Chapter Text
Jealousy isn’t cute. Minseok kind of hates it, the way his brain overrides his better judgment, which reasonably demands him leave this room instead of staring at two people having a normal conversation he’s not a part of. Of course, he’s criticizing the same genius brain that got him on this spot, two time world champion, gold medalist. He really had some nerve.
“Hyunjoonie said I should let you know you’re glaring,” Hyunjoon-hyung told Minseok, casual enough it takes him a moment to register he’s being teased.
He blinks slowly. Then turns to glare at Doran.
His hyung smiles, tongue darting out his lips to find the straw of his Boba tea cup. The sight is so infuriatingly smug that Minseok’s fingers twitch with the petty urge to knock his drink to the floor, like a cat. He takes a deep breath, shaking with the effort to push the thought out of his body before he makes any more embarrassingly bad decisions.
Even as he stops glaring, there’s something murderous in his eyes. “Hyunjoon needs to mind his business,” Minseok replies, deceptively docile, his brittle smile as unconvincing as his voice.
Doran shrugs, looking behind Minseok’s back. “Who is Minhyungie talking to?”
“I’m not sure,” Minseok mutters, the words slipping into a petulant whine. He looks back at them, the girl is Minseok’s height, so Minhyung is leaning down as they talk. Even from a distance, it’s easy to tell his attention is entirely on her. And she’s lapping it up, talking with her hands, overly excited. Minseok wants her to choke on saliva if it helps this stop.
“Want me to go... investigate?” Hyunjoon offers, still too nice for his own good. Minseok never saw anyone last this long, everyone else would be trash talking after the first month. But that’s his problem, Minseok is a gremlin, he has no shame in taking advantage.
“Please, hyung,” he urges, giving Hyunjoon a none-too-gentle nudge towards the pair before turning on his heel and fleeing towards the dubious cover of a nearby couch.
Hyunjoon pauses, frowning at the empty space Minseok just occupied, then approaches Minhyung and the girl with a friendly slap to Minhyung’s back and a polite bow. Minseok watches, poorly hidden behind the cushions, phone clutched like a prop. A few words are exchanged. Minhyung’s head snaps up, scanning the room until his eyes lock onto Minseok’s pathetic hiding spot. Their conversation lasts a few more words, before Minhyung walks away, leaving Hyunjoon talking to the girl.
Minseok doesn’t run out of the room because that’d be undignified. And Minseok is all that he said at the beginning plus a million other achievements at only 23 years old, an adult nevertheless. So he walks at a slightly fast pace out of the room and only then, runs when he sneaks into the hallway.
It only earns him a minute of advantage before Minhyung is pinning him down the wall, crashing his chest against Minseok’s back possessively.
His lips are at Minseok’s nape quicker than Minseok can complain, and that’s so unfair because it’s not like Minseok will be able to think now.
“Do not run away from me,” Minhyung warns, his voice low and rough, the vibration resonating through Minseok’s entire body where they’re pressed together. An involuntary whine escapes Minseok’s lips, his body betraying him as he pushes back, seeking friction against Minhyung’s solid frame, cursing their unfair height difference.
“Say it,” Minhyung demands, his teeth grazing the skin beneath Minseok’s ear.
“Alpha,” Minseok gasps, the word torn from him, shameless in his desperation as he grinds back again.
Minhyung laughs. Minseok must be going insane to be bothered by such a soft sound. But for a moment all he can focus on is the menacing ring of it in his ear and the annoyance bringing a flush to his cheeks due to visceral humiliation. He thrashes, twisting in Minhyung’s grip until he can glare up at him, fury warring.
“Say it,” Minhyung insisted, the smug, satisfied grin stretching his lips. It’s the most infuriating thing Minseok has ever seen in his life.
“You’re not the boss of me, Minhyung-ssi,” Minseok spits out, intentionally cold and malicious, aiming to do as much damage as he is able to.
Minhyung steps back like Minseok just dropped cold water all over him.
So that’s where they are again, Minseok thinks, the familiar ache of their stalemate settling in his chest. Back to the beginning.
Minseok remembers things hazily, especially some details about his career. The very beginning is clearer somehow. Self-made challenger, being a trainee only waiting for his moment, joining DRX, those were days he spent a long time thinking. Reminiscing about back then is easier.
Then came Keria. The rise felt vertiginous, drunk on the highs of a meteoric ascent, always reaching for the next peak. But woven through that chaos was Minhyung. That always felt different. Safe. Precious. The clumsy private messages exchanged like hopeful kids, brimming with a confidence that seems like forethought now. Even on the brutal days at T1, when losses crack his foundation, Minseok never truly succumbed to despair. Because deep down, he knew: he was meant to challenge the game beside player Gumayusi. And on the days they hoisted the Summoner’s Cup, their smiles blinding under stadium lights, their names the only ones that mattered? That was validation.
Keria and Gumayusi. Gumayusi and Keria. Minseok cherishes their story. The synergy, the support, the triumphs and public heartbreaks. It’s a legend beyond the Rift, extraordinary as it transcends the game itself.
But Minseok and Minhyung… they were pieces in a much larger puzzle. And Minseok was still getting used to the incessant battle to try reconciling those two realities.
Scrims mirrored their stage games. Lately, that means Minseok learned to expect the frustrating gamble from the moment they’re welcomed into Summoner’s Rift by the announcer.
Through the bad odds, every once in a while it’s easy to forget he’s angry. Those moments they’re playing incredibly well together, when they barely talk, which Minseok justifies as said anger, but in reality they are just in one of these times Keria and Gumayusi can almost read each other’s minds.
They sweep the three blocks like nothing, earning praise from the coaches and their teammates, the team’s high mood gets them rowdy as they leave practice, thankfully not having to stream. Minseok is tired too, hence why he doesn’t notice the looks, and smirks.
It saves him from picking up a fight, so maybe it’s for the best.
When they’re dismissed, he holes up in his room, eating fried chicken and fruit jelly cups by himself while watching variety shows. Happy enough with the illusion of it as he laughs it out, catching up to current drama and idol releases.
It all amounts to nothing a handful of hours later, the sun is up in the sky and Minseok didn’t get a single wink of sleep.
He stumbles out of his room, his body moving on an instinct older than his pride, seeking the warmth of another to appease his traitorous mind. He pads silently down the hall, bypassing every door until he reaches the farthest one. He slips inside, looking around like a criminal before pushing himself under the duvet and his favorite hyung’s sleeping form. No one else has to know.
“Minxi?” Sanghyeok whispers, sniffing the air, bleary eyed as he tries to focus on the intruder’s face without his glasses and against the dark. Minseok nods at first, then presses their wrists together, mingling their scents.
Sanghyeok is tall for an omega, and Minseok small for a man, so it’s easy enough to make himself tiny, hide himself in the space of Sanghyeok’s open arms. The safety afforded to him by the random stream of events that led him to T1. The salary was very attractive, the championships convincing, but no one could put a price on being able to rely so comfortably on someone like Faker.
“Rest now, Minseokie,” Sanghyeok advises, gentle instead of demanding, and the younger didn’t have any doubts that he spoke out of care, not expectation. Faker wouldn’t begrudge Keria missing sleep and showing up tired for scrims or even a match, but his Sanghyeok-hyung would be worried Minseok had been struggling past the bedtime, incapable of giving himself the opportunity to rest.
Minseok loved feeling like a person first and a player second.
“Love you, hyung,” Minseok confesses, words muddled through a yawn, an escaping breath before he loses consciousness. Sanghyeok’s response flies over his head.
Minseok wakes up alone, and is immediately taken by a wistful sort of grief, before realizing he is in Sanghyeok’s bed and his hyung has physical therapy and can’t cuddle him all morning like he needs to soothe the aching melancholy of yearning for an entirely different person.
After only a few hours, Sanghyeok’s comforting scent clung to his skin, offering a brief moment of consolation
By the time he makes it to his own room, he’ll have to apply the standard-issue scent suppressant patch to his wrist. It was as much a part of his uniform as his jersey. But, even after all these years, if he gave it any thought, he’d be forced to acknowledge it served as a constant reminder of the parts of himself he had to restrain.
His shoulders slumped as sadness turns to anger towards other people (person), and Minseok walks out of Sanghyeok’s room ready to pick a fight.
The first person he finds is Hyunjoon-hyung, and Minseok freezes at first, trying to decide whether his impetus really extends to him, before accepting it doesn’t. That leaves him no choice but to admit he kind of hates that, since Wooje left, and got replaced by an alpha nonetheless, he was sadly outnumbered in gender. Plus he had one less person for his petty fights. The isolation feels aggravating suddenly.
“Hey,” Hyunjoon greets, his voice warm and oblivious to Minseok’s mood. He’s leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. “Did you talk to Minhyungie?”
Minseok shrugged. “Not really,” he groused coldly, hoping his disinterest would curb any questions.
“So, are you curious about what I got?” Hyunjoon offered casually, a mischievous glint in his eyes, like he knew Minseok was only pretending.
Minseok sighed, put-upon, but couldn’t resist the bait. “Who was she?”
“New person for the social media team,” Hyunjoon explains, his tone mild, almost helpful. “She’ll be around for content stuff.” He doesn’t drag it out, doesn’t twist the knife with unnecessary teasing. That’s the reason Hyunjoon-hyung ranked high in Minseok’s internal hierarchy, perceptive without being cruel, indulgent without making it painful.
“Hm,” Minseok grunts. It’s a rough, noncommittal sound scraped from his throat, he considers it acknowledgement enough.
“You should talk to him, Minseok-ah,” Hyunjoon advises gently, shifting gears. His gaze is steady, serious now.
Minseok gave him the side eye, defensive. “We talk plenty, won every lane in scrims yesterday,” the fabricated pride in his skill is the kind of flimsy shield he should feel embarrassed about.
Hyunjoon lets out a soft puff of air. Out of resignation, he reaches out, ruffling Minseok’s hair in a gesture that’s both affectionate and condescending. “Thanks for carrying me,” he commended, offering his dongsaeng a smile that spoke of his guilt. “Let’s see if I can return the favor today.” He pivots, already mentally shifting to the game.
“I could try roaming top more often?” Minseok suggested and Hyunjoon shakes his head, a noncommittal so-so gesture.
“That’s not where the meta really is,” he dissuades, casually accepting his place with his own brand of humility. “But maybe we could try something I could help bot, I wonder if we could play around…”
That’s the thing about this game, Minseok’s life and routine. It’s so easy to push back his feelings, their individualities and just focus on the grind. The glory always tastes so sweet, Minseok is addicted to it.
A couple hours later, the whole team is around for lunch before scrims. No squatters, Minseok is pleased to take notice.
Sanghyeok, with his tactical grace, claims the seat beside Minseok, effectively boxing him in between Hyunjoon-hyung and himself. Joining their conversation about lane assignment and picks seamlessly before anyone else can, but making it so when the other two teammates offer their insight, Minseok doesn’t have to really look at them, or give them an excuse to look at him either.
Due to how tense some situations can become, for now he’s thankful to wear suppressants just about all day every day. But no framework could shield him from the perception of Minhyung’s gaze, from an understanding that lived in the space between their words, and in the quiet that was only complete when they both held it.
Minseok doesn’t really know how they got where they are, this never ending fight. But his anger won’t subside, he feels there is nowhere for them to go.
He doesn’t finish eating before leaving the table, weak excuses out of his lips while he walks away without looking anyone in the eyes.
His ears ring too much to comprehend the heavy silence that follows, and the shared looks as his team tries to make sense of Minseok’s distance.
The next morning, Minseok wakes in his own bed, slick with sweat from a nightmare he can’t recall. He climbs out, propelled more by habit than any excitement for the day. He moves through his morning routine on autopilot, a rehearsed sequence designed to outrun any real thought. It’s easier this way, he figures. Discipline is a fortress inhabited by his sanity.
He runs out of the dorm building, three streets up and into their office, straight up the treadmill, all while loud music blasts in his headphones, successfully drowning out the noise in his head. This, too, is a ritual. He knows the playlist by heart, and it’s easier to sing along, to match his pace to the beat, than it is to think. He’s usually alone for a while if he gets there early enough, and on days he’s struggling, he is very careful about making sure of it. What did it say about him, that he needed all these protocols just to construct a facade of normalcy? That his entire routine was just an elaborate excuse to feel nothing at all?
It becomes an excuse for growing old. Wisely, the perfect day for Minseok is hitting every mark before he even sits down for solo queue. The diet, the exercise, the stretching, the texts to family and friends, the chapter of manhwa. The checklist is a map, and its rigid lines are the only thing that lets him safely navigate the blanks he refuses to fill in.
Then Minhyung takes one long, assessing look at him at the scrim room. He pointedly says nothing when Minseok sits down.
Minseok is reminded of the texts he hasn’t replied to, the conversations he blew off the previous day. He’s good at running away from things, but even when he’s hurt, he’s not good at fixing what is clearly wrong. There is no sense of normalcy behind a routine in which every essential task isn’t listed. There’s a huge lesson in knowing he has obligations beyond his plans.
Just like that, the illusion is broken.
“Hey,” Hyunjoon greeted them a long while later, slapping Minhyung on the shoulder before hopping up to sit on the table directly in front of Minseok.
Minseok gave a tight nod, turning his chair as Minhyung let his headphones rest around his neck.
“Hi, you okay?” Minseok found himself asking.
Hyunjoon looked at him funny, a smile plastered on his face that didn't match the curious gravity in his eyes. “Yeah, I’m good,” he said, his head tilting as he looked between the two of them.
“You’re early,” Minhyung commented.
“No more than you guys. Did you fall out of bed fighting or what?”
“Shut up,” Minseok demanded, at the exact same moment Minhyung said, “Hyunjoonie,” in warning.
A smirk played on Hyunjoon’s lips. “You’re so awkward.” He was enjoying this. Minseok could feel his cheeks heat and dropped his gaze to the floor, refusing to look at him. From the corner of his eye, he could see Minhyung staring Hyunjoon down, a plea to just let it go.
“Jjunie. Got any plans today?” Minhyung asked, pulling on his shirt for attention.
“Today?” Hyunjoon’s head tilted. Minhyung nodded once, decisive. “Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere. I need to shop for a few things, but I’m down for food or a movie if you’d rather.” Was this a spontaneous plan to escape the awkwardness, or something Minhyung had been waiting to ask? Minseok hated that he couldn’t tell.
Hyunjoon seemed thoughtful for a moment, Minseok wondered if he caught what it’s implied, like he had, but he didn’t ask. “You know, I think hyung wanted to try a rock climbing gym that opened around here.” He smirked. “Guess you’re not the only one desperate to get out of this building.”
The relief on Minhyung’s face was so obvious it hurt. “We’re on, then. Sort it with him.”
Minseok felt like a ghost in his own chair.
“What about the others?” Hyunjoon asked, the words scraping his throat. He stared at a spot just over Minhyung’s shoulder, an awkward attempt to appear casual.
“You can ask Faker-hyung if you want him to laugh at you for an hour.”
Minhyung and Hyunjoon locked eyes, and Minseok knew he was the subject. He had to look away, had to find a neutral spot on the floor before the sick, hollow feeling in his chest swallowed him whole. The reprieve lasted only a second. They moved in consonance, the weight of their attention shift, a twin-headed gaze landing on him with the force of a physical touch.
“Earth to Minseok,” Hyunjoon’s voice was suddenly right in front of him. “You’re just gonna sit there?”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“That you’re coming with us, idiot. You’re not invisible.”
Minseok bit back the retort—that of course he hadn’t been invited, not until now. “I’m okay,” he said, aiming for neutral. “I’m sleeping early these days. I’ll have to pass.”
“I’ll get you Red Bull. Don’t be a coward.”
Minhyung’s gaze was fixed on his monitor, his reflection a blank mask. He wouldn’t look at him. The rejection was so obvious, Minseok felt a tear prick the corner of his eye. He willed it away.
“Stop being annoying,” Minseok mumbled. “If I go, I’ll just spend the whole time worrying about you getting hurt.”
“That’s what hyungs are for,” Hyunjoon said, his tone softening almost imperceptibly. “It’ll be fun. If you decide to stop being a loser, let us know.”
“Yeah,” Minseok lied. “I’ll think about it.” He most definitely would not.
That same week, they struggle through an unlucky couple of days. Scrims are mostly chaotic scrambling on their parts, every win clawed desperately while losses pile up like unwanted gifts, leaving them all standing like spectators in their own disaster. Minseok moves through it all detached, his effort feeling meaningless. When the final screen flickers off after the last game review, even the coaches’ subdued encouragements feel like salt in the wound.
His gaze, already simmering, locks onto Minhyung like a missile. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt. The fabric stretches unfairly over his defined shoulders, bare arms that Minseok knows far too well. A white-hot surge of possessive fury crashes through him, incinerating his fragile pretense of indifference. He had lost the battle with himself the moment he looked. He wants to grab the nearest pillow, press it hard against his own face and scream until his lungs burn.
Minhyung’s terrible poker face is on full display. He catches Minseok’s glare instantly, a telltale flush creeping up his neck and staining his ear dark red, impossible to miss under the blasting aircon.
That stupid, handsome face is torture enough on a normal day. Minseok doesn’t need the added agony of Minhyung whoring himself out in broad daylight when they’re at odds like this. The sheer pettiness of this person using his own body like a weapon, deliberately parading skin just to punish him, feels low. Minseok finds this new development pathetic, really. And the worst part? It can’t be chalked to simple carelessness, it’s clearly calculated, aimed right at Minseok’s weakest points. Never had Minseok expected Minhyung to act in bad faith or cruelly, like right now.
Not that it’s working, Minseok tells himself. The furious heat crawling up his neck, the way his fists clench under the table, that’s just anger. Definitely not the gut-wrenching twist of jealousy. Definitely not the hollow ache of wanting something he has no right to claim. Minhyung can play his games. Minseok won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how deep the cuts land.
It’s easier said than done, he figures. When Minhyung is almost at the door, chatting with Hyunjoon-hyung, Minseok snaps. The words tear out of his throat, aimed like a weapon. “You’re going to stream like that?”
Minhyung pauses. Turns. His movement is forcefully casual. He meets Minseok’s burning stare with an expression of patient inquiry. “Yes?”
Minseok’s jaw clenches so tight his teeth ache. “You should wear team merch,” he grinds out, the words carrying venom he can’t swallow.
“Okay, Minseok,” Minhyung agrees, the words dripping with saccharine sweetness, while angling his head slightly, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth like he’s indulging a child throwing a tantrum.
Then, without another word, without even the courtesy of a dismissive glance, he turns his back. Not just walks away, but struts. Shoulders back, posture relaxed, radiating an infuriating aura of indifference. He pushes open the door to his stream room with a teasing slowness, letting Minseok have one last, clear view of the offending arms, shirt clinging to his frame, before stepping inside and pulling it shut with a soft, final click.
The silence he leaves behind is a billboard to Minseok’s humiliation. They all know the truth, that Minhyung will indeed stream in that damn sleeveless shirt. And Minseok will be forced to watch, simmering, trapped in the hell of his own making. (No one is forcing him)
“You’re pathetic,” Moon Hyunjoon says unceremoniously.
Minseok is a second away from snapping when Sanhgyeok responds first.
“That wasn’t nice, Hyunjoon-ah.” Sanghyeok intervenes, speaking softly but words weighted with the authority that makes the air still. He doesn’t need to raise his voice, doesn’t even look up from adjusting his sleeve, but the effect is immediate. “Try apologizing to Minseokie.”
The shift in Minseok’s mood is equally quick. The fury evaporates, replaced by a surge of vindictive delight. He turns to Hyunjoon, a smug pout already forming on his lips, his eyes locked on the jungler with predatory expectation.
Hyunjoon’s jaw tightens. He forces the word out through gritted teeth, each syllable containing obvious insincere politeness. “I’m sorry.”
