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The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the monitors cooling down. Rows of LEDs dimmed across the T1 practice room, the final scoreboard still frozen on the screen — Defeat in bold red letters. It had been another rough night.
Hyeonjoon sat slumped in his chair, headset hanging loosely around his neck, eyes unfocused as the post-match recap rolled soundlessly. His reflection ghosted faintly on the blackened screen — tired eyes, a drawn mouth, the faint tremor of someone holding himself still to keep from breaking.
Across the room, Minhyung muttered something under his breath that earned a half-hearted laugh from Minseok, but even their usual energy felt muted tonight. The air carried that strange, brittle quiet that followed too many losses — not anger, not defeat, just exhaustion heavy enough to feel in the bones.
Hyeonjoon didn’t move. His hands rested loosely in his lap, fingers twitching occasionally as if still reaching for the mouse. He ran through the game again in his head — the missed timing, the ward he should’ve placed deeper, the split-second misread that cost them tempo in the top lane. Small mistakes that piled into something larger. He replayed them over and over until they blurred together into static.
The door opened with a soft click, and Hyunjun stepped back in, hair damp from a quick shower, jersey traded for a loose white tee. He looked tired too, but the set of his shoulders was steady — the same quiet resilience he carried even on the worst nights.
“Coach wants us to rest early,” Hyunjun said, voice low as he dropped into the seat next to Hyeonjoon’s. “Review tomorrow. No more screens for tonight.”
Hyeonjoon gave a small nod but didn’t lift his gaze.
For a moment, silence stretched between them, comfortable and heavy at once. Hyunjun leaned back in his chair, tapping idly at his phone before glancing sideways. “You okay?”
Hyeonjoon blinked, startled by the question. “Yeah,” he said too quickly. His voice came out rough, unconvincing. “Just… thinking.”
Hyunjun huffed a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. “That’s your problem, hyung. You think too much after every game.”
“Someone has to,” Hyeonjoon replied softly.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Hyunjun turned slightly toward him, voice gentler. “You’re allowed to have a bad night. We all are. It’s one loss. It doesn’t define us.”
Hyeonjoon stared at the faint glow of the desk LEDs. “Feels like it does.”
“Then we’ll redefine it.”
The answer came so easily, so matter-of-fact, that Hyeonjoon finally looked at him. Hyunjun wasn’t smiling, but his expression was steady, grounded in the way it always was when the team was starting to fracture. The faint sheen of sweat still clung to his neck, the curve of his throat glistening faintly under the dim light.
Hyeonjoon forced himself to look away.
“You’re too calm,” he murmured, trying to make it sound light, but the words landed softer than intended.
“Someone has to be,” Hyunjun said, echoing him. His tone was warm this time. “You carry too much already, hyung. Let me carry some too.”
That made Hyeonjoon’s breath catch — just slightly. Hyunjun always said things like that without realizing how they sounded. Or maybe he did, and he just didn’t mind the weight of them.
“Go sleep,” Hyunjun said after a pause. “You’ll drive yourself crazy replaying the game again.”
Hyeonjoon hesitated. “Do you think we’ll recover from this?”
“Yeah.” Hyunjun’s reply came instantly. “Because we always do. And because I’m not letting us sink.”
When Hyeonjoon didn’t answer, Hyunjun reached out, his hand brushing lightly over Hyeonjoon’s shoulder — a touch meant to reassure, but it lingered just a second too long.
“Come on,” Hyunjun said, standing. “We’ll reset tomorrow.”
The contact faded, but the warmth of it didn’t. Hyeonjoon stayed still for another heartbeat before following him out, the low hum of the city lights spilling through the glass as they walked down the quiet hallway — teammates again, but something unspoken threading quietly between them.
Morning crept slowly into the T1 dorm. The air felt lighter than it had the night before, though the quiet still held the memory of their loss.
Hyeonjoon arrived in the kitchen to find Sanghyeok already there, dressed in a plain hoodie and stirring coffee. The older man looked up as the rest of the team filtered in one by one — Hyunjun half-awake, Minseok yawning loudly, Minhyung trailing behind with his phone in hand.
Sanghyeok set his mug down with a decisive thud. “Team review is cancelled,” he said. “Everyone needs a break. We’re going to my house this afternoon. Prepare your things.”
The announcement landed like sunlight after rain. Minhyung blinked in surprise. “Wait, seriously?”
Sanghyeok nodded, calm but firm. “Yes. No VODs, no strategy talk. Just rest. You’ve all been running on fumes.”
Hyunjun grinned, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Does this break include real food, hyung?”
“I’ll cook,” Sanghyeok replied, as though it were obvious.
That drew a chorus of groans and laughter. “Are you sure?” Minseok asked. “The last time you said that, the smoke alarm almost joined the scrim.”
Sanghyeok only smiled, unfazed. “I’ve improved. You’ll see.”
Hyeonjoon felt the tension in his chest ease at the casual banter. It was such a simple thing — a change of setting, a pause — but it already felt like breathing again after holding it in too long.
By late afternoon, the city fell away behind them. Sanghyeok had left earlier in the day to “get dinner and drinks ready,” he said. The car ride to the house passed in quiet chatter and the faint rhythm of a playlist humming from someone’s phone. The sky stretched wide and gold above the skyline when they finally turned into a narrow street lined with maple trees.
