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Minseok finds his knuckles curling against the hems of his jersey as they begin the post match interview.
It was such a lovely day outside too. The sky hung low with thick clouds, silver and heavy, the kind of weather that matched the violence of his emotions a little too perfectly. Somewhere in Vietnam, Minhyung is probably still smiling beneath bright stage lights after HLE’s win on KRX’s home front in Vietnam.
Minseok is proud of him.
Genuinely proud.
A clean 2–0 against them when they got too comfortable with their draft picks. He can already imagine the satisfied grin Minhyung worn afterward, the one that always appeared whenever he proved people wrong.
And Minseok hates how easily his thoughts drift back to him.
To the unspoken things between them. To all the silent constraints his heart keeps craving despite how violently his mind resists them.
Only God knows how sleepless his nights have been these past few months. Too many things happened too quickly, and Minseok keeps replaying all of it in his head like there is still something left to salvage if he rewinds hard enough.
But more than wanting to play beside Minhyung for the rest of his career, Minseok knows how impossible it is to promise permanence in a place built on contracts, performance, and people constantly leaving.
Of course Minseok plays lavishly.
A genius monster. A player capable of carrying three people at once and still making it look graceful. But somewhere amidst all that brilliance, amidst pouring every inch of himself into every match, there was also a quieter part of him that only wanted to become useful for his ADC. To bring out the best possible plays for his carry.
He never realized that maybe, somewhere along the way, he had started overshadowing Minhyung instead.
The cameras remain fixed on his face. The interviewers continue asking their questions, lines Minseok has long memorized through years of PR training and self restraint. He carved those lessons into himself early on.
Never burden the organization.
Never become difficult to manage.
Never let emotions cost the team more than they already have.
His thumb nail digs into his skin. The familiar urge to bite at his fingers crawls beneath him like an itch trapped under bone, but he forces himself to stop midway.
“How are you preparing to face the stronger teams in the top three for the road to MSI?”
“We’ll continue training and do our best,” he recites automatically, voice smooth enough to fool everyone watching. “I still believe I have the capacity to improve my gameplay. I also believe I can synergize well with Peyz and give him the best environment for his playstyle.”
Perfect answer.
Clean answer.
An answer that sounds nothing like the mess currently clawing through his ribs.
Finally, the interview ends.
Manager Kim pats his shoulder lightly while ushering him back toward the locker room.
“You did well today.”
“Mm.” he nods, following the crowd closely.
Minseok blinks twice as they walk, trying to force the regret crawling inside him back into its cage. The others are still outside doing interviews and fan meets by the time he returns.
The room feels painfully quiet without the usual noise.
Minseok collapses onto the couch and finally unlocks his phone properly, scrolling through the messages he missed during the game.
He and Minhyung have been talking again for the past few weeks, and Minseok cannot even begin to explain how much lighter his chest feels because of it.
Minhyung’s departure was never a topic they discussed openly. Not with Hyeonjoon. Not with Junie. Everyone knew it was the kind of subject capable of ruining Minseok’s gameplay for an entire day.
Minseok had always been the team’s most consistent player, but they all knew the difference between when he was truly playing and when he was simply functioning on autopilot.
Sanghyeok hyung’s words still echo inside his head.
“You can never control the people around you,” he told him once.
It was the first day of scrims after Minhyung left and Suhwan started playing with them. Minseok had played terribly that day. Distracted. Detached. Somewhere else entirely.
“But you can control how you react,” Sanghyeok continued quietly while reviewing the VODs beside him. “You can’t let someone else’s decisions dictate your entire life from this point onward, Minseokie. It’s okay to grieve the loss, but don’t make everyone else suffer with you.”
Minseok understood it.
Understood that he had become dead weight for the team.
But no matter how badly he wanted to get over losing Minhyung, he simply could not. Not during that first week.
Out of everyone in the room, the feeling of being carried clawed at him the hardest.
And now the feeling is back again.
Back again the moment he started talking to Minhyung.
He remembers the message he sent the day Minhyung left headquarters. A pathetic attempt at gripping melted ice with bare hands. The decision had already been finalized. One desperate text message would never change anything.
Minseok never even read Minhyung’s reply properly at first. He genuinely could not bear to.
It felt humiliating.
Like his life had slipped out from between his fingers, and despite how neither of them ever put their feelings into words, Minseok realized then that whatever this was between them would never have the chance to bloom into anything else. They would only continue drifting farther and farther apart from here.
Still, his eyes drift back toward his phone now.
Toward the stupid pictures Minhyung sent earlier.
A mango.
