Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hyunjoon didn’t usually freeze up. He was confident—so confident, in fact, that his teammates often teased him about how he could charm his way out of a penalty or talk his way into getting extra time off practice. Confidence was his thing. It came naturally, like breathing or dodging Minhyung’s bad advice.

But apparently, even confidence had its limits. Because the moment Doran entered the room, Hyunjoon’s brain flatlined.

Standing by the fridge, Hyunjoon leaned against the door, aiming for casual. The last can of sparkling water rested cold and clammy in his hand, a tiny, inconsequential thing that had somehow become the center of his entire universe. He wasn’t thirsty—he hadn’t even wanted it. But now it felt like a challenge. Should he drink it and risk looking selfish? Or should he offer it to Doran and… risk something else? Something he couldn’t quite name but knew felt a lot like impending doom.

When Doran walked in, his presence filling the room, Hyunjoon’s grip on the can tightened as if it were a lifeline. Doran’s gaze flickered briefly to the fridge, then to the can in Hyunjoon’s hand. His expression didn’t change—just that same soft look that somehow made Hyunjoon feel like he was both overheating and freezing at the same time.

“Uh…” Hyunjoon started, clearing his throat like that would somehow force the words to organize themselves into something intelligent. “Here, hyung. You can have it.”

There. Perfect. Except it wasn’t. The words came out stiff, too formal, like he was offering some kind of gift instead of just a drink. He felt ridiculous.

Doran’s lips curved into a small smile, soft and understated, but it still had Hyunjoon’s heart doing an Olympic-level gymnastics routine. “Thanks, Hyunjoonie,” Doran said, his voice as calm and steady as ever. He took the can with his usual ease, popped it open, and took a sip. Then, without so much as a second glance, he turned and headed to the couch, settling into his usual spot like nothing had happened.

Meanwhile, Hyunjoon stood there, frozen. His hand hovered mid-air where the can had been, his brain replaying the scene in an endless loop. Doran’s smile, the way he’d said “Thanks,” the quiet sound of the can opening—it all replayed in perfect, excruciating detail. And the worst part? None of it meant anything.

It was just a drink. Just a polite “Thanks, Hyunjoonie.” Nothing special. Nothing weird.

Except it did mean something. Because now his chest felt tight, his face was too warm, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how effortlessly pretty Doran-hyung had looked just… sipping sparkling water. Which was insane. Who even thought about stuff like that? Sparkling water wasn’t supposed to be attractive. And neither was watching someone drink it. But here he was, spiraling over something completely mundane.

From the couch, Hyunjoon caught Minhyung and Minseok out of the corner of his eye. They were watching him, their expressions split between amusement and disbelief. He didn’t need to hear what they were thinking to know it wasn’t good.

Minhyung’s smirk practically screamed, “this is going in my mental highlight reel for eternity.”

Hyunjoon mumbled something unintelligible—an excuse, maybe, though he wasn’t sure it even qualified as words—and made a beeline for the hallway before either of them could say anything. He could practically feel their grins burning into his back as he escaped.

Once he was out of sight, Hyunjoon exhaled sharply and leaned against the wall, dragging a hand down his face. “Get it together,” he muttered under his breath, willing his heart to stop racing. It was just a drink. Just Doran-hyung. Nothing special.

Except it wasn’t just Doran-hyung. Not really. And that was the problem.

He pushed the thought away, straightened his posture, and resolved to do better. Next time, he wouldn’t freeze. Next time, he’d act normal.

Next time, he definitely wouldn’t think about how pretty Doran looked doing literally nothing.

…Right?

Doran wasn’t one to overthink things. He liked simplicity—clear goals, straightforward communication, no unnecessary drama. That approach had always worked for him, especially as the new member of the team. Adjusting to a different roster had its challenges, but Doran had taken them in stride, trying his best to build synergy with his new teammates.

Hyunjoon, in particular, had been a learning experience.

The jungler was sharp, confident, and had a rhythm to his play that was unlike anything Doran had experienced with his previous teams. Hyunjoon’s movements were instinctual, bold—sometimes bordering on impulsive—but undeniably effective. Doran admired the energy he brought to the game, even if it required some adapting on his part. Their playstyles weren’t perfectly aligned yet, but that was expected. Building synergy took time.

Still, something about today’s scrims felt… off.

It had started during the morning meeting when Minhyung, in his usual casual but suspiciously deliberate tone, had suggested, “don’t you think Hyunjoon should prioritize top lane more in scrims? Build better synergy with Hyunjoon-hyung?”

The coaches had agreed immediately. “Good idea. Hyunjoon, focus on top lane today.”

Doran hadn’t thought much of it at the time. On paper, it made sense. The more time they spent coordinating plays, the better their synergy would get. But now, as the scrim unfolded, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

“I’m warding the river,” Hyunjoon said over comms. His voice was louder than usual, the tone clipped and stiff.

“Okay,” Doran replied automatically, adjusting his positioning. He focused on farming, his attention on the minimap. But Hyunjoon’s presence lingered longer than necessary. The jungler’s rotations, typically fluid and perfectly timed, felt… hesitant. It wasn’t disruptive, but it was definitely noticeable.

“Back now. I’ll cover you,” Hyunjoon said after a moment, his voice firm but oddly formal.

“Understood,” Doran answered, following the instruction without hesitation. He appreciated the thorough communication, but it wasn’t typical of Hyunjoon’s style. Normally, the jungler’s instructions were concise, confident, and left plenty of room for the team’s natural rhythm to shine. Today, he was micromanaging, overcommunicating in a way that felt unnecessary.

Doran frowned slightly, his eyes flicking back to the minimap. Hyunjoon was still hovering nearby, his movements almost overbearing. It wasn’t that Doran minded the attention—it was good to know his lane was being prioritized—but it felt… different. Off. Almost like Hyunjoon didn’t trust him to hold his own, which didn’t make sense.

