Work Text:
Jiung is okay with being boring.
He understands why people his age enjoy going out on the weekends, the appeal of being surrounded by strangers at a sticky bar, how it could be fun to have music pulsing in your ears so loud you go to sleep with your skull rattling. Okay, he mostly gets it, but the important part is that he’s completely comfortable with the fact that it isn’t his vibe. Taeyang likes staying with him in the house anyway, reading, practicing guitar, watching movies. Sometimes he invites Jongseob, and they giggle on the couch while Jiung stir-fries pork for them.
They kinda have a retirement home activity schedule going, but it’s nice.
Keeho becomes the problem to this routine, when he comes over and starts throwing the phrase "performative male” around. Jiung wishes he hadn’t asked for clarification. Apparently, reading books, particularly the non-fiction ones that Jiung happens to enjoy, means he’s trying to create an emotionally sensitive persona. Which is so unfair, because Keeho and everyone know he’s been like this his whole life.
His meditation? Also performative. Journaling? Performative again. Learning Japanese so he can rewatch Hunter x Hunter without subtitles? Not performative, but something worse, which he’ll accept.
Jiung is okay with being boring, but he hates being called insincere.
Even if Keeho isn’t actually trying to offend him by spouting random shit about a TikTok trend while belly down on their floor, eye-to-eye with Jiung’s latest book. One that he genuinely likes, by the way.
So he’s already feeling a little sensitive about his hobbies when Keeho starts soft-launching the idea of them going to an FC Seoul game.
“I just feel bad, Intak’s invited me so many times to watch him play, but I keep getting busy. And none of you guys want to go with me.”
That’s true, Jiung doesn’t particularly care about soccer unless it’s the World Cup and South Korea is doing well. He knows little about the K League–only enough to be taken aback every time he remembers how close Hwang Intak and Keeho are.
Hwang Intak’s celebrity goes beyond being Seoul’s right wing. He’s in Bibigo banners rolling at the bottom of the news, on the internet going viral for his cameo in a drama, sparkling on the metro as the fresh face of a Laneige.
Jiung sees the ad on his way to the clinic every morning–Intak’s pixelated face holding up an Overnight Mask to his pink lips, tilting his head as Korea’s #1 Lip Treatment floats onto the screen. Jiung doesn’t watch it in a weird way or anything; he’s only a harmless commuter appreciating Keeho’s efforts as the head of the brand’s marketing department. Keeho secured Intak as an ambassador about a year ago, and apparently has cemented a friendship with him since.
“When is it?” Taeyang asks from the kitchen table.
“Next Saturday.”
“Sorry, Jongseob is coming with me to Cirque du Soleil then.”
“Huh?” Jongseob looks at Taeyang with his brows scrunched. “Since when?”
“Are you not?”
“I am free...”
“So? Don’t be so difficult next time.” Taeyang is bullying the poor kid, really, but Jongseob doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he’s already smiling at Taeyang like he's the funniest person in the world.
While Jongseob’s being pathetic, Keeho’s attention turns to Jiung, who’s stretched on the living room rug with him.
“I know soccer games don’t foster emotional intelligence or whatever and you’d rather be watching a sunrise alone, but–”
“I can go,” Jiung grits.
“Oh–you can?”
“Yeah. It’s the stadium they hosted the World Cup at, right? I’ll know a couple of the players, at least,” he shrugs, “I’ll go if it makes you stop calling my interests performative."
“Heyyyyy,” Keeho grins, rolling over to get closer. He starts patting Jiung’s back, but it feels more like slapping. Guilty slapping, which Jiung will use to get himself free sunscreen for the rest of the year, in addition to the tickets. “You know I was just kidding...”
⚽︎
Jiung is the type to agree to plans and then drag his feet out of the house, hoping by some chance they get cancelled, that the rainy season brings a storm with extra lightning aimed at wherever they’re going. The reluctance isn’t a front like Keeho claims, and no, it’s not because he likes hearing everyone beg him to go. Jiung just doesn’t feel excitement waking up for big events like this, knowing a precious day off from the clinic is going to be spent around buzzed strangers instead of getting ahead for his exam or reading himself back to sleep in bed.
Though that tends to go out the window whenever Jiung gets swept up in the moment.
The stadium had been thrumming with energy since he stepped inside. Jiung felt it, couldn’t help but absorb it, especially in these seats that were close enough to see the ripples in Hwang Intak’s #31 jersey every time he sprinted down the line. Keeho’s the one who looks shy now, ducking under his hat as Jiung grows louder.
In the 88th minute, FC Seoul pushes up the field for a counterattack, and Jiung becomes the least chalant person in the world, dropping popcorn kernels into the bleachers as he shoots up with the crowd.
It roars as Intak rips a shot from outside the box with his left foot. The ball slices the air, piercing the top corner of the net.
The tie breaks. Jiung’s lungs give out as he cheers. Keeho lets out a solid wooo!!! from where he’s sitting and clapping.
Intak slams his fist into his chest in celebration and finds the camera. Across every screen, Jiung watches as he points and nods, as if saying you see that?, dripping in bravado and sweat. It’s so different from the boy-next-door sweetness of the makeup ads.
Jiung doesn’t realize how long he’s been standing gawking at the screen, through Intak’s teammates swarming him, the next kick off, and a random throw-in, until Keeho gives his sleeve a deliberate tug.
Everyone in their section is already sitting. Jiung reminds himself he doesn’t even like soccer that much as he sinks back into his seat, ears a little hot.
The final whistle is blown after a relatively placid additional time, and Jiung’s energy settles down with it.
The tiredness of the long day begins to seep in, imagining the crowds they’ll have to push through to take two trains home.
Jiung prepares himself, but Keeho reminds him that they still have to meet Intak inside. Hello? Did you forget this was the whole point of coming? Right. Jiung wouldn’t want to seem ungrateful; these were admittedly incredible seats, and an even better game.
Keeho flashes a badge to security once they make it inside the stadium hall, and they head in the opposite direction of the exit everyone else is being herded towards. Jiung’s impressed that Keeho knows his way around so well, before Keeho confesses that he lowkey has no idea where they’re going and starts typing on his phone. Well.
Eventually, they find the elevator to the designated suite, a cushy room with air-conditioning that overlooks the field below. There’s already a gathering of lucky middle schoolers who won a raffle, and a few FC Seoul fans with a special admission stamp on their tickets. The kids are chattering to each other, nervously hitting each other’s arms and throwing furtive glances at the door.
Jiung doesn’t know why his foot starts tapping too, why he can’t focus when Keeho says something about dinner. He’s looking all over the room, eyes flitting from couches to window to half-empty catering trays, before a chorus of awed noises jerks his attention to the entrance.
Intak enters the suite to a round of cheering from the students, which he laughs at with such a genuinely kind expression – Jiung’s heart starts thumping all the way from the opposite side. Intak glows like there’s sunshine under his skin, and Jiung isn’t sure if it’s the post-game satisfaction or if he’s always like…that.
The flat monitor appearance of his security guard is comical by comparison, as Intak goes down the line, looking every person in the eye and flashing them that genial smile. He signs soccer balls, jerseys, a poster where the veins of his calves are as high-definition as anything else in the photo.
After profusely thanking a fan for their cute, crocheted plush of him, Intak finally makes his way towards them.
“Hyung,” Intak greets Keeho with a grin, “You finally came by?”
Jiung watches them do a bro handshake thing. Keeho makes fun of Intak for already putting his earrings back in before he introduces them, something about who are you trying to impress?
“This is my friend, Jiung. He’s the one I mention all the time.”
Jiung straightens his back, ignoring the spark that jumps up his spine as Intak’s gaze falls onto him.
“Hi, I recognize you from hyung’s posts! It’s nice to meet you in person.”
God. It’s not what Jiung expects to hear. What does he even say to that? Haha, and I recognize you from the lip mask ads? Holy shit, your mouth is even fuller in person?
Only decades of learned politeness have Jiung posturing himself into a bow.
“Thank you so much for allowing me to come watch.”
“Of course!” Intak bows back. “I’m happy to.” He smiles at him, good-natured and sweet, little lines forming at the corners of his mouth. Jiung’s heart is as loud as the stadium in his ears.
It’s Keeho’s cue to pipe in now, but of course, some kid is tugging on his arm and demanding to know his relationship to the nation’s favorite player after that extended show of familiarity. That leaves Jiung to fend for himself, fumbling to fill the silence with a stranger.
“Did you want me to sign something?” Intak raises his hand behind his neck and rubs at the hair there like a nervous cartoon.
“Sorry–I–actually, I didn’t bring anything. I haven’t watched much league soccer before today.”
“Oh, that’s fine.” Intak’s lips settle into a slight pout. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”
And unless Jiung’s losing it completely, his shoulders seem to sink. Stands and stands of people chanting his name less than an hour ago, and Hwang Intak might be upset that one person here doesn’t want his autograph. What is he, an ego maniac?
No, he doesn’t seem self-obsessive enough. Expressions fly on and off Intak’s face like he’s never in his life considered that he could hide them. And Keeho could never be friends with anyone with a bigger head than him.
“It’s totally fine…” Jiung trails off. He hasn’t been a real fan to begin with, but standing in front of Intak now, he just feels like a terrible one. He could compliment his goal? Yes, yeah–
“I know!” Intak’s face lights up, like he has his own brightness settings in there and someone slid it all the way up. He starts shrugging off his sports jacket.
