Chapter Text
(Sanghyeok’s POV — 2017)
There were very few things Lee Sanghyeok hated. Not disliked. Hated.
One of them was losing. The other was being recognized in public.
The second problem had become increasingly worse over the years.
At twenty-one years old, his face had somehow become public property. Airports were impossible. Restaurants were risky. Even simple walks through Seoul often ended with whispered conversations, hesitant glances, or outright requests for photos.
It came with being Faker, they said.
The face of Korean esports. The Unkillable Demon King.
Titles people liked repeating. Titles Sanghyeok had never particularly cared for.
Which was exactly why, on the rare day where T1 had given him a full afternoon off between schedules, he found himself walking aimlessly around the quieter side streets near Hongdae, hood pulled over his hair despite the warmth of early spring.
No cameras. No interviews. No expectations.
Just silence.
It was… nice.
Until something or someone slammed directly into his shoulder.
A stack of papers exploded everywhere.
“Ah— shit.”
Sanghyeok blinked.
A man about his age had stumbled backward, nearly losing balance as white sheets scattered across the pavement like confetti.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then the stranger groaned.
“Please tell me the universe isn’t punishing me specifically.”
Sanghyeok stared.
The man immediately crouched down, scrambling after the papers.
“…Sorry,” Sanghyeok said quietly, kneeling to help.
“Not your fault,” the stranger muttered absentmindedly. “I’m the idiot running while carrying my entire future in printed form.”
Sanghyeok picked up one of the pages.
It looked like a thesis draft. Business Administration. Graduation Submission.
The stranger reached for it immediately.
“Thanks.”
He looked exhausted. Messy dark hair. Round glasses slightly crooked on his face. An oversized university hoodie.
There were faint dark circles beneath his eyes that suggested he hadn’t slept properly in days.
Sanghyeok handed over the paper.
“Are you okay?”
The stranger let out a long sigh.
“Define okay.”
“…That bad?”
“I have three final presentations this week, my professor hates me, I haven’t eaten since six this morning, and if I fail this submission, I extend another semester.”
He paused. “…So objectively? Terrible.”
Sanghyeok stared. Then unexpectedly, he laughed. A short sound. Barely audible.
The stranger blinked.
“…You’re laughing at my suffering.”
“No.”
“You definitely are.”
“No.”
“You smiled.”
Sanghyeok immediately straightened his expression. “…I did not.”
The stranger narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Then shrugged.
“Whatever.”
He began reorganizing his papers again.
Sanghyeok should leave.
That was the normal sequence of events.
Accidental interaction. Recognition. Excited reaction. Questions. Pictures. Then leaving.
Instead, nothing happened.
The stranger wasn’t staring. Wasn’t looking shocked.
Wasn’t doing the oh my god, you’re Faker expression Sanghyeok had grown disturbingly accustomed to.
Finally, Sanghyeok spoke.
“…Do you know who I am?”
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
The stranger looked up. He tilted his head. Studied Sanghyeok for exactly three seconds.
“…Should I?”
Sanghyeok froze. “…What?”
The stranger frowned. “Wait.”
There it was. Recognition. He knew it.
The stranger snapped his fingers.
“Have we met at a convenience store before?”
“…No.”
“Ah.”
Silence.
“…Actor?”
“No.”
“Model?”
“No.”
“…My professor?”
“…No.”
The stranger looked relieved. “Great. Then I don’t know you.”
Sanghyeok stared harder. This was… new.
Nobody didn’t know him. At least nobody around his age. Especially in Seoul.
The stranger adjusted the papers under his arm.
“Well, mystery man, thanks for helping.”
“…You really don’t know me.”
“You seem weirdly bothered by that.”
Sanghyeok said nothing. The stranger grinned.
For the first time, Sanghyeok noticed, he had a very dangerous smile.
The kind that felt brighter than it should.
“I’m Han Wangho, by the way.”
Sanghyeok repeated the name silently.
Wangho.
“Lee Sanghyeok.”
Wangho extended his hand casually.
No excitement. No recognition. Just normal. Entirely normal.
And somehow, that felt stranger than anything else.
Their hands met briefly. Warm. Soft.
Wangho immediately pulled away. He adjusted the papers in his arms and took one step backward.
“Well, Lee Sanghyeok…”
He stepped backward. “…I’m approximately thirty minutes away from missing the presentation that determines whether I graduate or become a permanent disappointment to my parents.”
Sanghyeok found himself speaking before fully thinking.
“Wait.”