When the scrim ended, Doran turned to Hyunjoon with a polite nod. “Thanks for covering me,” he said lightly, hoping to keep the atmosphere casual.

Hyunjoon’s reaction was immediate—and odd. His face flushed almost instantly, and he fumbled with his headset like it had suddenly become too complicated to manage. “Uh—yeah, no problem, hyung,” he stammered, the words tumbling out awkwardly before he busied himself with adjusting his equipment.

Doran blinked, watching him for a beat longer than necessary. This wasn’t the Hyunjoon he’d been working with over the past few weeks. The usual calm, confident jungler was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Hyunjoon seemed nervous, distracted, and entirely too focused on not meeting his gaze.

Was something wrong? Was he stressed? Overthinking the synergy-building exercises? Doran considered asking, but something told him Hyunjoon wouldn’t appreciate being asked. Whatever was going on, he’d probably work through it on his own.

Still, as Doran turned back to the draft phase, he couldn’t shake the nagging thought that something deeper was happening. And the fact that Minhyung was smirking at Hyunjoon from across the room wasn’t helping.

Doran-hyung was playing soccer. Badly.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t trying—no, that was the worst part. Doran was trying very hard, and somehow that only made it worse. Or better. Hyunjoon couldn’t decide. Every clumsy attempt to kick the ball, every miscalculated pass, every near-collision with a teammate was like watching a baby bird attempt its first flight. Awkward, endearing, and way more captivating than it had any right to be.

Hyunjoon sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face as he watched Doran fumble with the ball again. He wasn’t even supposed to be thinking about this. He should have been focused on the game. Soccer wasn’t exactly his main sport, but he was decent enough to carry his team—especially when Sanghyeok was busy trash-talking Minhyung instead of playing properly.

Speaking of Minhyung, Hyunjoon still didn’t understand why they were even playing soccer in the first place. It had started with Minhyung bursting into the lounge with a soccer ball, looking far too smug for someone who hadn’t kicked a ball in years.

“We need more team bonding activities,” Minhyung had declared, tossing the ball in the air like this wasn’t completely out of nowhere. “Let’s play soccer.”

Hyunjoon had blinked at him, confused. “Soccer? Since when do we play soccer?”

“It builds trust,” Minhyung had replied with the confidence of someone who was making it up as he went along.

Hyunjoon had been skeptical, and rightfully so. Minhyung was many things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. There was an ulterior motive here—there had to be. The way Minseok had smirked quietly didn’t help, either. They were up to something; Hyunjoon could feel it in his bones.

Still, he hadn’t argued. What was the point? Minhyung always got his way when it came to these things, and besides, Hyunjoon figured some casual exercise wouldn’t hurt. But now, watching Doran trip over the ball for the third time, he was starting to regret it.

A loud cheer erupted from the sidelines as Sanghyeok juked past Minhyung and scored yet another goal. Minhyung threw his hands up in frustration, yelling something about fouls that no one took seriously. Minseok jogged past the two, looking amused as ever.

Hyunjoon sighed again, dragging his attention back to the field just in time to see Doran attempt an ambitious kick. It was… not great. His foot missed the ball entirely, sending him toppling forward in a graceless heap.

Hyunjoon reacted instantly, instincts kicking in before he could stop himself. He sprinted across the field, crouching beside Doran as the older brushed himself off. “Hyung, are you okay?” he asked, his voice sharper than he intended.

Doran glanced up at him, startled. “I’m fine,” he said, his tone steady, but there was a faint chuckle beneath the words, awkward and self-conscious. His cheeks were pink, his gaze briefly flicking to Hyunjoon’s face before darting away. “Thanks, Hyunjoonie.”

That laugh caught Hyunjoon completely off guard. There was something endearingly human about the way he brushed off his pants too quickly, avoiding eye contact like he was embarrassed.

Hyunjoon’s heart skipped a beat. Was that… new? Had Doran always looked this flustered after falling?

No. Don’t think about that. Focus.

Hyunjoon forced a quick nod before retreating to his side of the field, his face burning. His pulse thundered in his ears, and he prayed no one had noticed.

Of course, no such luck. From the corner of his eye, Hyunjoon saw Minhyung and Minseok huddled together on the sidelines, whispering furiously and occasionally glancing in his direction. Minhyung’s grin was far too wide to be innocent, and Minseok had a glint in his eye that screamed trouble.

What are they up to? Hyunjoon wondered, narrowing his eyes at them before quickly looking away. He didn’t have time to deal with their meddling right now.

He forced himself to focus on the game, but it was a losing battle. His gaze kept drifting back to Doran, who was chasing after the ball with that same determined expression he wore during scrims. Doran was completely serious, like he was playing in the World Cup instead of a chaotic team bonding game. It was ridiculous how hard he was trying—and how bad he still was.

And yet, it was also… kind of cute?

No. Not cute. Just… endearing. In a normal, platonic way. Definitely not cute.

Hyunjoon groaned quietly, running a hand through his hair as Doran tripped over the ball again. This was going to be a long game.

Doran wasn’t sure how he ended up on a soccer field with his teammates, but here he was, chasing after a ball with all the grace of someone who hadn’t played since elementary school. He wasn’t bad at everything athletic—he liked running and was decent at swimming—but soccer was clearly not his sport.

His foot clipped the ball at an odd angle, sending it wobbling sideways instead of toward the goal. It veered straight into Sanghyeok, who effortlessly redirected it, laughing as he sprinted past Minhyung. Doran sighed, jogging after it without much hope. This wasn’t going well.

“Focus, hyung!” Hyunjoon called from across the field, his voice cutting through the chatter.

Doran glanced over, surprised. Hyunjoon looked entirely in his element, moving with sharp, purposeful energy that was hard to ignore. He had this way of commanding attention, even without meaning to. Doran had noticed it before—in scrims, during team meetings, even in casual conversations. Hyunjoon wasn’t just all talk; he walked the walk and it was compelling to watch.

