Chapter Text
League of Legends. A game with one of the most toxic player bases of all time, if not the most toxic. And yet, here you are, willingly queueing up for its worst gamemode: Ranked.
You'd never admit it to your friends, but you love this game. Otherwise, why would you keep coming back every single day? Game after game, with defeats far outnumbering victories, you continue chasing the same dream, reaching Challenger.
Or so you wish. Right now, you'd settle for one thing, escaping the hell called Diamond.
You queue up as Support, the role you’re most comfortable with. You've sworn countless times that you'd abandon it because of how shit your carries were, and yet somehow, like a moth drawn to a flame, you always find yourself coming back to this stupid role, stuck with whatever Carry fate decides to hand you today.
That’s just how being a Support works. You’re not always the one getting the kills or taking the spotlight, but you’re the one setting things up, keeping your Carry alive with your heals and shields, buffing them up to make them strong, and giving them the chance to do what they do best. A good Carry can turn your efforts into a victory, but a good Support knows that behind every strong player is someone making sure they can reach their full potential.
It’s not too different from the relationship between a Pro Hero and their Sidekick. The hero is the one everyone sees, the one standing at the front lines, but the Sidekick is the person covering their weaknesses, supporting them when things get rough, and making sure they don’t fall.
Unfortunately, most games don’t give you that luxury. Most of the time, you’re stuck babysitting a random stranger and praying they know what they’re doing.
Not long after, the queue pops almost instantly.
Accept.
A familiar loading screen flashes before your eyes, and moments later, you're dropped into Champion Select with four strangers. They could be your new allies, or more likely, the reason for your next therapy session. And the chat is already alive.
Ground Zero #DYNA: Support. What are you playing?
Ground Zero #DYNA: Hurry up.
You glance at the chat and think, “Great. My carry is already this damn impatient.”
You lock in Rakan, and almost instantly, this Ground Zero guy picks Xayah.
The game hasn’t even started, and you can already tell that this lane is going to be a complete disaster.
Now, you’re onto the laning phase. A rough start, alert pings flying, minion waves crashing, missed skillshots everywhere, and your Carry acting as if every cooldown is a personal insult, repeatedly signaling On My Way even as you keep pinging your abilities’ cooldowns.
But then something shifts.
You land the first clean Grand Entrance skill which knocks up the enemy carry and support. And then Ground Zero follows instantly— no hesitations, just going in with Xayah, popping the Deadly Plumage skill like he’s been waiting for that exact moment.
First Blood.
DOUBLE KILL.
No chat. No emote. No ‘Rakan - Alive’ ping to appreciate the fantastic play you just did. Just silence… and then a small pause in his character before he continues playing like nothing happened.
You start to realize it quickly, “Damn, he’s good.”
Every time you land your ultimate ability, The Quickness, he’s there. Every Grand Entrance you give out, he turns it into an opportunity to carry. The lane stops feeling like chaos and it starts to feel like a dance of feathers and blades. Just like the bird-themed lovers Xayah and Rakan would do.
By mid-game, you two are ahead. Not slightly, but way ahead. The kind of lead that makes the enemy bot lane stop showing up entirely. And not long after, the enemy Nexus falls, and the screen flashes victory.
For a moment, there’s nothing. Just the glow of the screen and the quiet satisfaction of a game that didn’t completely ruin your sanity.
You heard your client go off on a ping.
A friend request has been sent from Ground Zero #DYNA.
You hesitate for a second before accepting. And almost instantly, a message pops up.
Ground Zero #DYNA: inv
Inv? Invite? To a game again? And before you can even finish overthinking it, another sound, signaling a new message from the chat, broke you off from your thoughts.
Ground Zero #DYNA: Go
No “good game, well played,” not even a casual “GG”, just an impatient carry who treats post-game politeness like an optional skin he forgot to equip, immediately hitting you up for round two. But hey— at least he honored you after the game. That’s something, right?
