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The world had been ablaze with Minseok's name all day, and Suhwan, like a devoted sailor charting the course of his own heart, had surrendered himself entirely to the current.
The internet hummed with snippets of his hyung's presence: fancams, selcas, snippets of laughter caught on microphone, the electric energy of a crowd utterly bewitched by a single boy's radiance.
And Suhwan, curled into the corner of the common room sofa, devoured every pixel, every grainy frame, every fleeting second of Minseok's borrowed glory as though it were oxygen.
But the morning had begun with something far more fragile.
Yesterday's match had been a quiet devastation. Not in the way of catastrophic losses or public shaming—no, that would have been easier to bear, for Suhwan had long learned to armor himself against the venom of defeat.
What wounded him instead was something far more insidious: the sight of Minseok's smile, forced into tightness, stretched thin over disappointment, pressed into a line of restraint when what he truly deserved was to laugh with his whole chest.
Suhwan had watched from a distance, jaw clenched, fists buried deep in his jacket pockets, fighting the urge to cross the room and simply, What? Hold him? Shelter him? Tuck him away from the world's sharp edges?
He had done none of that. He had been a good soldier, a proper teammate, a disciplined player.
But today was not yesterday.
Today, the sun had risen with a different light, one that painted the dormitory walls in honeyed hues and promised redemption. Suhwan had woken before his alarm, not out of restlessness, but out of an almost sacred anticipation. He had heard Minseok stirring in the adjacent room before the first bird had even thought to sing, and the sound alone had been enough to crystallize the day's significance.
Minseok would be going to the Coupang event.
Minseok would stand before thousands. Minseok would laugh, and wave, and charm the collective heartbeat of an entire stadium. Minseok would be seen, not as a player under pressure, not as a strategist weighed down by the burden of expectation, but simply as himself: luminous, untamed, unapologetically radiant.
And Suhwan, despite every fiber of his being screaming to follow, would have to watch from afar.
He told himself this was enough.
He lied.
The morning had unfolded in a series of exquisite tortures, each one more beautiful than the last.
Minseok had emerged from his room clad in a jersey of brilliant cerulean blue, the Manchester City colors, bold and electric against the pale, almost ethereal fairness of his skin. The fabric hung loose on his slender frame, but it did not drown him; rather, it amplified the youthful buoyancy of his posture, the way he twirled in the doorway like a child showing off a new treasure, the delighted crinkle of his eyes as he searched for approval.
"Suhwan-ah!" His voice had been a melody, bright and unselfconscious, cutting through the morning haze like a silver thread.
Suhwan had turned, and the sight had stolen something from him, some crucial component of his composure, perhaps, or the last vestige of his ability to pretend indifference. He had felt his lips curve into a smile before his brain could even process the motion, a reflexive surrender to the gravitational pull of Minseok's joy.
"What do you think?" Minseok had asked, striking a pose with exaggerated vanity, one hand on his hip, the other gesturing dramatically toward the jersey's embroidered crest. "Do I look like I belong in the stands? Or on the field?"
Suhwan had laughed. A low, breathless sound that came from somewhere deep in his chest. "You belong wherever you decide to stand, hyung."
Minseok had rolled his eyes, but the smile had only widened. "That's such a non-answer. You're supposed to say I look incredible."
"You do."
"I know I do. But I want you to say it."
"You look incredible, hyung."
Minseok had preened, utterly insufferable in the best way possible, and Suhwan had felt his heart expand with an almost unbearable tenderness. This, this, was the Minseok he loved. Not the Minseok who clenched his jaw after a loss, not the Minseok who stayed up late replaying missteps in his mind, but the Minseok who pirouetted in a borrowed jersey and demanded praise like a king demanding tribute.
Minseok had then disappeared into Sanghyeok's room, presumably to perform the same ritual, and Suhwan had heard the elder's sleepy grumbles give way to reluctant laughter. Moments later, Minseok had emerged victorious, his grin even wider than before.
"He said I looked like a professional athlete," Minseok had announced, scandalizing the word professional as though it were the highest compliment imaginable.
"He was being kind."
"He was being honest."
Suhwan had merely shaken his head, his eyes never leaving Minseok's face. There was a particular quality to Minseok's excitement this morning, a feverish, almost breathless edge that spoke of anticipation rather than mere performance. He was not simply going to an event; he was going to conquer it. Suhwan could see the flames in his hyung's eyes, the quiet determination beneath the cheerful facade.
"Are you nervous?" Suhwan had asked, stepping closer.
Minseok had paused, his expression flickering with something unreadable. "A little," he had admitted. "But the good kind of nervous. The kind that makes you feel alive."
