bones (i will eat you alive) ON HOLD

by mychapel

Summary:

ON HOLD to be completed at a later date

Player 456, the returning champion, the anomaly. In two years the man had changed a lot. He looked older, thinner, less naive. All sharp edges where he was once soft and moldable. But one thing stayed the same, he had a terrible poker face. Wore his intentions for all to see, unafraid to stand out in a crowd and scream if it meant the chance of helping someone, even these helpless creatures. That light in his eyes had dimmed, but it burned in his chest bright as ever, the foolish need that had driven him back to this place even when he was given the world on a silver platter. That was another thing about past winners, none had ever returned. They ran, took their winnings and spent their lives pretending they hadn’t done what they did.

All except 456. And himself.

or, a retelling of squid game season two from the perspective of the frontman

Chapter 1: aperitivo

Summary:

there's a gap inbetween
where we meet
where i end and you begin

It was easy, at first.

 

Hiding in the crowd, slipping easily into line and finding safety in the pack. Standing conveniently in the blind spots, green tracksuit blending in and blurring into the background, hair uncomfortably loose and head down. The cattle milling around him barely noticed a thing, too focused on their own pathetic little worries, until his moment came. Standing, alone and seen for the first time, as the room held a collective breath, before breaking the silence with a roaring cheer from both sides.

 

He had savoured the moment, the sea of eyes following his path towards the voting booth, keeping his own gaze fixed on the bright buttons guiding him forward. There was something almost thrilling about it all, beyond slipping on this… mask, this person-suit, donning the sheep-skin knowing deep down he was the wolf they should be hiding from. The cheer, the rhythm of their claps and stomps as he neared the booth, electric energy and desperation ringing in his ears, spurring him onward. Beneath the facade, his blood thrummed with purpose as his legs drove forward and he came to a stop before the buttons.

 

Silence, for a beat. Anticipation crawling up the walls, stilling the air like the few awful seconds before a storm breaks, tension so thick it weighed on your lungs. He stood with practiced hesitation, hand mock-hovering over the red button in front of him, before making the choice he joined the game to make.

 

Screams rang in his right ear. Desperate joy, the relief of a second chance. He knew he had won the favour of half the room, something that would serve him well in the games he set forth. But there was still an itch in the back of his mind, a need floating on the edge of his calm demeanour. He turned, first seeing the celebrations on the blue side of the room. Men grabbed at their comrades, pressing foreheads together in elation. Their joy was palpable, filling the air with sound and energy.

 

The red side was near-silent. He saw a woman drop to her knees, her face covered by her shaking hands, a younger girl next to her reaching out to comfort her. Many had already turned to return to their bunks in defeat. He could practically taste the resentment and loss in the air as his eyes searched the crowd, scanning for three digits practically burned into his mind, the face that had filled him with frustration for years.

 

The man stood still, ignoring the movement around him, practically dead to the world judging by his expression. It was strange, the past winners of the games were diverse in many ways, by gender, age, personality. But one thing stayed the same, they all had a hunger for winning and a talent for deception. It was a necessity to survive here, practically an unspoken rule, and that rule had never failed him in his years running the games. Until now.

 

Player 456, the returning champion, the anomaly. In two years the man had changed a lot. He looked older, thinner, less naive. All sharp edges where he was once soft and moldable. But one thing stayed the same, he had a terrible poker face. Wore his intentions for all to see, unafraid to stand out in a crowd and scream if it meant the chance of helping someone, even these helpless creatures. That light in his eyes had dimmed, but it burned in his chest bright as ever, the foolish need that had driven him back to this place even when he was given the world on a silver platter. That was another thing about past winners, none had ever returned. They ran, took their winnings and spent their lives pretending they hadn’t done what they did. 

 

All except 456. And himself.

 

The man in question did not look up, even as 001s gaze weighed heavy on him. The grief was clear on his face. Not grief for the people they had lost already, but for those he knew would fall in the next game, and the next, and the next. Perhaps that was why he was so unaffected by those walking past him, or the dread and the sorrow bleeding into the air. He knew he was surrounded by ghosts, bright smiling pictures on the floor of the control room soon to be snuffed out. Wisdom that only came from hard-won experience, from blood stuck half-dried under sharp fingernails.

 

It filled him with something almost hot, watching him so unaware. Like a snake in the weeds, waiting to strike at the soft, willing neck of its prey, cold blood charged and ready. Something almost like a smile began to form before he forced himself to turn away, slipping back through the crowd to find the free bed that had been added for him. 456 stood where he left him, until that shorter ‘friend’ of his tugged him away, leading him back to their bunks with a hand on his back. 

 

Hiding among them was easy. Everyone was off-kilter, shaken from the whiplash of the day, too willing to accept the reality of their situation without question if it meant regaining their precious sense of control. He even got a few appreciative nods and smiles as people passed his bunk, blue patches proudly adorning his chest. For the most part, the red voters seemed to keep in their own corners, finding safety in their small groups even as they lined up hours later for their dosirak. 456 sat hunched on his bunk, lost in thought once again until his friend joined him, whispering to him through mouthfuls of food as if conspiring. 

 

The challenge came from knowing how far to stand out. He had already gotten attention during the voting, he didn’t want to throw the game this quickly. But he had an unavoidable urge to reach out, to feel 456’s eyes on him. To come face to face with the man so driven to destroy him, the man he was even more determined to ruin in return. That’s what this was for, wasn’t it? To look him in the eyes, no mask or trickery. It was that urge that willed him to stand, drawing the attention of some of the blue voters around him.

 

“Are you going to speak to him?” A woman whispered softly from behind him. He half-turned to reply, noticing the small crowd that had gathered, all stood and ready to follow him across the room. The woman who spoke monitored him with fox-like precision, cocking her head to the side at his expression. 181, a quick one by the looks of it. “Are you asking him about the games?”

 

He chose not to reply, his silence and steady pace across the room serving enough of an answer, the crowd falling into stride behind him. Strangely enough it felt familiar, like being flanked by his guards. As they reached the opposite bunks, he managed to catch the last few words of the conversation, noting it for future use.

 

“Help us then, sir.” He spoke politely, finally catching the gaze of the man in front of him. 456 looked him up and down briefly, seeing his number before looking back down at his uneaten food as if he wasn’t even there. 

 

“...I pressed the O button because of you.”

 

Now that won a reaction. Another look, blank but wounded, deep in those dark irises. He held his gaze, allowing sincerity to slip in as he pushed the knife in further, the crowd around him muttering their agreements. “You made me think, maybe I could play just one more game.”

 

The prize was the uneasy squirm of the man before him, eyes searching the crowd softly agreeing, guilt seeping in. Now he was close, one foot perched on the first step of the bunk so he could lean in, he saw that his cheek was still stained with the blood of one of the fallen, dark and raw against his skin. “Sir?”

 

Another look, clenched jaw and untrusting eyes. Another prod in the right direction. “You know which game’s next, don’t you?”.

 

The man was unmoving even as the crowd leaned in closer, simply matching 001’s gaze, but there was no challenge present. Just tiredness, endless and bare in his eyes. He didn’t react until his friend- 390, a gambler and bar owner if In-ho remembered right from his studying of their files- suddenly gained interest in the question, turning and speaking to the man beside him. That drew a reaction almost instantly, perhaps the familiarity of a friend, and he seemed to consider his words before speaking in a low, hushed voice.

 

Just as expected, he was more than willing to tell the crowd of the game to come, explaining in clipped sentences as his unfixed gaze seemed to take him to another place entirely, distant and alone, merely going through the motions of talking. Despite his demeanour, the small crowd hung onto every word, his friend and an excitable man on a nearby bunk jutting in between awkward silences to prompt him into sharing more. It took a moment before he saw his next opening into the conversation. 

 

“Umbrella? Some people chose umbrella?” He joked, hearing chuckles from behind him. “Those unlucky bastards must have bitten the dust.” Somehow, that seemed to bring the man back into the room, eyebrow shifting subtly in hidden embarrassment. Or at least, hidden to those who didn’t understand the irony. Another thing the two of them shared.

 

There was a movement behind him, and he willingly took the backseat as an older man, one who seemed eager to prove himself as some kind of leader among the blue voters, took charge. As the group squabbled over who to share the information with, he was content to quietly observe and watch the dynamics play out as 456 grew visibly irritated. He was easy to read, even when he was trying to be inconspicuous, eyes darting at the players so eager to leave their peers out to dry, frown deepening before angry words erupted from him, loud and demanding. “We can’t do that. I’m going to tell everyone I know,”

 

His tone left no room for argument, and he averted his eyes immediately after speaking, shutting down to the world once again. The older man next to them scoffed, walking off in a huff and taking the crowd with him, and the three of them were alone. Well, four, if you count the younger man who seemed eager to listen next to them, feet in the air as if he was a schoolgirl. 001 paid no mind, taking the opportunity to sit down a few feet from them, his movement and voice instinctively catching their attention. “May I ask you something?”

 

Neither of them seemed to affirm or deny, so he chose to settle in his position anyway, continuing his question. “Why did you come back to this place? You said you won and made it out, that means you must have won 45.6 billion. Did you spend it all?”

 

Once again, despite his non-threatening approach and his best mask of calm curiosity, it seemed as if 456 wasn’t going to grace him with an answer, looking away until his friend turned to him accusing him of betting it away. That seemed to make him rise to the conversation, head turning back at the accusation, but he addressed the man sitting away from him instead. His voice was quieter than when he had addressed the group, but it still held that tired, gritted anger. “That money doesn’t belong to me. It’s blood money for the people who died here.”

 

As he spoke, there was that spark again, dimmed by grief and defeat, but still burning molten hot at its center. “Same goes for the money up there.”

 

In-ho took a moment to respond, parsing out his words carefully, eager to fan the flames. 

 

“You don’t have to think of it that way.” He began, watching as the man’s brows furrowed in barely-concealed frustration. The growing fight inside the man lapped off him in waves, and his aggravator could almost feel it. “It’s not like you killed those people, and saving that money won’t bring them back to life.”

 

“If you had pressed the X, everyone here would’ve made it out alive.” 456 leaned closer, using his height to his advantage, closing the distance between them, the frustration of being misunderstood at every turn bleeding out in his words. He gestured at the people in the room as he spoke, angry eyes flitting between their fellow players and the man below him. Seeing him rise to the taunt was delicious, and the other man knew exactly which wounds to dig his fingers into.

 

“You’re right. But there were 182 more people who wanted to stay-”

 

“And there were 182 people who wanted to leave.” 456 gritted out, keeping himself firmly guarded and his point unavoidable. The urge to continue to push was near-irresistible, to see how many jabs and comments it would take to push the man into dangerous territory, to see if he could bring out the version of him he saw in that rainy courtyard two years ago. The man who wrestled his childhood friend into the dirt, gritted teeth and a bloody suit, days of built up resentment bare for the hungry audience to watch from above. But now was not the time, and it would not serve him to get off on the wrong foot if he was going to get information from the man. He took a moment, maintaining his eye contact as the man above him began to retreat slightly in his expression as if already regretting his own anger.

 

“Let’s say…  I pressed X and we all left. Would everyone be happy?” He didn’t answer his own question. Another secret they both knew. He doubted 456 would happily tell the crowds that this was actually his third time coming into the games, how he kept running back to this room like a kicked dog, as if things would somehow change next time. How his expression betrayed his own hatred for that childlike optimism. ”Do you think if they ran into me later, they’d thank me?”

 

The other man’s eyes seemed to soften slightly at the honesty, mouth moving as if to form words his voice refused to speak. His friend was quick to diffuse, speaking quickly and urging them to move on, spitting out rallying words of comfort. 456 seemed to somewhat relax at the topic change, but paid no mind to the words being spoken, even as the silent observer behind them joined in, taking the chance to introduce himself. The conversation was of no interest to the first and last player, even as he peacocked around with 390, showing off military tattoos and rattling off meaningless phrases. 

 

If anything, 456 seemed resigned to his friend’s behaviour. They were very familiar, In-ho could tell that at least, and had known each other for years according to their file. They seemed to put the other at ease, perhaps to their detriment. It was easy to see the softer, more naive man that 456 had been when he entered these halls for the first time, when he quirked a brow at his friend’s unashamed cheering and laughing. If he noticed how closely the other man watched him, he ignored it, instead looking anywhere but his direction. 

 

Their moment of relative peace was broken by a pained yell from the center of the room, 456’s instincts immediately jarring at the sound. The crowd watched wordlessly as three players wrestled on the floor for a moment, a blur of numbers until two clear aggressors emerged, holding the other player down so one of them could beat him. He recognised the three of them, two apparent “gangsters” and one of them a wanted man for fraud, unsurprised that a fight had broken out so quickly. If he had been watching from his usual position, he would have been glad for the activity. Fights between the players always heightened the tension.

 

Now, though, he was part of the group. Players lingered on the sidelines, wincing when blows landed and the victim fell to the floor, visibly wanting to help but second guessing themselves. It was a fascinating quirk of human behaviour- if all those who wanted to help actually did something, they would far outnumber the aggressors, and yet they all sat on the sidelines, gawking and signalling at guards who clearly did not care.

 

Beside him, the man he had been observing sat still. To the average eye, he was watching the brawl with detached apathy. But In-ho could see it, the gentle concern and disdain for the violence in his eyes, the wringing of his hands as the victim was held down, kicked and spat at. The reaction made sense, considering what he knew about the man’s history. Seeing someone beaten for their debts and no-one being willing to help still seemed to strike a nerve even after all he had seen.

 

Just as the two men in front of them, apparently proud enough of their military careers to pat each other on the back about it but not enough to get involved in a fight, commented uselessly on the lack of help, In-ho heaved to his feet. The man beside him reacted immediately to his movement, but he didn’t spare a glance, mentally filing away the man’s sensitivity for later consideration, and pushed his way through the crowd. Eyes watched him from the bunks, some relieved and some amused, as he called towards the pair still trying to beat an already fallen man. “Boys, what are you doing in the middle of mealtime? And two on one, aren’t you embarrassed ?”

 

He intentionally took a condescending tone, knowing they would rise to it. His prediction was affirmed when the purple haired one stood, rounding on him quickly. He was arrogant, clearly brimming with unearned confidence and far too much ego, tone dripping with sarcasm as he waved his hand in the other man’s face. In-ho steeled his expression, refusing to let anything slip.

 

“What did you just say?”

 

“I said save the lecture,” The boy sneered, face red and bloody from his schoolyard fight. He leaned in close, mocking and annoyingly confident. “-for your own. Damn. Kid .”

 

He had barely finished his sentence before the other man’s hand snapped out, quick as a viper, grabbing him roughly by the jugular. The response was immediate, desperately trying to yank him off, but he wrenched him to the side by his neck, refusing to back down and holding eye contact as he dug fingernails into the skin of the other’s throat. From his peripheral, he saw the boy’s henchman running at him, swearing as he prepared to grab, but a well placed kick to the shin made easy enough work of him. He could feel the panicked blood thudding through the boy’s veins, and his brain urged to crush down on his windpipe, feel the strangled air struggle to push free of his grasp. Instead, he shoved him away harshly.

 

The kid reeled back, taking a second to get his footing before swinging back, the crowd gasping almost comically as the older man saw the obvious gap in his guard, swiftly hitting him in the chest and leg. He would admit, the boy had energy, but he was directionless, flailing and wheezing as the wind was knocked out of him, hand raised in surrender. The man simply grabbed his outstretched fingers, putting pressure on his wrist and turning him, slamming his head into the cold floor and kneeling down, calm and cold. His expression was detached and inhuman, his hand returning to the now reddened flesh of the other’s throat. 

 

To his credit, his submission was immediate, apologies spilling out of him as he avoided looking into his eyes. In-ho’s stare was dead-eyed, dark and empty like a shark smelling blood in the water, taking a moment to feel the thrashing of the body beneath him, lip curling in a hidden snarl as he allowed himself to tighten his grip only for a second. Real, delicious fear flashed in the eyes of his prey, all airs of confidence shattered, and he knew that he could end it all right here so easily. But he acquiesced, loosening his grip and watching as life flooded back into the body under him, choking and heaving in the oxygen his brain was deprived of. 

 

A job well done, In-ho stood, caught slightly off guard by the sudden eruption of cheers around him as the room broke out into awed applause. It was unexpected but not… entirely unpleasant, and he offered a short bow to those around him, fixing his hair in slight embarrassment as the applause drew on. He had expected that the room would be glad someone had stepped in, but this felt somewhat excessive.

 

As he avoided making eye contact, attempting an easy-going but humble expression, he looked back over at where he had stood before. The two marines, useless as they had been at the first sign of conflict, clapped proudly as they grinned at him, but they didn’t draw his attention. Behind them, 456 stood, eyes fixed directly on him. His expression was half-approving, but it was almost lost in the deep furrow of his eyebrows. He was watching him, trying to read something from him, attention entirely on just him for the first time. Monitoring him almost as closely as he was being monitored just minutes previously. Almost instinctively, the other man wanted to reach for the mask that was no longer in his pocket, to avoid the burn of his stare. 

 

When In-ho met his gaze, he looked down as if he had never been staring to begin with, instead sitting back down and finally opening his abandoned dosirak.

 

After a second, 001 noticed that the crowd was still cheering, but his ears had grown numb to it. All he could hear for that brief moment was his own blood in his ears, thick and fast as it thrummed through his veins, animal and wild, the anticipation of a predator beginning its chase.

Notes:

hello! thank you so much for reading, i appreciate it! this was mostly just a little thing i was working on while rewatching s2, but i will most likely be writing multiple chapters if people enjoy it :) happy new years eve eve!

Chapter 2: antipasti

Summary:

rushing through my veins
burning up my skin
i will survive, live and thrive
win this deadly game

Despite the guards calling for lights out hours before, the densely populated room was still well lit enough to traverse, a golden halo of light illuminating In-ho’s way as he quietly stalked across the room. The light came from above, the glass dome holding the sum total of their fallen peers’ lives, its glow a constant reminder even as most of the players dropped into dreamless sleep. 

 

Most, not all. And in particular, not the man In-ho was making a beeline for. 456 sat on his bunk, posture stiff and alert as ever even as his head dipped. He wasn’t sleeping though, eyes merely fixed on the thin fabric covering his dense mattress, deep in thought again. In-ho paused for a moment, mere feet from the bunk but still unnoticed, to observe him.

 

It was the same man that had entered and left these same halls years before, without a doubt. Those same eyes, the same scar on his right cheek from the glass bridge, the same infuriating optimism. But he had changed, in more ways than In-ho expected. It made sense, people were not time capsules. Naturally the man would be different, and yet somehow he had half-expected that same man with that same dopey, unaware grin to return. Not that he was complaining.

 

This man had shed that easy smile like a second skin, replaced by an uneasy frown and tired eyes. He was closer to snapping every second, more commanding, more resigned to the fate he knew would come to a majority of the people sleeping peacefully around him. But despite that unavoidable reality, he hadn’t lost his heart. In-ho could feel it even from over here, the worry, the pacing of his mind as he fretted over the next morning’s activities. Raw and animal and weak, with too much concern for the inevitable, and too much hope for the impossible.

