hour (a bit more during rush hour).
Forty kilometers really wasn't that far. Forty kilometers still allowed them to occasionally share a meal, grab a coffee, or even grab an ice cream if one of them was in a hurry. They could keep some habits if they wanted; they didn't have to erase all the memories. The habit of reminding each other to eat and rest, telling each other about things they saw and what they experienced that day.
Seriously, in this day and age,
From Ilsan to Gangnam is only one second away by phone.
And honestly, if they wanted to, their relationship wouldn't have to change at all. Gumayusi could still talk to Keria if he wanted, and Keria could still ramble to Gumayusi via text. Physical distance wasn't a problem (except for the fact that they both loved physical touch), as long as they still considered each other friends and treated each other as usual.
For the past six years, Gumayusi and Keria had always been good friends, they had been good friends even before they were on the same team. There was no reason for that to change.
Right?
.
No.
Keria found his answer not long after: after changing teams, absolutely nothing stayed the same.
Gumayusi was a liar - about the part where they would "still be good friends." He clearly didn't consider him a friend anymore, let alone a good one. He was stingy with even a single text (actually, there hadn't been one since that lying promise), and don't even mention phone calls. Whether Keria waited one day, ten days, or a hundred days, Gumayusi didn't bother to call him once. And don't ask why Keria didn't take the initiative, because he was never the one to do so, and because Keria would never play the role of the weakling trying to cling to someone who had so decisively discarded him.
It was pathetic.
So he ignored him as Gumayusi wished.
He let him stay silent, let him disappear as he wished. The name Minhyungie sank to the bottom of his KakaoTalk chats, and the chat box with HLE Gumayusi no longer appeared on his screen whenever he logged into LoL. Keria couldn't even remember the last time they spoke, aside from the distant greetings when they brushed past each other or were forced to be in the same public space. He gradually replaced his chirpy welcomes with avoidance, not even bothering to see if those eyes were searching for him as they used to (he knew they weren't).
Keria wasn't sad, really. If before he wasn't sad because he believed things would stay the same (no, they didn't), now he felt it wasn't worth being sad about. Who gets sad over someone who no longer cares?
Keria thought he had calculated everything, but he forgot to calculate the other person's heart. It turned out the distance from Ilsan to Gangnam wasn't forty kilometers. Whether it was seven hours on foot or one second by phone, both required the will of the other person.
But Gumayusi’s willingness seemed to have been packed away with his luggage, leaving T1 with him, leaving Gangnam, and staying in Ilsan forever. His mind didn't seem to waste a single second thinking about Keria. Meanwhile, Keria kept staring at the green light signaling that he was there, online on LoL, just a click and a "hello" away, yet as silent and distant as if the last time they hugged was a millennium ago.
One second is too short to feel, yet cruel enough for his silence to kill Keria's expectations. Every passing second was a second Gumayusi didn't remember him. 86,400 seconds a day; 604,800 seconds a week; 2,592,000 seconds a month… too many seconds several months. And in all that time, through millions of seconds, not once did he remember him.
Gumayusi made him feel that the forty kilometers distance from Ilsan to Gangnam was the farthest distance in the world.
Because no one intended to cross those seven hours of walking, two hours of bus riding, an hour and a half of subway, one hour of driving, or that one-second phone call.