Hyeonjoon hadn’t known what to expect, but the place fit Sanghyeok perfectly — modern lines softened by warm light and bookshelves visible through the wide windows. It smelled faintly of rosemary and butter before they even stepped inside.
“Welcome to Faker Tower,” Minseok announced grandly as they entered.
“Take your shoes off before you ruin my floors,” Sanghyeok said without looking up from the kitchen counter, where he was already chopping garlic.
Hyunjun leaned over his shoulder. “You weren’t kidding about cooking yourself, huh?”
“I took lessons,” Sanghyeok said, deadpan. “We’re having pasta. Real pasta. None of that delivery stuff you kids keep ordering.”
Minhyung leaned against the island, grinning. “You actually took cooking lessons?”
“From a professional chef.” Sanghyeok pointed the knife toward him lightly. “Now set the table instead of doubting me.”
The smell grew richer as butter hit the pan — garlic sizzling, a hint of basil. The open layout filled with the warmth of it, sunlight spilling through the wide windows.
Hyunjun drifted naturally toward where Hyeonjoon stood, handing him a glass of water without asking. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Hyeonjoon said, smiling faintly. “Just… feels weird not staring at a screen.”
“Good weird, though,” Hyunjun said, bumping his shoulder against Hyeonjoon’s gently.
“Yeah,” Hyeonjoon admitted, voice quiet. “Good weird.”
When Sanghyeok called everyone to the table, the spread looked almost professional — a large bowl of glossy pasta, still steaming, slices of bread drizzled with olive oil, and a salad that looked too carefully arranged to be accidental.
“Chef Lee, everyone,” Minhyung declared dramatically.
Sanghyeok pretended not to hear him. “Eat before it gets cold.”
They did. And for the first time in weeks, the table buzzed with genuine laughter.
Hyeonjoon twirled his fork, tasting the pasta. It was buttery, rich, and unexpectedly good. A small sound of surprise escaped him — a soft hum that he hadn’t meant to let out.
From beside him, Hyunjun’s voice came low and amused. “You always make sounds like that when you’re enjoying food, hyung?”
Hyeonjoon froze mid-bite, color rising to his cheeks. “I—what? No, I—”
Hyunjun’s grin widened. “It’s cute.”
“Don’t start,” Hyeonjoon muttered, trying to hide his smile behind his fork.
“See?” Hyunjun said softly. “That’s the smile I was waiting for.”
Across the table, Minhyung was teasing Minseok about dropping his fork, and Sanghyeok was lecturing them about table manners like a patient parent. The noise was comforting — light, human.
Later, when they cleared the dishes and Sanghyeok poured soda into mismatched glasses, Hyeonjoon leaned against the counter, watching his teammates laugh. The glow from the kitchen lights turned everything golden.
Hyunjun nudged him gently. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah,” Hyeonjoon said. “I think I am.”
Hyunjun smiled — small, genuine. “Good.”
It wasn’t much — just laughter, food, and the warmth of a home — but it was enough to remind Hyeonjoon that losing didn’t mean they were broken. It only meant they still had something worth fighting for.
Dinner then melted into that easy kind of fullness that came only with good food and people you trusted. The air in Sanghyeok’s living room hummed with laughter and the thunk of wooden blocks. A half-finished bottle of soda sweated on the table beside a growing pile of board games, evidence of a night stretching comfortably past its purpose.
Minseok sat cross-legged on the rug, animatedly stacking Jenga blocks with the concentration of a surgeon, while Minhyung kept trying to distract him by poking his arm every few seconds.
“Stop it or you’ll make me lose,” Minseok warned, eyes narrowing.
“That’s the point,” Minhyung said with a grin, leaning over just enough to flick the top block.
The tower swayed dangerously, and Sanghyeok—sitting on the sofa with a mug of tea—sighed as if this entire scene had personally aged him. “You two are worse than scrimming with randoms.”
Hyunjun laughed quietly from where he sat on the floor beside Hyeonjoon, stretching his legs out. “At least randoms don’t flirt mid-game.”
“Who’s flirting?” Minhyung protested, though his smirk said otherwise.
“You,” Hyunjun and Sanghyeok said at the same time, deadpan.
Hyeonjoon couldn’t help but smile, leaning back against the sofa. The atmosphere was so easy, so light, that the weight from the previous night almost felt like a bad dream. Even so, there was something grounding about having Hyunjun close beside him — an anchor in the laughter, a quiet presence that made the world settle.
“Alright, my turn,” Minseok declared, reaching for a block near the bottom. The tower wobbled. Everyone held their breath.
“Careful,” Hyeonjoon murmured.
Minseok managed to pull it free triumphantly… then sneezed.
The tower collapsed in spectacular fashion.
The room erupted. Minhyung fell backward laughing, Sanghyeok covered his face in mock despair, and Hyunjun’s laughter came bright and unrestrained, the kind that warmed more than the room’s dim light.
“Okay,” Minseok said between wheezes, “new rule: no Jenga after pasta.”
Hyunjun grinned, turning slightly toward Hyeonjoon. “Your turn to pick, hyung. I think Minseok’s cursed the tower for all of us.”
Hyeonjoon scanned the pile. “Uno?”
“Yes,” Minhyung said immediately, as if he’d been waiting for it. “I’m about to wipe all of you.”