 

It was rare to see faith so unshaken in a place like this. He wanted to understand it, to reach into the man’s brain and feel the electric impulses, dissect his fears and hopes, to know if it was just blind stupidity or if he somehow knew something. At every turn, the man was interesting, a puzzle made out of more puzzles. It was as vexing as it was fascinating.

 

It was that interest that carried his body the last few steps up to the bunk, half-startling the man out of his daydream with a greeting as soft as he could muster. 456 moved on instinct, taking a second before replying as he shuffled back slightly, but he nodded back anyways, not too distressed by the other man’s presence.

 

“If you’re still up, can we have a little talk?” In–ho schooled his tone into something as neutral and non-threatening as possible, carefully calculating how best to approach this. He needed to regain ground, sow the seeds of some kind of trust between them, something he could mangle and butcher into a shape resembling camaraderie. 

 

456 sounded almost shocked at his request, taking in his bent posture and bare expression, acquiescing with a near-silent “Sure.” after a tense second. He gestured for the man to sit, re-adjusting his posture to sit slightly closer, guarded but unafraid even after the…display of that afternoon. A good sign.

 

001 took his permission to sit, settling quietly on the metal staircase just below the other man, keeping his distance with a metal bar between them. It provided no real protection or privacy to either of them, but he supposed it might help the other feel less cornered. He assumed as casual a posture he could before he felt he was over-doing it, and prepared the words he had been rehearsing in his head. 

 

“I think I was out of line before. I’d like to apologise. I’m sorry.” He took as honest a tone as he could muster, avoiding making direct eye contact as he bowed his head lightly. His companion’s reaction was immediate, tense posture melting away as he hurried to brush off the apology, shifting closer as he returned the tentative bow. In-ho hid the slight quirk of his smile as the man tried to shift the blame onto himself instead, genuine remorse evident in his exhausted face. A puzzle made out of more puzzles. He could be so stubborn and outspoken, but the moment he risked even a slight upset to the people around him, he made himself into the scapegoat.

 

In-ho had seen it many times in his previous games, how the man’s bleeding heart dragged him into trouble time and time again and he kept listening to it anyway, but seeing it up close and intimate was a different story. How his self-imposed honor hadn’t gotten him killed yet was a miracle. Their mutual apologies seemed to shift the air, 456 now wringing his hands silently as he crossed his legs, content to face the other man, who took his opportunity to speak.

 

“My wife… is very sick.” The words came out, practiced and distant. An odd kind of grief hung in the other man’s eyes as he spoke, he didn’t even need to look up to know that. He could feel it crawling on his skin, unnecessary pity, but necessary for his plans. “She needs a liver transplant. But, when she was going through the tests, we found out she was pregnant.”

 

In theory, it was an easy enough story to lay out. The most believable lies have to start in truth at the very core. It was a simple sleight of hand, distract the subject with a pretty story to hide the real game being played. The words bloomed from him easily, none of it was new or revolutionary, a thousand identical tales echoed in the walls of this room, unfair acts of god and poorly made choices stretching into infinity. Even as the sounds began to stick in his throat like shards of glass, came out uneven and bare, he told himself it was all a part of the mask. It was worth it, ripping open his stitches like this. To become the man he was, he needed to bury these ghosts in the past where they belonged, but right now he needed those wounds to bleed. Strength and grit alone wouldn’t serve him here, not in the eyes of the man in front of him. Tactical weakness, he told himself as he recounted a lifetime of mistakes and deeds done in the name of a love that was lost anyway. Simply baring his throat to show he meant no harm.

 

He kept his eyes trained forwards as he spoke, letting his voice drop as grave and rough as it would go. He felt the gaze burning into the side of his face but he refused to meet it, letting the other man observe him freely, unwilling to risk damaging the frail olive branch he had managed to offer, not until he finished his story.

 

“These games… they were my last hope.” He near-whispered out, letting the desperation and grief of the man he killed long ago wash over him. It was almost nostalgic, that feeling of hope, even if he knew it would need to be surrendered in the long run. In a small way, he felt closer to understanding the unwilling victor next to him. As the man looked down, he finally let himself turn to see him.

 

“I get it.” He continued, his voice an attempt at comfort. Eyes met his own, pools of dark brown bleeding with pity and secondhand grief, apologies and understanding overwhelming in their sickening sincerity. “I know what you were trying to say, Mr 456. What that money represents.”

 

The man in question nodded numbly, hanging onto every gentle word. 

 

“But I… I really need that money,” In-ho looked up, face basking in the glow of the money-bank in the air, the ghost of the man he used to be slipping into his speech. “Even if it’s blood money. I need it-”

 

His lip trembled. He let it happen, drawing in a shaky breath. 

 

“...to save my wife and our child.” 

 

There was only silence between them for a beat. The man next to him watched in respectful silence, his own mouth threatening to shake, hands unconsciously wringing once more. It was clear the words were sinking in, the act was successful. He needed this, to understand the perspective of the others in the room, why his feeble attempt at rallying a vote would never work. But he didn’t agree, didn’t comfort him with words or try to argue back. He simply sat, silent and still, as In-ho pulled back the layers of grief he had dressed himself in, wiped his eyes lightly and re-trained his expression. It would have been awkward if not for the sincerity of it, the careful way in which In-ho felt himself being studied, the respect he managed to weave into a simple expression.

 

They stayed that way, the silence heavy with meaning but somewhat comfortable, until there was a slight shift of cheap bed covers behind him. He expected 456 to stand and join him on the step, or to otherwise move himself into a more comfortable position in order to sleep, but he was grossly unprepared for the unsure hand that came to rest on his shoulder, tentative fingers brushing over thick fabric. He froze as it came into contact, instinctively assessing the threat in his peripheral, but he knew there was none, even as 456’s hand came to rest directly over the scar of a bullet wound that never healed quite right. The hand was still for a second, before offering a gentle squeeze, firm enough that he could almost detect the warmth of the fingertips before it wordlessly retreated.

 

In his head, he tried to celebrate the job well done, the steps towards trust he knew he had taken. He was correct in his analysis as always, and the man next to him fawned so easily in his palm, his guard immediately melting away when he believed he was the one in control. That hero complex of his was a nasty piece of work, but it would work in In-ho’s favour.

 

In his chest, a muscle half-dead and atrophied from lack of care seemed to stir back to life, weakly purring in sick satisfaction. 

 

+X+X+X+

 

Gi-hun rarely dreamed, even before all of this. The few times he did slip away into some other place in his mind, he would wake with terrible memories and a watery face, ever since he was a kid. Sometimes his mother or his friends would tease, poke fun at him to try to lighten his mood, but he never felt quite at ease after a nightmare.

 

It was no different here. If anything, it was worse, the exhaustion and unthinkable things he had to witness stirring his imagination into a frenzy, his mind unable to settle or cling to safety. Tonight, however, was a new one.

 

He didn’t quite remember how he got here, standing in the mockery of a playground he remembered from his last game, lining up for his dalgona. He was first in line, naturally, but he quickly noticed that every player had lined up directly behind him, one by one demonstrating their faith in him. Some part of it was affirming, they trusted him, he had managed to get them all on one side, maybe this meant he could get them all to vote the same? But the longer the seconds drew on, the more uneasy he grew, the more the anxiety deep in his stomach sickened him. If he got this wrong, if he made the wrong call, it was his fault. He would be to blame and they would be right to do it.

 

Behind him, he felt a presence. The person queued behind him, the first one to trust his judgement. At first he had assumed it was Jung-bae, but he wasn’t ever this quiet, didn’t stand this close, the lack of distance between the two making his head spin. He couldn’t place his finger on the identity of the person until they leaned in close, mouth next to his ear, silently watching him until-

 

“So, the triangle is the easiest one?” 001. He nodded back at the man, stepping forward to collect his dalgona tin, ignoring the eyes on his back. He was sure it was unintentional, but the man had this way of staring, his eyes transfixed and amused as he watched him, like everything was some inside joke only he understood. It was strange, feeling so seen and watched by a total stranger. He grabbed his tin, turning to the queue to demonstrate it, twisting off the lid with a smooth movement. 

 

What was inside was not a triangle. Or rather, it was many triangles. Far too many triangles, actually, formed into a near-impossible pattern.

 

His heart stopped as he looked down, dumbfounded, his ears half-numb to the eruption of shouting in front of him, shellshocked as if an explosive had just gone off in his eardrum. This was wrong, it was all wrong, he’d messed it up and everyone was going to suffer the consequences, and god he was stupid to think he could change anything!

 

“What the hell is that? This guy is going to get us all killed!”

 

Why did he even bother coming back? What power did he think he had to fight back against any of this just because he scraped his way through last time by the skin of his teeth? 

 

“What are you going to do, take responsibility for this?”

 

And what would he do now? He couldn’t even arrange a winning vote, his attempt to rally and help people had only spurred them on in their greed, his mere presence was going to drive people to their graves and he can’t do anything about it-

 

“You said you won it! Do something! Take responsibility for this!”

 

He was naive and he was stupid and he was useless and god - the anger of the crowd was blistering, thrown at him like acid and he deserved it, even Jung-bae wouldn’t help him, and through it all 001 fought to hold his gaze. He felt trapped, dead staring eyes devouring him, neither helping or yelling, an observer among it all and Gi-hun couldn’t breathe, and the screaming won’t stop and-

 

Take responsibility!

 

He startled himself awake with the sound of his own gasp, his heart racing almost dangerously in his chest, thrashing against his cotton sheets. It took him time to get his bearings, to recognise his surroundings and the morning music playing. Right, he told himself, they hadn’t done the second challenge yet. He hadn’t fucked it all up. Yet.

 

He sat up in his bed as fast as his shallow breath would allow, a sheen of sweat glazing his forehead from his exertion. Just a nightmare, he was used to those. 

 

As he stood, shaking off the tension in his body and getting ready for that day’s challenge, he found himself unable to drive the image of that stare out of his mind, nor the hunger he swore he could see deep in his mental projection of 001’s gaze.

 

+X+X+X+

 

“Is… is dalgona a team game?”

 

As entertaining as it had been watching 456 and his red voting peers lose all their futile hope and ill-placed optimism at the last vote, it didn’t compare to the moment the players in front of 001 entered the game room for the day, poised and certain that they were in control only to have it snatched away. It was clear from the second they all entered the room, players nervously milling about, looking in the crowd to catch a glimpse of the man who had promised them he knew what he was doing, that he could protect them-

 

And that man looked exactly as dumbfounded and terrified as they did, the weak sense of stability he had cobbled together for himself falling out from beneath him like a house of cards. It was delicious . In-ho could see it in his expression, how he was scrambling for hope or information to cling onto, some kind of comfort to provide, but his mind was clearly racing too fast to catch up. The man looked haunted, as if he knew something like this was coming, and had been avoiding that knowledge until it was undeniable. And now it was staring him in the face. You have no clue what you’ve gotten yourself into.

 

The energy in the room turned quickly at the scent of blood in the water, players gathering around, surrounding player 456. It was all just herd instinct, behaviour barely above that of cattle, but it was enough to pile on the pressure.

 

“Are we not playing the dalgona game?”

 

“No…It doesn’t look like it-”

 

“What’s the game then?” Player 100 was sharp, clearly, despite being an older man. He clearly fancied himself some kind of leader, already having a group of younger men following him around like children, trying their best to cling to their weak displays of masculinity and strength. Now, as their leader strategically rounded on 456, prodding at the weak spot he’d uncovered, they fixed the man with glares and mocking expressions. So eager to impress, to stand out from the herd, all for the approval of a weakling only using them to ensure he won enough to pay off his massive debts. In-ho fought the urge to scoff. 

 

But 456 didn’t respond to the mocking, or the harsh tone of the older man, at least not how they were expecting. He didn’t rise to it, he seemed too unsettled to even process what they were really saying, instead looking at the floor and offering broken apologies. Despite it all, the old man clearly saw his opening to cut down the threat he saw to his own leadership, doubling down on the blame the man was so willing to accept, demanding an answer from him. And as interesting as it was for In-ho to watch it play out, Gi-hun seemed to stare between him and 390 as if their silent observance was confirming something to him, and he just kept apologising as the man got more violent, and suddenly he had an opening.

 

“Sorry won’t cut it! Will you take responsibility?! ”

 

100’s next screamed demand died in his throat when his eyes picked up on In-ho’s movement, stepping easily between the two men. The whole room seemed to fall silent with him, watching the tension of the moment, the barely-concealed hatred in 001’s eyes as he savoured the moment, the confusion and flicker of fear in the eyes he was glaring into. Despite all his barking, the man was a coward, In-ho knew that. Just an old man grasping onto control where he had none, and the blind fools that followed him in hopes of getting his scraps. Behind him, Gi-hun caught his breath, watching the interaction between the two.

 

As satisfying as it would have been to put real fear into the man, to teach him to hold his tongue when speaking to a past winner who far surpassed his own feeble abilities, 001 settled for a growled out warning, the bite of it satisfying whatever dark thing snarled in his chest to just snap the man’s neck in front of Gi-hun.

 

“That’s enough .”

 

The old man barely offered an argument in response, taking a step back as if on instinct, suddenly realising his position and backing off before he did more damage to his standing with his fellow players, muttering obscenities at Gi-hun as his little gang pushed through the observing crowd. Not that the man seemed to notice however, his attention focused on the dirt floor of the room, expression dripping guilt. In the wake of the tension, it seemed that none of their little group knew what to say to quell the storm racing behind the man’s eyes, until he turned to In-ho, barely meeting his eyes in shame.

 

“I’m… so sorry.” His voice was grave, heavy with the weight of anticipation, as if the three remaining men were just waiting for the right moment to turn and leave. He really was an interesting little thing. Building himself up, convincing himself that he could be the hero, only to crumble under his self-imposed pressure, a raw, bloody mess. It was almost beautiful, the way he shattered. The way he threw himself at In-ho’s feet for mercy.

 

“I still trust you.” He left no room in his tone for questioning or uncertainty, affirming it with a small nod when Gi-hun’s eyes flicked back up to him, disbelief and emotion flooding his expression, the crease of his eyebrows deepening. He didn’t reply, words seeming too far away, so the other man cast his bait.

 

“I’d like to play the game with you, if that’s okay?” In-ho softened his tone, taking a half-step in the man’s direction. He didn’t back away, seeming almost comforted by the gesture, an affirmation that the other man really wasn’t angry with him, and still wanted to work with him. Gi-hun didn't respond, but he didn’t entirely have to, eyes flitting between In-ho’s eyes and mouth as if trying to detect his honesty. Beside them, 390 and 388 were already planning, not even entertaining the idea of leaving him behind. Within seconds they were a team, no pushing or demanding required, just blind trust. It felt almost too easy, the four slipping into roles and conversation like they had always worked together.

 

In-ho spoke only to confirm that they needed to find another player, their youngest member rushing off in response to fulfill the request, but he could feel Gi-hun’s gaze on him. It wasn’t oppressive by any means, and he let the man watch him in peace. He was clearly in no mood for speaking, but whatever had gripped him earlier was clearly on the decline. It was a delicate dance, trying to keep the man on his tightrope without tumbling too far off either side, ensuring the perfect conditions for his necessary growth. Eventually, he would see the world the way In-ho did. But for now, he was of no use if he wallowed in self-pity and useless guilt. 

 

Neither of them spoke beyond simple affirmations as they selected their final member, a young-looking girl who happened to be pregnant. Initially, they had their pick of another marine, a tall man who would have proved useful in any physical challenge and likely would have been compatible with the other marines on the team. Despite that, a single look at Gi-hun’s expression after the girl revealed her situation made it clear that he was not going to allow her to wander the room any further in her condition without protection, and so the final choice was made. He had looked to In-ho for support in the decision, who had offered a brief smile in return. It felt like what 001, whoever that really was, should do, take mercy on this poor woman, accept the handicap in their overall team abilities in order to help. 

 

Now, as they sat, he found himself willingly fading into the background of the conversation again, watching the team bicker and organise which games they would each play. No-one seemed to particularly mind, until he felt movement beside him and a warm body lean into his personal space, a familiar voice already speaking to him conspiratorially. 

 

“That leaves jegi and spinning top, which are you good at?” Gi-hun spoke softly, the first to bring him into the conversation. His mood seemed far improved, and he gestured gently towards the other man to get his attention, staring at him with genuine curiosity.

 

In reality, it didn’t matter which he picked. He was competent at all of the games for the sake of his own survival, and he didn’t have a preference. Rather than picking one arbitrarily, and considering the lack of control the man asking him was still reeling from, he decided to use what he had learned the previous night.

 

“Well… I’ll play what you pick for me, Gi-hun.” It was low-stakes, for him at least, but he hoped his intentions as a display of trust came across. He had to rely on what he knew about the man’s burning need to be a hero for his team, someone they could trust. If others didn’t trust him, all that confidence and optimism just seemed to crumble, and they needed to be a functioning team for this game. 

 

The reaction was more than In-ho had hoped, worryingly so. The man seemed to startle, not quite retreating from his closeness, but his eyes flicked between the other man’s, looking for some secret tucked away in there before he spoke barely above a whisper. “You know my name?”

 

In-ho was dangerously close to kicking himself right there in the yard in front of everyone. Such an arbitrary, stupid mistake, and he’d potentially jeopardised all the progress made today. This is why he stayed in the control room . He recovered fast, expression dropping for barely a second before he was rattling off a simple explanation, his mouth covering for him while his brain caught up. Thank god it was believable, an easy mistake anyone could make, but he had no room for mistakes. Not this time.

 

When had he started using the man’s name in his head instead of his number? That was his identity here, those three digits, he had even saved it for him when he returned. When had he unconsciously decided to ignore his own rules?

 

“-I heard your friend call you by that name, so I thought I’d try it” He smiled as he spoke, and his other teammates returned it with a nod, accepting the explanation with ease, but as he turned to the man he was really trying to convince, he faltered. The man’s expression was unchanged, his face almost in shock, and In-ho instinctively reminded himself that he was the one in control here, he didn’t need to worry about the whims of the animals in here. If it all went up in flames, he had his own way out. “...Does it bother you?”

 

Whatever was in his tone of voice seemed to shake the other man out of it, prompting a nod out of him and surprisingly, a small chuckle as he replied, eyes breaking away from his previous steeled gaze. 

 

“No, it’s fine.” The words came out soft, quiet enough that In-ho wasn’t sure the other teammates could even hear it. He didn’t particularly care. Gi-hun looked at his mouth, at the small smile that had formed there without his permission, before meeting his gaze again, eyes clearly affirming In-ho’s earlier words. I trust you.

