Soobin should probably feel slightly guilty that this —computer fans whirring on, dim lighting and mouse-in-hand— is the moment he waits for the most in the whole day. Makes a whole spectacle out of clicking the door closed, sitting on the desk and tuning out the outer world.

Three clicks and he's home —shouldn't feel as good to think as it does.

A reflex smile drawn on his face for no reason at all, blue-light shone on dimples, carved edges on each side of his mouth. Could be called a ghost of a smile, the kind he gets from memories made up of nights laughing at jokes via chat messages, smiley faces and written jest. A friend made over miles of in-game time.

Pointer hovers over the chatbox, and he's gnawing on his cheek with a narrow of his eyes. Thinks before typing, not so much before talking. By the time he starts making up a message, Grace's name's accompanied by a green dot. Online.

Smile widens to Soobin's ears, now.

hey :D He types, sends to Grace. Maybe full-on face would come across as too much with anyone else, but he can't bring himself to care. Not when they're on the other side of the screen, probably other side of the world, waiting to lose the burdens on a ranked game. Or just talk.

Soobin realized only about two weeks ago, that he's okay with either. Stupidly okay.

wanna hop on call? i'm totally ready to beat you this time xx

Not only ready, but been thinking about it for the whole rehearsal today and half of the weekend's fan-meetings. Part of him, the ones he chastizes the most, drowned in wishful thinking lately —could it be them? How would he even know?

Truth is, he can't know. And neither can they.

Grace's got no photos of him, no name, no 'this-was-my-great-breakthrough-as-an-idol'. Just his voice, slightly distorded by the echo in a near-empty room, through the microphone of a head-set; and even that can't be fully traced back to Soobin.

It's not shame, not remotely close distrust. It's a visceral need he's got to keep this calm, easy-going part of his day, his. Keep this tucked away into the confines of walls and the faux feeling of privacy that a virtual chat room gives him. It's easy.

Not so much when Beomgyu, after a knock he didn't hear, cracks the door open. "Wanna play some League?" Beomgyu asks, simple and unassuming like Soobin's smile. Even if his gaze flickers to the computer, a blink or two, no answer yet.

"Ah, sorry. Was planning to... y'know. With my friend," Nods at the monitor, then back at the door. "Tomorrow, though. We'll play." Soobin pretends not to notice the way his friend's eyes follows his to the screen. The group —especially Beomgyu— knew about the mistery friend that's been keeping Soobin glued to his phone on the free moments they had.

Said friend had an username he knew by heart now and a record of hours played on their profile, increasing with each call he has with them.

Door shuts again, and it's Soobin alone with the ghost —the promise, he prefers to think— of Grace's reply flashing on screen.

He's totally not closing and opening ten tabs while waiting for their answer.