Curiosity gets the better of you, so you open his profile and take a look. His most played champions are Xayah, Lucian, and Ezreal. The kind of ADC pool that explains everything and nothing at the same time.
Then your eyes drift to the left for his rank: Master. But honestly, just get him a few more wins and he’ll be grandmaster in no time.
You sit there for a moment, realizing you’re basically being queued with someone who’s a few wins away from ascending the ladder, while you’re still trying to survive the emotional damage of diamond elo-hell.
And somehow, that realization just makes you stare at the screen longer, blinking slowly, as if the monitor might suddenly start typing back an explanation for whatever kind of personality your Carry has because you have never encountered this type of gamer with this level of confidence and urgency, without some sort of gamer bug involved.
Then, against your better judgment, against every lesson learned from past ranked trauma, and ignoring your 49/51 win ratio, a tiny voice in your head begs you to close the client and go touch grass, you queue up again anyway— this time with Ground Zero.
The lobby loads in, and there he is again, the same terrifying confidence that suggests he doesn’t believe in warm-ups or small talk, only execution and results, like he’s been auto-filled into existence purely to pressure you into playing better.
And just like last game, he locks in Xayah without asking, no second thoughts, not even pretending that the rest of the team exists. It’s less of a team drafting and more like a declaration of intent, like he already decided what to play and everyone else should pick whatever is best for Xayah.
Then you hover over Rakan for a second longer than necessary, as if maybe— just maybe you want to play with a different support.
Ground Zero #DYNA: You gonna pick or what?
Ground Zero #DYNA: I don't have all day for this
The messages land one after another, sharp and impatient, like he’s already itching to get in the game. And yet, instead of choosing another support champion, instead of reconsidering your entire existence as a support main.
You lock in Rakan anyway.
“Here we go again.”
A few weeks had gone by, and somehow despite every “this is my last game” lie, and every moment you consider uninstalling the game out of emotional self-preservation, you never actually do. Instead, you keep queueing up with Ground Zero every night like it’s become some sort of ritual you didn’t agree to participate in but somehow keep attending anyway.
At some point, you start noticing the pattern. He’s still blunt and impatient, still allergic to unnecessary words, but the communication evolves in the smallest ways. “inv” slowly turns into “invite me,” and when his “go” becomes “one more game,” and occasionally, if the game went well enough, he even adds a “gg” or “wp” after the game. You like to think you’ve become friends now, even if it’s the kind of friendship built entirely on pings, timing, and mutual understanding of when to engage before words are ever needed.
The weird part is how natural it starts to feel. You don’t even have to ask what he’s thinking anymore. You already know when he’s about to go in, or when he needs help with shoving the minion waves, or if he's one death away from losing his sanity with the game. And somehow, he also starts syncing with you in the same way, following your knock ups and entrances on the enemy, like he’s learned the timing of your cooldowns better than you have.
Outside of this game, however, you have a life— and it’s really unforgiving. Work in the Hero Public Safety Commission has a way of swallowing time whole. Reports that refuse to end, emergency briefings that stretch late into the night, and overtime work that leave you too drained to even think about opening your computer when you finally get home. And before you know it, it’s been almost two weeks since you last opened League of Legends.
What you don’t see during that two-week cleansing from this game is how your message box with your recently beloved Carry keeps blinking. At first, it’s just the usual “invite me” or “1 game” But then it shifts to questions, wondering where you are.
Ground Zero #DYNA: ?
Ground Zero #DYNA: Busy?
Ground Zero #DYNA: Are you there?
Ground Zero knows you’re not gonna respond, and he's not someone who wastes time on pointless things, and yet somehow, he keeps on trying anyway. The messages don’t stop, just spaced out more as the days pass by, like he’s adjusting to silence he clearly doesn’t like but doesn’t fully understand either.
By the time you finally open your client again, it feels strangely heavier than you remember. There are missed notifications waiting for you, stacked quietly in the corner of the league client like they’ve been sitting there patiently the entire time you were gone.