Hyunjoon is glaring at him through the fake apology, but he doesn’t know it tastes even better that way.
The distraction offered Minseok a momentary truce with his own fury. A welcome pause that is unfortunately fragile, destined to shatter.
Minhyung has been distant since Minseok yelled at him in the hallway. Usually, Minseok doesn’t mind it when he gives him space or doesn’t reach out insistently. It’d be stupid to be furious at achieving exactly what he aimed to get by being cold and dismissive. Not that Minseok is beyond being angry at getting what he asked for, but this year he has learned that he needs Minhyung to hold his side for Minseok’s sake. Truth is unkind for a normal omega, living in close quarters to a compatible alpha. If Minseok is cold and angry and Minhyung is sweet and determined, Minseok will give in more often than not. Which seems perfect enough for said alpha to just stand by and win through sheer exhaustion, if Minseok didn’t scorch earth and everything around them in retaliation every time he was forced to fold. Minhyung didn’t learn quickly, but he did learn eventually.
Space is good, some say it makes the heart grow fonder or the opposite, help you move on with life through heartbreak. Minseok figures it offers him just enough sadness to hold back the anger, but there has never been enough distance to crush the constant yearning.
There goes Minseok’s insane brain, turning a small moment, a small thought about Minhyung into an all consuming character study. Like his hungry mind needs only a motive, a chance before diving into it, feeding into an endless cycle that reveals the depth of Minseok’s obsession. That is why there would never be a real opportunity for him not to watch Minhyung’s livestream, especially when Minhyung is mad at him, when he looks good as fuck, when Minseok misses crumbs of his attention. It’s the affection that forces him into the sort of parasocial relationship they have with fans. It’d be humiliating if it weren’t so opportune.
When most of the team follow after Minhyung, into their own streaming rooms, Minseok hides in his and hate watches. Finding out with his own two eyes how Minhyung doesn’t just stream in that shirt. He flaunts it. He stretches, he leans into the camera while replying to donations, he does everything short of rubbing lotion on those exposed arms just to twist the knife deeper.
Then comes the final straw. Minhyung puts Ati in a playful chokehold, his entire bicep suddenly dominating the frame, tanned skin and defined muscle filling Minseok’s screen. Something snaps. Minseok’s vision tunnels, rage boiling over. He snatches his phone, knuckles white, teeth grinding so hard his jaw creaks. He opens their private Kakao chat and stabs the send button with his thumb, spamming dots relentlessly. He watches the stream, waiting, heart hammering, inadvertently missing the tiny notification pop up on Minhyung’s phone overlay –Seen. Minseok doesn’t register the agonizing delay between stream and reality.
Minhyung: ?
Then, when Minseok still hadn’t stopped sending dots while waiting for his stream reaction,
Minhyung: Stop spamming me while I’m streaming
Minseok finally sees the moment he looks. Minhyung glances down at his phone, a faint crease forming between his brows. Then, almost imperceptibly, the tension eases. A small, knowing smile touches his lips. He waited. Between texts, he paused, anticipating Minseok’s replies, even meaningless ones. Minseok’s fingers hover over the keyboard. Embarrassment is a distant flicker, drowned out by the hasty need to do something. He types back, “put on your jacket.”
Minseok can tell he hasn’t really put his phone away, although he’s staring at his camera a little too much, looking candid and soft. The chat is going crazy, but so is Minseok. He doesn’t really have it in him to fight the effect. Minhyung’s tongue slips out, wetting his lips and Minseok even forgets he’s angry for a moment.
Minseok watches as Minhyung looks back at the camera, a beat too long, a knowing grin that threads dangerously on Minseok’s nerves. Then offers his viewers an apologetic smile. “Sorry, everyone,” he murmurs, reaching for the T1 jacket draped over his chair. He pulls it on slowly, zipping it up over the offending shirt. “It’s getting chilly in here,” he explains smoothly.
Minseok exhales, a shaky breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The lie hangs in the air between them, invisible to everyone else.
They walk back to the dorms together later, the space between the two of them shrinking with each step until their shoulders brush. Minhyung’s bare arms and Minseok’s covered in the alpha’s jacket after all the theatrics. In the reticence, their presence is the only comfort either can offer.
Unfortunately, whatever truce they’d built by keeping a respectful distance doesn’t last. And all it takes is one stupid careless comment during reviews and they’re at each other’s throats, dragging the entire team into their crossfire.
It continues on the car when they’re returning from a match. Minseok will regret his words later, but at the moment, he’s so stressed he feels like it’s warranted. “Stop trying to show off, you’re missing all your cs, Gumayusi-seonsu.”
Beside him, Minhyung lets out a quiet, almost inaudible snort. Although the sound only registered as a vague pressure in his ear, Minseok notices the quiver of his body in the periphery of his vision. He takes offense at being dismissed flippantly.
Even though there isn’t much of a reply from Minhyung, Minseok can at least take it that he heard it by the contemptual reaction, though the doubt returns a moment later when Minhyung steps forward to the other ad to trade and ends up missing the canon when he steps back, tanking free damage from the other bot duo plus the minion aggro. Minseok wants to push the mouse away and type /ff right there.
Even without turning his head, Sanghyeok registered the misstep and the ensuing silence. His voice, when it came, was level and calm. “Be more careful bot, we can set up rotation to help you recover from the losing lane.”
The moment their captain speaks, Minhyung’s entire demeanor shifts. The hostility he showed Minseok is gone, replaced by a well established calm. He’s quick to answer, an apology tripping from his tongue, smooth and practiced. “Now I know they have advantage,” he states, his voice a mask of composure. “I’ll play safe until my power spike.”
“Good, ward the river for Oner now.”
Minhyung moves toward the bush to comply. Minseok pings a warning, then turns his own attention to prepare for the rotation so he can go further for vision. Despite his fury, his muscle memory takes over, he helps Minhyung shove the wave, landing a few extra attacks to create a safe window.
Fourteen seconds. That’s all it takes. He moves his camera back to bot lane, expecting to see Minhyung retreating. Instead, Minhyung is dead.
Minseok slammed the mute button on his mic, a torrent of curses trapped behind his teeth. At a loss for what to do, he backed off and recalled, his eyes fixed on Minhyung’s grayed-out screen. Ignoring his glare, Minhyung waits for his respawn biting his nail beds. The fact that he’s outwardly nervous just stresses Minseok more.
He pushes the headset off, talking to Minhyung quietly trying to hide it from the voice chat.
“Why aren’t you listening to me, Minhyung? I just told you to be careful.”
“I messed up, Minseok,” Minhyung clipped out, his voice flat and distant. “I know I’m not allowed, but me playing perfectly won’t magically happen because you’re mad at me.”
They both swiveled back to their own monitor the moment color returned. Minseok stared, frozen for a critical second too long. He was late. The precious seconds he’d wasted arguing were gone, and the mid-lane rotation was already happening without him.
The rest of the game goes from bad to worse and Minseok just waits for the loss screen impatiently until it comes.
Quitting the game, he shot to his feet and kicked the leg of Minhyung’s chair. “What’s wrong with you today?”
Minhyung’s shoulders slumped in a show of defeat that would usually claw at Minseok’s conscience. But not today. Today, his anger had a heartbeat, and he pressed forward, relentless. “Please turn your brain on, we are trying to practice.”
Minhyung rose slowly, pushing his chair back and creating distance as he moved to stand behind Sanghyeok. “I said I was sorry,” he stated flatly.
“And you think that’s enough?”
Minhyung snorts. “I’m not that stupid, nothing is possibly enough to Legendary Genius Monster Support Keria, I’m apologizing for being inferior and not learning immediately.”
“What is this? Do I need to feel bad for expecting better from you?”
“No, Minseokie,” Minhyung shot back, his voice dangerously soft. “I’m perfectly aware I played like shit. I know I’ll never live up to your impossible standards. But don’t worry, I’m plenty disgusted with myself all on my own. Not that it matters to you.”
“It matters to me that you’ve given up,” Minseok snapped. “Should we just cancel scrims today? Give you time to mentally recover?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you call Geumjae? I’m sure he’d do a much better job of not disappointing you.”
“You’re being an asshole.”
A bitter smile twisted Minhyung’s lips. “Now that,” he said, his voice dripping with venom, “is where I’m a perfect match for Keria-seonsu.”
The bitterness of his words seemed to suck all the sound out of the room. It was only then that Minseok realized they were the only ones left to hear it.
The adrenaline of his anger evaporated, leaving him hollow and trembling. He wanted to yell, but the fight was gone. A glare was all he could manage before he turned to storm out.
A hand clamps around his waist, pulling him back. The touch is invasive, intimate, impossible to ignore. “Minhyung, not right now,” Minseok scolds, his voice stripped of its earlier heat, sounding thin and exhausted.
“Give me a minute, we are late anyway.”
“Someone’s going to come looking to see if I murdered you if we’re quiet for too long.”
“Shh,” Minhyung demands, his voice a low rumble against his ear. “The more you talk, the longer this will take.”
“And what the fuck is this, Minhyung?”
Minhyung’s hold tightened. “Omega,” he breathed, the word a shaky exhale. “I said quiet.”
The command is a current that bypasses his brain and goes straight to his bones. His head tilts before he can stop it, a betrayal by his own body. He feels, more than sees, Minhyung lean in, the alpha’s nose finding the sensitive skin of his neck.
He can’t explain it, but in that contact, he feels the frantic edge of Minhyung’s anger. His own fury unspools, replaced by a confusing mix of shame and a strange, unwelcome relief. He’ll fight Minhyung later for this, for dismantling his rage so easily. But for this one moment, he just leans into the contact, letting the volatile scales between them settle closer to balance.
There should be a different name for kissing someone when you’re both angry. When it doesn’t feel affectionate or passionate, when the touch of the lips isn’t a place where affection meets ardor, and you’re satisfying a hunger so intense that you’re feeding of their essence, their vitality.
What happens between Minhyung and Minseok when they can’t stand each other but their lips still meet cannot possibly be kissing. Minseok refuses to accept that. It is nothing that romantic.
Someone should workshop a better word and feeling to pouring fury out of you before it consumes you, hoping the hurt that feels like could kill you, will finally torture someone else.
From outside, none of it matters, so maybe that’s why it is called the same. Minhyung is devouring Minseok by his lips, their breaths moistened and warm, they feel comfortable carrying each other’s scent and taste. As if it would be possible to live in this moment, to touch someone else brewing trouble. Their identities are just for teasing, so they have no excuse but to come to terms, they are once again meeting just like this.
Minseok thinks he could draw their office from memory.
Of course, these are delirious thoughts of an overcaffeinated frazzled mind. He’d been nursing his third coffee way past taste quality criteria. It seems deserving, to mull over past the best by date the day after they gave in to rage and called it passion.
There’s, of course, other things he feels even more confident in his ability to reminisce down to tiny details from memory. Images that haunt him whether he’s asleep or awake.
Maybe that’s why he slept like shit after being so awful. Laying in bed for hours feeling guilty, despite texting apologies to Minhyung for the way he acted, and receiving comforting words he didn’t deserve. At the very least, he was quieter this morning, low in energy and consequently less inclined to pick a fight. He thought the entire room breathed easier when they figured the storm had passed.
He swallowed another large gulp to try and ease the feeling of something stuck on his throat. The bitter taste did little to offer him satisfaction, and no amount of caffeine cut through the tiredness. Around him, the team moved in a blur of motion and sound, their energy incompatible with his own lassitude, but he couldn’t be bothered to pretend.
What little energy Minseok had gathered he was directing to watching. Minhyung and Hyunjoon were clustered near the snack counter. The scene was casual, inconsequential, but it was searing itself into Minseok’s brain.
It didn’t help that Minhyung was laughing, head thrown back to expose the long, clean line of his throat. The sound was bright, a genuine peal of amusement that Minseok was guilty of being captivated by.
The issue wasn’t even that Minhyung was bright and happy while Minseok was suffering. Minseok wasn’t going to be that petty when he still felt regretful. But he couldn’t reason with the part of him that took issue with the fact that someone else was the conductor. Yes, it was Moon Hyunjoon’s hands flying delicately, enchantedly, as he recounted some story. Then, his hand, still gesturing, brushed against Minhyung’s arm. The image was painfully similar, but Minseok tried to tell himself it wasn’t the same, that this time he had no reason to feel conflicted, even as jealousy tried to crush his throat. His eyes tracked mutely when the touch lingered a fraction of a second too long. Minhyung didn’t flinch or pull away. He leaned into it, unconsciously, Minseok hoped, accepting of the proximity.
His hand tightened around his coffee mug, the ceramic hot against his clammy skin. The bitter taste in his mouth was no longer from the coffee.
Then Hyunjoon said something else that made Minhyung laugh even harder, a deep rumble that vibrated in Minseok’s chest. Minhyung leaned in, shoulder bumping Hyunjoon’s, and Hyunjoon’s grin widened. He reached out, not to touch Minhyung’s arm this time, but to ruffle his hair. It was a quick, affectionate gesture, like smoothing down an unruly bear.
He thought back to lunch. Minhyung had been particularly attentive to Hyunjoon lately, helping him with his food because of his bad wrist. It was an innocent act of kindness, a completely reasonable fawning over teammate overdoing Minseok himself was guilty of often. But jealousy had a way of distorting things, painting simple gestures as treachery.
He reminded himself it was just camaraderie. Minhyung was like that with everyone. Especially since Wooje left, he’d been trying harder to bridge gaps, he had always been so kind and patient to welcome Doran. Minseok should be grateful. Moon Hyunjoon was a good jungler, a good friend.
Sanghyeok chose that moment to walk past, heading toward the energy drink fridge. He paused, sensing the tension radiating off the younger omega. His gaze flicked from Minseok’s rigid posture to the pair by the snacks, then back to Minseok, understanding dawning in his eyes. He opened his mouth, probably to offer some wisdom or distraction.
Minseok didn’t give him the chance. He shoved his chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. Minhyung and Hyunjoon looked over, their laughter dying instantly. Minseok met Minhyung’s questioning gaze for a split second, saw the confusion, the faint hint of hurt, before dropping his own eyes to the table.
“Going to the bathroom,” he mumbled to the room at large, the words clumsy. He bit his own lip, for no apparent reason.
Minseok didn’t wait for a response, just walked out, leaving his half-finished coffee and Sanghyeok’s concern behind. The image of Hyunjoon’s hand in Minhyung’s hair, the sound of Minhyung’s easy laughter for someone else, burned behind his eyelids. The possessive ache was a physical weight in his chest. It felt like he was suffocating.
He needed air. He needed space. He needed to stop feeling like his own skin was too small.
His phone lit up with a barrage of notifications before he’d even made it out of the room. His first instinct was to ignore them, to pretend the situation meant nothing, but he knew that would only make it a bigger deal. So he stopped, bracing a hand against the wall, and forced himself to look.
The messages were what he expected: concerned teammates, a firm but worried text from Coach Kkoma. He typed back lies, calm and collected, his thumbs flying across the screen. Their answers popping up almost as fast as his are sent. He hated himself for it. It’s a regression. After a year of maintaining a fragile, hard-won equilibrium, he’s now actively sabotaging it. He was coming apart, and the frantic, spiraling mess underneath needed someone to blame. Minhyung was the easiest target.
His phone doesn’t ring, but Minseok would have to lie about not seeing the call when it comes. He’s already staring at his screen when the notification takes over, the timing too perfect to be a coincidence.
“Minseokie?” Minhyung greets, whispering but still audible. Minseok wondered if he was hiding in a corner or just scared to startle him.
“I’m fine,” Minseok lied, the words scraping his throat. “Did you really call to check if I was having a successful bathroom trip?”
A soft chuckle. “I knew you’d answer.” Hiding them.
“There is such a thing as too much intimacy, Gumayusi-ssi,” Minseok hummed, finding a sliver of amusement.
“I’ll just test your limits then,” he indulged patiently. “I wanted to know if you’re okay.”
“I believe I already answered that via text,” Minseok argued, finding it impossible to sound as dismissive as he wanted.
“I needed to hear it from you,” Minhyung admitted easily.
“And do I sound convincing? Or should we video call so you can see for yourself?”
“Yes,” Minhyung’s voice was a low purr. “Better yet…” He dragged the word out, and then two things happened at once: the call went dead, and the door to the office he’d been hiding inside swung open, revealing a familiar figure.
Minseok wasn’t surprised. He would, however, die before he admitted just how pleased he was.
Minseok bribes Wooje with dinner on T1’s next free day. It’s a miscalculated move, really, paying for someone to roast him alive, which he knows is coming. Classic self-sabotage disguised as hyung generosity.
They meet for hotpot, and Minseok walks there alone reminiscing about old times. He had to make excuses for the others not to join them, and it turns out to be the right choice.
He barely has his coat off when Wooje pounces, eyes gleaming with mischief. “So,” Wooje starts, leaning forward conspiratorially, “d’you wanna know what Hyunjoon-hyung told me about your little situation?”
The steam curling from the divided hot pot between them ghosts over Minseok’s sleeve as he hangs it. Wondering scornfully how someone like Moon Hyunjoon would undermine what is a thorn in Minseok’s eyes for the better part of his life since becoming a competitive player.
Minseok doesn’t miss a beat, only playing with an exaggerated laziness. “Which Hyunjoon-hyung, exactly?” He drawls the question out, savoring the way Wooje’s brow furrows in annoyance. Minseok takes devious pleasure from watching him squirm.
Wooje’s shoulders tense. “I only have one Hyunjoon-hyung,” he retorts, narrowing his eyes with sudden suspicion. “Doran-seonsu isn’t close to me.”
“You have to call Doran hyung like a civilized person,” Minseok scolds, the hypocrisy rich in his voice, as if he wasn’t the most disrespectful little shit to ever exist. He gestures with his chopsticks, accidentally dripping broth onto the tablecloth. “Sanghyeok-hyung raised you better than that, don’t go off misbehaving just because you’re living two streets away.”
“Fine, Wangho-hyung—” Wooje begins, the honorifics dragging.
Minseok groans dramatically. “And they said we babied you!” he crows, a wide, shit-eating grin spreading across his face. He gestures vaguely at Wooje’s frame. “Look at you! Practically bursting out of your shirt. And you’re growing too tall. Stop now!”
Wooje grins back, and it’s like seeing a ghost. The same mischievous curve of the lips, the same crinkles at the corners of his eyes that Minseok remembers from his rookie days. But the face around it is sharper, the jawline more defined, some of the boyish softness slowly melting off. But the eyes, warm and sweet, remain stubbornly unchanged. Minseok reaches out, ruffling Wooje’s hair, a gesture that feels both familiar and strangely paternal. A wave of unexpected nostalgia washes over him, leaving him feeling old.
“It’s… different now,” Wooje admits, staring into his drink. His eyes hold a knowing look, he knows Minseok worries. They all do. “But they’re good people. Nice.”
“Is that why you’re gossiping about my tragic life with Hyunjoon?” Minseok shoots back, aiming for levity but missing by a mile. “He’s been pissy since you left. Seriously, take everything he says with a grain of salt.” He pauses, a frown creasing his brow as he considers. “Scratch that. Treat it like the water at Haeundae Beach.”
A shadow crosses Wooje’s face. He looks away, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Ah… hyung. Let’s not talk about that, okay?” The fragile plea hangs in the air.
Minseok’s heart clenches, a sharp pang of guilt.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, reaching across the table to squeeze Wooje’s hand. The gesture is awkward but sincere.
So there it is, Minseok thinks. In the dumpster fire that was 2025, he hadn’t truly grasped the depth of Wooje’s loss. But facing it now, reflected in Wooje’s eyes, he felt a cold terror for his own looming fears.
He forces a brightness into his tone that feels weak even to his own ears. “Alright, enough doom and gloom. Spill it,” he urges, leaning forward. “What nonsense has that bonehead been spewing? His thighs are definitely larger than his brain, I swear.” The joke lands awkwardly, a desperate attempt to shove the heavy silence back into its box and reclaim diversion.