Maybe too compelling, because Doran tripped over his own feet while trying to follow the ball’s trajectory. His knees hit the ground with an embarrassing thud, and he winced, brushing off his hands.

Before he could even process the fall, Hyunjoon was there, crouched beside him like he’d teleported across the field. “Hyung, are you okay?” he asked, his voice sharp with concern.

Doran blinked at him, startled. “I’m fine,” he said quickly, forcing a small, awkward laugh. “Thanks, Hyunjoonie.”

The younger didn’t respond immediately, just stared at him like he was trying to gauge if Doran was lying. It made Doran’s cheeks warm, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint why. Hyunjoon’s attention was so focused, so genuine—it wasn’t something Doran was used to. Most people either laughed off his clumsiness or ignored it entirely. But not Hyunjoon.

There was something about the way Hyunjoon looked at him, like he wasn’t just asking if Doran was physically okay but something more. It made Doran’s heart skip for half a second before he pushed the thought away. He wasn’t sure what to do with it, so he did what he always did—brushed himself off and carried on.

“Really, I’m fine,” he added, standing up and jogging back to his position before Hyunjoon could press further.

But even as he tried to focus on the game, Doran found his thoughts drifting. Hyunjoon was so… involved. Not just in the game, but in everything. He had this natural intensity that made him stand out, whether he was strategizing during scrims, joking around with Minhyung, or rushing across the field to check on a teammate.

It wasn’t just his intensity, either. Hyunjoon was charming. Charismatic, even. The kind of person who could make a room feel warmer just by walking into it. Doran had noticed it before, but he’d always filed it away as part of what made Hyunjoon such a good jungler—confident, adaptable, a natural leader.

Now, though, watching Hyunjoon take control of the game, directing passes and shouting encouragement to Sanghyeok, Doran couldn’t help but think there was more to it. There was something magnetic about him, something that made it hard to look away.

Doran shook his head, focusing on the ball rolling toward him again. He wasn’t here to analyze Hyunjoon’s personality; he was here to kick the ball and not trip over it. Unfortunately, he failed at the latter almost immediately, his foot catching on uneven turf as the ball rolled harmlessly past him.

A loud laugh from the sidelines drew his attention—Minhyung, no doubt—but Doran didn’t look. Instead, he glanced at Hyunjoon, who had already turned back to his position, his expression unreadable.

For some reason, that bothered Doran. Was Hyunjoon annoyed? Disappointed? He didn’t think so, but it was hard to tell sometimes. Hyunjoon wasn’t like the teammates Doran had worked with before—his energy was different, more unpredictable. It was something Doran had been learning to adapt to since joining the team, but moments like this made him realize he still didn’t have it figured out.

And maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. There was something interesting about not knowing what Hyunjoon was thinking. Something that made Doran want to keep watching, even if he didn’t fully understand why.

Hyunjoon knew something was up the second he heard the door click shut. It wasn’t loud, but it was deliberate—too deliberate to be a coincidence. He glanced toward the door, jiggled the handle, and frowned when it didn’t budge. “It’s locked,” he said aloud, half-hoping he’d misheard the sound.

Doran looked up from his spot on the couch, tilting his head slightly. “Locked? That’s strange.”

Strange was putting it mildly. Hyunjoon was already suspicious, and when the intercom crackled to life with Minhyung’s overly cheerful tone, the pieces fell into place. “Oh no. The door’s jammed! Just… sit tight. Maintenance is on the way.”

“Maintenance?” Hyunjoon repeated, narrowing his eyes at the speaker. His mind raced, analyzing the situation. This was Minhyung. It had to be. No one else would pull something this ridiculous. He could practically see Minhyung grinning like a fool on the other side of the intercom.

He groaned internally. Of course this was happening. And of course it was happening with Doran-hyung.

Hyunjoon turned away from the door and began pacing, his hands stuffed into his pockets to keep them from fidgeting. It wasn’t like he had a plan—he just needed to move, to do something other than sit in awkward silence. But every step he took only made the room feel smaller, the weight of Doran’s presence more impossible to ignore.

“It’s fine,” Doran said after a moment, his voice soft and reassuring. He gave Hyunjoon a small smile. “We’ll just wait.”

That smile. That damn smile. How could he look so relaxed in a situation like this? Hyunjoon stopped mid-step, hesitated, then muttered something unintelligible before finally sitting down. He chose the farthest possible end of the couch, putting as much space between them as the cramped room allowed. It didn’t help.

The silence stretched on, punctuated only by the faint hum of the intercom. Hyunjoon tried to think of something—anything—to say, but his brain refused to cooperate. Every possible conversation starter felt either too awkward or too obvious. How were they supposed to make small talk when they were literally locked in a room together?

He snuck a glance at Doran, who had leaned back slightly, his posture casual as he idly scrolled through something on his phone. He looked completely at ease, like being stuck here didn’t bother him at all. Hyunjoon’s chest tightened. He wanted to talk to him, to ask about… something, anything, but every time he opened his mouth, the words caught in his throat.

Why was this so hard? They were teammates. They talked all the time during scrims and matches. So why did it feel impossible to have a normal conversation now?

Because you’re an idiot, that’s why, Hyunjoon thought, clenching his fists. You’re acting weird, and he’s going to notice. Just say something. Say anything.

But he didn’t. He stayed quiet, stealing occasional glances at Doran like a nervous kid trying not to get caught. Every now and then, Doran would shift slightly, and Hyunjoon’s attention would flicker to the curve of his shoulders, the way his hair fell just so, or the faint furrow of his brow as he focused on his screen.

He’s just sitting there, Hyunjoon berated himself. Sitting. You’re being ridiculous.

The intercom crackled again, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Maintenance is here!” Minhyung announced, his voice far too chipper. The door unlocked with a loud click.

Hyunjoon was on his feet in an instant, heading for the door with barely restrained irritation. He didn’t even wait for an explanation as he pushed it open, glaring directly at where he assumed Minhyung was lurking. “Really?” he demanded, his tone sharp enough to cut glass.