And then he’s presenting it in front of Jiung’s face, to the sound of the kids murmuring in disbelief behind them. He hears an iPhone camera shutter sound.
“I have a ton of these, you can have this one.”
“Oh, um,” Jiung takes it into his hands. “Thank you, that’s very generous of you.” He bows before he can run out of words again.
Intak is still standing there when Jiung lifts his head, anticipatory, like he’s waiting for Jiung to put it on. Is it rude to compare him to a dog? Because Intak looks a lot like a puppy, one that just brought his owner a bone and is waiting to be praised for it.
Jiung threads his arms through the sleeves. They hang off a couple of inches too big.
“Now you’re an official Hwang Intak fan! I don’t even need to sign, ‘cause it says my name on the back.”
Intak is beaming, very proud of all this. Jiung isn’t sure what the fuck is happening. Keeho makes an annoying gasped noise at his side, finally deciding to chime in for the first time during this exchange.
“This is really your style, Jiung. Way better than that ugly tracksuit.”
“Really?” Intak laughs, “What does–”
Intak’s question is cut off by a touch to his arm and security shaking his head, and Jiung’s favorite outfit is saved from public humiliation.
Intak turns to the entire group and thanks everyone again for coming as he’s gradually led out of the room. He’s only in a black compression shirt now, which grips his torso and squeezes his tan biceps both a little too well. Jiung watches the muscles in his back shift before tearing his gaze away.
He realizes a young girl in an FC Seoul cap has been glaring at him. Jiung deserves it, mouths sorry to her on his way out, because he means it. Though it doesn’t cross his mind to give away the jacket once.
@fncsportsnews posted a reel
Hwang In-Tak hands lucky fan game day jacket #FCSeoul #KLeague
GOAT
I’m not gay but he’s attractive as hell
🐐
↳ saka dribbling clearssss his
That guy doesn’t even look like a fan? I would’ve fainted
↳ nonchalant final boss
my goat
Does anyone know his @
↳ hwang.tak
↳ obviously 😭I meant the person he gave the jacket to
↳ Idk
↳ Aight thanks bro
The jacket stays draped on Jiung’s desk chair for a couple of days; he’s unsure what to do with it, whether he’s supposed to throw it in the laundry basket to wash or hang it on his wall. He’s sort of afraid to touch anything that’s been on Intak in the first place.
Eventually, Jiung manages to slip a hanger through the sleeves, smoothing the front down once to prove to himself that it’s just fabric he’s touching. He hangs it with the rest of his clothes. Keeping it in the closet is fine, right? Jiung knows some people frame sports jerseys, but it’s not like Intak signed this one. At most, it absorbed some of his shower water.
Okay, that was a weird thought.
Jiung shoves the thing further to the back. But it stands out anyway, deep red and radiant next to his plain outfits, minus the blue track suit. Jiung reminds himself it’s no more than a token of a fun day out with Keeho before shutting the door.
He doesn’t really think about soccer after that. The mellow high from Intak choosing him as the day’s lucky fan fades, and the face on the subway ad feels more like a part of his sleepy morning routine rather than someone he’s been acquainted with. Intak returns to being Seoul’s left-footed right wing, a prolific brand ambassador, the name that pops up on the highlight banner under Taeyang’s baseball games.
Jiung welcomes the boring days free of stochastic celebrity encounters again. He works at the clinic, studies for the veterinary licensing exam, practices Japanese, meditates, and journals before bed.
Routines give him a sense of control, reset and relieve Jiung from the stress of grad school and the heavier weight of the world that keeps pressing down. Checking off daily goals is the best way he can live through it, each one giving Jiung the tiny present of accomplishment to settle in his belly.
These are typically the self-analytical thoughts Keeho would interrupt or cast doubts on. Jiung won’t reveal that their arguments are a routine he appreciates just as much.
On a day off, he and Taeyang go out for barbecue and tear up from the grill smoke. They come back to the house coughing, which Taeyang exacerbates by making them laugh with his impression of the woman who got caught up in their booth’s mess. Jiung’s eyes are still burning when he sees Keeho’s text pop up in their group chat.
Keeho
Shota left me ALONE
He disappeared
Please come
Sounds boring
It’s open bar!!
[address]
We can just drink in the corner it’ll be chill
I think intak will be here later
@jiung
??
Since you love soccer now
???? No
Just come please I know your ass isn’t doing anything else tonight
Why can’t you bother theo
Okay
This is me bothering theo
@taeyang
Jiung looks up from his phone pointedly at his roommate. Taeyang offers to play rock, paper, scissors to see who’s going to save Keeho from another social situation where he’s claiming not to know anybody. Playing for it is fair.
At least, until Jiung loses.
He suggests best two out of three, then three out of five, and eventually the glint in Taeyang’s eyes warns him from pushing it further.
I’m coming, Jiung types, hiding the disappointment only a nerd like him could conceive, already grieving that he wouldn’t be studying Japanese alone in his room tonight.
Keeho
Really??? Ok awesome
See you soon!!
The place is loud, determinedly not chill at all, office workers and clients chatting over free soju and wine under flashy twinkle lights that already make Jiung’s temples throb. Keeho does his best to be caring and attentive, leading Jiung around, letting him queue up songs on the speakers, so Jiung can’t fault him for not trying. He rarely can. But Keeho also has work priorities tonight, which include retrieving a runaway production assistant.
He tugs Jiung to the bar under the pretense of drinking together. But as soon as they order, Keeho vanishes, a stale promise to make it up to him left hanging in the air.
So now Jiung is a plus one at someone's company party, two full beers across from him like he’s some kind of Greedent.
“You get ditched by Keeho hyung too?”
Jiung looks up to a vaguely familiar voice, and a too familiar face. Intak came after all.
And he’s taking a seat on the barstool next to Jiung – as if they know each other. Jiung blinks away his shock.
“Yeah,” he agrees, coolly. “He hasn’t put you through that yet?”
Intak laughs. “Maybe once or twice. He’s a busy guy.”
“You can take that one if you’d like,” Jiung nods at the other glass. “He’ll probably be a while.”
Intak thanks him, and Jiung racks his brain for a normal question one could ask a stranger slash mutual friend slash celebrity athlete who has decided to sit at the bar with you.
“Did you come with any of your teammates?”
“Nah, when we’re back home we all kinda do our own thing. The older guys have babies, and some people just joined out of high school. It’s a big range.” Intak makes a hand motion to show how so, which Jiung finds endearing for some reason. “I like going out, though. And it’s nice to be with people I don’t see every day."
Jiung nods skeptically, as someone who prefers staying home and seeing the same people every day. Even though his friends consistently overrun his space, it’s less like cold air invading under a door now, and more like warm light filtering through the gap.
“For me, this isn’t something I usually do.”
“I couldn’t tell.”
Jiung lets out a shocked laugh, part impressed, part at the audacity. Intak knows he’s older than him, right?
“What gave it away?”
“Stiffest shoulders in the room. You were also glaring at the bottles like you could break them. I thought you had superpowers.”
“Are all athletes so observant?” Jiung scoffs, forcing his shoulders down a few centimeters. “Or just you?”
Intak smiles playfully, showing his dimple.
“Okay, so what do you actually like to do?”
Jiung talks about how he’s doing clinical rotations for his final year of veterinary school, figures it’s fair enough to share what he does for work since he’s already witnessed Intak’s glorious career highlights live. He shares how his hands shake whenever he does surgery, like the couple of times he’s tried drinking caffeine, but that he’s improved since starting.
“You’re a surgeon…”
“The clinic only does the most basic ones. We refer to specialists for anything else.”
“Still, I didn’t realize how much vets do. You must know how to take care of so many kinds of animals…”
Jiung ends up saying more than he usually would to someone he just met, but it’s easy with his drink going down, and Intak’s many questions and nodding and oooh’ing like Jiung and his rigorous study habits are the most engaging topics in the world. It feels silly, having Hwang Intak’s eyes trained on him, a random grad student.
More than that though, it feels nice.
They’re going back and forth about whether Keeho is a cat or dog before Intak says they should both stop pretending to be decent people and admit his resemblance to something more equestrian.
Jiung laughs a little too hard at that, slapping Intak’s arm before he can think otherwise.
Intak glances down at the contact. Jiung snatches his hand back with a prickle of shame.
“Sorry, bad habit,” Jiung says, staring at his glass on the table.
“S’okay, it’s cute!”
Jiung lifts his head again to see Intak smiling. Bright and real; it doesn’t even look like he’s making fun of him this time.
“Thanks, Intak-ssi,” Jiung mutters, the shell of his ears growing hotter.
“Can we speak casually?” Intak barrels on. “Is it okay if I call you hyung?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Jiung tries not to sound as taken aback as he feels. They’ve been talking for a while, sure, but it’s still surreal when Intak’s Hwang Intak, half-man, half-star, shining from another orbit entirely.
“‘Cause—since I call Keeho hyung too.”
“Of course,” Jiung shifts in his seat, twisting the ring on his finger. “That’s fine.”
“You’re so awkward,” Intak laughs after a pause, sipping from his beer. “Like I asked you out or something.”
The heat travels to the rest of Jiung’s face. Intak is genuine to the point of dangerous honesty, and the way he calls Jiung out sets off all kinds of warning bells in his head. He can’t come up with a response to the last part, even though it’s a joke, not one he won’t stutter through.