Wooje leans back, adopting an air of exaggerated wisdom that doesn't quite hide his amusement. “You really need to stop being so mean to Min-hyung,” he advises, his tone heavy with a seriousness that feels both genuine and slightly performative for someone his age.
Minseok answers with a dramatic eye-roll. “Can you blame me?” he shoots back, his voice tight with familiar frustration. “The man operates on pure stupidity. It’s his default setting.”
Wooje laughs brightly, disarming Minseok’s bitterness. He smiles back unconsciously.
“Okay, okay,” the younger concedes, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
Then his expression shifts, genuine curiosity replacing the teasing.
“But seriously, hyung…” Wooje leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “What did he even do? Last time we all met, you two seemed…” He scrunches his nose, searching for the memory. “…fine? Normal, even?”
Minseok meets his gaze, a dangerous glint sharpening in his eyes. A slow, humorless smile spreads across his face, devoid of warmth. “Do you,” he asks, his voice dropping to a low, challenging purr, “want a list?”
“No,” Wooje dismisses with a wave, though his own grin turns mischievous. “I want to know if you’ve managed to squeeze in a single heat since last year?” The question lands like a stone in still water.
Minseok flinches, a barely perceptible wince before he recovers, shaking his head. He realized he’d been walked into a trap. Remorseful, Wooje pushed the floating mushroom slices toward Minseok’s side of the pot.
“Not yet,” he admits, miffed. Army training had left his schedule deranged, but enlisting had been his choice.
“Hyung!” Wooje whisper-hisses. Genuine alarm cutting through, his eyes widened slightly, eyebrows hid behind his bangs.
Minseok just shrugs, a what-can-you-do gesture that feels meaningless.
“That’s why you’re so pissy and Min-hyung’s walking around like a bear with a sore head!” Wooje declares, disappointment lacing his tone like vinegar. “You need to get knotted,” he adds, blunt as a hammer and utterly shameless.
Minseok’s hand snaps out, smacking Wooje lightly in the head almost instinctively. “Yah! Don’t say that shit out loud,” he hisses, eyes darting around the semi-private restaurant booth, checking for eavesdroppers. If it were anyone else, that comment might have earned a real punch. But Wooje… Wooje had stumbled into his bed once, completely by accident, and walked out with far too much knowledge about Minseok and Minhyung’s less-than-noble activities.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Minseok adds, a warning etched into every stern syllable.
“I doooo,” Wooje whined, drawing the word out into a long, pouty groan.
A glare was Minseok’s first, knee-jerk reaction to the smug way Wooje worried his own lip. The gesture, paired with the telltale heat in the younger’s cheeks was a crude implication on their impressionable minds. Soon, Minseok found it hard to ignore the unwelcome phantom of his own slick and the memory of Minhyung’s scent flooded his senses. He wasn’t fooling anyone, the anger he projected was just a flimsy shield for the raw, instinctual need that followed.
“I don’t want to know,” Minseok pleads, hiding his face behind his hands, ignoring the sauce dripping all over himself. As Wooje giggled without a shred of shame, Minseok couldn’t help but dissect it. Part of this was surely the team’s doing, a byproduct of their insulated world. But the rest of it... the rest was just Wooje. The kind of crass that was hardwired, not taught.
“You should,” Wooje teases mischievously, still flushing darker and deeper, still dragging out the words, but speaking distinctively lower, his tone shifting from teasing to something private. “I have some suggestions, stuff you might want to try,” he shares, and the look exchanged between them is burning in Minseok’s navel, a mix of memories and curiosity. Minseok bites his lips, thinks about Minhyung and has to look away.
“Are you finally going to tell me who you’re spending your heats with?” Minseok glared at the wall, using anger to pivot the conversation out of the dangerous subject. “I know the first was Hyunjoon, but not after February,” he accuses bluntly. Wooje just laughs.
“You could’ve just asked,” he teases, rolling his eyes.
“You should’ve just told me,” Minseok whines, the protest automatic, almost petulant.
It was the distance, he decided. Living apart had made them clumsy. Simple things became monumental. Gaps where questions felt intrusive, where reaching out was a vulnerability.
It was never just about one thing. Not when Minhyung still called Wooje ‘baby’ with an easy affection that made Minseok’s chest ache. Not when they still talked for hours, a bond that refused to break. Not when they were now adversaries, destined to clash on the Rift.
A dizzying spiral of thoughts seized him, and he fought to stamp them out, one by one, before they could take root. Keria had opponents. Minseok had friends. But Wooje was in his own category.
“I’m not telling you if you don’t ask properly,” Wooje taunted flippantly, a smug grin playing on his lips.
“I just did,” Minseok snapped, his patience already worn thin.
Wooje shook his head, the picture of condescension. “No, you didn’t.”
A frustrated sound, half-growl, half-sigh, escaped Minseok’s throat. “Fine. Then I don’t care,” he bit out, turning away as if the topic was beneath him.
Wooje’s triumphant smirk softened into something more sympathetic. “Min-hyung has be the most patient alpha in history,” Wooje said offhandedly. Each word found its mark and sank deeper than he meant, and Minseok’s hurt flared before it could be taken back.
“That’s what it always comes down to, isn’t it?” Minseok’s smile is a venomous thing, designed to wound, but it glances off Wooje like water off a duck. Just like Minhyung, he seems immune to Minseok’s malice. “If what he deserves is as great as he is, then I guess I can’t provide it. But it’s a good thing he’s spoiled for choices.”
“No,” Wooje says, his voice firm. He reaches across the table, his fingers finding Minseok’s wrist and pressing gently against his scent gland. The scent of spring rain and fresh earth cuts through the steam of the hotpot. “It means he’s perfect for you. He’s a pushover for you, hyung. A giant teddy bear who’d let the world walk all over him if you weren’t there to snarl at it for him. He needs your teeth.”
A half scoff escapes Minseok. He wants to believe it, wants to believe his own claws are for protection and not just for show. “You live in a fairytale, Wooje-ya,” he dismisses tersely. “Must be nice.”
“Hyung,” Wooje chastises, revealing a certain degree of pity. Minseok wants to pout, to deflect with coy denial, but it wouldn’t work on this particular omega. “It’s like you want to suffer,” Wooje adds, shaking his head between chuckles.
Minseok winces inwardly, his gaze dropping to the chopsticks clenched tightly in his fist. The polished wood feels cold, unforgiving. The word echoes beyond the noise of the place, taking space between them.
How could he explain it to baby Wooje, to anyone? That sometimes, the ache of wanting Minhyung like this was its own kind of torment. That fighting, the push-and-pull, the constant state of almost-but-never-quite… it was a pain he craved almost as much as he craved the resolution. That yeah, maybe a part of him did want to suffer. Because the alternative–letting go, or worse, giving in completely–felt infinitely more terrifying.
His hands ached for his phone, the familiar number and name already ringing a desperate chant in his mind.
“Excuse me, Wooje-ya,” Minseok managed, his voice tight, rising before the younger could even acknowledge his words.
He walked out of the restaurant, into the cool night air, seeking shadows. He found a grimy curb, and sank onto it. The indignity of it would hit him later.
Minseok wanted to be an alpha when he was a kid, and even in those early puberty years when his peers started presenting, he was somewhat sure of his subgender. He was mean and authoritative, demanding like an alpha was supposed to be. He liked girl groups, and videogames, and he was good with computers, like alphas.
Except, not really.
His mother says she always knew, call that omega sixth sense of her. But Minseok was blindsided by his first heat, suddenly thrown into this box he didn’t think fit himself. Except, he figured out as the years passed, it kind of did.
Minseok stopped growing after presenting. He learned he liked girl groups but he wasn’t really attracted to them, he liked their dancing just as much when he was the one doing the steps. He liked League of Legends, but he was a support player at heart, he loved the enchanters and their cute skins.
Minseok cared too much, and about entirely the wrong things. He cared about the opinions of people he didn’t even like, and most of all, he cared about himself.
He eventually had to admit it, a bitter pill to swallow, he thrived on being pampered, on being taken care of, on being bathed in praise and attention. Then the real revelation came shortly after he presented. He learned the game. He could be demanding, even cruel, and the world would still bend to his will. Alphas were stupid, Minseok realized, and he no longer wanted to be one of them.
He wanted an alpha, most naturally. A partner he could manage, a pawn he could move across the board, who would provide the pampering he craved without ever challenging his authority. But it had to be a willing pawn, one who understood the game and chose to let him win. Minseok loved the idea of being loved, but only when he was the one calling the plays.
That ambition, that strategic embrace of his omega nature, paved his path. It shaped his career, his character, his life. And somehow, inevitably, it led him here.
To Minhyung. (Though Minseok still pretended, sometimes even to himself, that Minhyung was just a complication. An exception. That he hadn’t been the one carefully, deliberately, setting the trap all along.)
He glared at the phone in his hand like it was a live grenade, thumb hovering before stabbing the call button. It rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Then: “Minseokie?” Minhyung’s voice, soft and warm even through the speaker. “Heard you were meeting Wooje-ya. Having fun?”
“Minhyung,” Minseok bypassed the small talk, he sounded just like the weather, harsh and cold. “Why did you break my heart?”
Minhyung hummed, a thoughtful sound that vibrated with aggravating calm. “Should I ask which time? Or are we talking about the latest occasion?”
Minseok snorted bitterly. “I don’t know why I bothered asking. You never take me seriously anyway.” Anger and disappointment warred in his chest, but he couldn’t bring himself to end the call. Not yet.
“Minseok, it’s not like that—” Minhyung starts, talking slowly, careful.
Minseok doesn’t hear his arrival, but it’s impossible to miss it when Wooje dips in the curb beside him. An arm snaked around his smaller frame, pulling him sideways into a clumsy, comforting embrace. He welcomes the warm, solid weight of his friend settling close. Out of shame, Minseok instinctively turned his face away, hiding against Wooje’s shoulder.
“You don’t want to be tied to me,” Minhyung continued, his voice firmer now, throwing pieces of their circular arguments like skipping stones. “You can’t promise I won’t be kicked out and replaced. Life goes on, Minseok. You’re just... not sure.”
“So you’re blaming me now?” Minseok’s laugh was brittle, humorless. “That’s new.”
“I’m just saying,” Minhyung amended, not quite denying it, “maybe I’m not good enough for you.”
Minseok choked out a sound that wasn’t quite a sob, screwing his eyes shut against the word, against the world. He couldn’t look at Wooje, whose arms were the only thing holding him upright now. “And you’re just figuring that out now?”
“I don’t want to do this over the phone, Minseok,” Minhyung argued, frustration bleeding through. Only then did Minseok wonder what Minhyung was doing. Was the call interrupting something? Someone?
“I’m sorry for bothering you,” Minseok spat, the words sharp little knives meant to wound, to cover the hurt spread in his chest easier than air. Mutely, Wooje’s arm tightened around him.
“You never bother me,” Minhyung’s reply came instantly, breathless in its rush. “Are you at the dorms? I’m closing the stream now. I’ll come meet you. We’ll talk.”
“I’m not,” Minseok choked out, horror washing over him. Oh god. He’d been doing all that live? “Sorry for bothering you,” he repeated, the apology hollow.
“Thank you for calling me,” Minhyung said, his voice softening into something that felt like praise. “You know it’s better than keeping it bottled up. Are you out? Drop me the address. I’ll pick you up.”
He dropped his head forward, the weight suddenly too much. “I’m still with Wooje,” Minseok finally admitted, muffled against Wooje’s bony shoulder.
“Ah,” Minhyung’s laugh was warm, unguarded, and maddening even through the phone. “Omega talk gets you this riled up about me? I’m flattered, Minseokie.” Minseok could picture the grin, the one he desperately wanted to punch off his face. “Would I be interrupting? Let me know. I think hyung is still here, maybe Hyunjoonie too... Haven’t heard yelling in a while, though, he might’ve gone home. But we could drop by. Keep you guys company.”
“Now you want to be nice?” Minseok scoffed, scorn dripping from every syllable. “I don’t get you.”
“I’ll have you for as long as you let me,” Minhyung said, the words sudden, serious, unparalleled through the teasing. “You’d know that if you talked to me. Come on, Minseok. Do I pick you up or not?”
Minseok stared at the dark screen of his phone, then at the indifferent street before him. He felt Wooje’s steady presence beside him, the cool grit of the curb beneath him. He could distract his mind, but he couldn’t silence the familiar ache in his chest with any of his five senses.
“I’ll get home by myself,” he deadpans, laying out one last demand before killing the call. “Let’s pretend we didn’t talk at all.”
Minseok sighs in defeat, the sound ragged and his throat suddenly dry. He stares at Wooje, searching for words that won’t come, only for the younger omega to tighten his grip around his shoulders, a gesture meant to comfort that feels more like restraint.
“I get it, hyung,” Wooje murmurs, relieving Minseok of the burden of articulation. Older, but clearly not wiser. Wooje had lived through the promise as well, only to watch it crumble. “I can’t even watch his streams anymore,” he admits, his voice thick with a pout that doesn’t disguise the genuine hurt. “I used to love seeing him play. Now, it’s just… sad.”
A sob lodges itself in Minseok’s throat. He almost breaks. It’s certainly something the timing of things, that before he can crumble completely, Wooje’s phone screams to life, the shrill ringtone louder through the night air. Wooje glances at the screen, his eyes widening slightly. Without warning, he shoves the phone directly under Minseok’s nose, forcing him to read the caller ID: Minhyung. Then, as Minseok instinctively reaches for it, Wooje yanks it back, guessing his intention to reject the call.
“Hyung, you’re on speaker,” Wooje announces flatly, holding the phone out at arm’s length. His other arm locks around Minseok’s chest like a chokehold.
“Where are you two?” Minhyung’s voice comes through, tinny but clear. “I’ll send hyung to pick you up, that way Minseok doesn’t have to see my face.” The attempt of a joke lands with a thud, too serious to be funny.
“I can take care of myself, Minhyung-ssi,” Minseok dismisses, his voice cold and brittle as ice.
“Wooje-ya?” Minhyung’s voice takes on a gentle, persuasive note, pointedly directing his attention away from Minseok.
A silent war rages between Minseok and Wooje. Their eyes lock in a desperate, tacit argument. Minseok’s eyes flash with wounded pride, communicating his refusal without a word. For a moment, Wooje wavers, his resolve crumbling under Minseok’s intensity. Then, with a barely audible sigh of surrender, he rattles off the address.
“Thanks,” Minhyung praises smoothly, not even an attempt at hiding his satisfaction. “Minseok,” he adds, his voice dropping, turning serious again. “Don’t make me worry if you don’t want to deal with the consequences. Alright? You know how that goes.” The warning is clear, while affectionately wrapped in concern.
Minseok presses his lips together, refusing to dignify the threat with a response.
“I’ll go talk to hyung now, Wooje-ya,” Minhyung continued smoothly. “He’ll probably tell Peanut-hyung too, so someone will be waiting for you as well. It’s late. You guys need to be careful, okay?”
“Let’s meet soon, Min-hyung,” Wooje farewells, his voice suddenly bright and obedient, the picture of a well-behaved dongsaeng.
Minseok’s snort scrapes like sandpaper. The suck-up charade is so transparent it’s insulting.
Wooje and Minseok are forced into silence then, mostly because Minseok couldn’t trust his tongue not to sharpen into cruelty or crack into tears. Luckily, Sanghyeok arrives fast, swinging the car door, revealing their hyung scanning the street like he expected to find them slumped in gutters.
“Hi, hyung!” Wooje’s greeting burst forth, all gangly limbs and lack of grace as he surged into Sanghyeok’s arms, the embrace carrying none of the sloppy weight Sanghyeok anticipated.
Silently, Sanghyeok’s hands mapped Wooje’s frame with practiced efficiency. Fingers threading through hair, brushing his neck, settling on his shoulders. Taking inventory, Minseok thought bitterly. He knows there’s a joke about shared custody somewhere in the tip of his tongue, but it’s dead before it reaches his lips, sour taste in his mouth.
Minseok pushed himself off the curb, swaying like a sapling in the wind. He patted Sanghyeok’s chest too hard, a bruising press of gratitude and resentment in his touch. “I’ll head inside to pay, I’ll be right back,” he explained, only to be held back by Sanghyeok.
“Let hyung handle the bill,” Sanghyeok countered, his voice soft but unquestionable. “Wooje-ya, help Minseokie to the car?”
Wooje blinked between them, confusion knitted in his brow. “I took care of that,” he announced, puffing his chest like a fledgling bird presenting its first catch. The pride in his eyes was hungry for the approval he craved.
“You paid?” Sanghyeok’s eyebrows shot up. Wooje nodded, a smug little grin on his face. “Good boy,” he praised, more amused than the situation demanded.
The display of coddling soured in Minseok’s gut. He reached out, digging his fingers into Wooje’s cheeks, pinching them until the younger omega yelped. Sanghyeok sighed, the weary sound of a father who’d run out of patience.
“Let’s go home,” Sanghyeok commanded softly, his gaze sweeping over them with fiery fondness, earning Minseok’s sweet candid smile and Wooje’s dopey grin. Sanghyeok shook his head, herding them toward the car. They fought over shotgun before the door was even unlocked.
Peanut sways like a reed in the HLE condo’s shadow, but stills instantly when Sanghyeok’s headlights catch him. His face transforms before Minseok’s own eyes. Bright smile stretching ear-to-ear, before he’s bounding to the car, practically vibrating as he leans through the driver’s window. Their murmured exchange stays private as Minseok slides into the passenger seat replacing Wooje, after a quick hug, no words needed.
Silently, Minseok pulls the seatbelt with a click that echoes, inadvertently leading to the end of the conversation beside him. He catches only the tail end of “thank you, Sanghyeokie-hyungie,” Wangho’s voice lilting with childish delight as they wave.
Wooje lingers on the sidewalk, stubbornly watching until Sanghyeok’s taillights disappear. For his part, Minseok keeps his eyes on them as well, tracking the rearview mirror until the last speck of light is gone.
The silence in the car was nothing special, but when the distraction was behind them, Minseok’s mind made it cavernous. It didn’t help that Sanghyeok’s gaze kept snagging on him, in lingering glances trying to pierce the dark.
“Just say it, hyung,” Minseok finally demanded, his voice fraying at the edges, stripped to shame.
Sanghyeok slowed the car, turning to study Minseok’s face like a map of unspoken pain. His lips pressed into a thin line. “Is there anything you’d like to hear, Minseok-ah?”
Minseok shook his head, the movement felt clunky. “I’m sorry. For dragging you into this.”
Sanghyeok absorbed this without correction. “Minhyung already apologized on your behalf,” he said gently, reading Minseok’s cues like braille. He steered them toward the real conversation.
The garage door groaned open. Fluorescent lights flickered awake, casting Sanghyeok’s face in harsh relief, shadows hollowing his cheeks as he stared past Minseok’s shoulder. Minseok looked at his own hands gripping the seatbelt, knuckles pale and tendons tight.
“He’ll be waiting,” Sanghyeok pointed out restrained. “Do you want me to let him know we’re home?” It didn’t escape Minseok’s notice that, once again, Sanghyeok was offering to go out of his way to make things easier for him.
“Why bother?” Minseok’s thumb circled the cold edge of his phone. “He’s not my alpha,” he declared, the scorn in his voice cracking like thin ice over hurt. “He has no power over me, I hate that everyone thinks he does.”
Sanghyeok hummed noncommittally. His gaze skittered away, anywhere but Minseok’s eyes. The avoidance felt like a slap, worse than scolding. It meant Sanghyeok had no comforting lie to offer.
