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“Jiwoo, I’m going to roam,” Jisung says as he hits the recall button the moment he’s done shoving the wave for his ADC. “Think you can do that for me?” he adds.
“Duh, of course I can. Do you think I’m that stupid?” Jiwoo laughs from the other end of the Discord call.
“Do you really want me to answer that?” Jisung teases, laughing. His champion finishes recalling, and he starts buying items from the shop—clicking on boots, a faerie charm, and a single pink ward. He hovers his mouse and moves toward the upper side of the map.
“Ah… come on now, you know I’m doing just fine!” Jiwoo whines, but Jisung just laughs.
Another voice comes through the call. “Can’t you two stop bickering like an old married couple?”
“Oh, you know what, go get that fucking RH yourself, hyung.” Jisung deadpans. He paths toward top lane instead of going directly to RH—because why the fuck not. He knows everyone on the team; they’re playing a 5-stack anyway, and he can easily make a good call. He sees their top laner building up a good wave that’s about to push toward the green zone and, any second now, into the enemy’s yellow zone.
“Hey, Sett,” he starts, completely ignoring their jungler’s whining as he walks past the RH. “Oh—I meant Kim hyung.” He laughs. Jisung is bad with names, especially when they’re playing; he prefers calling people by whatever champion they’re using. “You have your flash up, right?” he confirms. “Can you flash-ult him toward the tower if he gets close to the wave to get a minion? Their jungler might be near the top since RH just spawned.” He pops his sweeper to check the brush for vision;lucky, it’s clear, and waits there for a second.
“Yes, yeah, I’ll do that the moment he gets close,” Kim agrees to Jisung’s call—as he should. Jisung is high elo, after all.
His lips curve at the side, smiling proudly to himself. He’s always wanted to do this—give shot calls, give orders on what they should do. It feeds his pride and ego, especially when his calls are right on the spot. Not everyone is perfect; he makes mistakes too, but that’s a rare occurrence. “Great!”
Not even ten seconds pass. The moment the enemy Camille steps forward to hit a minion, Jin moves toward her, flashing behind her and ult-ing her toward the tower while Jisung approaches. He lands his Q first and moves a bit too close to Camille, expecting her to ult him in return. And Camille actually does ult him—but the second she lands it, Jisung presses his silence directly onto her, disabling her from using anything besides auto attacks.
Jisung is using Soraka—a pretty hard champion when roaming, right? He could have picked a more reliable roaming support like Nautilus, Pyke, or even Leona. But he didn’t. Maybe it’s because he wants to prove something—that utility supports can be useful aside from supporting their ADCs. As a support, he tends to be the one initiating, even when he’s playing champions like Soraka, Lulu, or even Sona. Champions that are rarely used in tournaments—beside Lulu, the very stage he desperately wants to be on. He wants to prove something. But unfortunately, there’s always discrimination against players like him, just because of his Champion pool, without even trying to see him play. It’s the main reason no team ever picks him up. He always ends up registering for nugu tournaments solo, stuck with the worst random teammates. He’s lucky whenever Hyunjin agrees to join him—his best friend, a casual player, not competitive like him, but still a decent one.
Back to the game. They’re in low elo anyway, probably below platinum. It’s easy for Jisung to make the shot calls. So instead of recalling, he checks the map for possible ganks and goes straight to his mid laner—a Lux who’s barely surviving a recent trade. His movement speed increases as Lux’s low HP triggers Soraka’s passive, letting him heal her for a good chunk.
“Thanks, Han-ah!” his mid laner says.
“Let’s shove the wave, you need to recall” Jisung says, dropping his q and autos at the wave.
Jisung didn’t pick up whatever his midlaner says/
It’s a small gesture, yet it has a huge impact on the game—something only a few players actually notice. Jisung checks on his ADC, who’s about to get ganked, and the enemy jungle is in the bottom for no reason at all.
“Hyung? Ult bot lane. They’re about to gank Jiwoo,” he says as their jungle who recently recalls after slaying the rh—which btw, Jisung ignored, and about to path to the bot side jungle. Jisung hits recall button.
“Gotcha!”
Jisung watches the fight unfold while he waits for the right moment to press his ult, ready to save his ADC’s ass.
Plays like that could win them the game, right? Well… yeah, but then again, Jisung isn’t perfect. His macro is way above what he’s currently playing in. Whatever he’s trying to do, it just isn’t working. It ends up being a bad call. He feels bad—really bad. He doesn’t blame others; he isn’t toxic toward his friends… well, except Hyunjin. After a few more skirmishes, they still end up losing the game.
“Shit, I shouldn’t have made that call. Sorry,” he sighs, throwing his head back with a groan.
The Discord call is filled with It’s okay, It’s not your fault, Don’t blame yourself, You did great—words that make Jisung feel better, especially the ones that compliment him.
He leaves the Discord call and opens one of his Google Sheets files, checking the tracking numbers of the merch he bought online. He clicks the boxes, each redirecting him to a link where he can track where his merch is at the moment.
“Ah… this one should arrive tomorrow!” Jisung says as he looks at the tracking page. He recently ordered a newly released jacket from his favorite team member, and there’s even a preorder benefit photocard included. It’s probably one of the fastest purchases he’s ever made.
He’s picky—he doesn’t collect everything his favorite player releases. He only buys the things that spark his interest or that he finds cute or pretty, because his favorite is pretty. He wants the best of the best. He rarely buys from regular sellers; he always orders directly from the official site. Why would he risk paying for something that might not be 100% safe, right? He doesn’t want to deal with damaged merch and stress over it.
For Jisung, he’s been following R6’s Irino—his favorite player, or his bias—from one of Korea’s rising League of Legends teams called Racha’s. They’re a big team, though not at the level of pro players who compete overseas.
Jisung first saw Irino by accident while scrolling through Twitch. He noticed how good he was. Back then, Jisung was only a student, didn’t even have his own money to subscribe to the stream, missing every chance to get noticed. That’s how down bad he is. And no, Irino doesn’t play support. In fact, he plays top lane—an Irelia main. A champion Jisung isn’t particularly good at. Sure, he’s mechanically gifted and can play almost every champion in the game, but there’s a difference between “knowing how to play” and mastering a champion. Especially Irelia—one of the most mechanically demanding champs out there.
The moment he saw Irino play, he knew the guy had it: the talent, the decision-making, the precision in every combo. Jisung fell in love—or no, “in love” is a big word. It’s probably more like… finding a reason to keep playing that stupid game and chase his silly dream of becoming a pro player himself.
And god, the face card of his bias is out of this world. Idols are lucky that Irino from R6—Lee Minho—chose to become a pro player instead of auditioning for an idol company. That’s what Jisung always says, and he won’t shut up when he starts. Irino is pretty. So fucking pretty despite being in his late twenties, five years older than Jisung. He just looks… so young, so beautiful. Wanting something you can’t have is devastating. Probably 98% on the KBS scale: small face, feline eyes, a fucking perfect nose Jisung is willing to climb even though he hates running. His photocards are just perfect—more than enough reason for Jisung to be extremely sensitive with his merch.
It’s been years of trying to get into a Racha fan meeting—years of hoping, entering raffles, and refreshing pages at impossible hours. It’s hard. Really hard. Jisung isn’t the type to pour all his money into entry raffles just to increase his chances; he leaves it all up to luck. And apparently, he isn’t lucky enough for it.
Jisung sighs, debating whether he should hop into another game or start preparing to go out. He wants to visit the new pop-up store that just opened around the corner. It’s so close—too close not to check out. Grabbing his phone, he opens his messages and types a text to his best friend.
Me:
There’s a new pop-up store that just opened, come with me.
:DD
Jinnie:
Again? :|
Okay.
⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆
It’s just a short trip, probably less than thirty minutes. When they arrive, Jisung casually shows both his and Hyunjin’s entry codes to the receptionist, smiling brightly. Too brightly, maybe—because not only does the woman behind the table look at him strangely, but so do the people in line.
Can’t he be excited? Pretty sure he’s not the only one looking forward to this.
He casually ignores the stares. He doesn’t even know why they’re staring.
“Jiji, I think someone’s checking you out,” Hyunjin whispers, placing a hand on the other’s shoulder.
“I couldn’t care less,” Jisung says nonchalantly, letting his gaze travel across every merch display.
He doesn’t mind the stares he’s getting—Jisung is used to it. Who wouldn’t stare at someone wearing full merch from head to toe? From the shoes to the shorts, all the way up to his limited-edition R6 jacket draped over his shoulders, barely even worn. Jisung is… proud. He’s a shallow person in the simplest way; he gets happy over the smallest things. Like spotting the postcard he’s been searching for. He rushes forward to grab it, leaving Hyunjin behind—only to see another hand holding the exact same postcard.