 

Relief flooded over him at the cooling of the tension between them. It felt like the thrill of the chase, anticipation at being caught only to escape at the last second, like ecstasy. He barely paid attention to the rest of the conversation as they decided their games, insisting Gi-hun picked his own, and happily accepting what was left for him. 390 declared their group finished, and insisted they all reach in for a group hand touch, all their teammates shuffling close together to reach out for each other. 

 

Next to him, Gi-hun’s thigh rested next to his own, their hands brushing each other as he followed the taller man’s lead, letting him rest his larger hand on top. That awful thing in his chest sang at the warmth, pulsing with an urge he couldn’t quite place but that made him think of Gi-hun’s face, stained with innocent blood all the same. He wanted to dig his nails into that skin, leave a mark. 

 

As the group recited an old military phrase together and released their hands, In-ho was far away, pushing that terrible thing far, far down, deep enough to asphyxiate it if he had to.

Notes:

hello! thank you so so much to everyone who has read and commented on chapter one! i was not expecting so much support and it encouraged me to make this a multichapter fic, so thank you! this fic will be 10 chapters, taking place all throughout s2, and updates will be released every day or every other day :) enjoy!

Chapter 3: primi

Summary:

don't give it a hand
offer it a soul
honey, make this easy

For a second, sitting in neat lines alongside fellow players, quietly urging the two teams currently racing to play faster, you could almost forget what was at stake. It felt strange, having an audience, teams competing one by one rather than the whole group scattered in a mad dash to complete whatever the game was. If you ignored the anxious darting of the players’ eyes as they struggled to accurately hit the small stone they were aiming for, or the triangle guards adjusting their heavy guns, it was almost like being back on the playground.

 

But of course, those things were hard to ignore, even if you weren’t in any danger, In-ho mused silently to himself. It felt like a practice in futility, as immersed as he tried to force himself to be, knowing that if it all came down to it he would be the sole survivor. Anything to protect the Frontman, his guards knew to live by that principle, even if it meant terminating this run of the games and by extension, its players. Even so, he tried.

 

The first two teams were struggling, to say the least. The air of confidence after their first easy win had dissipated quickly, now replaced by nervous winces and quiet curses from the crowd watching as player 198 overshot his throw, sending his stone tumbling and his team preparing to retrieve it in a flurry. In the mindset of a real player, that kind of information would be crucial, to take advantage of all the information they had and apply it to their turn.

 

“A miss in flying stone will eat up a lot of time.” He half-turned behind him to speak lowly to 390, who had clearly noticed the same thing. Regardless, In-ho held his eye, attempting to convey his seriousness, oddly prideful when the other man seemed to take it as a warning. He swallowed thickly, averting his eyes as In-ho turned back to the front, still feeling the tenseness of the man behind. Let him take it as a warning, if he wanted to. It could only work in his favour.

 

It was almost painful, watching the first two groups make their way around the circle, one clearly outperforming the other but neither working quite fast enough. Their members were uneasy, the unsteady flow of their teamwork knocking them all off balance. In their defence, that was the point of the game, to expose how incapable the players really were of working together, even with lives on the line. Even so, there was a swell of tentative excitement in the room as one group neared the final challenges, something too fragile to call hope.

 

As their little group turned to watch one of the teams scramble to pick up their lost spinning top, In-ho felt 390 tilt his head to look back at him, his stare defensive and full of snark.

 

“With the spinning top, it’ll take even longer if you mess up.” He stared for another second before turning back to the front, continuing to watch the group struggling to get back in position, leaving In-ho to glare at the back of his head.

 

It was laughable, really. This worm had no room to judge him, when he still clung to his ex-Marine status like his half-blown tattoo somehow proved he was a man under all that insecurity. He shouldn’t let that moron rile him up.

 

But as he looked the man up and down, letting his twitching fingers imagine the sensation of crushing his windpipe and finally shutting him up before his brain thought better of it, he came up with a far more interesting idea.

 

A sharp gasp to his left broke him out of his thoughts, a female player slapping her hand over her mouth before thinking better of it, closing both hands over her eyes instead. More followed as the temperature in the room seemed to drop impossibly, cold and still as the timer ticked into its last five seconds.

 

The only noise breaking the silence was the competing players, five voices growing in pitch and volume as the triangle guards approached them with slow precision, deadly vipers in perfect marching step.

 

00:00

 

“Your time is up!”

 

Around them, players ducked low in anticipation of the carnage to come, eyes fixed on slowly raising guns in perfect synchronicity, unable to look away. Screams erupted from the crowd at the first shots, the sound sharp and painful in the enclosed space, seeming to come from all directions as the bullets made sickening contact with tender skin.

 

The eliminated players tumbled to the floor like lifeless dolls, syrupy red seeping out across the rainbow track. Players scrambled away from the edges of the track, ducking and covering themselves until the gunfire was over, huddling with their teams for comfort. In-ho felt his own survival instinct, as muffled and far-away as it seemed within his steeled heart, scream at him to follow suit, bending his knees to squat within the safety of the bodies caged around him. Beside him, 390 was wiping nervous sweat from his brow as he stared down at the floor. The younger marine seemed like his nerves were on a knife’s edge, fingers pressed into his ears as his eyes flitted between the bodies and the guards, his mind somewhere else entirely. He ignored them both, offering no comfort.

 

Instead, his sensitive ears were trained on the soft, weak sounds coming from behind him. He could imagine the position of Gi-hun, crouched on his knees, breath coming in trembled whimpers. He was shaking, audibly so, reeling from the adrenaline and fear. If In-ho focused, made himself numb to the sounds of the crowd, he could almost feel that guilty, terrified breath warm against the back of his neck. The thought made the hair that grew there stand on end, like a dog raising its head to meet the hand of its owner. He didn’t turn to confirm his suspicions, simply enjoying the mental image and silently considering the question he had wanted to ask the man since they met, since he came back, since he tried so hard and failed even harder to protect his fellow players. Do you see? Do you see it now?

 

+X+X+X+

 

The next team to stand and play did so with an air of dread. The bodies of the eliminated had been cleared away, hauled out in boxes like they were merely cargo, but the bloodstains remained, bright red pools that stood out against the colourful room like gaping wounds. The crowd was silent as the countdown started once again and two teams set off, visibly resigned to the massacre they were going to be forced to see again and again, unsurprised as the first team reached the Ddakji and failed to flip it.

 

That was until one of the players - 120, an ex-military if In-ho remembered correctly - turned to quietly speak to his team, spurring them on somehow. The next time the Ddakji was thrown, it was a success, the team gripping each other and gasping in relief. Members of the audience who had previously been looking away in anticipation began raising their heads, watching the group’s synchronised march to the next challenge, a perfectly united front. 

 

The next challenge was the same, a young man initially missing his stone throw, cursing at himself as it skidded past the target. Some members of the crowd exhaled in predictable disappointment, but the leader of the team seemed unphased, simply gathering the team’s wits and leading them to pick it up. On the way back, they walked backwards, acting on the mistakes of the last team. The solution was so easy, so human of them, that it almost made In-ho crack a smile.

 

“We could save a lot of time walking backwards like that.” He spoke quietly again to the man behind him, but to his surprise, 390 didn’t seem off-put by his advice this time. Instead, the man’s eyes were watching the team in quiet excitement, leaning back in to speak to 001 just as gently.

 

“They’re… actually faster going backwards.” He was in agreement, and even Gi-hun seemed to nod slightly at the exchange. Something seemed to shift, not just in their little team, but in the crowd as player 007 was successful in his second throw. Cheers began to ring through the air, teams climbing to their feet to show their support, the neat lines between groups blurring as people gathered close. And just as united as they had begun to loudly cheer them on, the crowd quieted as an older woman settled on her knees to play the third challenge.

 

Through it all, even as their team gathered closer and began whispering in excitement, Gi-hun remained motionless as he watched the timer, his eyes untrusting and tired.

 

In any other challenge, he had been the one source of optimism. He was the one leading the players through Red Light Green Light, unafraid and uncaring as he screamed for the crowd to listen, to trust him, to have faith. In any situation, he carried that torch with him, that belief that there was a way out, a way to protect everyone, even as he lost every single person he promised to look after. Whether it was a warehouse strike or a death game, his urge to help outweighed any self-desire, his stubbornness unmatched against any threat, even as his life fell apart in the process. Returning to these games with any hope of ending them was a suicide mission, he knew that, and yet here he was. 

 

Always the gambler, graduating from betting on horses to betting on his own life, forgetting that the house always wins in the end.

 

In some ways, In-ho saw a ghost in the smile lines of his face, the softness of his eyes. Reckless determination, unshakable will. Even when the price was death, a mind that he could never convince to change, no matter how hard he had tried, bargained, begged.

 

Only now, there was the beginnings of a realisation in those eyes. A knowledge only capable of being understood by someone like him, someone like them . Forbidden fruit only blooming from a mind drenched in red. The seed of a transformation.

 

Even as the old woman passed her trial, clutching her son in unabashed joy, he kept his eyes averted, knowing, waiting for the inevitable. Something within In-ho sang at the sight of it, his numbness, his acceptance.

 

It was predictable, when the crowd’s will began to break, the female player assigned the spinning top failing again and again to wrap it. She was going too fast, In-ho could see even from where he was crouched, her hand movements jerky and imprecise, unravelling the rope again and again as her nerves overwhelmed her, muttering something repeatedly in her panic. Her team tried to help to no success, members of the crowd whispering in frustration as he refused any advice, working herself into a fluster before stopping dead in her tracks. She was still apart from her trembling hands as she muttered again, a sentence that grew louder with each word, her voice nearly a yell as it became audible to the room, we’re all going to die here–

 

The crowd gasped and exclaimed as player 120 slapped her harshly across the face, barely giving her a second to recover before backhanding her again, grabbing the spinning top from the floor and holding its pointed tip like a weapon. Her words were deadly in their tone, the room silent enough for them to echo through it. If you give up, I’ll kill you before your gods do.

 

Thick blood poured down the woman’s face, spilling from her nose as her face reddened from the hit. She trembled in her teammate’s grip, and In-ho waited for the second she would reel back and hit the woman in return, a team once united now reduced to a brawl as the tension boiled over. It was inevitable, the weight of her failure, the lives and money and blood at stake. 

 

And yet, she nodded furiously, smearing the blood off her face before taking back the spinning top. 

 

Her team handed her the rope, gathering slightly around her as she wound it again, focused and slow this time despite the weight of the timer ticking down. Around them, other players began to watch again, willing her to keep going, to succeed, to win.  

 

It was… strange. Everyone in the room knew the rules by now. More corpses meant more money, less competition, a better chance at success. The game relied on the failure of your peers, and yet, there was a growing energy in the room. Small at first, too fragile and weak to cling onto, but it grew with every determined wind of the spinning top. Deep inhales of anticipation, hands gripping at shoulders and arms, quiet whispers of support and reassurance. Red and blue patches long forgotten. 

 

Hope, it was hope that bloomed among them. 

 

The female player threw the top, pulling back the rope in one smooth movement as it hit the floor, wavering for a second before setting into a tight spin. The roar from the crowd was near-deafening, screams and cheers coming from every direction, louder than the gunfire had been. It was sweltering, the heat and noise as players scrambled to their feet, joining in the steady chant, one, two, one, two , perfect unison. As if there weren't any teams at all, no divisions, no sides. Just one group, three hundred hearts hoping for the same thing.

 

In-ho found himself rising to his feet. After all, it was what 001 would do, he didn’t want to stand out. But he couldn’t deny the electricity that thrummed through him at the sounds of the people, the shared looks of anxious enthusiasm, the desire to win together rushing through all of them. A crowd of individuals bleeding into each other like watercolours, not because of the loss of their own identities, but the forming of a new one.

 

Despite himself, it was In-ho, not 001, that stood to his feet and began chanting alongside his peers, only spurred on further in his excitement by the sensation of Gi-hun standing behind him. It was In-ho that turned to look at the man, seeing the tentative spark in his eyes, the hope that had returned. But as much as he knew better, knew that this moment was finite, meaningless in the bigger picture, In-ho found that he didn’t care. 

 

Gi-hun stared, eyes wider and brighter than they had been in years, as the team met their final challenge. He didn’t spare the other man a glance, too invested in the sight, mouth trembling as if trying to form soft words he didn’t dare speak into existence. His face seemed younger, somehow, the years of exhaustion and hopelessness melting away. 120 made them all turn away for the Jegi kick, but In-ho hadn’t been looking at the team in a long while anyway.

 

In the long term, this was a setback, he knew that. But knowledge didn’t seem to serve him in this moment as well as it always had, taking a backseat to the feeling of his nerves on fire as Gi-hun inched closer, knocking shoulders with him as they heard the Jegi connect twice, three times, four-

 

The crowd held a collective breath, and In-ho felt his lungs follow the command, inhaling in unison with the room. A fifth sound, and then…

 

“Pass!”

 

The reaction was immediate, before the pre-recorded sound had even finished speaking, shrieks and applause ringing out in all directions before flowing back into the united march, barely taking the time to celebrate before spurring the winning teams back on. People were clinging onto each other, regardless of number or team, any distinction completely unnecessary as they drowned out the competitor’s own chants in the final few seconds of the timer. Five seconds to go and they were mere steps from the finish line, from where the guards held the same ribbon they would use to adorn their coffins, this time as a mark of celebration. 

 

In-ho’s heart, hard and distant as it was, seemed to beat in time with the crowd. Next to him, 390 had his hands in his hair, tense and wild as he screamed. 388 had one fist in the air, bellowing loudly with the crowd as he used the other arm to shield 222 from the movement of the crowd, who had her hands over her mouth in joyed disbelief. Gi-hun’s posture was hunched as he leaned forwards, enraptured by the sight in front of him but he couldn’t quite bring himself to cheer, chest heaving as he silently urged the team across the finish line. 

 

Three seconds, then two, then one.

 

The pink ribbon snapped in the middle as both teams crossed their finish line, the snapping of the string opening the floodgates as encouraging cheers became desperate, exhilarated screams.

 

Gi-hun jolted, as if something inside him had snapped along with the ribbon, his yell of triumph almost guttural. He was wild in his relief, satisfaction and pride echoing around him as he punched the air, and In-ho barely recognised his arm wrapping around the man’s shoulders until it was already there, the reflexes of his body somehow disconnected from his mind. But Gi-hun didn’t shake him off, instead relaxing back into the other man’s smaller frame, letting himself be gripped and pulled as they both let off the smoke of the day’s tension and fear. In-ho looked at him, savouring the image of relief and hope, the way his smile met his eyes, the heat radiating from him.

 

Gi-hun looked back at him just as In-ho’s hand slid along the curve of his neck, his grin almost unrecognisable from the thousand yard stare he had only moments ago. His eyes were unfocused, darting across In-ho’s face as his body shook and jolted in pure joy, knocking further into In-ho as the crowd around him pushed and pulled. In the entire crowd of screams, Gi-hun’s own happiness was like a black hole, tearing In-ho’s attention away from any of the overwhelming stimuli surrounding him.

 

Behind them, for a mere second, 390 cheered with them, arms raised and smile wide, bumping into In-ho’s back as if to join their huddle. He waited for a second, poised and ready to celebrate with his friend, but neither turned around in their jubilation, attention already occupied. After a moment of consideration, he turned, instead joining the open arms of 388 and 222 as they jumped and cried out together, brushing off the uneasy feeling that rose in him at the sight of the way 001 stared at his friend.

 

+X+X+X+

 

As the games progressed, In-ho found himself unconsciously keeping track of the numbers in his head. 365 players walking into the room, 73 teams of 5, 10 bodies carried away in coffins. The numbers were easy, they didn’t lie. They didn’t know how to.

 

2 teams fail, but 5 more succeed.

 

After the initial winning teams, the room seemed to gain confidence, an understanding that they could all win if they played right, a belief that went unshattered even as more and more bullet shells hit the floor.

 

1 team wins, and another fails. 5 players walking back to their dorms, 5 bodies carried to the crematorium. 

 

In the end, significantly more teams complete the games than lose, and the goodwill of the crowd refuses to burn out even as the audience becomes sparse. In-ho’s team huddles together in the quickly emptying space, cheering equally for each team as they compete, arms locking them all together in shared excitement. They share very few words, content to communicate in looks and squeezes of their arms, other than whispered advice to each other on their individual trials. In-ho is in between Gi-hun and 388, held up on both sides, more contact than he’s been used to in a long time. It isn’t necessarily unpleasant, but any feeling of camaraderie, the safety of blending into a group, is stifled by the voice in his mind always counting the odds.

 

73 teams of 5. 21 teams in boxes with pretty pink ribbons. 105 dead with two more teams to go.

 

The room is silent when their team finally makes their way to the starting line, the only other players in the room standing mirrored on the other track. The start line is barely visible through the stains of red viscera beneath their white shoes.

 

“It’s a little sad that we have no audience, isn’t it?” 390 broke the silence, his voice clearly brimming with nerves under his slight joking tone. He jabbed 388 with his shoulder when he received no response, breaking the younger man out of his thoughts. “Hey, are you… scared?”

 

“No, Sir!” 388’s response was sharp and loud, as if his commanding officer had just called him to attention. The pitch of it made In-ho jump slightly, the boy as impassioned as he always seemed to be, but he could appreciate the enthusiasm despite their situation. “It’s quiet, and easier to focus without anyone watching!”

 

He didn’t entirely sound like he believed his own words, but he nodded to his team nonetheless. It was impressive, his dedication to optimism. Foolish and misguided, but impressive. And of course, their coming last wasn’t a coincidence. After all, if their team wasn’t able to complete the task in time, loose ends would need to be cleaned up before anyone asked why none of the guards were willing to kill player 001. Or for that matter, player 456.

 

“Guys!” 390 cheered to the team opposite, players he had never spoken to but nonetheless, felt a sense of oneness with. “We’ll see you again at the finish line! Victory at all costs!”

 

The other players responded in kind, voices overlapping as they promised they would see eachother again, cheering for each other in the absence of an audience. The behaviour was fascinating, hope and brotherhood able to grow and thrive like plants in the cracks in the concrete, how easily everyone was willing to trust in such a dangerous situation. The basest of human instinct, merely chemicals pushing them into desperately pack-bonding in the hopes they could find safety in the herd. For a regular player it was just an advantage, but In-ho could smell blood. How far could that camaraderie be pushed until it broke?

 

He offered a small wave and a nod of approval to the other team before they readied themselves to play, Gi-hun and 388 locking arms with him, holding him tight as his arms stayed at their sides. Beside him, Gi-hun had slipped back into his thoughtful silence, offering no words of support. 

 

“I believe in our team.” In-ho spoke warmly, looking at each team member before he gazed back at Gi-hun, already looking at him with that same expression. The one he wore when 001 had asked him to be his teammate even after he got the game wrong, when he stood up for him and refused to let him be berated, when he said he trusted him. Trust was a fickle thing, a myth for dogs and children, but it meant everything to the man staring into his eyes. “Plus, we have the previous winner with us.”

