Chapter Text
The energy backstage at the IEM Finals in Cologne was electric, and tension sharp enough to cut through Kevlar. G2 had clawed their way to the Grand Finals, and NiKo was locked in, prepping with mechanical precision. Every key tap. Every flick. Every breath. Nothing was stopping him from reaching that trophy.
Across the room, Ilya “m0NESY” Osipov was hunched over his monitor, fingers dancing with effortless rhythm as he ran through warmups. His eyes tracked every flick, every snap, every corner cleared with mechanical precision. He looked relaxed, but NiKo knew better; he was locked in for today's match.
The chemistry between them had taken time. It wasn’t instant, and it wasn’t easy. When Ilya first joined G2, NiKo had been relentless. Every misstep was questioned, every poor rotation met with brutal honesty. Ilya had taken the heat without complaint, burned under it, maybe, but he’d never cracked. Never sulked. He took the criticism, studied harder, and came back sharper. That’s when NiKo started to believe in him, not just as a player, but as a teammate. Someone he can truly rely on in the server.
Now, here they were. Map 4. Ancient. Decider. 9–15. m0NESY chases the last T and deals the final headshot.
The crowd exploded, a wave of chants and flags rising.The crowd goes wild as Niko and Ilya stand up and hug each other immediately. They’ve always done this before, but this time felt different; they weren't sure if it was because of adrenaline of the final round, or the fact that Niko and Ilya have slowly become closer and closer with each passing tournament that they play together.
They let go of each other, noting the awkward amount of time they spent hugging each other. It felt like one of those moments that stretched just a few seconds too long, where both parties hesitate, unsure of how to pull away without making it feel... significant. But it was just a hug. Just a post-match, emotional, celebratory hug between teammates. Right? Niko cleared his throat lightly and gave a tight-lipped smile, nodding once before stepping away. Monesy turned, almost immediately, heading off to dap up jks, who threw an arm around him with a proud grin. Niko passed Ilya to give Nema a congratulatory pat on the back, trying to shake the strange tension off.
Niko and Monesy don't acknowledge each other while packing their stuff, considering the awkward moment they had together earlier. Not to mention the fact that the moment was captured on the live broadcast. The camera had lingered. The clip was probably already on Twitter, receiving questionable comments about their bromance. Niko exhaled through his nose, annoyed at himself for caring. It was just a hug. A simple, human reaction. Nothing else.
With their mice and keyboards stuffed into branded duffle bags and jerseys swapped or signed, they finally wrapped up the night. The fans were relentless in their love, photos, autographs, and art, but the team did their best to meet every outstretched hand and every camera phone with a smile.
Eventually, security began to usher them toward the exit. The team, still buzzing with adrenaline but weighed down by exhaustion, made their way out of the arena. The cool night air hit their faces, and for the first time in hours, there was a kind of silence. Not complete, but peaceful.
Niko found himself walking side by side with Ilya, and the streetlights cast long shadows behind them as they trudged toward the team van, the soles of their sneakers scuffing the pavement in sync. Neither of them spoke at first. Their hands were stuffed in their pockets, bags slung over their shoulders. A few paces ahead, Justin, Nema, and Rasmus were deep in conversation, laughing about something one of the fans had shouted.
After a while, Niko glanced over at Monesy. The younger man had his head tilted down, almost like he was thinking of something to say.
“You okay?” Niko asked, voice low, casual.
Monesy nodded, not looking at him. “Yeah. Just tired.”
“Same,” Niko replied, hoping that there was something more Monesy wanted to mention or clear the air about. They got in the van and just silently rode back to the hotel with mentions of a small after-party in the suite that G2 had booked.
The hotel lobby was quiet compared to the chaos of the arena. Still, the team’s energy lingered like static, laughs bouncing between marble columns, keycards flashing in elevator doors, someone already suggesting drinks before anyone had even dropped their bags in their rooms.
G2 had a suite booked for the night. Not for sleeping, for celebrating. A low-key after-party with close staff, a few other members of different teams, and tons of vodka to go with their Red Bull this time.
The suite was buzzing with music and the scent of takeout and vodka. Someone had dimmed the lights, and the windows revealed a nighttime city skyline glimmering, vast, like a reward in itself.
Niko had a drink in hand, the glass slick with condensation. He wasn’t drunk, just warm, a slight buzz in his head and a little unsteady on the edges. The kind of tipsy that made words come out easier than they should.
