Running to You | Park Han + JL + Steven | Haneulz + Stejay AU

Chapter 82: Nationals

The Nationals had come home.

It was two weeks after the fight, the ridiculous fight where Steven and Han had rolled around the grass, fists hitting each other like they couldn't see anything else and JL had bolted in the direction of his own apartment, ready to fall apart. In the days following his move to Han's apartment, he had eaten breakfast with Han exactly once, that first morning after Han had tucked him in. After that, he told him not to cook for him anymore, because he was perfectly capable of cooking for himself. And because it was too hard to figure things out when shirtless Han sat in front of his breakfast meal, and he could see that bruise on his lip, the one Steven left.

Han had assessed him then, sussing out a lie, and found none. JL had started eating again, and would do so whether someone watched him or not. So he stepped back. Both he and Steven did.

JL had texted Steven back then, about his hand. He was relieved to see both their bruises eventually disappear. But he hadn't replied when Steven asked him if he was ok. He thought he shouldn't really answer unless he figured that part out for himself first.

But now, the Nationals had arrived, and there was no more time to waste on emotions, or expectations. There was only the races. And JL -- with equal parts relief and dread -- welcomed it.

Because if there was one thing JL understood and knew like the back of his hand, eyes closed, it was running. JL understood races.

And this year, the Nationals were in Seoul. To be exact, the Seoul Olympic Sports Complex.

The Seoul Olympic Sports Complex wasn't just big. It was mathematically improbable in its bigness. Like someone had asked, "What if we built a stadium, but also what if that stadium could be seen from space, but also what if that stadium contained the collective athletic dreams of fifty-one million people?"

The KNSU bus pulled into the athlete entrance just after sunrise. The stadium rose in front of them, unapologetically massive -- 402,000 square meters of concrete, steel, glass, and memory. Olympic ghosts still lived here, or maybe just lingered politely in the corners -- old champions, long retired, watching with folded arms while the next generation stumbled in with bright eyes and tight shoulders.

The entire team was still in the bus. JL sat near the front, mentally calculating how many of his hometown tracks could fit inside this place. The answer was: all of them. Plus a small municipality.

"This is obscene," Woongki announced to no one in particular. "This is architecturally showing off. This is what happens when buildings get Instagram accounts."

JL looked out the window, breath fogging the glass. His reflection stared back like a version of himself he couldn't quite recognize.

Juwon leaned forward, whispering, "This is the stadium they use when aliens visit and want to see if Earth is worth invading."

Shuaibo, sunglasses already in place, hummed in vague agreement. Jeongwoo craned his neck to take everything in. "It smells like old victories."

"And old losses," Chih En added.

The bus doors hissed open. They stepped out into air that tasted like Seoul itself: exhaust, ambition, and something sweet from a food cart they couldn't see. Cameras hovered above them like giant insects, zooming in for highlight reels not yet written.

The complex breathed like a living thing. Like it was watching.

Inside, the stadium unfolded like a pocket universe. The track gleamed red in the early light, coiled and waiting. The seats stacked higher than seemed possible from the outside, like the building had been saving its full size until this exact moment.