 

That made Gi-hun smile. A weak, small thing, but a smile nonetheless, a small show of confidence before he visibly steeled his nerves, looking forward and preparing to move. In-ho nodded back, returning his smile in kind.

 

How far? How far could he push before the facade of trust and teamwork fell to pieces?

 

The gun fired, and his team pulled him forwards.

 

Their small march to the first game went with practiced precision, moving exactly how they’d been preparing, ignoring the slick sound of their blood soaked shoes wetting the dry areas of the track. They walked together, counted together, and eventually came to a stop together at 222’s challenge, the Ddakji.

 

The circle guard at the game dropped their Ddakji on the floor, handing the other to the young girl, and standing back as she prepared to throw. She took a moment, having to rest her weight on her knee to get the right momentum, but her throw was strong and precise, hitting the red square with the force of a bullet. It flipped with ease, and the team allowed themselves a small moment of celebration, congratulating 222 before preparing to move again.

 

It was Gi-hun who gathered the group, all of them walking on his mark, his nerves visibly improving as he came back into control of the game. He seemed to thrive like this, when he felt he could influence the odds even if it was a lie, be the one who brought everyone together and protected them.

 

As they continued, In-ho couldn’t help but peek across the line at the young girl, who held her belly with a small hand as she tried to keep up with the team. She was impressively unphased by the violence and tension, seemingly tunnel-visioned on the task at hand, refusing to bring the team down. Thankfully she was well-protected, and next to her 390 held her tightly and carefully. She was a strong girl, she was going to be fine.

 

Curiosity appeased, he looked away, catching Gi-hun already looking at him. The man offered a nod of support and a small, understanding smile, a sympathy in his eyes that In-ho didn’t quite understand, nodding back anyways and continuing to walk.

 

Seconds later, they came to a stop at the next challenge, overtaking the team opposite them. 390 grabbed the stone from the pink guard, gesturing for the others to back up as he prepared to throw, describing his history of baseball pitching as he bent down to throw it underhand. 388 leaned out of the way, instead resting both arms onto In-ho’s shoulder for support, startlingly comfortable enough to rely on him to hold him up. To his credit, 390’s showing off was well-earned, hitting the target first try after a second of preparing himself, letting out a short yell of relief before pulling 388 back towards him, marching forward on Gi-hun’s command.

 

They counted in unison as they moved again, but Gi-hun’s stride was slightly larger than the rest of the group, pulling In-ho forward as his leg moved with Gi-hun’s own. The man seemed to notice after a few short seconds, slowing his pace apologetically, but In-ho refused it, squeezing his arm with his own as they approached the Gong-gi table.

 

As they squatted for the game, In-ho nearly lost his balance, leaning slightly into Gi-hun’s side to balance himself, who steadied his own body so In-ho could lean on him. Next to them, 390 squabbled with 388 as he blew on the Gong-gi stones, but In-ho didn’t listen even as he watched the table, focused on the way Gi-hun let him rest his elbow on his knee, lean further against him. He asked no questions, simply providing stability. 

 

Thankfully, before his mind could think too hard about the prospect, his attention was caught by the speed of the man playing Gong-gi beside him. The stones seemed to be in perfect control as he flipped and dropped them with absolute precision, balancing them on his knuckles easily. Any worry In-ho had about his team being unable to finish in time was gone with the wind. If anything, they were completing it too fast. There was no challenge, no risk. No fun.

 

As 388 perfectly executed his final catch, the team staring in disbelief at his skills, a half-formed idea from earlier returned to In-ho’s thoughts, mind resolute as he stood with the team and continued marching. 

 

“Damn, we might get through everything on the first attempt!” 388 spoke quickly as they reached the fourth game, In-ho taking the spinning top into his hands and beginning to wrap it, stifling a laugh at the irony.

 

It was simple, the rhythm of wrapping the rope around the grooves of the top. He wasn’t entirely sure how the shaman woman from earlier had made a mess of it so badly, the rough rope in his hands easily slotting into place. As he wrapped it, he felt his team’s hopeful eyes on him, but mostly the burn of Gi-hun’s supportive gaze. The man looked repeatedly between In-ho and his hands, his own hands fidgeting just out of view. In-ho caught his eyes when he looked up for a second, basking in the comfort and excitement, the man’s small smile spurring him on. He finished wrapping it, positioning the top in his hand and moving to throw it.

 

At the last minute, he stopped, switching the top to his non-dominant hand, content to use their extra time to test out his little theory.

 

He threw it, feigning effort and accuracy, with a small yell, watching in faux-shock as the top spun once uselessly before coming to a dead halt. For a second, the wind seemed to leave the team’s sails all at once, all five simply staring in disappointment before Gi-hun demanded their attention, rallying them to retrieve the top. “It’s okay, we have time.”

As they marched forwards to receive the top, he sent a small look to In-ho, one of encouragement, no anger or blame present. 390 and 388 filled the conversation between them, assuring each other it was no fun passing everything on the first try, that you needed failure to grow, but it was clearly for the benefit of In-ho overhearing. 

 

It was funny, in a way he couldn’t describe, their dedication to staying positive.

 

After they successfully retrieved the top and returned to their position, Gi-hun stood in In-ho’s eyeline while he wrapped the top again, one hand resting supportively on his back. “It’s okay, Just stay calm.”

 

He liked this, In-ho thought, sick man, he liked feeling so useful. Despite his nerves, Gi-hun was most fulfilled when he had someone to put faith in him, someone to reassure, so he could feel like he was in control. If he wanted that, In-ho would give it to him.

 

He threw the top, whipping his arm back to “accidentally” throw it behind them, all the way back at the Gong-gi booth. A mistake no-one could ever realistically make, incompetence on a drastic scale. And yet, as he felt the players on his left side grow anxious and annoyed, Gi-hun’s response was immediate, his mind set on the solution the second that In-ho rested an arm on his neck and apologised guiltily.

 

“Let’s go pick it up. Alright, let’s go !” He almost growled, refusing to let the group’s energy drop, not even considering the possibility of foul play as he directed them all backwards, ignoring 390’s side comments. 

 

“Throwing it backwards… Now that’s a real talent.” Oh, you have no idea.

 

Just to prove a point, In-ho purposefully hesitated after bending to pick the top back up, holding his position and stifling a grin when he heard 390’s frustrated huff, demanding he hurry up. He obeyed, heaving himself back up as slowly as he could, before letting Gi-hun drag him forward, the marine on his left leaning over him like a hawk to watch him wind the top while they walked. It proved a genuine challenge, trying to be precise as his arms were jostled by the two men holding him, so he thrashed out of their grip, forcing their line to stop walking so he could wrap it right, nearly hitting 388 with the rope.

 

He could feel it, the tension slowly building, cracks threatening to form. And despite it all, there was Gi-hun, instinctively reaching out to touch his arm even as he pulled away, still trying to steady him even now.

 

“What the hell is the problem?” 390 on the other hand, seemed far less calm. The man was visibly sweating, watching In-ho with a panicked frustration as he gripped his teammates, Gi-hun immediately jumping to calm the group in response. 

 

In-ho checked the time, keeping an eye on how much he had wasted. He had to be careful with this little game he had started. But still, he couldn’t resist from giving it one more push.

 

Before Gi-hun could even finish his nervous reassurance of “Don’t rush it!” , he had already thrown the top again, all progress lost as it got caught in the pool of blood underneath their feet, coming to a pathetic stop and sending blood spatters onto their shoes. He made a show of staring blankly at his failure before roughly pulling at his hair, as he heard the two men next to him boil over in frustration, cursing loudly. Gi-hun bent down quickly, swiping the top like the female player had before, blood smearing carelessly onto his fingers. In-ho thought it looked good against his skin, like it was meant to be there.

 

But he didn’t yell, didn’t threaten or blame the other man, even as he grew wired and tense. Simply offered the top to him, ignoring the obvious annoyance from the rest of the team, looking at him in that awful soft way.

 

“What the hell is wrong with me!?” If Gi-hun wouldn’t get angry, he would have to do the job. He yelled, ignoring the man’s increasingly urgent attempts to hand him the top again, moving out of his grasp. “You goddamn idiot! You’re an idiot!”

 

The men on his left flinched out of the way as he brought his own open hand up to his face, slapping himself twice like player 120 had done to her teammate, the sting of pain satisfying against his cheekbones. His anger, blistering and self-imposed as it was, didn’t seem to stoke the fire in the group, if anything it had stamped it out entirely, frustration forgotten as they stared at him in fear and worry as he fumed at himself.

 

He reeled back, ready to slap himself again when Gi-hun caught his arm, grip harsh and commanding. He had to use his bodyweight to pull the other man back, preventing him from moving as he grabbed him by the shirt and pulled their faces together, demanding his attention. Previous attempts at gentle reassurance were gone, replaced by a direct firmness in his voice.

 

“No-one is blaming you!” He shouted, harsh determination in his tone as he forced his way back into In-ho’s eyeline, holding him tight until the man calmed himself. “Take a deep breath, okay? Try to remember the good times you had playing this.”

 

In-ho met his eyes, teeth gritted and chest heaving as he schooled his breathing. Gi-hun kept speaking, with strict encouragement and advice as he took the rope from 388, realising they were running out of time.

 

Shame. If they had a few seconds longer, he would have savoured that flash of almost-anger he saw in Gi-hun when he grabbed him.

 

As it was, he had to get it right this time. He nodded as the man next to him repeated deep breaths, deep breaths , grabbing at him with both hands to take back the spinning top, smearing the blood over both their fingers in the process. His wrapping was quick and precise, the rope slotting into the grooves perfectly, as tight as it could possibly go. Next to him, Gi-hun muttered quietly into his ear, breathing exaggeratedly so In-ho could find the rhythm and match it. 

 

He was right, Gi-hun loved this, even if he was scared.

 

In-ho obeyed, matching his breathing to the taller man’s, inhaling and exhaling like two halves of the same body. 

 

“Breathe, take your time, okay? Stay calm.”

 

54 seconds on the clock, 260 players remaining, 1 spinning top, fully wound.

 

“It’s okay. You’re okay.”

 

In-ho switched his hands again, holding the top with his dominant hand and closing his eyes. Next to him, Gi-hun exhaled loudly, watching as the man mimicked him, chests falling at the same time, complete faith and trust. He followed the man’s lead, closing his eyes too.

 

They heard the throw, the connection with the floor, the rough tear of the rope pulling away. And then, the golden telltale sound of the top, spinning with perfect momentum on the floor. 

 

Both men waited for a beat, then opened their eyes, seeing their success twirling in the lanes in front of them. Gi-hun’s yell seemed to escape his throat without him realising, a rough sound as he grabbed the man next to him, jumping and pulling them both in excitement. In-ho let himself be tugged around, accepting the grab and shake of his other arm from 388, unable to contain his excitement before 390 demanded their attention, stifling his own relief to pull them onwards.

 

As they shuffled to the final challenge, previous tension forgotten in their elation, Gi-hun’s arm un-slotted from In-ho’s arm, instead coming to rest on his waist, using his bodyweight to support the man as he walked forward. He didn’t need it, it was a futile practice. But despite that, In-ho eased into the hold, caught up in the thrill of it all, placing his own arm over the taller man’s shoulders.

 

They reached the last game with barely 20 seconds on the clock, and Gi-hun practically snatched the Jegi from the guard’s hand, taking a second to steel his nerves before dropping it onto his foot. His confidence was infectious, a mix of leftover hope from their last success and knowledge of the little time they had forcing him to move quickly, kicking the small bundle of tinsel successfully three times. The team counted under their breaths beside him, clutching onto green fabric and each other's hands, unable to look away.

 

Until the fourth kick. His foot was crooked, launching the Jegi away from them, just slightly out of reach for the final kick, he was going to miss it and they wouldn’t get a second chance before the time ran out and they were going to die and it would be his fault-

 

Before he could react, In-ho had reacted for him, catching the problem with predator-fast instincts, kicking out his own foot that was tied to Gi-hun’s. The sudden shift knocked them both off balance, the strength in In-ho’s movement startling him and pulling him down, far enough that the Jegi made perfect contact with his shoe. He hit the floor, a brutal cheer escaping him even as 001 toppled on top of him ungracefully, grabbing him so he didn’t hit the floor. The guard confirmed their win, and they dragged themselves to their feet, no time for celebration as the clock ticked into its final seconds. 

 

Their marching was almost frenzied as they dragged each other towards the finish line, as in-sync as they could manage in the midst of their excitement. In the end, they practically yanked each other through the ribbon, clutching at each other's clothes and limbs, losing themselves in cries of relief the second they were safe. It was electric, the energy almost greater than when the room was full, the five of them grabbing and jumping and holding eachother.

 

Gi-hun’s bloody hand came up to In-ho’s chest, a prideful smile on his face at their success. In-ho grinned back, baring his teeth, relief and elation filling him despite knowing he wasn’t at risk to begin with. It didn’t seem to matter, not when the herd of them were cheering like this, when 390 was trying to hide his tears and 388 was trying to hug him, when 222 was patting his arm and thanking Gi-hun, when the man next to him was so close.

 

And now he thought about it, really considered his little escape plan, it occurred to him that if they had lost, he would never have let the guards tie up all the loose ends. At least, not one of them. 

 

They stayed there, congratulating each other and catching their breath, half-collapsing into a pile of sweaty, tired players, when gunfire suddenly rang out, shocking their systems. In-ho noticed 388’s extreme reaction to the sound, hiding himself and gripping the men either side of him. Interesting,

 

Gi-hun’s head whipped around to find the sound, for a second fearing that they had done something wrong, until he saw the source.

 

0 seconds left on the timer, 5 more bodies on the floor. 110. 255. The inevitable.

 

His arm dropped from its place around In-ho’s back as he staggered forwards as much as the cuffs on his feet would allow, eyes wide and horrified before slipping into a defeated, tired expression. He was hunched as if physically deflated, now shorter than In-ho himself, panting in defeat as he stared at the bodies like he was the one who put them there, all previous pride gone.

 

The other man watched him, enraptured by the display. The way his shoulders hung with the weight of it, the disbelief melting into exhausted acceptance on his face even after seeing players meet their fate countless times, it was addicting. All that confidence and happiness, gone in a second as if it hadn’t been there at all, replaced by numbness and grief. 

 

Eventually, he would see things the way In-ho did. That iron will of his wouldn’t last forever, he couldn’t continue to carry the guilt of the lives lost without breaking under it all. But for now, In-ho was content to witness the transformation, to see the hairline fractures splinter into irreparable breaks. 

 

He stood, eyes dilated and fixed on the decaying man in front of him, the heat of his arm wrapped around his waist now faded and cold.

Notes:

ok ignore that i said this would be out yesterday i didn't realise it was gonna be 7k words. my wrists hurt. if anyone can guess the songs that the lyrics in my chapter summaries are from i'll love u forever.

as always, thank you all for reading!! chapters will continue to come out every day or every other day, i hope you all enjoy!!

Chapter 4: secondi

Summary:

i am not a shoulder to cry on, but i digress
i am a leading man
and the lies i weave are oh so intricate

For all the chatter they heard coming from inside the warehouse-esque dorm room they all shared, it seemed to be dead silent when the door opened to let in the final five survivors. The walk, or rather the shell-shocked, exhausted trudge back to their safe room had been equally silent, no noise other than the scuffing of their feet as each of them retreated into their own thoughts, attempting to rationalise their experience. Only now, the silence was awkward, made even more obvious by the hundreds of eyes looking at them with mixed expressions.

 

“They don’t seem so happy to see us.” In-ho voiced, loud enough that a select few players on the edges of the beds seemed to take notice and had the sense to look away in shame. There was no response from the team behind him, but he could feel Gi-hun’s eyes on him briefly before they took in the room, the way the previous air of brotherhood and hope had been clouded by a fog of distrust.

 

If there was one thing more human than the urge to blindly and pathetically pack-bond with whatever poor souls were in the same bad situation as you, it was the drive to return to protecting your own interests the second there was a chance of benefitting. Teams of five now sat separately in the room even when there was no guard demanding they stay in neat lines, huddled in their self-made factions, whispering and plotting. Now that they were safe, their minds were occupied by the needs that brought them here. It was a delicate balance, but it always restored itself, In-ho knew that from experience. 

 

There was no choice for the five of them but to follow suit. They walked onwards in that uncomfortable silence, the eyes on them slowly losing interest and dropping away one by one, until they settled uneasily on the metal stairs near Gi-Hun’s bed. Each member of the group was noticeably on edge, 388’s eyes darting around as if an attack was going to come at any second, Gi-hun resting his arms around his knees and returning to numb contemplation. As In-ho settled down next to the man, equally pulling up his knees to mimic his position, he broke the tense quiet that had fallen over them.

 

“I’m sorry about earlier, everyone,” That caught the attention of the group immediately, four pairs of eyes snapping to him immediately. They all seemed to look at him with some kind of pity, Gi-hun even reaching out to try and touch his knee in comfort before 390 beat him to it, roughly patting his thigh to silently voice his forgiveness. A strange kind of disappointment registered in In-ho’s chest as Gi-hun’s hand darted back to his own knee.

 

“No, no it’s okay,” Gi-hun spoke instead, voice soft. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have made that last kick.”

 

While it was true, the attention and sounds of encouragement from the group made In-ho look down, in what he told himself was an attempt at acting humble for the sake of cover. Why else would it make him feel so on edge? So… exposed?

 

The silence after was more bearable, the ice firmly broken, but the eyes remained, somehow less tolerable when it wasn’t just Gi-hun’s. Pivoting, In-ho leaned towards the only girl of their group with a warm tone, hoping to shift some of the attention. “Player 222, are you feeling alright?”

 

Her response was small but affirmative in return, dropping her head in thanks for being let onto the team, her voice barely above a murmur. It seemed she also was unused to the spotlight, nervously tugging on the sleeve of her green track jacket as 390 brushed her off, beginning to rave about her performance with the Ddakji.

 

“We were lucky she joined our team.” He spoke with genuine admiration in his voice, nodding at 388 who eagerly agreed. The young girl in question laughed, a sound soft and tentative like a spring breeze, her cheeks noticeably reddened by the attention. In response, the two other men on their team shared praises back and forth about their respective games, not a hint of irony or sarcasm in the air as they took turns trying to make eachother smile. The ice that had gripped the group in their last game seemed to melt away as if it was never there to begin with, the five of them falling into easy conversation, even Gi-hun adjusting from his shut-off posture to lean into the half-circle they had formed.

 

Their chatter was interrupted by 388, who suddenly stood before them all, clapping his hands lightly to catch their attention.

 

“Listen, perhaps we should learn each other's names? I still don’t know yours, gentlemen, or yours, Miss.” He smiled, bright but slightly unsure as he spoke, clearly concerned his sentiments might not be well received. “I’ll start. I’m Kang Dae-ho, “Dae” means big, “Ho” means tiger!”

 

390 responded immediately, an awed sound coming from his throat as he praised the name, chuckling with mirth. 