“That’s a big claim,” Hyunjun said, already shuffling the deck. “You know I’m built different.”
“You’re built delusional,” Minhyung shot back.
Hyeonjoon laughed — really laughed — the sound slipping out before he could help it. The others joined in, and for a moment, everything felt easy again.
The game started lighthearted but soon turned chaotic. Minseok yelled every time he got skipped; Minhyung cackled every time he dropped a +4; Sanghyeok kept “accidentally” forgetting to call Uno.
Hyeonjoon wasn’t spared either. Hyunjun leaned in every so often to peek at his cards, close enough that Hyeonjoon could feel the heat of his breath against his shoulder.
“Hyunjun,” he warned softly, glancing sideways. “You’re cheating.”
“I’m being strategic,” Hyunjun replied, voice low, teasing. “It’s part of the game.”
“Then stop breathing down my neck while you strategize.”
Hyunjun chuckled. “Can’t help it. You smell too good.”
Hyeonjoon blinked, caught completely off guard. “What—”
But Hyunjun had already turned away, pretending to focus on the cards in his hand, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
The warmth in Hyeonjoon’s face wasn’t just from the room.
A few rounds later, Hyunjun dropped a +4 card on him with the smugness of a man who’d planned it for half the game.
“You planned that,” Hyeonjoon accused, narrowing his eyes.
“Maybe,” Hyunjun said easily. “I might just have a thing for top laners, though. Can’t help targeting you.”
Hyeonjoon choked on his drink. “You—what—”
That earned a snort from Minseok. “You’re so full of it.”
“Relax,” Hyunjun said with a grin. “Just keeping the game fun.”
But when their eyes met again, the humor in Hyunjun’s expression softened, replaced by something that lingered — quiet, unreadable, and far too direct. Hyeonjoon felt his pulse stumble.
By the time their Uno game concluded, the laughter had settled into something gentler. Hyeonjoon’s cheeks were flushed, hair sticking slightly to his forehead, and the warm buzz of comfort settled deep in his chest. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this — being with them, not as teammates, but as people.
Across from him, Hyunjun leaned back against the sofa, arms stretched along the backrest, watching Hyeonjoon with a small, knowing smile.
As the laughter died down, the team lingered in the living room, stretching and chatting idly. Hyeonjoon’s chest felt pleasantly full — heavy in the best way, from laughter and warmth and the ease of belonging.
Sanghyeok rose from the sofa, clapping his hands softly. “Alright, towels ready. Sauna’s heated and waiting. Let’s not waste the steam.”
Minhyung perked up immediately. “Finally! I’ve been waiting all night to sweat out the carbs.”
Minseok stood too, stretching his arms over his head. “Hyung, last one there cleans the mugs!”
“Not meeeeee!,” Minhyung said, darting toward the hallway. Their laughter echoed as the two disappeared around the corner, bickering about who’d get the prime bench spot.
Hyeonjoon smiled faintly, standing to follow. His muscles ached pleasantly from the long day. He was halfway to the hall when Hyunjun fell into step beside him.
“Feels weird seeing everyone this relaxed,” Hyunjun said lightly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Feels nice,” Hyeonjoon replied.
Hyunjun hummed. “Yeah. Especially seeing you like this.”
Hyeonjoon blinked. “Like what?”
“Smiling,” Hyunjun said simply.
The words landed quietly, slipping under his skin. Hyeonjoon ducked his head to hide his blush, but Hyunjun noticed — he always noticed.
They reached the basement level where the sauna waited. The hall was lined with five narrow cubicles, each with a small bench and hooks for towels. Steam drifted faintly from beneath the sauna door at the end.
Sanghyeok handed out towels as the others emerged. “These should be enough. Don’t forget to hydrate after. And no roughhousing.”
“Us? Never,” Minseok said, already spinning a towel dramatically over his shoulder.
“Famous last words,” Sanghyeok muttered, shaking his head as he disappeared into one of the prep cubicles.
Hyeonjoon took the last stall at the far end. The quiet of it was almost disorienting after all the laughter. He sat for a moment, letting the muffled sounds of his teammates drift through the walls — Minhyung laughing, Minseok humming tunelessly, Hyunjun’s voice low and steady somewhere beside him.
Hyeonjoon exhaled, running a hand through his hair. It was strange how something as simple as a towel felt suddenly intimate — the soft cotton, the warmth of the air, the faint scent of soap. He undressed slowly, folding his clothes neatly on the bench before wrapping the towel around his waist.
The door creaked faintly as he stepped out — and froze.
Hyunjun stood a few steps ahead, just exiting his own cubicle. His towel hung low on his hips, skin slick with the faint sheen of steam. The light caught the curve of his shoulders, the lines of muscle that moved easily beneath the surface.
Hyeonjoon’s mouth went dry.
He looked away too quickly, heart hammering.
“Hyung,” Hyunjun said, amused. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Hyeonjoon managed, voice higher than intended. “Just—uh, warm already.”
Hyunjun chuckled softly, falling into step beside him. “You’ll get used to it.”
They pushed open the door to the sauna together. Warm, amber light spilled over them — the air thick and hazy, the wooden benches glowing faintly under the soft heat.
Minseok and Minhyung were already inside, mid-laugh, tossing jokes about Sanghyeok’s “pasta-induced heatstroke.” The elder rolled his eyes, taking a seat on the upper bench.