He looks at the stranger.
“Ah…” the man breaks the silence. “I got my hand on this first.”
Yeah, no shit.
“Right… Can I please have this? This is like my prio, and I’ve been looking for this for ages.” Jisung turns fully to face the guy without letting go of the postcard, lips pushing into a pout.
Jisung swears he sees the guy smirk a little before he speaks.
“You’re cute,” the man says, clearly knowing he has the upper hand. “I might just buy this for you if you give me your Discord.”
Yep. Irino poked-cheeks postcard secured!
Jisung smiles sweetly. “Really?! Thank you!” He cheers as the guy lets go of the postcard. “You don’t have to buy this for me—I can give you my Discord as a thank you! How about that?”
“Lovely,” the guy replies, clearly satisfied.
That’s how their trip to the pop-up store goes. Jisung ends up buying a few more pieces of Racha merch: Irino’s jersey shirt, his plushies, a few gacha photocards—hoping he can pull Irino’s—a set of keycaps too. He convinces himself he might not get another chance to see or buy them again, so naturally, he grabs whatever catches his eye. Classic Jisung: the self-proclaimed irresponsible adult who can’t resist limited-edition merch.
Hyunjin, his best friend and the reliable one between them, helps him carry the growing pile of bags all the way back to Jisung’s apartment. Jisung can’t help but appreciate him—Hyunjin, who always supports the little things that make him happy. Even when those things involve spending too much on merch he’ll probably display once and never touch again.
Hyunjin collects merch too, but he has self-control—unlike Jisung, who doesn’t sleep until he gets what he wants. Especially now, after his luck finally turned and he landed a high-paying, steady job as a video editor. Having a stable income only made his impulsive habits a little worse… but also made him a little happier.
But then, on a random Thursday, something changes.
Ring…
Jisung ignores it.
Ring…
He ignores it again.
Ring…
Jisung squints, locking his eyes on his monitor. He fights to stay focused, trying to override the nagging sound coming from his phone.
The ringing finally stops. The lights on his phone blink once before going dark—his room is still dim except for the glow of his screen. But it doesn’t end there.
It rings again.
This time, it finally yanks Jisung out of focus.
He grunts, snatches his phone, and picks up the call.
“Oh my god, Hyunjin!” Jisung snaps, irritation dripping from his voice. “I’m in-game! This better be important!” he shouts—just in time to watch the screen flash Defeat. He leans back in his chair, tension coiling in his shoulders.
“Sorry?!? I’m literally about to deliver the best news of your life!” Jisung can hear the excitement, the happiness buzzing in his best friend’s voice—and despite himself, his nerves start to settle.
“What? Spill! This better be worth more than the LP I just lost,” Jisung mutters. He hovers his mouse over the Continue button, clicking it as he prepares to queue again—he can’t afford to end on another loss.
“We got an email back from the fanmeeting!!”
Jisung’s eyes widened.
“Finally! Finally!! They finally sent us an invitation—for the fanmeeting!” he bursts out, swallowing hard. The excitement he feels is beyond anything he can put into words. Years. It’s been years of trying. And now—finally—finally—they both got an invitation.
Jisung goes silent, completely overwhelmed, not knowing what to say or what to do with himself at this point.
Why not cancel the queue for starters?
⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆
“Look, Jinnie,” he sighs, speaking through his microphone. “She only needs two hits to kill me!” He drags a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “Two fucking hits! If I self-ult, that puts me one hit away from her! Then what’s next?”
He waves his hands in the air as if Hyunjin can see him. “She’ll ult me, and then NO ONE ON THE TEAM WILL CATCH THE ULT FOR ME!” He palms his face again, shouting dramatically—like he’s on the verge of tears.
“God, please, I fucking hate this game,” he groans after a beat. “Champions are overtuned, the hitbox doesn’t even make any sense! What do you mean I got hooked by Blitz when the hook is like one feet away from my hitbox?!” Hyunjin just listens, wheezing with laughter. “This game is making me kill myself, I swear to fucking God!” Jisung kicks his feet in irritation. “I hate this game so much,” he mutters over and over.
“Nah, stop crashing out. It’s just a skill issue,” Hyunjin says—adding fuel to the fire.
“Fuck you mean skill issue?! We’re literally in high elo, yet these stupid teammates always int like they’re giving away LP for free!” Jisung snaps, blood boiling.
“Skill issue,” Hyunjin repeats.
“No wonder you always get blamed,” Jisung fires back, clicking his tongue.
Now it’s Hyunjin’s turn to crash. “What the actual fuck?” he demands, sounding deeply offended. “How is that my fault when top lane fucking loses his lane?!”
Jisung chuckles. “Jungle diff.”
“My rotations are always on point!” Hyunjin scoffs. “Why is it always the jungle’s fault?”
“No wonder you chose to main jungle,” Jisung presses on, refusing to lose the argument. “You don’t even know how to manage waves. No wonder.”
“Han Jisung! Seriously? You main support! Don—”
Both of them stop when something pops up on their screens.
Match Found.
They both sigh and click the Accept button.
“When are we gonna stop playing this game?” Hyunjin asks with a chuckle.
“I don’t know. Probably never?”
“Yeah, we’re so fucked.”
They continue chattering while the champion select loads in.
“…The email,” Hyunjin says.
“Uhuh, I’m still trying to process it,” he says nonchalantly, moving his mouse to check the champions he wants to use—a habit he’s picked up over years of playing.
“They even invited us to the R6 camp? Is that right?”
“Where do the members coach you? I think that’s what they called it.” He locks in Soraka as his support champion. They’re just playing normal draft pick since they can’t queue for a duo because of their ranks.
“Are we allowed to pick which member? Oh my god, I want it to be FLixie! I want him to teach me his ways!” Excitement floods his voice.
“Oh? I thought it’s because you find him cute as a jungler,” Jisung teases. It’s true, though—FLixie is cute. Years ago, when they were still small streamers, they even thought he was a girl. Not until he spoke and bombed them with his deep-ass voice, like he’d hit puberty twice, did they realize. Hyunjin had actually thought he was straight—it was hilarious.
“I do! I mean, you aren’t one to talk,” Hyunjin pouts.
“Jinnie, you know the love of my life is their top lane, right? I can’t possibly choose him as my coach when I play fucking support,” he whines, bringing his hands over his face.
“Sucks to be you. Shouldn’t you try different roles?”
“Hell nah.”
⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆
Jisung’s weeks blur in a haze of video editing and looming deadlines, as he pours all his energy into completing his ongoing projects. With the fan meeting just a few days away, he wants to finish everything and clear his schedule. He wants to fully enjoy the event—his first time attending—and give it his full attention, not wanting to miss a single moment.
He’s been working almost fifteen hours, pouring over footage and soundtracks, carefully choosing which clips to use, his eyes blurry from lack of sleep. Despite pushing himself, Jisung never forgets to give himself rest—one or two days off here and there. He never forgets to order his meals on time, cook his ramen, or make his favorite coffee. He prioritizes his health after overworking himself. Balance. That’s what Jisung always tells himself.
Of course, he never forgets to play League of Legends. Instead of going outside to touch some grass after hours at his desk, he opens his Riot client and dives in. This time, he’s focused on reaching Grandmaster rank. His LP swings back and forth—from 170+ to 190+ and back again after a single loss to another Grandmaster. It’s tough, especially since he only plays support. Sure, he could climb faster in other roles, but he wants to make it as a utility support main.
Once his work is done, he shifts his focus to the fan meeting. He asks Hyunjin for help deciding what to bring, what questions to ask, and conversation topics for the short five-minute interactions with each Racha player. Of course, Jisung has his favorites, but he wants to be thoughtful for the other members too—planning questions, picking gifts, and maybe buying a new postcard for each member to sign, since attendees can bring any item except a photocard.
Not long after, Jisung finds himself heading out on a shopping spree—with none other than Hyunjin by his side.
“Hyunjin-ah,” Jisung calls out, voice brimming with excitement. He stops for a moment, scanning the shelves filled with various costumes. “What did you get for FLixie?” he asks, still hovering over the racks.
Hyunjin groans, plopping down on a nearby bench. “I didn’t buy anything like that yet,” he admits, looking up at Jisung. “What about you?” he asks, tilting his head.
Jisung’s brow furrows in concentration. “I’m thinking… a cat one. He likes cats, he has cats,” he mumbles, scanning the racks.
Hyunjin’s face lights up. “Oh right! I completely forgot about that. Should we get matching cat costumes for them?” he exclaims, jumping up and starting to rustle through the costumes.