 

“Big tiger, cool name! My name is Park Jung-bae, “Righteous” and “Twice”. My parents wanted me to be twice as righteous.” He scratched his head, clearly embarrassed to explain the meaning, and Gi-Hun chuckled knowingly from his perch above him on the stairs, to which the man attempted an offended glare before being distracted by 222’s gentle voice.

 

“My name is Kim Jun-hee,” She offered, looking to the group for reassurance and being met with fond nods and smiles. “I don’t know what it means, though.”

 

There seemed to be a distant grief in her eyes at her last words, looking to the floor as if the cold tile could give her an answer. 

 

“Jun-hee, when you get out of here, please go see a doctor right away. “ Inho interrupted her thoughtful silence, hoping the use of her name would speak to the girl more deeply. “You’ve been under a lot of stress, you need to get yourself checked out.”

 

It was a pointless sentiment, really. Probability dictated that the girl would not make it out alive. And yet he offered it anyway, as if the image of her, healthy and free with her child, could be spoken into existence. Then again, probability dictated that he would never see Gi-hun’s face again after practically handing him the means to escape from the memories of this place forever. And yet here he was, sitting next to him on the stairs, breathing and laughing and real.

 

Regardless, she agreed, nodding to him and the other men in her group who watched her with equal parts worry and kindness.

 

“I’m Oh Young-il.” He finally said, looking at the group. Of course, he could have picked a random insignificant name, just as easily as he could have picked a random number for himself, but he couldn’t help the tease. Not that Gi-hun would pick up on it, his mind too focused on his foolish goals to pick up the clear pattern, as always. “”Young-il" sounds like “zero one”, and that’s my number. Easy to remember.”

 

388 pointed in excitement at the coincidence, laughing with the other members of their group, even cracking a smile from Gi-hun. Speaking of the man-

 

“Oh, Gi-hun, what’s your last name?” In-ho’s gaze returned to the man next to him, not leaving him out of the discussion. It was important at least for his own sake, he couldn’t afford to slip up and accidentally say his last name too when he had no means of reasonably knowing it.

 

Gi-hun leaned into him the slightest amount as he responded, speaking only to him rather than the rest of the group. “My name is Seong Gi-hun.”

 

The group repeated it and nodded, even though he hadn’t really been talking to them, and as much as they’d enjoyed Young-il’s joke at his name, none of them seemed to pick up the clear similarity with Gi-hun’s.

 

“Hah, “Seong” literally means “last name”.” In-ho chuckled out, the sound loud and genuine despite the less than stellar attempt at a joke. The others in the group barely responded as he laughed, Jun-hee even slightly cringing at the dad-joke, but when he met eyes with Gi-hun again, the man was looking at him fondly. He had probably heard that joke a million times in his life, but he smiled at In-ho anyway, his chest contracting in a private, small laugh like it was the first time. 

 

Silence, for a beat, with only the weight of Gi-hun’s eyes meeting his own. It was a shame he had to give him a fake name. He would have liked to hear the man say his real one, if only to know the man truly saw him for all he was, all he had taken from him. In time, he told himself. He had to be patient.

 

Then, the familiar buzzer of the main door opening, giving way for the pink guards to trail into the room in neat lines. All conversations hushed as the faceless workers came to a stop.

 

“Congratulations to all of you for making it through the second game.” The square guard at the front spoke, his tone well-trained into a robotic calmness. “Here are the results.”

 

The guard lifted his arm, firmly pressing a button on his remote to trigger the lights, leaving only the glow of the voting symbols and the piggy bank on the ceiling. Groups began to gather, making their way down stairs and into the center of the room, drawing closer to the pot of money as if they could reach out and touch it, eyes fixed to the ceiling. And then it started, the siren-song of cash falling into the pile, the numbers on the monitor rolling up further and further like a slot machine while the number of players dropped every second. 

 

It was strange, the only times that everyone in the room had been truly united other than in the last challenge was this. Eyes wide, faces aglow with the golden lights, their own salvation staring at them just out of reach like a cruel god. All alike in their situation, in their wants and desires, and yet In-ho knew the truth of it. If you handed any one of these players a gun and told them to put their bedmates down like animals in order to take home all that money for themselves - eventually it would be done. It was simply a question of how long they would deny their basest desires, how long they would pretend the ends don't justify the means.

 

After all, choosing to stay knowing that others must die for your share to increase wasn’t much different than pulling the trigger yourself. This room was already full of sinners. 

 

“In the second game, 110 players were eliminated. The prize money accumulated up to this point is 20.1 billion won. Since there are 255 players remaining, each person’s share is 78,823,530 won.” The lead guard had barely finished his report of the results before he was interrupted by shouts from the crowd, voices bare and angry.

 

“Wait, what?” One shouted, a man in his thirties who had voted to stay. “It’s still under 100 million? It’s not even 80 million?!”

 

“Only 110 people died? Are you sure, did you count them right?” A woman shouted from high in the bed rafters, her voice shrill and panicked.

 

“That’s all? But you shot all those people!” “It was more than that-” “Count them again!”

 

Their whines and tantrums almost made Inho choke out a laugh. Animals, the lot of them. Even if he hadn’t been keeping his own count, he knew those numbers were right. His staff didn’t make mistakes.

 

And even if they had, by now there were no bodies to recount, unless you wanted to go digging through the ashes to count the teeth and bone fragments left behind.

 

The most outspoken players seemed to inspire confidence in the room, soon devolving into a writhing mass of complaints and demands. Near them, a man hissed out, clutching a bloodied patch on his jacket as he fumed under his breath. 

 

“Fuck, I almost died twice, and that’s all I get?” A foolish thought, but human in an honest, terrible way. There was no honor in death just as much as there was no honor in avoiding it. “I’d get more money than that if I let someone beat me up!”

 

Next to him, Gi-hun stared at the man with a wavering expression, the pendulum swinging between desperate hopelessness and anger. His eyes remained there, even as the guards announced the next vote and people began to move, perhaps seeing himself in the man, perhaps not. Sometimes it was hard to tell, even when watching the man so closely. 

 

Briefly, as he monitored the flicker of his pupils and the tide of his breath, Inho considered the possibility of really seeing how the man’s brain worked. Having him taken to the surgical room in the bowels of the building that he turned a blind eye to, spreading the man out across a cold table and strapping him down. He could imagine it, peeling back the layers of Gi-hun’s cranium, studying the delicate patterns of skin and brain matter, electric impulses sending stimulus to neurons that were right underneath his fingertips, a symphony that he wanted to be able to join in listening, and the man under him would groan helplessly as he cut deeper-

 

A mere fantasy, of course. Just theoretical interest.

 

That filthy makeshift lab was much too unequipped, anyway.

 

He forced himself out of his thoughts, instead taking stock of their team. 388, no, Dae-ho was standing guard by Jun-hee as she seemed to take in the new information, unconsciously shielding her from the crowd. Gi-hun seemed to have broken his glare at the man near them, who had now moved to stand in line to vote, but his gaze was caught by something else entirely. What was- Oh. 

 

Jung-bae stood in the same place he had been in for minutes now, dilated eyes unmoving from the prize money. He had barely taken notice of the guards, or the near-mutiny around them, too enthralled by the opportunity being dangled before his face. So much for righteousness.

 

Gi-hun watched him with equal focus, taking in every micro expression the man displayed, head darting like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. He hadn’t admitted it to himself yet, In-ho could tell, but his subconscious knew the blow that was coming. The man just didn’t have the sense to barricade his heart before it made contact.

 

Before In-ho realised it, Gi-hun had turned, suddenly staring at him with that same intensity. His eyes were harsh and questioning, but the other man could see that raw, bleeding worry that lingered under the surface as he took in all of In-ho, before settling on the blue patch he still wore. 

 

Jung-bae almost deserved a thank you for the golden opportunity he had created, if he hadn’t caused it out of his own selfish stupidity.

 

“Don’t worry, I want to stop here too.” Inho reassured the man quietly, words soft as he touched his patch with a masterful display of faux-regret. The other man’s relief was instant, shoulders sagging slightly as he leaned towards the shorter man, eyes kind and appeased once again. “I should go and be with my wife at the hospital.”

 

It was the decision Oh Young-il would make. The choice Hwang In-Ho should have made.

 

His voice was bare as he finished his sentence, watching Gi-hun bite his lip in thought, flesh supple between blunt teeth. The man nodded, foolish trust clear in his reverent gaze, the edges of his eyes crinkling gently as he tried to offer a smile that never managed to surface. His Adam's apple bobbed low in his throat, swallowing nervously, the muscle tense. In-ho wanted to feel it under his teeth.

 

“I’m telling you, we’ll get out this time!” Dae-ho interrupted, his positivity as grating, yet needed, as ever. The young man looked down to his own blue patch, swearing lightly as he tugged at it, clearly regretting it, and Gi-hun’s smile almost became convincing. “A marine should always know when to strategically retreat, isn’t that right, brother?”

 

The slap on Jung-bae’s back seemed to break him from the spell of the piggy bank’s halo, jolting him back into a reality he clearly had not been ready for yet. He scrambled to school his expression, mumbling out an agreement to a sentence he hadn’t even heard, not quite looking any of the group in the eye.

 

“We have to end the games here.” Gi-hun said firmly, stepping forward. He regarded each member of their group individually, stepping into his role of leader so easily, like a second skin. It was a wonderful ability, so wasted in here or out there. In-ho couldn’t stop himself from watching the man as he took control. “I will help you guys when we get out. Please, trust me and support this vote.”

 

His tone left no room for argument. Jung-bae refused to match his gaze, the guilt palpable in the air. 

 

Dae-ho called another huddle, extending his hand excitedly into the center of their circle. The others joined one by one, Inho’s hand separated from Gi-hun’s by the soft layer of Jun-hee’s small digits. The girl had kept a remarkably impassive face since the events of the last game, whether it was a natural response or an attempt to mask her fear, In-ho couldn’t quite tell. But despite it, he could feel the tremble in her fingers as she held out her hand, that kind of animal dread that you couldn’t push down or hide from.

 

Still, it was impressive, keeping herself so level-headed despite whatever storm was going on inside her mind. Without thinking, In-ho squeezed her hand lightly from above.

 

“In one, two, three- Victory at all costs!”

 

“Victory at all costs!” The group repeated back in unison, none quite as loud as the young marine, but together nonetheless. It was a childish gesture, but In-ho found himself somewhat enjoying it, the lightheartedness of it all despite their situation. 

 

As Dae-ho led the other members of the team into the growing crowd, Gi-hun looked back at In-ho, the usually shorter man towering over him as he stood higher on the stairs. He offered a frowned smile, the expression that seemed to come more naturally to his face than the dopey, bright grin of his first game. In-ho stared back, his expression neutral, but the other man seemed to read something beneath it, turning away satisfied and leading them both to the group.

 

“This time, the vote will begin with player 001.” The guard spoke, cold and commanding as always. “Player 001, please cast your vote.”

 

It couldn’t have been more different than his first time voting. No crowds of people cheering him on, begging for him to join their side, no tiebreaker decision resting on his choice. Just a silent room and one choice to make. 

 

Gi-hun locked eyes with him before he walked, and he offered a nod in return before heading to the booth. The other man had no questions in his gaze, no worry or distrust of the decision he would make. Just unspoken support, the belief that In-ho was on his side, even if no-one else was.

 

As he reached the booth, In-ho hesitated for a second. There was nothing to think about, really, but he knew that satisfaction was greater when you had to wait. He held a breath, and made his choice.

 

Exhales of relief and quiet groans of defeat whispered out to him from the other side of the room as he returned his O patch in exchange for a red X, displaying it proudly on his chest. He took his place in the red area as they called the next number, and the next, and the next, facing away from the crowd without even a glance. He would see his team soon enough, see Gi-hun soon enough.

 

Satisfaction was greater when you had to wait.

 

 +X+X+X+

 

They managed to make it 3-0 before the inevitable vote for blue came, a young man whose mother begged him to not make a stupid decision as he left her behind in the crowd. In-ho recognised them from the first winning Six Legs team, once a symbol of hope for the players, and now look at them.

 

After the first, the floodgates were open, the votes quickly matching and then surpassing In-ho’s own, only taking a heavier lead as more players ventured to the front. Betrayals were obvious on both sides, players averting their eyes as their teammates called out to them, taking their place across from the people who they had clung to for support, who they had cheered for, cried with.

 

In the end, it was a young boy, clearly scared out of his mind as his teammates goaded him into voting to stay, that broke the camel’s back, or rather Gi-hun’s patience. In-ho felt the spike of panic and frustration before he saw it, the man bumping and pushing through the crowd in an attempt to be heard, the start of a sentence spilling from his mouth.

 

“Everyone-!”

 

“Are you all out of your minds?!” He cut the other man off, striding harshly out of the waiting area to demand the attention of the crowd. His voice was furious, seething like he hadn’t let himself sound before, catching even Gi-hun off guard. The other man could feel the shift as he watched In-ho command the room, still avoiding looking at him directly.

 

“You still want to keep going after watching all those people die? Who’s to say you won’t be next?” He looked around him as he spoke, making eye contact with members of the other side just to watch them crumble under the intensity, brave enough to play with each other's lives but not enough to face the consequences. Pathetic. 

 

“We have to stop. We’ll die if we all keep going!” In-ho prowled down the pathway, letting his tone snap between firm calmness and biting anger, reveling in the silence and flinches of the crowd when he got too close. He felt wild, the passion coming from deep in him, momentarily letting out that dark, terrible thing that stalked inside his stomach and roared in his veins. “Come to your senses. Leave with that money. You’ve got to leave first, or there won’t be a next step!”

 

He paused, chest heaving with the volume of his snarls and shouts. Waiting for the silence to form, for the moment it would be broken. He’d pushed the group off-axis, disrupted the guard’s attempt at democracy, tried to appeal to their senses. He knew everything Gi-hun wanted to scream at them, every argument and promise and plead. Many years ago he had believed them, too, believed that he could change the world if he just shouted loud enough.

 

But as it always did, the balance had to restore itself. The first signs of smoke soon came.

 

“What do you think we can do with a mere 70 million?” Predictably, it came from the older man who had harassed Gi-hun earlier. The “leader” of their sad little group. “I don’t know how much you owe, but for most people here that doesn’t even cover 10% of their debt!”

 

As he spoke, voice rising in confidence and volume, the people around him began to nod, raising their eyes from the floor and looking to their brothers and sisters. They began to verbally agree with him, swayed by his words, assertive in their own belief. “Am I right? There is no next step for us! That money won’t change anything!”

 

“Yes, he’s right!”

 

“He is! With that amount of money, I won’t last long!” A man from the crowd called, almost proud to declare his situation, like his own shortcomings justified his decisions.

 

“It was 25 million after the first game, now 78 million, after one game the amount more than tripled! If we play one more game, the prize will be at least 240 million!” Sound logic, from the numbers. But for all his smart talking and attempt at pulling the wool over the player’s eyes, 100 was ignoring the obvious implication. The gamble that every player who walked in these halls thought was worth the risk. One third of the people standing here, yelling in agreement, will never return to their beds. And yet here they stand, sheep happily herding themselves into the abattoir, fawning into the hands of their shepherd as he held the blade to their necks. 

 

In-ho had to resist the smile that threatened to tug cruelly at his mouth. This is how it always went. The house always wins, because the gambler loses the second they believe they have a chance.

 

“But, I can’t do this anymore!” A broken shout rang out from the other side, silencing the shouts of the crowd. It came from a young girl, also from the winning Six Legs team, trembling with anxiety as her arms came up to shield her head from a blow that wasn’t coming, eyes watery and unfocused. Her hair was unkempt and messy as she tugged roughly at it, begging to no-one in particular. “Please, please let me out of here…I really- I really want to go home.”

 

Her tears poured down to her chin, the words coming out painful and raw between her sobs. On the other side, the player marked 120 turned away, unable to watch. “...I… don’t want to die. Please.”

 

Her sobs were only cut off by a young man on the other side, his voice equally pleading. “Young lady… You’re young, so you’d probably have another chance. But… I don’t.”

 

Tears spilled shamefully down his cheeks as he shook, hands pressed together as if he was praying for her forgiveness, or perhaps his own. He continued speaking over her begs and sobs, even as she brought her hands up to match his, clasped together tight in a prayer that would never come. “My family and I have no future, my business failed and I owe over 500 million. If I want a shot at a fresh start-”

 

“What if you die?” In-ho cut his whining off, words clipped and harsh. One more shred of tinder to set the bonfire ablaze. He needed them to commit to their sin, to forsake their brothers and sisters on the other side without regret. “If you die here, your family won’t even get the body. Then it will be over for all of you, don’t you see?”

 

A new voice rang out from behind him. A young man, raving about how easy the games were, how many survivors they had. We’ve made it this far, he cheered, so let’s do this one more time.

 

The catch was unspoken, but clear, a harsh divide in the room. It shocked In-ho’s side into silence at the brutality of it. There was no “we”. Blood would need to be spilled for the total to increase. They had to pay the piper somehow. But the question was, who were they willing to sacrifice? 

 

And the answer was clear, spoken in the war-cry chant of the crowd as they cheered each other on, the rhythmic marching step of feet pacing to the voting booth, greedy eyes watching the dissenters like they could smell the fresh blood in the water. Who is more likely to die? Those who will risk anything, life and limb, knowing they may never make it home again, or those who are too scared to continue fighting? You. We will sacrifice you.

 

A selfish, childish belief. Victory at all costs.

 

In-ho breathed in the ecstasy of the crowd, the blaze of hubris and ego, a hundred men willing to fall on their own sword. Players who had been so eager to cheer for each other's survival mere hours before, now ready to drag half the room down with the weight of selfish desire. Moths drawn into flame, the inevitable failing of the human mind. No amount of money would ever satiate, it never had, not in decades of the slaughterhouse they stood in. It was always going to end like this.

 

And now, as he finally turned, eyes meeting Gi-hun’s exactly where he knew they would be, searching the crowd for any sign of hope, any chance that things could be different. Because that’s what he always did, searched for salvation and kindness and warmth even in a world that denied him any of it. And now, he found none, his face falling into that same look of realisation, of knowing, and finally - he looked to In-ho for deliverance. Dark eyes pained and hopeless, sweat collecting on his brow, shining in the golden halo of the money bank. He begged without changing his expression, his gaze was a hand reaching out, for comfort, for reassurance, anything.

 

Inho took him in, breathing in the defeated slump of his spine, the fretful clenching of his hands, the loneliness in his stare. The need for an anchor, despite all his leadership and knowledge, to be told it would be okay. 

 

He didn’t look away from the overwhelmed man in front of him, holding his eye contact as if it could deafen the noise around them, making it only them in the room. In the end, he could only offer empty comfort. In-ho did his best to seem equally devastated, equally afraid, wrapping himself in falsified layers of depth, his false heart dropping as their votes were outnumbered beyond any recourse. 