A bowl of pho.
A Vietnamese nón lá balanced crookedly over his knees.
Minseok laughs quietly under his breath despite himself.
His mind drifts back to the Vietnam roadshow last December, back when he had been desperately trying to cut Minhyung out of his system entirely.
Glad you’re having fun. Take care, Minhyungie. Win your match :)
That was all he sent back.
Because even now, they still never talk about anything deeper than whatever is currently happening in their lives.
Minseok scrolls through the album on his phone, wanting to send something in return. Something that says I thought of you today without sounding pathetic about it.
The past few weeks have been consumed by endless shoots and schedules. His new agency feels like a storm dragging his already frayed mind through the current, and God, he is thankful for the distraction.
He scrolls carefully through his gallery, contemplating which picture whispers instead of begs. Which one quietly admits that he still wants Minhyung woven into the ordinary parts of his day.
Eventually, he settles on a photo of a single clover he found during his walk to LoL Park.
Four leaf clovers are lucky, so you should win today.
Minhyung replies almost instantly.
Minseok wonders if the game has even started yet.
The reply itself is simple, but the nickname alone is enough to remind him that his heart still exists inside his chest.
Thank you, Minseokie.
—
Following today’s win against DK, Minseok knows he should feel happy.
He gave enough feedback during post match analysis. His interview answers were flawless in the same rehearsed way they always are. He laughed loudly enough during the fan meet. Smiled brightly enough for the cameras.
Surely no one notices the turmoil swallowing him whole every single day.
Surely no one notices how often he blinks just to anchor himself back into the present. Or how many times he pinches his thumb to stop his hands from trembling with anxiety.
After the match, Minseok decides to stay at his condo instead of returning with the others. Being alone feels safer when his mind refuses to stop spiraling over things he cannot control.
He logs into one of his alternate accounts and queues ranked games mindlessly, hoping exhaustion will eventually knock him unconscious.
He stopped checking social media after matches a long time ago. Especially after Minhyung’s matches.
Too many posts pairing him with other teammates now.
A place Minseok once thought belonged only to him.
A place he had taken for granted every single time he shoved Minhyung away for the sake of team image, professionalism, cultural sensitivity, or whatever excuse he hid behind whenever Minhyung crossed the line too affectionately in public.
Fuck.
He misses it so much that it physically hurts.
By the time he reaches his third loss streak, Minseok finally unlocks his phone again.
Just one look would not hurt.
Minhyung’s last message greets him immediately.
Thank you, Minseokie.
His finger lingers over the screen for far too long before the typing bubble suddenly appears.
Minseokie, we won :)
That is all Minhyung sends.
Minseok stares at the message for several seconds before replying.
Why wouldn’t you? You’re the best hehe.
Casual. Easy. Detached.
If only he could rehearse his personal life the same way he rehearses interviews, maybe things would have been easier.
But the maybes begin again, dragging guilt down his throat until it forms a suffocating lump beneath his tongue.
Minseok exits the chat and opens X instead. Exactly as he feared, his timeline floods instantly with photos and clips of Minhyung beside his new teammates. Laughing with them. Leaning into them. Existing comfortably in spaces Minseok once occupied without appreciating enough.
Another clip from Minhyung’s stream appears from a verified fan account, and Minseok lets out a weak laugh to himself.
“These distractions are gonna kill me one day,” he mutters into the empty room.
He queues another game anyway.
—
The day creeped in like a disturbed storm against Minseok’s face. He forgot that the window allowed streaks of sunlight to shine uninvited against his eyes every noon, cruel and blinding after another sleepless night.
He checks his phone.
No notifications from Minhyung.
He’s busy. He’s in another country, he tells himself.
He doesn’t need you, another part of him immediately shouts back.
The Monday afternoon wasn’t as eventful as Minseok desperately wanted it to be. He badly needed a photoshoot or a scrim today. Even a twenty-four-hour interview schedule would have been a welcome sight for him at this point. His brain needed constant intervention just to stop itself from sinking deeper into the pity that had been slowly feeding off its edges these past few weeks.
Eventually, he gave up trying to find things to do. His body was not up for a run nor a gym session. He ignored every glaring red flag in his head and reached for his phone instead.
At first, it was harmless.
Highlights from yesterday’s matches flooded his screen. Clips of his plays. Discussions praising how much better he synergized with the team now.
For a brief moment, Minseok actually felt proud. All those sleepless nights were finally paying off and hopefully would give them more chances to play better into the year.
Then, as if his phone had suddenly become cursed, Minhyung’s face flooded everywhere.