Jisung’s face beams, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Oh my god! Yes! Let’s do that!” he squeals. “You’re such a genius!”
They start exchanging opinions on the cat costumes—what colors to pick, which designs would work best. As they continue searching, they gather an assortment of cute and ridiculous options: a cat-bat hybrid, a pink-and-blue cat onesie, cat ears with a big bow on top, and cats wearing crowns. Still unsatisfied, they keep looking until Jisung spots the perfect set.
Jisung’s eyes land on a particularly adorable costume. “Jinnie!” he whispers-shouts from the other side of the shelf. “This! We should buy this!” He runs over, carefully bringing two sets of cat costumes.
Hyunjin’s eyes widen as he takes in the costumes. “Oh wow! That’s so pretty!” he coos, walking toward Jisung to meet him halfway. The costumes are adorable: a cat-ear headband, a belt with a cat tail dangling in the middle, and cat paw gloves.
Jisung hands Hyunjin the blue set. “You should give him this one! Lixie likes blue, right?”
“Perfect!” Hyunjin grabs the set. “Oh? You’re giving him the pink one?”
“Yep! I think pink will really suit him.”
“His representative color is purple or something, right?” Hyunjin wonders.
“Yep, but there’s no shade like that here, so I’m getting the pink one,” Jisung replies, staring at the costume. “And Lixie and Irino should look great together if they both wear these!”
As they continue browsing a section dedicated to novelty props, their conversation shifts entirely to the fan meeting. They discuss their plan—what time to wake up, how to prepare, whether to arrive early for better seats. First-come, first-serve, after all. They know a lot of people will be there; R6 is popular, currently the strongest among rookies and rising players, no doubt widely recognized.
⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆
“Oh god, Jisung!” Hyunjin bursts out. His voice trembles with excitement, eyes sparkling as he grips Jisung’s arm, practically vibrating with energy. “This is it! We’ll finally meet them! Finally!!”
Jisung doesn’t respond. He just stands in front of the entrance as Hyunjin starts dragging him along with their bags of gifts and presents. Jisung lets himself be pulled, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. A swirl of emotions rushes through him—overwhelming, exhilarating beyond words, yet painfully nerve-wracking. The thrill of standing so close to their idols makes his stomach flutter, imagining having proper conversations with them. But the fear of messing everything up twists his gut.
Even though he’s practiced countless lines, trying to sound confident and composed, he can’t help but think: What if I fumble?
Jisung still isn’t himself when they finally step into the venue. They’re early—so early that the line moves quickly—and they manage to claim a surprisingly good seat. Not the very front, not the very back, but right in the center. The kind of spot people would fight over. It’s perfect.
Still, he isn’t himself. His chest feels tight, his thoughts scattered. He shakes his head, trying to ground himself, to snap back to reality, rattling everything back into place. Hyunjin barely gives him a moment to process, tugging him along, and he lets himself be dragged, one hand sliding over his face, palm pressing to steady himself.
He drops his hand.
And then he opens his eyes.
They immediately land on someone already looking at him.
A man standing there. Black cap. Oversized gray hoodie. Shoulders slightly hunched, as if trying to disappear into the fabric, yet his gaze doesn’t waver.
Jisung freezes. He stares back, his vision narrowing, searching. Time seems to stop. The crowd disappears. The noise echoes faintly, distant. It’s like he hit pause on the game he’s playing—but this is real life.
And slowly—painfully slowly—recognition hits him.
His breath escapes in a deep, shaky exhale, the first deep breath he’s allowed himself today. He knows that face. He’d recognize it even in the dark: the sharp, feline eyes; the faint reveal of bunny-like teeth when the guy’s lips part just slightly. The face he could recognize anywhere.
It’s Irino. It has to be.
But what hits Jisung harder than the shock of seeing him here is the expression Irino wears—or rather, the lack of one. He’s staring at Jisung almost blankly, gaze fixed and unreadable, like he’s seeing something Jisung can’t understand.
And Jisung can’t look away.
“Oh.” It’s the only sound he can manage—a whisper, barely even a word.
“Jiji?” Hyunjin’s voice pops Jisung’s bubble. He’s staring at Jisung with knitted brows, confusion written across his face.
Jisung tears his gaze away from the spot where Irino stood, blinking. He turns to Hyunjin, equally confused. “Yeah?”
“You know you can sit, right?” Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, already pulling him down to sit, giving way to the other attendees.
“Yes, yes, right.” Jisung sits, but it feels automatic—his eyes still searching the spot where Irino had been standing.
But he’s already gone. Only the sight of Irino’s back remains.
Before Jisung can process anything, Racha’s gameplay bursts onto the massive screen, pulling the entire fanbase’s attention. The crowd shifts, the venue erupts in cheers, and the championship match clips begin to play.
Jisung’s mind snaps to the footage like a light being switched on. There it is—the match where Racha dominated another top team and snatched the trophy as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He’s never watched them in a live match before. Not once. Ticketing is hell; by the time he even manages to load the site, all he sees is SOLD OUT slapped across his screen. Hyunjin calls it “Skill Issue.” And don’t even get him started on resellers, who double, sometimes triple, the price—they should rot in hell, actually.
He waits for his luck, and now he’s here.
Not in a live match, but surrounded by fans screaming at every perfect skirmish, clash, and clutch save that led Racha to their championship win. The room vibrates with excitement every time the crowd reacts to a play.
Jisung’s gaze never leaves the screen. Not once.
The second the camera pans to their top laner, Irino, his breath catches without him realizing. It’s one of Jisung’s favorite plays: Irino is about to get ganked by three enemy players. Since this is just a replay, the fans already know what’s coming—half leaning in, others cheering, buzzing with anticipation.
Irino is playing Gwen for this game. The gank collapses onto him, three players diving him under tower—a situation that should be impossible to survive. But with perfect macro, flawless spacing, and precise use of skills, paired with the calmness he’s known for, Irino slips through every skill shot and dodge. He times his midst perfectly, sidesteps incoming abilities, and somehow—not only survives the gank, but also kills one of them.
The crowd erupts; they cheer.
Hyunjin whistles beside him. Even though he’s seen the clip countless times, Jisung falls in love with Irino’s plays all over again.
This is the moment the “Gwen is immune” meme was born.
He likes it here.
Not long after, the members begin to enter the stage, waving as fans scream their names. Jisung tries to act normal, completely forgetting the encounter he had with Irino earlier. They watch as Racha’s introduces themselves, then start to play charades with the other members. It’s fun and funny, especially when Irino is the one acting out and Lixie is the one guessing—they’re so silly together. Irino keeps giving extra, exaggerated movements, which only confuses Lixie more. They also sing a few songs, and Irino’s voice is heaven—a siren’s voice in Jisung’s ears.
The members move across the stage, waving effortlessly. The crowd erupts again, screaming their in-game names. Jisung suddenly forgets about the earlier encounter with Irino, convincing himself it might have been a staff member or someone else.
Racha’s steps forward to introduce themselves. The fans roar their names, and Jisung and Hyunjin join in, shouting their favorites’ names. Jisung can’t help but stare directly at Irino, grinning at how effortlessly charismatic he is. Always smiling—as if he isn’t the reason other teams never make it to the finals.
Before he knows it, Jisung finds himself just a few meters away from his idol. The realization hits him as staff guide him forward. His chest pounds, each breath somehow trapped in his ribcage. Each step feels both heavier and lighter at the same time, a contradiction he can’t process.
And then… he’s here.
Right in front of him.
He slowly lowers himself into the chair in front of Irino, hands stiff in his lap. Irino takes his breath away—he can’t seem to exhale properly. Up close, he’s even more beautiful, more captivating: the sharp line of his jaw, feline eyes, small face, pouty lips, the faint focus in his gaze as he prepares to greet another fan—this fan, Han Jisung.
Irino’s eyes lift, meeting Jisung’s.
“Oh, hey!” Irino says, surprisingly as if he’s one of the few fanboys that comes here.
“H-hello!” Jisung stutters, handing over the postcard he wants signed. His fingers shake lightly. God, he looks even prettier up close.
Irino studies him, eyebrows furrowing as if trying to place him. “First time here? I don’t recognize you,” he asks, tilting his head before glancing down at the postcard.
“Yes, yeah… actually. That’s why I’m nervous,” Jisung chuckles awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.
Irino hums. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite.” He laughs, and Jisung’s chest tightens. Hearing his idol laugh this close feels unreal, like a dream he’s always had.
“Your name?” Irino asks, pen poised.
Jisung lets out a small, breathy laugh. “Oh, it’s Han Jisung!”
Irino smiles softly, then focuses on the postcard. His pen glides smoothly across it. “This is a nice choice of postcard,” he compliments.