“What?” Minhyung replied innocently, though his expression screamed guilty. “It was jammed!”

Hyunjoon didn’t bother responding. He just muttered, “This isn’t over,” under his breath before stalking out of the room. He could hear Minhyung’s laughter behind him, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of looking back.

As he reached the hallway, he felt Doran fall into step beside him. “Thanks,” Doran said quietly, his voice light but sincere.

Hyunjoon froze for half a second, startled by the simple word. He glanced at Doran, whose expression was as calm as ever, and something in him eased. “It’s no problem, hyung,” he said, managing a small smile before quickly looking away.

The moment passed, and they continued down the hall in silence. But Hyunjoon couldn’t stop replaying it in his head. The way Doran had said “thanks,” the way his voice had softened just slightly—it was nothing, really. Just a normal interaction between teammates.

But to Hyunjoon, it felt like everything.

Doran wasn’t sure what to make of Hyunjoon sometimes.

When he’d joined the team, Hyunjoon had been one of the first to welcome him. There was a warmth to his personality that made him easy to talk to, even during their first awkward introductions. But lately, that seemed to have disappeared.

Sitting in the practice room after the door locked (an accident, apparently, though Doran wasn’t sure he believed that), Doran found himself more aware of the gap between them than ever.

Hyunjoon was pacing, his movements restless and jittery in a way that didn’t quite match his usual cool-headed demeanor. Doran watched him quietly, wondering what was going through the younger’s head. Hyunjoon glanced at him a few times, but each glance was fleeting, almost hesitant. Like he was avoiding something. Or someone.

Doran shifted on the couch, setting his phone down as he offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “It’s fine,” he said, keeping his tone light. “We’ll just wait.”

Hyunjoon froze mid-step, hesitated, and then mumbled something under his breath that Doran couldn’t quite catch. A moment later, he sat down—on the farthest possible end of the couch.

The distance made Doran’s chest tighten, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. It wasn’t like Hyunjoon was usually the type to sit too close, but still... The younger’s body language was stiff, his gaze darting everywhere but at Doran. It was almost like he was uncomfortable.

Doran’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of his phone case as he tried to piece it together. Had he done something wrong? Said something? He thought back to their interactions over the past few weeks, searching for any clue that might explain Hyunjoon’s sudden awkwardness around him.

It wasn’t like they didn’t talk. They communicated during scrims, and Hyunjoon was always quick to offer advice or backup when Doran needed it. But outside of the game? There was a wall there now, invisible but undeniable. And the more Doran noticed it, the more it gnawed at him.

He stole a glance at Hyunjoon, who was staring intently at the floor, his hands clenched in his lap. He looked… tense. Wound up, like a rubber band pulled too tight. Doran wanted to ask if he was okay, but the words felt too heavy in the silence. So instead, he stayed quiet, hoping that whatever was bothering Hyunjoon would work itself out.

But the thought lingered, unshakable. What if it didn’t? What if it wasn’t just Hyunjoon having a bad day or feeling off? What if it was him?

Doran’s mind wandered to the possibility that maybe he hadn’t fit into the team as well as he thought. Maybe Hyunjoon—so effortlessly charismatic, so good at making everyone feel included—just didn’t know how to tell him. The idea left a bitter taste in his mouth.

When the door finally unlocked and Hyunjoon stormed out, muttering something about it “not being over,” Doran followed quietly. He fell into step beside the younger, unsure of what to say.

“Thanks,” he offered, his voice soft but genuine. It felt like the least he could do, though he wasn’t entirely sure why he felt compelled to say it. Maybe it was his way of trying to bridge the gap, even if only a little.

Hyunjoon’s reaction was immediate, though subtle. He glanced at Doran, his expression startled for a fraction of a second before smoothing into a small, almost shy smile. “It’s no problem, hyung,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

Doran’s chest eased at the response, though the tension between them didn’t completely fade. As they walked out of the HQ, he found himself wondering again: was it something he’d done? Or was there more to Hyunjoon’s unease than he realized?

Whatever the case, Doran hoped they could figure it out. He liked Hyunjoon. He wanted them to get along, to be comfortable with each other. It just felt… off right now, and that unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

After knowing each other for years, Hyunjoon liked to think that he knew Minhyung better than most people. He knew the tells—the way Minhyung’s grin grew just a little too wide when he was scheming, the slight lilt in his voice when he was about to say something ridiculous, and the way his eyebrows twitched when he thought he was being subtle.

So, when Minhyung casually sidled up to him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, Hyunjoon’s internal alarms went off immediately.

“Hyunjoon,” Minhyung began, his voice dripping with faux innocence. “Did you know Hyunjoon-hyung loves waffles?”

Hyunjoon froze, mid-bite of his protein bar. His mind stalled for a moment, replaying the question like a broken record. “What?” he asked finally, blinking at Minhyung.

“Waffles,” Minhyung repeated, nodding sagely like he was sharing something important. “He’s a huge fan.”

Hyunjoon’s suspicion deepened. Minhyung was definitely up to something. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I just thought you’d want to know,” Minhyung said, his grin widening in a way that set Hyunjoon even more on edge. “You should buy him some. You know, as a treat.”

And there it was. The trap. Hyunjoon stared at him, chewing slowly as his brain tried to process the situation. “Why would I do that?” he asked finally, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Because you’re a good teammate,” Minhyung replied smoothly, his tone so practiced it was almost convincing. “And teammates support each other, right?”

Hyunjoon squinted at him, his suspicion growing by the second. Minhyung wasn’t just scheming—he was meddling. The problem was, Hyunjoon didn’t know why.

“Uh-huh,” Hyunjoon muttered, brushing past Minhyung with a dismissive wave. “You’re weird, you know that?”

Minhyung’s grin didn’t falter. “I’m helpful,” he called after him, sounding far too pleased with himself.