“What’s up, guys?” Keeho says behind them, draping his arms across both their shoulders.
Some of the tension gives, and Jiung allows the touch that he’d usually recoil from soothe him instead. Everything is fine. He’s at a bar. With his friend. And an acquaintance with a bratty mouth.
“Are you having fun? What should I order?”
The conversation moves on, Keeho and Intak discussing Shota’s resolved disappearance due to the arcade games upstairs. Jiung nurses his drink until he can see the bottom of the glass.
Intak’s hand lands on Jiung’s arm a couple of times when he laughs, and then once, briefly, on Jiung’s thigh. It’s probably by accident. Thankfully, Intak lets go before he can feel Jiung freeze up underneath his palm, how his entire body tenses even with the alcohol flowing through him.
⚽
When Jiung watches FC Seoul’s home game on the TV next week, Taeyang doesn’t say anything.
When Jiung leaves their match in Anyang on while cleaning the living room, Taeyang makes a sound as he settles into the couch. Jiung gladly assumes it has to do with the novel he’s reading.
Then Taeyang finds Jiung on the floor after work one day, his animal science papers and notebooks splayed around him in a crescent, eyes full-moon and glued to the screen.
“You’ve never liked sports before,” Taeyang comments, kicking his shoes off at the door. “You always fall asleep whenever I put baseball on.”
“Soccer is faster-paced. We’re tied 2:2 with Jeju right now.”
“Oh, really.” Taeyang sounds like he’s trying not to roll his eyes as he slips into his slides. “And how’s Intak doing?”
“Six shots on goal, he’s made one of them. They’re a defensive team, fullbacks tall as hell, so we’ve been playing similarly and only going for breakaways.”
“You learned so much for this, yet you never remembered what RBI was…”
“YouTube Shorts.” Jiung’s gaze doesn’t move from jersey number thirty-one.
“Right.”
Unlike Jiung, Taeyang actually likes sports, and knows to wait until the game ends, when Jiung’s shoulders sink and he’s not dead-focused on Seoul grasping a victory, before commenting further.
“So…you’re into Keeho’s little ambassador now?”
Jiung whips around to see Taeyang leaning against the kitchen counter, holding an open bottle of peach tea. He runs his fingers through his hair with the other hand.
“No, obviously. Intak just got me into soccer. Not the other way around.”
“I don't really see you watching sports, honestly.” Taeyang takes another uncaffeinated bottle from his bag and tosses it to Jiung, who only fumbles slightly before catching it. “But Intak’s face? That could be long-term for you.”
Jiung makes an appalled noise. “Intak is objectively handsome, whatever, but a lot of players are. I watch because I admire the dedication to their craft. Their discipline.”
“The dedication to their craft…” Taeyang deadpans. “Okay, which other players then?”
“Why does it matter…you wouldn’t recognize anyone anyway…”
“I’ve heard everything I need to.”
“I don’t even know him like that!” Jiung calls out, realizing this is quickly becoming a lost cause, like dropping a spool and watching as it spins and spins away from you. Taeyang is already halfway to his room, but Jiung tries to snatch up the threads anyway. “Even if the whole country thinks he’s attractive doesn’t mean I’m attracted to him. I’m good-looking, and we’re just friends! Right?”
“It’s more believable the other way around. Say your friend Taeyang is absurdly handsome and you’ve never hit on him.” Taeyang opens the door and adds, “You should make him pork belly tonight~.”
“What the hell,” Jiung mutters as Taeyang closes it without even waiting for him to say no.
Apparently, Taeyang had snapped up multiple photos of Jiung watching TV as if he was trying to put himself through the screen (certainly not his words). All of these were sent to the group chat, and Keeho interpreted them as Jiung wanting to go to another game (not his words either). This time, all of them are free for the match.
Jiung doesn’t kick like a baby being put in a carseat getting out of the house. He’s by far the most hyper, rattling off about Seoul’s decades-long rivalry with the Suwon Samsung Bluewings, which players’ dribbling or speedy breakaways to watch out for from the moment he woke up. Jongseob is the only one to listen carefully over breakfast, probably because the sweet child is the only one to regularly talk about his interests at length like this. Maybe Jiung will tune into the next Pokémon game he details.
Jiung only demures in front of his closet a bit, wondering if he should wear the jacket for the big occasion. It’d be so embarrassing if Intak saw him in it, though, like Jiung’s begging for attention. Since the chances of running into him aren’t zero, he ultimately goes for jeans and a red shirt. Go Seoul.
At the stadium, Keeho suggests they grab merch, leading them on an arduous journey of shuffling and weaving through bodies just to get inside one of the stores. It wasn’t like this the last time, this level of anticipation swelling before the game even started, speakers already blasting cheers for people to chant along with.
“We should get to our seats soon,” Jiung says, checking his phone for the fifth time as Shota and Jongseob pose in the red home jerseys. There are thirty minutes to kickoff left. Personally, Jiung likes the black and white away versions better. Because they’re cool looking, not because they bring out Intak’s tan.
“Big day for Choi Jiung,” Taeyang comments, grabbing a jersey for himself as well.
“It is a big day!” Jiung stresses. “You’ll see when we get to our seats. The energy is already crazy.”
Keeho purchases a hat and puts everything on his company card, while Shota backhugs him so tightly you’d think it was coming from Keeho’s own pockets. It’s still generous of him, of course.
Though among the perks of being best friends with Keeho–nothing quite compares to the section he brings Jiung to again. It’s right by the massive field, seats that allow them to go down and down the stairs and watch the row numbers slowly diminish into the single digits.
“Wow,” Jongseob breathes out with a grin as they sidle into their spots. He and Taeyang keep looking out at the view in awe and then back to each other, slapping each other's shoulders.
“We’re all in Kaiser colors. Bastard München,” Shota says.
The stands are indeed a sea of red, a wave that overlooks the players as they warm up, rumbling not just for a good game, but a win. Jiung would happily talk about Blue Lock with Shota, but he catches Intak passing the ball with his teammate, and then he’s biting on his lip trying not to smile instead. There’s a new feeling this time around, now that Jiung’s rooting for the success of someone he’s acquainted with, familiarity breeding respect or whatever. There’s a swoop in his stomach every time Intak touches the ball, a palpable desire in his gut to see him play well.
“Intak-ah!” Keeho points him out, yells as he makes a clean trap off his chest.
Taeyang watches a while before turning to Jiung.
“He’s even more good-looking in person.” He says it like an earnest mother trying to set up her son.
“Game’s starting,” Jiung says, shaking his head and smiling despite himself.
The high-goal-scoring match concludes with Seoul winning 4-2, thanks to their early counterattacks and defensive formation in the second half. Taeyang spent the entire time yelping and clutching whoever was closest, so Jiung thinks he’s proved that soccer is entertaining. He might be able to watch without being accused of having ulterior motives.
Like, it’s not that he’s hoping Keeho will say that they’ll have a chance to see his friend Intak after the final whistle. But Jiung doesn’t complain about getting home, per se, when Keeho confirms they can go up to the suites to wait for him.
There’s a mix of people in there, people in suits who Jiung assumes to be investors and managers, as well as families with children running around with a miniature soccer ball. Taeyang sees the buffet setup and immediately grabs a plate, apparently ravenous after screaming nonstop.
“Funeral food so good you forget who died,” Keeho comments. “No, seriously, what was the other team’s name again? The Blue Swingers?” Jiung chuckles, despite not having an appetite himself.
His stomach is doing flips again, even though the game’s over now, no reason as to why he still feels like he’s sitting on the edge of his seat. He clings to Keeho unconsciously, following him and his plate of fries to the window.
Twenty minutes later, Intak arrives with another couple of players, looking relaxed in a plain shirt and swishy track pants. They split off from each other to greet loved ones, and Intak sees Shota first.
Jiung watches as Shota introduces Taeyang and Jongseob to him. He softens seeing his friends being sweet and polite, congratulating Intak on the win. Taeyang asks if he’ll sign their jerseys, and Intak obliges, happily scrawling a permanent marker over their backs. He gives Shota’s a little heart. Taeyang and Jongseob thank him copiously, and Intak encourages them to eat more.
Then he beelines towards Jiung in the opposite corner, like he noticed him there all along. Jiung takes a deep breath.
Intak’s hair is still damp from a shower, bangs sticking to his forehead, and he smells like generic body soap. Nothing floral or fancy, but clean, boyish. It works for him.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Ew,” Keeho says for no reason, maybe because he stepped on something. He walks away, to wipe it off perhaps, Jiung can’t really be bothered to confirm right now.
“You’re still not bringing anything to get signed?” Intak lets his gaze run down Jiung’s frame slowly, even though it’s clear his red polo isn’t a Seoul jersey.
“Maybe I will, if you can introduce me to Lingard someday.”
“Oh yeah?” Intak flicks his eyes back up. “You prefer defenders?”
Jiung shrugs as casually as he can, ignoring that Intak may have just checked him out.
“Your captain’s been killing it since ManU.”
“Yeah, he’s the best.” Intak leans further into his space, and Jiung fights swallowing, doesn’t want Intak to know that there’s spit pooling in the back of his mouth. “Seems like you know a lot? For someone who said he doesn’t watch league soccer.”
“It’s a recent…hobby.”
“How recent?” Intak smirks.
Jiung finds himself as cornered as Intak’s opponents on the field, no way to get past his towering body, no one to pass to either. And Intak only crowds forward.