“Right! It’s limited too! I’ve been looking for it!” Jisung lights up, his voice bright. “I actually just got this not even a month ago!”
“Oh, really? That must have been tough. But I’m glad you finally have your prio, signed too!” Irino looks back up, and Jisung realizes he’s already finished signing.
Their eyes meet.
Jisung freezes, once again.
When the moment hits him, Jisung stops thinking entirely. He still can’t believe this is actually happening—Irino looking at him, talking to him, right across this tiny space. He notices the postcard in his hands. This should be the time to talk, right? He still has almost four minutes left. He can’t let this go to waste.
But before he can get a word out, Irino beats him to it.
“I must be your favorite,” he says confidently, reaching toward Jisung’s jacket. His fingers brush the purple bunny pin. “I recognize this—the first pin I ever drew,” he laughs, tapping it again. “It’s so funny, it looks… kind of stupid.”
And just like that, all the pressure and doubt leaking out of Jisung. Irino makes it easy to talk to him; no wonder he has so many fans.
“What? No! Don’t call Reebit stupid!” Jisung laughs, real and warm, from deep in his chest. “I got this one from the first pop-up. And… yes, I’ve been watching your streams way back then.”
Irino pulls his hand back, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh really? That’s cute.” His smile is soft, sweet—and it hits Jisung differently, like a key unlocking some stubborn piece of his heart. Minho must’ve noticed, because he laughs again.
“So, you play too?” Irino nudges the conversation, teasingly.
Jisung raises his left fist to hide his burning face. “R-right. I… I play too.” He glances away, embarrassed. “I don’t play top lane—I play support.”
Irino snorts. “Pfft… Right, you look like someone who would play Yuumi or something.”
“What? Oh my god, do I really give off that vibe?” Jisung whines dramatically. “I mean… you aren’t wrong though. I play every utility support.”
“Not really, I just guessed.” Irino seems entertained, his eyes steady and warm on Jisung. Jisung feels like they are the only people in the room.
“I get that a lot! People say I look like I’d be eager to please my duo!” he complains, his voice rising in pitch.
Irino leans back slightly, eyes narrowing playfully as he gives Jisung an exaggerated once-over, teasing him.
“Now that you mention it… you do look like it!”
“Oh, come on! I play solo!”
Minho leans in again, swaying his hand. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” He settles his eyes back on Jisung. “You’ll accept the camp invitation, right?” he asks softly.
The question hits Jisung like a force, unexpected. He goes completely still.
“O-of course. I look forward to playing with you, Irino.” He gives the other a smile—the smile he’s known for, his sweet, heart-shaped smile.
Minho’s eyes linger, too long, too focused.
Jisung swears he sees Irino’s gaze flicker down to his lips for a split second. So quick he almost doubts it happened—or maybe it didn’t really happen and he’s just being delusional.
“Minho.” The name is quiet, internationally soft.
Jisung tilts his head in confusion.
“Call me Minho hyung.”
⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆
Jisung makes his way down the line of members one by one, talking to each of them as he hands over the little gifts he bought and prepared. The excitement buzzing under his skin is almost too much, but he’s finally here, face to face with the players he has watched for years. Somehow, their visuals, the way they interact—it feels like talking to friends, not professional players. It’s so relaxing.
FLixie is the first surprise. Jisung doesn’t really watch FLixie’s Twitch streams since most of them stream at the same time, so of course he mainly watches Irino. FLixie is like sunshine—he lights up everyone’s mood, especially Jisung’s, after that shocking and slightly overwhelming interaction with Irino, which still leaves him stunned. FLixie’s bright mood can’t help but lift Jisung’s. They fall instantly into a natural conversation when Jisung blurts out, without thinking, that their birthdays are only a day apart. Lixie’s eyes widen like a child discovering a box of sixty-four crayons, and he practically squeals, “We’re almost twins!” The joy feels unreal—it’s like he’s found a long-lost twin. They are the same age, and yes, they are twins now.
Next is YENI, their midlaner. Jisung swears he looks exactly like his representative animal. Up close, his sharp eyes, the mischievous tilt of his smile, and the soft elegance in how he holds himself make him magnetic. He’s the type of person whose smile makes you smile back automatically. Even though YENI is a year younger than Jisung, it feels like they are friends, exchanging jokes and comments in the mid lane since that’s Jisung’s secondary role. YENI even teaches him some basic macro he’s sure to use in both support and midlane, like setting up ganks.
Then comes SpearB. And holy shit. Jisung thought people exaggerated about him being buff, until he’s standing right in front of him. You can see the sleeves stretched across his arms, sculpted like a Greek god. Jisung forgets to speak when they exchange bows, he’s pretty too, doesn’t look like his age at all! He’s a year younger than Irino. He’s pretty flustered by their ADC; he’s so cool, and Jisung wants to try and support him during his time here. SpearB even gives him a few tips on how to play around an ADC.
And finally… Miniverse.
He’s one of the most talented supports out there and also carries the title of “Racha’s Brain.” He makes most of the calls, and when he plays, he looks intimidating—serious, precise, like any misstep is unacceptable. Jisung’s nerves spike for a second. But the moment Miniverse speaks, the tension melts. Jisung will later want to punch himself for expecting anyone from R6 to be cold-hearted, because every one of them is a total sweetheart.
They exchange a casual conversation, and Miniverse even asks if he’ll accept the invitation to join their training camp. When Jisung says yes, Miniverse lights up, ecstatic at the idea of working with him. He reassures Jisung that he’ll learn a lot here, and his genuine excitement makes it impossible not to feel encouraged.
As the conversation wraps up and He steps away, Jisung feels something settle deep inside him—a light, surreal, and hopeful feeling that maybe this is his chance to get noticed and move closer to achieving his dreams.
He has a feeling that he could really get along with all of them, especially his favorite: Irino—Minho.
After the fan benefits wrap up, the members return to the stage, slipping effortlessly into their energetic, chaotic, lovable rhythm. They start playing other mini-games, performing tiny dances, and singing whatever songs the fans shout at them. The entire venue feels lighter, more fun.
Jisung and Hyunjin honestly think they’ll never see the costumes they brought being used. It’s a long shot, after all—it’s not just them who brought costumes. But then FLixie notices the neatly packed cat-themed costume set among the gifts. His eyes sparkle with joy as he grabs the sets and tosses the pink one straight to Irino.
Jisung freezes.
Irino catches it with one hand, looks at the fluffiness of the cat ears and the paw gloves, and smiles.
Within seconds, they’re both wearing costumes.
What happens next is pure chaos. Both of them immediately slip into character, acting like the world’s most unhinged cats—battling each other, chasing something only the two of them can see, doing the Naruto run in circles. The crowd screams in awe.
Some fans, including them, start shouting for a cat-pose photo. The two members glance at each other, exchange grins, then strike the cutest and stupidest cat poses imaginable. The camera flashes. The crowd melts while the members cringe at themselves.
Just like that, the fan meeting winds down with laughter. It’s ridiculous. It’s perfect.
It’s the best event he has ever attended.
⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆
He’s thrillingly excited to finally be close to the members. His interactions with them go smoothly on his first day. Everything clicks into place as if he has always belonged here.
Miniverse—Seungmin—becomes the first person he grows close to, because they spend most of their time together reviewing VODs and coaching Jisung. Seungmin is easygoing; he likes to joke around and play a little. It’s cute. Hyunjin barely sticks with him, too busy spending time with Felix like the loyal dog he is. Jisung doesn’t mind, he has plenty of distractions.
Their manager, Chan, is unbelievably kind—the kind that warms something inside your chest. He insists they stay here for the entire week, every necessity provided. No need to worry about anything, not even water. Apparently, their company is searching for new rookies to train and talents to sharpen. And Jisung? He refuses to let this chance slip through his fingers.
Everything is going exactly as he expects.
Except for one thing.
Irino—Minho—acts like he doesn’t give a fuck about his presence.
He completely ignores him when Chan reintroduces them to the members. When Jisung tries to start a conversation later, Minho just looks at him with a blank expression and leaves the room. Every time they’re in the same space, Minho seems to find an excuse to walk out. It makes Jisung sad—and at the same time, it pisses him off. When he asks Hyunjin about the top laner, Hyunjin claims Minho is perfectly fine—normal even.
Normal?
Bullshit. To Jisung, Minho is anything but normal, and he has no idea why. The confusion sits heavy in his chest, tangled with irritation and the sting of rejection he refuses to acknowledge.
“And… we can wrap things up for now!” Seungmin says as he closes the last tab of Jisung’s match replay.
“Thank you, Seungminie! I’ll make sure to apply everything when I play after lunch!” Jisung chirps, though his voice carries a nervous edge. He begins closing the remaining tabs before shutting down the computer.
