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The elevator was broken. In other words, Minseok was going to kill himself.
At least, he would, but he couldn’t. There was nothing to kill himself with. Lee Minhyung was standing next to him, but it wasn’t like Minhyung would agree to strangle Minseok just because he asked.
Fuck.
Minseok could feel Minhyung’s eyes on him. Minhyung was pretty good at reading people, which meant he could probably tell how uncomfortable Minseok was.
Fuck!
“Do you think they’re going to rescue us soon?” Minhyung said. He reached forward and jammed a thumb into the red emergency elevator button. No response.
“I hope so,” Minseok said.
Silence.
“Could you try calling for help?” Minhyung said.
Minseok felt his eye twitch. Why was Minhyung asking him to do that? Why couldn’t Minhyung do it himself?
…Why did being around Minhyung feel unusually irritating?
Whatever. Minseok could do it. Supports needed their ADCs and ADCs needed their supports, but Minseok and Minhyung weren’t a bot duo anymore, so whatever. Whatever!
He drew in a deep breath and screamed as loud as he could. Minhyung flinched away, his hands flying toward his ears.
Minseok coughed, massaging his throat. “What?” he croaked as he met Minhyung’s wide eyes. “You told me to call for help.”
“Um,” Minhyung said, lowering his hands, “I meant with your phone.”
Minseok stared. “Oh,” he said. He could feel his ears burning, embarrassment bubbling in his face in the form of heat as he lowered his head. Couldn’t Minhyung have been a little clearer about that?
But there had been a time when they had understood each other easily. Only a few rapid words, sometimes even less, had been necessary to pull off a seamless LoL play.
It had been less than a month since Minhyung had moved to HLE, and the famous GuKe bot duo’s synergy had already fallen apart.
Embarrassment swiftly morphed into annoyance, and Minseok’s head snapped back up as he turned to glare at Minhyung. “Why can’t you call for help, then?”
Minhyung rummaged in his pocket and held up his phone. “My phone’s dead,” he said, a rueful expression flitting across his face. “I went in this elevator to get a charger. Sorry, I guess I should have clarified that first.”
Just as quickly as it had come, the annoyance was gone. Minseok stared at Minhyung’s black phone screen, and then at its owner. “I left my phone in the waiting room,” Minseok admitted. “I came here to go get it.”
“So we really are stuck,” Minhyung sighed. “We’re going to be late for the match.”
Minseok didn’t respond. He didn’t know how to respond. He fidgeted with the chapstick tube in his pocket and then lifted his chin. “So, how’s HLE?”
He had meant for it to sound neutral, but his words came out clipped and short. Whatever. That was fine. Nonchalant, nonchalant.
Minhyung smiled. “Pretty good,” he said. “It’s nice playing with Wooje again.”
“You must get along with your new teammates,” Minseok said. He put a little too much emphasis on “new” and inwardly cringed. Nonchalant, NONCHALANT!
“Yeah,” Minhyung said, and that was that. Silence descended upon the two of them yet again—the terrible, stifling, utterly awkward silence that formed between people who didn’t know what to talk about.
What the hell could they talk about besides being a bot duo? How much Minseok should roam, how long Minhyung could handle the bottom lane by himself, laning phases, wacky new draft ideas—Minseok was used to that. But they weren’t a bot duo anymore, which meant Minseok couldn’t really ask about any of that.
And back when they had been on T1 together and had seen each other nearly every day, Minseok had known roughly what his teammates’ daily lives were like, Minhyung included. He could have asked Minhyung what he thought about that new dish the T1 Cafeteria was serving, or how Doongi was doing, or if his mother had recovered from that cold. But only Minseok was a T1 member now.
Minseok resented Minhyung for not having anything to talk about. Minseok resented himself for not having anything to say, either.
That’s stupid, he thought. Why should I resent myself? Why am I resenting anyone?
As if it also couldn’t bear the awkwardness, the elevator shook. Minseok let out a horrible shriek as he felt his stomach plummet to his ass.
“What was that?” he gasped out once the elevator was still again.
Minhyung’s face was just as pale as Minseok’s, a slight sheen of sweat shining on his forehead. A nervous Gumayusi—now that was a sight you didn’t see every day.
“I don’t know,” Minhyung croaked. “If the elevator falls from the second floor to the first floor, it won’t kill us, right? I don’t think it’s high enough of a distance.”
“Don’t ask me that,” Minseok snapped, his voice cracking. “Why the hell would you put that image in my head?”
Minhyung let out a sigh, and Minseok was once again struck by just how much had changed. Minhyung had understood Minseok so easily, and Minseok was more patient with Minhyung. It helped, of course, that Minhyung tended to be smarter (in Minseok’s opinion) than Hyunjoon.
“You’re being really snappy,” Minhyung said.
Minseok paused as he processed the words, and then he felt his face flare with heat. “I’m not being snappy,” he grumbled.