“Don’t overdo it,” Sanghyeok warned. “You’ll all pass out before ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes is enough for you, grandpa,” Minseok shot back.
Laughter filled the steam again, echoing gently against the wood.
Hyeonjoon sat beside Hyunjun on the left-most bench, the heat wrapping around them like a blanket. Every few minutes, Hyunjun’s arm brushed his — casual, accidental — but each time, Hyeonjoon felt it like a spark.
As the minutes passed, conversation faded to content quiet. Sanghyeok was the first to leave, claiming he needed to check their rooms for the night. Minhyung and Minseok lingered only a few minutes longer before declaring they needed showers before bed.
That left only two.
The door clicked softly behind them, sealing the world away with the sound of steam.
Hyeonjoon exhaled, feeling his pulse slow and quicken all at once. The silence wasn’t heavy — it was alive, charged, filled with all the things neither had said yet.
Beside him, Hyunjun leaned back against the wood, voice low. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Hyeonjoon nodded, throat dry. “Yeah. It does.”
Hyunjun turned his head, and in the golden light, his eyes looked softer, darker, something between fondness and fire. “Then just relax, hyung,” he murmured.
The heat between them had nothing to do with the sauna anymore.
The sauna enveloped them in a cocoon of heat and haze, the steam thickening with every passing minute until the world beyond their shared bench blurred into indistinct shadows.
Hyeonjoon and Hyunjun sat side by side, their bare shoulders brushing occasionally as they adjusted to the relentless warmth. Droplets of sweat traced lazy paths down Hyeonjoon's temple, sliding over the sharp line of his jaw before dripping onto his collarbone. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, the skin there glistening under the dim amber light filtering through the wooden slats. Hyunjun's body mirrored the sheen, beads of moisture rolling down the defined ridges of his pectorals, pooling in the hollows before trickling lower.
Hyunjun turned his head slightly, his voice emerging low and laced with a teasing edge that cut through the humid silence. "You've been staring at me, hyung." His eyes locked onto Hyeonjoon's, dark and unwavering, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
Hyeonjoon's cheeks flushed deeper than the heat could account for, his gaze darting away to the foggy opposite wall. "I haven't," he muttered, but the denial lacked conviction, his voice barely above a whisper.
The denial only seemed to amuse Hyunjun more. He leaned in closer, their faces now mere inches apart, the steady intensity of his stare pulling Hyeonjoon back like a magnet.
"I like it," Hyunjun said softly, his breath warm against Hyeonjoon's skin. The words hung between them, simple yet loaded with the weight of unspoken months—stolen glances during practice, lingering touches in the dorms, the slow burn of tension that had simmered since their first shared victory celebration.
Hyeonjoon's resolve cracked. He didn't pull back. Instead, his hand lifted tentatively, fingers wrapping around Hyunjun's wrist in a grip that was neither pushing nor pulling, just holding—grounding them both in the moment. Hyunjun closed the distance, his lips meeting Hyeonjoon's in a kiss that started slow, exploratory.
Their mouths brushed tentatively at first, testing the waters of this new territory. Hyeonjoon's lips parted slightly, and Hyunjun's tongue slipped in, tasting the faint salt of sweat mingled with the underlying sweetness of him. The kiss built gradually, months of pent-up tension uncoiling in restrained hunger.
Hyeonjoon's free hand rose to cup the back of Hyunjun's neck, pulling him fractionally closer, their breaths mingling in hot, shared exhales. Every movement was deliberate, conscious of the line they crossed, but the consent shimmered in the way Hyeonjoon leaned into it, his body relaxing against the inevitable pull.
Hyunjun's hands found Hyeonjoon's waist, guiding him with a subtle shift that had Hyeonjoon sliding onto his lap without a word. The motion was fluid, natural, as if they'd rehearsed it in their dreams.
Hyeonjoon's towel loosened but held, draping precariously over their hips, maintaining a fragile modesty amid the intimacy. Their chests aligned now, heartbeats thundering in sync against each other—quick, matched pulses that echoed the rapid fire in their veins.
Hyunjun's palms flattened against Hyeonjoon's back, fingers splaying wide to trace small, soothing circles over the damp skin. The touch sent shivers racing despite the heat, each circle a promise of care amid the rising desire.
Steam curled around them like a living curtain, reducing visibility to mere silhouettes in the haze, shielding their private world from any potential intrusion. Hyeonjoon's hips settled instinctively, a subtle grind pressing him down against Hyunjun's growing hardness beneath the towel.
They kissed again, deeper this time, Hyeonjoon's tongue meeting Hyunjun's with a tentative boldness. The friction built slowly, Hyeonjoon's body rocking in a gentle rhythm that drew a low hum from Hyunjun's throat.
"You're going to ruin me," Hyeonjoon whispered against Hyunjun's lips, his voice breathy, laced with a mix of apprehension and want. The words were honest, vulnerable, acknowledging the shift in their dynamic.
Hyunjun's eyes softened, one hand lifting to cradle Hyeonjoon's jaw. "Only if you let me," he replied, his tone steady, reassuring. It was an affirmation, not a demand—everything hinged on Hyeonjoon's choice, and in that moment, with another grind of hips, Hyeonjoon made it clear he was all in.