And then you see it. His in-game name at the side. Not just short messages of invitation this time, but longer lines than you’ve ever seen him send before.
Ground Zero #DYNA: Hey.
Ground Zero #DYNA: I need a decent Support.
Ground Zero #DYNA: Ignoring me?
Ground Zero #DYNA: Did you quit?
At the very bottom, a message sent not too long ago.
Ground Zero #DYNA: Invite me when you're back.
For a moment, you just stare at it, fingers hovering over the keyboard as if replying means stepping back into a connection you didn’t realize had quietly continued in your absence.
Reader #YOU: Hey :)
Reader #YOU: One game?
Ground Zero #DYNA: Took you long enough.
Ground Zero #DYNA: Dumbass.
You queue up again with him immediately, as usual. Then the match starts, and just like before, everything falls into place with a natural rhythm, albeit the few mistakes you committed for not playing the game for a long time and still adjusting to things.
The game itself passes in a blur.
You sit there for a moment, watching the screen, waiting for the usual post-game exhaustion to hit. For a second, neither of you says anything. Your cursor hovers near the friend list area. His name sits on the list like it always does— Ground Zero #DYNA, and now you’re considering typing something. Anything to break the silence, but you don’t know what you’d even say without it sounding awkward.
Although, the silence doesn’t last long. Before you can decide whether to type something or let the moment pass, the chat box flashes again.
Ground Zero #DYNA: Give me your discord.
You blink and stare at your screen for a few seconds, still trying to process the message. Of course he’d say it like that, not even a polite request. Not bothering with any pleasantries such as ‘please’. Would it hurt to put a smiley on that message?
You hesitate for a moment, fingers over the keyboard, debating whether to give it or not. For some reason, it feels oddly personal to have each other’s contacts outside of League chat. In-game messages are one thing, you’ve dealt with that kind of chaos plenty of times, but you never really expected it to step outside the game entirely.
Oh well, what could go wrong? No reason to overthink it. And with your newfound confidence, you type out your Discord username and hit send. A few minutes pass, a Discord friend request appears, and for the second time, you find yourself accepting Ground Zero. Again.
Almost immediately, a familiar Discord chime sounds, indicating that a message has appeared.
Ground Zero: In case you disappear again.
You: Sorry, I was busy with work.
You: Also, really? A Dynamight fanboy?
Ground Zero: The fuck are you on?
You: I mean, look. Your in-game name, Ground Zero, that’s a reference to explosions, right?
You: Even your profile picture says so, plain black with an orange X. Isn’t that Dynamight’s trademark colors and symbol?
Ground Zero: You’re full of shit.
You: Oh really?
You grin at your screen, already enjoying this more than you should
You: Should I call you Dynamight’s Fanboy now?
Ground Zero: Fuck off.
You: Woah woah you’re getting banned.
Ground Zero: I’m never carrying your ass again, Princess.
You: Princess? We’re on nicknames now?
Ground Zero: Only because I’m Princess-carrying your ass in every match we play.
You: That’s funny, you’re trying to act like Dynamight too.
Ground Zero: ???
Ground Zero: You’re annoying, don’t talk to me.
You: You talked to me first.
Ground Zero: Big mistake.
Since then, you both became closer than usual. At first, it doesn’t feel like anything has really changed. You two are still rocking the bot lane, occasional defeats here and there, but always bouncing back to rack up more victories.
You still queue together, falling into the rhythm of dancing birds on the Summoner’s Rift— you diving in reckless confidence, and him just close enough to secure the kills.
But now there’s Discord on the side, where you both migrate after each game, exchanging simple “GG,” “well played,” and the occasional “your baron steal was so sick” that he pretends he didn’t care about but definitely remembers.
These messages started short and simple, strictly game-related only. He still doesn’t waste words, but somehow there are more of them now. As days pass by, he starts talking more. Just simple sentences with no further explanations, but for you, somehow, it’s enough.
