Top Tweets for #zeran
posting this neow~ stickersheets I drew in honor of 🐿️ ships! (@gumarancarry is giving them out during doran cse 👀)
#fakeran #maolan #zeran #2hj
#zeran ㅡ "zeka, diba grand slam champ ka? nasa iyo na siguro lahat?"
#zeran ㅡ para-paraan para makasimple lang sa ‘yo
제카 보고 웃는 도란ㅎㅎ
#zeran
OOPS
"Are they lovers?" Worse. They were supposed to be, but never got the chance.
03.
#2HJ | #Zeran
(short drabble)
T1 loses their next match.
It ends before it sinks in. One mistake turns into another, and then it is over. The screen fades. No one speaks.
The stage feels off after that. The noise is still there, but it does not reach them. It sounds far away, like it belongs somewhere else.
They remove their headsets and stand. Chairs move. Someone adjusts a cable. No one looks at each other for long.
Backstage feels heavier.
No one raises their voice. No one blames anyone. The silence does it instead.
Oner sits three chairs away from Doran.
The distance is small, but it feels intentional.
He does not move. His hands rest on his knees, and his gaze stays lowered. He seems like he is thinking, but he is only staying still.
Doran watches him for a moment before looking away.
He unlocks his phone.
He already knows what is waiting.
He looks anyway.
Messages come in faster than he can read them.
Comments blur together. Some are disappointed. Some are angry. Some go further than they should.
Doran reads a few lines and stops.
He locks the screen.
He glances up again.
Oner hasn't moved.
He doesn’t check his phone.
He doesn’t react.
He just sits there.
Doran swallows.
He wants to say something, but nothing feels right.
Nothing he says would feel like enough, so he stands. No one tries to stop him.
The hallway is colder than the room, the air quiet and untouched.
Doran stays there for a moment.
Then—
🐣: You okay?
Zeka’s voice is quiet.
He is leaning against the wall a few steps away, as if he has been waiting without making it obvious.
Doran nods.
🐿: Yeah.
Zeka does not believe it.
🐣: You don’t look okay.
Doran exhales, but it does not ease anything.
He looks down at his phone again, then turns the screen off before anything loads.
🐿: I checked.
🐣: You shouldn’t.
🐿: I know.
Doran leans back against the wall.
🐿: They’re upset.
🐿: I get it.
Zeka does not interrupt.
🐿: We should have played better.
A pause.
🐿: He played well.
Zeka looks at him.
Doran’s grip tightens around his phone.
🐿: He always does.
His voice lowers.
🐿: They don’t see that.
Zeka stays where he is. He does not try to fix it.
🐿: They only see the loss.
Doran closes his eyes for a second, then opens them again.
🐿: I knew what I would see.
He exhales slowly.
🐿: And I don’t want him to see it.
Zeka’s expression softens.
🐣: Then don’t let him.
Doran shakes his head.
🐿: I can’t control that.
🐿: I can’t control any of it.
The hallway feels smaller after that.
Doran straightens.
🐿: I should go back.
🐣: You don’t have to rush.
🐿: I will.
He takes a step, then pauses.
🐿: …Thanks.
Zeka nods.
Doran walks back.
The room is the same when he returns.
Nothing has changed.
Oner is still there, in the same seat, in the same position.
Doran slows down as he approaches.
He stops in front of him.
🐿: Oner.
Oner looks up.
Doran tightens his grip on his phone.
🐿: I didn’t read everything.
A pause.
🐿: You shouldn’t either.
Oner watches him.
🐯: I won’t.
Doran exhales quietly.
🐿: They’re just—
He stops.
There is nothing he can say that will make it better.
Oner already knows.
🐯: It’s fine.
He says it like it does not matter, but Doran knows it does. Instead of stepping away, he remains and takes a seat beside him, leaving a small space between them.
Neither of them speaks. Then—
🐿: You played well.
Oner lets out a small breath.
🐯: We lost.
🐿: I know.
Doran looks at him.
🐿: That doesn’t change it.
Oner looks away.
🐯: It wasn’t enough.
🐯: It never is.
🐿: It was today.
Oner does not answer.
Doran continues, softer.
🐿: They just don’t see it.
🐿: I wish you didn't have to either.