“Did you find out anything about me? While you were out becoming such a fan.”
Jiung racks his brain, filtering out the clips of Intak’s game-winning goals and his bullet crosses that always seem to hit their target dead on, for anything that’ll get Intak to stop looking at him like that.
“You fell asleep on the floor of Incheon.”
“No, oh my God,” Intak pouts, the puff of his chest deflating, confidence dissipating into the air. You would never know the guy just had crowds chanting his name like he was a national hero, not when he’s whining like this. Jiung lets out a breathless laugh.
“That video still comes up? I have to get someone to take that down, stop, hyung. You didn’t see the drool, right? You have to say you didn't, don’t laugh!”
Jiung waits until he calms down to bring up the video of him being nutmegged by a middle schooler next. Somewhere in the room, Taeyang has stopped chewing to watch them.
⚽
Next week, Keeho uploads the photos he took on his digital camera.
Jiung is tagged in one with their arms around each other, shadowed and posed above the field, and another where he’s mid-yell after a goal. There’s one of Taeyang stealing from Jongseob’s ice cream.
Jiung swipes through the rest of the dump in the kitchen, stops on a photo of Shota lying flat at one of their company video sets. There’s a pile of lip products stacked around his head. What these guys do at work, or who they think their target audience is, Jiung isn’t really sure.
As he’s about to lock his phone again, a notification pops up at the top of his screen.
Accept message request from [takiii.8]?
jiungie hyung~
This is intak!
It’s from a private profile, 0 posts, 42 followers, 129 following. Jiung debates what to do. He doesn’t consider himself someone who could be scammed easily, but social media isn’t his place of expertise either.
When he types the unfamiliar username in Keeho’s skinny following list, it pops up. That seems okay enough to at least message them back.
Is this really you
[takiii.8]
It is!!
What are you up to
Making sides for the week
You’re not gonna ask me to send you my credit card info?
[takiii.8]
I saw you in hyung’s post
No ㅋㅋㅋㅋ
Suddenly, a selfie pops onto Jiung’s screen. A high camera angle, Intak’s face a little blurry with his mouth open. It looks like he’s walking in a hallway.
[takiii.8]
See
I don’t know what you’ve already posted online
You could've saved that from naver
[takiii.8]
LOL
I haven’t :(
I thought you were my fan now…
Your turn
??
[takiii.8]
Prove it’s you
Your profiles empty!
Jiung rolls his eyes but plays along, clicking open the camera button. He keeps a straight expression and throws up a peace sign to make this random photo of his face less weird. The bridge of his nose is shiny under the light.
Intak doesn’t respond for a while. Jiung goes back to boiling spinach and definitely doesn’t sneak glances at his phone, or calculate that it’s almost been five minutes just when it vibrates again.
[takiii.8]
You’re so pretty hyung lol
Jiung blushes deeply. He wants to flop onto his bed and curl around a blanket. What is he supposed to say to that?
Thankfully, Intak is already typing.
[takiii.8]
You can cook??
Intak is traveling for the rest of the spring. Jiung doesn’t get to see him during the quick days he’s home, doesn’t think he has an excuse or right to—but they do move from sharing Instagram reels of Blue Lock moves that Jiung wants to know if are possible, to Intak asking for his phone number, claiming it's easier to explain there.
Intak sends a video of him recreating one of the anime’s goals, a bicycle kick from outside the box while telling Jiung to focus on the real thing, okay?
Intak doesn’t watch anime much himself, but he’s been putting up with his pastime impressively.
Instead of complimenting him on that, Jiung teases back, but shidou-san is so cool ㅋㅋㅋ.
Intak sends another recreation from practice, a shot from half field that soars into the top corner with what are you, shidou-san’s boyfriend?
Jiung grins over the text for hours. When he comes home from work, Taeyang tells him to take the cherry blossom petals out of his hair with a disgusted look on his face.
The next time he sees Intak in person is at dinner, spearheaded by Keeho, as many outings in Jiung’s life are. Though this time, he’s more openly grateful about it. Keeho tells him to stop being weird, that the glazing is scaring him. All Jiung did was hug him back, though. Why is that so weird?
He sits by Shota on the metro there, who’s bouncing his legs happily.
“Are you excited?”
“Intak chose my favorite sushi place. I’m going to order a lot since he’s paying.”
“He is? Keeho didn’t mention that.”
An undecipherable look washes over Shota’s face, and his knees still.
“Or maybe not. I don’t know.”
Jiung doesn’t consider analyzing it further, accustomed to Shota’s range of strange expressions and noises.
He’s too preoccupied as well, fixing up his hair and earrings in the camera app after a parrot at the clinic tried to pull out everything on his head today. Past the edge of the screen, he catches Keeho giving him an amused look across the aisle, lips pursed knowingly.
Jiung sets his phone facedown in his lap as the subway slows to a stop.
“What? You’re the one always complaining I don’t dress up for these.”
“Wonder what made you finally take my advice.” Keeho surveys his outfit. “Even wore your extra nice sweater for us.”
Jiung rolls his eyes at him. Then looks back down at mentioned sweater, remembering that the parrot got its beak on several threads too.
When the six of them file into their seats at the restaurant, he and Intak end up on opposite corners of the table. He thinks he overhears Keeho attempt some whispered manipulation, but ultimately can’t pull off a subtle switch or convince Jongseob to give up his seat across from Taeyang. Taeyang shrugs over this with a satisfied, proud smile. As if he trained him to do that.
It ends up being fine anyway, Jiung’s still close enough to hear the sound of Intak’s giggles as he tells how Taeyang almost burned down their apartment frying Spam this week, either because Jiung’s craning to hear it, or because Intak is laughing the hardest.
Intak laughs with his whole body, tilting his head backwards like he’ll fall out of his chair, his silky button-down shimmering as he grabs Keeho’s shoulder for support. Jiung finds him adorable, enough to distract him from the wobbling glasses on the table. Whether Intak’s describing a concert he went to, or why Shota should give him another chance in Fortnite duos, he uses big arm movements to convey himself. Jiung thinks that’s cute, too. Most of all, he likes it when Intak’s gaze flits to him after he tells a joke, like he wants to see Jiung’s reaction first.
The seating arrangements are fine, because Intak makes a beeline for Jiung as soon as dinner ends, tugging at the sleeve of Jiung’s elbow while Taeyang flags them a cab to get home, the evening air settling coolly around them.
“How have the animals been?”
“Okay, they keep me busy. My boss is scarier than anything that comes through the door. How’s work for you?”
“Okay,” Intak mirrors, “Would be better if you came to my next game.”
“Maybe,” Jiung hums, pretending to be in deep thought. “When is it?”
“I think you know the schedule by now.” Intak smiles lopsidedly.
Jiung scoffs, but can’t deny it either, so he just ignores it.
“I don’t want to keep using Keeho’s perks though, I feel bad.”
Intak slides his hand down the rest of Jiung’s arm, unhurried, before letting go. “You don’t have to mooch off of Keeho. I’m inviting you this time. And I can get you free moisturizer too, if you’re so worried about missing out.”
“We get enough,” Jiung laughs, “Thanks anyway.”
“No problem.”
“Yeah.”
Jiung’s skin tingles where Intak’s fingers had grazed over it. He hasn’t seen him under moonlight before, either, how the milky glow pools along the planes of his face.
“You guys are so right. We should just pay the fare and have the cab sit here for twenty minutes while you two eyefuck each other in the street without protection.”
“I’m clea–”
“We’re not–”
“Oh my God, say bye to your boyfriend and get in the car already, Jiung.”
Jiung quickly ducks into the taxi where Taeyang’s impatience is bubbling over, swatting his jacket for the coarseness. Intak shuts the door after him, and Jiung watches as he gives an apologetic smile to the driver and pulls out extra bills from his wallet.
The man rolls down the window and waves it off emphatically, assuring him that it's fine. Instead, he asks if Intak has the time to sign an autograph for his son.
Jiung nudges Taeyang. Doesn’t say anything, just makes him look at the smugness in his expression, his raised eyebrows. Taeyang threatens to kick him out and have him crawl home.
⚽
Intak
Morning~
Manager hyung will get you after the match
You might have to wait a bit until im done with interviews!!
Sounds good
Good luck today ⚽📣👏
Alone at a game this time, Jiung possesses both the anxiety and bandwidth to take a look around the section, to notice that the people here aren’t as raucous as other fans. No, they look like parents and siblings, girlfriends or wives in big sunglasses who hug each time another one of them steps down the stairs.
Jiung is suddenly self-conscious, fidgeting and isolated in his row. He isn’t any of those things to Intak. Obviously. Isn’t it sort of weird that he’s here?
The game starts, and it’s enough to keep Jiung from thinking too hard, especially when Seoul is a goal down at the 45th minute.
At halftime, someone taps his shoulder. Jiung turns around.
“Hi! Are you here for Intakkie?”
“Hello,” Jiung bows in his seat. “I guess I am, how did you know?”
The woman giggles. She’s very pretty, maybe in her 30’s, has soft, rounded eyes that make her appear kind.
“Aren’t you wearing his jacket? I have the same one.” She sweeps her hair to the front and turns, showing Jinsu, the starting forward’s name, embroidered across the back. “I’m Kim Jeongah.”
Jiung nods vigorously in recognition. “Of course, Intak’s mentioned going to your place before.”