Arguing the point wouldn’t be easy, Minseok thought bitterly. They had done it all backward, and only now did Minseok understood the gravity of the order they had broken. But Sanghyeok wouldn’t fight that battle for him. Not when the real opponent was the one in the mirror, and the child was too busy screaming at phantoms to see it.
“Is that what this is about?” Sanghyeok invited, his voice quiet so as not to disturb Minseok.
Unrestrained, Minseok’s jaw clenched, words failing him. He watched a spider skitter across the concrete wall, a tiny, mindless thing. He wished his own thoughts could be so simple.
Sanghyeok let the silence stretch, giving him space. When he spoke again, his voice was even softer, almost conversational. “They say time is kind, and some days I have a difficult time believing that.”
Minseok could see many passing thoughts in the light reflected in Sanghyeok’s eyes.
“I still remember 2022, and it always reminds me of the sight of you. That loss… it changes a man. But, I told you then, you’d have other chances, these things are rarely end of line even for people like us, with this career.” He paused, letting the weight of the memory settle, always uncomfortably, despite time. “And then Hangzhou… a different kind of pressure. You have managed well, moving past the challenges and making yourself the person you need to be to achieve your dreams and live life happily. It doesn’t mean things will stop hurting, or that you don’t need to be careful in the future. Time heals, but I’m not going to pretend there isn’t a cost, besides the undefined timeline attached to the promise. We are similar like that, I know you don’t like waiting, Minseok-ah.”
Minseok let himself bent over, elbows pressing to his knees.
“This year has so many new challenges,” Sanghyeok continued, his tone even, careful. “The articles. Now the whispers about the bot lane.” He listed them not as accusations, but as incidents. “It’s a lot, I wouldn’t blame you for having a hard time. I don’t say it often, because I don’t think it’s my place, but I am proud of you Minseok, you have grown into someone I personally admire, I hope this is worth something for you.”
It’s too much, Minseok thought, the words a scream in his head. He swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet car. The world outside felt like a hoax, a stage play where he was the unwilling fool.
Sanghyeok finally turned to him fully, and Minseok felt his own fight, his brittle armor, begin to dissolve like sugar in rain. “What you and Minhyung have… I won’t pretend to understand it. So if I get something wrong, just tell me,” he waited for a moment, but Minseok didn’t have anything to say. He figured this hyung held him to higher standards than he deserved. “It’d be easier to see things one dimensionally. You’re Keria. He’s Gumayusi,” Sanghyeok said, his voice gaining a quiet strength. “But out there?” He gestured vaguely toward the world beyond. “They don’t even see that. They’ll trade legends for rookies if it fits the narrative. They’ll call you washed one week and gods the next.”
Minseok’s throat worked. These were not unfamiliar words, but he failed to not take these things to heart. Sanghyeok’s gaze drifted back to the windshield, pacing himself. Minseok wondered how much of this failure they shared, though this hyung’s experience was unmatched by anyone. Minseok was privileged to have a hand to hold, guiding him forward through lessons he suspected Sanghyeok had learned the hardest way possible.
“Be reassured that in this car? You’re just Minseok.” He finally turned to him fully. “And he’s the person who called me, more worried about you than he is about himself.”
That was a much needed moment to breathe.
“You think I don’t recognize the look in your eyes?” he asked, the question hanging between them—pointed but not unkind.
Minseok finally met his gaze. Their understanding aligned without effort. His knuckles whitened on his own knees. No tears came. There was only the dashboard, blurring at the edges.
Sanghyeok shifted, the leather seat creaking. “He asked for help tonight,” he said, breaking the silence, “He didn’t have to explain why. But I think... From where I’m standing, it seems to me he’d rather have you yelling at him than have anyone else make you feel this small, even if that person is yourself.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “Am I close?”
Minseok rolled his eyes, but the gesture lacked its usual heat. His voice was low and weak. “He’s an idiot.”
Sanghyeok’s lips quivered—almost a smile. He didn’t correct Minseok.
Minseok sighed, the sound ragged and hollow, exhaling the very weight of his thoughts. Tired, hurt, sad, and angry. A tangled knot of emotions he didn’t have the energy to untie.
“Thanks for the ride, hyung,” Minseok offered, his voice intentionally lighter, a fragile shield against the lingering vulnerability.
“Anytime,” Sanghyeok reassured, his own voice a low, steady hum in the quiet car. He paused, choosing his next words with care. “Maybe we can all go out soon, everyone for once. I promised Wangho-ya I’d set something up.” The suggestion was gentle, hesitant.
A ghost of a genuine smile touched Minseok’s lips, and he gave a short, grateful nod. The thought of something normal, something easy, was a balm.
“I’m gonna head in now,” Minseok amended a minute later, taking the shot after realizing Sanghyeok wouldn’t be the one to push him away, wouldn’t make his decisions for him. “I’ll find Minhyung, and… let him know.”
Sanghyeok’s understanding smile reassured him without words.
They exited the car, and Sanghyeok finally let the day catch up with him, stifling a yawn. That’s when Minseok noticed what he’d been too wrapped up in his own head to see. Driven by guilt, he nudged Sanghyeok with his shoulder, masking the affectionate gesture as playful affection to wake him for a moment longer. Sanghyeok held up a hand in mock surrender, his own apologies a quiet murmur as he smiled back.
The entrance was deserted, bathed in the blue glow of emergency lights, but it quickly became clear that Minseok wouldn’t need to look for Minhyung at all.. There he was, sitting on the floor of the elevator like a maniacal gargoyle, back against the wall, legs sprawled out. He was engrossed in his phone, the cold light washing over his face and highlighting the sleepy eyes, and determined set of his jaw. He looked up, startled, as the automatic doors hissed open.
He scrambled to his feet a beat too late, his phone clattering to the ground before he could stop it. Sanghyeok and Minseok exchanged a long, loaded look, a silent conversation passing between them before both dissolved into giggles.
“Hyung, thank you for the favor, and I’m so sorry to bother you,” Minhyung rushed out, bowing low until Sanghyeok’s hand came to rest on his shoulder.
“Minseok already said that too,” he informed, a small smile tugging at his lips despite his best effort to remain stern.
Minseok and Minhyung stared at each other. A million unspoken thoughts collapsed into a single, silent current that pulled them under, leaving them suspended in a moment that always felt too long and not long enough.
They rode up in silence, but it was a different kind of quiet now. It was the silence of a truce. Three figures in the small space—two omegas and one alpha—unconsciously maintained a careful distance.
Only at their doors did things change slightly. Sanghyeok offered them one last, knowing look before slipping into his own room, the soft click of his door a signal that left them alone.
Every instinct screamed at Minhyung to reach out, to ask, but the words felt too large, too needy. Lately, their conversations had been minefields, triggered by Minseok’s latest spiral of frustration. So he’d take this instead—this silent walk down the hall. He’d take any crumb of Minseok’s attention, the gratefulness warring with the feeling of his own dignity fraying like an old rope.
They reached their doors, facing each other in the narrow space that separated their rooms. Minhyung lingered, hand hovering over the doorknob but not twisting it. Minseok stopped a few feet away, the silence stretching between them like old gum. He fidgeted, his fingers twitching at his sides, a nervous energy betraying his composure.
“Thank you,” Minseok began, his voice a low murmur that seemed too loud in the night cover. He took a hesitant step forward, closing the distance. “For calling Sanghyeok-hyung.” He kept his gaze lowered, fixed on the column of Minhyung’s throat, the only part of him he could bring himself to look at. He saw the effect his words had, a faint shiver traced a path down his neck, and a ripple of goosebumps rose on his skin. The sight sent a pang through Minseok, a confusing mix of satisfaction and guilt that made him frown.
“I’m just happy you called me at all, Minseokie,” Minhyung replied, his own voice rough with restrained emotion. He swayed forward, an unconscious movement, pulled by gravity.
A sigh escaped Minseok’s lips, a sign of defeat, of surrender. He felt the last of his resolve crumbling. His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Minhyung’s forearm, then sliding down to intertwine their hands. He didn’t look at him as he used the link to push Minhyung’s door open.
“Let’s just sleep,” he plead, his voice barely a whisper. He may have framed it as a need for privacy, a practical solution, but the tremor in his tone gave him away. He was embarrassed by his own need, by how much he wanted this mundane closeness.
The moment Minseok tries to pull his hand away, Minhyung’s grip tightens, holding him fast. His other arm comes up to circle Minseok’s waist, pulling him flush against his body.
This is how it always is with them, Minseok thinks. All these years and it’s still a dizzying spell. He’s spent a long time trying to logic his way out of it, to rationalize the gravity that defies all reason, but the years have only proven its persistence. The flame between them has never dimmed. It burns as fiercely as the day it was lit, and his skin has never learned to be immune to its warmth.
Surrendering, Minseok lets himself fall, a deadweight of trust against Minhyung’s chest. Minhyung handles his weight with an easy strength, guiding them backward until the backs of Minseok’s knees hit the edge of the bed. They tumble down in a tangle of limbs. Once settled, Minseok moves on instinct, burrowing his face into the crook of Minhyung’s neck. He inhales deeply, and lets the scent of dark chocolate and warm skin flood his senses.
He’s somewhat grateful for the corporate-mandated scent suppressants during the day, it helps him save face. But here, in the dark, he can finally be honest. Here, wrapped in Minhyung’s scent, is the place meant for breathing, the sweet air like a drug.
“Minseokie,” Minhyung murmurs, his voice a low rumble against Minseok’s ear. His hand comes to rest on Minseok’s hair, stroking it with a heavy affection that feels like a confession in itself.
Minseok tilts his head up. They’re eye-to-eye now, his body draped over Minhyung’s lap. “Hi,” he whispers back, his own voice coming out rough and breathless.
“Do you feel okay?” Minhyung asks, unable to help himself. His heart is always on his sleeve these days, an open book Minseok could read at a glance. After everything, it’s only fair.
Minseok’s hand stills on Minhyung’s nape, his fingertips tracing idle patterns on the skin there. He meets Minhyung’s gaze, holding it with a steady intensity that leaves no room for doubt. “I missed you,” he admits, the words clear and unwavering. “Is that okay?”
Something in Minhyung’s face softens, a tension releasing that Minseok hadn’t even realized was there. The alpha nods, his arm tightening around Minseok’s waist. He hugs him fiercely, squeezing the air from his lungs until a small, surprised yelp escapes Minseok. As they cling to each other, the air fills with the sweet, ripe scent of juicy apricots—Minseok’s scent, unburdened and free, it always comes when Minhyung calls.
“Let’s change and sleep,” Minhyung whispers into his hair. “Promise me you’ll be here when I wake up,” he adds, his voice small and thin in the darkness, finding Minseok’s eyes as if they were the only two stars in a collapsed sky.
Minseok nods, surely like a vow. He cradles Minhyung’s face between his palms, his thumbs sweeping gentle arcs across the sharp line of his cheekbones. In the quiet, he pours everything he can't say—the apology, the tangled affection—into the simple press of his palm. He doesn’t know where his own warmth ends and Minhyung’s begins.
“Let’s eat together in the morning,” he murmurs, the words a fragile offering. “And no fighting. For a while.” It’s phrased as a proposal, but they both know it’s a promise—one Minseok is making to himself as much as to the man in his arms. He knows, with painful clarity, that he is the one who looks for trouble.
Kindly, Minhyung doesn’t point it out. He just smiles, a soft, forgiving thing that feels like a benediction.
God, Minseok thinks, his own heart aching with a sharp, unfamiliar guilt, I’ve got to stop stealing that off his face.
Minseok wakes in a pocket of safety, wrapped so tightly in Minhyung’s embrace that the world outside feels distant. For a blissful, hazy moment, he melts into Minhyung’s arms, nuzzling deeper into the alpha’s chest. The air around them, saturated by their pure scents throughout the night, smells like dessert and makes him sigh contentedly, before at last opening his eyes.
He looks up to find skin. Minhyung’s sleepy face is soft and cute, an unfortunate reminder of how good he looked on screen the previous week. Which, combined to the lack of filter Minseok wakes up with, leads to a surge of possessiveness.
In retaliation, he bites Minhyung’s biceps.
Minhyung tenses with a soft grunt. “Minseok—?”
“Don’t,” Minseok bites out, the word muffled against Minhyung’s arm, where the proximity now makes Minseok want to lick the skin. He lifts his head hazily, eyes blazing. “Don’t go showing off like that on live. Do you know how many screenshots are floating around social media now?” He deliberately omits the dozen saved in his own gallery. “Don’t you have any shame?”
Minhyung’s hair is short, but he reaches for it, pushing it away from his face. Minseok noticed he’d been doing that more often since the skin release. He’s fairly confident Minhyung’ll be letting it grow now, and he has no complaints about it. His own hand lifts instinctively, fingers tangling with Minhyung’s, stroking the short, soft strands at his temple. Losing his train of thought, Minseok lets out a sigh.
“You’re cute when you’re angry,” Minhyung murmurs, leaning into the touch. His nose skims the curve of Minseok’s cheekbone.
“Take me seriously,” Minseok whines in a high voice. His fingers tighten in Minhyung’s hair, a phantom pull held back by sheer will. “Please.”
“Minseokie,” Minhyung calls, drawing their gaze together. There’s a smile in his voice, although his face lacks one. “You worry about stupid things.”
Minseok’s responding glare should be terrifying, he has mastery, prestigious skin and many victims, but Minhyung looks at him and Minseok’s eyes feel like glass, lenses into the truth he tried to mask as anger.
Minhyung’s hand slides to the nape of Minseok’s neck. His fingers feel cool, but Minseok guesses it’s because he’s too warm. He can tell by the spike in his own apricot scent as Minhyung’s fingertips edge near his scent gland.
“It’s absurd,” Minhyung explains himself earnestly, out of honor not cowardice, the pain in Minseok’s reaction a much more compelling demand than his fury, “that you’d think I’d do anything for someone else’s attention.” Minseok’s breath hitches, his lip caught between his teeth as he holds Minhyung’s gaze. “If you’re worried, stop,” Minhyung commands, shrugging it off like it’s such a simple thing. “But in case you are bothered by it... I’ll be more careful in the future.”
Guilt washes over Minseok, silencing him. The fight drains out of his body, leaving only the warmth of melted chocolate, and the discomfort of his own unreasonable jealousy.
Unconcerned, Minhyung pulls him closer, large hands splayed across Minseok’s back, pressing them together until there’s no space left. Their legs tangle instinctively, a knot of limbs and warmth.
“You shouldn’t do it only because I say I don’t like it,” Minseok scolds weakly, but as his words push Minhyung away, his hands close on the alpha’s shirt, holding him in place.
“It’s just that I don’t like making you upset,” Minhyung counters, his voice rough with sincerity. “It’s easier this way, Min,” he murmurs, thumb brushing Minseok’s spine. “When you let me know what you’re feeling.”
Minseok nods. His insides are too much like jelly for him to sustain any argument.
More nights than he cares to count, he’s dreamed of memories and fantasies, either as comfort or torture. Minhyung’s arms around him, the pressure of his lips, the taste of his alpha, like dark chocolate and something uniquely Minhyung on his tongue.
Minseok’s gaze drops to Minhyung’s lips, the memory of those dreams suddenly overwhelming. His fingers loosen in Minhyung’s hair, trembling against his nape.
“Alpha,” Minseok breathes, the word an offer. He swoons as Minhyung rolls him gently onto his back, caging him in. Large hands cradle his jaw, thumbs stroking his cheekbones as Minhyung’s mouth claims his.
Minhyung’s tongue sweeps in deep, his possessiveness revealed in each move, and Minseok arches into it, a moan lost against the alpha’s lips.
“What do you want, my baby?” Minhyung presses, his smirk barely hidden as his mouth moves to form words. Minseok would only need half a mind to catch the teasing, but he’s not at all there.
“You,” admits candidly, reply coming fast as he doesn’t hesitate enough to bother manipulating his own truth.
Honesty from Minseok earns him a reward. With a pleased moan, Minhyung uses his thigh to push Minseok’s legs apart, one of his hands chasing the movement, thumbs inching down his hipbones. Minseok’s breath catches, trying to resist but rutting against Minhyung, frustrated by their clothes in the middle. His morning stiffness was now a demanding throb, a low-grade heat that wouldn’t be ignored.
Minhyung kisses him again. Slower now. He doesn’t need to tease Minseok. Minhyung is good at what he does, good with his fingers where he toys with pain and pressure, distracting and overwhelming Minseok, handing him pleasure in shapes and in touches that are new, but move way beyond expectations.
Minhyung knows when to give Minseok time to catch his breath, but Minseok is greedy. He whines, “alpha, please,” hands fisting in Minhyung’s hair, pulling him back for more kisses. They compromise. Minhyung’s mouth doesn’t need words, they’re made for touching Minseok’s lips, his cheekbones, and the sensitive shell of his ear. His tongue traces a possessive path down Minseok’s neck, leaving dark bruises in its wake, unapologetic proof of his hunger, a map of his strength etched onto his omega’s willing skin. Minseok values the making of those marks as much as their permanence.
“Minhyungie,” Minseok whimpers.
“I’m here, Min,” he rumbles, tongue pressing hard and flat, dragging up the column of Minseok’s throat to the angle of his jaw. “Good?” He checks, speaking right into Minseok’s ear. The warm breath in such a sensitive place is enough that Minseok shakes through a shiver.
Minseok chases after Minhyung’s mouth senselessly, clashing their teeth together.
The scent of apricots blooms around them saccharine in its desperation, mingling with the rich honey of Minhyung’s arousal. The world narrows to the heat of Minhyung’s body, the slide of their tongues, and the dizzying relief of finally, finally letting go.
There’s a smirk on Minhyung’s face when Minseok’s slick takes over the air, Patchoulil, complex like its origin, it means Minseok’s achieved a sense of bliss, and that’s always gratifying to Minhyung.
Minseok bites his alpha’s lip when Minhyung can’t stop grinning.
“Baby, you’re so sweet,” Minhyung praises, pausing to lick where Minseok’s teeth nick, placating Minseok’s response with affection. He’s shamelessly distracting the omega, pulling Minseok’s pants down and leveraging his knees up, gaining access to his bare skin. “All of you.”
Minhyung was shameless where Minseok was concerned—a fact that never failed to astonish Minseok himself. He was the one expected to go to great lengths for shock value, but challenging Minhyung was a mistake if Minseok didn’t want to be humbled.
Minhyung’s thumb pressed against Minseok’s entrance, the pad compressing the sensitive flesh until Minseok clenched reflexively. A trickle of slick escaped, glistening in the dim light as if summoned by the touch.
A ragged moan tore from Minseok’s throat, raw with agony. His eyes squeezed shut, a broken whine escaping him as he came down from the peak—only to feel Minhyung’s finger withdraw, leaving him aching and cold.
When Minseok’s eyes fluttered open, he caught Minhyung sucking his own slick-coated thumb clean between his lips. Heat flooded Minseok’s cheeks. He felt dirty filth, and he hadn’t done a single thing.
The thought made him reckless, needy—a taunt on his lips as he urged Minhyung down.
Minhyung went willingly, chuckling as he kissed down Minseok’s torso. His mouth lingered over cotton, making Minseok writhe with impatience. Only when Minhyung hooked his fingers in Minseok’s waistband did he realize his pants were completely gone, drawn off right under his nose.
Then Minhyung’s mouth replaced his thumb, tongue delving deeper as Minseok’s thighs fell open. He forgot to think then.
Minseok knew it was risky, falling into bed with his alpha teammate, getting attached to his contracted coworker, knowing the future could make them competitors in a field he craved success, where he found himself desperate for glory. It worked now, they were allies, but there was no guarantee for them and the risk was too great. Minseok couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he was ever forced to choose.
But he was weak, helpless to resist. And each time they had the opportunity to taste each other, Minseok only became more greedy, teeth aching and knuckles strained as he tried to grasp both sides of himself.