And worse, his other teammates were being paired with him in every single post.
Minseok did not want to overthink any of it. Hell, Minhyung never belonged to him in the first place. He constantly had to remind himself that they never talked about anything beyond work, beyond scrims and teasing banters dragged too far into late nights.
But the way Minhyung stares at him on those weary nights?
God, the stares.
He could feel his heart whispering again.
The stares meant something.
Minseok pressed his lips together as he scrolled past another video of Minhyung laughing beside someone else.
The stares meant nothing if the words were never said, he whispered stubbornly back to himself.
On his last attempt at proving that this was nothing once and for all, Minseok opened their chatbox and sent a final text to Minhyung.
Can we meet?
—
“Ryu Minseok, you have absolutely thrashed it.”
Minseok muttered the words quietly to himself as he killed the enemy ADC for the fifteenth time.
It didn’t help that the enemy was using Minhyung’s Varus skin against his Pyke, but Minseok genuinely could not bring himself to care anymore.
He was tired.
Tired of sleepless nights. Tired of tears that refused to fall no matter how badly his chest begged for release. Instead, the regrets crawled out of him in uglier ways now. Through gnawed fingernails. Hollow eyes. Longing glances at a phone screen that kept disappointing him.
When he looked into the mirror these days, it wasn’t Keria he saw.
He saw seventeen-year-old Ryu Minseok instead. Too arrogant for his own good and too terrified of being useless, terrified that people would eventually leave him behind to fend for himself.
The nexus finally exploded into victory and he sighed in relief as the clock struck 9 PM.
They somehow managed to agree to meet by 10. Minhyung’s plane would arrive forty-five minutes earlier than that.
The latter asked why he suddenly wanted to meet and where he should go. And Minseok, already exhausted from dealing with his own thoughts, almost wished he could just forget about the meeting entirely and pretend he was okay again.
But fuck.
The thought of seeing Minhyung alone thrilled him in a way he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. It satisfied something deep and ugly inside his chest.
Maybe it was the comfort Minhyung’s presence always brought him. Maybe Minseok was simply insecure at the thought of being replaceable. Of being useless.
He welcomed the thought bitterly. Maybe accepting that would be better than hollowly performing through every day pretending to be fine. Maybe knowing Minhyung abandoned him because he was no longer useful would hurt less than believing Minhyung might have felt the same turmoil all along.
Maybe facing everything tonight was the key to finally getting better.
Everything sounded logical inside Minseok’s head.
Everything crumbled the moment he heard the first knock.
Then the second.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
He looked down and realized his knuckles were already bloodied from biting his nails too much. There wasn’t enough time to properly clean them before Minhyung’s impatient knocking started growing louder outside the door.
Minseok opened it.
“Hi,” he muttered weakly, finally seeing Minhyung in front of him after five months.
Minhyung smiled immediately.
“You’re alone?” he laughed softly. “For a second I genuinely thought Junie was going to gank me for real.”
“Well… not really.”
Minseok awkwardly left the door half closed between them before finally realizing what he was doing and stepping aside quickly.
“Yeah. Come in.”
“Minseokie, you’re scaring me,” Minhyung chuckled as he stepped inside, towering over the narrow space of Minseok’s condo so familiarly that it made Minseok’s stomach twist.
The room looked painfully like Minseok.
Everything was functional. Efficient. There wasn’t a single desk or lamp without actual use. Even the spaces were aligned carefully to maximize whatever Minseok needed for daily life. Two PC setups still remained near the wall, the same ones they used for scrims before.
Minhyung had been here hundreds of times.
“Minhyung, you could literally manhandle me in one go if you really wanted to. What exactly are you scared about?” Minseok scoffed weakly.
Minhyung snorted, visibly trying to hide his amusement now.
“I never really thought you’d invite me here again.” He moved toward the sofa while Minseok grabbed two bottles of water. “Water? Really?”
“Yeah, I’m watching my figure.” He shrugged.
“That has never stopped you before.”
Minseok rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his mouth for a second.
Then silence settled again.
He dropped onto the seat across from Minhyung, his bare knuckles clutching painfully at the hem of his shirt as his thoughts stumbled over each other trying to form something coherent enough to say without sounding desperate.
Desperate for what, Minseok?
“Minseokie…”
“Minhyung…”
For the first time that night, their eyes properly met.
Not the glassy indifference Minseok always wore whenever he wanted to hide himself. Not the detached expression he perfected so Minhyung wouldn’t be able to read his thoughts too clearly.
This gaze was raw. Honest. Unapologetic.
“I’m sorry.”
