Loving Sanghyeok isn’t particularly easy, but Sungu, being valiant, tries.

To properly put oneself in his shoes, imagine a small, relatively anti-social hedgehog. Then personify it, and place it in the body of a skinny twenty-year-old boy with blocky spectacles who happens to be a genius at League of Legends (and video games in general). And you will understand what it means to try to love Lee Sanghyeok.

Sungu treads carefully even though he doesn’t have to- even though he’s not wanted to, as emphasized time and again by the way Sanghyeok brushes him off, ignores his exuberance when they win a match, and chastises him for messing up when they don’t.

Sungu’d grown up watching the League tournaments through eyes glazed over with adoration, watching the constant that was Faker, ruling the world even as different teams rose to the peak of the world and fell. And for a while, it’d felt like he’d grown with Sanghyeok through those years.

He’d seen the thrill that possessed the prodigy through those years. The blind enthusiasm. The scruffy 15-year-old PC bang frequenter he’d been three years ago had felt the same ecstasy run through his veins, as SKT T1 K raised the World Championship trophy, as if he’d won it himself.

That thrill had fed Sungu, kept him hungry for more all those years, and now, here he is, breathing the same air as his idol, playing for the same goal.

But expectations were made to be managed, and Sungu has learnt not to be disappointed, and not to disappoint.

His first season provided plenty experience for him to learn from, anyway.

Instead he clings onto the little things, Sanghyeok’s smile, his laugh when he messes up a 1v1 in the midlane, the way he falls asleep on the waiting room sofas, back completely perpendicular to the seat, as if supporting his fierce claim to independence. Sungu captures them in little frames of light and sound and stores them at the back of his mind, a calm reminder to count his blessings when things get rough.

So when a hand finds its way onto his shoulder after their match with Ever, he turns around smiling, expecting Junsik or Seongwoong to be there with a sleepy half-smile or grin, rallying them for the rest of the summer season or discussing plans of celebrating their 2-0 sweep.

His smile stutters at the sight of Sanghyeok, looking straight ahead, the cautious warmth of his hand against Sungu’s back a little miracle.

“You played well,” he says. “We’ll work on the Hecarim mechanics- make better ganks next time.”

“Yeah?” the intonation goes up, as if Sungu’s asking a question, because he can’t seem to understand what Sanghyeok’s just said. The older boy looks over, the ghost of a smirk playing across his prettily curved lips, as Jaewan starts rattling off a list of places to eat at up ahead.

Sungu breaks into the widest smile, then, eyes curving into crescents. “Thanks hyung, I just-…I’ll work harder. I won’t disappoint you.”

Sanghyeok’s hand lifts, a calculated, strained sort of movement, and he seems to fumble finding somewhere to put it before he settles for having it hang loosely at his side once more. Then he nods once and walks ahead, leaving Sungu mystified, but only a little- the way his heart’s swelling with gratification doesn’t leave much space for anything else.

Sanghyeok is an enigma on his own, much less with the rest of them around him, and it takes little for someone like Sungu to be enthralled.

He’d seen Faker through star-studded lights, then rose-tinted lenses, and for the first time it feels like Sungu’s seeing Lee Sanghyeok in all his entirety, all his edges and silence and the bruises they’ve grown over to hide.

He squeezes in next to Junsik in the van, who absently puts an arm around him, taking out his phone with the other hand, while Seongwoong bargains with (whines to) their manager up front about where they’re going for dinner.

A quick glance over to his right shows him what he already knows- Sanghyeok at the window seat, grinning as Jaewan gripes about the seatbelt, before he puts his earbuds in and turns to look out of the window.

The expression in his eyes grows vacant, as it always does when the van starts to move, but he blinks for a split second, catching Sungu’s eye, and the younger boy turns back quickly, huddling into a more comfortable position by Junsik’s side.

He glances back after a moment, embarrassed and annoyed with himself, and Sanghyeok’s looking out of the window again, except this time with the faintest ghost of a smile on his face.

And if Sungu’s to be honest (and he usually is), that makes everything all worth it.