“I ran into idiots today.”
“I was working out.”
“Shitty villains are wrecking havoc.”
You find yourself responding the same way, not really thinking about it. You tell him about how hectic your day was, about paperworks that never seems to end and meetings that could have been emails. Some of them are so boring that you swear they would work better as a bedtime podcast.
Sometimes, you'd even rant to him about work. Telling him about reckless heroes who somehow manage to turn simple incidents into mountains of paperwork. Or maybe about a coworker who somehow pissed you off for having no common sense.
He reads all of those. Sometimes he replies immediately. Sometimes he replies hours later. But he always replies.
“Sounds like a pain in the ass”
A sentence that isn’t really that helpful, but will still somehow make you feel better.
Then somewhere along the way, the games stop feeling like the main thing. It’s still there, of course. You still queue up together, Carry and Support, like you always do. You still win, lose, complain about matchmaking, and immediately queue again despite promising yourselves "just one more game" three matches ago. But League slowly stops being the reason you talk. Instead, it becomes the thing you do while talking.
With those small conversations, you start learning things about him little by little. You learn that he hates crowds and unnecessary noise. That he has a group of friends he constantly refers to as ‘fucking idiots’ despite obviously caring about them. You find out that he spends a lot of time working out and training. Even after admitting he had basically mastered his Quirk back in high school, he still pushes himself like there's always another level to reach.
Ground Zero: These shitty extras got in my way again.
You: Sounds rough.
You stare at your next message for a moment, hesitating whether to send it or not. It feels a little too personal, a little too concerned for your liking. Still, you send it anyway.
You: You okay though?
Ground Zero: Worried about me, princess?
You can't help but snort and roll your eyes at the message.
You: You wish.
Ground Zero: Sure.
You: Don’t flatter yourself.
You: I’m just making sure My Carry is still around to take me to Grandmaster.
Ground Zero: Your Carry?
Ground Zero: Didn’t know we have that kind of relationship.
You: I’m just gonna assume you’re fine then.
Ground Zero: Of course, I am.
Ground Zero: Can’t have My Support worrying about me.
Just from your chats alone, you can already tell how ridiculously egotistical this little bastard is. The funny thing is, you should find it annoying. Instead, you're grinning at your screen like an idiot, totally loving whatever the two of you have.
You eventually piece it all together, these scattered fragments, forming an obvious truth. Ground Zero is a pro-hero. You just never asked which one, never asked for more details, and didn’t delve into what quirk he has. Partly because deep inside, you’re afraid that it’s too personal, and your dearest friend would leave you for being too nosy.
Meanwhile, he learns things about you too. He knows you work for a hero agency, he just doesn’t realize it’s actually the Hero Public Safety Commission. He knows your unhealthy relationship with iced coffees, and how your mood visibly improves whenever you're holding one.
More importantly, he knows you're terrible at taking care of yourself. He learns that when you're invested in something, you'll completely lose track of time. He learns that "I'll eat in five minutes" actually means "I'll remember food exists in two hours."
The first time he catches you skipping a meal, he calls you a dumbass.
The second time, he calls you an idiot.
There wasn’t a third time though. His messages had evolved into “eat. now.” Accompanied with threats of not queueing up with you anymore if you skip another meal.
You: Oh my god we totally beat their asses!
You: One more game?
Ground Zero: No.
You: Did a villain beat your ass or something?
You: The hell you mean ‘no’?
Ground Zero: Have you eaten?
The question makes you pause, you just now realized that your last meal was lunch, and it’s already 8:00 in the evening. And while you’re feeling a little bit hungry, just a tiny bit, the three-win streak games with Ground Zero has left you way too hyped to care. Just itching to get that fourth win in a row.
You: I’ll be promoted to Master if we win the next game.
Ground Zero: That’s not an answer.
You: I had coffee when I left from work?
Ground Zero: Dumbass, go eat something.