“Yes, yes, and he should have dinner with us more often. Are you two friends?”
“I think, yeah, we’re friends.”
Jeongah gives him a smile, amusement pulling up at the corners.
“You know…we saw you stand every time he had the ball…”
“I get really into these things! It’s been a close match,” Jiung laughs, the back of his neck heating. He isn’t sure what’s more embarrassing, that he was flying up from his seat like a fucking spring, or getting caught as to why.
But Jeongah doesn’t press it further. “I hope you’ll keep coming. You make our box more lively!”
“Yeah, me too,” Jiung says in a smaller voice.
He smiles before turning around, just as the players are jogging back onto the field. Seoul is defending the closer half and Jiung can see better now—that Intak’s dumped water on his head, his wet throat shining golden under the sun. Jiung thinks he glances up at the stands and squints in their direction.
Jiung waves on instinct, and Intak visibly perks up. Even does a stupid two-finger salute back.
The fujoshis women behind him fall into a chorus of giggles and shushing each other, and they can probably see Jiung’s ears go scarlet too.
Thankfully, Intak finds his position soon, the whistle blows, and the second half begins.
At 91 minutes, Seoul takes the lead over Anyang, making the score 2:1. Intak isn’t the one to get the point, but he makes a beautiful cross off his left foot that lands him the assist. Jiung jumps out of his seat and spins around in the spur of the moment, grabbing Jeongah’s already reaching hands, both of them yelling when Jinsu’s shot hits the back of the net.
The game ends on such high that Jiung’s lightheaded. He’s dizzy saying goodbye to Jeongah and her friends, promising them that he’ll come again.
He settles back into his seat. While other fans trickle out of the stands, Jiung picks up his phone to check the replay of the last goal. On this zoomed version, he can appreciate it differently. Intak’s receive, the synergy with his striker’s position, then the flex of his thigh, hard muscle rippling underneath his shorts as he kicks the ball.
Jiung takes a deep breath and changes apps to his email before he can get carried away.
There are new clinic admissions today: a Shih Tzu with an ear infection, a young Ragdoll with a hairball issue. He reviews the medical history, guessing the treatment assessments and prescriptions, before reading the rest of the progress notes to find out if he’s correct. It’s how he’d study for written tests before doing clinical rounds. He puts his faith in the process to ground him so he isn’t having indecent thoughts about–his friend–minutes before seeing him.
When the stadium is almost empty, and Seoul fans look more like specks of red sand than a rushing stream, a man comes down the stairs of the section and greets him.
Jiung recognizes him as the same manager who was at the box the first time he came, when Intak signed autographs for those middle schoolers.
“You’re Jiung-ssi, yes? You can follow me.”
They make small talk about the season as Jiung follows him inside, winding them through the last groups of people, down a staircase to a part of the stadium he hasn’t visited before.
“Intak should still be here.”
The manager leaves him in an amazing locker room. Jiung’s never seen a professional one before, only high school metal compounds that barely had room for his shoes. This one is paneled in light wood, with long open cubbies, and of course, black and red finishes everywhere. The shelves are lined with typical gear, cleats, shin guards, and extra socks. The oversized FC Seoul logo is glossy on the floor like it’s polished often.
“Hyung!” Jiung hears Intak’s voice along with approaching footsteps from the bathroom.
“Hey–shit–,”
Jiung spins back around violently as Intak enters, facing the wall with his heart pumping and pupils blown wide. He reads FOOTBALL CLUB SEOUL on it three times to make sure his executive function still works.
“I’m–sorry.”
Because Intak is in a towel somewhere behind him, the terrycloth sitting low on his hips, prominent V-lines and flesh on display. It was only an instant, but the sight of Intak’s tan upper body is burning up behind Jiung’s eyes.
“S’okay, not a big deal,” Intak laughs, rustling through his bag. Almost a minute passes. “You can turn around now.”
Jiung steadies once he sees that Intak’s clothed. Fuck. Intak must think he’s a virgin or really, really gay.
Still unable to look below his neck, Jiung focuses on Intak’s hair, which is almost dry, unlike when it was dripping all over his shirt in the club suite.
“Imagine you were just waiting for me to come before putting your clothes back on.”
Intak freezes where he’s folding a jersey.
“What?”
“Like it would be funny, if you purposely didn’t put on a–nevermind. It’s stupid.”
Jiung watches as Intak zips up his bag, then sling the duffel over his shoulder. When he turns around to face him, he’s smiling, sprightly and excited, the awkwardness of Jiung’s joke apparently already irrelevant to him.
“Do you have some time? Wanna see the trophy room?”
Jiung nods, a little envious of Intak’s ability to push whatever he wanted out of his mind so quickly. Jiung’s been meditating for years to be able to do the same. He knows for certain it won’t be enough to calm him later.
“Great!” Intak grabs Jiung’s wrist and pulls him out the door.
There are a few staff walking around as he’s dragged through the hallway, but otherwise, no one pays the two boys attention.
They enter a room with gold plaques lining the walls, some still shiny while others have bronzed over. The place is basically a museum exhibit, iconic match balls, famous players’ cleats, and tournament-winning jerseys all on display. Intak rests his elbow on Jiung’s shoulder, talking about the first time he visited during university. He bounces them around, pointing and angling Jiung to look at this and that, a puppy off its leash.
Jiung is looking up at an old photograph of the South Korea national team from the 2002 World Cup semifinals, thinking he finally has a moment of silence to read one of the display plates. League soccer is a recent interest, but he’s always kept up with the World Cup games when the tournament came around. The upcoming one was next year–
He feels a grazing touch across his upper back, where the embroidered letters spell out Hwang In-Tak.
Jiung turns, and Intak doesn’t let go, hands moving to hold the ends of the jacket on either side of the zipper.
“You wore it.” Intak lightly tugs it towards himself. “I like seeing you in this.”
They’re close enough that Jiung can feel Intak’s breath fan across his neck, smell the generic soap on his skin, and he instinctively tenses. Admittedly, Jiung isn’t the biggest fan of people invading his space, especially as boundlessly as Intak’s been doing today. His first reaction to touch is to squirm.
Intak must see some level of discomfort on his face because he drops his arms back to his side.
“I didn’t mean to—I’m still pent up after games—”
“It’s okay,” Jiung exhales, realizing that it is after a beat of silence. “I don’t mind.”
“No?” Intak’s voice pitches up, hope slipping into his syllables.
Jiung shakes his head. Intak is being handsy, and it's leaving Jiung’s whole body on edge, but he doesn’t want to be pulled away from it either.
Intak takes it as an invitation to reach for him again, this time placing his hands on his waist. His grip is heavier than it’s been all day. He sways closer, and the front of their pants brush.
“Sometimes after we win, I still have all this energy left.”
“Didn’t notice,” Jiung half-smiles, a bit weary. Intak squeezes him tighter, hands going up and down his sides arhythmically like he’s losing control of them.
“Did you, ah, like what you saw in the locker room?”
Jiung lets out a low laugh. He feels bolder, watching this side of Intak, restless and seeking his approval. Needy. It makes Jiung want to tease, tug on the unraveling string.
“Pretty sure everyone thinks your body is nice, Hwang Intak.”
Intak makes a whiny noise in his throat. “Not what I asked.”
“You want to hear if your setup worked?” Jiung puts a hand on his shoulder, drags it down his chest. He thinks of it naked again, Intak’s gorgeous tan skin and firm pecs. His palm brushes over his nipple, and Intak immediately moans. “It wasn't bad.”
“Fuck, hyung,” Intak rocks forward, and Jiung gasps softly from the friction. “I want—“
Intak’s phone suddenly buzzes in between them, making them both jump back in surprise. Jiung’s tailbone collides with the shelf behind, ow, and Intak trips onto the floor with the coordination of a baby deer rather than a professional right wing.
He fumbles with the violently vibrating device. “H-Hello?”
Jiung hears a man’s voice on the other side, his chest going up and down.
“Yeah…right, okay…I’ll be there.” Intak brushes his sweatpants off, standing upright. “Okay, see you soon.”
Intak ends the call with a sigh, then looks at Jiung with such big, sorrowful eyes, Jiung’s expecting to hear something far more terrible than what comes out of his mouth.
“I’m sorry, I forgot we had a team dinner. The bus is leaving soon.” His shoulders slump, curling in on himself.
“Hey, that’s fine,” Jiung laughs despite him, stepping forward to pat his forearm. “You should go.”
Intak looks at his face, gaze running all over it, down his neck and collarbones as if he’s trying to memorize this moment—before finally acquiescing with a nod. Jiung feels both too-warm and endeared under his stare. Intak is really cute.
He cards his fingers through Intak's dark bangs, pushing them towards his ear, letting his hand briefly linger on his nape before pulling away. If Jiung can’t admit out loud that he wants this to happen again without his voice cracking, he hopes the touch conveys enough, at least so Intak stops acting like the world is ending.
It seems to work, as Intak hums, conceding. “I’ll get my bag.”
⚽
Jiung hasn’t dated anyone in years. He doesn’t think the couple of outings with his bicurious classmate or politely declining a confession from one of his hoobaes counts for anything. In fact, they only make Jiung feel more out of his depth than ever, going from less than nothing to crushing on a celebrity and not even in a parasocial way. That’d be easier, if Jiung didn’t know the face on the ads, what his hands felt like clutching his hips, the effect of Intak’s smile beaming up from the pitch at him.
