track team AU | love triangle | slice of life | slow burn | found family | comedy + longing + insane rizz
JL transferred to Korea's most elite sports university hoping for a fresh start. He didn't expect to be rooming beside the nation's top sprinte...
It was the middle of the night and there was a boy cooking in the hotel kitchenette.
Which would've been weird even if it wasn't Han -- golden-boy Han, control-freak Han -- camped in front of a portable burner like he was a guest chef on some kind of international cooking competition for emotionally unavailable athletes.
JL sat on the hotel bed, arms tucked behind his head, watching as soy sauce hissed in the pan. The whole place smelled sharp and salty. Comforting.
Sharp memories, too, of rice cookers and marinated pork and... his favorite old coach, the one who cared about him, the one who visited when he was laid up with his injury, the one who made it possible for him to come here. Coach Jim, humming while he stirred, while JL sat on a stool in his kitchen, legs bandaged, silent tears falling.
Han wasn't saying much. (Which: not a surprise.)
And JL wasn't either. (Also not a surprise.)
But the silence wasn't heavy. It was warm. Like the steam rising off the pot.
JL had been almost done journaling when Coach knocked. Hard.
Coach Yang didn't wait. He shoved the soggy golden boy into the room, dropped Han's duffel beside the wall, and muttered something about "leaking hellscapes" before walking away. Han stood there awkwardly, damp around the ankles, glaring at his socks like they'd personally betrayed him.
JL stared. "Uh... hey."
Han looked up. "You okay with this?"
JL shrugged. "Better you than Woongki. That man sleeps like he's fighting ghosts."
Han's lip twitched -- almost a smile. "Thanks."
The silence settled awkwardly. Han sat on the floor and started checking something on his phone. Then he stood. Then sat again. Then --
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"I'll be back," he said abruptly.
JL looked up from his notebook. "Where are you going?"
"I need to find something."
"...You need to find something. At 9:42 p.m. In Busan."
Han hesitated. "Yeah."
He left. JL stared at the closed door.
JL assumed he was out doing Han things -- scouting rival teams or folding himself into precise right angles on top of rooftops.
Han came in, hair wind-swept, cheeks pink from the cold. He was holding a bag. Something smelled...familiar. He set down the pot on the counter. "I had to go across town."