Suhwan had nodded, understanding perfectly. He had reached out, almost without thinking, and brushed a stray strand of hair from Minseok's forehead, an intimate gesture that he hoped would be read as encouragement rather than presumption.
Minseok had leaned into the touch, just barely, and Suhwan's resolve had nearly crumbled.
"Fighting," Suhwan had whispered.
"Fighting," Minseok had echoed.
And then the car had arrived, and Minseok had bounded out the door with a wave and a laugh, and Suhwan had been left standing in the empty hallway, the ghost of Minseok's warmth still imprinted on his fingertips.
The hours that followed had been a study in patience, or, more accurately, a study in the failure of patience.
Suhwan had retreated to the common room, his phone clutched in his hands like a lifeline. The notifications had begun almost immediately: a selca of Minseok in the car, his face tilted toward the window, the morning light catching his profile. Then a video of him arriving at the venue, the crowd's distant roar audible even through the phone's tinny speakers. Then a photo of him posing with a stack of signed jerseys, his smile so wide it seemed to consume his entire face.
And Suhwan had watched. And watched. And watched.
He had moved through the motions of the day with an almost mechanical detachment, fetching his lunch from the front door, setting it on the table, lifting the chopsticks to his lips, but his eyes had never strayed from the screen. The food had tasted like ash, or perhaps like nothing at all; Suhwan had not noticed, because his senses were entirely occupied by the blue-clad figure dancing across the digital stage.
"Suhwan-ah, you'll choke if you don't focus on your food."
The voice had come from the kitchen, Sanghyeok, emerging from his post-nap haze with a critical frown. Hyeonjun, who had been sprawled on the opposite sofa, had nudged the elder's arm with a knowing smirk.
"Let him be," Hyeonjun had murmured, his tone carrying the weight of unspoken understanding. "He's not going to stop until Minseok is standing in front of him again."
Sanghyeok had opened his mouth as if to argue, then closed it. His expression had shifted from exasperation to resignation, then finally to something approaching empathy. "He is quite adorable today," Sanghyeok had admitted grudgingly. "I suppose I can't blame him."
Suhwan had heard the conversation, but he had not responded. His attention had been elsewhere, fixated on the screen that was currently showing Minseok engaging in one challenge. The 'Pretty Girl' challenge, it was called, and Minseok had approached it with characteristic playfulness, a series of gestures so endearing that even the camera operator had seemed to swoon.
Suhwan had felt his heart clench.
Then there was the yaho photo. The image had been captured mid-flight, his expression one of pure, unadulterated joy, and Suhwan had saved it to his camera roll before he could even think to stop himself.
And then, then, there was the moment that had nearly undone him entirely.
Minseok had been called upon to serve as an announcer for a portion of the event. His voice had crackled through the speakers, a little shaky at first, then gathering confidence as the crowd's laughter encouraged him forward. He had made a joke, laughed, bright and unguarded, and the sound had been so infectious that even Suhwan, watching from the solitude of the common room, had felt his own lips twitch.
But then, then, Minseok had ducked his head, his cheeks flushing a delicate pink, and that quiet moment of bashfulness had struck Suhwan with the force of a physical blow.
I want to hold him, Suhwan had thought, and the desire had been so visceral, so overwhelming, that he had actually pressed his palm against his chest as if to physically contain it.
Eight hours. Nearly eight hours of staring at a screen, of cataloging every smile, every gesture, every fleeting expression. It was, as Sanghyeok had implied, deeply unhealthy.
But what was the alternative? To go about his day as though nothing had changed? To pretend that the world had not shifted on its axis simply because Minseok was not within arm's reach? Suhwan had tried that approach once, early in their acquaintance, and it had nearly driven him mad.
No, he would wait. He would suffer the bittersweet agony of distance. And when Minseok finally returned, when the door swung open and that familiar voice called out his name, Suhwan would be there. Ready. Desperate.
The dormitory, for the first time in hours, fell silent.
The notifications had slowed to a trickle. Suhwan had finally pried his gaze away from the phone, only to find himself staring at the ceiling of his room, his thoughts spiraling into the realm of the absurd.
He imagined Minseok in the car, telling stories to the driver. He imagined Minseok collecting his belongings, thanking the staff, signing one last autograph. He imagined Minseok's feet, were they tired? He had been wearing those stylish sneakers, the ones that were a little too tight but looked so good. Would his feet ache when he returned? Would he want Suhwan to massage them?
Suhwan groaned and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow.