That morning, when his orgasm hit, it roared through him like the deafening ovation during their first Worlds win. Thunderous, overwhelming, his mind blanking.
He had reached for Minhyung’s arms then too. His happiness at the highest with them hugging in their own little world.
He cops small moments of these feelings whenever he can.
Steam fogged the mirror as Minseok stepped under the spray, the heat melting the stiffness in his muscles.
“You’re bleeding,” Minseok notices, brows furrowing as he leans in. The shower’s hot water must have reopened the bite. Now, blood trickled slowly from Minhyung’s split lip. Minseok sighed away his panic, thumb brushing the wound to check for swelling.
Minhyung leans into the touch, one hand resting on Minseok’s hipbone. His own tongue prod the broken skin, meeting Minseok’s finger. “Doesn’t hurt,” he comments, unfazed.
Minseok drops his hand. “I’m sorry.”
Minhyung smiles, then shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m not apologizing for your neck. Hope you have concealer.” Not a trace of any sympathy, but Minseok is burdened with finding his smugness endearing.
“I wouldn’t believe you if you did,” Minseok dismisses coldly, but there’s not really anger or surprise in his voice, so Minhyung doesn’t bother with it for long.
Minseok is tired. He just woke up but his mind is hazy, his legs feel like lead, so he hugs Minhyung by his waist, resting his head on the alpha’s chest for comfort. The water hits his back, like a massage, particularly nice after Minhyung makes it hotter, scalding their skin like Minseok prefers.
“Thanks,” he whispers, stifling a moan as Minhyung’s free hand joins the water, kneading his knotted muscles.
“Here’s to convincing you I make your life better,” Minhyung rumbles, low and breathy. Minseok snorts instead of arguing. “Have you been keeping up with PT?”
“Do I feel tense?” Minseok admits. He bites his lip when Minhyung finds a particularly tight knot. “Got a massage last week, but I’ve been diligent. Exercises, stretching and all.” He presses a kiss to Minhyung’s chest. “You’ve been working out. I can feel it.”
“Lots of free time,” Minhyung says, mischief in his tone. Minseok feels his gaze, he knows the lopsided grin will be in place without looking.
“Say what you want to say, alpha,” Minseok encourages, too relaxed for shame.
Minhyung’s chest vibrates with a low chuckle. “What else is there to do with all my free time?”
Minseok pinches the skin of his back where his hands touch and Minhyung barely flinches, just snickers.
“I really don’t know what to do with myself when you’re not around.”
Minseok hums contemplatively, holding back an eye-roll.
For his own benefit, he refuses to let the words settle, falling back to a frantic attempt to keep from losing his breath. It doesn’t really work, the butterflies are already in his stomach, a swarm he can never puke away.
“Did you check the time? Are we late? Will anyone walk in?” He scrambled for an excuse, realizing he should probably be worried about the world that existed just beyond Minhyung's door.
He manages to breathe through the worst of it.
“Texted Sanghyeok-hyung and manager-nim,” Minhyung reassures. “There’s no rush.”
“If you woke me too early…” Minseok warns.
Minhyung blows steam at his hair. “You woke me.”
“I didn’t,” he lied.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Minseok lifts his head. Minhyung’s already watching him looking smug, but Minseok’s eyes are more engrossed by the look. His cheeks flushed, hair plastered to his forehead.
“You’re lucky I’m cute,” Minseok shoots back, but his breath stutters. Heat coils low in his belly, saliva pooling in his mouth. Minseok is hungry for him, and his scattered brain finds no reason to deny himself the indulgence when his lips are right there.
If they weren’t late, they’d be now.
Minseok surges forward, hands tangling in Minhyung’s wet hair as he claims his mouth in an open-mouthed kiss.
After the shower, Minseok toweled his hair dry, the scent of Minhyung’s body wash covering his skin like a reminder. They are both naturally quiet, even as Minhyung presses the scent suppressor patch into Minseok’s palm, his own eyes visibly tight like his heart was clenched in a fist. As a rule, they don’t play around if they can avoid it, their scents easily bleeding through is enough to make Minseok panic depending on the day.
Today, a deep-seated yearning drowned out his caution. His fingers trembled as he applied it to his wrist, annoyed by the contrast to his overheated skin. He lingers, giving it time to work up its full effect while scrolling aimlessly through his phone without meeting Minhyung’s gaze, anything to delay the moment he’ll have to walk away, while not giving himself too much of a challenge. Resisting Minhyung is hard at all times, Minseok doesn’t even trust himself with small talk.
When he finally turns toward the door, clad only in a towel, Minhyung’s sharp inhale cuts through the steamy air.
“Minseok—”
“Later,” Minseok cuts him off, not looking back. The tiles bite at his bare feet as he runs away, feeling Minhyung’s stare like a physical touch on his bare back. His phone dings with a text message in time with the click on his door closing.
Minhyung: Don’t be a hypocrite, Minseokie
Minhyung: You have clothes in here
Minseok: No one caught me!!!!!!!!!!!!
Minhyung: No one else should see you like that, dummy
Minseok types out, “Dumb alpha,” but stares at it for a long time and ends up deleting it.
Minseok walked into the dining room for lunch to find Minhyung already seated beside Hyunjoonie, casually filling the jungler’s plate while Hyunjoon watched with exaggerated suffering. A pang twisted in Minseok’s chest—irrational, instinctive.
Sanghyeok met his gaze across the room and slid a chair out with his foot, creating a space beside him before Minseok even asked.
“You okay?” Sanghyeok murmured, leaning in. His voice was low not to attract attention, and all of his was directed to Minseok, his eyes missing nothing. Everyone saw it work in game, but Minseok was used to it outside of screens as well, the way this hyung was tracking the lingering flush on Minseok’s cheeks, the slight tremor in his hands.
Happiness bubbled up, bright and dangerous, threatening to spill over. Minseok bit his lip hard, the skin nearly breaking under his teeth. He swallowed it down, forcing a curt nod instead.
Sanghyeok’s stare intensified, assessing. Then, under the cover of the table, he offered his wrist. Minseok didn’t hesitate. His fingers closed around Sanghyeok’s forearm, thumb finding the steady pulse point. There’s not really a reason, at this point there won’t be any marking, but omega’s are sensitive beings, just exchanging touch satisfied something in the instinctive part of them that still craves pack, even if they evolved past the hierarchy.
Falling back into routine is easy. Eating while discussing their scrim schedule and planning drafts. Their strategy is a little messier, but they have managed to keep the mood up with the help of the staff. If anyone notices Minseok talks to Minhyung with less animosity, no one comments on it.
Minseok is beyond hoping their games will be all sunshine and rainbows just because Minhyung and him are good with each other. He has been here before, so it hurts the same amount when they’re stomped most of the first and second block, gasping for air while the team’s morale wavers. Only when they claw back, turning the last nexus in their favor, does the room lift.
He’s emoting over Hyunjoon-hyung’s dead body while the nexus explodes and his screen is broadcasting the word VICTORY. Minseok sighs, relief loosening his shoulders, and turns unconsciously toward Minhyung, hand raised.
Their palms crash together a beat later. Minhyung’s already waiting. Always watching.
They’re not as sneaky as they’d like.
The contact sears. Minseok rips his hand back like he’s been burned, eyes darting around the room, trying to see if anyone else caught them, but finding everyone else distracted by one thing or another. Still, Minseok chases distance, rising to cross the room and talk to Coach Mata about some pick ideas as an excuse.
The conversation swallows him whole. Fearless drafts, fearful drafts, the usual chaos. When they finally stop, Minseok declines Mata’s arena invite and realizes they’re alone. He doesn’t check if Minhyung’s heading to play or the gym. He doesn’t let himself wonder.
He’s still tired from last night and then this morning, but adding up to the day, he’s exhausted. He showers mechanically, rushing through the skincare he’d skipped the previous night, then collapses into bed like an anchor hitting seabed.
Morning came feeling like a new day. The first thing he does is reach for his phone, his eyes struggling to focus in the dim light. Before his fingers could close around the device, they brushed against something soft. A new Hello Kitty plushie. Minseok frowned, lifting it from the bedside table.
Minseok doesn’t understand it at first, but pushing his nose into it he knows where it came from.
He bit his lip, trapping the whimper that threatened to escape like an emotional omega. Minhyung was too good. Too thoughtful, too steady. Everyone said so. And Minseok was only human, wasn’t he? He dreamed of what being courted properly by this alpha would look like. Dreams of a relationship with a name, not just whispers in the dark.
But since those were dangerous thoughts, he shook them away like cobwebs. What he couldn’t shake was the fact that he wanted to see Minhyung. Right that moment.
He slipped out of bed, the Hello Kitty clutched in one hand, and padded down the hall. The only gift he had to offer was himself, but there was no hesitation in Minhyung’s eyes when he welcomed Minseok, in his gaze he found only warmth, embers catching flame.
Minhyung’s lips curved into a smile. He pulled back the covers in silent invitation.
“Missed you,” Minhyung grumbled, the words rough around the edges.
Minseok settled in, tucking the Hello Kitty between them like a baby before curling into Minhyung’s chest.
“Me too,” Minseok whispered, the admission muffled against warm skin.
But it was also true that any degree of peace made Minseok suspicious, irrationally defiant against his instincts.
Especially when he was paranoid of being caught with his feelings, and stomping on Hyunjoonie in game and out of it was doing very little to stop the teasing, so Minseok naturally fell back. His interactions with Minhyung were more of the polite nature, quick check in and very little interaction in private again. It’s not a fight, so he keeps his promise, and they do sneak into each other’s bed every few days, beside the texting and casual conversation, but Minseok isn’t good at balance, he is all or nothing, so often he is tripping. Sometimes, right into Minhyung’s lips.
The door clicked shut, plunging them into near darkness. Minseok had Minhyung pinned against the wall before the alpha could even draw breath, his mouth crashing down on Minhyung’s with a desperation that bordered on violence.
Minhyung gasped into the kiss, hands automatically coming up to grip Minseok’s hips, pulling him closer. “Minseokie—?” he managed between the frantic press of lips.
“Shut up,” Minseok muttered, biting at Minhyung’s lower lip, then soothing it with his tongue. He tasted the mint from Minhyung’s post-lunch gum and sweet chocolate. It made his head spin. “Just… shut up for a minute.”
Minhyung chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated against Minseok’s chest. He tilted his head, giving Minseok better access to his throat. “Needy today, aren’t we? Someone forgot their suppressant this morning?”
Minseok pulled back just enough to glare, his chest heaving. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He leaned in again, nipping sharply at the hinge of Minhyung’s jaw. “Just needed to wipe that stupid smirk off your face.”
“What smirk?” Minhyung asked, his grin widening even as Minseok’s teeth scraped his skin. His hands slid up Minseok’s back, fingers tangling in the fabric of his jacket, pulling him impossibly closer.
“That one,” Minseok growled, surging forward again, his kiss deeper this time, more possessive. He licked his way into Minhyung’s mouth, claiming, demanding. “Stop reacting when Hyunjoonie makes jokes about us sharing a room.”
Minhyung’s laugh was muffled against Minseok’s lips. “Ah, that. He was just teasing, Minseokie. It’s not weird he knows we’re close.” His hands tightened on Minseok’s back. “But, you have to admit,” he murmured, pulling back slightly, his breath warm on Minseok’s swollen lips, “it’s kinda funny. You get all prickly when they think we’re sleeping together, but you seem to have way less of a problem leaving them wondering why we both will smell like each other after this.”
Minseok froze. The heat in his veins turned to ice. He shoved himself back, creating a sliver of space between them, though Minhyung’s hands remained firm on his waist.
“That’s different,” he snapped, his voice sharp in the enclosed space. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, glaring.
“Is it?” Minhyung asked, his tone deceptively mild. His thumbs stroked small circles on Minseok’s hipbones, a gesture that was both soothing and maddeningly intimate. “Because it feels like the same thing to me, there’s always some physical evidence.”
“It’s not the same!” Minseok insisted, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself. He took a ragged breath, trying to regain control. “Scent is… scent. It’s just proximity. It’s… manageable. People share scents all the time in teams. It’s not…” He trailed off, searching for the right word, his gaze dropping to Minhyung’s chin. “It’s not like admitting anything.”
Minhyung was quiet for a moment, studying Minseok’s averted face, the flush still high on his cheeks, the rapid pulse fluttering in his throat. His expression softened, the teasing edge replaced by something deeper, knowing. “So it’s the admitting part that scares you,” he said softly. It wasn’t a question.
Minseok’s head snapped up, defiance warring with vulnerability in his eyes.
“I’m not scared,” he lied, the words brittle. “I’m just… practical. Paranoid. Whatever you want to call it.” He tried to push Minhyung’s hands away, but the alpha held firm. He gestured vaguely, frustration tightening his jaw. “It’s asking for trouble. For whispers, don’t act like you don’t notice these things, Minhyung.”
He finally met Minhyung’s gaze directly, his own eyes displaying nothing but fierce and defensive conviction. “I can excuse being paranoid when I don’t want to get hot with this dumb guy,” he declared, the insult landing with less force than intended, sounding more like a desperate shield. “Especially when said dumb guy seems determined to make everything harder than it needs to be.”
Minhyung didn’t flinch at the insult. Instead, a small, sad smile touched his lips. He reached up, not to pull Minseok back into a kiss, but to gently brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead. The touch was feather-light, reverent.
“Okay, Minseok,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, cutting through Minseok’s frantic energy. “Okay. Paranoid is fine. Practical is fine.” He leaned in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to Minseok’s forehead, a stark contrast to the frantic need from moments before. “But maybe… just maybe… the complication is worth it? Even if it’s just for a few minutes?”
Minseok didn’t answer. He just stood there, trapped between Minhyung’s hands and the wall, the alpha’s scent wrapping around him like a warm, suffocating blanket. The anger and defiance slowly drained out of him, leaving behind a hollow ache and the terrifying echo of Minhyung’s question. He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against Minhyung’s shoulder, seeking the comfort he’d deny needing with his dying breath.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Minhyung began, his voice losing its even keel, frustration seeping through. He’s much more competent than Minseok at holding back his fury when talking about something quite close to his feelings. “Minseok, I just can’t get used to it, like of course I noticed how things have changed, this year in particular, how could I not?”
Minseok’s head snapped up, the vulnerability vanishing behind a familiar, defensive wall. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Am I?” Minhyung’s laugh was hollow. “It’s insane. If you’d told me last year we’d have a new top laner and by Worlds he’d still do a double-take when you sit beside me, I’d have laughed at how unserious it sounded. But it turns out Sanghyeok-hyung has to check on me the second you walk into a room and don’t look at me. The entire team holds its breath waiting to see which version of you we get based on whether I breathed in your direction that morning.”
“So it’s my fault? It’s not like I enjoy having to live my life with so many eyes on everything I do, Minhyung,” Minseok argued, shoving at Minhyung’s chest, finally breaking his hold. He put precious distance between them, his heart hammering. “Maybe if you didn’t look at me like a lost puppy all the time, they wouldn’t have anything to talk about!”
It was a low blow, achieving exactly what it meant to. Minhyung actually flinched, and Minseok felt a sick thrill of victory instantly swallowed by crushing guilt.
“A lost puppy,” Minhyung repeated, the words flat. He ran a hand over his face, the fight draining out of him, leaving only a weary sadness that was somehow worse than anger. “Right.”
Minseok couldn’t stand to look at him.
“This distance…” Minhyung’s voice was rough now, stripped bare. “Maybe it’s cute sometimes, maybe even fun in its own way. And I swear I’ll take you any way I can get you. But don’t pretend this is us. Not when you’re so deep in your own head. I can only guess you’re struggling on your own, and you’re not talking to me, Min, I know you but I can’t read your mind though I‘m sure it can’t be just to save face.” He waited until Minseok was forced to meet his gaze. “We’re not stupid, Minseok. Neither of us. This… It’s been half a decade. We’re too old to pretend that history doesn’t weigh anything. Do what you want with that. But, at least for this part, let’s not pretend.”
Minseok nodded, the simple gesture feeling like a surrender. He forced himself to anchor in the present, in the dim room and Minhyung’s wounded eyes, and not drown in the memories. To drift now would be to dishonor everything they’d bled for.
Silence fell. Minhyung watched him for a long moment, then let out a slow breath. Without another word, he turned and left, pulling the door shut with a soft, final click.
Alone, Minseok slid down the wall until he sat on the floor, the cool surface a shock through his clothes. His mind, ever the strategist, tried to frame their chaos in the only terms that ever made sense to him: the game.
Like early game, they didn’t know each other, they didn’t know anything really. They craved a legacy beyond any player’s grasp, though both knew such heights demanded a crucible of suffering no one else could fathom. Neither could truly comprehend the sacrifice until their fingers grew numb with cold, each click sending shards of pain up their arms. Until their eyes blur and burn, refusing to focus even as the game clock ticks. Minseok gains and loses weight in unhealthy ways, and he thinks it’s normal. They simply didn’t know what waited for them.
Then mid game, they had experience, but they were still trying to prove themselves as players, and they never spoke of it, but even as they enjoyed more of their company than it was healthy, than it was casual, they kept barriers in name of friendship and professional relationships that barred them from being lovers. Minseok had hoped to indulge in this weakness as a winner, a sweet apple plucked in triumph. But he bit into it while grieving. The fruit tasted of ashes and longing, it was a conscious sin. Now he believes penance is due. That happiness must be earned through suffering before he’s worthy of moving forward.
And he isn’t even the religious one between the two of them, so why would Minhyung be any different? Maybe, if they hadn’t lost that teamfight topside for DRX in 2022 he’d have a mate and safety now, but Minseok tried to atone with two titles and he still didn’t believe he was worthy of happiness yet.
Late game is a rigorous push and pull, because death timers are so long any mistake will cost you everything, and Minseok simply hates losing.
The next couple days were more chaotic, their schedule eating up their entire days and leaving not enough time for basic necessities, such as sleeping and eating. They were getting a break soon, but the team wasn’t working well and with Worlds approaching and their spot still to be secured, everyone had to work harder.
The stressful time is why Minseok was horizontal across a pile of bean bags, an eye mask doing little to block the afternoon sun filtering through the common room windows. He’d been chasing sleep for twenty minutes when his focus is disturbed by Moon Hyunjoon’s approaching voice.
He’s so tired he mentally checks out, which backfires spectacularly not long after.
“Hyung, wanna see something hilarious?” Hyunjoonie’s footsteps were silent as he crept closer, Hyunjoon-hyung trailing behind, looking wary.
Doran frowned, already suspicious. “What are you plotting?”
Little Hyunjoon’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. “Watch this,” he crouched beside Minseok, fingers hovering.
Minseok senses startle by the close presence, realizing only that it’s not Minhyung, which is enough that he is pushing the eye mask off and rising up to sitting position when Oner holds him in place by his shoulder, thumb insistently rubbing the skin of Minseok's neck, scraping away the concealer.
“What the fuck—” Minseok jerked back, but the damage was done.
Hyunjoon-hyung’s eyes widened, his jaw going slack. He clapped a hand over his mouth, but a muffled “Holy—” escaped anyway. His gaze darted from Minseok’s neck to Hyunjoon’s grin, torn between shock and morbid curiosity.
Oner doubled over, laughter shaking his shoulders so hard he had to brace a hand on Minseok’s beanbag. “Minhyung’s lips are super bruised,” he wheezed, “so that’s an easy guess.” He leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “you two are disgusting.”
“I hate you,” Minseok snarled, yanking his jacket collar up to his chin. His ears burned crimson. “And for the record? It was one time. Two days ago. His lips are fine—you’re just obsessed with me!”
“One time too many if you’re still trying to hide the evidence,” Oner teased, already pulling out his phone. “Wanna settle this in arena later? Loser buys dinner.”
Minseok’s scowl deepened, but he nodded. “Fine. But you’re paying for good meat when I crush you.”