As he left the kitchen, Hyunjoon could feel Minhyung’s eyes following him, practically radiating satisfaction. He shoved the moment aside, writing it off as just another one of Minhyung’s weird tangents.

But then Sanghyeok happened.

It was a few days later, and Hyunjoon had been lounging in the practice room when Sanghyeok wandered in, headphones around his neck and a phone in hand. They chatted casually for a bit before Hyunjoon, in a moment of impulse, asked the question that had been gnawing at him.

“Hey, Sanghyeok-hyung. Does Hyunjoon-hyung have, like, a favorite food?”

Sanghyeok blinked at him, clearly not expecting the question. “Uh… waffles, I guess?”

Hyunjoon’s heart sank. Waffles. Of course. The same waffles Minhyung had gone on about.

“There’s this little shop he likes,” Sanghyeok continued, completely oblivious to Hyunjoon’s inner turmoil. “He stops by sometimes after scrims. It’s not far from here.”

“Right,” Hyunjoon said, his voice a little too even. “Cool. Thanks, hyung.”

And that was how he found himself standing outside a tiny waffle shop, debating every life choice that had led him to this moment.

The shop was warm and inviting, with the smell of fresh waffles wafting out the door. Hyunjoon hesitated for a beat before stepping inside. The menu was overwhelming—so many options, and he had no idea what Doran-hyung’s go-to order was.

He tried to play it cool, scanning the options like he wasn’t internally panicking. Finally, he settled on the signature waffles. You couldn’t go wrong with those, right?

“Anything else?” the cashier asked, their smile polite but expectant.

Hyunjoon considered for a second, then shook his head. “Just the waffles.”

The walk back to the dorm was somehow both too long and too short. By the time he placed the neatly packaged waffles in the team freezer, Hyunjoon felt ridiculous. Why had he gone to so much trouble? They were just waffles.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction as he closed the freezer door. It was a nice gesture. Totally normal. Nothing weird about it.

As he walked away, muttering under his breath about how it was “just waffles,” Hyunjoon couldn’t shake the feeling that Minhyung was somewhere nearby, smirking to himself. Because this? This was exactly what Minhyung had wanted.

Doran wasn’t sure when he first started noticing it—the small, thoughtful things Hyunjoon did. At first, it seemed like ordinary team camaraderie. Hyunjoon was the type to look out for his teammates, always attentive, always reliable. But over time, those gestures began to stand out.

It was the little things: the way Hyunjoon always seemed to notice when Doran needed water after a tough scrim, or how he lingered after practice to help review footage even when he clearly didn’t need to. And, of course, the waffles.

Doran still didn’t know how to feel about the waffles. He’d opened the team freezer one evening, half-asleep and looking for something to eat, only to find a box from his favorite waffle place neatly tucked on the shelf. He’d paused, staring at it for longer than he cared to admit, before quietly closing the door.

Now, as he sat at his desk reviewing footage from their last match, Minseok’s voice broke his focus.

“Hyunjoon’s been really considerate lately, hasn’t he?” Minseok mused.

Doran barely glanced up, his attention still on the screen. “Has he?” he asked, keeping his voice even.

Minseok leaned back in his chair, giving him a pointed look. “Are you serious, hyung? He’s been hovering around you for weeks. You really didn’t notice?”

Doran hesitated, his hands stilling on the keyboard. He hadn’t expected Minseok to bring it up, much less so directly. “He’s just being nice,” he said finally, though the words felt weak even as he said them.

“Nice?” Minseok repeated, his eyebrow arching in disbelief. “Hyung, he’s been knight-in-shining-armor levels of attentive. That’s not just ‘nice.’”

Doran felt the tips of his ears burn, and he quickly turned his attention back to the footage. “He’s thoughtful,” he said, attempting to sound neutral. “It’s just how he is.”

Minseok didn’t reply immediately, but Doran could feel his smirk from across the room. “Uh-huh,” Minseok said finally, his tone dripping with amusement. “Sure, hyung. If you say so.”

Doran tried to focus on the screen, but his thoughts were spinning. Minseok wasn’t wrong—Hyunjoon had been unusually attentive. The realization only made Doran feel more self-conscious about his earlier concerns.

Was he wrong to think Hyunjoon might not feel comfortable around him? Did all those little gestures mean more than he’d assumed? He replayed moments in his mind: Hyunjoon insisting on covering his lane during scrims, the quiet “you did well” he’d offered after a tough match, the shy smiles he'd always give.

Maybe Doran wasn’t entirely oblivious, but what was he supposed to do with that information? Hyunjoon was kind, sure, and thoughtful—and, okay, maybe a little charming when he wasn’t pacing like a nervous wreck. But Doran wasn’t sure what any of it meant, or if it even meant anything at all.

“Hyung, are you blushing?” Minseok’s voice broke through his thoughts, laced with teasing disbelief.

Doran shot him a look. “Focus on your own work,” he said, his tone firmer than necessary.

Minseok just laughed, leaning back in his chair with a knowing smile. Doran sighed, shaking his head as he turned back to the screen.

He wasn’t blushing. Probably. Maybe. Either way, it didn’t matter.

Hyunjoon was thoughtful—that much was clear. And maybe, just maybe, Doran wasn’t as comfortable brushing it off as he wanted to be.

Hyunjoon didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He’d only come into the living room to grab his phone charger, but the sound of voices stopped him in his tracks.

“What are you two doing now?” Sanghyeok’s calm but pointed tone cut through the air.

Hyunjoon hesitated, staying just out of sight. He wasn’t sure why—maybe it was the edge in Sanghyeok’s voice, or the way Minhyung and Minseok immediately clammed up.

“Nothing?” Minhyung’s voice was a pitch too high.

“This doesn’t look like nothing,” Sanghyeok replied evenly. There was a pause, and Hyunjoon could imagine the way Sanghyeok’s gaze flicked between the two. “Are you… meddling with the two Hyunjoons?”

Hyunjoon’s stomach dropped.

