SKT T1, 2017.
The nights in Seoul had this strange gift of turning the ordinary into poetry. Under the warm light of the street lamps, every whisper of the wind seemed to steal a fragment of a star, and that evening, it was the invincible Demon King who sparkled in Wangho's thoughts.
They walked side by side down the quiet streets, far from the screams of fans and the hustle of tournaments. The sound of their footsteps on the sidewalk echoed through the evening, and Wangho felt the space between them like a taut thread, vibrating with an almost palpable tension.
— Are you still thinking about that match? Sanghyeok asked without looking at him.
The young jungler shrugged, hiding a smile behind an exaggerated sigh.
— Not really. But you are. I can see it in your eyes.
The one who had known nothing but success tilted his head slightly, an amused gleam caressing his dark eyes.
— No need to think when you win.
The answer was so typically him: that blend of quiet confidence and subtle humor that made him seem unreachable. Or almost. Wangho laughed, a clear sound that broke the tranquility of dusk like a drop falling on still water.
— You know you can stop pretending, right?
This time, the mid laner slowed slightly, curious, and Wangho felt his heart miss a beat.
— Pretending to do what? said Sanghyeok, with that feigned innocence that made his words sound like a trap.
Wangho turned to face him, gazing at him thoughtfully. The golden halo of a streetlamp kissed the perfect features of the greatest player of all time, casting delicate shadows on his face.
— Pretending not to notice, Wangho finally whispered.
Silence fell, but it was a fertile silence, heavy with meaning and unspoken answers. Sanghyeok looked at him, his dark eyes glistening as if they held a thousand secrets he would never offer, except perhaps tonight.
— And what exactly am I supposed to notice? he questioned, a barely visible smile on his lips.
Wangho took a deep breath, seeking the courage in the cold air to answer.
— That I can't do without you.
The words escaped like a confession stolen from the night. Sanghyeok's grin widened, but he didn't speak right away. He took a step forward, and the younger one felt the distance between them close, as if the thread that bound them was retracting, pulling them inevitably toward each other.
— I know, he said softly.
Wangho felt his heart flutter. In this answer, there was everything: the gentleness of a promise and the sweet taunt of a dare.
— Then why aren't you doing anything about it?
Sanghyeok tilted his head slightly, his eyes searching his teammate's as if to probe him entirely.
— Because I like watching you try, he replied, a hint of mischief betraying the corners of his lips.
Those words struck Wangho like an unexpected note in a familiar melody. He laughed, a nervous but sincere laugh, that made the air around them tremble.
— Faker-nim is unbearable, y'know that? the fresh new player dared, his eyes dazzling with frustration as much as affection.
— But you're still here, aren't you?
Wangho shook his head, half-amused, half-defenseless. Sanghyeok had this way of making every word seem like an obvious truth. And maybe, after all, it was.
Without even realizing it, Wangho's fingers gently slid toward the champion's. It was a ghostly gesture, a barely hinted contact, but he felt the electricity in the air shift, becoming denser.
Sanghyeok's fingers moved slightly, responding to the unspoken invitation.
— Come, Sanghyeok said in a voice so low it seemed to have been stolen from the wind.
— Where to? Wangho asked, his breath suspended, his heart racing louder than ever.
Sanghyeok smiled.
— Somewhere where you won't have to try so hard.
And then, he took Wangho's hand. The touch was simple, almost insignificant, but for them, it encapsulated the entire universe. Their fingers intertwined as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and suddenly, there were no more tension, no more streets, no more night.
There was only them, and the certainty that everything was exactly where it was meant to be.