Niko caught Ilya’s eyes across the room. The younger player was mid-story, animatedly recounting his AWP highlight on Ancient to Nema and Rasmus, his hands moving as fast as his words. They were all laughing, Hooxi nudging him playfully. It was a good moment. But Niko could see it in the way Ilya’s shoulders were beginning to sag just slightly, the way his eyes kept flicking toward the door, or the balcony. His social battery was draining.
Without a word, Niko walked over and gently placed a hand on Ilya’s arm. “Hey,” he said, low enough that only Ilya heard, “Come with me?” Ilya glanced up at him, hesitating for only a second before nodding. Niko didn’t look back at the others and just led the way through the suite and out to the balcony.
The city buzzed beneath them, stretching wide and glittering in the night. Wind curled softly through both their hair, bringing with it a chill that cut through the warmth of the after-party. The music behind the glass was muffled now, a now distant pulse. Out here, it was quiet. Still.
“You were really good today,” Niko said, leaning slightly against the railing, glass still in hand.
Ilya looked over, surprised, but smiled. “Thanks.”
Niko nodded. “I mean it. You kept your cool in the clutch rounds. Didn’t flinch once.”
“You helped me a lot,” Ilya replied. “From the start, really. With everything. I... I wouldn’t be half the player I am without you.” His voice was quiet, almost shy. Like it was something he'd thought about but had never said out loud until now.
Niko gave a half-laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t make me emotional, man.”
They both chuckled, soft and sincere. Then the laughter died off, and in its place came silence. Not awkward at first, but slow, creeping, thick. The kind of silence that fills the space between people who know there’s something unspoken.That hug. That moment. Still lingering, Niko then finally broke the silence.
“About earlier in the arena…”
Ilya stiffened, like his muscles were trying to lock him in place. Niko could see it in his posture, that sudden, subtle freeze. He wasn’t expecting this. His blush was immediate, blooming across his cheeks, visible even in the dim light of the balcony.
“I mean,” Niko continued, his voice soft, “that hug. I didn’t mean to make it weird or anything.”
“It’s not weird,” Ilya said quickly. Maybe too quickly. Ilya looked over to Niko, finally locking eyes with him. “The adrenaline of playing in front of a crowd can really get to you. ”
Niko nodded, finishing the rest of his drink in one long swallow. He stared out at the city for a moment, trying to summon the courage for what he was about to do. His fingers tapped the rim of the empty glass as his thoughts buzzed louder than the street below. Then he turned toward Ilya, taking a step closer, slow, deliberate. Ilya's eyes flicked up in confusion, his brows furrowing slightly.
“Niko, what are you doing?” he asked, voice soft but laced with uncertainty.
Niko didn’t answer right away. He just looked at him, taking in the colors of the younger one's eyes. At that moment, Ilya’s eyes were wide and questioning, and his chest rose and fell just a little quicker than before.
That’s when it happened. Niko’s lips on Ilya’s without hesitation. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t dramatic. Just quiet and real. Though it was brief, careful, and like testing the weight of something they’d both carried in silence for too long. Their lips met softly, uncertain at first, almost like they were afraid the moment might break if either of them moved too quickly.
When they pulled back, neither said anything right away.
Ilya blinked, blushing, and still breathing a little unevenly. He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, but all he could think of was how forbidden that kiss felt. Niko looked at Ilya and finally broke the silence.
“I don’t know what came over me, I’m sorry I did that.”
Ilya looked up at him, his expression soft, open. “It’s okay, I didn’t mind it…”
They stood there, close, as the city moved on beneath them. And for once, neither of them felt the need to say more.
After the kiss, neither of them said much. They didn’t need to. The silence between them now felt different, lighter, easier. Something had shifted. Something that had lived in the quiet glances, the prolonged touches, the unspoken understanding between rounds... was finally out in the open.
They slipped back into the suite quietly, unnoticed amid the music and laughter. The others were too deep in drinks and stories to realize the two had been gone at all. Niko and Ilya stuck close after that, not obviously, but enough. Standing a little nearer than usual, leaning in to hear one another over the music, even when it wasn’t that loud. There was comfort there. A warmth neither of them spoke aloud, but both leaned into. It felt right. Natural. Like things were exactly as they were supposed to be. And maybe, just maybe, that was the scariest part of all. Because, as perfect as the moment was, they both knew this wasn’t something they could bring into the spotlight. Not in their world. Not in the pro scene, where eyes were always watching, where speculation could morph into controversy overnight. It wouldn’t look good for the org. It wouldn’t look good for them. So they kept it quiet. No declarations. No labels. Just a secret tucked between glances across the stage and soft, unspoken moments behind closed doors, and quiet kisses in the dark. That would be just enough.
For now.