Jiung doesn’t know if he knows how to date, what the cool trends are of what to say, or how you’re supposed to make it clear that you’re flirting. He spent his life launching himself into school and various hobbies that sated his sense of fulfillment and got Keeho to call him boring without reprieve. So what if Jiung likes structure and studying and lowkey smirks to himself during exams when he correctly predicts the questions? It’s who he is.
But at the clinic, while he slowly updates discharge notes on the computer, Jiung wishes just a little that he invested more time in improving some other skills. He doesn’t want to mess up whatever this thing is with Intak. Remembering how close Intak’s mouth was, his pretty, parted lips that took over Jiung’s entire field of vision as he swayed closer–
Jiung slams his head onto the desk. A dog barks from somewhere in the examination room.
He lets his forehead make a nice imprint on the wood before picking it back up, sighing. He can’t get through the day like this, running circles on the self-depraction wheel like a hamster. The head vet is going to be back soon and Jiung is scheduled to assist with emergency surgeries until the evening. If he does well today, he should be able to win her approval.
He collects himself, takes slow, disciplining breaths–and also messages his friends.
When he walks out of the clinic, Keeho and Shota are there, soaking up the last of a pink and orange sunset. Shota is kneeling in the grass with cupped hands, trying to capture a beetle while Keeho pleads not to bring that thing near him. They’re both out of their coats, and the sight makes it feel like spring is finally here.
“Hey, Dr. Choi,” Keeho says with relief, swinging an arm around his neck.
“Still have two more months.”
Shota stands up, dusting his pants. “Then Kinako and Mochi get free visits.”
“Aw, graduation is so soon~,” Keeho squeezes Jiung’s shoulder steadily, like a cat kneading the bed. “But you’re all tense, even more than usual.”
Jiung lets out a little sigh. “I’ve been out of it from night shifts. And worried about securing my rec.”
“Please, I know for a fact you’re the hardest worker she’s ever seen. Seriously, I doubt any student has come in early for their shifts before, and you’re meticulous to the point where it’s scary. The only thing you have to worry about is her saying you’re kind of a freak.” Jiung laughs, finds some relief in Keeho’s words for at least one of his problems. “So let’s get dinner, yeah?”
They take the train to hotpot without much deliberation, a frequent location anytime Keeho and Jiung have a say in their meal plans. Shota has no objections with the restaurant, nor to ordering their favorite spicy tomato soup, as long as they get lots of meat.
Their conversation follows as familiar a path as their menu choices, Keeho recounting the latest ups and downs of the beauty industry for Jiung, that everyone’s too obsessed with clickbait with no substance to back it up, that the copywriters are relying on him for English help all the time, and that no one is paying him extra as an editor. Shota softly mentions that he’s good friends with the hiring manager, which gets Keeho to unclench his jaw at least.
There’s a period of focused slurping and chewing, the sound of strangers in other booths chattering through the silence for them. With his chopsticks, Jiung swirls teokk in his signature sauce combination. Keeho does the same and makes Shota try both of theirs to decide whose recipe is better. Based on the pitch of his noises, Keeho loses.
“Ugh, anyway–in good news, Intak’s agent confirmed they’re resigning with us.”
“Wow,” Jiung says carefully, “That is good news.”
The rice cake is suddenly rubbery between his molars, and feels like it gets stuck on the way down. Jiung isn’t choking, but he swears there’s something in there.
“What’s been going on between you two?” Keeho asks. His voice is simmering with barely held back curiosity–Jiung can tell he’s been dying to ask. Not just since they got to dinner, but for a few days. At least. “Intak keeps laughing at things that aren’t funny during meetings. I know he’s fucking giddy over something.”
Jiung’s first reaction is to deny, deny, deny that he has anything to do with that, pretend he’s confused why Keeho would even be mentioning the two of them in the same sentence. Hwang Intak? Number 31, starting right wing of the best soccer club in Korea, explosive pace and misdirection expert? Twenty shots, five on target, ten assists, four hundred and seventy-eight passes just halfway through the season? Ripped body and ridiculously handsome face? Haha…what could Jiung possibly have to do with that guy.
Keeho tilts his head, his stare basically saying dude, come on, unimpressed by how Jiung’s begun clenching and unclenching his hands around a defenseless napkin.
Jiung releases the mangled thing and swallows down his fight-or-flight (mostly flight) urges with a long sip of soda. Truthfully, he would rather not return to a state of disoriented self-loathing over this without getting some reassurance. Wheels were for hamsters, and Jiung wasn’t one, despite his friends’ collective insistence.
“Is it crazy that…,” he trails off, “I know Intak is a big deal, but…”
Keeho rolls his eyes at the ensuing silence.
“No one thinks anything’s crazy but you. For someone who’s so realistic, you sure love to ignore the obvious.”
Despite the dig, gratitude washes over Jiung too, for how Keeho can fill in the pieces when he doesn’t want to say them out loud.
“Intak’s down to earth, he’s our friend,” he says, pointing to himself and Shota. “And yours too. Who cares about all the famous soccer stuff.”
“Well, I do care about that stuff. I like soccer.”
“Yes, because you like him,” Shota says.
Keeho nods in agreement. “I don’t even think you’re that scared of being with a celebrity. You’re more scared of how much you like Intak, right?”
Jiung drowns some meat in the soup. They’re right.
His thoughts go to the forward’s wife, Jeongah. How surprised she was that Intak had invited someone to his section, and how quickly she asked to exchange numbers with Jiung. Maybe, Intak didn’t do this often, tell his hyungs that they’re pretty, drag them by the wrist into trophy rooms, and appear devastated when their time got cut short. Maybe Intak is safe enough to fall for.
“The steam is clearing my head,” Jiung declares. He wafts the wisps towards him, letting them curl around his face like he’s being born again.
“The steam?” Keeho repeats, offended with his mouth half around a lotus root.
“Mmm, I think the spice too.”
“You can cover the meal since you’re so grateful to it, then.”
“Intak almost kissed me last week.”
Keeho jerks forward so abruptly, his glasses slide down his nose and splash right into the soup.
“Holy shit? You should've started with that,” he squawks, as Shota bursts into laughter and tries to fish them out of the pot.
⚽
[7:42 AM]
Intak
Hello~
A few mornings after his dinner with Keeho and Shota, Jiung receives the unassuming text. They’re not quite on a daily conversational basis, partly due to their schedules, so it’s nice anytime he gets to hear from Intak. A little more than nice as of late. When Jiung sees a message today, he practically skips to the front door.
I’m in Busan :(
I know
You have a game
You should've come!!!
Jiung smiles, biting his lip to stop it from getting too wide, even though Intak can’t see him. He sinks down to slip on his shoes.
I have work too
Fine
I’m bored tho
Warm ups in two hoursss
Okay
Watch something
Hovering by the door, Jiung goes through the trouble of sending him a YouTube video that detailed how the Louvre museum was robbed.
https://youtu.be/rXUpbtycT5E
…
Seriously
This isn’t fun at all
Send me a picture instead??
Jiung should be offended by the response. This was interesting to him, way more than the surge of technical soccer shorts that keep inundating his feed.
Jiung should frown, then concede with a photo of his street outside, or the sunset he took yesterday. He could send the round-eyed dog that came into the clinic and say it looks like Intak.
Instead, Jiung’s stomach is folding in on itself, flip-flopping like ddakji paper–thinking about Intak, bored and lonely in a hotel room, lying on a made bed and texting Jiung for a picture. He hasn’t said anything like this before.
Jiung lets out a shaky sigh and grabs the hem of his shirt.
He angles himself in front of the entryway mirror, trying not to feel stupid. The plant on the floor is too short for any aesthetic framing, and there’s nothing on the kitchen counter to draw some of the attention away from his body, or the fact that he’s in the plainest outfit in the world.
He bunches his T-shirt up anyway, holding the fabric at the waist, butterfly tattoos dark against his stomach, rib tattoo snaking up the other side. A strip of his underwear peeks above his belt and jeans.
He snaps a few shots, quickly, before Taeyang can wake up and make fun of him for the rest of his life.
This is fine, Intak’s been flirting with him, right? If he’s offended or freaked out, Jiung will just act like he got tattooed recently and wanted to show someone. And then personally call Intak’s security and turn himself in as a pervert who should be banned from all future FC Seoul events. He sucks in a breath before hitting send.
[IMG_0492.HEIC]
Oh
You have tat tooos????
Oh, mwonj
Wow
I can't type
Jiung’s heart races as he flees through the door. Intak’s into it, he thinks. And this feeling–it’s pure excitement about it.
Why not ><
He walks fast to the station, waiting for his phone to buzz in an already shaky hand.
hyungggg
Im hard :(((
God. Jiung can’t believe all the ways Intak finds to whine through text. He stops at the crosswalk, swallows the spit that’s pooling under his tongue.
You have time to take care of it though
Right?
Yea buf I wish u were here
Ur so hot
It makes me crazy
Fuck
Would you touch me?
Jiung doesn’t mean to edge the guy, honestly. He should have thought the timing through, because sexting on the train, boxed in by morning commuters, sounds more than overwhelming. Snapping that photo already flooded Jiung’s body with adrenaline; he can still feel it throbbing in his jugular. Any more and he’s going to start fumbling equipment at the clinic and lose his chances at any rec.
Do well at your game, and we’ll see
I have to head into work now, Intak-ah sorry
Whatttttt
Okay
😪
Cheer me on later!
