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Sat behind the monitor in front of hundreds of people, Chovy, defending MSI champion, was unperturbed. Jeong Jihoon, however, was not. Underneath the bright heated lights and multitude of cameras, he feels the weighted stare of one man.
The same man who was mere feet away from him, who was seated behind his own monitor and watched by the same hundreds of people. The same people who couldn’t wait to go to war in their name.
There were certain moments in his life where Jihoon wished that he could glance over without consequences. Where he could lock eyes with the most important person in his life and not have his expression be torn apart to fit a narrative.
This, was one of those moments.
The road he took to get here, it was one that he would walk over and over again, because it led him to this. To him. But if there was one part of his life that he missed, it was the ability to express himself.
He’s not the same player he was all those years ago with a snaggletooth and a too lanky body. The smiles he had given the world freely were torn from his hands by improper management and the constant failures. Now, he’s a four-time LCK champion a gold medalist, and an MSI champion. His voice doesn’t perk up like it used to, his smiles are far and few, the only people he seems to speak to these days are his teammates. But still, there’s only one constant that keeps him going.
And it’s playing with Faker.
Faker-seonsu, he calls him on camera, in interviews, but at home or in the comfort of their hotel rooms, he’s Sanghyeok.
His Sanghyeok who he’s been playing against for eight years, who he’s known intimately for even less. The thrill never dissipates, nor do the constant mind-games when they go out to lane. There are times where he wants to break out in a smile at finally getting the upper hand or even singing the other midlaner’s praises when being outsmarted, but those feelings quickly get squashed down. The urge to win always coming out on top.
And win they did.
T1’s nexus finally explodes and there’s an insane rush of relief and pride that overcomes him. He’s done it again. And still, as he engulfs his teammates in a celebratory huddle, a smile wide across his lips, his heart feels like it is bleeding.
He can’t quite bring himself to lock eyes with Sanghyeok, giving him the customary fist bump that has been the bane of his existence as the crowd roars. It’s the only bit of contact he’ll ever receive on a stage like this. And he’s forgotten when that stopped being enough.
The weight of his stare burns as he waves out to the crowd.
--
He doesn’t leave the venue for another two hours. It’s been a long day, after going to five sets and giving it his all, he is left behind to participate in interviews. To smile for the camera and lift the trophy all while feeling like a piece of his heart is broken.
It’s a feeling that will never be repaired, only alleviated. He knows it’s the same for Sanghyeok, that the guilt will always persist when either of them face each other. It’s the downside of playing against each other. There could only be one winner and after being rivals for so long, Jihoon doesn’t know how to approach Sanghyeok when it comes to tournaments like this. If his presence would even be appreciated seeing as he was the ever-constant reminder of his shortcomings.
The plastered smile slips from his face the moment he climbs into the car. His shoulders instantly slump forward, his eyes becoming heavier, but there’s one thing he still has to do to determine the outcome of his night. His screen lights up with a message and just like that, Jihoon’s mood improves.
Sanghyeokie
when are you coming back?
just left the venue
Sanghyeokie
you did good today
you did too
Sanghyeokie
I thought we didn’t lie to each other?
??
but I’m not lying
you played well today hyung
He doesn’t reply back instantly.
And it’s in these moments that Jihoon wished he were more adept at reading Sanghyeok outside of the game. There was so much he didn’t quite understand about Sanghyeok and with this thing between them so new, it was hard to believe that he wasn’t failing at every turn. That sheer fact that he could return home to Faker of all people, was one he still had trouble accepting even on his happiest days.
He’s an e-sports athlete after all. He has more chemistry with a computer screen than any living being. How he managed to convince Sanghyeok to go out on one date with him is still a mystery. And Jihoon is not about to lose after he has just won.
hyung?
Sanghyeokie
I’m sorry
Jihoon frowned, his fingers instantly moving across the keyboard.
why are you sorry?
Sanghyeokie
Can we talk when you get here?
of course
I love you
Sanghyeokie
I love you too.
--
The rest of the car ride is spent in tense consideration. It was like he was back in the stadium, debating whether to give up a drake in order to push topside. The thing is, Sanghyeok didn’t exactly give off the impression that he was upset, but he also got the impression that he wasn’t happy either.
Aish—to hell with it all.
Sanghyeok said they’d talk, there was no point in trying to think himself into a corner. If he continued to do this, he might as well kiss his night goodbye.
And so, as he walked into the lobby of the hotel and the elevators shut in front of him, all he focused on was finally sinking into Sanghyeok’s touch and never breaking free from it.
The nondescript hallway was empty. No more fans screaming his praises, just pure silence as he became insignificant to the rest of the world. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his uniform, as he walked down the hall, coming to a stop in front of one particular door.
The keycard in his pocket suddenly felt like a weight.
He laughed bitterly to himself. Since when were you afraid of Sanghyeok-hyung?
Before he could lose his nerve, he pressed the keycard against the keypad, watching as it shifted from red to green. The door handle was cold underneath his hand, but he pushed it open to find the room dark all except for one source of light beside the bed.