“Anytime! That’s what you’re here for,” he says with a smile. “Let me know if you have any questions.”
Jisung nods, but his body stiffens slightly. Something presses on his shoulders—heavy, nagging. He presses his lips together, debating whether he should ask about Minho or just shut the fuck up and deal with it.
“Right… uh…” He scratches the back of his neck and drops his gaze to the floor. “Can I ask about Minho hyung?” he says softly, a shy tone lingering in his voice.
“Oh? Minho hyung?” Seungmin grins, like he’s been waiting for Jisung to bring him up. “Yeah, what about him?”
“Is he always like that?” Jisung hesitates. “I mean… does he always ignore his fans or something? He’s so cold.”
“Ah… not really? I mean, hyung is definitely the most unapproachable guy in R6, and Felix is the friendliest.” Seungmin turns his chair fully toward Jisung, giving him his attention. “Yeah, he knows when to draw a line between himself and fans, but he’s not mean.”
“Right…” Jisung murmurs, but the answer settles nothing inside him. His chest tightens with something that feels like dissatisfaction.
“He’s your bias, right?” Seungmin tilts his head. “Don’t worry—he’ll come around.”
“Yes, yeah.” Jisung laughs awkwardly.
“Do you want to get lunch with me and Binnie?” Seungmin asks as he gets up from his chair.
“That sounds fun.” Jisung smiles gratefully and follows Seungmin out the door.
⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆
Jisung’s following days shift into something he never expects—something chaotic, petty, and honestly? Kind of fun.
He stops dwelling on the fact that his favorite player is acting like he doesn’t exist. He stops waiting, trying to get Minho to finally warm up to him.
Instead?
He makes Minho’s life just a little bit hellish.
With the little time he has here.
The moment Jisung learns that Minho needs absolute silence to review gameplay or even sit in a queue, he uses that knowledge to annoy the shit out of the elder. Whenever Minho settles into his chair in front of the computer, Jisung pops in—holding a bag of chips—and starts eating loudly, like it’s the crunchiest snack the world has ever produced.
He hums. Loudly. Off-key on purpose.
He taps his feet against the floor.
And every time Minho turns his head—slowly, that simmering kind of turn, looking at him with irritation, Jisung grins like he just won a championship game.
But the thing is—beneath all of Jisung’s antics, there’s something else. It’s fun and satisfying to see the so-called Irel King lose his cool every time Jisung tries to annoy him, but deep inside… it’s kind of sad. It stings, being ignored by the person who inspired him, the player who made him fall in love with the game. And now he’s finally here, in the same space as that person… the person who won’t even look at him. Their only proper interaction was at the fan meeting.
Jisung tells himself it’s okay. Because even for a brief second, Minho’s attention lands on him. Even if Minho looks like he’s debating whether to throw him out the window or shove him out the door.
Jisung pushes the booth door open with his hip, both arms full of chips, a soda wobbling dangerously in his hand. The moment he steps inside, the sounds of keys and mouse clicks fill the air. Minho is in his usual spot, not wearing a headset. Probably because—
“Oh, Jisungie!” Seungmin brightens immediately, scooting over to make space for him.
Jisung plops down. “Heyyyy!” he sings softly, passing the chips around. Minho still doesn’t look his way.
“Where did you get these?” Changbin asks, already opening a bag.
Jisung opens his own and munches loudly—purposely. “Oh, these? Just from the small cabinet in the kitchen. The purple one.” He shrugs, acting innocent, as if he didn’t intentionally open that cabinet.
Then Minho’s head snaps toward him immediately. His left brow rises, lips pressed together paired with the perfect what the fuck face.
Jisung grins. “Oh?” He tilts his head, covering his mouth in a mock gasp. “Didn’t have your name on it.”
Behind them, Changbin and Seungmin choke on their laughter. Minho inhales, then after a few seconds, turns back to his monitor with a deep sigh—ignoring him again.
Jisung just rolls his eyes.
“You should ban now, hyung,” Seungmin chimes in.
“Yeah, right.” Minho scrolls through the endless list of champions. “Who should I ban?”
It isn’t really a question, and it’s definitely meant for Seungmin.
Definitely not meant for Jisung.
But Jisung is on a mission.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he answers immediately, making the other two turn to look at him. He leans forward, as if biting into something invisible. “Ban Malph.” He grins, chip crumbs clinging to the corner of his lips.
Minho pauses.
“You can’t play Irelia against him, right?” Jisung adds, grin turning smug.
Seungmin loses it. He doubles over, slapping Minho’s shoulder repeatedly while wheezing, then turns to Jisung as he shakes Minho. “Oh my god, Jisung!”
Minho’s jaw flexes. He tries to act unbothered, but Jisung sees it—that tiny twitch at the corner of Minho’s mouth.
Minho looks like he’s fighting the urge to kick Jisung out. But before he can decide, Jisung quickly gets up and grabs Seungmin by the arm.
“Coaching time, Seungmin-nim!” Jisung declares loudly, as if he’s saving himself from the fire he just started.
Seungmin is still laughing by the time they reach his booth, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. He pulls out two gaming chairs and adjusts them. “It’s fun seeing the cat get stressed once in a while,” he says, still breathless. “You really did great pissing him off.”
“Great? He’s definitely getting me kicked out of this training camp soon.” Jisung chuckles, fully aware—and almost ready—to face the consequences of his actions.
“What makes you say that?” Seungmin raises an eyebrow as he turns on both of their computers.
“I keep pissing him off. I don’t know, Minnie…” Jisung sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m risking my chance at this career just to annoy him.” His voice comes out soft, hollow. Pressure tightens around his chest.
Seungmin pauses, then slowly turns to look at him. “Your career?” he repeats, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. Chan hyung won’t just kick someone as talented as you. I’m honestly surprised—I barely have to teach you anything. I hardly correct your gameplay, right? You just need to polish your decision-making. Be more confident, you know?” He smiles at Jisung, warm and reassuring.
“I’m scared of making mistakes, that’s why,” Jisung murmurs, looking down as he fidgets with his fingers.
“That’s a part of it. You can make mistakes, and that’s okay! You learn from them. When you do something and make progress, you end up with one of two things—either you succeed or you learn something. You aren’t losing or wasting anything, Jisungie.” Seungmin’s voice is so warm, like morning sunlight touching bare skin.
“Oh god, Minnie, you’re going to make me cry!” Jisung sniffs, trying to hold back tears.
“You should’ve been trying out for teams this whole time! Any team would take you.”
“I never really thought about it. I’ve been kind of busy with work.” He laughs it off.
“And also… that thing with Minho hyung.” Seungmin pauses.
Jisung groans. “Ah, right. What about him?” He forces himself not to roll his eyes.
“If Minho hyung didn’t want you here, I would’ve heard him complaining about kicking you out.” Seungmin clicks around his computer, opening League of Legends and logging into one of his accounts. “But he hasn’t said a single thing about it.”
“His face says otherwise. He looks like he’s about to throw me.”
“I’ve never seen hyung’s face like that before! It’s so funny.” Seungmin burst into laughter. “If he wanted to kick you out, he would’ve done it the moment you interfered with one of his streams.”
Jisung’s face suddenly burns with embarrassment. “OH MY GOD—don’t remind me!” he squeals, covering his face with both hands. “That was so embarrassing. I didn’t even know he was streaming! I played it off cool, though.”
“Viewers were asking who you were! It was so funny!” Seungmin cackles. “Come queue with me—I’ll be your ADC, and I’ll see your improvements!”
Just like that, the two queue together for the first time.
As the days go by, Jisung keeps up his mission: annoying the absolute life out of Minho.
He laughs at Minho’s misplays, just small snorts and chuckles, just loud enough for Minho to hear. He steals Minho’s snacks, even Minho’s favorite pudding. He walks into Minho’s booth whenever he feels like it, nudging his shoulder and asking obvious questions just to get him riled up. When Minho is livestreaming, Jisung simply… appears, barging in.
The viewers love it a little too much.
The chat always explodes with questions about Jisung:
Who is that?
New trainee?
Why is he here again? Doesn’t he have anything better to do?
IS IRINO GETTING BULLIED LIVE??? I LIVE FOR THIS!!!
Poor Irino :((
Kick him out.
But Minho never answers them. He never even acknowledges Jisung’s presence on stream. He just keeps playing, not looking his way. Minho’s jaw tightens every time Jisung is there, his patience stretched thin.
But Jisung sees it—every time Minho’s eyes flick toward him in the reflection of the monitor, wearing the most annoyed expression possible.
And every time, Jisung counts it as a win.