Thank you for the photo
I will ⚽️
[9:21 pm]
We won!!!
You played really well today
The assist was perfect
Hwang Intak
Midfielder of our generation
The last message is laying it on a bit thick, but it’s true, and it’s also what a sportscaster said to Intak in a post-game interview. Intak smiled big hearing the compliment, sweat rolling down his temple, a droplet running towards the upturned corner of his mouth where he licked it off before leaning down into the mic. Jiung hasn’t seen porn that erotic.
You watched that too? Haha
><
Thanks hyung
Are you getting food now?
I have a little time
I wanted to tell you something
Sure
Before we met….
I kept bothering kyo hyung about you
Telling him to bring you to a game
You would show up on his posts sometimes
And I thought
Seriously who is this mouse guy???
Jiung didn’t know that he could blush so easily before they started talking. But here he is again, cheeks glowing crushed pink and petals, just reading a few words from Intak. Who had apparently noticed Jiung even before handing him his sports jacket.
Yah…..
Not a mouse
Hehe ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ
But really
I thought you were so hot
LOL
I'm glad I got to the chance to know you better
Even though now ik you’re a bit of nerd
…I am a graduate student
Well that too, but your personality
It’s a little annoying
But don’t worry makes you sexier
And you’re funny :)
Thanks for 50% of the things you’ve said
You can leave out the other half next time
I am glad we met too, Intak
I have to go to dinner now
But
Next time we see each other
I’m going to kiss you, hyung
Jiung ends up being on call the same weekend as Intak’s next home game, which is also how he ends up asking their receptionists if perhaps they could play the match on the TV, while wringing his hands like they’d see through him. Thankfully, the staff only commented that they didn’t know bookish Jiung was into sports.
Jiung dawdles into the waiting room every break he gets to check out the score. Among other things.
Seoul plays down almost the entire time, and Jiung is trying to be upset about losing, but Intak’s set jaw and tensed brows keep making his brain go static. Intak’s veins are thick and branched along his arms, pulsing blood when he lifts them over his head during a throw-in.
Jiung’s colleagues are oblivious to him bouncing on his feet and his slightly out-of-breath voice while asking if they had more otoscopes. He’s pretty sure one of the cats gives him a hard time solely because she recognizes him as a deeply unsettled freak. She leaves scratches on his pale knuckles and he has to agree that he deserves it.
Jiung returns on Sunday, yawning, snapping on latex gloves to help their animal tech distribute medications to pets that stayed overnight. Enrofloxacin injection for a box turtle, benazepril for a Maltese with high blood pressure. Four milligram acepromazine tablet for the bunny going into surgery later. Jiung is sleepy, but he likes these moments of his job: the fine, neat movements of pens clicking and pills clacking, dispensing fluid into needles, soothing animals with hushed words as some of them start to wake up too.
The receptionist working today, a young girl in her last year of high school, if Jiung remembers correctly, peeks into the ward. She’ll often come to offer support during slow weekend mornings, but today her eyes are wide, and her voice has dropped to a whisper.
“Jiung-ssi, there’s… there's...”
“A snake? Tarantula? You can stay in here while I get them—”
She shakes her head. “No, they didn’t bring an animal, that’s the thing. They were covering their face, maybe holding something behind their back. And asking who worked here.”
Jiung straightens his back. “Can you watch this room for me?”
She nods, and Jiung heads to the waiting room. He grabs a scalpel off the supply shelf on the way, slipping it into the pocket of his lab coat.
Nothing is out of the ordinary as he steps in, the same ivy plants running across the ceiling, chairs with slightly chipping wood, pet help magazines stacked on the tables. Nothing weird—other than a masked and beanied Hwang Intak standing in the middle of it all.
“Jiungie hyung!”
“What the hell?”
“These are for you,” Intak says, handing him a bundle of flowers wrapped in brown paper and string.
“How do you know where I work?”
“You don’t like flowers? They were selling them at the station; I thought they might look nice in your office…”
“I like flowers,” Jiung expels a labored breath, trying to calm down before he hurts Intak’s feelings. He takes the modest bouquet from Intak’s hands, a mix of daisies, petunias and purple snapdragons. “These will look nice in the office.”
Intak nods, feigning nonchalance about the gift. But Jiung immediately notices that none of these plants are poisonous to animals, so he must have thought his choices through. Unlike, let’s say, showing up uninvited to Jiung’s last rotation before he graduates. While doxxing him, did Yoon Keeho care to mention to Intak that surprises weren’t easy for him, no less when they scared his colleagues?
Jiung turns to the vase on the reception counter, taking out the plastic flowers that sit in there, filling it up with the fountain water as Intak follows him a step behind. Another part of Jiung can’t believe the same guy he was watching on the office’s TV last night is here now, though his status is hardly evident as he talks a mile a minute into Jiung’s ear.
“So you couldn’t come yesterday…and you’re working today….and I’m going to extra practice tonight….damn, you look good in that coat… anyway…maybeyoucouldcomewatch?”
“Intak-ah, slower please,” Jiung requests while arranging the buds so that the same colors don’t touch each other without leaves in between.
“Come to the training center. You can meet some of my friends. We can hang out after.”
Jiung turns towards him, finally. “Thank you for the flowers, they’re lovely. But I’m also not a veterinarian yet. I still need my boss to write me a rec. So I have to be really focused here, and having unplanned celebrity visitors doesn't necessarily help me look like a stellar student.”
Intak’s eyes round, practically watering like an anime character’s. He pulls his mask down, and his lips are pouted.
“Sorry, hyung, I can leave. I just wanted to see you.”
Jiung winces, feeling like he scolded a puppy.
“But–I have a very good record, and she isn’t here yet,” Jiung offers a smile, and Intak visibly relaxes. “As long as you’re not drawing any more attention…or scaring the receptionist.”
“I may have parked outside.”
“That’s fine?”
“The car…it’s a little flashy.”
Jiung considers taking out the scalpel after all.
Intak and his ridiculously flashy car pull up again after Jiung’s shift is over, gold Maserati logo sparkling on the cherry-red hood. Jiung swivels his head around the street before getting in, but no one’s around. Only the now-flowerless trees, the first leaves on their branches bobbing in the breeze like they’re waving him on inside.
“Is it okay for you to just be driving around like this?” Jiung asks while buckling himself into the custom leather. It’s an athlete’s vehicle, through and through, minus the cutesy dog chain hanging off the rearview mirror.
“Should be fine,” Intak watches Jiung settle in through a pair of probably designer sunglasses. “Why? Would a dating rumor hurt your career?”
“You–ugh, nevermind,” Jiung grumbles to the sound of Intak’s ringing laugh, before remembering he means to add another thing. “I’m sorry for being harsh when you came in earlier. The flowers really were pretty, I took lots of photos.”
Intak giggles again, shifting the gear into drive. “Nah, it’s okay. I already told you, it’s cute that you’re a nerd. My hyung’s a little uptight, so what.”
My. Jiung pretends the word doesn’t bounce around in his skull. He should have meditated before this.
“And I told you to keep those comments to yourself.”
Intak waits until they’re stopped at a red light to look at Jiung again.
“Do you remember what I said after?”
I’m going to kiss you
Jiung feels his face turn the same color as the traffic light and this stupid car, even worse than the first time he read that text.
“No.”
He turns to face his window, hearing Intak shuffle another glance and snicker to himself as the car starts to move again.
Intak must not be able to help himself when he sees Jiung struggling, relentless as he is, because he reaches over the console and places his palm on Jiung’s thigh. He squeezes and sweeps his thumb back and forth, shooting sparks up Jiung’s body instead of focusing on the fucking road.
“I’ll remind you.”
They arrive at GS Champions Park across the city, the team’s training center in Guri. Out of the car, Intak leads him on the path that bisects two FIFA and K League compliant pitches. They continue towards a sprawling, glassy building that reflects all the foliage, Achasan mountain rising behind it as a blooming backdrop.
Jiung finds the center to be just as cool inside, though in a decidedly more modern way. There’s a weight room with techy machines, a space for the youth academy, and even its own medical facility for injury management.
Jiung nods around at everything with tiny dancing stars in his eyes, only letting them dim when they get to the sauna, when his annoying tour guide asks if he wants to see something more impressive. Intak playfully flashes Jiung a peek at his abs.
Jiung does his best to get away from him and that cocksure smirk, but can’t for long when Intak grabs his hand on the way to show him the lounge. Similar, yet so totally different from how he held his wrist at the stadium.
When Jiung ventures a look at him, he finds Intak’s features are relaxed and looking ahead like he isn’t even thinking about it. As if holding Jiung’s hand is as natural as anything else Intak does, always dripping with casual confidence, like wax before it molds onto him like a second skin. Jiung’s knuckles are tense at first, but when he glimpses where their fingers meet, he thinks they fit together too nicely to care.
“You’re smiling.”
“Of course. How many people get to see this place?”
“Yeah, but you keep looking at our hands.”
Immediately, Jiung tries to snatch his away. Would it kill him not to tease Jiung anytime he even breathes weird?
But Intak’s grip tightens before he can.
“Not a chance,” he laughs. Jiung vows to find a way to get him back.
Before that, Intak has his practice at the indoor turf. He drops Jiung off at the bleachers, where a few other non-athletic onlookers are seated throughout. Someone brought their twin girls to watch, though they seem more preoccupied chasing each other around with a ball than caring about the possessive drills that have started inside the sidelines.