Hyeonjoon's hands began their journey, sliding up the firm lines of Hyunjun's arms, fingers mapping the bulge of biceps, the subtle flex of forearms honed from endless hours at the keyboard and gym. He learned the shape of him—the warmth of skin under his palms, the way muscles shifted with each breath. Hyunjun's touch remained unhurried, reverent.
His fingertips traced the elegant curve of Hyeonjoon's collarbones, dipping into the sensitive hollows before brushing downward to the narrow dip of his waist. The sauna's heat amplified every contact, turning the lightest graze into a spark that ignited nerves alight. Sweat made their skin slick, facilitating the glide without friction, heightening the sensory overload.
Hyeonjoon tilted his head back, exposing the long line of his throat, an invitation Hyunjun accepted with soft, open-mouthed kisses. Lips pressed to the pulse point just below his jaw, sucking gently before trailing lower, teeth grazing the shoulder in a way that elicited a soft gasp.
The scent of cedar from the wood mingled with the musky undertone of their arousal, filling the air thickly. Sounds amplified too—the wet slide of lips, the ragged inhales, the faint creak of the bench beneath them. Their breaths quickened in tandem, but the pace stayed patient, each exploration a deliberate step in unraveling the other.
Hyeonjoon's fingers threaded into Hyunjun's damp hair, curling gently to hold on, grounding himself in the whirlwind of sensation. Emboldened by the mutual trust, their hands ventured lower. Hyeonjoon's towel slipped aside as he reached down, wrapping his fingers around Hyunjun's cock—thick and hardening fully now, the vein along the length pulsing under his grip. He stroked experimentally, base to tip, feeling it twitch in response.
Hyunjun mirrored the action, his hand pushing Hyeonjoon's towel fully away to grasp his erection, thumb circling the head to spread the bead of precum there. They pumped each other slowly, hands syncing in a rhythm that matched their kisses—intimate, tactile, every squeeze and slide drawing out breathy sighs that echoed softly in the steam.
Hyunjun's control guided the next shift, his hands pressing gently at Hyeonjoon's shoulders until he eased back against the smooth wooden bench. The surface was warm, almost scorching, a stark contrast to the cool rush of air from their movements stirring the steam. Towels fell away completely now, discarded in a heap, leaving nothing but slick skin meeting slick skin. Hyeonjoon's body arched slightly into the exposure, his legs parting instinctively as Hyunjun settled between them, eyes dark with desire but soft with care.
Hyunjun's hand trailed along the inside of Hyeonjoon's thigh, fingers dragging slowly, reverently, pausing to gauge every reaction—the subtle quiver, the way Hyeonjoon's breath caught. Satisfied with the open invitation in Hyeonjoon's parted lips and half-lidded eyes,
Hyunjun leaned down, his mouth descending on Hyeonjoon's cock. He licked a broad stripe from base to tip, tongue flat and insistent, before taking the head into his mouth. Suction pulled gently at first, then deeper, as he bobbed down the length, lips stretching around the girth. Hyeonjoon's hand tangled in Hyunjun's hair, not pushing but holding, hips lifting slightly to meet the rhythm.
They moved together seamlessly—Hyunjun's head rising and falling in steady pulls, hand wrapping around the base to stroke what his mouth couldn't reach. Hyeonjoon's exhales sharpened into gasps, eyes fluttering closed as pleasure coiled low in his belly. The steam made everything wetter, saliva mixing with sweat to create a slick glide that heightened every sensation.
"You're shaking," Hyunjun murmured, pulling off briefly, his voice breathy and tender, lips brushing the sensitive skin of Hyeonjoon's inner thigh.
Hyeonjoon nodded, chest heaving. "I'm fine. Don't stop." The plea was soft, urgent, and Hyunjun complied, diving back in with renewed focus, tongue swirling around the slit before swallowing him deeper. Their breaths synced—Hyeonjoon's ragged inhales matching the bob of Hyunjun's head—building a friction that pulsed with shared need.
The restraint began to fray as need overtook patience. Hyunjun's mouth returned to Hyeonjoon's, the kiss messier now, hungrier—teeth clashing lightly, tongues tangling in a desperate slide. Their bodies pressed flush, every tremor from one vibrating into the other, skin sticking and releasing with each shift. The steam fogged the air further, making the space feel alive, vibrating with the intensity of their connection. Hyeonjoon's small gasps bounced off the wooden walls, muffled but poignant in the haze.
Hyunjun's hands gripped tighter—not bruising, but firm, protective—as his hips rolled forward, cocks sliding together in slick friction. The rhythm roughened, thrusts grinding deeper, but always with an undercurrent of trust, Hyunjun's eyes constantly checking Hyeonjoon's face for any sign to slow down. Hyeonjoon's breath dissolved into whimpers and sighs, his arms wrapping around Hyunjun's shoulders, clinging as waves of pleasure built relentlessly.
Sensing the peak approaching, Hyunjun's hand slipped lower, fingers circling Hyeonjoon's entrance. He spat into his palm for added slickness, then pressed one finger in slowly, breaching the tight muscle with care. Hyeonjoon clenched, then relaxed, pushing back with a moan. Hyunjun added a second, scissoring gently to stretch, curling to brush that spot inside that made Hyeonjoon's vision white out.
"Good?" Hyunjun whispered, voice strained.
