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When the doorbell of his hotel room rings at 1AM on their first night in New York, Hyunjoon almost considers not answering it.
Because who the hell could it actually be? The range of options are narrow—anyone who knows him could just text him, and he doubts the hotel staff need anything from him at this hour. At best, it’s a drunk patron who got off at the wrong floor. At worst, well, crazy stalker fans.
Plus, he’s really comfortable where he is, curled up in bed watching scrim VODs on his phone. He doesn’t particularly feel like getting up and putting a shirt on just to potentially meet an axe murderer. So he resolves to stay put.
Until the doorbell rings again. And again, and again, and again, followed by a rapid series of knocks on the door and a tinny, familiar-sounding whine.
“Hyuuung.”
Fuck. Hyunjoon should’ve known. No one else is shameless enough to come bother him at ungodly hours without even sending a text message first. Wooje, as always, is in a league of his own.
“What?” He yells back, grudgingly pushing his duvet away and climbing to his feet. His shirt is somewhere around, probably, but Hyunjoon doesn’t bother looking for it before he heads towards the door.
When he pulls it open, he finds Wooje standing on the other side, swamped in a T1 hoodie and sulking. “You took so long to answer me,” he huffs, crossing his arms like a petulant child.
Hyunjoon rolls his eyes, all too used to Wooje’s antics by now. “What do you want?” He asks, ignoring the complaint. “And why couldn’t it wait till morning?”
“Because then I wouldn’t get any sleep,” Wooje retorts. “My room got locked.”
“Again?” Hyunjoon can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Nobody is that unlucky. “You already got locked out at MSI. Did Riot forget to pay for you again?”
“I don’t know,” Wooje grumbles, rubbing his eyes. “But I’m tired. Let me in.”
Presumptuous, as always. “Go ask Minseok,” Hyunjoon counters immediately. “You bunked with him in Busan.”
Wooje makes a face. “Can’t. Minhyung hyung is in his room.”
Yeah, Hyunjoon doesn’t really need to know any more about that. “Then sleep in Minhyung’s room,” Hyunjoon suggests.
“Seongwoong hyung moved into it when he figured it was gonna be empty anyway.”
Hyunjoon closes his eyes, praying for divine intervention. “Sanghyuk hyung.”
Wooje’s expression is resigned. “Asleep.”
Well then. The council has decided Hyunjoon’s fate. “Fine,” he mutters, taking a step back. “But only for tonight. Tomorrow we’re fixing this.”
“Whatever.” Wooje sighs, waddling into Hyunjoon’s room and letting the door click shut behind him. “I just want to sleep.”
Hyunjoon eyes him critically. “You can’t sleep in that,” he points out, gesturing at Wooje’s hoodie and joggers. If Hyunjoon remembers correctly, he’s been wearing those all day. “And you have to take a shower.”
Before Wooje can protest, Hyunjoon’s already grabbing a clean shirt and sweatpants from his suitcase. “Go. Otherwise you’re sleeping on the floor.”
“Mean,” Wooje mumbles, but he takes the clothes and wanders off into the adjoining bathroom. Hyunjoon flops down onto the bed, hearing the water start running. Well, at least Wooje still listens to him sometimes.
He scrolls through Naver for a while, studiously avoiding any and all posts about Worlds. It takes a little longer for Wooje to finish showering, by which time Hyunjoon has already migrated to Netflix and is busy looking through the archives for something to occupy his time. He doesn’t even realize Wooje’s out until the top laner deposits himself at the foot of the bed.
“Narco-Saints,” Wooje says, drying his hair with a spare towel. He’s obediently changed into the clothes Hyunjoon gave him; they’re slightly too large for his frame, his shoulders not quite as broad as Hyunjoon’s, his waist just a little narrower. He smells almost overwhelmingly like the floral shampoo that the hotel provided in their bathrooms. When he tilts his head to look at Hyunjoon’s phone screen, the collar of his borrowed T-shirt slips even further, revealing the dip of his clavicle and pale, smooth skin.
Hyunjoon regrets this already. But it’s too late now.
“Narco-Saints?” he repeats, forcing himself to focus on his screen.
“Let’s watch it,” Wooje suggests as he hops up to put the towel away. He’s back within seconds, clambering into the other side of the bed without an invitation. Hyunjoon shakes his head. Wooje’s lucky all his hyungs are so nice. “Minseok hyung said it was good.”