Minhyung stared at him.
Minseok sighed. “I am,” he admitted. He leaned his head back, letting it thunk softly against the elevator wall behind him.
Why did he feel so crabby? He snuck a glance toward Minhyung only to find that Minhyung was still staring at him.
“Fuck,” Minseok said without thinking. Minhyung blinked, and maybe Minseok was imagining it, but he could have sworn a slight hint of amusement had flashed in Minhyung’s eyes.
“Aren’t you happy to see me?” Minhyung said.
Minseok looked away. “Sure,” he mumbled.
He hated this awkwardness, hated that there was any awkwardness at all. Gumayusi was a coworker, a colleague, a competitor.
But Gumayusi was also a friend and a former teammate, and Minseok was going to go insane if he had to stay in this elevator with Lee Minhyung for another minute.
“Are you angry?”
Minseok whipped his head around so fast that he felt a crick in his neck.
Minhyung wasn’t looking at him anymore. His gaze was fixed on the elevator buttons.
“Why would I be angry?” Minseok said.
Minhyung shrugged. “You tell me. You seem pissed.”
Minseok opened his mouth to deny that, but hesitated. It was true, wasn’t it? He wasn’t “angry” or “pissed,” but being around Minhyung was annoying him for some reason.
Plus, Minseok recognized the stiffness in Minhyung’s body language, the slight clench of his jaw, the way he was avoiding eye contact.
Huh. Seemed like Minseok could still read Minhyung just fine.
“I’m not pissed,” Minseok said after a long pause. “Not really.”
“You’ve been acting weird,” Minhyung muttered. He still wasn’t looking at Minseok. “Just because I switched teams doesn’t mean you can ice me out.”
“I’m not icing you out,” Minseok snapped. Fuck.
Minhyung didn’t turn his head.
Minseok could feel his shoulders bristling with defensiveness and inhaled slowly. “It’s not like you have much to say, either.”
Minhyung sighed. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s unfair of me to pin this on you.”
The now-familiar awkward silence froze over between them once again. Minseok glanced at the elevator floor indicator, frozen in place and flickering.
Man up, Ryu Minseok, Minseok told himself. He turned his gaze back to Minhyung. “Hey.”
Minhyung finally looked up, his eyes settling on Minseok’s. Minseok wasn’t as comfortable with eye contact as Minhyung was, but he stuck it out.
“I’m not icing you out,” Minseok said again, but he made sure his voice was softer this time. “At least, I’m not trying to. It’s just awkward, and I don’t know what to say.”
“Me too,” Minhyung said. His shoulders relaxed slightly, tension bleeding out from his broad frame.
But Minseok wasn’t done. He had always been a bit of a rambler, words stumbling and tripping over each other as they spilled from his mouth.
“And I’m like, annoyed. But not at you. Not really. I’m annoyed at myself for, like, being annoyed, you know? Like, I’m annoyed for being affected at all,” Minseok said. “It’s not like you left T1 on bad terms. I guess I am angry, but only because it’s stupid that I’m being weird about this at all. I should be acting normally, but I can’t, and that’s what’s pissing me off.”
He finished with a loud huff. He had been forcing himself to hold eye contact with Minhyung the entire time, and he finally let his eyes dart to the side. “So, yeah,” he said lamely.
Minhyung didn’t respond, and Minseok resisted the urge to throw himself out of an elevator. It wasn’t like he could do that, anyway, considering that they were stuck inside said elevator.
“Well?” Minseok blurted. “Say something!"
He finally dared to peek at Minhyung. To his surprise, Minhyung was staring again, a small smile curled on his lips.
“Oh,” Minhyung said. And then he let out a laugh, short but loud and genuine, his eyes crinkling as he grinned. “That makes me feel a lot better.”
Thank fuck, Minseok thought, relief blooming in his chest. He felt so much lighter. He grinned back. “Our out-of-game synergy needs some work.”
His smile immediately faded. Stupid. They didn’t need to work on synergy anymore. They weren’t a bot duo.
But Minhyung only grinned wider. “Yeah,” he agreed. “We need to work on our friendship synergy. We can’t rely on being a bot duo anymore.”
Minseok blinked and then felt the smile return to his face. “Yeah,” he echoed.
The elevator intercom crackled to life, and the former bot duo turned as one to face it.
“Gumayusi-seonsu? Keria-seonsu?” a male voice said. “Are you in the elevator? Are you hurt?”
“Yes, we’re in the elevator,” Minhyung called. “We’re not hurt.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” the voice said. “Our apologies. Help is on the way—we’re currently experiencing some technology issues.”
“Obviously,” Minseok muttered, quiet enough so that the intercom’s microphone wouldn’t pick up on the remark. Minhyung glanced at him, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. Minseok held back a giggle.
This wasn’t so bad. He could wait in this elevator a little while longer.