That had to mean… No. That couldn’t mean him and Doran, right?

He felt rooted to the spot, his breath caught somewhere in his throat as the conversation continued.

“They’re hopeless, hyung,” Minseok said with a sigh. “Someone has to help.”

Hopeless? Hyunjoon’s face burned. He didn’t like what that implied, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what it meant.

“And you think you two are doing just that?” Sanghyeok’s dry amusement came through loud and clear, and Hyunjoon could practically hear Minhyung bristling.

“What’s that supposed to mean, hyung?” Minhyung asked defensively.

“It means you’re making it worse,” Sanghyeok replied. “If you keep setting them up in weird situations, of course they’re not making progress. You’re probably freaking them out.”

Hyunjoon’s thoughts were spiraling, a tangled mess of confusion and indignation.

“We’re helping,” Minhyung argued, his tone stubborn.

“No, you’re not,” Sanghyeok said with finality. “If they like each other, they’ll figure it out. They’re both adults. Leave them alone and let them handle it.”

Like each other.

The words hit Hyunjoon like a slap. His breath hitched, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the conversation and everything to do with the sudden weight of realization crashing down on him.

If they like each other.

Did he like Doran?

Hyunjoon blinked, his thoughts grinding to a halt. His first instinct was to laugh at the absurdity of it. Of course not. He didn’t like Doran—he just thought Doran was...

Cute.

Oh.

Pretty.

Oh.

Charming.

Oh no.

Those weren’t platonic thoughts.

Hyunjoon’s mind scrambled for excuses, but none of them held. He’d been dancing around the truth for months—maybe longer—and now it was staring him in the face.

He liked Doran.

He liked Doran’s quiet, thoughtful nature—the way he always let Minhyung and Minseok have their fun during team games, even when they roped him into things he didn’t normally enjoy. He liked how Doran went out of his way to spend time with Sanghyeok, even if it meant sitting through long silences and awkward jokes.

He liked how hardworking Doran was, the way he stayed late to practice or watched replays with a focused determination that was inspiring and, okay, maybe a little distracting.

Hyunjoon liked the way Doran smiled softly when he thought no one was watching, how he ate more at the cafeteria when he knew the chefs had gone out of their way to prepare his favorite dishes.

He liked how pretty Doran looked when he was lost in thought, and how endearingly clumsy he could be during non-esports activities.

Ah yes.

He liked Doran.

Hyunjoon stepped back from the doorway, his mind racing. He couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation, couldn’t process anything beyond the sudden, overwhelming realization that he had feelings for his toplaner.

Hyunjoon ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily as he turned to leave.

If Sanghyeok was right—if Doran did like him back—Hyunjoon wasn’t sure what to do with that information. But for now, at least, he could admit the truth to himself.

He liked Doran.

And maybe that was enough to start figuring out the rest.

It was supposed to be a normal night.

Doran sat on the couch with Hyunjoon, the two of them huddled over a laptop as they reviewed VODs from their last scrim. The sound of game commentary filled the room, a steady background hum that neither of them paid much attention to as they dissected plays and laughed at their own mistakes.

But tonight felt different.

Over the last few weeks, Hyunjoon had been… tense. Awkward, even, in ways that Doran hadn’t quite understood. There had been stilted conversations, fumbled gestures, and moments where Hyunjoon seemed almost too aware of Doran’s presence. It hadn’t been like him at all.

Tonight, though, that awkwardness was gone. Hyunjoon felt like himself again—relaxed, easygoing, his laugh bright and unrestrained. Doran wasn’t sure what had changed, but he found himself relieved. Whatever had been weighing on Hyunjoon seemed to have lifted, and the warmth between them was back.

Hyunjoon leaned in close, pointing at the screen with an exaggerated groan. “Look at that dive. What was I even thinking?”

Doran chuckled, nudging him lightly with his elbow. “You were thinking you’d pull off some miracle. Didn’t quite work out, huh?”

Hyunjoon snorted, his laugh loud and genuine in a way that made Doran’s own smile widen. This ease, this natural rhythm between them—it was something Doran had grown to appreciate. Even the teasing felt right.

But then Hyunjoon turned to him.

It wasn’t unusual for Hyunjoon to look at him—they were teammates, after all—but there was something about the way he was looking now. Intense. Focused. Searching, like he was trying to memorize every detail of Doran’s face.

Doran blinked, caught off guard by the shift in atmosphere. “What?” he asked softly, his voice barely audible over the commentary still playing in the background.

Hyunjoon didn’t answer right away. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and then just… blurted it out.

“You’re really pretty, hyung.”

The words hit like a jolt. Simple, unexpected, and entirely disarming.

Doran froze, his cheeks heating as the realization of what Hyunjoon had just said settled in. “That’s… random,” he mumbled, ducking his head slightly as he tried to hide the blush spreading across his face.

“It’s not random,” Hyunjoon replied, his voice steadier now, his gaze unwavering. “It’s the truth.”

Doran looked back up, his heart thudding in his chest. Hyunjoon’s expression was so open, so vulnerable, that it made something twist inside him. He wanted to say something, to brush it off with a laugh or change the subject, but the words wouldn’t come.

Then Hyunjoon leaned in.

The kiss was soft, barely a brush of lips, tentative in a way that felt out of character for Hyunjoon. It ended almost as soon as it began, leaving Doran blinking in surprise, his brain scrambling to catch up.

“I like you,” Hyunjoon whispered, his voice low but firm. His cheeks were red, his eyes wide, but he didn’t look away.

Doran’s mind raced. Hyunjoon… liked him? His mouth opened, ready to say something—anything—but the words got stuck in his throat. Before he could force them out, Hyunjoon leaned in again.

This kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant or unsure. It was intense, the kind of kiss that left no room for doubt, no space for second-guessing.

Doran’s hands moved on their own, finding Hyunjoon’s face as he kissed back with just as much energy. The laptop slipped off the couch unnoticed as they shifted, the world around them fading into the background.