"Yes—fuck, yes," Hyeonjoon gasped, legs wrapping around Hyunjun's waist.
Hyunjun withdrew his fingers and lifted Hyeonjoon effortlessly, strong arms securing him against the sauna wall. The wood was hot against Hyeonjoon's back, but he barely noticed as Hyunjun positioned himself, guiding his cock to his entrance. He pushed in steadily, inch by inch, the stretch burning sweetly in the humid air.
Hyeonjoon clawed at Hyunjun's back, nails leaving faint red trails as he bottomed out, balls pressed tight.
They stilled briefly, adjusting, then Hyunjun began thrusting—deep, rolling snaps of his hips that pinned Hyeonjoon in place. Each drive hit that internal spot, drawing cries from Hyeonjoon's throat. Hyunjun's hand held tight against his back keeping him in place, the other stroking Hyeonjoon's cock in time, building intensity without losing the intimate lock of their gazes.
Tension shattered in a rush—Hyeonjoon's release hit first, cock pulsing in Hyunjun's grip, cum spilling hot between them in thick ropes. The clench of his ass pulled Hyunjun over, burying deep as he came with a guttural groan, filling Hyeonjoon with warmth.
They shuddered together, shared gasps mingling in the aftermath. Hyunjun's hand found Hyeonjoon's, fingers entwining tightly, a quiet anchor in the haze. They remained locked, breaths slowing gradually, the only sounds their heaving chests and the distant drip of condensation.
Hyunjun pressed soft kisses to Hyeonjoon's temple, brushing aside strands of damp hair with gentle fingers. "You okay?" he asked, voice hushed, concern threading through the satisfaction.
Hyeonjoon nodded, still catching his breath, a lazy smile curving his lips. "Yeah. More than okay."
When the heat finally began to ebb, they didn’t move right away. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was reverent. A quiet aftershock.
Hyeonjoon’s head rested against Hyunjun’s shoulder, their skin still glistening where the steam hadn’t cooled. His breathing came slow, measured, as if relearning how to exist in his own body.
Hyunjun’s arm stayed wrapped securely around his waist, thumb tracing lazy circles along his side.
“You okay?” Hyunjun murmured.
Hyeonjoon nodded faintly. “You ask that a lot.”
“Because I mean it.”
He smiled into Hyunjun’s collarbone, voice soft. “I’m okay. Better than okay.”
Hyunjun exhaled, the tension in his body easing with it. He tilted his head, pressing a lingering kiss to Hyeonjoon’s hairline. “Good. You scared me for a second.”
“Scared you?” Hyeonjoon asked, teasing gently.
“Yeah,” Hyunjun said. “Didn’t know if I’d gone too far.”
Hyeonjoon laughed quietly, breath ghosting against his skin. “You didn’t. You… didn’t at all.”
Hyunjun smiled, small and real. “Then next time,” he whispered, “I’ll try even harder to make you forget everything else.”
“Next time?” Hyeonjoon teased, voice still rough around the edges.
“Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking about it,” Hyunjun said, leaning in just enough for his lips to brush his ear. “Because I am.”
That earned him a faint shove to the chest, but Hyeonjoon was smiling again, the color back in his cheeks. “You’re impossible,” he said.
“Maybe,” Hyunjun murmured. “But you like me just like this.”
Hyeonjoon’s answer was a quiet laugh that dissolved into a sigh. His body went slack against Hyunjun’s, all tension gone. They sat there like that, tangled in silence and steam, until the world outside the sauna felt like a distant, cooler place.
The air smelled of cedar and salt and something new—trust, maybe, or the beginning of it.
Hyunjun brushed damp hair off Hyeonjoon’s forehead and kissed him once more, soft and grounding. “Let’s get you cooled off,” he said.
Hyeonjoon groaned softly. “You’re not carrying me, are you?”
Hyunjun’s grin returned, low and lazy. “Only if you ask nicely.”
That drew another laugh—small but alive, the kind that made the heat feel lighter again. Hyeonjoon shook his head, slipping his fingers through Hyunjun’s, and the two of them stood together, unsteady but steady enough.
When they stepped out of the sauna, the cool air hit them like a sigh. And for the first time in a long while, Hyeonjoon didn’t mind the burn left behind.
The world outside the sauna hit like cool water — a rush of air and gravity.
Hyeonjoon blinked against the dim hallway light, his body still humming, his mind slow to catch up. Hyunjun’s hand stayed steady at his back, guiding him toward the shower room without a word. The tiles were cold underfoot, and the steady hiss of running water filled the space.
Hyunjun reached for a towel, pressing it gently into Hyeonjoon’s hands before stepping under the spray first. The sound of water against skin echoed, muted and rhythmic. When Hyeonjoon joined him, the mist from the shower met the lingering heat of the sauna, turning the room into a quieter kind of haze.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Hyunjun simply lifted a hand, brushing wet hair from Hyeonjoon’s forehead, the gesture almost reverent. His thumb caught a droplet tracing down Hyeonjoon’s jaw before it could fall.
“You’re really quiet,” Hyunjun murmured.
Hyeonjoon smiled faintly, voice still soft from everything that came before. “You make it hard to think.”
“Good,” Hyunjun said, tone light but warm. “You think too much.”
The water ran over them in a steady stream. Hyeonjoon leaned forward, resting his forehead briefly against Hyunjun’s shoulder. “You’re still too calm,” he said quietly. “Even after all that.”