 

It was startling when, despite all his facades and airs, he felt that neglected, hungry organ thudding with need as he watched the denial and helplessness drain from the last player to vote. He stared unabashed, uncaring for any attention he drew, as the man’s foolish dreams of glory and sacrifice bled out of him, his mouth trembling even as he tried to hide it, eyes darkening and numbing. His expression hardened, the shock of a cold knife pulling him from the brink of breaking entirely. It was glorious to watch, the layers of the man melting apart, the viscera underneath.

 

Jung-bae stood at the voting booth, eyes on the floor as he tore off the patch on his chest, handing it to the guard. He hesitated for a second before grabbing the blue patch he was handed in return, his deal with the devil, scurrying over to the other side and hiding from view like a rat.

 

Gi-hun’s arms hung limp by his sides. He was unreactive to the final players being called, barely even acknowledging his own number when it was spoken. But his eyes were no longer empty, no longer overflowing with that numb grief that hung around him like a fog, all self-pity banished.

 

No, In-ho could see it in him. In the clench of his jaw, the power in his legs as he strode to the voting booth, pace slow but measured. He seemed to come into his full height again, a lightning storm behind his eyes, some deep wound reopened, a heart-string snapped. It made In-ho smile despite everything, his blood hot and wild with the sight, the knowledge of what he’d done, what more he could do.

Seong Gi-hun was seething as he placed the final vote.

Notes:

THEY HAVE NAMES NOW! EVERYONE CHEERED!

thank you so much for reading! apologies for the late chapter, i had some things going on and i've been packing to go back to uni which took more time than i thought it would!

the tag has exploded in the last few days, which is amazing! i'm so glad this pairing is becoming more popular, i started this fic hours after the second season dropped and i'm glad other people are seeing the light hehe

as always if you know the lyrics in the summary you get a big fat kiss, + next update will be coming wednesday!

Chapter 5: contorni

Summary:

we're born at night
so much of our lives
is just carving through the dark
to get so far, and the hardest part
is who we are, that's who we are

Soon after, it was meal time. 

 

Four lines were formed as the players queued obediently for the small meal they had grown used to receiving, arranging themselves in near-silence, the behaviour now second nature in their animal brains. The guards hadn’t indicated them to separate or segregate themselves beyond their lines, and yet, the players seemed to naturally stand in their factions, red and blue patches neatly separated, barely even regarding each other. It was satisfying, Inho considered, how easily the fault lines between the players became unyielding caverns, how beautifully simple it all was. Patterns of behaviour as old as the world, repeating into infinity, predictable and safe.

 

Betrayal is to humans what running is to horses. As easy as breathing.

 

As much as he wished to share his musings out loud with the only person he knew would understand, the man next to him seemed in no mood to talk. After placing his final vote, Gi-hun had stood unmoving, gazing up at the voting totals even as the guards began to move the equipment in preparation for mealtime, as if he could will the numbers to change just by wanting it enough. Naturally, nothing changed. Not for a lack of his own want, Inho could feel the man’s desire, his desperation, his anger from across the room. Regardless, the room had decided its fate, and Gi-hun seemed to realise that his words, his pleads, his screams did nothing. No amount of explanation or knowledge could wipe away the fates of the pigs who milled around him, entirely oblivious to the death warrants they had all just signed for themselves.

 

And so, Gi-hun walked away, trudging across the room without looking up, barely registering the people beginning to form queues around him, right into In-ho’s space. The other members of their team had already joined the lines, or rather, Dae-ho and Jun-hee, trying to catch a glimpse of Jung-bae in the other lines, but the shorter man had decided to wait and accompany the final member of their team. As Gi-hun neared him, his eyes flicked up, wordlessly beckoning In-ho to join him.

 

Ah, it was beautiful. The slow-building storm behind the man’s eyes, high-speed winds and dizzying air pressure, hope wilting like the weak petals of a delicate flower. It pulled him in, the thrashing center of a cyclone, and he let it, meeting Gi-hun halfway and joining the line behind him with a small nod. 

 

And the taller man, even in his cloud of frustration, still stood to the side, gesturing for In-ho to go before him, as if he needed to protect him from the back. In-ho gladly accepted, smothering the satisfied grin that threatened to surface, feeling the man behind him watch his back like a trained guard dog. 

 

When they’d retrieved their small meals, they returned to the stairs where what was left of their team sat, Gi-hun matching his step like a pet called to heel despite his usually larger stride. The other two had left a space for them, which they filled, sitting close together on a higher step despite the room they had. No discussions were had, there was simply nothing left to say. They had all seen what happened, there was no dancing around the issue.

 

Still, Dae-ho valiantly tried. The broad man made the occasional side comment and motivational reassurance in a loud voice full of feigned confidence, unbothered by the lack of response in return, but his attention seemed to dart occasionally to something ahead of him, between the beds. With a quick glance, In-ho could recognise Jung-bae’s silhouette sitting alone on a step, if not from the number on his back then his slumped, guilty posture. He looked like the perfect picture of dejection. So perfect that part of it was clearly performance. After all, he could have hidden out of view.

 

He picked up the tiny movement of the man beside him noticing the same thing, and waited with baited breath for his reaction. Realisation, then hesitation, then…

 

To his surprise Gi-hun looked away pointedly, bending down slightly to tap Jun-hee on her shoulder. She startled at the movement, clearly lost in her mind, before realising he was offering her his carton of milk with a clear attempt at a small smile. She initially shook her head, whispering that she was okay, really, but he insisted, and she eventually took the gift. For a second In-ho remembered a small conversation, years ago, a murmur through the surveillance cameras he used to glue himself to. Ah, right, the man didn’t drink plain milk. 

 

After handing over the carton, the other man simply returned to sitting in silence, eyes on the floor in front of him but not truly looking. His pastry lay untouched to his side, and as he straightened back up, his thigh pressed gently into In-ho’s own, the barest warmth glowing against his cold skin. He got the feeling the other man needed the contact, keeping him anchored as his thoughts wandered, a steady rock in the midst of the typhoon of his mind. So, he pressed his thigh back in response, a single pulse before opening his meal and beginning to eat.

 

His touch burned. In-ho could feel nerves set alight where they met, like the hot metal of a branding iron.

 

“Hyung-nim!”

 

He managed to suppress his startle at Dae-ho’s sudden shout at the pathetic pile of a man still cowering by the beds. The young marine seemed to have lost his patience with waiting for the man to come to them, and was taking matters into his own hands with a huff.

 

“Jungbae Hyung-nim!”

 

The other man was unresponsive, if anything turning further away from the group like he hadn’t heard him. Dae-ho refused to take the message, and instead stood with an irritated sigh, striding powerfully over to the other bunk, muttering in annoyance the whole way there. He tried to grab onto the shorter man, pulling him away from where he sat, but the other refused. It was almost like watching a toddler resist being carried to bed, almost comical as the older man tried and failed to free himself from Dae-ho’s grip as they squabbled, eventually giving in to avoid causing a scene. The pair waddled back over, Jung-bae practically strong-armed by the younger man, his shoes scuffing on the floor as he was dumped in front of the team.

 

Neither man looked up at his arrival, a united front sitting side by side, as if he wasn’t even there. From his peripheral, In-ho could see how he squirmed guiltily, his tail practically between his legs, mouth wavering as he tried to think of something to break the ice. Even Jun-hee gave him a cold reception, simply looking down at her food. He seemed to find his words eventually, pressing his hands together around his drink in apology and straightening himself. 

 

“Ah… I’m sorry.”

 

No reaction from the group, barely even an acknowledgement that they’d heard him. He looked away in shame before trying again, his voice more emotional.

 

“Jun-hee, Young-il, I’m sorry.”

 

Nothing again. Behind him, Dae-ho seemed to physically cringe from the awkward air, but the group held their ground.

 

“Gi-hun… I’m sorry.” As he spoke to his friend, he tried to lean into his eyeline, his body language begging for some kind of reciprocation, eye-contact, anything, but he received none. He was fidgeting now, nerves getting the better of him as he shifted his weight, looking away as the words began to spill from his mouth, a jumble of excuses and nonsense.

 

“...and the creditors are harassing my ex-wife and kid, but if we play just one more game, I think I can settle it all, so-”

 

“Jung-bae.” 

 

In-ho was quiet as he spoke, fighting to keep Young-il’s voice in his tone, but underneath there was a biting cold, his words frosty with all the disappointment he could muster. The man in front of him immediately shrank, thankful that someone had responded, but it had clearly struck a chord of deep shame inside him.

 

“You of all people shouldn’t have done it.” His words had layers to them, and he could tell he had Gi-hun’s attention even if the man seemed to be somewhere else. Against his thigh, the man’s leg trembled, as if he was resisting the urge to bounce it in anxiety or anger, inhaling deeper every time he breathed in. He was trying to control himself, his frustration with the man in front of them. Touching like this, In-ho could almost swear he felt their hot blood thrumming at the same pace. 

 

“...It wasn’t twice as righteous.” He forced himself to keep his attention on Jung-bae, letting his words hang in the air like heavy clouds, waiting for the response he wanted. Within seconds he got it, the older man in front of him looking as if all his confidence and self-assurance was beaten from him, his expression naked as the hurt clearly showed in his face. He almost trembled with the weight of the guilt, and the pain of the verbal knife In-ho happily shoved between his ribs. Perhaps less from In-ho’s words alone, but from Gi-hun’s lack of defence, and his own shame. It hurt more because In-ho was right and he knew it.

 

But, he couldn’t leave it there. Against his nature, In-ho’s mind was already preparing its next words, ready to reassure and release the man from his shame. He had made a stupid, reckless decision, but they could hardly expect better. He was a weak man, made of lesser parts than In-ho, or Gi-hun, and he was predictable. It was how he ended up here to begin with.

 

The relief on the man’s face when In-ho began to rationalise his decision and lessen the blame made confusing feelings rise in him. It shouldn’t make him happy to strengthen the bonds between the team, to forgive Jung-bae for his actions, to convince everyone to move on. He shouldn’t feel anything. This was all a ruse, an extensive trap to tire out his prey before he made the final kill, an exhibition of his own self-restraint and calculation. These people were a means to an end. He couldn’t lose himself in the crowd, couldn’t become one of the racehorses again.

 

But still, it was… nice, if that was the word. The way Jung-bae hurried to thank him, scrambling to grab his hand with reverence, the honesty in Dae-ho’s voice as he admitted his own faults, the way Jun-hee’s demeanor seemed to thaw at In-ho’s reasoning. Him and Gi-hun sat at the top of them all like leaders, protecting and building their team, like he was a police captain again. For better or for worse, they were a team. It all just felt like a tangle in In-ho’s head, a mess of his logic and his emotions, endless contradictions with no answers other than that he had none.

 

Briefly, he wondered if this was the point of it all. What the old man, the creator of all of this, had said to him before he put himself in the games, the same thing he had considered before donning the 001 suit. Not just to pretend to be another person, someone different and flawed and weak, but to become another person entirely. To fall away into the lies he had created, as effortless as sinking below the ocean’s waves.

 

No, this had to be different. He couldn’t do this, be this. The old man was dying, he didn’t have to face the world again after he played the games. He had nothing to hold together, no investors relying on him, no staff on the edge of tearing themselves apart with petty conflicts, nothing to hate or enjoy or do . He was just a sick old man in a hospital bed pretending to be a child again. In-ho refused to be that.

 

Jung-bae was rambling again, some mess about how well they worked as a team, how sure he was that they would be okay. It was meaningless, but he had no way of knowing that. The only ones who knew the truth, that teams would protect no-one when the crowd started thinning, were him and Gi-hun, who was beginning to bubble over next to him. It was small at first, the man looking around and cracking his knuckles to ease himself of the tension, his jaw clenching and unclenching as Jung-bae just kept talking, but he seemed to reach his limit as the man leaned over to Jun-hee and promised that she would be okay in the next game. 

 

“The next game?” Gi-hun’s words were slow, deliberate in their harshness. His voice was lower than In-ho had ever heard it, even when he was speaking to the Frontman with that false air of confidence, deep with restraint and anger.

 

“In the next game, we might have to kill each other .” He had the undivided attention of the group as he spoke, the cold honesty of his voice willing them all into silence. He didn’t berate, or argue, he simply laid out the truth as he knew it. As they both knew it.

 

But of course, Young-il didn’t know that. Young-il wanted to support his friend, but he wouldn’t want him to dwell on such morbid thoughts. 

 

“Gi-hun, that’s a bit much.” He spoke in a lighter tone, attempting to break the glare that the man was currently fixing at his best friend, to the visible relief and thanks of the man in question. “There’s nothing we can do now, so let’s try to stay positive. We should eat, pull ourselves together, and try out best again.”

 

The others seemed to be motivated by the words, nodding at him in appreciation, but Gi-hun wasn’t moved by the sentiment. How could he be, when he knew the truth? It was good, the tension, sowing seeds in the man’s mind that his knowledge wouldn’t help. In-ho refused to abide cheaters, and he wasn’t going to let Gi-hun off the hook merely because he was interesting. No, he was going to see how far he could push the man before he broke entirely, transformed into something new and strange and equal to himself. It was just a matter of time, and they had plenty.

 

“Here, Jun-hee, you can have mine too. Hang in there until the next game, okay?” The gentle tone in his voice almost caught him off guard as he offered the young girl his drink too. She refused again with a smile, polite as always, but took it at his insistence. Upon seeing the exchange, Jung-bae offered his pastry to her too, joking with her just to see her smile make a re-appearance. The group seemed to orbit around her and her care, clearly the most vulnerable, the most in need of protection, animal instinct. If anything, the interaction put Gi-hun a little more at ease, returning back to his thoughts as he hunched over on his knees.

 

Still, his leg didn’t move, even after In-ho challenged him. It stayed, a reminder that he was there, until they stood to get ready for bed and he finally spoke up with an idea, asking for the team’s help.

 

After it all, his unopened bread still laid where he left it, untouched and discarded. Even if he didn’t know it yet, the choice he would eventually make was clear even if he didn’t know it yet. 

 

He was a gambler in his bones. He would always choose the lottery ticket.

 

+X+X+X+

 

It wasn’t an easy task, heaving the mattresses through the weaving frame of their beds, especially with mere minutes left until lights out. They were heavier than they looked, surprisingly sturdy despite how uncomfortable they were, but they developed a system to get them down. Gi-hun had barely explained before he began the task, scouting out what he considered to be a safe area on the floor, tucked away under the rafters of the beds. He had waved In-ho over to his side to help, leaving Jung-bae somewhat spurned before Dae-ho rushed to help him, lifting the mattresses from their frames and passing them in a conveyor belt of arms.

 

“Is this really necessary? I don’t like sleeping under there.” The man eventually spoke, the first to even question the odd behaviour from their most experienced member, as if he would be doing this for fun. Gi-hun sighed almost invisibly before responding, but In-ho was close enough that he could see the sharp rise of his chest, the flare of his nostrils as they pushed a mattress under the bed together.

 

“Once the lights go out, someone might attack us.” For as restrained as he had been earlier, the man was clearly nearing the end of his rope, the far-away emotion of his memories becoming more apparent with every word as the group reacted in disbelieving shock. “The prize money still goes up if we kill each other. It’s part of the game they designed.”

 

His tone was always filled with a special kind of hatred when he spoke of “them”, whoever he thought they were. In reality, he knew nothing of the forces keeping this place in order. It wasn’t just a game, it was a rapture, the end of a natural cycle. If not in here, it would happen somewhere else. But still, that hatred was like primordial fire, the burn that kept him alive even when hope became ash. 

 

In-ho first felt it that night in the car, maskless and bare as he watched Gi-hun struggle against his bindings, the blindfold the only thing keeping the man from truly seeing him, knowing the face of the one who could give him everything at the same time that he took everything away from him. A thin veil of fabric denying him his only desire. The danger of it had stirred In-ho’s gut, had captured his breath as they spoke back and forth, Gi-hun’s tired anger pushing him to bite the very hand that fed him. In a way, he knew the man would be back. Knew that he had to be the one to answer the phone call from the airport, knew that the condescension of his words would drive a broken, furious man back into his palms. It was their little dance, pushing and pulling each other until one of them stepped wrong.

 

“Gi-hun, I think you’re overreacting here.” Another push, more of a test, really. The rest of the team seemed eager to just appease him after the events of the day, letting him guide them without question, make decisions for them without explaining. Of course, Gi-hun was right in his concern, but the cracks in his numb facade were beginning to splinter, and god, was it hard for In-ho to resist digging his nails in and watching it all come to pieces in his hands. “Even if that were true, people wouldn’t do that.”

 

Gi-hun came to a complete halt as he spoke, and whatever the rest of the team saw on his face as his back faced the other man, they didn’t seem to like, looking at In-ho with worry. He took an inhale, turning to the shorter man slowly, meeting his eyes with a commanding glare.

 

His expression was a wreck, his face tense and hostile with the need to be believed. Those eyes, half-apocalyptic in their intensity, wide and defensive and mad . As he spoke, his voice was dropped to a near-growl, each word intentional in its slow delivery, as if he was trying to hammer each syllable into the man in front of him. 

 

“In the previous games… dozens of people killed each other at night.” He spoke as gravely as an executioner, demanding the other man’s full attention as he stalked towards him, a guard dog rounding on the sheep it was charged to protect. With every step he seemed to grow bolder, spurred by In-ho’s refusal to back up, to lose any ground, the distance between them shrinking as his voice dropped to a brutal whisper. “Right here.”

 

In-ho’s head spun with it, that explosive burst of anger reserved only for him, coming out in every hiss of Gi-hun’s teeth like the man’s body could sense who he truly was under his sheepskin disguise. The flames licked across his face, delicious rage, beautiful fire. He feigned fear as the man’s face neared his own, close enough to reach out and touch, eyes dilating in submission. Gi-hun’s gaze flicked between his eyes and his mouth, reading the emotions laid out for him there, eyes dilating in sick satisfaction that he knew the man would hate himself for when he came to his senses. 

 

“You have no idea… how people can change-” The words were spat, unapologetic and mean, the teeth of his grief baring itself to In-ho. From this distance, the mask of hostility couldn’t help but fade away slightly, to reveal the infected wound it was covering, a deep gash of fear and hurt and distrust that never truly healed, the splintered bone that was never properly tended to. Scar tissue, knotted and ugly, barely knitting together the fragments of who the man used to be, a man who was long dead. His lips wavered as he  spoke, the heat in his voice almost giving way to the dread inside before he steeled himself, snarling. “… in this place.”

 

In-ho wished he could tell him. He knew exactly how, exactly when the last thread of empathy snapped, when the last bud of hope froze over in the winter. How it felt for the man you used to be to die, only to drag yourself out of the grave, new and reborn and wrong. They were cracked along the same fault lines, their ugly mass of scars and wounds matching. The man in front of him, standing on shaking legs, held together only by the force of his own arms, had defied him in a way no-one else ever could, in a way he would never allow by another. 

