Chapter Text
The wedding took place on a rainy Thursday. Not because they had planned it that way. It simply rained. The sky over the small countryside chapel had been gray since dawn, and soft drops tapped against the stained-glass windows while guests quietly took their seats.
There were only few people present, their immediate families & just two witnesses.
No reporters. No photographers. No cameras. No one from the esports industry. No teammates. No managers. No sponsors.
Nobody who would recognize the significance of the man standing at the altar.
For once, Lee Sanghyeok wasn't Faker. He was simply a groom waiting for the person he loved.
His hands were folded neatly in front of him, posture straight as always. Calm. Collected. Completely expressionless – at least on the outside.
His grandmother knew better.
"You look nervous," she whispered.
"I'm not."
"You've checked your watch six times."
Sanghyeok glanced at his wrist. "...Seven."
And the elder just laughed softly.
Then the doors opened. Everything else disappeared.
Wangho stood there, frozen. For a moment, neither moved. Neither breathed.
The years they'd spent together suddenly felt unreal – late-night phone calls. Secret dates. Countless airport goodbyes.
Every moment led here. Wangho swallowed.
Sanghyeok looked just as handsome as he always did. That somehow made everything worse.
Because now this impossibly famous, impossibly stubborn man was looking at him like he was the only person in the world.
Wangho immediately wanted to turn around and run.
Sanghyeok knew that look. He started laughing. The entire chapel stared.
"Don't leave." The words escaped before he could stop them. Everyone burst into laughter.
Wangho covered his face. "Oh my god."
"Please continue walking."
"I hate you."
"You haven't even reached me yet."
The nervousness broke instantly.
And a few moments later, Wangho stood beside him. Exactly where he belonged.
The ceremony lasted less than thirty minutes. Neither wanted anything extravagant.
Their vows were simple – honest. The kind that sounded ordinary until people listened carefully.
"I can't promise I'll always be home," Sanghyeok said.
The esports career made that impossible. Tournaments. Training camps. International flights. Months spent overseas.
"But I'll always come back."
Wangho's eyes immediately filled with tears – he hated crying in public.
Unfortunately, nobody had informed his emotions.
When his turn came, he cleared his throat three times before speaking.
"I can't promise I'll understand League of Legends." A collective laugh filled the room, even Sanghyeok smiled.
"I've tried."
"You really have."
"I still don't know what half the champions do."
"Neither do some professional players."
Another round of laughter. Wangho shook his head. Then his voice softened.
"But I promise to always listen anyway."
The room grew quiet. Because everyone knew exactly what he meant, not the game.
The person. The dreams. The victories. The losses – everything.
A few minutes later, they exchanged rings.
A few minutes after that, they were married. Just like that.
Three years of dating condensed into a signature and a promise.
The difficult part began afterward? Keeping it secret.
At first, they thought it would be easy. Then reality arrived.
Sanghyeok was one of the most recognizable faces in esports.
Every public appearance generated photographs. Every interview generated articles. Every tournament generated endless attention. One mistake could expose everything.
So, they built rules. Lots of rules.
No rings in public. No anniversary posts. No vacation photographs. No social media interactions that looked suspicious. No accidental appearances together.
The rules multiplied until Wangho joked they looked less like newlyweds and more like international spies.
"We should get code names."
"We already have names."
"That's not how spies work."
Sanghyeok didn't even look up from his laptop.
"Okay."
"Really?"
"You're Agent Wang."
"That's terrible."
"You suggested it."
The first year was the hardest. Mostly because they missed each other. A lot.
Professional esports didn't care about marriage. Training schedules remained brutal. International tournaments continued.
Sometimes Sanghyeok would be gone for weeks. Sometimes months.
The apartment would feel too quiet. Too empty.
Wangho learned to recognize different time zones without checking. Learned how exhausted Sanghyeok sounded after sixteen hours of travel. Learned that hotel rooms all somehow looked exactly the same.
Their calls became routines. Morning messages. Afternoon updates. Late-night video chats. Tiny fragments of life shared across continents.
One night, while Sanghyeok was competing overseas, Wangho accidentally fell asleep during a call.
When he woke up, the phone was still connected. The camera showed Sanghyeok sitting at a desk in a dark hotel room. Working. Reviewing game footage and completely focused.
Wangho watched quietly.
The world saw Faker as a genius. As a legend. As someone naturally gifted.
Nobody saw this. The endless effort. The sacrifices. The loneliness.
As if sensing his gaze, Sanghyeok looked up.
"You woke up."
"You didn't hang up."
"You looked comfortable."
Wangho smiled. His chest hurt. Sometimes love appeared in strange forms. Like staying connected to a sleeping call for three hours.
By the second year, they settled into married life.
Or at least their version of it, which mostly involved arguing over completely ridiculous things.
"Why are there six alarm clocks?"
"I need backups."
"You already have backups."
"What if those fail?"
"Wangho."
"What?"
"There are six."
"They're strategically positioned."
"You're insane."
"Yet you married me."
That argument ended immediately. Because it was impossible to counter.
The third year brought comfort.
The kind that only existed after living together long enough to understand each other's silences.
Wangho knew when Sanghyeok had a difficult practice day before a single word was spoken. Sanghyeok knew when Wangho was stressed simply by how loudly he closed kitchen cabinets. Neither needed explanations anymore. Just presence.
One winter evening, Sanghyeok returned home after a particularly exhausting schedule. The apartment lights were dim. The television played quietly.
Wangho was asleep on the couch. A blanket tangled around his legs. An unfinished book resting on his chest. Sanghyeok stood in the doorway. Watching.
Three years. Three years of secrets. Three years of missed anniversaries. Three years of carefully protecting this life from the world.
And somehow, it was worth it. Because nobody else knew this version of him. The version that came home exhausted. The version that left dishes in the sink. The version that simply wanted someone waiting for him.
Wangho stirred. Half-awake.
"You home?"
"Yeah."
"Took forever."
"There was traffic."
"You say that every time."
Sanghyeok smiled. Because it was true. Every time.
He sat beside him. Wangho immediately leaned against his shoulder without opening his eyes. As if it were instinct. As if it were home. Outside, the world knew Faker. Inside, there was only Lee Sanghyeok.
And for three years, that had been their greatest secret.