Wangho paused. The word had come out sharper than intended. Sanghyeok cleared his throat.
“…Have you eaten?”
There was a beat of silence. Wangho blinked once.
“…No?”
“There’s a café nearby.”
The sentence left Sanghyeok’s mouth in the same detached tone he used for interviews.
Except internally, he immediately questioned himself.
Why did I say that?
Wangho stared at him. Then pointed vaguely between them.
“…Are you asking me to eat with you?”
Sanghyeok hesitated. “…Yes.”
“Because you crashed into me?”
I did not crash into you. “You looked tired.”
Wangho gave him an amused look.
“That’s because I’m surviving on academic stress and whatever caffeine legally qualifies as a meal.”
For some reason, Sanghyeok almost smiled again. Almost.
Then Wangho glanced down at the watch on his wrist. And visibly winced.
“…Ah, I really can’t.”
The answer came so quickly that Sanghyeok felt an immediate, irrational disappointment settle in his chest.
Wangho noticed. His expression softened slightly.
“Seriously, I would.”
He lifted the stack of papers helplessly. “But if I’m late, my professor might actually kill me.”
“…Oh.” That sounded far more disappointed than Sanghyeok intended.
Wangho stared at him for a second. Then suddenly laughed. Not loud.
Just soft enough to make Sanghyeok look up.
“You’re bad at hiding expressions.”
“…I’m not.”
“You are.”
“No.”
“You look genuinely offended that I said no.”
Sanghyeok said nothing. Because annoyingly, Wangho wasn’t wrong.
Wangho shifted the papers under one arm. Then tilted his head slightly.
“…But…”
Sanghyeok looked at him. Wangho smiled again. The same dangerous smile.
The one Sanghyeok was beginning to notice far too much.
“…I mean…” He shrugged.
“…I do owe you for helping me pick up my entire future off the sidewalk.”
Sanghyeok stayed quiet. Waiting.
“…So…”
Wangho reached into the pocket of his hoodie. Pulled out his phone.
“…How about some other time?”
For exactly two seconds, Sanghyeok forgot how conversations worked.
“…What?”
Wangho lifted an eyebrow. “You know.”
He waved the phone slightly. “Phone number?”
Sanghyeok stared.
The situation felt bizarrely unreal.
Normally people asked him for photos. Autographs. Signatures. Social media follows.
And yet here he was, standing in the middle of a random street, suddenly feeling strangely nervous because a university student he had known for approximately seven minutes was offering him his number.
“…Right.”
Smooth.
Wangho laughed again. “You’re really awkward, huh?”
“…No.”
“You definitely are.”
“…Give me your phone.”
“Wow.”
Wangho handed it over immediately. “Direct. I respect it.”
Sanghyeok took the phone. His fingers hovered over the screen.
There was an absurd thought crossing his mind.
I have sponsors worth millions.
I play in packed stadiums.
People scream my name internationally.
Why am I nervous typing in a phone number?
He entered his contact. For a brief second, he considered writing Lee Sanghyeok.
Then stopped. Instead, he typed:
Sanghyeok
No explanation. No title. No Faker. Just him.
He handed the phone back.
Wangho glanced at the screen. Then nodded approvingly.
“Nice.”
“…Nice?”
“You don’t seem like the type who gives fake numbers.”
“…Why would I do that?”
“You’d be surprised.”
Wangho slipped the phone into his pocket. Then started walking backward down the street.
“Well then, mysterious Lee Sanghyeok…”
He pointed casually toward him.
“…I’ll text you after I survive adulthood.”
Sanghyeok watched him take several more steps.
Then, Wangho stopped suddenly.
“Oh.”
Sanghyeok looked up. Wangho squinted at him.
“One last question.”
“…What?”
Wangho pointed.
“…Are you sure we haven’t met before?”
Sanghyeok froze. Wangho snapped his fingers.
“You seriously have actor face.”
“…I’m not an actor.”
“Missed career opportunity.”
Then he turned and ran down the street. Leaving Sanghyeok standing there alone.
Silent. Still staring after him.
A vibration came from his own phone. He blinked. Looked down.
A new message.
Unknown Number
In case you’re secretly a serial killer and gave me the wrong number.
– Wangho
Sanghyeok stared at the screen.
For the first time that entire week, he smiled. A real one.
Small. Private. And completely unguarded.
Then quietly, he whispered to himself “…Interesting.”
He saved the contact immediately. Han Wangho.
At the time, Sanghyeok thought he had simply met an amusing stranger.
He didn’t know that years later, that same phone number would become the person he called home.