The door clicked shut behind him and finally, for the first time in hours, they were alone. No managers running around. No more cameramen lingering over their shoulders. It was everything he had been looking forward to. But still, Jihoon couldn’t help but linger in the small alcove, even as he slipped out of his shoes.
The sudden length of the day suddenly came crashing down, the quietness of the room unnerving him. A part of him wanted to delay the inevitable. Their talks after heartbreaking losses still haven’t become comfortable to have, no matter how comforted they were at the end of it. It likely never will until either of them retired from the scene.
With a deep breath, Jihoon shuffled forward, leaving the safety of the alcove. It was behind the wall that he found Sanghyeok sat on the edge of the bed, an oversized white t-shirt slipping off his shoulder—one that suspiciously looks like Jihoon’s—eyes free of his spectacles and staring blankly ahead at the wall in front of him, hands twisted in his lap. He looked up when he heard Jihoon’s approach, a small smile already creeping up onto his lips.
And this may be sappy, but it was like he was falling in love all over again.
There was no denying that Lee Sanghyeok was handsome, but Jihoon has always found him beautiful. With heart-shaped lips and porcelain skin, he could pass off as one of the many idols in their country when he managed to put in the effort. But he’s never been short of show-stopping whenever Jihoon caught a glance.
“Welcome back,” he said in that calm voice of his.
Jihoon finds himself smiling once again, but this time, it is more genuine, private, less strained at the corners. The kind of smile that was specially reserved for those closest to your heart.
He finds himself framing Sanghyeok’s face with his hands, thumb sweeping over the curve of his cheek. Delicate like a doll, but as strong as an elephant, his Sanghyeok. He smelled faintly of the hotel soap; the strands of his hair still damp.
Jihoon leaned down, capturing those rosy lips with his own. It only lasted for a couple of seconds, but it was everything Jihoon had been wanting since the last game ended. The stability, the warmth that only Sanghyeok could provide.
“How do you feel?” he murmured softly, stroking the skin by his mouth.
Jihoon didn’t really expect a response, not with the games still fresh on their minds. The heartbreak and triumph still lingering in the air. Sanghyeok’s sad smile was an answer in of itself.
“We can talk after you take a shower.” Sanghyeok crinkled his nose, pushing Jihoon gently. “You stink.”
Jihoon’s lips pulled into a pout. “You’re mean.”
“Get used to it. No special treatment. Not even for the MVP.”
Sanghyeok’s voice was light, but there was a melancholic quality he failed to mask. It likely would’ve gone unnoticed if Jihoon hadn’t been listening out for it. But still, he forced himself away, to pull out a t-shirt and pair of pajama bottoms from his suitcase.
He flicked on the light to the bathroom and as he begins to strip himself free of his uniform, he spares a glance towards the mirror. Jihoon sees a man who has just won another international tournament against his greatest rival and immediately tears his eyes away from the sight. Too many people have seen that image—will continue to see it, but he doesn’t want that here.
In this hotel room, he’s just Jihoon.
That’s all he wants to be right now.
Jihoon lets the hot water wash over him, to wash away his worries and hopefully, his anxiety. But he knows, deep down, that it will not go away until they talk. And perhaps, he wasn’t the only one afraid. That thought remained at the forefront of his mind as he stepped out of the shower.
He quickly toweled himself off, going through the motions of dressing himself and drying his hair off to the best of his ability. Jihoon stepped out the bathroom only to find Sanghyeok in the same position as he had left him. And his earlier unease begins to settle in his bones.
He approaches the foot of the bed slowly, the mattress dipping under his knee and despite being free to do so, Jihoon didn’t touch Sanghyeok right away. Instead, he settled just behind him, a calm presence.
“You can’t turn your brain off?”
It takes Sanghyeok a few seconds to respond and his voice is so low that Jihoon has to lean in to hear him clearly. “Every mistake I made today keeps replaying in my mind. You should’ve seen their faces Jihoon-ah. They were so hopeful, they were ready. I felt it.”
Jihoon’s hands clenched and unclenched, coming at a loss for words. Because he knew exactly what he was talking about. He still can’t quite escape the look on Suhwan’s face when they lost at Worlds, the disappointment on Siwoo’s…
“We win and lose as a team, hyung.” Sanghyeok sucked in a sharp breath. “You told me that last year. We can only give our best and sometimes our best isn’t good enough.”
Sanghyeok turns and it takes Jihoon an embarrassingly second too long to realize that the older man’s eyes are rimmed red. His voice is unnaturally fragile, and the mere sound of it makes Jihoon’s heart hurt. “The thing is, I wasn’t even playing for myself. I was playing for them.”
It was so… Sanghyeok. Never one to take credit for a win, but always willing to shoulder the entire weight of a loss in order to protect those he cared about. Always striving to find a way to be better instead of remaining stagnant. Ever reliable and never afraid to go to hell and back.