Minhyung’s expression softened almost immediately.
“What are you sorry for?”
His voice was attentive, gentle in a way that somehow hurt more because it wasn’t overly affectionate. This was the Minhyung he met on the Rift. The player from HLE. Calm. Steady.
And maybe this was who Minhyung truly was all along.
“Some part of me thinks it’s my fault that you left…”
“Why?”
“Because…”
Minseok trailed off, his voice cracking embarrassingly fast as the calmness in Minhyung’s tone slowly dismantled all the confidence he forced himself to build before tonight.
He hated every second of this.
Hated how vulnerable this interaction made him feel. Hated how tightly his stomach twisted until every syllable became harder to force out.
But even he couldn’t decipher what exactly he was apologizing for.
I’m sorry I couldn’t stand up for you against the organization.
I’m sorry I chose my career.
I’m sorry I stayed quiet.
I’m sorry…
But none of those apologies would have changed Minhyung’s decision.
Minseok knew that.
So what was he really sorry for?
“I’m sorry that we can’t play together anymore.”
His bottom lip trembled violently and tears immediately welled in his eyes. And for the first time tonight, the Minhyung that sat beside him through losing streaks and terrible scrim days returned.
“And I’m sorry that I have all these feelings for you,” Minseok choked out. “I called you here just to become… this.”
The words collapsed out of him ugly and unfinished. Suddenly he couldn’t even look at Minhyung anymore because every wall he built around himself beneath years of forced normalcy was finally cracking open.
“Minseokie…”
Minhyung started softly, but Minseok was already staring at the floor while his breathing turned uneven. The sobs came before he could stop them.
“What do I do?” Minseok whispered shakily, eyes glued to the floor. “I tried to be as normal as possible. I didn’t contact you for months. Months. And I hoped it would just disappear eventually, but it won’t. It really won’t.”
His fingers curled tighter into his sleeves.
“And somehow I convinced myself that if you rejected me properly tonight, then maybe I could stop thinking about hundreds of different maybes all the time.”
“Reject what?”
Minseok could feel Minhyung moving closer beside him. He immediately pulled the sleeves of his sweater against his eyes.
“Do I really need to spell it out for you?”
Minhyung sighed quietly beside him.
Minseok had practically folded into himself now while Minhyung slowly patted his back in careful circles.
“What can we even do about it, Minseokie?” Minhyung murmured softly. “We wouldn’t survive it, you know. You and I are both too…”
Minseok finally forced himself to look up. His nose and eyes were painfully red from rubbing them too much. He noticed Minhyung’s slight frown lingering over his ruined fingernails.
“What?”
Minhyung exhaled slowly.
And suddenly Minseok understood the misunderstanding settling between them.
Minhyung probably thought this was all because of the fake flirting they did for years. The teasing. The banters dragged too far. He probably thought Minseok became delusional over affection that was never meant seriously.
The realization made him feel pathetic.
Still, despite everything, Minhyung’s closeness felt unbearably comforting. Like his body remembered him too well.
And Minseok hated himself for how desperately he craved that comfort right now.
Maybe Minhyung would never look at him properly again after tonight.
Maybe that was exactly what he wanted. To make things so irreparable that he could finally stop wondering what if.
“Minseokie…”
Instead, Minhyung leaned down slowly, whispered something soft about regretting it, and pressed a kiss just beneath the mole under Minseok’s eye.
Minseok froze instantly.
His eyes closed on instinct, suddenly hyperaware of everything around him. The smell of musk lingering on Minhyung’s sweater. The warmth beside him. The soft brush of breath against his skin.
“What are you thinking crying like that?” Minhyung whispered.
For a moment, the realization crashed into Minseok all at once.
This was not what he wanted.
He wanted Minhyung to reject him. To look disgusted. To make this easier somehow.
Instead, the weight of that tiny kiss felt heavier than every unspoken word he had carried these past five months.
Minseok remained curled into himself on the sofa while Minhyung gently rubbed circles against his back. Eventually, Minhyung carefully shifted him until he could rest more comfortably against his lap, slowly rocking him without another word.
The awkward silence filling the room turned into something softer. Stranger.
The fight Minseok came prepared for slowly dissolved into a peace he didn’t know if he wanted.
“What am I gonna do, Minhyung?” he finally whispered, voice wrecked from crying.
“First,” Minhyung murmured playfully against his hair, “start calling me Minhyungie again.”
The teasing tone felt painfully unfair after everything that just happened.
Minseok let out a watery laugh.
“I hate you.”
Minhyung smiled softly against him.
“I love you too, Minseokie.”