 

Gi-hun stared at him in silence, the air thick and oppressive like the minutes before a storm, electric and wild as if something was coming. His expression was unchanging, a begging to be believed, a yearning for understanding, even amidst the hurt of being questioned. A wounded man, snapping like an injured wolf, too aware of his own weakness and unwilling to be ignored again.

 

In-ho wanted to make him hurt worse. Carve his own scars into the man’s skin. God knows he would let him return the favour. 

 

“I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t know what I was talking about.” In-ho broke the moment, speaking as softly and appeasingly as he could, finally taking a step back out of the sweltering air between them. He avoided the man’s eyes, glancing between them and his lips, demonstrating that he understood the warning. Gi-hun seemed to believe him after a moment, equally backing up when he saw the man’s attempt to make space, a flash of regret and softness in his eyes.

 

It was almost cute, his worry that he could hurt In-ho so simply. That In-ho didn’t want it.

 

He turned away, some mix of embarrassment and leftover heat obvious in his rushed movements to finish the sleeping arrangements, ignoring how the team kept their heads low as they helped him, clearly not willing to face his rage next. As he bent down to place the final pillows on the hasty beds they’d made, he grumbled out about needing to figure out a watch schedule, oblivious to the change in In-ho’s expression, the satiated look in his eyes as he watched him move.

 

“...Young-il? Do you want to watch after me?” Jung-bae spoke lightly, fake calm and optimism in his tone as he caught In-ho’s attention. When he saw the man look at him, he nodded once, a wordless question between them. Are you okay?

 

The concern was laughable, but he responded anyway. “Yes, that’s fine. Dae-ho can go after me.”

 

+X+X+X+

 

“Why did you come back?”

 

He still saw her face, the crinkle of her eyes when she would grin at his jokes, the softness of her lips meeting his, her doe-like eyelashes and quick tongue and furrowed eyebrows. It was ever-present, like she was waiting for the moment he closes his eyes to return, her ghostly face sitting just behind his eyelids, burned in.

 

She looked different, now. Her once full and soft face gaunt from weight loss, the wrinkles and creases and edges of her seeming more apparent every day, like she was fading away by the second, something eating at her from the inside. He had seen it a hundred times before, but it always seemed like the first. 

 

Her hand, weak and lifeless in his own. 

 

In reality, he had never seen her this bad. She was gone before he even left the island, before he touched their money. He wasn’t even there for the funeral. Rumors had spiralled, his family nearly ruined just by association to him, but none of them came close to the truth.

 

In a way, he wished he had seen her final moments. Their final moments, his girl and his child. Anything his brain could come up with in place of the missing memory was worse than the reality.

 

They didn’t even think of a name.

 

“If I were you, I would have put everything behind me. Started a new life with all that money.”

 

In a way he had. That old life, that man, had died with her. They laid in each other's arms under the cold ground, their little family, the hopes of what could have been if he was faster, smarter, stronger. 

 

Now he was all those things and more. This place suited him far better, hidden behind a mask, far away from that place. Only, his past seemed intent to keep hunting him down, finding new methods of torture, different ways to sneak past his carefully constructed walls. She stared at him still, eyes unblinking and uncanny, a sun bleached polaroid of the people they used to be.

 

“If… I died right before your eyes… how would you feel?”

 

A blink, and her face was gone. Instead, his brother stared at him, the face he saw in his mirror every time he dared to look. It was strange, the boy was an adult now, had been for a long time, and yet every time he imagined his face all he could see was the baby-faced kid he’d walked to school and soothed to sleep. Jun-ho had always been clingy, never willing to let anything go. Not even his brother, not even after all he did.

 

Their shared gunshot wounds throbbed, the mirror cracking, his brother’s heart breaking all over again.

 

“Come on, don’t say that, we’ll make it back home together”

 

That voice wasn’t his brother’s. Not his wife’s, not any of the hundreds of bodies that littered his path back to the island, discarded bones and flesh under the heel of his boot. It sounded close, fluttering through the layers of his dream.

 

“That’s why I came back.”

 

You. 

 

He couldn’t tell if the fog cleared or deepened, but either way he was dragged down, the same face clouding his mind in a million situations, smiling into the camera, the picture glowing under his feet on the control room floor, horrified on game room surveillance and sleeping uneasily in the dorm, furious and bloodied in the rain, defeated and lost under a blindfold, gazing wordlessly and honestly in his eyes. Screaming in his face. Hurt and betrayed.

 

It’s as satisfying as it is painful, and he wants it to hurt more, wants to press into the wound until it bleeds and breaks and he has a reason for feeling this way. 

 

It’s his eyes, always his eyes. Soft and lidded, too gentle, too hopeful. Somewhere inside, it made him hope too. 

 

Dangerous. Unforgivable. He wanted to crush it between his teeth.

 

He is an appetite, jaws and teeth and tongue, and for once he needs something to break that isn’t him.

 

“To make it back home together with everyone.”

 

Awareness came before realisation, and suddenly he was awake, staring at the bunk above him. The floor was cold, directly in line with the room’s drafts, but more comfortable than the metal slats of the beds, his body not aching for the first night here. And around the corner, two hushed voices were speaking.

 

He knew them now, as he shook the fog of fatigue from his mind, he wasn’t sure how he had forgotten. If anything, he was surprised he woke up to soft chatter and not heated yelling. He focused, trained ears making out what they could.

 

“Hey… do you remember when we went on strike?”

 

The anecdote seemed empty as In-ho listened, merely a faded example of their friendship, an appeal to Gi-hun’s nostalgia, until he heard it. Gi-hun’s voice.

 

“...I cried in my sleep?”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“Asking for food?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“So… you stayed because of me.”

 

“Mhm. I was watching you, and I thought, “Man look at this poor little wuss, if he wakes up and sees that I’m gone, he’ll start crying and won’t even be able to go to the bathroom.” Then, I knew I couldn’t fucking leave you-”

 

“You’re so full of shit!”

 

He hissed at the man next to him, half-laughing in disbelief at the ridiculous claim. His voice was lighter than it had been in weeks, than In-ho had ever heard it, like he was listening to a ghost instead of the man he had come to know.

 

He didn’t know how he felt.

 

“No, I swear on your mom.”

 

“Why on my mom? Swear on your own!”

 

“Whoever’s mom it is, it’s true! I got fired and ended up like this because I stayed.” Jung-bae wasn’t visible from In-ho’s bed, but he could hear the smug grin in his voice, the way he intentionally riled the other man up and knew so well which buttons to press.

 

“You- You always blame me for every bad thing that happens, losing money on the horses, and your failed chicken shop! What else, getting married?”

 

“No, I got married because I wanted to. I got divorced because of you.”

 

“Hey, I got divorced because of you! Because you’d always invite me out for drinks, and you’re the one that got me into horse racing!-” Gi-hun’s voice was louder, almost loud enough to wake the others, defensive and offended but still… lighthearted. He let the other man shush him, quietly laughing at how fast he had gotten upset, and In-ho could imagine the expression. Brows furrowed in irritation, jaw slack. Those eyes.

 

He felt sick.

 

“Ah… you’re finally acting like the Seong Gi-hun I know.” Jung-bae chuckled, and In-ho could hear the other man exhaling in a huff, turning away with a shuffle. “You’ve been acting like a different person.”

 

He wasn’t getting any useful information from this. He should go to sleep, preserve himself for his watch shift.

 

“...Gi-hun. After the next game, let’s get out of here, okay? Let’s go drink soju like old times.”

 

The past was a pointless venture. Things were never as you remembered them. What’s the point dwelling on ghosts?

 

There was no “getting out of here”. He knew that. Gi-hun, deep inside, where he kept the secrets he dared not even utter to himself, knew it too. He had to.

 

“You’re buying.”

 

“People really don’t change. Seong Gi-hun, the cheapskate of SSangmun-dong.”

 

“The biggest cheapskate.”

 

“The king of cheapskates.”

 

The negging finally worked, and he heard the soft huff of a chuckle from Gi-hun, accompanied by an audible shove to the man next to him.

 

“God, that takes me back.”

 

In-ho didn’t sleep. His brain refused the surrender of it, whirring in mechanical rhythm in his brain, a million images and thoughts with no answers. Instead he waited, listened to the directionless prattle from the two who were meant to be guarding them, eyes distantly focused on the smooth metal inches from his face. At some point, Jung-bae demanded Gi-hun get some sleep and “get out of his hair” which was predictably met with a jab at the man’s bald spot before the two parted for the night. 

 

In-ho didn’t miss how Gi-hun lingered by his mattress for a few seconds, face out of sight and unreadable before retiring to his own bunk across from him, mere feet away. If he turned, In-ho could see his back, where the blanket had slipped down and his t-shirt was exposed, the thin material barely ghosting the flesh. It filled him with a need to stay awake, to watch his vulnerability in case of attack, just as much as it called for him to win the game right now, to seize the moment and be the attacker before his “best friend” could drag him off his body. And somehow, all of it felt so wrong.

 

Once it was unbearable, he feigned waking up, accidentally scaring Jung-bae who had begun to doze off at his post and taking over watch. By the time of Dae-ho’s watch, his mind was still as loud, and he chose to let the man sleep. 

 

When the morning alarms began to ring, the familiar music playing just slightly too loud through the speakers, he had packed every thought, every hope, every feeling away where it belonged. Filed away in the boxes of his mind, neat and safe and away from where they could cloud his judgement. 

 

Behind him, Gi-hun woke up, tugging himself out of his hiding spot with a strong arm, warm from sleep.

 

In-ho didn’t turn around.

Notes:

who said this chapter would be out yesterday... must've been the wind

anyway thank you so much for reading and apologies for another late chapter! i got a bit of a nasty anon on my tumblr regarding this fic and how often i update so i just wanted to reassure everyone that this fic will definitely be finished and not abandoned, likely by the end of next week! all chapters are planned and i'm still very motivated, so no need to worry if you're invested, and i massively appreciate all feedback!

once again anyone who guesses the song from the chapter summary is my dear lover forever, and i'm curious if anyone has picked up on the theme with the chapter titles? i like being percieved please comment if you have

next chapter is the first part of mingle, i hope you all enjoy!

Chapter 6: formaggi

Summary:

let me crawl inside your veins
i'll build a wall, give you a ball and chain
you're all i wanted
just let me hold you like a hostage

As the remaining players let themselves be led through the twisting hallways to the next game arena, In-ho found himself deaf to the chatter and worry of the crowd, moving mechanically along the assembly line of numbers. It had all started to become background noise, the low hum of anxiety, a collective murmur in every corner of the room. Despite the clear buzz of dread amongst them, it didn’t seem that the true reality of their situation had set in yet, some players even quietly plotting and joking with their teams as they walked.

 

Ahead, a group of blue voters spoke in hushed voices, cruel glee in their smiles, eyeing up the five of them. An unfortunate consequence of Gi-hun’s little hero game, putting a target on their back. And yet, despite the threat, In-ho couldn’t say he felt any need to act. The game would do its job, it always did.

 

The team had exchanged few words that morning beyond simple greetings, their leader’s mind clearly too occupied with the game ahead to discuss anything further as he wordlessly led them to the queue. To In-ho’s surprise, Jung-bae didn’t insist on standing with him, instead catching up with Dae-ho and Jun-hee, happy to stand behind him. As they finished their conversation, the man tapped him on the shoulder, catching his attention to wish him a simple good morning with a bright smile. In-ho returned it in kind despite his reservations, before turning his attention back to the man in front of him. 

 

As much as he wanted to hate Jung-bae, his pathetic attitude, the unearned confidence he waved around like stolen valor, the effect he had on Gi-hun, something tugged him back before he was able to boil over. Young-il wouldn’t hate him. Young-il would be thankful for the brotherhood they shared. So, In-ho must follow suit, must train himself to match the footsteps of the person he had created.

 

The two parts of himself fell in step as the crowd herded themselves into the large game arena, the door between what had been and what remained now a meaningless border.

 

This room was larger than the previous arenas, immense in its size and construction, bright with warm, artificial light. It felt almost like a carnival, adorned in peach-coloured ribbon and curtains, a rainbow of doors surrounding the circular space, every surface intricately decorated except the floor. It was polished immaculately, shining and smooth like marble, slippery against their thin shoes.

 

But the main attraction was in the center of the room. A large carousel, flat so the players could stand on it as the voice through the speakers commanded, illuminated in a halo of light from the tableau in the middle. Three horses, smooth gleaming porcelain, fixed on their golden poles.

 

“All players, please step onto the center platform!”

 

Within seconds, the players around them had grabbed their peers, separating into groups to try and cobble some concept of a strategy together. Gi-hun took the lead for the five of them, assuming responsibility to plan without complaint, running possibility after possibility in his mind. 5, 6, 7, contingencies and backups, but the obvious question remained unanswered-

 

“But… what if it’s smaller than five?” Dae-ho asked, speaking for the group.

 

Who will be left behind? Who will take the risk of leaving, trusting that someone else will save them? 

 

What if no-one does?

 

“No matter what happens, don’t panic. Let’s stay calm.” In-ho answered in Gi-hun’s place, shifting the attention of the group. It wasn’t entirely fair to rely on Gi-hun for every answer, not in a game like this. No amount of planning would save them if they couldn’t keep their heads on straight.

 

Underneath his mask of leadership, the stoic expression he forced on his face, In-ho could tell that Gi-hun was worried under it all. The man was smart, he understood the point of this game. Every part of this place was a machine, each cog and gear machiavellian in its cruelty, targeting each weakness and blind spot in their behaviour. Designed to make every step of the way hurt as much as possible.

 

And yet, Gi-hun wanted to fight. Not for the money or the glory, but for the lives of the people bringing this fate on themselves. 

 

“That’s why I came back. To make it out with everyone.”

 

Foolish man. Remarkable boy. 

 

“...We’ll all make it out together. Here.” In-ho breathed confidence like fire, waving the group to him with his hands, reaching one out between them all. One by one, they followed, placing their hands on top of his own, nods and smiles of faith on their faces.

 

Gi-hun hesitated, eyebrows knitted as he looked at their interlocked hands like he was memorising the sight of them before he reached out his own, large digits covering them, a protector. They breathed together, one creature, one team.

 

The taller man’s counted down from three, gently squeezing their hands before they all let go. Victory at all costs. 

 

+X+X+X+

 

“Let the game begin!”

 

The platform was easy enough to load the players onto, large enough to give them all space to move. Dae-ho suggested they stay on the fringes of the group, that it would be easier to reach the doors that way without getting caught in the crowd, standing behind Jun-hee to shield her from the other players. The few seconds of silent waiting were thick with tension, everyone unsure of exactly how the game would work in practice, knowing they could not afford mistakes. Even In-ho felt it, some kind of instinct scratching at his mind, rising in his lungs.

 

There was a collective gasp as the platform itself began moving, rotating slowly as a hauntingly childish song began playing, loud and disorienting. Instinctively, Jung-bae reached out to grab onto the men either side of him, steadying the group. The crowd echoed with yells and oh’s as the room’s lights snapped off leaving them in dizzying darkness before the carousel’s glow returned, brighter and kaleidoscopic. In this light, the room appeared impossibly bigger, the plastic bows and sparkling silk of the walls and ceiling now darkened corners, all focus on the doors they would need to run into.

It was almost painful, the panic of the waiting as the cheerful singing of children echoed through the room, seconds stretching into minutes. Next to their group, the familiar faces of the first group to complete Six Legs stood, their faces equally grim. All the strategy in the world couldn’t dispel this moment, the stillness of blood in the veins, ready to move or fight or flee. 

 

Fear, In-ho realised with a thrill, he felt fear . Distant and weak as it was, a useless animal impulse he could easily force down but still, he felt it. Alive . He breathed in the calm before the eventual storm, savouring the urgency of his baser instinct, the electric thrumming in his limbs.

 

In the middle of the next lyric, the platform halted, the momentum throwing players to the ground, the music cutting into dead silence. There was a second of silence before the voice spoke again, short and clipped.

 

“Ten!”

 

They had a second to think, and Jun-hee used it to grab the sleeve of In-ho’s jacket, pull him close to the group before the lights snapped off again, the room illuminated with purple and red beams like searchlights. 

 

The effect was immediate, screams of numbers and demands echoing out in the silence once filled with music, the crowd pushing and pulling to form groups of the right number as the clock loudly ticked down. But they were too unco-ordinated, writhing masses of bodies splitting and merging like cells, a violent mitosis as players started forcing and dragging each other across the slippery floor.

 

Before In-ho could react, visually checking their group was still together, Gi-hun had already grabbed the group next to them, asking their number and keeping them close as he whipped his head to search for a final person. In those few seconds, another group of five scrambled towards them, attempting to grab onto Jung-bae before being dragged away by another group. It was a frenzy, numbers impossible to see or focus on in the mess of colour and light, groups already stumbling towards doors as the timer dropped to 15 seconds. Players that had been so divided, so against each other in the safety of the dorms, now clinging onto their neighbors like lifelines in the absence of any kind of choice.

 

“There’s no time, Gi-hun.” In-ho grabbed the man, pulling him close so he could hear, pulling him out of his panic. Gi-hun met his eyes, so overwhelmed and out of his depth, unable to keep his gaze from shifting, looking at the groups around them like he was making sure everyone was okay. 

 

They both knew the math. There was no way every player could win this challenge. Maybe Gi-hun couldn’t accept that reality, but In-ho would be damned if their team were grouped with the losers.

 

In their wasted seconds of communication, 120 had taken initiative, sprinting to roughly grab the woman they had played Six Legs with, who had been unmoving in the center of the carousel. Her arms were raised to the three horses, praising and rocking as if they were a merciful god, praying for some kind of safety. 120 grabbed her carelessly, looking back at the group and yelling for them to move. Next to him, Gi-hun still seemed frozen, unable to commit to abandoning the other players to fend for themselves.

 

Before he could form the thought, In-ho’s legs were moving, thudding against the hard floor as he scoped out a free room, turning his head to scream the number over his shoulder. He reached it first, adrenaline searing in his veins, yanking the handle of it open and holding it for the others to get in first, making sure to keep count of them all. Their bodies thudded together as they forced inside of the room, all accounted for, and he entered last before shutting the door securely, the automatic lock bolting shut as the timer hit zero.

 

For a moment there was silence as the crowded room relaxed, players leaning on the walls and floor as they panted with exertion, before it started. First the yells, the banging of abandoned players begging to be let inside the locked doors, pleads and prayers for mercy met with cold silence, and then-

 

Bang!

 

In their safe room, the players flinched at the first gunshots, hands coming up to ears to block out the screams and cries, crouching and hiding as if the shots were coming for them, too. They averted their eyes, the older woman from the other team held onto the girls in one corner of the room, pulling Jun-hee close to her chest. All except the anomaly.

 

Gihun stood at the door, hands trembling faintly as they rested against the sickly green paint. He peered through the viewhole of the door, horrified eyes lit in the glow of the pink lights outside, watching the carnage unflinching. In-ho didn’t need to look, he knew what he would see. But the man in front of him was more interesting to watch.