“I thought he watched it with Minhyung,” Hyunjoon points out, tugging the duvet back up. “Pretty sure neither of them even know what the main character’s called.”
Wooje doesn’t bother suppressing his snort. “Don’t remind me. Minhyung hyung left me on read three hours ago.” He reaches out to steal Hyunjoon’s phone.
Hyunjoon lets him, because—well, why does he let Wooje get away with anything? It’s not like he’ll ever admit it, but it’s clear to anyone who’s paying enough attention: he has a soft spot for Wooje. A tiny little one that’s been rearing its head a lot recently, getting further and further out of Hyunjoon’s control.
“Found it,” Wooje declares triumphantly after a few seconds. Somehow, he manages to shimmy even closer to Hyunjoon, until his shoulder is pressed up against Hyunjoon’s arm. Hyunjoon tries his best not to think about how soft he feels, skin to skin like this. “Wanna watch?”
The clock hanging on the wall ticks over to 2AM. It’s already late and they have scrims in the morning tomorrow. But Hyunjoon finds himself nodding anyway. “One episode. If it sucks, I’m never trusting your recommendations again.”
Wooje grins toothily. “You never say no to me.”
How very self-aware of him. Hyunjoon’s face suddenly feels all too warm. “One more word and you’re going on the floor,” he warns, but Wooje just laughs like he knows something Hyunjoon doesn’t.
They find the title on Netflix and settle in for the first episode. It’s a little awkward, with Hyunjoon holding the phone and Wooje’s damp hair tickling his cheek, but it works.
And really, the show’s not bad. Not Hyunjoon’s usual genre, but it’s interesting enough. By the end of the episode, he’s almost ready to forgo another hour of sleep just to keep going, but when he turns his head, Wooje’s eyes are closed.
“Idiot,” Hyunjoon murmurs, watching Wooje doze away against his shoulder. Wooje, not quite awake yet not fully asleep, makes a muffled sound of protest, but it’s half-hearted at best as he immediately sinks back down into the pillows. Hyunjoon nudges him, none too gently. “Hey. Are you gonna sleep or what?”
“Not yet,” Wooje murmurs, opening his eyes and tilting his head up. There’s a weird twist in the pit of Hyunjoon’s stomach as Wooje meets his gaze. The air between them grows thick, turns dense and heady with something Hyunjoon can’t quite name.
His voice sounds far away to his own ears. “Then what do you want to do?”
Wooje doesn’t reply. Not verbally, anyway. But Hyunjoon feels him move. Feels Wooje shift up against him until there’s barely even a hair’s breadth between them. Feels Wooje’s fingers tracing lightly across the curl of his bicep. He doesn’t need to hear Wooje say it out loud. Not anymore.
They have scrims tomorrow. Hyunjoon should probably stop this. He told himself he would, after the first time. And the second time. And the third, and the fourth, and—
And if his palm just so happens to ghost along the warm line of Wooje’s thigh for a split second; if Wooje’s breath hitches audibly in his throat, loud and clear against the backdrop of silence in the room; if Hyunjoon tells that stupid little reasonable-sounding voice in the back of his head to shut up for one more night…
Well, no one has to know.
Except, apparently, Minseok.
Who wakes Hyunjoon up at the truly outrageous hour of eight in the morning by incessantly banging on his hotel room door and screeching like a banshee. Hyunjoon has to scramble out of bed half-asleep, stumbling over to the door while swearing unintelligibly, and nearly smacks himself in the face as he yanks it open.
“What the fuck,” Hyunjoon says, with feeling.
Minseok doesn’t even bother with a greeting. “Wooje’s missing!” He yells, seemingly unaware of the fact that his voice is several octaves higher than usual. “Someone kidnapped him!”
Without warning, he pushes past Hyunjoon into his room, where he proceeds to pace up and down like an agitated cat. “It’s all my fault,” Minseok mutters, half to himself. “I didn’t answer him yesterday. What kind of hyung am I? I just left him out there, all on his own, and now he’s probably halfway to Canada thinking why isn’t Minseok hyung here—”
“Why is Minseok hyung here?” A groggy, tired voice filters out from the bed. Hyunjoon sighs, resisting the urge to simply just leave the room.