Hyunjoonie moved away cackling, whispering to Hyunjoon-hyung, who also laughed while gazing one last time at Minseok’s covered neck.
Minseok sat up with the wounded dignity of a soaked puppy, scanning the room for witnesses. Coach Tom looked engrossed in his phone, while Sanghyeok fiddled with his own like a cat toying with prey, pointedly not looking in Minseok’s direction with a sideways smirk. Finding no sympathetic audience, Minseok’s shoulders slumped. He pushed himself up and stumbled across the room, collapsing dramatically across Sanghyeok’s lap on the couch.
“Hate alphas, hyungie,” he whined, the childish complaint the final trigger. Sanghyeok’s composure cracked first by a twitch of his lips, then his shoulders shaking with laughter he could no longer contain.
Minseok was consoled with head pats.
“Heard you terrorized Hyunjoonie yesterday,” Minhyung called from Minseok’s bed, grinning as he emerged from the bathroom.
Still reeling from his jealous fit earlier that day, Minhyung’s casual demeanor was such a shock that his brain stuttered. For a long, awkward moment, Minhyung’s words were just noise, before he realized what he’d been talking about. Taking the challenge seriously, Minseok had been joined by Wooje, crushing Oner and Doran until Hyunjoonie’s jokes dried out, but that was a lot of tormenting for one night. And Minseok had figured it was obvious how badly it affected him, when he didn’t exchange a single word with the alpha all day, keeping a safe distance while Hyunjoonie followed him with his eyes, a knowing glint in his gaze that made Minseok feel like an addict near relapse. Still, he couldn’t believe Hyunjoonie was intentionally trying to make him jealous. It felt too cruel, even for them.
“Minhyung, we have to stop,” Minseok replied, the words out before he could reconsider. Minhyung’s smile vanished like a light switched off, hope draining from his face as rapidly as water down a drain. Only days after Minseok promised to try, and here he was, shattering them for the four-hundredth time.
“Yeah,” Minhyung agreed, voice dangerously flat. He pushed himself up, moving toward the door. “Of course, I’ll go now, have a good night.”
The pain in Minhyung’s voice choked Minseok. He watched him move like the audience to an unreachable stranger on a distant screen.
Pure instinct is unconscious and undeniable. It draws Minhyung’s head toward Minseok as he passes by him. Not looking, not thinking, just reacting to the scent, fresh in nature and taking over the air like the steam swirling around his body, still damp from the shower. For a heartbeat, Minhyung’s eyes drifted closed, inhaling deeper than necessary, the exhale that followed shuddering with suppressed pain. He tried to hurry, to escape, but Minseok’s fingers closed around his wrist, his own mind racing through a chaos of feelings in response to Minhyung’s unguarded reaction.
“Don’t be like that,” Minseok argued, voice strained. “I just think this should be private, the team is too unstable, I think it’s safer if we don’t add to the stress.” Even as he spoke, he recognized the shoddy excuse for what it was.
“Sure, Minseok,” Minhyung nodded. Minseok wonders whether consciously or unconsciously he sounded arctic. “Glad you had fun and a good meal after, I’ll go now, I still have to eat,” he overexplains, fumbling words spoken in a nervous rush, a telltale sign his mind was too scattered to filter what he was saying.
“Minhyung,” Minseok whines, fingers tight in his wrists, tugging to keep Minhyung in place when he won’t look back at him. “I’m sorry,” he sobs, his free hand tugging on his own hair painfully, ruining the careful styling he’d done earlier while hoping and praying Minhyung would notice, wishing they’d have time together before going home. In two seconds, he’d ruined everything. Why am I always like this?
Anger burned hot enough to stave off tears, but not by much. When Minhyung’s arms suddenly wrapped around him, a sob nearly broke loose.
“It’s okay,” Minhyung murmured against his hair, but the words dissolved like nothing. Nothing was okay. Nothing would ever be okay until Minhyung looked at him like he used to.
“I’m sorry I pressured you,” Minhyung added, pulling back slightly. The distance felt like a chasm. “Go put on some clothes, I’m going out to get some food, if you want to come.”
Minseok brightened mutely. “Yes, I want to.”
Before Minhyung could step away, Minseok yanked him back, tumbling them both onto the bed. For once, Minseok had the height advantage, pinning Minhyung beneath him. He leaned down, capturing Minhyung’s lips in a gentle kiss. His tongue swept across Minhyung’s bottom lip, coaxing it open. His eyelids slid shut over darkening, mesmerized eyes.
When Minhyung yielded, their tongues met in the middle. Minseok felt his hands grip on his naked back, and even arching up into him. Despite the cold around them, sweat starts all over his body.
Just like that, they lose track of time. Minhyung held on as though for dear life, but kept letting Minseok press deeper and deeper, opening up for him, soft and pliant and everything Minseok was not.
Feeling as though he was burning in a fire that was too hot, Minseok ripped his mouth away. Minhyung was still laughing into his lips when they parted, a warm breath against Minseok’s mouth.
“We could stay in,” he murmured, thumb stroking Minseok’s jaw. “If you’d like.”
“Noooo,” Minseok dismissed, shaking his head with exaggerated seriousness, though his eyes sparkled. He leaned in, nipping playfully at Minhyung’s lower lip, if he pressed into it, he could still feel where he had broken the skin that day on Minhyung’s bed. “Let’s go on a date,” he insisted, the request softening into vulnerability.
And yeah, Minhyung just had one of those faces. When he smiled like that—really smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners, warmth radiating from him like sunlight—it didn’t just look good, it charmed all of his senses. It reached inside Minseok’s chest, soothing the raw ache he’d carried since his own stupid words earlier. This was the smile that healed fractures, that made everything feel possible again. Minseok wanted to press it against his own heart, to keep it safe forever. He needed this.
The first day of the break dawned gray and drizzly, matching Minseok’s mood as he stood outside the Elementary School. A box of donated League of Legends merchandise rested against his hip, its weight familiar yet different from the bag he was accustomed to carrying to LOL Park. The principal, a kind-faced woman in her late fifties with silver-streaked hair, beamed at him with genuine warmth.
“We’re so grateful you could spare some time, Keria-ssi,” she said, leading him toward a classroom of excited fifth-graders. “The children were absolutely thrilled when they heard a world champion was visiting.”
Minseok managed a smile that felt more genuine than expected, adjusting the facemask that covered most of his face. “Happy to help, principal-nim. Anything to support the next generation of players.” The words came out automatically, but he meant them. This was different from the usual meet-and-greets, it felt like it mattered.
The fluorescent lights of the computer lab flickered softly as Minseok adjusted the microphone on his headset. Twenty pairs of eager eyes watched him from behind glowing monitors, their faces alight with curiosity. For a moment, he felt the familiar weight of expectation settle on his shoulders, but then a girl in the front row whispered “Wow, it’s really Keria!” with such unguarded awe that something in his chest loosened.
“Okay, class,” he began, his professional voice slipping into something more approachable. “Today we’re going to analyze positioning in team fights. Who can tell me why they think ADCs prefer engage supports no matter what?”
A girl with pigtails shot her hand up so eagerly she nearly lifted from her seat. “Because to them it feels like engagers and tanks do more.”
Minseok grinned, feeling a genuine spark of delight. “Exactly! You've got it.” He moved between the rows of computers, pointing at screens with a teacher’s enthusiasm he didn’t know he possessed. “Now, look at this VOD from last year’s Worlds, can you see how the support peels back just enough to apply pressure without committing? That’s what we’re practicing today.”
During break, while the students were at lunch, Minseok sank into a child-sized chair that made his knees bend awkwardly. He pulled out his phone, his fingers hovering over Kwanghee’s name, wondering if he wanted to take the risk of being ignored all day, before dropping a message.
Minseok: Hyung, are you well? I’m volunteering at an Elementary School today again. The kids here are terrifyingly good at League for their age.
Minseok: One of them just predicted our draft strategy for playoffs.
He then sent a similar message to Hyukkyu:
Minseok: Hyukkyu-hyung, remember how you always said I’d make a good teacher? I’m currently being interrogated by 11-year-olds about how I time my rotations and I figured you were wrong. Send help.
The responses came slowly, as expected, but it surprised Minseok to have them at all, given their schedules.
Kwanghee: Kekeke, the kids must love you. Send pics of you in teacher mode!
Kwanghee: And maybe you should listen to them, Minseok-ah. Kids these days know more than we did at their age.
Kwanghee: How’s everything? Is T1 making it to Worlds this year? Should I still bet on you guys? My unit expects me to have inside information.
Hyukkyu: ㅋㅋㅋ Teaching is noble work, Minseok-ah. And don’t forget that sometimes the quietest students have the sharpest minds. As for your question... some things never change, do they? Take care of yourself.
Minseok smiled at his phone, warmth spreading through his chest. He missed his friends terribly, especially during times like this when he felt adrift without their steady presence. Kwanghee’s teasing and Hyukkyu’s wisdom had anchored him through so many storms.
Life is really never easy, no matter how Minseok looks at it.
When he returned to the classroom, twenty pairs of eager eyes lit up, forcing Minseok out of his melancholic headspace.
It was easier after that, and for the next two hours he signed posters, answered questions about professional gaming, and even participated in a friendly 1v1 against the class’s bravest players. The children’s laughter was infectious, and for a while, Minseok forgot about the weight of expectations and the complicated mess with his team. Here, he wasn’t the omega who couldn’t decide what he wanted, or the repeating world champion under pressure—he was just Keria, the gamer who loved what he did. He did feel a little bit like an idol, which was even more fun than at Home ground.
After packing up, Minseok headed back to the T1 headquarters. The building was quieter than usual, with most staff on break. He passed the practice rooms on his way to the lounge, the ghost of late-night scrims seeming to echo in the empty halls. Minseok hesitated outside their streaming rooms, missing the game now he had a taste of it without the pressure, but knowing they had been ordered to take a break.
With a heavy sigh, he continued to the lounge where he found Sanghyeok, hunched over a tablet with VODs paused mid-teamfight. The soft glow illuminated the familiar furrow between his brows. Minseok didn’t announce himself, just dropped into the adjacent chair which made Sanghyeok look up.
“Long day?” Sanghyeok asked, setting the tablet aside. His gaze swept over Minseok, taking in the faint exhaustion around his eyes, the way he slumped instead of his usual restless energy.
“Elementary school kids are ruthless,” Minseok managed a tired smile, pulling out his phone. He tapped it against his palm. “Kwanghee and Hyukkyu say hi.” He didn’t need to elaborate on military life Sanghyeok himself wouldn’t experience.
Sanghyeok’s expression softened further. “Good.” He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “You eaten? Or are you surviving on cafeteria coffee and snacks again?”
Minseok shook his head, a wry twist to his lips. “Not yet. I was going to head out soon.” He glanced around the quiet facility. “You’re really not going home this break?”
Sanghyeok followed his look, a small, thoughtful shrug lifting his shoulders. “It’s so short,” he paused, studying Minseok’s face. “But I’ll sleep over there tomorrow, if you want to join me?”
A genuine smile touched Minseok’s eyes this time, easing some of the tension. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good, hyung.” He nodded, already opening Kakao again. He scrolled through his conversations, navigating to Minhyung’s.
They had only greeted each other in the morning, a casual check-in that filled the void of their general chat with the entire roster, so it did surprise him to open the chat to a photo of Minhyung supposedly post gym, muscles straining as he posed in front of the mirror. The message under read: 2025 goals locked in. Minseok stared at the photo longer than necessary, tracing the lines of Minhyung’s shoulders, the shape of his jawline.
Even through the phone screen, he could almost catch the faintest trace of Minhyung’s scent. Minseok could certainly imagine the alpha’s smirk as he sent the picture, and almost didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he made Minseok swoon without a single touch.
“Minseok-ah?” Sanghyeok’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “You seem distracted.”
Minseok locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Just thinking. Talking to kids about the game is hard.”
Sanghyeok’s knowing look suggested he didn’t quite believe him, but he didn’t press. “Well, if you want to talk it over, I’m here. Or if you’d rather just rest…”
“Actually,” Minseok said, standing up suddenly, “I think I’ll head out. Need to run some errands before dinner.”
As he walked through the facility, Minseok pulled out his phone again. His thumb hovered over Minhyung’s name, that familiar mix of longing and resistance warring within him. He typed out a message, deleted it, typed again, and finally settled on something simple that wouldn’t reveal too much of his turmoil.
Minseok: Looking strong. Don’t overdo it.
He hit send before he could second-guess himself. The response came almost immediately, as if Minhyung had been waiting.
Minhyung: Thanks. Grabbing dinner later? There’s a new BBQ place near home, if you want to try.
Minseok stared at the message, a complicated mix of relief and anxiety washing over him. This was how they were now. Careful, measured, always leaving space between them. But the invitation felt like an olive branch, and after their recent tensions, he was desperate to accept it.
Minseok: Sure. 7pm?
Minhyung: Perfect. See you then.
As Minseok slipped his phone back into his pocket, he noticed Sanghyeok watching him from the end of the hall, a small, encouraging smile on his face. Minseok returned it with a nod of his own, feeling lighter than he had in days. Minseok felt like he might be able to navigate these few days without losing himself completely.
Day two brought a surprising sense of ease.
The volunteering was exhausting, teaching all day was so different from playing, but it was also grounding in a way pro gaming never was. These kids didn’t care about his rankings or his salary. They just wanted to learn, and in teaching them, he was rediscovering his own love for the game beneath all the pressure.
Later that afternoon, as he sat down for a much needed break, the Instagram notification had popped up earlier, but only now caught his eyes. @t1_gumayusi posted a photo. Minseok’s thumb hovered over the screen, then tapped it open. The photo showed Minhyung lying on his stomach on his parent’s living room couch. Curled on his lower back was Doongi, looking content claiming the territory, the Pomeranian not even occupying the entirety of Minhyung’s back.
Longing twisted in Minseok’s chest. There was Minhyung, looking relaxed and happy in a way Minseok rarely saw anymore. He had been equally cute during their dinner the night before, but Minseok was envious that he wasn’t resting at home beside him.
Minseok’s thumb hovered over Minhyung’s contact, the photo still glowing behind his eyelids. He tapped the call button. It only rang twice.
“Minseok?” Minhyung’s voice was a little rushed, like he’d moved to answer quickly. “Everything alright?”
Minseok leaned back, the plastic chair groaning under his weight. A genuine smile spread across his lips despite himself, just hearing his voice loosened a knot of tension in his shoulders. “Hey. Yeah, fine. Just saw your picture. Doongi’s looking awfully proud of himself. Did you let him steal my spot?”
Minhyung’s soft laugh held a note of relief. “The couch still sags in the wrong spot without you here to point it out.” The easy affection in the words was a balm and a sting.
“Missed you too,” Minseok admitted, the words catching in his throat. He scrambled to deflect. “These kids are something else, though. One of them pointed out a flaw in our draft strategy from last week that our coaches missed.” He paused, the weight of their recent losses pressing in. “Makes you wonder what the hell we’re doing when eleven-year-olds can see it clearly.”
On the other end, Minhyung was quiet for a beat. Minseok could picture his face, the thoughtful frown. “You sound different when you talk about them,” he said finally.
Minseok’s chest tightened at the observation. His gaze drifted to the classroom door, from behind which came the muffled sounds of laughing children. “It’s really simple here,” he admitted quietly, holding no doubt he had Minhyung’s full attention. “There are no expectations, no comparison. Just... talking.”
The line was silent again, but this time the quiet felt heavier. Minseok could almost hear Minhyung turning it over in his mind, and he braced for a follow-up question that would force him to confront beyond face value. Player Keria and player Gumayusi love for the game was borderline an obsession.
Instead, after a long moment, Minhyung simply let out a slow, acknowledging breath. "I get it," he said, his voice low. The relief was so potent it left Minseok feeling unmoored.
Another beat of comfortable silence passed, the kind that only existed between them. It was Minhyung who broke it, his tone shifting, becoming deliberately lighter, testing the waters.
“So… I was, uh. I was thinking about dinner again tonight,” he started, the casualness a little too practiced.
Minseok’s stomach did a complicated flip, a cocktail of anticipation and dread. These dinners were their battlefield and their ceasefire. “Are you going to cook for me, alpha?" he bantered, a smile in his voice. “My stomach still hasn’t forgiven you for the kimchi jjigae disaster.”
“Don’t be mean, Minseokie,” Minhyung agreed sheepishly, but obviously too quickly. “No experiments, just comfort food. I could meet you at HQ?”
“Actually,” Minseok said, surprising himself. The words felt dangerous. “Let’s go out again. Yesterday was… good.” Too good. Too easy. It terrified him.
“Really?” Minhyung sounded genuinely pleased, though a cautious hope could be heard coloring his voice with unsteadiness. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good. Where do you want to go?”
As Minseok hesitated, the principal’s voice echoed down the hallway, announcing herself. “Keria-ssi! The children are asking for your strategic expertise during recess, if it wouldn’t be too much of a bother.”
“Hey, I have to go,” Minseok said, pushing himself up. “The future of League is calling.”
He heard Minhyung’s candid chuckle.
“Go save them from their own brilliance,” Minhyung teased, but the warmth in his voice felt fragile. “Text me later about dinner?”
“Will do,” Minseok promised. “Talk soon.”
“Bye, Minseokie.”
Minseok stood, stretching the stiffness from his limbs. “Tell them I’ll be right there,” he called to the principal, smiling politely.
As he walked toward the playground, the sound of children’s laughter filling the air, Minseok thought about Minhyung’s photo again. The cozy light, his peaceful smiles. Maybe that’s what they both needed. Some time apart from the craziness to find their own peace, so they could eventually come back together whole.
Another four hours of explaining macro strategy to fifth-graders had left him drained but strangely fulfilled. When the final bell rang, Minseok was packing up his laptop when the principal approached him.
“Keria-ssi,” she said, holding out a piece of paper. “We’ve documented today’s session.”
The short break had supercharged the team, leaving Minseok as the lone counterpoint to their electric atmosphere. His tendency to collapse into unconsciousness anywhere, anytime, had become both concern and comedy.
With their own match breathing down their necks, he was once again resting his eyes, letting the team’s conversation pass him by, when the couch dipped beside him. Minhyung’s voice cut through the low hum, murmuring an apology as he nudged Minseok’s legs to make space between Minseok and Sanghyeok on the crowded couch.
Minseok didn’t bother opening his eyes, even when a ripple of laughter nearby made him frown, and he pushed weakly at Minhyung’s hands when he tried to move him. But the alpha persisted, settling close enough that their shoulders brushed, then pressed flush.
Minseok’s head lolled toward the opposite armrest cranky.
Then Minhyung’s palm settled on his thigh while he tried to move into a more comfortable position, it wasn’t even really intentional. But all Minseok notices is the warmth seeping in, quieting the static in his nerves. His focus narrows to that single point of contact, and his body goes pliant. Falling asleep then isn’t a choice, it’s just gravity.
He dreams of the story they sell you as children, a prophecy of some sorts, spread in picture books and fairy tales. You naturally yearn for it.
Minseok has lived the roar of a crowd, turning pixels into prestige. He’s done it well. Made his skill into gold, into trophies that silence parental doubts, into a life that glitters with success. By every measure, he’s won.
And then there’s the other part of the prophecy, finding a scent that reaches beyond pleasing, stopping you in place. A warmth that settles on your skin nicely, that holds steady whether the world burns or freezes. Someone whose touch feels like home, not just comfort. Minseok found that too, in the impossible chemistry that binds him to Minhyung. By every cosmic, biological, logical measure, they are perfect.
So why does he fight? Why does he claw at this perfect fit until his own knuckles bleed? It feels like madness, squandering a lottery ticket most people search for their whole lives.