🐯: I won’t.
🐿: You don’t have to deal with it alone.
Oner exhales.
🐯: I’m used to it.
🐿: I’m not.
That makes him look up again.
Doran meets his eyes this time.
🐿: And I don’t want to be.
🐿: Next time, we do better.
🐯: We have to.
🐿: We will.
Doran shifts slightly closer.
Not enough to be obvious.
Just enough to stay.
🐿: Together.
Oner looks at him.
A second longer.
🐯: Yeah.
The room stays quiet.
The loss remains.
And Doran chooses to stay.
Oner does not tell him to leave or pull away.
The weight is still there.
The noise will return.
None of that will change.
But he is not alone.
For now, that is enough.
02.
#2HJ | #Zeran
(short drabble)
The lights are too bright, but Oner does not look away.
He sits down and adjusts his mouse twice. His hands are steady, his breathing even.
Everything is in place. Everything is controlled.
Across the stage, Zeka takes his seat.
Oner does not stare at him, but the image is already fixed in his mind.
Zeka smiling.
At Doran.
--
The game begins and Oner plays the way he always does. Clean and efficient. His pathing precise and his timing sharp.
Then mid comes into view.
Zeka.
Something shifts.
🐯: Mid.
He does not wait for setup.
He does not ask for confirmation.
He moves the moment he sees an opening, even if it is not perfect.
Zeka dies.
Oner exhales quietly and resets.
It happens again. And again. Every time mid comes into view, he turns toward it. Not because he has to, but because he wants to.
Zeka starts to play safer. He stands further back, clears waves faster, keeps his distance.
Oner notices and adjusts.
He forces angles that are worse, trades that are riskier, paths that cost more. Just to reach him.
In one fight, Oner dives too deep.
There is no way out. Zeka almost lives, but Oner goes all in anyway.
Zeka dies.
Oner dies after.
That’s enough.
The nexus falls.
T1 wins the series.
--
Oner removes his headset slowly. The noise fades, but something sits heavy in his chest.
Across the stage, Zeka is already standing.
For a brief moment, their eyes meet.
Neither of them looks away.
--
They line up for the handshake.
Doran stands in front of Oner.
🐿: Good game.
🐣: You too.
Oner notices the way Doran looks at him. The same easy warmth.
--
Then Zeka steps forward.
Closer than necessary.
Oner does not move back.
🐯: Did you have fun?
Zeka meets his gaze without hesitation.
🐣: You tell me.
A pause stretches between them, thin and sharp.
Oner leans in just slightly.
🐯: Stay away from him.
🐣: Then stop coming for me.
🐯: I won’t.
Zeka tilts his head faintly.
🐣: Oh yeah?
Beside them, Doran shifts, glancing between the two.
🐿: Can you both—
Neither of them looks at him.
The staff calls them to move. The line breaks, but the tension stays.
—
Backstage, the noise fades into something dull and distant.
Voices.
Footsteps.
None of it matters.
Oner does not follow right away. He looks down the hallway. Zeka is already walking. Oner follows, keeping his distance.
🐯: Zeka.
He pauses, then turns. They face each other a few steps apart.
🐣: You’re doing it on purpose.
It's not a question. Oner does not deny it.
🐯: You keep looking at him.
Zeka lets out a quiet breath.
🐣: So you decided to kill me for it?
🐯: If that’s what it takes.
🐣: You're insane.
Oner’s expression does not change.
🐯: You know me.
Zeka’s eyes narrow.
🐣: You’re not even hiding it.
🐯: I'm not trying to.
Silence.
Oner steps closer, just enough to make it clear.
🐯: Don't go near him.
Zeka holds his gaze.
🐣: No.
🐯: Then I won’t stop.
🐣: Good.
🐣: Because I’m not planning to either.
Something settles between them.
Not calmer.
Worse.
Zeka steps back first.
🐣: See you next match.
He turns and walks away.
—
Oner stays where he is, watching until Zeka disappears from view.
His hands are still tense, even after the win.
He closes his eyes briefly.
He sees it again.
Doran's smile.
Not meant for him.
—
Next time, he will not stop at the game.
If Zeka keeps looking,
Oner will make sure there is nothing else to look at.
02.