This is pathetic, he told himself. You are a grown man. A professional player. You have faced opponents on the international stage. And you are reduced to this, pining like a lovesick teenager. Uh, I'm still a teenager, tho?
But the self-reprimand did little to ease the ache in his chest.
He missed Minseok. Not in the abstract, not in the way one misses a comfortable routine, but in the way one misses a piece of one's own soul. Minseok's laugh. Minseok's teasing. Minseok's voice, calling out "Suhwan-ah!" as though that simple syllable contained the entire universe.
Suhwan had grown so accustomed to Minseok's presence that its absence felt like a physical void, a hollow space where warmth had once been.
I'm not going to survive this, Suhwan thought, only half-joking.
And then, as if summoned by the sheer force of his longing, the door swung open.
"I'm home!"
Suhwan's heart slammed against his ribs.
He was on his feet before he could think, his phone discarded on the bed, his legs carrying him toward the entrance at a speed that would have been embarrassing if anyone had been watching.
Minseok stood in the doorway, laden with bags and boxes, his face flushed with the lingering glow of a day well spent. His eyes were bright, his smile genuine, and when he saw Suhwan approaching, the expression softened into something infinitely tender.
"Hyung!" Suhwan's voice cracked on the syllable, and he cleared his throat, attempting to recover his composure.
Minseok tilted his head, his brow furrowing with the barest hint of concern. "Did you not see my updates? I tried to send you pictures whenever I had a moment."
Suhwan's mouth went dry. "I saw everything," he managed. "I—I was watching the entire time."
Minseok's eyes sparkled with a knowing glint. "Ah. So you did see me being the announcer, then?"
"How could I have missed it?"
"Suhwan-ah, you're so sweet." Minseok stepped forward, and Suhwan instinctively reached out to take some of the bags from his hands, a gesture that brought them closer together, close enough that Suhwan could smell the faint traces of perfume and stadium air clinging to his hyung's clothes.
"Hyung," Suhwan said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, "you were incredible today."
And he meant it.
He meant it in ways that defied articulation. Minseok's laughter, his charm, his effortless ability to command attention without ever seeming to try, it was not simply a skill; it was a gift, a manifestation of something rare and precious that made the world feel a little less gray.
Minseok stepped closer, close enough that his smile was the only thing Suhwan could see. His eyes sparkled with something unspoken as he leaned in, his voice a whisper. "You know, I wanted you there today."
The confession hit Suhwan harder than expected. He looked away, his jaw tightening as he tried to compose himself. "Hyung… don't say that. If I had been there, I would have just been staring at you the whole time. That wouldn't have been good for the event."
"Oh, I don't know," Minseok teased, his tone lilting. "I think the fans would have appreciated my cute dongsaeng cheering me on."
Suhwan’s ears turned red. "I’m not that cute."
"Really?" Minseok leaned his head, clearly amused. "Because the way you were watching me all day from your phone says otherwise."
Suhwan bit his lip, trying to suppress the grin threatening to bloom across his face. He couldn’t win against Minseok when the elder was in this mood, playful, warm, and determined to fluster him. And honestly, Suhwan didn’t want to win. He wanted to bask in it, to let Minseok’s laughter wash over him like a tide.
They migrated to the kitchen, the bags of souvenirs and gifts scattered across the table like trophies from a triumphant campaign. Minseok was recounting every detail of his day with the enthusiasm of a child describing their first trip to an amusement park, his hands gesturing animatedly as he talked about meeting the members of Rescene.
"They were so nice to me, Suhwan-ah! And so pretty! I felt like I was standing next to actual angels." Minseok sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "I nearly forgot my move during the challenge because one of them smiled at me."
Suhwan tried to school his features into neutrality, but he couldn’t quite suppress the flicker of jealousy that curled in his stomach. He knew it was irrational, Minseok was his hyung, his teammate, not his possession, but the thought of others making Minseok smile, of others being close enough to see the radiant happiness that Suhwan had grown addicted to, struck a chord of possessiveness he wasn't proud of.
"Did you get pictures with them?" Suhwan asked, his tone carefully neutral.
"Of course!" Minseok was already scrolling through his phone, shoving the screen in Suhwan's face. "Look, here's me with them. And here, this is when they taught me the challenge. Wait, no, that one's a bit blurry—"
Suhwan watched the images flicker past, his focus not on the idols but on Minseok's radiant face in every frame. The joy was unmistakable, his eyes alive with the kind of happiness that made Suhwan’s chest ache. In that moment, Suhwan resolved himself to be the reason for that joy as often as possible. He didn't care if it was selfish, if Minseok's happiness meant the world to him, then he would fight tooth and nail to keep that smile on his hyung's face.