But not everything stays that way. Suddenly, it’s Friday already—his last day.
He’s leaving tonight. He has to go home and wait for the company’s decision, wait for that one email that could change everything.
He should feel confident. Seungmin and Changbin—his ADC in one of the scrims—always cheer after every match they play. They both insist that if this company doesn’t grab him, then they’re the ones losing out. They tell him to try out somewhere else if that happens, because Jisung has talent and they’d be insane not to pick him.
He really does believe them, but doubt still lingers. He can’t help it. Jisung doesn’t want to get his hopes too high only to disappoint himself for not trying harder, for not doing better.
And then, Jisung suddenly stops bothering Minho.
Not once.
No teasing.
No laughing at misplays.
No random poking.
No stealing snacks.
No loud stomping.
He doesn’t even step into Minho’s booth. He just walks past it quietly, ignoring the way his whole body urges him to barge in.
When they officially start saying their goodbyes at noon, the room feels a little heavy. Jisung forces a bright smile as he moves from member to member, giving dramatic bows just to make the others laugh. Felix even hugs him and spins him, like he’s grown attached to this little group of friends he’s had for a week.
He turns to Minho, everything inside him twisting. Minho stands behind the others, arms crossed, face unreadable. Like nothing about today matters—like Jisung and the others aren’t leaving. He doesn’t tease Minho, doesn’t hug him, and Jisung doesn’t even bother moving from where he’s standing. He just politely bows, lifts his head, and puts on a plain smile, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Thank you for the fun week, Minho hyung.”
Jisung practically gives up on the idea of getting along with Minho. Maybe Minho truly can’t stand him. Maybe everything was just one-sided: Jisung being annoying, and Minho tolerating him because he had no other choice, just waiting for Jisung to leave the camp.
So Jisung swallows it.
He plays a couple of games with different teams, sometimes with Hyunjin, sometimes with different junglers, mixing up the players to see who he works better with. Sure, it stings—more than he wants to admit. Some people just don’t get along.
Maybe it’s better this way. Before he gets attached more than he already is, before not being able to come back here with the people he’s made connections with hurts even more.
Yeah. This is better.
⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆
“Jisungie!!!!” Hyunjin shouts from the other side of the room, walking toward Jisung’s table.
“Jinnieeee!!” he yells back, waving his fork in the air before shoving another bite of cheesecake into his mouth.
Hyunjin throws himself into the seat in front of him. “Didn’t know they had a personal bar at their home guard! This is amazing!”
“Right? It’s actually pretty vibey here,” Jisung says, leaning back in his seat as he munches on his cheesecake.
“You’re not drinking?” Hyunjin asks.
“Later, maybe. I’m just enjoying this cheesecake. Seungmin gave it to me after I told him I would do anything for cheesecake.” He shrugs.
“Can I—” Hyunjin’s words are cut off by a sudden voice from another man.
“Hyuneeee!” Felix calls.
They both turn toward the deep voice echoing through the room.
“Oh!” Hyunjin perks up. “Guess I have to go!” He grins.
Jisung just nods, hiding the fact that he’s a bit envious—Hyunjin and Felix seem to get along so well. Hyunjin has a lot to tell him when they get home.
“Hey?” A sudden voice pops his bubble.
Jisung turns his head toward the voice, raising an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah?”
“Hey! We met at the pop-up before, remember?” The guy sits beside him, insisting on a conversation.
Jisung blinks. “Pop-up…?” Then it hits him. “Oh! Are you the postcard guy?” His face lights up. “Thanks again!”
“That’s right!” He beams. “I was wondering why you weren’t responding to my friend request on Discord. But when I saw you in Irino’s stream and realized you were a trainee, I figured I’d pay a visit to R6’s home guard when they opened it to the public! And right, I saw you here!” He talks fast, like he doesn’t need to breathe. Better than having no company, right? Fuck you, Hyunjin. Have fun.
“I was busy! My bad,” Jisung laughs, scratching the back of his head.
“Do you mind if I treat you to something? Come with me to the stall,” he invites, hopeful. Jisung just nods and follows him along.
Jisung hesitates but nods anyway. “Sure, I’m free anyway.”
They walk through the crowds, passing fans and trainees until they reach the counter. They sit side by side on the stools, facing the server.
The bartender approaches. “Hello! What can I get for you two tonight?”
“What do you want? It’s on me!” the guy says to Jisung, still full of energy.
Jisung nods. “I’ll just get a cheesecake and whatever drinks he’s getting.”
“Alright! A cheesecake and two cocktails, please,” he says politely before facing Jisung. “Thanks again.”
“Oh.” The bartender chimes.
The two look in his direction.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve been told not to sell any cheesecakes or liquor to you,” the bartender says, barely above a whisper as he looks down at his notes. “Can I get you somethi—”
“What?!” Jisung’s voice spikes, confusion turning to irritation.
“Uh… I’m sorry, I’ve been to—” the bartender begins, but Jisung cuts him off again.
“Who?” he snaps, brows furrowing.
“It’s an order from Irino…”
Then suddenly, everything goes silent.
A ringing fills his ears.
His stomach twists.
“What? Why would he do that?” a faint voice murmurs from the background.
But Jisung barely hears it. All he can feel is his blood boiling. “What the fuck,” he mutters, chest tightening. Is Minho seriously doing this right now? Trying to get back at him one last time? Doesn’t he want Jisung to at least enjoy his night?
The irritation deepens.
He no longer waits for anything. He storms out of the room, stomping as if he’s punching the floor. He heads straight toward the private—or is it VIP?—room. Jisung couldn’t care less. That’s where the other members are hanging out.
He shoves open the door with a thud. Inside, he sees Minho standing, talking to the others, laughing about something Jisung can’t hear. Chan spots him first, elbowing Minho and whispering something as both of them glance in Jisung’s direction.
Jisung flares. He walks toward them without hesitation, grabbing Minho by the arm and dragging him out of the room. He doesn’t care that some of the members, coaches, and managers are there. He just needs to talk to Minho.
They reach Minho’s booth, and Jisung pushes him inside, slamming the door shut behind them. When Jisung looks at Minho, he loses his breath.
Minho just stands there under the soft LED lights Jisung hadn’t noticed until now. Jaw sharp, lips slightly parted, perfectly carved nose, flushed cheeks. He looks—beautiful. Jisung hates it.
He shakes his head hard, looking everywhere but at Minho. He’s mad. He is mad.
“OH MY GOD—Minho!” Jisung explodes, voice rising, tinged with confusion and frustration. “Are you seriously going to get back at me right now???”
But Minho just looks at him, and that pisses Jisung off even more.
“Why did you have to do that???” he continues, flinging his arms in the air. “You could’ve just banned me from getting a drink, and I’d understand. But a cheesecake??” He breathes heavily.
“But cheesecake? Cheesecakes, Minho?” His voice softens for a moment, pained. “Don’t you know how much I love them?”
Then realization hits, and sadness twists back into anger. “Oh, right! Of course you didn’t know, because you never gave me a chance to get closer to you!” he snaps.
“You fucking shit…” he growls, biting his lower lip.
“Do you hate me that muc—”
Minho clicks his tongue, then lifts his left arm and slams his palm against the door beside Jisung’s head with a loud thud. Jisung jolts, eyes widening as Minho cages him with his arm. He thinks he’s gone too far, that Minho is actually going to fight him.
But that doesn’t happen.
Minho holds Jisung’s chin, tilting it up—not roughly, but enough to force eye contact. Jisung’s breath comes heavy as Minho’s fingers settle just under his jaw.
“Look at me when you talk to me,” Minho says—his first real words to Jisung, probably the longest yet. His voice is cold, sending shivers down Jisung’s spine.
“Minho—aren’t you being a little informal?”
Jisung can’t say anything; his breath is heavy.
“All you did was piss me off, and now that I try doing the same to you, you go off and pull me here, cursing the shit out of me. Aren’t you a little brat?” Minho asks, not expecting an answer—and it’s not like Jisung could give one.
Jisung stills, still processing the fact that Minho is so close he can feel his breath on his face. His lips are so plump, his skin so clear, his eyes so pretty. God, Jisung is gone.
“What? Jisung? Now that you have my attention, you can’t say anything?” Minho smirks.
Jisung can’t do anything but breathe shallowly, hard.
“Tell me, Jisung, what do you want?” Minho’s voice drops to something deep and dangerous.
Jisung knows exactly what he wants to say: Why do you ignore me? Why do you leave the room when I’m around? Do you really not want me near you? But the words are too heavy, and he can’t think.
“Kiss,” he says, barely a whisper—more like a breath than a word.
Minho snorts, as if whatever Jisung said is a joke. “You’re asking me that after annoying me all week?”