Jihoon pulls him into his embrace, keeping his own tears at bay in order to provide stable support. His heart was heavy, but not in the same way Sanghyeok’s was. He had won after all; he had defied the odds when the narrative had said so otherwise. No, he was dejected because he knew the cause of Sanghyeok’s sadness. And he didn’t know what to do to remedy it.
Is this what you felt like last year Sanghyeokie?
He was helpless. The only thing he could do was run a comforting hand down his back, to remain still and allow Sanghyeok to cry to his heart’s content. His conscience may have been relieved of its guilt, but the lingering sadness will continue just a bit longer.
“Will it ever stop hurting?” he whispered, not quite sure he wanted the answer.
Sanghyeok lifted his head, lips trembling in an attempt at a smile. “When it comes to those you care about? No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry Jihoonie?” Sanghyeok pulled away from him, wiping his tears on the back of his hand. “I’m not angry at you for winning. I'm angry at myself.”
“Hyung, you may have been doing this far longer than I have, but that doesn’t make you any less human.”
Sanghyeok just stared at him. Imploring—blank the same kind of stare that strikes fear in the entire region of China. But Jihoon was not like most. He’s been on the other side of that stare since the beginning of his career. It has since lost its intended effect.
“I’m their captain, Jihoonie. I can’t—”
“I stopped thinking you were invincible a long time ago, hyung. They have too.” He cut him off resolutely. “You don’t need to shoulder the whole weight of the world on your shoulders.”
He feels something wet slip down his cheek, but Jihoon doesn’t pay it any attention. Not when Sanghyeok is in front of him and looking ready to put up another fight. He needed Sanghyeok to know that he didn’t need to shoulder this burden alone. While Jihoon may feel guilty every time he wins, he knows this feeling will eventually fade over time as they continue to grow with each other.
“You’re always there for others,” his touch was feather light as he traced his fingers down his cheek. “Let me be there for you.”
Sanghyeok doesn’t say anything for a while. The wonder sparkling in his eyes already conveying everything he was thinking. If that wasn’t enough, then that red tinting the tips of his ears was a dead giveaway.
Finally, he ducks his chin in an attempt to hide his face from Jihoon’s scrutinizing gaze, but it was already too late. Somehow, even after crying, Sanghyeok happens to be the most ethereal being alive for how he managed to remain so pretty.
“You did really well today, Jihoon-ah.” He managed to say through his sniffles.
“Thank you,” lips perking up into a small smile. “I meant what I said earlier. You played well. Don’t you dare try to argue with me Sanghyeok. If you didn’t play well, we wouldn’t have reached silver scrapes. Again.”
“That’s only applicable to the first time we faced each other.”
“Which one of us played Orianna again?”
Sanghyeok pushed at Jihoon’s shoulder, attempting to dislodge himself from his grasp. “Aish—you’re embarrassing.”
Jihoon just gazed at him with fond amusement. This was the most respected figure in the e-sports scene, and he was mortified by a compliment of all things. A compliment from his supposed rival.
When he grew tired of Sanghyeok’s half-hearted pummeling, all Jihoon had to do was wrestle him down to the bed and press him flat against the mattress.
Sanghyeok’s flush bled into his cheeks, chest heaving with his effort. His gaze flickered down to his lips, parted and oh-so inviting. The mood instantly shifted from playful to something darker.
“Hyung,” he murmured, lips just inches away. “Have I told you how happy I am that you’re here?”
Sanghyeok leaned up, stealing a kiss from Jihoon so fast that he had no time to react. His gaze was soft at first glance, but something crept at the corners—coy, almost reverent. “I’m glad you’re here too, Jihoonie.”
His mouth quirked to the side, caught in a half-smile. “It’ll take a lot more to get rid of me, hyung.”
“Good,” he said, pulling Jihoon down to the bed with him. He pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Because I’m going to win next time.”
Jihoon momentarily lets go of Sanghyeok to gather the blankets around them. Once he does so, he reaches out to press himself against Sanghyeok, their bodies naturally slotting together. “What makes you so sure?”
Sanghyeok’s smile turned devious and from this position, curled against Jihoon, he looked like a cat poised to strike. “Now why would I tell you?”
All Jihoon could do was laugh, lips quirking to the side. “Then I look forward to meeting you once again.”
“Of course you will.” The matter-of-fact tone made Jihoon choke on his spit. “No one else likes to.”
Jihoon pursed his lips. “Go to sleep, hyung.”
If there was one upside to all of this, it was that they’d be leaving at the same time and going to the same place in just a couple of days. He didn’t have to worry about which one of them would be returning home by themselves, nursing a heartbreak that cannot be healed on its own. They were allowed to have this night and so many others because, whether they liked it or not, they were a perfect match in every sense.
And as they slipped under night’s embrace, Jihoon couldn’t wait until they faced each other once more. There may be heartbreak and triumph, but he wouldn’t have it any other way because at the end of that road, he is still the only person who can look into the sun and see it for the star that it is.