He lies to himself, feeble arguments where he pretends that if they were truly meant to be, if destiny had stitched them together, shouldn’t it be easier? Shouldn’t the fear that claws at his throat be quieted by the sheer rightness of it? Instead, the rightness only makes the fear sharper. He fights because he’s terrified. Terrified that something this perfect can’t last. Terrified that the prophecy was always just a story, and he’s the fool who believed it.
Minseok wakes up to the sound of clapping. He blinks heavily, slow at pushing through the fog of sleep. Disorientation hit first, but he realizes quickly he was now alone on the couch, somehow horizontal, but the room was still full.
Looking around, he finds the team had moved to the floor, takeout containers spilling across the low table. His eyes struggled to focus, landing on the screen, he recognized LPL by the noise. His eyes found the dragon corpse smoldering near the pit, and TOP’s winning, his brain registered, even as Hyunjoon's voice cut through the haze, commenting on Kanavi’s play between bursts of laughter.
Minseok scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing into the cushion. He let his eyes drift shut again.
“You woke Minseok,” Minhyung’s voice cut through the chatter, directed at Hyunjoon with a hint of reproach.
Hyunjoon just continued laughing, bracing his hands on the couch near Minseok’s head. Minseok cracked his eyes open in time to see Hyunjoon-hyung shove Hyunjoonie with a laugh, the younger yelped and tumbled sideways, his shoulder thudding against the couch frame right beside Minseok’s hip.
“Too loud,” Minseok mumbled, the complaint muffled by the cushion. It only fueled their laughter.
A fresh fight erupted on screen. Instantly, the noise dipped, replaced by focused silence. Even Minseok found himself drawn in, gaze fixed on the chaos. The quiet lasted only seconds before exploding again in shouts and groans as TES crashed mid tower.
A shadow fell over him. Minseok looked up to find Minhyung standing there, holding out a small, branded box. Minseok’s own name was scrawled across the top in marker. He pushed himself up, elbows digging into the cushion, and took the offering. The smell of something sweet and savory wafted up as he opened it.
Minhyung took one look at the free space before lowering himself onto the couch cushion right beside Minseok. Close enough that Minseok felt the subtle dip and shift of weight, the faint warmth radiating through his sleeve. Minhyung leaned back, settling in with a quiet sigh, his attention returning to the screen as if nothing had happened. Minseok ate, hyper-aware of the solid presence beside him.
“I’m going to the gym with Hyunjoonie," Minhyung announced, eyes fixed on the screen where Mata and Tom were reviewing something, going back and forth on the video. “You coming?” The question tossed over his shoulder, pointedly casual.
Minseok swallowed a snort, his gaze snagging on the sharp line of Minhyung’s jaw. Nice try, he thought, silently cataloging the forced nonchalance. “Already went in the morning,” he muttered around a mouthful of noodles.
Minhyung just nodded, but Minseok felt his attention shift. He kept eating, even though his focus darted between the takeout box and Minhyung’s profile. Then Minhyung tilted his head, meeting Minseok’s eyes directly.
Something flickered in his gaze—hesitation, want, maybe a plea. Minseok arched a single eyebrow in response, challenging.
They hadn’t shared a bed, or even a room, since before they had time off. Yet these moments kept happening. Lingering glances in the morning, poorly excused encounters before they retreated to their separate ways at night. The same hollow ache echoed in Minseok’s own chest, a familiar yearning. But god, it was satisfying to watch Minhyung wrestle with it. To see the alpha, usually so confident, fumbling for words. And everyone said he was the puppy.
“You’re so mean,” Minhyung accused softly, laughing to hide the underlying edge of hurt as he looked away.
“I didn’t say anything,” Minseok shot back, though the traitorous twitch of his lips betrayed him.
“You’re smirking,” Minhyung countered, turning back just enough to catch Minseok’s expression. “You can’t act, Minseokie.”
Minseok just shrugged, the movement lazy and nonchalant. He didn’t bother denying it. The smirk stayed.
Minhyung’s voice dropped, barely audible over the game’s commentary. “Should we talk after?" He didn’t look at Minseok, just stared at the screen, jaw tight. A quick, nervous bite of his lip was the only external tell he’d felt nervous, familiarity meant Minseok caught all the subtle other ones and there were many.
There it is. Minseok almost smiled. Not mocking, but… satisfied. Like watching a rival finally show their hand. He kept his face blank, eyes fixed on his takeout box. “About what?” he drawled flatly. “Reviews seemed fine.”
Minhyung rolled his eyes, a flicker of frustration. He leaned back, eyes closed.
“That’s not a no,” he said, voice low and confident.
Minseok finally glanced at him, a flicker of interest in his gaze. He hesitated for a moment, somewhat distracted by Minhyung’s face. “Then I guess you better think of something to say, alpha.”
Minhyung’s eyes caught the light, sparkling like stars reflected in the midnight sea off Busan. Beautiful in a way that stole the breath, that made you ache.
Before. Before the careful distance, the stolen moments reduced public teasing. Minseok missed the simplicity of just climbing into Minhyung’s lap, seeking warmth and comfort without calculation. That ease was gone. Minseok had built walls with his own two hands—one public face, one private truth. The more he took in the dark, the less he could afford to give in the light.
But now, looking at Minhyung’s endearingly earnest face, his palm burned with the desire to touch, to scent, to connect. And Minhyung felt it too, Minseok saw his gaze softened with pain, a grimace of apology twisting his lips as he started to turn away when Minseok didn’t move first.
He is such a perfect alpha for Minseok, he couldn’t have made someone better if he had asked for a custom-made list.
“Minhyung,” Minseok called, the name rough in his throat, stopping him a few steps away.
Minhyung dropped back instantly, no hesitation. “Are you okay?” His fingers fidgeted with his phone, eyes fixed on the screen. “I can skip the gym, just…”
Greedy. The word echoed in Minseok’s mind. He was so greedy.
He reached out, fingers closing around Minhyung’s wrist, pulling his hand away from the useless phone. The device tumbled forgotten into Minhyung’s lap. “You should go to the gym,” Minseok said, the words logical, detached.
Minhyung snorted, skeptical. Shyly, he slid closer, his free hand coming up to entangle their fingers. Still, he wouldn’t meet Minseok’s gaze, which was absurd, because Minseok was staring openly, drinking him in. “Do you want to hang out? We could go out to eat, if you want,” he offered, the suggestion casual, as if it had been his plan all along.
Greedy, but even that couldn’t stop the sharp sting of disappointment. Minhyung was still trying to protect him, even now. Minseok’s face fell.
Minhyung’s arm slid around his shoulders, pulling him into a side hug. “Minseok, are you really alright?”
Minseok opened his mouth to say yes, he was fine, but his body betrayed him. He grabbed fistfuls of Minhyung’s shirt, head suddenly heavy, and just… collapsed against him, the reply forgotten.
He didn’t understand this bone-deep exhaustion, only that sleep felt like the only escape.
Minhyung sighed, a sound of worry and fear. He wrestled them both down onto the couch, Minseok sprawled over Minhyung’s chest, his head nestled near the steady pulse point in his throat. Minseok buried his face instinctively, sneaking in a couple sniffs only to be left frustrated when nearly no scent reaches his nostrils. The scent suppressants did their job too well.
“You guys should get a room,” Hyunjoon groused, irritated, his voice too close. Minseok flailed a hand towards the sound, trying to shove the annoyance away, but missing completely.
“You keep waking me up,” Minseok whined, the sound muffled against Minhyung’s shirt. His body shifted, almost sliding off the couch before Minhyung’s arm tightened, holding him in place.
“Then sleep in your actual bed,” Hyunjoon retorted, like it was the most obvious solution in the world.
Wooje leaving and making this jungler maknae in T1 disturbed Minseok’s peace.
“Minhyung, are we going to the gym or not?” Hyunjoon’s voice challenged impatiently. He shifted his weight, waiting for a response that didn’t come.
Minseok sighed, the sound ragged in the stillness. He rolled his eyes, a flicker of irritation aimed more at himself than at Hyunjoon. Before Minhyung could formulate an excuse, Minseok pushed himself up. “Go,” he ordered, the word clipped. He snapped at Minhyung instead of doing so to Hyunjoon, who probably deserved it more, but was more likely to react unpredictably and use it as an excuse to tease him for an eternity in retaliation.
“Minseok—” Minhyung started, his voice low, seeking.
Minseok silenced him with a glare. “Since you’re going to work out,” he interrupted sharply, “give me your jacket. I forgot mine.” He thrust his hand out, palm up, feet tapping an impatient rhythm against the floor loudly.
Hyunjoon’s snicker was a dry rasp. Minseok’s glare swiveled to him, venomous. “Try not to injure yourself again,” he warned, the words dripping with false sweetness that curdled into a clear threat.
Hyunjoon’s hand lifted, playful aggression in his eyes as he reached to shove Minseok’s shoulder. “Yah, you little—”
“Hyunjoonie.” Minhyung’s voice wasn’t loud, but it stopped the jungler mid-reach. One eyebrow arched, a silent command radiating alpha authority. Don’t.
“Aish,” Hyunjoon grumbled, dropping his hand like it’d been burned. He gave Minhyung a look of exaggerated betrayal. “I didn’t even touch him! Is this how it is?” He appealed to Minhyung, who offered a sheepish, almost apologetic shrug.
“Sorry,” Minhyung murmured, the word directed at Hyunjoon, but his gaze lingered on Minseok.
The apology irked Minseok, a fresh spark of anger igniting in his chest. He snatched the jacket from Minhyung’s hand, the fabric warm from his body heat. “Thanks,” he bit out flippantly. He felt the traitorous heat rise in his cheeks and cursed his pale skin. “Be careful,” he added, the words thrown over his shoulder like stones, aimed at no one and everyone.
Minseok didn’t wait for a reply. He moved fast, before his own resolve could shatter like glass. Behind him, he pushed away the lingering warmth of Minhyung’s presence, the silent question hanging in the alpha’s eyes, the terrifying possibility that he might have stayed.
After walking out the building, Minseok walks around for a bit, trying to distract himself from being sleepy. It’s late by normal standards, but early for them. He wonders if he should return to the office and play, it’d be a good excuse to avoid Minhyung. The thing is that Minseok doesn’t want to avoid him and, after the month they had, is somewhat scared to seem like he is, so rolling up at the office seemed like a bad idea.
Then, he realizes he’s hungry and remembers the food he left behind. He pauses to eat, using the lull to text his parents, some friends, like Kwanghee, and Hyukkyu. He scrolls through Bubble, skimming messages he’s already read, the blue light a dull ache behind his eyes. The distraction works for a while. Food tastes bland, social media blurs into noise, minutes stretch like taffy.
Only once does he text Minhyung: Text when you’re heading home. I’ll buy you food. The message feels both too revealing and not enough.
People say he’s too smart for his own good. They’re right. Without focus, his mind becomes a runaway train, careening through more information it’s comfortable on days like these. Solitude amplified the noise until it was deafening. Maybe that’s why exhaustion clings to him like dried sweat he couldn’t wash off.
He walks past a pharmacy and it triggers Wooje’s voice in his head. Minseok grits his teeth, makes the purchase for his usual suppressants, and pockets the small box like contraband. He hates that Wooje isn’t entirely wrong, but right now he’ll just continue blocking his physiology as long as it’s convenient.
Heats were once a nuisance. As a teenager in DRX, they were a hollow ache, a nameless yearning that only left him feeling empty. But now, that ache is a promise of fulfillment. They even had settled into a rhythm: three times a year, steady for the past two years. A biological necessity transformed into something else.
Not this year, though. It sits unacknowledged, festering. And Minseok is slowly being pushed beyond oblivion of its fallout. All of it jagged and negative. Sleep is the first casualty, he guesses real rest is really beyond achievement, even during breaks, though the volunteer work seemed like only a partial excuse. Deeper down, he knows the truth is the lack of meaningful release, and sex with Minhyung is electric, vital, but it’s only half the equation. His omega demands more, a moment of surrender only Minhyung can coax from him when their hormones are at their peak.
Anger flares hot, as it does whenever he’s cornered. Need is vulnerability, which demands more than rationalization and leaves him without options.
The empty streets offer no distraction, only a biting wind that mirrors the chill fury coiling in his gut.
He stalks back to the office, heading straight for the gym with predatory focus. The clang of weights grows louder as he pushes through the door.
“You’re taking too long,” he accuses sharply. He corners Minhyung just as he racks his weights, the metal crashing down with unnecessary force.
“Minseok, seriously?” Hyunjoon cut in, stepping between them. His gaze flicked to Minseok’s clenched fists. “We’re in the middle of a set. Can’t you wait?”
Minseok’s breath hitched. Suppressants felt like paper against the tidal wave of pheromones flooding the room. He steps closer to Minhyung, leaning into the familiar scent while blinking slowly, trying to get used to it.
“You’re not supposed to be gross while I’m working out,” Hyunjoon gripes, walking to a nearby bench, pointedly staring at the ceiling. “Some of us are actually trying not to hurt ourselves.”
“Hyunjoon, shut up,” Minseok snaps, not even glancing his way.
“Min,” Minhyung’s calm voice seeps through the tension. He turns, holding out his open hand like a silent offering. The endearment is a reprimand softened with concern. “I was just finishing up, I was about to text you.”
Heat floods his face, a furious blush he can’t control. He hides behind his hands, but it can’t refrain his mouth from forming a quite pathetic whine.
He misses the loaded look Minhyung and Hyunjoon exchange. Misses how Hyunjoon edges closer, how his hand lands on Minhyung’s sweat-slick bicep just as Minseok shoves Minhyung’s hands away.
“Minseokie?” Hyunjoon calls, speaking softly and quietly. “Are you okay?”
Minseok drops his own hands with a ragged sigh, the frown etching itself deeper into his forehead. He finds both alphas staring at him in concern, Hyunjoon with open curiosity, Minhyung clearly wary.
Later, he’ll blame the gym air. The stifling heat, the exertion. Scent suppressants can only do so much against a hormonal surge triggered by physical strain. And Minseok is raw, oversensitive lately. But what matters is that it hits him like a punch to the gut, the mingled scents of both alphas—Minhyung’s familiar dark chocolate and Hyunjoon’s sharper cedar—suddenly flood the space between them. It’s overwhelming, chaotic. And the first thing his frantic, possessive omega brain registers is Hyunjoon’s touch on Minhyung’s skin.
A low snarl rips from Minseok’s throat before conscious thought can intervene. His vision tunnels, locking onto the point of contact—Hyunjoon’s hand still resting on Minhyung’s arm. The sound is pure, instinctual fury: Mine. Get off.
His hands fly up, claws outstretched to tear Hyunjoon’s touch away, but the jungler jerks back as if burned, staring at Minseok like he’s lost his mind.
“Minseok…” Minhyung’s voice was soft, cautious.
“Don’t,” Minseok chokes out. He spins, fleeing toward the door. The echo of his own snarl chases him out, leaving shame and Hyunjoon’s stunned silence in its wake.
He doesn’t hear Minhyung move. One moment Minseok’s running, the next a hand clamps around his throat like iron, yanking him backwards. He stumbles, crashing against Minhyung’s solid chest. Before he can process the collision, sharp pressure closes around the scent gland at his throat from Minhyung’s teeth. Minseok freezes. Even if the contact seems careful enough not to break skin, he can’t tell whether Minhyung is really trying. He ignores how the teeth are piercing enough that it should hurt, because his body is building pheromones faster than Minseok thought it would be possible.
Minseok reaches around, fingers brushing sweat-slicked skin. Not really trying to pull the alpha away yet, conscious he wouldn’t be able to stop this if Minhyung decided to, but still trying to attain some control. His heart is flying inside his chest, quicker than a racing car.
Minseok forces himself to breathe evenly, managing to appear calm even if he doesn’t feel it. The pheromones, betraying or saving him, are only peaceful. This is the alpha his omega loves, Minseok won’t lie and say he hasn’t thought about letting himself be claimed by this one person. But not like this, and the absurdity of the situation, rushed and public, is enough evidence for him to guess Minhyung isn’t in his right mind. So Minseok must remain calm, they both can’t lose themselves at the same time.
“Minhyungie,” Minseok finally manages, his voice thin. His fingertips stroked the alpha’s nape, a gesture meant to soothe. “Alpha… it’s okay.”
He feels the tension in Minhyung’s frame ease, fractionally. A harsh breath gusts warm against Minseok’s neck, leaving it damp. Under his hand, the coiled muscles slowly relax, the battle draining away over long seconds.
Minhyung gives him one last bite, teasing but long and forceful, before turning Minseok so they can look at each other. Minseok’s lips parted slightly, his pulse visible at his throat, a flush creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with embarrassment. But his face crashes with one look.
Minhyung is glaring, eyebrows knotted in the middle, but his thumb gave a feather-light touch to Minseok’s wrist that sent electricity through his veins. Minseok has to force himself to focus. “I did tell you not to run, did I not, Minseok?”
Minseok shudders, full body going rigid. The words ring like a bell burying any attempt his body conjectures of fleeing.
It’s instinctive, that he leans sideways, exposes his throat while looking into Minhyung’s eyes from under his eyelashes. Minseok watches him arch an eyebrow, in his face there isn’t any sign of relaxing. Somewhat desperate, Minseok wonders if he’ll have to present himself in public to get forgiveness, because he needs his alpha to stop looking at him like that or he will break down crying at Minhyung’s feet. Damn it.
Instincts are incredible things. Minhyung’s are all over his face, his eyes flashing red and brown, leaving Minseok to wonder what he wants to do and refuses to, what is it that has him fighting himself so decidedly. For his part, he’s thankful his own response is to submit, in spite of the varying levels of awkwardness, it seems doable even now.
“I asked you a question, Minseok,” Minhyung’s grip on his arm tightened, jolting him from his stupor.
Minseok whines and frowns when Minhyung’s control slips, the hand holding Minseok by the arm hurting when he puts more strength into it.
“You told me not to run,” his brain supplies, but even if the words seem sure, he’s breathless.
Minhyung just blinks once, eyes staying red. He doesn’t release Minseok.
Minseok’s gaze drops, hands shaking as he catches Minhyung’s free hand. He still has the scent suppressants, even though his sweat is making it useless, so Minseok pulls it off, then pulls his own.
“Alpha,” Minseok pleads, his voice thin. “I’m sorry for running.”
He isn’t in pain, not really. The struggle is Minhyung’s, but Minseok feels it like a sympathetic ache in his own chest. Minseok is trouble, but he likes this one person a little too much for comfort. He likes that he can help at least, since Minhyung likes him a bit too much too.
Minhyung replies with a sharp nod. His free hand moves to Minseok’s neck, pressing his wrist firmly against the gland, marking him with sweat and scent. When that isn’t enough, he rubs his cheek, his jaw, his own neck against Minseok’s skin, smearing his scent everywhere, pushing the jacket off Minseok’s shoulder until it hangs precariously.
“Kneel,” Minhyung commands in a low growl that vibrates through Minseok’s bones.
“Dude, no—what the hell is going on with you two?” Hyunjoon interrupts, leaving Minseok to flinch in panic, confused as to how long he’d been standing there.
Minseok and Hyunjoon’s gaze meet, and Minseok is wary of the question muted in the jungler’s eye.
Minseok is slow in his confusion, but Hyunjoon’s worry doesn’t wait. Before Minseok can process, Hyunjoon takes a step forward, hand outstretched. Minhyung reacts instantly with a violent shove, sending Minseok stumbling behind him as the alpha whirls on Hyunjoon, teeth bared in a silent snarl.
“Hyunjoonie. Leave us alone,” Minhyung demands, word choice surprisingly kind for how rough he sounds. Minseok can’t see if the alpha red eyes are gone either, but he’d guess it hasn’t faded.
Hyunjoon freezes, palms raised in placation, but he doesn’t retreat. “Minhyung, you need to let him go,” he advises sternly.
“This is none of your business,” Minhyung bites out, each word sharp as glass.