Hyunjun’s laugh was low, close to his ear. “Someone has to be.”
“That line again,” Hyeonjoon muttered, but there was no irritation in it — only affection.
“Yeah, well,” Hyunjun said, letting his hand trail down his back in slow, grounding strokes. “It’s true. You carry everything until it breaks you. I’m just here to make sure you don’t.”
Hyeonjoon exhaled, the words hitting somewhere deep, somewhere raw. “I’m trying,” he admitted. “To trust that it’s not all on me.”
“Good,” Hyunjun said softly. “Because it’s not.”
They stood there until the steam began to fade and the heat turned to warmth. When Hyunjun finally shut off the water, the silence that followed felt peaceful. He grabbed a fresh towel and wrapped it loosely around Hyeonjoon’s shoulders, pulling him close again just to press a slow kiss to his temple.
“You’ll catch a cold,” Hyeonjoon mumbled, though he didn’t move away.
“You’re one to talk,” Hyunjun teased, tugging him closer by the edge of the towel. “You look like you could fall asleep standing up.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” Hyeonjoon said with a small laugh.
Hyunjun grinned, then grew quiet again. “You know,” he began, voice softer now, almost hesitant, “I meant what I said earlier. About not letting us sink.”
Hyeonjoon tilted his head, eyes searching his. “You really think we can come back from this?”
“I know we can,” Hyunjun said. “Because you’re still here, and you still care. That’s all the proof I need.”
The simplicity of it disarmed him. No pep talk, no strategy — just faith. The kind of faith Hyeonjoon hadn’t realized he’d needed to hear until that moment.
He smiled faintly. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not,” Hyunjun said, shaking his head. “But it’s worth it.”
He reached out again, fingers brushing lightly against Hyeonjoon’s cheek, tracing the damp curve of his jaw. “We’ll win again, hyung,” he murmured. “Maybe not right away. But we’ll get there. Together.”
Hyeonjoon’s hand lifted, resting lightly over Hyunjun’s heart — a steady beat under his palm. “Together,” he echoed.
Hyunjun smiled at that — small, genuine. He leaned down and kissed him again, slower this time, a seal on the promise they both knew meant more than just Worlds or standings. It was something quieter. Something like belief.
Later, when they finally emerged from the shower room, the house had gone still. The laughter from earlier had softened into silence; behind closed doors came the muffled sounds of their teammates already tucked away in their own rooms.
The lights had been dimmed, but a soft glow from the kitchen spilled just far enough to catch on the folded towels and bottles of water neatly arranged on the counter. Sanghyeok, of course. Always thinking two steps ahead.
“See?” Hyunjun said, passing one of the bottles to Hyeonjoon. “Team leader instincts. He knows us too well.”
Hyeonjoon smiled faintly, voice still hushed from the quiet around them. “He probably just knows we’d forget.”
They padded up the stairs together, shoulders brushing every few steps, neither of them moving away. The house creaked faintly in the cool air, the only sound between them the soft rhythm of their breathing.
By the time they reached the top floor, every other door was already shut. As they walked past each room they could hear the faint music from Minhyung’s phone, the rhythmic click of Sanghyeok’s keyboard, Minseok talking softly to himself before sleep.
Two open doors waited at the end of the hall. One on the left, one on the right.
Hyeonjoon slowed in the hallway, towel draped loosely around his shoulders. His hair was still damp, sticking to his forehead in small curls. “You should get some sleep,” he said quietly, his voice softer than usual. “Even though you’re the one who kept me up in the first place.”
Hyunjun’s answering grin was faint, tired, but teasing. “Pretty sure that was mutual, hyung.”
“Still,” Hyeonjoon murmured. “You need rest.”
Hyunjun stopped walking, glancing from one open door to the other. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “But not if it means walking away right now.”
Hyeonjoon looked up at him — really looked — and for a long, wordless moment, neither moved. The hallway light turned Hyunjun’s hair into a soft halo, his skin still flushed from heat. His expression had lost its sharp edges; what lingered there instead was something tender, almost raw.
“Hyunjun,” Hyeonjoon said softly, the name catching like a secret on his tongue.
“Yeah?”
“Are we really doing this?”
Hyunjun took a small step closer. “We already did,” he said, voice quiet but certain. “And I don’t want it to end yet.”
The admission wasn’t loud, but it filled the space between them — heavy, honest.
Hyeonjoon’s breath came shallow. He should have said something practical, logical — something that sounded like the responsible top-laner the others knew. Instead, what came out was nothing of the sort.
“I don’t want it to end either.”
That was all Hyunjun needed. His hand found Hyeonjoon’s, fingers threading through damp skin. “Then let’s stay together,” he said simply.
Hyeonjoon hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded — small, decisive. “Your room or mine?”
Hyunjun’s laugh came soft, low in his chest. “Doesn’t matter,” he murmured. “As long as you don’t disappear.”
They ended up in the nearer of the two — the one with the window cracked open and a faint breeze slipping in from outside. The room smelled faintly of cedar and detergent, the bed perfectly made. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing the quiet.
Hyunjun crossed the small space first, pulling the covers back with one hand while the other reached for Hyeonjoon’s wrist — not demanding, not even guiding, just there, a grounding touch. Hyeonjoon followed easily, letting himself be pulled closer.