"And then," Minseok continued, tucking his phone away, "I got this!"
He held up a folded jersey with an air of triumph, spreading it out to reveal a Manchester City jersey signed by what looked like the entire team. Minseok’s grin could have powered a small city.
"Full signatures, Suhwan-ah! Can you believe it?"
Suhwan took the jersey, his fingers brushing reverently over the ink. "Hyung," he said slowly, a teasing smile tugging at his lips, "you're never going to wear this, are you? You'll probably frame it and hang it in your room."
Minseok gasped in mock offense. "Excuse me, I will absolutely wear this. Just not… often. And maybe over a long-sleeved shirt so the signatures don't get ruined—"
Suhwan laughed, the sound escaping him before he could stop it. It was the first time he'd laughed all day, the tension of hours spent worrying finally easing from his shoulders. Minseok's joy was contagious, and Suhwan drank it in like a man dying of thirst.
Over dinner, Minseok’s favorite fried chicken from their regular haunt, which he’d picked up on his way back, the conversation drifted to the day's events, filling the silence with the laughter and comfort they had needed. The others were still out, and the dorm felt smaller than usual without them, their absence carving out pockets of quiet that only Minseok’s cheerful chatter could fill.
Minseok was in the middle of describing the crowd's reaction to his announcer stint when he paused, his expression shifting into something softer, more introspective.
"Suhwan-ah," he said, his voice suddenly quieter, "you really watched everything today, didn't you?"
Suhwan looked up from his plate, caught off guard by the change in tone. "Of course I did. I told you that."
"I know." Minseok was fiddling with the edge of his sleeve, suddenly shy in a way that seemed out of place after a day of public performance. "It's just—it's nice. Knowing you were there. Even if you weren't… really there."
The words struck Suhwan with unexpected force. He set his chopsticks down, giving Minseok his full attention.
"Hyung," he said, his voice low and earnest, "I didn't just watch because I had nothing else to do. I watched because I wanted to see you shine. And you did. You were amazing."
Minseok’s cheeks pinked, and he hid his face behind his hands for a moment before peeking through his fingers. "You're going to make me cry, Suhwan-ah..."
Suhwan reached across the table, gently pulling Minseok's hands away from his face. "I'm being serious, hyung. I'm so proud of you. I'm always proud of you."
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words, charged with a tenderness that seemed to fill every corner of the room. Minseok’s eyes were bright as he looked at Suhwan, and Suhwan felt his heart skip a beat.
"I'm glad you're here," Minseok said finally, his voice soft as a whisper.
"Me too, hyung."
Later that night, they gravitated toward the living room, the remnants of their dinner cleared away. The dorm was quiet, the kind of silence that felt peaceful rather than oppressive.
Minseok had sprawled across the couch, his head resting on Suhwan's lap, scrolling idly through his phone while Suhwan absently carded his fingers through his hair. It was a gesture that had become second nature, one that Minseok had never protested.
"Do you think they'll invite me again next year?" Minseok asked, his voice dreamy.
"Maybe," Suhwan said. "They'd be fools not to."
Minseok hummed in agreement, tilting his head slightly to look up at Suhwan. "You know, I was nervous before I left this morning. But knowing you were waiting for me, it made everything easier."
Suhwan’s fingers paused for a moment. "I'll always be waiting for you, hyung."
Minseok smiled, soft and private, before turning his attention back to his phone. But Suhwan didn't need to see his face to know that the smile was still there, lingering in the warmth of Minseok's presence. And for Suhwan, that was enough.
Later, as the night deepened and the dorm grew even quieter, Suhwan’s thoughts lingered on the day that had passed. Minseok’s energy had finally begun to ebb, his body growing heavier against Suhwan’s lap as exhaustion crept in.
"Suhwan-ah," Minseok murmured, his eyes fluttering closed, "thank you for today."
"What for?" Suhwan asked, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't do anything."
"You were here," Minseok replied, as if that simple fact was explanation enough. "That's everything."
Suhwan’s heart swelled with an overwhelming affection for the man in his arms. He bent down, pressing a gentle kiss to Minseok’s forehead. And Minseok responded by softly taking Suhwan’s head in his hands and kissing the younger’s cheek. Suhwan smiling softly.
"Rest now, hyung. I'll wake you up later."
Later Minseok was already asleep, his breathing slow and even, his face relaxed in a peaceful expression that made Suhwan’s chest ache with tenderness.
Suhwan looked down at him, at the faint smile still curving his lips, and allowed himself to dream of a future where he could always be the one waiting for Minseok to come home.