Meanwhile, Minseok whirls around. “Wooje?” He demands, just as Wooje pops out from beneath the duvet, blinking blearily and running his fingers through his mussed up dark hair. “What—where have you been?”
“Right here,” Wooje answers, sounding no less confused than Minseok. Hyunjoon, of course, is the only one who understands what’s going on. But does he really feel like explaining right now?
Minseok takes a good look at Wooje and seems to realize something. “Are you wearing Hyunjoon’s clothes?”
Hyunjoon can practically see the gears turning in Minseok’s head, and yeah, maybe he does feel like explaining. “Wooje, go back to sleep,” he mutters, then looks at Minseok and gestures towards the door. “Minseok, come on.”
It’s a testament to how befuddled Minseok is that he actually goes out to the hallway. Hyunjoon pulls the door shut behind him, leans back against it and sighs. Loudly.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
Minseok eyes him skeptically. “So… that’s not Wooje sleeping in your bed wearing your shirt?”
Hyunjoon winces. "Okay, it's a little bit what it looks like."
“You’re defiling our top laner,” is Minseok’s response. He sounds one part outraged, two parts confused, and about fifty parts amused. “I didn’t know you guys were in a relationship.”
“That’s because we’re not,” Hyunjoon grumbles, pressing his palm against his forehead in a valiant effort to stave off the impending headache he knows is on its merry way to gank him.
Minseok looks like he understands. Which, he would. Hyunjoon watched that particular mess down on bot lane for far longer than he would have liked to. “How long has this been going on, anyway?” he asks.
“It’s not going on.” Hyunjoon wonders if he’s lying through his teeth. He can’t even tell anymore. “Technically, I mean. It’s been a while since the last time.” Three weeks counts as a while, right?
“Huh.” Minseok looks like he wants to say something, then apparently thinks better of it. “Well, it’s none of my business. As long as Wooje hasn’t been kidnapped.”
Hyunjoon lets out a snort. “I can’t believe that was your first thought.”
Minseok smirks in response, tilting his head innocently. “It’s not like I knew he was your type.”
Great. Hyunjoon can already see where this is going. If he knows anything about his teammates, there will be plenty of teasing in his future. “Hey, remember when you started dating Minhyung and I let you have our room when you wanted privacy?”
“Fine,” Minseok concedes immediately, his face turning pink. “I get it. Just be nice to him.”
“You should ask him to be nice to me,” Hyunjoon huffs. “And anyway, we’re not doing this again. Today we’ll sort out his room issue and he’ll be back there like nothing happened.”
He may not be able to convince himself of that, but at least Minseok buys it. The support shrugs, finally turning away to head back to his own room. “Whatever you say.” With a wave, Minseok vanishes down the corridor. Hyunjoon sincerely hopes he remembers to spread the word that Wooje has not, in fact, been kidnapped.
As for Hyunjoon, he goes back inside. He’s half-expecting to find Wooje up and about, maybe hunting down his clothes and preparing to leave. But of course, Wooje’s snoring away, tucked comfortably underneath the covers without a care in the world.
Hyunjoon rolls his eyes, stopping by the bed. He’s fully prepared to just push Wooje off, but for some reason…
There’s something about Wooje like this. He looks even paler than usual under the muted yellow lighting, his face relaxed and peaceful in slumber. The lines of his face are gentle, softly carving out the shape of his nose and cheeks and mouth. Like this, he doesn’t seem like the top lane monster who crushes everyone in his path. Like this, he doesn’t look like their annoying youngest member who scarfs down snacks and ‘accidentally’ uses informal language all the time. Like this, he’s just—
Pretty, Hyunjoon’s mind supplies before he can stop himself.
Which is, well, fuck. He’s never had that thought before. Because yes, on some level he’s attracted to Wooje; otherwise their clandestine little thing wouldn’t even have started. But it’s always been a sort of distant attraction. Like it’s not about Wooje himself, more about the stress relief and the fulfillment of basic needs and all those other excuses Hyunjoon has ready in his arsenal. It just so happened that they were on the same wavelength, their top-jungle synergy unmatched even in matters like these.
This doesn’t feel the same. This is, to be frank, kind of terrifying.
So Hyunjoon deals with it the only way he knows how to handle anything to do with emotions: brute force.