Jisung doesn’t know what to say; he doesn’t even know why he asks that.
“You always want it your way, huh?” Minho runs his thumb over Jisung’s bottom lip. “Did you drink?”
It’s now Jisung’s turn to snort—why? Just because. “Seriously?” He rolls his eyes. “You literally told the bartender not to give me an—“
He doesn’t finish because Minho shuts him up by pressing his lips against Jisung’s.
Jisung squeaks, a soft, shocked sound. He can’t explain how soft Minho’s lips are, how perfectly they fit against his.
The kiss is simple, just a press, almost innocent.
Minho leans back, a few centimeters away, scanning Jisung’s face for any sign of regret.
Jisung just looks at him, wide-eyed, face flushed. He looks at Minho like he’s asking for more, asking him not to stop.
Minho breathes before leaning in again. This time, he moves his lips—slow but controlled. His hand slides to the back of Jisung’s neck, pushing just enough to deepen the kiss. Jisung lifts his arm and grabs Minho’s shoulder like he’s afraid Minho will once again deprive him of attention. He follows Minho’s rhythm, letting himself be guided. He finally melts when Minho nips his bottom lip—not enough to hurt, but enough to make Jisung’s knees weak.
Minho pulls back, and Jisung instinctively follows his lips, chasing the warmth of the kiss. A tiny, needy sound slips from his throat. Before Minho can say anything, Jisung blurts out,
“You… you hate me,” he whines, his voice shaking.
Minho chuckles softly. “Yeah, sure.” He brushes his thumb over Jisung’s cheek. “Whatever you say, princess.”
Jisung is about to open his mouth, shocked by the sudden endearment, but Minho doesn’t give him a chance to process it.
Minho leans in and kisses him hard.
No hesitation this time, no softness, nothing slow. It’s like he’s claiming Jisung’s mouth for himself. Jisung gasps as his head hits the door.
Minho suddenly bites his lower lip, asking for permission. Jisung’s limbs feel like spaghetti—weak and soft. He lets out a breathy, needy moan as he parts his lips, giving in.
Minho slips his tongue in, tasting Jisung as if he’s been waiting for this very moment, craving it for days. Their lips move in a messy rhythm, tongues swirling, dancing to a beat only the two of them know.
This kiss isn’t like their first one.
It’s all teeth and tongue.
Heavy breathing fills the room, heat creeping in.
Their kiss tastes like pudding and cheesecake.
Minho pulls back. His hands slide from Jisung’s face down to his waist, fingers resting on the small of Jisung’s back like they’re meant to be there, his thumb circling gently as they catch their breath.
Jisung’s face is red and flushed, his lips glassy and swollen. He looks at Minho with hooded eyes.
“Min…” he chokes. “Hyung…” His voice trembles.
Jisung swallows, throat dry. “Please.”
Minho’s grip on his waist tightens—firm enough to bruise—pulling a moan out of Jisung. “Please what?” he pants, breath uneven, words stuttering.
“Touch me… please, please, please,” Jisung chants, like a prayer, like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.
Minho scans Jisung’s face for any hint of doubt or hesitation, but there’s nothing. Jisung looks like prey cornered by its predator, waiting to be ruined. Minho’s eyes flick down to his swollen lips as he moves a hand up to cup Jisung’s cheek. Then he leans in, lips brushing the shell of Jisung’s ear.
“Come with me.”
Minho’s hand slips from Jisung’s only to interlock their fingers, tugging him forward. The door behind Jisung swings open with a soft click. Minho pulls him out into the hallway.
Jisung’s weak knees barely cooperate, making him stumble once, but Minho doesn’t seem to mind. They walk down the corridor where all the players’ booths stand in a row. The hall is quiet—probably because of the small after-party happening right now, the one they both decided to ditch.
Seungmin happens to step out of his booth, locking the door behind him. He glances over at them, taking in their swollen lips and flushed faces like he’s witnessing the aftermath of the longest make-out session ever.
“Oh?” Seungmin raises his brows, smirking like he’s been waiting for this to happen—expecting it. “Finally fucking it out?”
Jisung’s cheeks burn instantly. He tries to hide his face with his free hand, looking away out of pure embarrassment.
“Shut up,” Minho mutters back, not even sparing Seungmin a glance. He keeps walking, pulling Jisung along. They pass Seungmin, who watches them with a smirk he doesn’t bother to conceal.
Just before they turn the corner, Minho looks over his shoulder. “Don’t knock, or I’m going to kill you.”
Seungmin just laughs and goes back to what he’s doing.
“It was Seungmin’s idea,” Minho murmurs as they continue walking, their voices the only sounds echoing through the quiet hallway.
“Huh?” He blinks.
“The cheesecake ban,” Minho says. “He’s the one who told the bartender not to sell you anything and said I was the one who requested it.” He confesses like it’s nothing as he drags Jisung.
“What?” Jisung says—though it’s not really a question.
Minho unlocks the door to a room Jisung assumes is his.
“Yeah. He told me if we did that, you’d come barging in. He’s sweet and everything, but he’s an annoying shit. Gets on everyone’s nerves.” Minho chuckles.
Jisung can’t process anything he’s hearing—because all he knows is that he’s in Minho’s room. Alone. His chest tightens with need.
“Hyu—”
Minho doesn’t let him finish. He picks Jisung up and practically tosses him onto the bed with a soft thud. Then he crawls over him, hands pressed into the mattress beside Jisung’s head.
“Do you know the color system, Jisung?” he asks as he leans in, brushing his nose against Jisung’s.
Jisung just nods, chest heaving.
“Words, baby.”
Jisung can feel Minho’s gaze burning into him, Minho’s breath hot against his skin. “Y-Yes…” he stutters, lips trembling.
Minho smiles and gives him a quick peck on the lips before pulling back, leaving Jisung lying there. Jisung hears him rummaging through his nightstand, and he waits patiently, not moving an inch.
When Minho returns with a bottle of lube, he stops to look at him—Jisung looks completely wrecked already. Drool clings to the corner of his mouth, his wavy hair falls over his hooded eyes, his lips are parted and swollen, his face flushed red. Minho couldn’t look more satisfied.
“You still good?” Minho asks.
“Yes—” He chokes, he leans his head forward. “I will be if you finally touch me.” Jisung tries to scowl like he’s annoyed, but the tremor in his voice ruins it.
“You’re such a brat, aren’t you?” Minho murmurs. “Trying to boss me around. Asking me for something. Do you think you deserve it?” His hands run over Jisung’s jeans as he unbuttons them. He leans in so close that his presence fills every breath Jisung takes, his hand pressing against Jisung’s crotch.
Jisung whines pathetically, like he’s been waiting forever to be touched there. “Please… more… more…I’m sorry. I’ll be good, please…”
Minho yanks his pants off and flips him over like he weighs nothing, Jisung landing on his chest with a soft hitch, his face buried in the pillow.
“Lift your ass up,” Minho commands.
And Jisung obeys instantly—like something in Minho’s voice goes straight to his spine and pulls him into compliance.
He can feel Minho settling behind him as he hears the cap of the bottle open, and then the cold drip of lube against his rim. He moans and hisses at the sudden temperature, wanting to complain but knowing better by now.
When Minho opens him up, it’s slow and teasing—like Minho is torturing him on purpose. Jisung tries to complain once, but he only earns a harsh slap on his left ass cheek. It’s so fucking painful, yet Jisung lets out a needy moan—nothing like a sound someone in pain should make.
Minho inserts the third finger, still purposely avoiding Jisung’s prostate. Jisung looks over his shoulder, staring at Minho, who is clearly smirking, enjoying every second of this.
“Yes?” Minho asks, mocking him gently.
“Y-You’re doing it on purpose…” Jisung chokes out, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Minho just hums—and finally, finally curls his fingers, pressing directly against his prostate.
“Hmpf!” Jisung buries his face in the pillow, muffling his moans, eyes rolling back.
“Don’t.” Minho commands, running his fingers through Jisung’s hair as he forces Jisung’s head up. “I want to hear how I make you feel.”
“More, please.” Jisung’s voice comes out like a sob, a desperate whimper.
Minho inhales slowly and lets go of his hair. He keeps working Jisung open, brushing his prostate just slightly, teasing him.
“Minho hyung, I’m ready… Please… Just—”
Minho pulls his fingers out, leaving Jisung clenching around nothing. He leans in and yanks Jisung’s shirt up, kissing along Jisung’s back. His lips brush between his shoulder blades before trailing upward—soft, deliberate. When he reaches the side of Jisung’s neck, he sucks at the skin, making sure it leaves a mark. Claiming.