#2HJ | #Zeran
(short drabble)
The lights are too bright, but Oner does not look away.
He sits down and adjusts his mouse twice. His hands are steady, his breathing even.
Everything is in place. Everything is controlled.
Across the stage, Zeka takes his seat.
Oner does not stare at him, but the image is already fixed in his mind.
Zeka smiling.
At Doran.
--
The game begins and Oner plays the way he always does. Clean and efficient. His pathing precise and his timing sharp.
Then mid comes into view.
Zeka.
Something shifts.
🐯: Mid.
He does not wait for setup.
He does not ask for confirmation.
He moves the moment he sees an opening, even if it is not perfect.
Zeka dies.
Oner exhales quietly and resets.
It happens again. And again. Every time mid comes into view, he turns toward it. Not because he has to, but because he wants to.
Zeka starts to play safer. He stands further back, clears waves faster, keeps his distance.
Oner notices and adjusts.
He forces angles that are worse, trades that are riskier, paths that cost more. Just to reach him.
In one fight, Oner dives too deep.
There is no way out. Zeka almost lives, but Oner goes all in anyway.
Zeka dies.
Oner dies after.
That’s enough.
The nexus falls.
T1 wins the series.
--
Oner removes his headset slowly. The noise fades, but something sits heavy in his chest.
Across the stage, Zeka is already standing.
For a brief moment, their eyes meet.
Neither of them looks away.
--
They line up for the handshake.
Doran stands in front of Oner.
🐿: Good game.
🐣: You too.
Oner notices the way Doran looks at him. The same easy warmth.
--
Then Zeka steps forward.
Closer than necessary.
Oner does not move back.
🐯: Did you have fun?
Zeka meets his gaze without hesitation.
🐣: You tell me.
A pause stretches between them, thin and sharp.
Oner leans in just slightly.
🐯: Stay away from him.
🐣: Then stop coming for me.
🐯: I won’t.
Zeka tilts his head faintly.
🐣: Oh yeah?
Beside them, Doran shifts, glancing between the two.
🐿: Can you both—
Neither of them looks at him.
The staff calls them to move. The line breaks, but the tension stays.
—
Backstage, the noise fades into something dull and distant.
Voices.
Footsteps.
None of it matters.
Oner does not follow right away. He looks down the hallway. Zeka is already walking. Oner follows, keeping his distance.
🐯: Zeka.
He pauses, then turns. They face each other a few steps apart.
🐣: You’re doing it on purpose.
It's not a question. Oner does not deny it.
🐯: You keep looking at him.
Zeka lets out a quiet breath.
🐣: So you decided to kill me for it?
🐯: If that’s what it takes.
🐣: You're insane.
Oner’s expression does not change.
🐯: You know me.
Zeka’s eyes narrow.
🐣: You’re not even hiding it.
🐯: I'm not trying to.
Silence.
Oner steps closer, just enough to make it clear.
🐯: Don't go near him.
Zeka holds his gaze.
🐣: No.
🐯: Then I won’t stop.
🐣: Good.
🐣: Because I’m not planning to either.
Something settles between them.
Not calmer.
Worse.
Zeka steps back first.
🐣: See you next match.
He turns and walks away.
—
Oner stays where he is, watching until Zeka disappears from view.
His hands are still tense, even after the win.
He closes his eyes briefly.
He sees it again.
Doran's smile.
Not meant for him.
—
Next time, he will not stop at the game.
If Zeka keeps looking,
Oner will make sure there is nothing else to look at.
Untitled
#2HJ | #Zeran
(short drabble)
The interview is still going, but Zeka is barely processing it. He hears the questions and answers the way he should, but his focus keeps slipping past the camera.
T1 is already on stage. Chairs shift, staff move, keyboards click. Doran sits waiting, the same as always before a match. Zeka looks at him a second too long, then pulls back.
The interview ends. He returns the mic, bows, and steps down. The moment his feet hit the floor, he heads straight toward T1’s setup, ignoring the voice that calls after him.
🐣: Hyung.
Doran turns right away. His expression softens as he smiles.
🐿: Good job.
🐿: You did well.
🐣: You watched?
🐿: Of course.
It feels easy, familiar. Like before.
Then Zeka notices. The air turns heavy.