“Hey!” He yells, yanking at the blankets and shaking Wooje’s shoulders. “Wake up already! Or you’re gonna have to scrim without breakfast.”
Wooje responds with a high-pitched whine that by all means should not make Hyunjoon’s blood rush the way it does. Shit, how far gone is he?
“Okay,” Wooje mutters blearily as he stifles a yawn, seemingly completely unaware of the turmoil in Hyunjoon’s head. “I’m up.”
Hyunjoon nods. “Good,” he manages, as sternly as he can.
Then he turns and hightails it into the bathroom, where he locks the door, buries his face in his hands and wonders how the fuck he got to this point in his life.
Oh, right. MSI.
They lost, obviously, which sucked. Especially for Wooje. It’d been his first real important loss, and despite his infamous mental of steel, he’d taken it hard.
At the time, Hyunjoon didn't know how he could help. But Wooje knew. And, well—Hyunjoon has never told Wooje no.
“It’s fixed!” Seongwoong declares over dinner, waving his phone in the air triumphantly. “You should have your room back tonight.”
“Thanks, hyung,” Wooje chimes from where he’s squished into a corner beside Minhyung. “Guess I won’t have to go around asking people to take me in then.”
“I’m sure Hyunjoon doesn’t mind,” Minseok comments airily, for which Hyunjoon sends him an unimpressed look.
“Yeah, it’s a good thing he was still awake yesterday,” Minhyung pipes up. Hyunjoon squints at him; he doesn’t know if Minseok told him and honestly, he doesn’t want to know. But Minhyung’s cheerful expression betrays nothing as he continues, “And that he was willing to help. Out of the kindness of his heart, of course.”
Never mind. Minseok definitely snitched. “Do you guys think I’m evil?” Hyunjoon complains, stabbing a piece of pork belly with his chopsticks. “It’s not like I would’ve thrown him out onto the streets.”
“You did threaten to make me sleep on the floor,” Wooje says, grinning when Hyunjoon glares at him.
“I gave you the extra pillow, you brat. You should be thanking me.”
“Pretty sure I already did,” Wooje points out mischievously, and yeah, everybody’s conspiring against Hyunjoon today.
He doesn’t even deign to dignify that with an answer, internally thanking the gods as the conversation moves on towards the topic of group stage. Hyunjoon spends the rest of the meal steadfastly focused on eating, and when they finally get back to the hotel, he’s the first one back to his room.
He showers and changes into his pajama pants, wanting nothing more than to just go to sleep. But even with the lights turned off, the total silence in the room and three pillows to himself, Hyunjoon tosses and turns for what feels like hours but ends up being around thirty minutes, unable to fall asleep.
He’s seriously beginning to consider getting up and playing ARAM just to knock himself out, when his doorbell rings for what must be the twentieth time since he got here.
Honestly, Hyunjoon isn’t even surprised to see Wooje standing outside when he opens the door. “What now?” Hyunjoon sighs, habitually threading his fingers through his hair.
Wooje’s smile is perfectly innocent. “They still haven’t fixed my room door,” he explains. “I can’t get in. So…”
Hyunjoon steps aside without even pausing to think about it. “Shower,” he orders, pointing towards the wardrobe where his clothes are now hanging neatly along the rack. “Pick something to wear. And give me your clothes, I’m getting laundry done tomorrow.”
Wooje follows all of his instructions to a T, humming happily as he does so. He hops into bed right after his shower, making himself comfortable like he belongs there. And of course, he steals the extra pillow.
“Wanna watch Narco-Saints again?”
“Didn’t you sleep through the first episode?” Hyunjoon snorts, but he’s opening up Netflix on his phone anyway.
Wooje doesn’t fall asleep this time. In fact, he seems much more energetic tonight, chattering on about the plot and the characters. Hyunjoon’s half paying attention, half trying to sneak subtle glances at the loose collar of the shirt Wooje borrowed from him. He’s pretty sure there’s a hickey sitting at the base of Wooje’s neck. Hyunjoon kind of remembers putting it there. Oops.
“And I really don’t think—hyung?”
“Hm.” It’s pretty. The hickey, that is. It stands out against Wooje’s milky skin. Suits him. He wonders if anyone saw it today.
Wooje sits up, looking almost theatrically scandalized. “You weren’t even listening to me!”