When they settled on the bed, the world shrank to breath and warmth. Hyeonjoon lay half-turned toward him, the edge of the blanket drawn up loosely around them. Their legs brushed, a slow slide of heat where their knees touched.
Neither spoke for a long time. The house creaked softly around them — the hum of the air conditioner, the distant sound of a car passing somewhere outside.
Hyunjun’s hand found the back of Hyeonjoon’s neck, thumb tracing slow circles into his skin. “You’re still trembling,” he said quietly.
Hyeonjoon smiled faintly against the pillow. “So are you.”
Hyunjun chuckled under his breath. “Guess that makes us even.”
The silence between them stretched again, but this time it was full, content. Hyunjun shifted closer, their foreheads brushing. “You don’t have to think right now,” he murmured. “Just stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Hyeonjoon said, eyes closing.
“Good,” Hyunjun breathed. “Because I’m not letting you.”
Hyeonjoon laughed quietly, tired and warm. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”
“Not when it’s you.”
The honesty in it made Hyeonjoon’s chest tighten. He reached up, fingers brushing Hyunjun’s cheek, thumb tracing the damp line of his jaw. “You’re ridiculous,” he said softly.
“Yeah,” Hyunjun murmured, eyes fluttering closed at the touch. “But you still like me anyway.”
Hyeonjoon smiled. “Unfortunately.”
That was the last thing either of them said for a while. The night stretched slow around them — a steady rhythm of breaths, the faint rustle of sheets, the soft brush of fingers tracing idle patterns across skin.
By the time the last light faded from the window, Hyeonjoon’s hand had found its way to Hyunjun’s chest, rising and falling with each slow inhale. His eyelids grew heavy, his body weight sinking further into the warmth beside him.
When sleep finally came, it wasn’t restless — it was full. And Hyunjun, half-awake still, pressed a kiss into his hair before letting himself follow.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he whispered into the quiet.
“I won’t,” came the sleepy answer, muffled against his collarbone. And that was enough.
Morning sunlight slipped through the wide windows of Sanghyeok’s house, painting the living room in soft amber. The smell of coffee and toasted bread drifted faintly from the kitchen. Somewhere upstairs, the sound of running water and half-asleep laughter echoed — the ordinary noise of teammates waking up.
Hyeonjoon stirred first, blinking against the light. The blanket had slid halfway off his shoulder sometime during the night, but the warmth pressed against his side hadn’t. Hyunjun was still there — hair messy, one arm slung loosely over his waist, breathing even.
For a moment, Hyeonjoon just looked at him. The calm expression, the faint crease between his brows even in sleep, the way his fingers twitched every now and then as if still chasing plays in a dream. It made something inside him ache and settle at once.
He brushed a thumb lightly over Hyunjun’s wrist. “You’re gonna cramp if you stay like that,” he whispered.
Hyunjun grunted softly, half-awake. “Then stop moving,” he mumbled into the pillow.
Hyeonjoon laughed quietly, untangling himself with careful precision. He stood, stretching, the morning air cool against his skin. A moment later, he turned to find Hyunjun blinking up at him, still bleary.
“Morning,” Hyeonjoon said.
Hyunjun’s answering smile was slow, lazy, and devastating. “Morning, hyung.”
“Sleep okay?”
“Better than ever,” Hyunjun said, sitting up and raking a hand through his hair. “You?”
Hyeonjoon hesitated, then smiled. “Yeah. Better than I thought I would.”
“Good,” Hyunjun said softly. “You needed it.”
They made their way to the kitchen, the clink of mugs greeting them. Sanghyeok stood at the counter, flipping through his phone, while Minhyung and Minseok argued about the doneness of toast — apparently a serious debate at nine in the morning.
“Morning, lovebirds,” Minhyung said without looking up.
Hyeonjoon nearly dropped the coffee pot. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Minseok said, grinning. “You two disappeared for hours last night. Now you come back glowing.”
Hyunjun snorted, pouring himself a cup. “Maybe the sauna works better on us.”
“Uh-huh,” Minhyung said skeptically. “Sure.”
Sanghyeok cleared his throat, hiding a smirk behind his mug. “At least everyone seems rested.”
“Rested and hydrated,” Hyunjun added, deliberately casual.
“Hydrated, my ass,” Minhyung muttered, earning a quiet laugh from Minseok.
Hyeonjoon shot Hyunjun a warning look, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him. Their kind of teasing didn’t sting. It felt like family — chaotic, close, real.
Sanghyeok finally set his mug down. “We’ll head back to HQ after lunch,” he said. “No pressure today. Just enjoy the morning.”
Hyeonjoon nodded, the quiet weight of his gratitude unspoken but clear. “Thanks, hyung.”
“Don’t thank me,” Sanghyeok said simply. “Let's just win the next game.”
That drew laughter from all of them, easy and genuine.
As conversation drifted to other things — the playlist in the car, the next scrim, Minhyung’s disastrous attempt to make coffee — Hyeonjoon caught Hyunjun’s gaze across the table. It wasn’t loaded or secret this time; it was simple, knowing. A shared quiet.
The kind that said: We’re okay. We’re moving forward.
And for the first time since that red Defeat screen, Hyeonjoon believed it wasn’t just a promise — it was something real, already in motion. They're ready for whatever comes next.