You: No— the Rift needs me.
Ground Zero: Don’t be stupid, go eat.
You: Fine.
You: But are you sure you’re breaking our win-streak momentum?
Ground Zero: For fuck’s sake. EAT SOMETHING FIRST.
Ground Zero: I’ll be here when you come back.
“Oops, that’s a dangerous line,” you thought to yourself.
You: I’ll be quick then.
Ground Zero: Don’t choke.
You: Don’t jinx it.
You: Hah! Get it? Jinx from Arcane?
Ground Zero: …
Ground Zero: Make sure to send a photo of your meal.
Ground Zero: Gotta make sure your dumbass self is actually eating.
You: Oh
You stare at the message, oddly caught between amusement and something softer you refuse to name.
Neither of you really asked questions about the other. Things just got shared naturally, slipping into conversations without either of you realizing it. And strangely enough, neither of you seemed interested in stopping. What started as a friend request from a particularly aggressive ADC had somehow turned into a daily routine.
You: Man, I want to go home.
Ground Zero: Then leave.
You: It's only 3:00 PM. My boss will kill me.
You: And I kind of like having a job.
Ground Zero: Coward.
You: Thanks. You're so nice.
Ground Zero: I know.
You roll your eyes so hard you're surprised they don't fall out of their sockets.
You: What are you up to?
Ground Zero: Stuck doing paperwork.
You pause, staring at the message for a few seconds, trying to imagine Ground Zero doing paperwork. You've spent months building a mental image of him as this aggressively, permanently annoyed stranger who loves working out. Naturally, you'd assumed he preferred being in action at all times. The idea of him being trapped behind a desk, staring at reports like a normal office worker, feels so funny for some reason.
You: Oh wow... you actually do paperwork?
You: I thought you were more of a punch and kick kind of guy.
Ground Zero: You're an idiot.
Conversations like these fill your days, and you may not know it, but you’re already looking forward to what you guys can talk about.
At one point, you’re so stressed at work, sometimes you just don’t want to play league. So when you declined Ground Zero’s invitation despite seeing you online both in League and Discord, he knows something is wrong.
Ground Zero: Up for one game?
You: I’m gonna pass on this one.
Ground Zero: Tch.
Ground Zero: Wasted my time waiting.
You: Sorry, I had a stressful day today.
You: Don’t feel like playing.
There’s a pause after your message, longer than usual pauses when you’re both active and bored. Maybe he’s about to queue on his own now, and probably would leave you with your own thoughts. But not even five minutes later—
Ground Zero: What happened?
You spent a few seconds just staring at your screen, not because you didn’t want to answer, but because you didn’t know what to say or where to start. Not to mention, you didn’t want to share something heavy with someone you only play games with, that was just the nature of your friendship… you think?
You: Just messed up something at work.
Ground Zero: Tell me about it.
You: It’s a long story, don’t wanna bother.
Ground Zero: We’ve got all the time, princess.
And with that, you start typing your worries, only to delete the messages immediately. You try again, then stop halfway through, stop to stare at the screen and type some more, and then delete your messages for the second time.
You: Actually… it’s not that important.
Ground Zero: You took your sweet time just to type that?
You: Yes…
Ground Zero: You’re really annoying.
You: Look— it’s a hassle to type something so long.
Ground Zero: Suit yourself.
This time, you really thought that’s the end. That he’ll just leave it there, maybe go back to whatever he was doing. Until a discord chime was heard, a different sound from your usual back and forth messages.
Ground Zero started a call.
Oh no. You can feel yourself panicking. You are NOT ready for whatever this is. You two have never talked like this before—never in a call. What do you mean he’s calling? Your mind is coming up with ridiculous thoughts, “Is he going to sound different? Is he going to sound… hot?”
One way to find out. You accepted the call.
Before you can even say hi, his voice comes through— low, has some rough edges, like embers instead of the fire you imagined.
“Speak, I’m listening.”