“Nope,” Hyunjoon agrees amiably. He doesn’t feel like talking about Narco-Saints anymore, so he reaches out and wraps a hand around Wooje’s wrist, leveraging his grasp to drag the top laner into his lap.
“That’s rude,” Wooje mutters, but then Hyunjoon kisses him and he abruptly stops talking.
It’s not their first kiss, and it probably won’t be their last either, no matter how much Hyunjoon tries to kid himself. Something about the familiarity of Wooje’s lips against his should scare Hyunjoon, but he likes it. He likes knowing exactly how Wooje will react; how his mouth automatically parts when Hyunjoon sucks at his lower lip, how he trembles when Hyunjoon’s fingers slide underneath his shirt, how he clings to Hyunjoon’s neck and straddles Hyunjoon’s lap and whispers a looping staccato melody that goes, “Hyung, hyung, Hyunjoon hyung—“
It’s disarmingly intoxicating. And yeah, Hyunjoon probably shouldn’t be doing this. Story of his life. But he wants to. And if the sounds that Wooje is making are any indication, so does he.
Well, fuck. Hyunjoon presses his lips against the hickey on Wooje’s neck, closes his eyes and lies to himself. Last time.
It isn’t, of course—in fact, it becomes a routine after that.
On their third night, Wooje doesn’t bother pretending anymore. He just follows Hyunjoon back to his room after dinner, almost like a lost puppy, and Hyunjoon lets him in without a word. They coinflip the first shower by playing rock paper scissors, best of three; Wooje loses, but he still waltzes into the bathroom like he didn’t. Hyunjoon makes some sort of half-hearted protest, then gives up because he knows better by now. His red and blue buffs have suffered the same fate.
He doesn’t know what the hell is going on with Wooje’s room, but he doesn’t ask and the top laner doesn’t return to it once. Maybe Riot fucked up or maybe they didn’t. It doesn’t really matter either way; Hyunjoon ends up giving him the extra keycard and they even get his suitcase moved into Hyunjoon’s room after one of the hotel staff retrieves it for him. So at this point, it’s basically their room in all but name.
Meanwhile, their Worlds games go well. They only drop one match and coast to the top of the standings in groups, making it to quarterfinals with ease. There are still three more days of group stage to go, but they’re not playing on any of them, so they get a bit of time off to decompress and get ready for quarters. They still have scrims, but not nearly as many as they did before, which means Hyunjoon finally has time to head to the hotel gym.
He likes working out. He’s always been someone with a lot of pent up energy, and exercising helps him get all that out of his system.
(That, and Wooje.)
Back at home, he had a strict training regimen with a personal trainer in the T1 gym. Here, he’s more or less on his own, so he takes his time going through the steps of his routine, finishing up late in the evening.
As he’s heading back upstairs, Hyunjoon idly wonders where the rest of his teammates are. He remembers Minseok saying something about taking a walk around the city, but that had been hours ago. Hyunjoon had told them to eat dinner without him, so he probably has to figure that one out by himself. Maybe he can ask Seongwoong how to order delivery here. Or if they’re still out, they could get him something on the way back—
“Oh.” Hyunjoon blinks, stopping short at the threshold to his room. “You’re here.”
In hindsight, it’s kind of a dumb statement. Of course Wooje would be here. He’s currently curled up in bed, the duvet pulled up to his chin as he watches the ongoing JDG-Damwon game on his phone. He looks up as Hyunjoon walks in, cocking his head curiously. “Have you been at the gym all this time?” He questions.
“Yeah,” Hyunjoon answers, walking over to the wardrobe. He pulls his shirt off and tosses it into the laundry bag, before grabbing a random pair of sweatpants from its hanger.
When he turns back around, Wooje’s staring at him. Or more specifically, at his abs. “Subtle,” Hyunjoon comments, grinning when Wooje jumps a little, startled.
“How do you even have so much energy?” Wooje huffs, busily turning away back to his screen and pretending his face isn’t bright pink. “I’m way too tired to work out today.”
“You’re too tired to work out every day,” Hyunjoon points out dryly. “And you haven’t even done anything strenuous today.”
The look that Wooje gives him is pointed. “Really? Did you forget how you woke me up?”
Ah. Right. “Fine,” Hyunjoon concedes, because they have been doing… quite a lot recently. Wooje gets a free pass for now.