 

Gi-hun couldn’t tear his stare away even as his eyebrows drew together in despair and guilt, eyes wincing as if they longed to close, couldn’t bear the sight any longer, but he refused to allow himself the reprieve. His body, the woven threads of his human instinct, held hostage by his mind, the self punishment he insisted on, his inability to let things be. Willing blindness, blissful ignorance, those were comforts he would not allow himself. He had to see everything, be the witness of all the death and pain. 

 

That’s all he was, a witness trying to become a hero. The last survivor, doomed to know the truth of the darkness in the world, the darkness in himself, and be helpless to stop any of it. He was caught, a backseat participant unable to stop the sounds of hot metal tearing through flesh, blood smearing against the floor as bodies slumped, stuck like a deer in the headlights.

 

And In-ho, gloating and satisfied as he was at the sight, couldn’t look away either. 

 

Gi-hun was enraptured by the sight, his breathing staggered and weak as his eyes struggled to keep up, darting at every gunshot, lips parted in the smallest, gentlest way. A final shot rang out, a man just beyond the boundary of the door, so close he could reach through the hole and touch him, so close that the sprays of red from his split-open head left a spot of crimson on Gi-hun’s cheek. The proximity finally made the man flinch, instinct gripping him as a soft, weak animal sound escaped his throat, wounded whimpers quiet enough for only In-ho to hear. Fear, helpless and bright and raw. Vulnerable.

 

They were close, In-ho watching the man like a hawk under the guise of making sure he was okay, and Gi-hun seemed uncaring of the man’s gaze. The sheer intimacy between them made his head spin to think about, how trusting the man had become for him, practically moldable in his hands. There had been a time when he rejected the very idea, swallowing any impure thought that crossed his mind as he kept his distance from the man, consumed by the disgust in his chest. He was above this, above him. The man was gutter trash that had gotten lucky, that was all.

 

The night he gave Gi-hun his winnings, he ordered one of his guards to seize him, loose and drugged, to hold him against the seat of the darkened car they sat in together. Normally, the winner would wake up in their home, disoriented and confused as if it had all been a dream, until they found the golden debit card containing their blood money. In-ho remembered it well, the haze of sleep giving way to the memory of what he had done. Something in him, vicious and wild, didn't want to give Gi-hun that kindness. His guards held the man roughly, one of them gripping open his jaw, soft lips parting as another gloved hand wrapped around his throat. The card was pressed against his tongue, slid down the opening of his slick throat almost too easily, inserted far enough to choke but not to block his airway when he was thrown out of the car onto the dirty street. 

 

He remembered watching, taking in every inch of the man from under his mask, listening to the symphony of his choked sounds, the twitches of his body as he fought for consciousness, the depravity of it all. It didn’t feel like anger anymore, or hatred. It felt worse, dangerous and obsessive, and as one of the guards gripped his unruly curls to keep him still and a keening whine ripped from 456’s throat he snapped for them to stop, feeling too hot to function. He had watched the man the entire drive, for any sign of wakefulness, certain it would be the last time he shared air with Seong Gi-hun.

 

And yet now, In-ho felt his breath hitch at the sight of the man, once again in shared air, the unashamed display feeling intended just for him. The room was empty, a space just for them, everything other than blood and bone faded into the background. None of it mattered anyway, not to them.

 

The screams of gunfire halted, replaced by the sounds of the guards dragging meat to the coffins, calculated and uncaring in their efficiency, and Gi-hun finally looked away, forehead slumping into the door as he tried to control his gasps. Perhaps he was satisfied that he had seen enough, committed every wound and body to memory, added them to the ever-growing altar of loss in his head, his dedication to the lives he failed to save. 

 

He just had to know it, know the loss and the pain, feel it all in its entirety even as it ripped him apart, separated him further from the man he used to be. Every act was a shedding of that old skin, a whisper through the chrysalis, a slow, painful change. 

 

Distantly, In-ho’s heart understood the thoughts his mind would not allow him to understand, the answer to the question he would never ask himself. It was inevitable, their futures were star-crossed and unavoidable, this act could not last forever. Young-il would die, the ill-fitting suit of him thrown to the side, and Gi-hun would learn the terrible truth. His hunger to see the beast in its entirety, to cut off its head, would lead him to the Frontman, the monster he sought to valiantly slay. And yet, a fantasy danced on the fringes of In-ho’s mind, dreamlike and shameful.

 

Would he find the Frontman? Or would that not satisfy his need, would he be able to see through the holes of his mask, the cracks that decorated his surface, climb the walls of his fortress and force his way inside?

 

Would he find the Frontman, or Hwang In-ho? Would he look at him like he looked at the massacre, a desire to understand and know and see, to commit him to memory, immortalised in his neurons? Would it destroy him, or would he emerge from the chrysalis, something different, something beyond even In-ho’s control?

 

Could you know me as I know you? Do you want to?

 

Do I want you to?

 

“You’re alive thanks to me!” A sudden shout from behind them, the strange woman who had been wasting her time praying to Gods who did not care. She stalked her way up and down the room like a mockery of a predator, revelling in the uncomfortable looks the group shared as she got close. Her head snapped to the left, staring at Jun-hee with a malicious smile, taking her in.

 

In-ho felt irritation curl in his chest as she took a step towards the younger girl, her smile curling cruelly at the edges as Jun-hee looked down, avoiding her stare. As if sensing his reaction, Gi-hun turned to see the interaction, prepared to step in until the shaman spotted him. She regarded him with the same knowing look, clearly familiar with him, eyes widening in glee as if the very sight of him confirmed something to her.

 

“So, there’s a reason you’ve lived longer than you were destined to.” Her voice was thick with mysticism and self-confidence, pinning the man with her eyes as she approached him. “There’s a reason you were brought here.”

 

The woman knew nothing. She was little more than a false idol, a professional conwoman who had deluded herself into believing her own lies. He remembered her file, watching the video of her recruitment, willing to sacrifice her dignity and safety for a mere 100,000 won. Shaman Seon-Nyeo hadn’t looked quite so dignified on the floor of a dirty back alley, face reddened and bruised, pleading for another red ddakji, one more chance, from a mere man rather than her gods. And yet, she had gotten something right.

 

There was a reason Gi-hun had survived this long, why he was brought to this place. Not fate, nor the will of some false deity. He wasn’t so weak that he would fall victim to such nonsense.

 

He was brought here by his own will. He dragged himself back to this place by his teeth, willingly took the journey back to the underworld, paid the toll with the sacrifice of the life he could have had. Gi-hun wanted this. His heart drove him here, against all logic and odds, back into the searchlights of In-ho’s gaze.

 

If he had chosen it, In-ho would have left him alone. Monitored him just in case, he was property of the company after all, but he would have let the man live a happy life. He could have gotten on that plane, reunited with his child, enjoyed his hard-won money and lived a life of indulgence for the rest of his days. In-ho would have been content to watch from his concrete island through distant cameras, watching Gi-hun’s faraway world through cold lenses. Perhaps because the man who would choose to live in ignorance wouldn’t be the Seong Gi-hun he was quite so interested in.

 

Still, he would have allowed it. He could be a merciful man. And Gi-hun came back anyway, as he was always going to. In-ho knew he would, after all. It was just a waiting game.

 

The shaman fell silent after that premonition, seemingly satisfied with her effect on the room, and they remained in silence until the door unlocked, the recorded voice ordering them to return to the game. 

 

As they filed out of the room, it was clear that the clean-up efforts only included the bodies of the fallen, and little else. Beneath In-ho’s shoes, sprays and smears of blood pooled like black ichor, seeping into the fabric of their white shoes, causing Dae-ho to nearly slip on the mess only to be caught by 120, who offered him whatever small smile she could. It was strange, seeing the ghosts of the eliminated players but not their faces, carried away and discarded. Even though their bodies were gone, memorialised only by their brain matter left on the floor and the bullet shells that were forgotten, every player seemed to carry the weight of them on their backs as they slunk back to the carousel, haunted and shell-shocked. 

 

Still, there was no choice. The ten of them took their place on the spinning wheel once again, gathering close even with the knowledge that they may be ripped apart by the next number, irrational sentimentality, false safety. In-ho stood at the back, taking a vantage point over the others, keeping his team visible in front of him like a livestock guardian. 

 

This time, as the ride came to a sudden halt they were prepared, grabbing each other for stability, ready to act. The voice came faster this time, a bright shout of “Four!” plunging them into the mess of light and sound. The group they had joined seemed to make their decision quickly, ditching the shaman to sprint to the nearest door even as she reached for them, suddenly smaller and weaker than she had appeared before.

 

In-ho couldn’t blame them, she was an insufferable woman.

 

His attention was grabbed by Gi-hun, who had begun to herd the four of them off the platform with his arms, demanding that they go without him, already searching around him for loose players to join with. Reckless idiot. Before he had finished his rushed out words, In-ho held up his hand to stop him, instinct commanding him.

 

“No, no, you guys go- I need three people!” He found himself yelling out to the crowd, darting through the mass of bodies as he slipped out of the group’s reach, pairs of hands ghosting him in an attempt to make him stay. Faintly, he heard Gi-hun call out to him, his voice clear among the chaos of the rabble, but he didn’t turn around. Instead, he stayed just out of sight, woven between groups trying and failing to sort themselves, a vantage point where he could see his team without them seeing him. 

 

To their credit, they’d managed to make it to a room, Gi-hun lingering by the door, refusing to close it despite the timer ticking steadily down. He was scanning the crowd, panicked and worked up, chest heaving. If In-ho focused, he could feel his distress, the mess of thoughts and pleas and guilt in his head, see the tremble of his soft lips.

 

It was almost funny. What would the man do if he saw In-ho in the writhing mess of bodies failing to save themselves, saw him scrambling helplessly on the stained floor, begging, pleading? Would he run to him, sacrifice the team to comfort In-ho in what would become their last moments? Would he pull him into the room, into his arms, try and keep them all calm even as the guards came for them? Did he even know what he was doing, standing guard in the doorway as if he could pull apart the very fabric of the games, discard the rules just to save him? 

 

Would he try it anyway?

 

With 8 seconds left on the timer, In-ho saw Jung-bae guide him firmly inside the room, trying to force the man away from whatever stupid idea he was considering, and took it as his cue to do the same. To his left, an empty room with no occupants, which he quickly opened the door to. He took a final look at the room behind him, the players who were unable to organise themselves, still blindly tugging and tripping over each other, clueless to the time ticking down. On the edges of the room, the few stragglers trying to form groups, limping and dragging themselves towards doors that might take them, wounded, useless animals who needed to be put down.

 

Feet away, an unfamiliar group of three spotted him in his doorway, calling to him in panic and relief as they sprinted towards his door. One of them teared up as he yelled to In-ho, reaching out to him as they got close. It was almost touching, their thankfulness, the bright hope in their eyes, near-euphoria, the clock’s final second ringing out behind them

 

In-ho smiled at them in return, stepping into the room and closing the door in their faces, a rough thud echoing through his empty room as their bodies collided with the door, confused and angry. 

 

They barely had time to grab the handle before the automatic lock snapped shut, the frantic sound of them pounding on the door and shouting through the peephole filling In-ho’s ears. One of them looked through, reaching his hand through the gap, his tears now fearful and hopeless. His eyes were wide and young, betrayal glimmering in the reflections of the warm streams making their way down his cheeks. In-ho’s smile didn’t drop, watching with his hands behind his back as shots rang out.

 

One of them hit its target dead centre, the life and terror fading from the boy’s eyes like a snuffed out candle, two dead stars finally darkening. In-ho exhaled shakily, the thrill crackling through his bones like a current. The body slid down the door, and the guard responsible peered through the hole, realising the identity of its sole occupant and lowering his gun, offering a short nod to In-ho.

 

Sure, he could have let them in. Might have given him more credibility, more leverage with the group. But frankly, he had his fill of unnecessary attachments.

 

And those blue patches he saw on their chests didn’t exactly earn his favour.

 

+X+X+X+

 

It was a long time until the doors opened, the death toll significantly higher the second round, but In-ho was perfectly content to enjoy the peace, crouching in the corner of the room and rearranging his thoughts. He mentally scoured over his last sight of Gi-hun, the man so determined, searching so desperately and earnestly. He should take it as an insult, the man not trusting that he would be capable on his own, but some part of him felt warmed by it.

 

He could not die in here. He would not be hurt, would not be at the mercy of the animals he shared numbers with. He would never need Gi-hun’s protection, or his gaze, or his help. But still, the idea felt nice, somehow. He could let Gi-hun believe it, make the man fall into his hero delusion, fall on his own sword. He could even entertain the fantasy himself, briefly. But it would still be a lie. 

 

When the doors finally unlocked, shaking him out of his thoughts, he found himself hesitating to exit. Instead, he watched through the peephole as teams began emerging, tentatively at first as they took in the fresh smell of metal and gunpowder. He saw familiar faces, the crowd significantly thinner but still sizeable, an impressive turnout.

 

“Brother Young-il!”

 

Across the room, the bellow of Dae-ho’s voice was unmistakable, his team making their way out and spreading to search for him. Jung-bae was visibly nervous, his hand over his mouth as he looked around, like he was expecting to see In-ho’s corpse at any turn. As always, Jun-hee stayed by Dae-ho’s side as he yelled out, taking refuge in his shadow but looking noticeably unwell, avoiding looking at the blood below her feet.

 

Gi-hun did not shout, or search for him amongst the sea of survivors. His eyes seemed unfocused, slipping over pools of crimson and bone fragments, head barely moving. He looked sunken, as if he had already begun to consider a horrible possibility, too scared to look and confirm his fears. Gi-hun, afraid of the truth. Afraid to look.

 

He hadn’t been scared to watch the deaths of his peers, the players he failed to save. He had forced himself to see it, the consequences of his failure, even as it weighed heavier on his already damaged soul. And yet, here he was, too scared to look for In-ho, if only for the possibility that he might not be there.

 

There would be no body, no sign of his passing. Just an unidentifiable splatter in some corner of the room, as unremarkable as every other wasted life. They would never know his last words or thoughts, if he had faced death with dignity or gone out like an animal. It would be easy to slip away like this, and it would break Gi-hun worse than seeing his death in violent, horrible detail. Fitting punishment.

 

And yet, his hands opened the door handle, his legs drove him through the crowd to his group, his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.

 

“Gi-hun!”

 

His head snapped up at the sound, his attention frantic and focused on In-ho through the crowd, like he was seeing a ghost. Unwavering, disbelieving, terrified.

 

God, he could practically taste it in the metallic air.

 

“Hyung!” Dae-ho answered the call, even if it wasn’t intended for him, his arms raising in a cheer as he grinned a gummy smile, the relief palpable. To In-ho’s surprise, it was Jung-bae that reached him first, muttering out an emphatic “Oh thank god.” before wrapping him in a rough hug, warm and genuine.

 

It felt good somehow, the pressure pulling him together, Jung-bae’s assurances that he knew In-ho would be okay, the relief at his mere presence. “I knew it,” He said, his arm resting over the man’s shoulder proudly, thrilled to just be near him. “You’re not just anybody!”

 

The man wasn’t wrong, he wasn’t just anybody. But In-ho knew he would not be quite so proud if he knew exactly why. Still, this felt nice.

 

As he looked up, he caught Gi-hun’s gaze, the smile on the man’s face small and unsure, like he wasn’t quite sure if things were okay. He smiled brightly at the man, trying to convey a message through his expressions, and it seemed to relax him. Gi-hun struggled to speak for a second, taking in every inch of In-ho’s form, his mouth trembling with every exhale.

 

“...I was worried. I’m glad you made it.” The words were simple, but heavy in their honesty. He held In-ho’s gaze with a look of comfort as he rushed out a quickly-composed lie about how he survived, laughing softly along with him. Behind him, Jung-bae patted his back proudly, chuckling with mirth in his ear, keeping him in the center of the group’s huddle.

 

It was unfair how easy this felt. As if this was honest in any form, as if it was real. Like this, surrounded by his mismatched team, his every move watched by the man in front of him, breathing him in like he somehow genuinely cared-

 

Lies. He wasn’t the person they were worried for, the man they had grown to care for. Young-il was their friend, not In-ho.

 

Young-il turned his attention to the young girl beside him, checking in on her condition with concern bleeding from his soft voice. He basked in her genuine worry for him, the smile she offered, the weight of Gi-hun’s own grin as he watched them interact. He made a joke to ease the group, laughed with them as they pretended to not find him funny before breaking, their small corner of the room glowing with fondness and belonging and a word he felt sick to even say.

 

And under the mask, In-ho sat, distant and alone in the doorway between his two selves, meeting in the middle like the wings of a butterfly. His self imposed cage rattled with want, cold blood thrumming to life as he pushed himself into that bright feeling, a hungry animal pressing its weary body against any warmth it can find.

 

Gi-hun wasn’t the only one trying to bend the rules through pure will.

 

On their walk back to the platform, Jun-hee led the group, safe in the view of the men behind her. Next to him on both sides, Jung-bae and Gi-hun’s warm bodies boxed him in like he would slip away again, watching him closely until they settled in their space on the edge, Dae-ho whispering encouragement to the team from behind him. The coddling teetered on the edge of overbearing, but he knew it was for their sake as much as his, so he did not complain.

 

As they settled for the next round and the song started, Gi-hun touched each of them briefly, smoothing creases in fabric and steadying unsure postures, as if making sure they were all still there. He turned to In-ho, and instead of a smile, he offered a look of gratitude, inching ever-so slightly closer.

 

In-ho pretended not to see the way the man’s hand prepared itself to reach for his sleeve, ready to grab and keep him close the second the music stopped. The way he jumped into action the second the carousel stopped, grabbing onto the green fabric and forcing the man towards the group, as if he was an animal who would bolt at any second. It was better for both of them to silence that thought, even as his weakest parts keened at the act.

 

Darkness, then dizzying light, the five of them in an unbreakable circle. A hand gripping his wrist as if he couldn’t snap the man’s arm in a single move, as if he needed it.

 

You don’t need it, Young-il whispered inside his mind, soft voice and kind face, every part of himself he dug out and discarded like weeds, a sun-bleached image of the past. You  want it.

 

And isn’t that just so much worse?

 

“Three!”

Notes:

hello! apologies for the long wait, i decided to get my final exams out of the way before posting, but i hope this chapter makes up for it! originally mingle was meant to be one chapter (best game in the show), but my first draft was over 12,000 words so it has been split in two, and the next chapter will be up on sat or sunday night (i promise this time haha)

to everyone who was worried this fic was abandoned, don't be concerned! i physically cannot let myself leave this fic unfinished i am far too hyperfixated on this show.

also, the tag finally hit 1000 fics! i'm honestly amazed by how many people adore this ship as much as i do, and i truly hope that i'm doing them justice for everyone.

as always, thank you so so much for your support and time!