Somewhere in the blur of movement and tangled emotions, Doran found himself straddling Hyunjoon’s lap. He wasn’t sure when or how it had happened, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Hyunjoon’s hands were steady on his waist, grounding him even as the kiss left him dizzy.

Then there was a sound. A faint gasp, sharp and quick, followed by what could only be described as hurried shuffling. For a split second, Doran froze, his lips still brushing against Hyunjoon’s as they both registered the noise.

“Did you hear that?” Doran murmured, his voice a little breathless, his forehead resting against Hyunjoon’s. His eyes darted toward the doorway, brows furrowing slightly.

Hyunjoon exhaled sharply, his gaze flicking toward the sound. “Ignore it,” he said, his voice low and rough, pulling Doran closer.

Doran hesitated, his lips twitching into a half-smile. “Hyunjoon—”

“Forget them,” Hyunjoon interrupted, his voice dropping even lower, his eyes dark with something between amusement and intent. “They’re not important. You are.”

Doran blinked at him, momentarily stunned. Before he could respond, Hyunjoon kissed him again, harder this time, with a kind of determination that left no room for argument.

From somewhere down the hallway came the faintest whisper: “Shut up, Minhyung!”

But Hyunjoon didn’t stop. He didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he kissed Doran deeper, his hands sliding up Doran’s sides before resting firmly on his hips. Doran let out a muffled noise, something between a gasp and a whine, and Hyunjoon swore quietly under his breath.

“You’re so cute when you make that sound, hyung,” Hyunjoon muttered against Doran’s lips, his words more felt than heard. “Do it again.”

Doran exhaled sharply, his cheeks flushed as he tried to regain some semblance of control. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, his voice low and uneven, his hands tightening slightly against Hyunjoon’s shoulders.

Hyunjoon’s grin widened, a teasing edge creeping into his tone as he brushed his lips against Doran’s jaw. “Ridiculous enough to make you blush this much, though,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower. “Guess I’m doing something right.”

Doran groaned, half in frustration and half in something he didn’t want to admit, his fingers threading through Hyunjoon’s hair in an attempt to shut him up.

“Keep talking, and I might actually regret this,” Doran mumbled, though the way his lips curved against Hyunjoon’s neck said otherwise.

Hyunjoon laughed, the sound soft but full of warmth as he leaned in closer, his hands resting firmly on Doran’s hips. “You don’t regret it, hyung. Not even a little.”

Doran huffed but didn’t argue. He kissed Hyunjoon again, slow and deliberate, letting the warmth between them do the talking.

Hyunjoon wasn’t sure how long they’d been kissing. Time didn’t matter, and honestly, neither did anything else. What mattered was Doran—his weight on Hyunjoon’s lap, the soft press of his hands gripping Hyunjoon’s shoulders, and the tiny, breathy noises he made every time Hyunjoon pressed closer.

It was a lot. Too much. Not enough.

Hyunjoon shifted, his hands sliding up Doran’s back, feeling the subtle curve of his spine beneath his shirt as he tilted his head, brushing his tongue tentatively against Doran’s lips. The response was immediate—a soft, startled sound from Doran, his body tensing briefly before he opened up, letting Hyunjoon in.

The kiss deepened, their tongues meeting hesitantly at first, then with more certainty as the seconds ticked by. Hyunjoon could faintly taste the fruit tea Doran always drank lingering on his lips, and it only made him hungrier. The sweetness was intoxicating, just like the warmth of Doran against him.

He was so delicious. Hyunjoon thought he could devour him whole.

And then Doran moved.

A slow, deliberate grind of his hips against Hyunjoon’s lap. A roll, subtle but enough to make Hyunjoon’s breath hitch and his fingers tighten instinctively on Doran’s waist. The contact sent his brain spiraling, his chest tightening as he felt himself harden beneath the thin layers of fabric separating them.

“Shit,” Hyunjoon cursed, the word barely audible, his voice thick and strained. He pulled back just enough to look at Doran, a string of saliva still connecting their lips, expecting embarrassment or maybe hesitation. Instead, Doran’s cheeks were flushed, his pupils wide, his lips pink and slightly swollen as he stared back at Hyunjoon.

And then—God help him—Doran smiled. Not his usual polite, composed smile, but something smaller, slyer, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Hyung, are you sure?” Hyunjoon muttered, his grip tightening on Doran’s waist as he tried to steady himself. “Hyung, you’re—”

If Hyunjoon had his way, he’d have fuck Doran right then and there—left him open, raw, and full of him. But Hyunjoon was a gentleman. Or so he told himself. He had self-control. Probably.

But then, Doran rolled his hips again, pressing harder this time, shifting just enough that his ass pressed directly against Hyunjoon’s clothed dick.

Hyunjoon’s brain short-circuited. One second he was trying to form a coherent thought, and the next he was flipping them onto the couch, the movement instinctive and a little desperate. Doran let out a surprised noise as his back hit the cushions, his legs wrapping around Hyunjoon’s waist without hesitation. The warmth of him, the way his thighs pressed against Hyunjoon’s hips, made the younger’s heart stutter.

Hyunjoon paused, hovering over him, his hands braced on either side of Doran’s head. His breath came in shallow gasps, his gaze searching Doran’s face for any sign of hesitation.

Instead, Doran’s eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide, and his chest rose and fell with quick, uneven breaths. “You like messing with me, huh?” Hyunjoon asked, his voice low, his grin sharp despite the way his heart was pounding.

Doran raised an eyebrow, his breathing uneven but his gaze steady. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hyunjoon’s laugh was breathless, disbelieving. “Liar.” He leaned down, pressing his lips to Doran’s jaw, then lower, trailing kisses along his neck. “I can feel you shaking, hyung.”

Doran’s fingers tangled in Hyunjoon’s hair, tugging him back up for another kiss. This one was harder, messier, needier, and it knocked whatever composure Hyunjoon had left straight out of him. His hands moved without thinking, gripping Doran’s hips as they fell into a rhythm that was chaotic but perfect all at once.