When he comes back out from his shower, the game seems to be over because Wooje has abandoned his phone in favor of flipping through the plastic pamphlet on his nightstand. “Who won?” Hyunjoon asks as he hangs his towel up and throws his joggers into the laundry bag.
“Damwon,” Wooje answers idly, not looking up. “What do you want from room service? Minhyung hyung told me Riot pays for it. And you haven’t eaten, right?”
“I—no.” Hyunjoon stumbles over the words, kind of surprised that Wooje even thought about it. “What do they have?”
“I’m not reading the whole menu out loud,” Wooje grumbles, in typical Wooje fashion. He waves the pamphlet at Hyunjoon, who rolls his eyes but goes to pick it up anyway.
They eat their food while watching the tiebreaker, but midway through, it becomes obvious that Wooje isn’t paying attention. Instead, he seems much more interested in shifting and shuffling ever closer to Hyunjoon, ostensibly trying to get more comfortable. His fingers wander across the bare curve of Hyunjoon’s arm, touch not quite light enough to be accidental.
“Can I help you?” Hyunjoon asks, a little amused.
Wooje hums quietly, his hands growing bolder. They slip beneath the fabric of Hyunjoon’s shirt, spreading across the hard plane of his abdomen. “No.”
“You seem to need something, though.”
“Are you trying to make me say ‘you’?” Wooje laughs, sitting up properly, his forgotten phone dropping onto the duvet between them. His tone turns mischievous as he leans in, “Or did you want me to say ‘your—‘“
Hyunjoon jabs him in the side. “You’re a menace.”
Wooje grins up at him. “What are you gonna do about it, hyung?” He says the honorific like it’s a taunt, like he’s teasing Hyunjoon. It’s amazing how little fear Wooje has, really.
But Hyunjoon learned how to counter Wooje ages ago, so he doesn’t rise to the bait. “What do you want me to do about it?” He parrots Wooje’s tone.
That makes Wooje huff, finally giving up on his facade in favor of pushing Hyunjoon down onto the pillows and clambering on top of him. “You’re so mean,” Wooje complains, but his hands are tugging Hyunjoon’s shirt up over his head. “You always make me do everything myself.”
Hyunjoon narrows his eyes, sliding his palms along Wooje’s hips. “I just ganked you, like, four times in scrims today,” he points out.
“And you smited my cannon.”
“For the exp.” Hyunjoon shrugs, unable to suppress a smirk as he runs his hands up the small of Wooje’s back, dipping his head to trace his lips across Wooje’s jawline. “We wouldn’t have gotten that kill if I didn’t have my ult.”
“You were already level six!” Wooje protests, but there’s hardly any bite behind it as he practically melts into Hyunjoon’s touch, letting out a low whine. “Hyu-ung.”
Cute. Hyunjoon hides his smile in Wooje’s neck. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promises, and yeah, he definitely doesn’t hear Wooje complaining any more after that.
Their series against RNG is… well.
They win pretty handily in a quick 3-0, though the second game is tough. Especially for Wooje, who gets perma camped and dies about eight times in total. He’s obviously frustrated, muttering some choice swear words when he gets dove under tower for his seventh death, but he’s stubborn as hell and resilient to boot so they pull through in the end.
Getting sweet revenge for MSI feels way too good. After the match, they do a quick debrief and then head out to celebrate because everyone’s in high spirits now that they’ve secured a ticket to semifinals.
Except Wooje, who’s uncharacteristically sulky all throughout dinner. He doesn’t even ask to order extra dishes, which is how Hyunjoon knows he’s still thinking about that Jayce game and what he did wrong, probably itching to go back and review the VOD.
He’s not the only one who notices. Minseok coddles Wooje relentlessly, spooning more food onto his plate and fussing over him. Minhyung’s angle involves more talking, mainly about Wooje’s plays on Yone in game three and how much damage he did even while 0/7. Meanwhile, Sanghyuk pats Wooje on the back and quietly orders an extra side of pork belly for him. It’s a real team effort, and Wooje does seem to cheer up a little.
But when they head back to the hotel, it’s clear he still isn’t quite the same. And while Hyunjoon’s usual brand of affection for his teammates is tough love, he can’t help but feel a slight twinge in his chest when he sees Wooje dragging his feet into their room.