Instead of uniforms, the players are in mismatched Seoul attire, a sundry of red, black, and white that invites a laxer mood compared to game days. Intak has a face that looks good all the time, but especially when he’s relaxed, like he’s meant to be at sunshiny leisure. He has a sharp jaw, but his cheeks are fuller than Jiung’s, and he has wide eyes that show everything that he’s feeling: cheery seeing his friends, clouded over losing the ball, victorious as he makes clean cuts around a defender. The same winning look Jiung saw when he agreed to come to practice.
The team moves on to tackling drills, and Jiung suddenly needs to take out his pharmacology book.
A sick feeling begins to plague him, something so sinister it couldn’t be fixed with medication, watching Intak get knocked to the ground over and over. He stands back up with a wide grin on his face, taunting his teammate not to hold back. The horrible knot tightens in Jiung’s gut, seeing Intak’s hard body colliding with others, getting pushed on the turf or slide tackling people down. What the hell is Blue Lock even about bro.
Until they switch to El Chaos games, Jiung keeps his nose stuffed in the book, only allowing himself a limited number of peeks over it.
On a water break, Intak bounds up the bleachers to where Jiung has calmed down.
“How are you doing?”
“Good,” Jiung considers revenge for earlier, “You have hot teammates.”
“Don’t say stuff like that,” Intak frowns, looking over his shoulder. “They’ll think they have a chance.”
“There are grass stains on your face,” Jiung laughs at how easy it is to rile him up (like he didn’t just narrowly escape getting hard). “Sit down.”
Intak obeys readily, and Jiung licks the pad of his thumb, lifting it to the green streak across Intak’s cheekbone as if someone had swiped at him with a painter’s drybrush. He rubs it over his skin, ignoring the way Intak’s stare burns into him the entire time.
“All done?” he asks.
“Pretty much.” Jiung lowers his hand just as one of their coaches claps to signal the team back.
Quickly, Jiung presses a fluttering kiss to the same spot on Intak’s cheek. He hears the intake of his breath, sees Intak’s lips part in surprise when he pulls back.
“Break’s over.”
“Wait, what, no,” Intak complains as Jiung smacks his back to get him standing up. “Hyung, my legs seriously feel like jelly, I can’t play like this.”
Jiung’s heart squeezes, but he fights for his composure harder. “Don’t get your ass handed to you while I watch.”
“Ugh,” Intak mutters. Jiung slaps his hip. “Yes, sir….”
He reluctantly heads back down, the metal of the bleachers shaking with every step. Jiung can’t believe it, but he really does look a bit trembly at the knees. Like all that muscle is just for show.
Jiung is cannibalizing his own thoughts during the next exercise. They’re building passes to finish from the flanks, the strip on the field Intak ruled like he was born into it. Jiung’s a little biased, but Intak’s footwork is elite, powerful and concise touches that his own defenders struggle to keep up with. He does a flashy stepover move that Jiung will have to ask about later, overtaking the rightback and allowing him a clean pass to his striker. Even away from real match pressure, Intak’s as tenacious as ever. Competency does things for Jiung that maybe even Intak’s thighs can’t.
Intak catches up with his friends as they pack up at the end of practice, shiny throat bobbing as he swallows down big gulps of water in between conversations. He thinks a couple of them nod in Jiung’s direction and shove Intak mischievously afterward–which makes Jiung stuff his face in the pages of Chapter 10 Anesthetics again.
The turf empties gradually, until it’s just Intak at the bottom of the bleachers, one foot mindlessly toying with a ball.
“Come on, I’ll teach you one of your anime moves.”
“But I’m still in my work clothes,” Jiung says, even as he puts the book down and starts towards him. “And I don’t have cleats.”
Intak takes his hand on the last step, helping him onto the field.
“You’ll be fine, princess.”
“What?” Jiung snatches his hand back. “Do not call me that.”
“Wow, you definitely like that. Even more than I thought you would.”
“I don’t!” Why is that something Intak thinks about?
“It’s all good hyung, I’ll save it for special occasions only.” Intak toes the ball again, flourishes it upwards to his chest for a perfect trap, and back down to his feet. The whole motion is so captivatingly smooth that Jiung forgets he’s supposed to be mad. He passes the ball to him. “Let’s see your shooting skills.”
That’s how Intak ends up in the net, cowering a bit because Jiung is athletic just enough to aim. Jiung screeches happily every time he hits Intak and boos him egregiously too. Intak makes him back up after that, and politely asks him to actually try to score.
Then they play a 1v1 keepaway, which is significantly more difficult, but somehow still fun as Jiung gets to experience Intak’s footwork firsthand. There’s a constant unpredictability to his moves. When Jiung finally thinks he’ll do a pull back, he sharply cuts to the side, when Jiung is sure he’ll do a couple of stepovers, Intak commits to a feint. Intak’s laughter grows as Jiung gets comically frustrated and louder, throwing silly insults at him (Saka’s still a better midfielder, Did your university GPA start with a 1 or 2?, You probably take steroids), before eventually just shoving Intak in what would definitely be considered a red card.
Intak loses control of the ball, which is a win, but he quickly circles his arms around Jiung to take him down with him. They’re both crashing onto the ground with a thud, rolling a few times from the momentum. Jiung’s vision swims with green and fluorescent bokeh as the wind is knocked from his lungs.
When the arena stops finally spinning, Intak’s body is on top of his, breathing heavily while Jiung coughs up the dirt he inhaled.
Their lower halves are pressed together, and Intak leans down closer. Jiung feels his throat narrow for another reason. He tries to shift his legs, but Intak’s weight on them is solid. Unmoving.
Jiung swallows, and Intak’s gaze tracks the movement before looking back to him. His eyes are no longer brown, pupils having eclipsed all the color from them. His nose has a new grass stain across the bridge, and his mouth…
“Your hair is messed up,” Jiung says weakly. “You lost the ball, too.”
“You are not looking at my hair, hyung.” Intak tips his head forward, breathes in Jiung’s next breath as his. “And sure. Go ahead and get it if you want to win.”
He’d never admit this to his friends, but Jiung cares a lot less about soccer than he’s been claiming.
He tilts his neck up the slightest amount, and Intak smiles before closing the rest of the distance and finally, finally kissing him.
Jiung inhales the smell of grass and sweat and the last notes of his cologne, melting into each other as Intak’s lips press against his. His lips are plusher than any ad could ever convey, soft and deliberate, pushing closer to Jiung like he can’t get enough. His hands go around Intak’s neck. Intak drags one of Jiung’s legs up to curl around his back, squeezing his ass along the way.
Jiung struggles to hold himself back from Intak’s bursting enthusiasm, his wet, claiming mouth. He’s thought about this too much, how the hard lines of Intak’s taller, stronger body would feel against his, how his mouth would taste when Jiung licked into it. He parts Intak’s lips further with his tongue to find out, and Intak moans softly, opening more for him. It’s better.
Intak’s hands stray over Jiung’s stomach, going down farther until he’s got a palm running over where he’s already getting hard.
“Intak-ah, hey,” Jiung breaks the kiss, does a survey of the turf where his team was only an hour ago, at least as best as he can with Intak’s head in the way, his distracting mouth pink as the first rosy buds of spring. But Jiung has no idea how alone they actually are, if there are cameras or what. “No hands.”
“Why not?” Intak grimaces above him. “This isn’t soccer.”
Jiung lets out a laugh, and likes that he can still taste Intak lingering on his tongue. “No, it definitely isn’t.”
Intak kisses his ear. “How do I score then?”
“Ew.” Jiung pushes him away with two palms to his chest.
Intak isn’t deterred so easily, wouldn’t go for someone like Jiung if he could be.
He leans back in to kiss above Jiung’s opposite ear.
“I think I forgot to show you the sauna earlier...”
Jiung giggles, shaking his head, wondering if Intak can see all the fondness that he must be so obviously exuding right now, a blinking neon sign, brighter than any stadium lights. Hwang Intak, this guy’s completely enamored by your above-average soccer skills, sweetheart personality, stupid jokes and stupider lips.
“Didn’t I?” Intak asks again, grinning.
“You did,” Jiung finally agrees.
Hwang Intak, half-man, half-star, pulls Jiung up from the ground, and into an orbit he can’t escape.
⚽ Additional Time ⚽
Jiung sinks between Intak’s legs, knees settling onto the wood paneling, his body fluid and light from the steam.
Intak sweeps his sticky bangs from his eyes.
“Need to see your face. You’re so beautiful, hyung.”
Jiung flushes as he takes him into his throat. Intak moans, hand traveling to grip the back of his hair.
“Yeah, just like that, baby. Been thinking about this for so long.”
Jiung fists over the base of his length slowly and laps over the rest with the flat of his tongue, before pulling off for a moment.
“Aren’t you going to call me–that other thing?”
“What?” Intak asks. His mind is hazy, trying to recall anything when Jiung’s naked, tattooed body is in front of him. “You mean princess?”
Jiung glares instead of admitting to it, daring him to laugh. Intak is obedient, though, only allowing a grin to stretch across his face. He’ll tease Jiung after getting his mouth on him, and on every date he plans to take him on.
He nudges his hips forward, catching himself on Jiung’s lips and pushing past them again.
“You’re doing so well for me, princess...you have no idea how cute you look like this…