Doran let out a soft, muffled whine, and the sound went straight to Hyunjoon’s aching dick. He swore quietly, his lips brushing against Doran’s as he muttered, “God, I love that sound. Want to keep making you feel good so you keep making those pretty sounds.”

“Stop talking, please,” Doran mumbled, his voice muffled as he leaned in to kiss him again, silencing any further comments.

For a moment, Hyunjoon obeyed, matching Doran’s intensity as he continued rutting against his toplaner, his hands tightening their hold. But when they broke apart for air, he couldn’t help himself. “Admit it, hyung,” he said, his voice a mix of playfulness and heat. “You like it when I talk.”

Doran glared at him, his face burning, but the effect was ruined by the way his breathing was uneven and his lips were still slightly parted. “Shut up.”

“Not a chance,” Hyunjoon murmured, his hands sliding down to rest at the small of Doran’s back, pulling him closer. “Not when it gets you this hot and bothered.”

Doran kissed him again instead of answering, but this time, the movement of his hips was deliberate, slow and precise. Hyunjoon nearly lost it. The friction between them was maddening. With the way they were positioned, it felt like Hyunjoon was grinding into him, the pressure of his dick slotting perfectly between Doran’s ass cheeks.

“Fuck, hyung,” Hyunjoon groaned, his forehead dropping to Doran’s shoulder as his hands gripped him tighter. The fabric of Doran’s shirt bunched beneath his fingers, his knuckles white. He could feel the heat radiating from Doran’s body, could hear the soft, uneven breaths near his ear. He knew he was gripping him too hard, knew there’d be bruises later, but the thought only made his pulse race faster. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Maybe,” Doran said, his voice soft but teasing, his nails scraping lightly against the back of Hyunjoon’s neck. Each movement sent a shiver down his spine, making Hyunjoon clench his jaw. “You deserve it.” There was a wicked lilt in his tone, a confidence that Hyunjoon wasn’t used to hearing from him—but God, he loved it. He already knew that Doran was cute and pretty, but now? Now he was sexy too. Unfairly so. 

“Yeah?” Hyunjoon grinned against his skin, though the sound came out rough, broken by the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “Well, if I’m going out, this is how I want it.” 

Doran let out a soft laugh, breathy and warm, but it quickly turned into a gasp as Hyunjoon shifted, his lips brushing against the shell of his ear. The sound shot straight through Hyunjoon, his hands moving instinctively to guide Doran’s hips as they found a rhythm. 

He thrust against him, harder this time, a rough grind that had the couch beneath them shifting slightly with the motion. Doran clung to him, his fingers tightening in Hyunjoon’s hair, his breath hitching with every deliberate press of their bodies. Hyunjoon didn’t miss the way Doran’s back arched slightly, the way his thighs tensed around Hyunjoon’s waist like he couldn’t help but chase the friction. 

“You feel so good, hyung,” Hyunjoon murmured, his voice low and unsteady as he pressed his lips to the curve of Doran’s neck. “God, hyung… you don’t even know.” 

Doran’s response was a soft, stifled whimper, his lips brushing against Hyunjoon’s ear as he whispered something unintelligible, his voice thick with need. The sound, the way Doran melted beneath him, had Hyunjoon swearing nonstop, his hands slipping beneath the hem of Doran’s shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. It wasn’t enough—not nearly enough—but it was everything all at once. 

Each thrust, each roll of Doran’s hips against him, sent sparks shooting through Hyunjoon, leaving him dizzy and desperate. The room felt too warm, the air too thick, and all he could focus on was the way Doran felt in his arms, the way he sounded, the way he moved like he was meant to fit perfectly against Hyunjoon. 

Doran shuddered beneath him, his nails scraping down Hyunjoon’s back as he let out another soft, broken sound—a noise that had Hyunjoon gripping him tighter, anchoring himself to the warmth and weight of Doran.

Then it happened.

They came almost at the same time, sharp gasps mingling as the tension between them snapped, fraying and breaking like a rubber band stretched too far. For a brief, electric moment, everything else fell away—leaving only the two of them, tangled and breathless, the world narrowed to just this.

Hyunjoon pressed his forehead against Doran’s, their ragged breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath. His body thrummed with residual energy, his pulse a heavy drumbeat in his ears. He should have felt embarrassed—coming undone like that, fully clothed, on the damn couch—but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when Doran was looking at him like that, flushed and dazed, his lips red and slightly swollen, his hair an endearing mess.

“God,” Hyunjoon muttered under his breath, his lips brushing against Doran’s temple as he tried to steady his breathing. “Next time, hyung… I’m gonna fuck you properly.”

Doran froze for half a second, his eyes snapping up to meet Hyunjoon’s. His face turned an even deeper shade of red, his lips parting as though to protest. But whatever words he’d been about to say were swallowed up by the way Hyunjoon grinned—slow, lopsided, and just a little too smug.

“You’re really ridiculous,” Doran finally managed, his voice shaky and laced with exasperation. But he didn’t move away. If anything, his fingers tightened their grip on Hyunjoon’s shirt, like letting go wasn’t an option.

“And yet,” Hyunjoon teased, brushing a strand of hair from Doran’s forehead, “you’re still here.”

Doran huffed, turning his face to the side to avoid Hyunjoon’s gaze, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, curving into the faintest of smiles.

Hyunjoon chuckled, the sound softer now, pressing a light kiss to Doran’s temple before leaning back just enough to see him more clearly. “I mean it, hyung,” he added, his tone quiet but steady, the playfulness tempered by something more genuine. “Next time… I want to do this right.”

The words lingered between them, warm and unspoken promises etched into the space they shared. Doran didn’t reply immediately, his lips twitching as if he were debating how to respond. But the way his eyes softened, the way his fingers lightly traced the edges of Hyunjoon’s shirt, told Hyunjoon all he needed to know.