It’s just because RNG was a sore spot and a difficult opponent and Hyunjoon understands. That’s all. He doesn’t—he’s not doing this because it’s Wooje. Definitely not.
He keeps telling himself that, even as he goes over to the wardrobe and pulls out his most comfortable hoodie. “Hey,” Hyunjoon calls, and Wooje’s head jerks up from where he’s rifling through his suitcase. “Go shower.” He tosses the hoodie at Wooje, who at least manages to catch it. With his head. Oh well.
Wooje looks bewildered as he peels the fabric away from his face. “But we haven’t played rock paper scissors yet.”
As if Hyunjoon’s ever refused him the first shower. “I’m older than you and I’m telling you to go,” he says, tone brooking no argument.
The age card usually never works with Wooje anyway, but this time it just seems to confuse him even more. “Um…” Wooje blinks, glancing down at the hoodie in his lap. “Should I wear this, then?”
“You’ll take too long to find your clothes,” Hyunjoon explains briskly. “Now hurry up. I want to sleep.”
Wooje’s too tired to even debate the point as he usually would. He goes off into the bathroom and emerges ten minutes later wrapped snugly in Hyunjoon’s hoodie. The sleeves are too long for him; they hang low past his fingertips, making his hands look like bear paws. It’s a little cute. A lot cute.
When Hyunjoon finishes up his turn, Wooje’s already curled up in bed. Normally he’d be reading the top posts on Naver or watching cute dog videos while waiting for Hyunjoon to start Narco-Saints, but today he’s just dozing with his eyes closed. Hyunjoon turns off the lights before slipping under the covers, and Wooje stirs.
“Hyung?” He says sleepily, and Hyunjoon feels him shift, clearly preparing to put their customary amount of space between them.
“Wait.” Hyunjoon winces as his voice cracks on the word, but his hands are already moving, almost without him realizing it. He tentatively drapes his arm over Wooje and shimmies closer until his chest is very nearly pressed up against Wooje’s back. “Uh. Is this okay?”
Wooje makes a pleased humming sound in his throat. “Yes,” he murmurs, moving even closer to Hyunjoon. “Feels nice, hyung.”
Hyunjoon’s throat suddenly feels arid, like he hasn’t had water in days. “Don’t get used to it,” he croaks in response, though with none of his usual snark. “You… you did good today.”
Wooje doesn’t reply. It takes a little while for Hyunjoon to realize that his breathing has evened out; he’s fast asleep, snoring away lightly in Hyunjoon’s arms. Which is the exact moment reality sinks in.
He and Wooje are… what is this? Spooning? Cuddling? He is cuddling his top laner to sleep. And he wasn’t even the reason for Wooje being tired out! All they’ve done since they got back was shower and then, well, now they’re cuddling.
This really wasn’t in the unwritten rules of their original arrangement, not even in the fine print. Not in the terms and conditions, not in the footnotes. This isn’t one of their things. Cuddling is a Minseok and Minhyung thing. Like, what people in an actual functioning relationship do. Hyunjoon’s fairly sure that he and Wooje don’t count. They might never count. And Hyunjoon is okay with that.
(He’s also a liar.)
Maybe they should talk about it. Or maybe they really, really shouldn’t. In the end, Hyunjoon simply closes his eyes and resolves to deal with it later. Much later.
In the morning, they reconvene over breakfast. Their win against RNG means that they’ll be leaving New York soon, heading to Atlanta for semifinals, so they all need to start packing and getting ready.
They’re almost finished with their debrief when the thought occurs to Hyunjoon, apropos of nothing. “I guess this means Wooje will finally get his own room in Atlanta,” he notes, half to himself, but Seongwoong overhears him from the other side of the table.
“What do you mean?” He frowns, puzzled. “They fixed Wooje’s room issue on the first day. Hasn’t he been staying there this whole time?”
Slowly, Hyunjoon turns his head to look at Wooje, who has apparently developed a sudden unshakeable interest in his French fries.
“Choi Wooje.”
On their first day in their new hotel, Hyunjoon’s doorbell rings. Because of course it does.
When he opens the door, deja vu practically smacks him in the face. Wooje grins at him, his suitcase and backpack on the floor beside him. Hyunjoon’s not sure he even stepped foot into his own room.
“Hyung,” Wooje says, his tone nothing short of perfectly, shamelessly angelic. “I got locked out of my room.”