Before he even fully realizes it, Minho is undressing. Then he flips Jisung over again, making him meet Minho’s burning gaze. Minho is so hot—Jisung has always thought that. He’s dreamed about this, dreamed about him. He just never thought it would actually happen.
“I’m clean. Are you?” Minho asks.
Jisung can only let out a small “yes.” It’s barely even a word—almost just a breath.
“Condoms?” Minho asks, and Jisung immediately shakes his head, hard, making Minho chuckle.
He feels the tip of Minho’s cock brush against his rim—wet and big. He hasn’t seen it, too distracted by the man above him, admiring every inch, but he can feel how big Minho is as he slowly pushes forward.
“God, Jisung, relax for me,” Minho breathes, and Jisung tries his best to comply. He lies there, taking whatever Minho gives him.
“T-Too much…” He nudges Minho’s shoulder. “Too big. Min—”
He chokes on his own spit, sobbing and whimpering.
Minho leans in and kisses him, licking his lips. His fingers run through Jisung’s hair, rubbing his scalp as he kisses him sweetly—distracting him from the overwhelming stretch.
“No, you can take it,” Minho murmurs between kisses. “You can take it for me, princess.”
And Jisung lies there, doing his best to relax and take it. It’s been months since he last hooked up—or even put anything inside his ass—so it hits him all at once, overwhelming and intense.
“Good… just like that. You’re so pretty.” Minho smiles as he continues pushing in, slow and steady.
Jisung didn’t know praise would affect him this much. Or maybe it’s just because it’s Minho saying it.
When Minho finally bottoms out, all Jisung can feel is Minho—how he stretches him, how big he is. It’s so hot inside him.
When Minho starts rocking his hips back and forth, Jisung tries his best not to cum immediately, even though he’s been on the edge ever since Minho palmed him.
“Jisung, you don’t know what you do to me,” Minho growls, holding his thigh as he picks up the pace, angling his thrusts to hit Jisung’s prostate.
Jisung can’t say anything besides moan, whine, and sob, his nails digging into Minho’s shoulders.
“The moment I saw you that day at the fan meeting, I knew you’d be a problem for me,” Minho says, speaking between kisses along Jisung’s neck.
“W-What?” Jisung can’t stop shaking. He feels like he’s floating.
“I tried to act normal when I talked to you at the fan meeting.” Minho pauses only long enough to breathe, but his pace turns brutal, drilling into him. He leans back to look at the mess he’s made of Jisung.
“You looked so pretty, standing there all clueless—your eyes, Jisung, your eyes.” He brushes his thumb over Jisung’s closed eyelid. “It was like you were begging me to ruin you.”
Minho pulls his hand away from Jisung’s face and drags it down his side, nails grazing just enough to sting, before gripping his waist.
“You’re so beautiful. So pretty. You distract me. I had to ignore you on the first day because being near you—God, it distracted the shit out of me. I couldn’t work, Jisung.”
He keeps thrusting at a harsh pace, his grip on Jisung’s waist tight enough to bruise.
“I planned on finally being normal to you on the second day,” he growls. He steals more moans from Jisung, who is barely even listening at this point. “But damn, Jisung, you’re so impatient you had to fucking annoy me at the worst time. You kept barging in on my stream.” Minho’s voice is breathy, like he’s on the edge because of Jisung.
“I’m gonn—”
“Hold it,” Minho hisses, and Jisung finds it so hot that he tries to obey. “Only God knows how many times I wanted to lose it and bend you over my desk and force you to take it—”
Jisung cries out as he comes on his belly, archiving his back. He clenches around Minho so tightly it makes Minho groan. Jisung feels light and hazy, like he’s seeing stars.
But Minho doesn’t stop. Instead, he uses Jisung to finish, his hips snapping into a more brutal pace as he watches Jisung squirm beneath him. Minho loves watching him fall apart.
“You’re so pretty, Jisung. It makes me insane,” Minho says. Jisung can feel Minho’s hips stutter for a moment.
“Cum inside? Please?” Jisung manages to say, throat burning.
“Anything for you, princess.”
Jisung couldn’t be happier when he feels Minho throb inside him as he comes, filling him. His ears ring: he can’t hear anything except the faint sound of his own breathing. For a second, Jisung blacks out.
“Baby? Baby?” The voice is close and warm. Gentle taps land on his cheek. “Come back to me.”
“Oh…” is all Jisung can manage, breath still shaky, mind slow to reconnect with his body.
“I kind of lost you there.” Minho chuckles as he caresses Jisung’s cheek.
“F-fuck, I’m sorry, I—”
Minho shushes him with a soft kiss. “Don’t even.”
Then Jisung finally registers what happened.
He’s on his side, completely wrapped in Minho’s arms like Minho had pulled him close. A blanket covers both of them, his head resting in the crook of Minho’s neck, their legs tangled together.
He blinks and lets his gaze travel around the room. He can still feel the heat lingering in the air. It’s probably been no more than five minutes. Then the realization hits him, making him sit up abruptly, panic written all over his face. Minho looks up at him, confused.
He was fucked by Minho.
So… what now? Does he have to leave?
“Hyun—” Jisung tries, voice hoarse.
Minho seems to read his mind.
“Don’t leave. Sleep here,” Minho says softly.
“But I need to leave. My training period ends.” He whispers it, sounding so… so sad, like something painful. His shoulders weaken as he looks down. He doesn’t want to go—he never wants to—now that he and Minho have finally talked.
“We can leave tomorrow morning. Or whenever suits you,” Minho says calmly, lifting an arm and gently pulling Jisung back down, guiding him to lie against him again. Like where Jisung belongs.
“What? We?” Jisung asks, blinking.
“Yes. I’ll come with you when you pick up your stuff. We talked with Chan about your training period and that guy Felix keeps ogling. You’re officially R6’s trainees now.” He yawns, saying it so casually.
“Oh my g— how?” Jisung asks again, like he still can’t believe it.
“The whole team vouched for you two. You work so well together, and you’re the reason your team keeps winning scrims.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Jisung feels Minho’s arm circle his waist again, pulling him closer, holding him against his chest. “No need to go home,” Minho whispers in his ear.
“But— didn’t you hate me?” He heard everything Minho said, but… he needs to hear this again.
Minho pulls back just enough to look him dead in the eyes, as if everything said earlier should’ve been clear. “What? No, Jisung. I don’t hate you.” A soft laugh escapes him. “I’m literally about to ask you to be my boyfriend after I clean you up and feed you.”
He pauses, then mutters, “Even though I’m like… what? Five? Six years older than you.”
Jisung just keeps looking at him, like he can’t believe the words are coming out of Minho’s mouth. “Yes.”
Minho smiles—slow and warm. “Say that again when I ask you properly.”
He snakes his arm around Jisung’s back, pulling him even closer as if he doesn’t want any space between them. “For now, go take a nap while I clean you up and cook. I’ll wake you when it’s ready.”
And Jisung doesn’t even get the chance to react to the fact that Minho can cook, because Minho leans in and kisses him—slow, soft, and so gentle it lulls him toward sleep.
As much as he wants to talk more with Minho, his eyelids flutter shut, sinking into the warmth of Minho’s chest. It’s warm, and Jisung never wants to leave.
But that’s okay.
For the first time, it feels like time isn’t running out—like they have everything the world can offer.
⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆
.
.
.
“Oh, Minho hyung.” Jeongin starts, scribbling something on his tablet, pen tab in hand. Minho just looks at him, one eyebrow creeping up.
“You should really start admitting you want him.” Jeongin deadpans, like he’s diagnosing Minho as he presents his tablet with Denial written on it.
Seungmin doesn’t even look in their direction. “True, Jisungie looked so sad when he asked about you yesterday.” He says dramatically as he pats Chanbin’s thigh, as if signaling to say something. “My sweet, sweet baby… getting bullied by this grumpy cat.”
“Yeah.” Jeongin agrees immediately. “We are so tired of getting collateral damage every time you two breathe in the same room. The tension is suffocating me!”
“He’s only here for a few days, he keeps annoying you for a reason, keep up.” Seungmin says. “And yeah, I’m tired of watching whatever’s going on. Is that a foreplay or some shit?”
“We’re so sick of it!” Changbin finally chimes in. “You’re too old for this, come on.”
Minho turns to them slowly. “Too old? Aren’t you literally one year younger than me?”
Changbin just shrugs.
“Chan hyung is the one who’s actually old.” Minho adds, pointing a finger at Chan’s direction.
Chan just freezes mid sip. “I—What?” Looking betrayed. “The fuck am I getting dragged for? I didn’t even say anything?”
“See? Even grandpa is tired.” Jeongin snorts.
“You know what? I should really just disband this team. One day I’m actually doing it!”