“You’re not really in control right now, so hear me out before you do something you’ll regret later,” Hyunjoon continues, glossing over the hostility.
“Alpha Moon, you’re threatening my omega, step away,” Minhyung insists, impatient.
“I’m not pulling rank, you idiot!” Hyunjoon snaps, frustration overriding caution. “But I will call Sanghyeok-hyung if you don’t let Minseok walk away now.”
Minseok feels Minhyung going rigid, more rigid, as if it’s possible, a statue coiled to strike.
“Hyunjoon,” Minseok intervenes, voice tight. He feels the predatory vibration radiating from Minhyung. “It’s okay.”
“Okay? He was about to bite you—force you to submit in a public hallway!” Hyunjoon’s voice rises, incredulous. The accusation hovers in the air insistently. It does sound bad when he puts it like that.
Minseok’s stomach drops when Hyunjoon pulls out his phone.
“It’s not like that, Minhyung won’t bite me,” he stresses, frustrated.
“Stop talking to him, Minseok,” Minhyung orders, the alpha command resounding inside Minseok’s ears, as if he’s capable of ignoring it.
Minseok glares, rolls his eyes. “He’s going to tell hyung and everyone will be here in one minute flat, alpha,” Minseok argued, hands finding Minhyung’s clenched fists for both their comfort. He cannot risk escalating this further.
“Are you questioning me?” Minhyung growls, the vibration shaking them both.
Minseok doesn’t answer, just leans heavier, pressing his forehead against Minhyung’s rigid back. Closing his eyes against the suffocating tension.
“Minhyung, that is so creepy!” Hyunjoon pleads, exasperated. “You’re way out of control, just let Minseok go home and I’ll walk you to the doctor myself.”
“What do you even know about control, Hyunjoonie,” Minhyung mocked, a grin in his voice. “You’re intruding, alpha, and making it unsafe for Minseokie right now, so do us both a favor and walk away.”
“This is a public space with cameras, you’re embarrassing yourself,” Hyunjoon pointed out weary. “Can you imagine what would happen if you did that to another omega? One of our staff? You’ll ruin your career, dumb ass, I’m trying to help you.”
“He wouldn’t,” Minseok snaps impatiently.
“I said silence, Minseok,” Minhyung rumbles.
Minseok shrugs, unrepentant.
Hyunjoon takes another cautious step forward. “Minhyung, please—”
“Enough, Hyunjoon,” Minhyung cuts him off, his voice suddenly devoid of heat, replaced by icy steel that chills the air. “Your ignorance of your own biology is its own punishment. Now, we’re leaving. Stay away.” It’s not a request. With the gravity in his voice and the glare in his eyes, he’s clearly giving a dismissal layered with alpha authority.
Hyunjoon drew a breath to argue, but Minhyung had reached past his limit. Without a word, he grabbed the hem of his sweat-soaked gym shirt and ripped it off in one fluid motion, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest and abdomen. Hyunjoon jerked his head away with a muttered curse, scandalized. Not immune to the sight and a victim to their pheromones, Minseok’s breath catches.
“Give me back my jacket, Min,” Minhyung demanded, holding out the outwardly damp shirt. When Minseok hesitated, stunned by the sudden intimacy, Minhyung’s eyes flashed. Now.
Minseok fumbled with the zipper, shrugging it off awkwardly. Minhyung snatched it and thrust his shirt into Minseok’s hands. The fabric is huge, sweaty and soaked with Minhyung’s scent plus layers of adrenaline, possessive fury, and undertones of his alpha pheromones. It engulfs Minseok instantly, leaving him dizzy and overwhelmed, serving as a primal claim hanging from his small shoulders.
Minhyung finally turns to him, the red eyes still burning, but the furious tension has eased into something focused, predatory. A slow, serene smile spreads across his face, at odds with the situation. Minseok’s wariness spikes.
“Should I drive us home?” Minhyung suggested glazing over Minseok’s wet lips. The red bleeds from his eyes, replaced by his familiar warm brown. The harsh lines of his face soften under Minseok’s stare.
“Sure, alpha,” Minseok agreed, trembling through a wave of relief mixed with lingering apprehension. His hands rise instinctively, cradling Minhyung’s jaw, seeking reassurance as much as offering it.
“I’m going to pick you up,” Minhyung warns, a hint of the old mischief returning as one eyebrow arches.
Minseok grins, the tension finally breaking. He takes the invitation, launching himself upwards. Minhyung meets him halfway, strong hands settling firmly under Minseok’s thighs to support his weight. Minseok wraps his arms around Minhyung’s neck, burying his face in the alpha’s damp hair, inhaling the scent that now clung to them both.
Over Minhyung’s head, Minseok catches Hyunjoon’s wide-eyed, disbelieving glare. He offers a small, mischievous wave before hiding his face completely in the safe haven of Minhyung’s embrace.
When Minhyung had said driving home Minseok did expect them to return to t1 dorms, which are closer and safe enough, now that they would likely be the only ones there. But he could have held suspicions when Minhyung said he would drive.
Minhyung doesn’t explain or reveal anything, eyes fixed on the road as Minseok’s stare burned into his profile. It takes only a couple turns down familiar streets for Minseok to make an educated guess.
“Minhyung,” he calls, when Minhyung continues pretending.
Minhyung blinked, glanced over, then returned his attention to the road. Minseok’s parents are in Busan and he lives in Seoul, so it’s reasonable that he keeps a place for himself, it’s even financially sound, as discussed with property owner and advisor Lee Sanghyeok.
Minhyung, on the other hand, had been teased enough for his bachelor alpha pad, where he supposedly could sneak all his conquests.
It had only ever smelled of Minseok, he guesses. It’s just the place for their heats and ruts, because Minhyung drops by his parents for every break.
They never talked about it, but Minseok usually toys with the idea that it’s instinctive for Minhyung, to be the one providing Minseok a safe place, all the comfort the alpha thinks he’d need, sometimes beyond the level Minseok is willing to pay for himself.
It’s enough that it exists. This one apartment neither of them call home, but consciously think back as a place they belong. They used to sneak there more, when they were figuring things out and wanted privacy. This year Minseok just didn’t allow himself.
“You won’t want to be heard,” Minhyung stated flatly, his gaze unflinching in the rearview mirror.
“And if I say no?”
“Are you?”
Minseok sighed, unclenching his fists on his lap, the ache in his knuckles easing. “Should I worry?”
A slow grin spread across Minhyung’s face. “I think you’ll enjoy it,” he countered. “Unless you’re really tired of me? Like you’ve been pretending?”
“Fuck you.”
Minhyung’s grin sharpened. “You just used your one free shot of the night, I expect you to be on your best behavior from now on.”
Minseok was searching for words when the car’s Bluetooth screen lit up—Sanghyeok’s name flashing. He reached out, finger hovering over the accept button, eyes flicking to Minhyung. He waited for a nod, then tapped the screen.
“Hi, hyung,” Minseok greets.
“Hyunjoonie filled me in. Where are you two?” Sanghyeok’s voice was calm, but the undercurrent of authority was unquestionable.
Minseok bit his lip. “We’re on our way to Minhyung’s place for the night, hyung.”
“Minseok,” Sanghyeok manages to say so much with just his name, layered with meaning. A warning. A question.
Minseok looked between Minhyung and the screen, seconds counting the time passing.
“Minhyung,” Sanghyeok continued, tone shifting, “what if I ordered you back to the dorms?”
“Why is everyone trying to wedge themselves between us?” Minhyung retorted, unapologetic, knuckles whitening on the wheel. “This is between Minseok and me.”
“How can I be certain you’re in control, alpha?” Sanghyeok paused, letting the title hang heavy. “Minseok?” He repeats, impatiently.
Minhyung shot him a sharp look—a command. Minseok pressed his lips shut, turning to stare out the window.
“Hyung,” Minhyung said, voice tight but steady, “have I ever given you reason to doubt me?”
Minseok looked around, recognizing the streetlights of Minhyung’s neighborhood. They were close already. He wondered if he could still change his mind, if it was okay.
“No,” Sanghyeok agreed, no hesitation. “But would you deny me checking on Minseok’s safety, Minhyung-ah?”
Minhyung’s posture relaxed fractionally. “It’s alright, hyung,” he conceded. “I’m clear-headed too. Right, Min?”
“You’re all way too nosy,” Minseok muttered, unrepentant.
Minhyung glanced back at him, one eyebrow arched in challenge, daring him to push his luck now that Sanghyeok couldn’t see.
“Is that how it is, Minseok-ah?” Sanghyeok pressed, his tone unreadable.
“I’m not complaining,” Minseok shot back, a flicker of defiance in his voice.
“Then I trust you’re both… managing.” The word was chosen carefully.
“Sorry Hyunjoon stuck his nose in, hyung,” Minseok offered, a touch of sincerity beneath the sass. “It’s just another day. Just me and Minhyung here. We’ll handle it.”
“Good. That settles it,” Sanghyeok said, a note of finality. “I’ll let you go now, return quickly, okay?”
“Thanks for the concern, Hyung," Minhyung ended the call, the silence in the car suddenly thicker.
The walk through the building’s lobby was familiar territory, allowing Minseok to slip back into a wary mindset. Minhyung kept his gaze fixed ahead, refusing to look at him. They rode the elevator in tense silence, occupying opposite corners. Minseok knew the distance wasn’t indifference—it was restraint. Minhyung was holding himself back with iron control.
Unlocking the apartment door brought a strange comfort. The password hadn’t changed, even after half a year. Inside, the air smelled sterile and impersonal, likely cleaned professionally recently. Nothing suggested Minhyung had been here, though Minseok suspected he had, especially during the roster upheaval. Or maybe not, Minhyung’s family was so kind it almost didn’t make sense for him to avoid them.
“Go wait for me in the bedroom,” Minhyung ordered, his voice flat, eyes still averted.
“How?” Minseok asked, the word barely audible.
“You know how I like you,” Minhyung replied, cold but not aggressive—simply indifferent. “Don’t ask stupid questions today.”
Minseok walked down the hall, shaking out his arms to dispel the nervous energy vibrating through him. The bedroom was immaculate, devoid of any personal scent, not even Minhyung’s.
He’d always liked this space. It was more spacious than the dorms, bathed in pale light from oversized windows. The bed was so large it could fit their entire roster, and more comfortable than any hotel.
He hesitated, teeth sinking into his lower lip. He knows he’s dragging it out. But it can’t be indulged for long, he doesn’t know how long he has before Minhyung’s return.
He shed his pants and underwear, his own shirt, before putting back only Minhyung’s oversized shirt hanging mid-thigh. Like he was told earlier, he knelt before the bed—wrists crossed behind his back, head bowed low.
This position always sparked a war in him, part resentment and part relief. His mind resisted the surrender, muscles locking in protest. Without Minhyung's presence to guide him down, without the hormonal haze of heat to smooth the edges, the descent was slower. More violent. This was Ryu Minseok’s natural state, unconsciously fighting the very instinct his body craved. He felt it in the grind of his joints, the tight coil of muscle along his spine like a physical manifestation of every worry and fear he carried. But as he held the position, breathing through the discomfort, he felt the tension begin to dissolve. Muscle by muscle, the rigidity softened. With each release of physical tension, a sliver of emotional weight lifted too. Until all that remained was the quiet.
Minseok has heard from more than a few people, including the likes of Hyukkyu and Kwanghee, but also Jihoon and Jaehyuk, that given their subgenders and interactions, there were many rumors about the nature of Minseok’s relationship with Minhyung when the support decided to join T1. Especially during that chaotic 10-man roster experiment, fans spun theories thick enough to choke on.
After all these years, Minseok is candidly aware of what remains of these assumptions. Some fans swore blind they were secretly mated, weaving elaborate narratives to explain the conspicuous absence of mating marks. Their excuses sounded credible even to him, personally acquainted with all the information needed to correct these statements. He refuses to acknowledge what it means that he’s so eager for the fantasy, or what it says about the reality he’s tumultuously avoiding.
But the truth is that it got confusing from the start. How could it not, when Minhyung would flirt shamelessly in front of the cameras, text him with endless promises, and then Minseok walks into the T1 building on his very first day to find the single most comfortable hug to ever exist, available at all times, if Minseok just whispered the word. Sometimes even before he could ask.
They were terrified kids with a lot to prove back then. Minseok thinks that’s how they held back for a while. But it was better that they didn’t jump the gun.
Minseok remembers with strict, unwanted clarity the first time they tumbled into bed together. Minseok knew it was wrong to take the risk after the 2022 Worlds finals loss, a day already steeped in a bitterness that now curdles into something worse whenever he thinks of it. That loss, that night—it’s all stained. They never told a soul. Especially not Lee Sanghyeok. The disappointment in his eyes if he ever found out… it would be unbearable.
Minseok tells himself the complexity is why everyone gets it wrong. Why his friends think it should be simple, a relationship destined from the start. But then…
Then Minhyung finds him in the dead of night. Minseok’s legs are bare, chilled by the air conditioning where his ridiculous short pajama ends. The phantom taste of sugar-free ice cream still seeps his tongue. All of it dissolves into insignificance when Minhyung crowds him against the cabinets. His anger isn’t even an afterthought, it evaporates like mist under a sudden, scorching midnight sun. Minseok’s gasp, his needy moan, dies swallowed against Minhyung’s mouth, smothered into silence to keep from waking the house. The frantic demand for quiet is its own kind of torment.
Minhyung never courted him. But Minseok could argue he went right ahead and claimed him, scent-marking Minseok with possessive intensity from the very first day they met, an invisible brand they barely hide with scent suppressants. Then they fell into this awful, addictive cycle. No space existed for Minseok and Minhyung in the blinding glare of Keria and Gumayusi. They were just the messy, inconvenient aftermath, the static no one wanted to acknowledge between the perfect, public harmony. Their teammates wisely avoided the topic, and Minseok was beyond the point of embarrassment for the chaos he caused in their professional lives. The simple truth was, if he were capable of resisting this, he would have done so a long time ago.
“Minseokie,” Minhyung calls for him, though it’s more of an announcement. His scent reaches Minseok’s nostrils soon after, he’s just showered, air clean and sweet.
This is a test, or a multiple choice question.
Minseok’s silence is a whole response.
Minhyung sat on the edge of the bed, beside Minseok’s head.
He exhales loudly and long, and Minseok realizes whatever coming down he’d had been doing since his arrival is something Minhyung is taking a longer time himself.
Minhyung’s heavy hand reaches for Minseok’s hair, fingertips scratching his scalp. He breathes another shuddering sigh, and Minseok unconsciously mirrors him.
The thing with Minhyung is that he doesn’t learn. Hence why he thinks he was destined to be an adc and play league, like predisposed genetically plus the ties to his brother and his clan. Someone to match Keria, where many good players could keep up with, only Gumayusi could enable.
But Minhyung does not learn things.
He hasn’t learned to be selfish, to tune out his team. He hasn’t learned to withhold his trust, and expect the worst in people. At this point, if you ask people (Minseok) it’d seem fair for him to learn to be less nice.
But most importantly, Minhyung has not learned not to love Minseok. He wishes he had, things would have been simpler but he tried for five years and failed every time.
The sight of Minseok on his knees does things to his heart and to his head that always drowns him in affection and the unsuppressed need to own. He knows that came to him from his making, before birth, intrinsically intertwined to each and every single one of his cells.
Minseok is quiet, and Minhyung almost wishes he hadn’t chosen the easy submission, because he wants to punish him and Minseok always gives him a reason, the smart mouth of his is the biggest turn on and his biggest provocation.
These are the thoughts on Minhyung’s mind as he pushes his thumb into Minseok’s mouth. There’s no need for a command, his tongue starts sucking and the air takes on his fresh fruity scent, as if Minhyung wasn’t already pressed to arousal by the warm and wet feeling of what Minseok’s tongue is capable of doing. But he has to admit to himself, the apricot scent isn’t a bonus as much as confirmation, this is the one company Minhyung craves.
But, Minhyung needs more.
He pulls on Minseok’s hair, his thumb pressing heavily against the omega’s tongue as his mouth falls slightly open when Minhyung forces his head back. He’s all flushed, and pink. Drool falls from the side of his mouth, and Minseok frowns, tongue teasing Minhyung’s thumb, but he can’t stop it.
“Not gonna lie, Min, I’m surprised you want to be quiet, baby,” Minhyung comments, giving in to the curiosity. “Are you angry at me? Do you want to deprive me from the sound of your voice?”
Minseok was generally really good at punishing Minhyung for having handed him his own heart on a platter on a normal Tuesday. Neither confirmation nor denial would change where they stood.
To Minhyung’s surprise, Minseok seems to think about it for a moment, his eyes looking distant, before he shakes his head and lets them rest closed.
Funny answer considering he really doesn’t want to make any effort to talk to Minhyung at all.
Is he supposed to take it as a challenge?
Minhyung pulls his finger out with a pop, and Minseok whines, chasing after him until his cheeks are resting against Minhyung’s pants. The sound is longer the second time when Minhyung gets up, and as Minseok’s eyes fly open, Minhyung catches the frown, even as no glare is shot in his direction. Minhyung smiles, spontaneous and unconscious.
“Lay on the bed for me, love,” Minhyung asks, hoisting Minseok from the floor to help him into the mattress before stepping away. Minseok whines again, eyes frantically searching at the first loss of contact. “I’ll be with you soon, Min,” he warns, but doesn’t offer him any comforting touch. He can hear Minseok grinding his teeth behind his back.
His office is the only place in the house with locks, so unless they’re staying over, he keeps some stuff safely put away.
It helps that walking away from Minseok scent relieves him from the frenzy as it builds up, so it might be in their best interest to keep it as is.
He carries the box back walking slowly, focusing his mind in the cold feel of the wood board under his feet and not the heat building up from his navel.
He finds Minseok sitting down on his legs, hands resting on the spot Minhyung had been sitting at before leaving. His eyes are quick too focus on the alpha, but his gaze remains low.
“I said lay down, Minseok-ah,” Minhyung reminds him, voice light so he doesn’t freak out, but unable to refrain himself from teasing.
Minseok doesn’t scramble, that’d be undignified and this guy is all about his image, Minhyung knows that too well, but he does seem exasperated at himself.
Minhyung places the box on the floor and the two water bottles he got from the mini-fridge on the bedside table, teasing Minseok by running his cold fingers on his stomach, the muscle tensing while Minseok himself leaned into the touch.
He lays down beside him, offering his hand while hugging the omega with his other arm, his hand sneaking inside the shirt to find soft skin while Minseok pressed their palms together and intertwined their fingers.
They look at each other for a moment, no frantic rush or pressing demands. Minhyung has never in his life seen anyone more beautiful, Minseok’s petal lips have been perfectly drawn by God, his round cheeks molded perfectly his captivating eyes. He was gorgeous, pretty, handsome, cute.
Smiling, Minhyung tells him, “why are you so cute for, hm?” in a whisper between them, only to watch Minseok preening, cheeks coloring down his neck, his tongue darting out to wet his lip as he tries to hide an obvious smile.
Minhyung’s responding smile was beyond control while he leaned in, inhaling Minseok’s scent mingling with his, he smelled delectable.
“Is it all for me, baby?”
With a sigh Minseok closed his eyes, lips puckered up and waiting.
This is how it is, Minhyung thinks, affection spreading warmly in the middle of his chest as he closes the distance, meeting Minseok’s soft and wet lips. Their mouths slide against each other, they fit however they meet, but there’s something otherworldly in the forceful press as Minseok pushes them together, as if no distance is still too much distance.
Minhyung never free-falls dived, but he thinks this is pretty close. The mute expectation for Minseok’s taste, the way all his senses dial down so he enjoys it in peace.
And then the noises. Like clockwork.
Minseok is so noisy.
In the best way possible, if you ask Minhyung. It is just so endearing how responsive he is, Minhyung never has to wonder if he’d liked something or not, he could always tell.