He looks past Doran and sees Oner watching him. Oner isn’t doing anything else, just looking. His face is calm, but not neutral.
Zeka understands immediately.
Stay away.
For a moment, he almost breaks eye contact, but he doesn’t. He keeps his gaze steady.
Oner’s expression hardens.
🐿: …Why are you both so quiet?
No one answers.
Oner stands and walks over. He stops right behind Doran’s chair, close enough to make the distance obvious. He does not touch him. He doesn't need to.
Zeka takes it in.
Something tightens in his chest, but his voice stays even.
🐣: Hyung. You free later?
🐿: Later? We have a match—
🐯: He’s not.
🐿: Wait, I didn’t even—
🐯: I said he’s not.
Zeka exhales slowly.
🐣: I wasn’t asking you.
Doran straightens, looking between them.
🐿: What is this?
Silence.
Zeka steps closer.
🐣: Hyung.
Doran looks at him.
🐣: Are you free?
Doran hesitates for a second.
🐿: …I have a game. Maybe after.
Zeka nods once.
🐣: Okay.
He already knows what that means.
Behind Doran, Oner’s hand settles on the back of the chair. His grip tightens.
Zeka sees it.
Their eyes meet.
No space left to misunderstand.
🐯: Stay away.
Zeka doesn’t flinch.
🐣: Make me.
A moment passes.
No one moves.
The tension just sits there.
🐿: Can you both stop?
Their attention stays locked between them.
“T1, get ready!”
The call breaks the silence, as if nothing happened.
Zeka steps back and turns.
That look stays with him.
Not a warning, but a line drawn.
He keeps walking.
He can feel Oner’s eyes on his back.
Neither of them backs down.
Untitled
#2HJ | #Zeran
(short drabble)
The interview is still going, but Zeka is barely processing it. He hears the questions and answers the way he should, but his focus keeps slipping past the camera.
T1 is already on stage. Chairs shift, staff move, keyboards click. Doran sits waiting, the same as always before a match. Zeka looks at him a second too long, then pulls back.
The interview ends. He returns the mic, bows, and steps down. The moment his feet hit the floor, he heads straight toward T1’s setup, ignoring the voice that calls after him.
🐣: Hyung.
Doran turns right away. His expression softens as he smiles.
🐿: Good job.
🐿: You did well.
🐣: You watched?
🐿: Of course.
It feels easy, familiar. Like before.
Then Zeka notices. The air turns heavy.
He looks past Doran and sees Oner watching him. Oner isn’t doing anything else, just looking. His face is calm, but not neutral.
Zeka understands immediately.
Stay away.
For a moment, he almost breaks eye contact, but he doesn’t. He keeps his gaze steady.
Oner’s expression hardens.
🐿: …Why are you both so quiet?
No one answers.
Oner stands and walks over. He stops right behind Doran’s chair, close enough to make the distance obvious. He does not touch him. He doesn't need to.
Zeka takes it in.
Something tightens in his chest, but his voice stays even.
🐣: Hyung. You free later?
🐿: Later? We have a match—
🐯: He’s not.
🐿: Wait, I didn’t even—
🐯: I said he’s not.
Zeka exhales slowly.
🐣: I wasn’t asking you.
Doran straightens, looking between them.
🐿: What is this?
Silence.
Zeka steps closer.
🐣: Hyung.
Doran looks at him.
🐣: Are you free?
Doran hesitates for a second.
🐿: …I have a game. Maybe after.
Zeka nods once.
🐣: Okay.
He already knows what that means.
Behind Doran, Oner’s hand settles on the back of the chair. His grip tightens.
Zeka sees it.
Their eyes meet.
No space left to misunderstand.
🐯: Stay away.
Zeka doesn’t flinch.
🐣: Make me.
A moment passes.
No one moves.
The tension just sits there.
🐿: Can you both stop?
Their attention stays locked between them.
“T1, get ready!”
The call breaks the silence, as if nothing happened.
Zeka steps back and turns.
That look stays with him.
Not a warning, but a line drawn.
He keeps walking.
He can feel Oner’s eyes on his back.
Neither of them backs down.
#zeran ㅡ do you think i have forgotten about you?
#zeran: “but why am i still thinking about you?”
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