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Thanos feels like he’s losing his fucking mind.
The worst part is that it isn’t even because of the games. With drugs pumping through him, the games aren’t a problem for him at all; it’s exciting. He looks forward to the exhilaration, the fragile teetering between life and death. Each game reminds him of the way the gentle breeze had felt against his face as he leaned over the bridge, fully prepared to die.
So, no; it’s not the games that are making his brain go into overdrive, nor is it the constant, looming possibility of being killed. It’s not the sights of blood and gore, or the way his drug supply is dwindling, or the fact the money isn’t piling up as quickly as he’d like it to.
It’s fucking Nam-gyu.
The guy has practically been hanging off his arm since the beginning, acting like some sort of personal bodyguard all because they had a few short interactions outside the games at Club Pentagon. He popped some pills with the guy a few times, and suddenly they're inseparable.
Well, whatever. It’s not like he cares. It’s nice to have backup to rely on, even if Nam-gyu is so obviously all bark and no bite. Every physical altercation they get involved in, Thanos ends up having to haul Nam-gyu away with a hurried, “I got this, bro,” because holy shit, the guy seriously sucks at fighting.
He really ought to berate him for it, to poke fun at Nam-gyu for his clumsy footing and shaky hands, taking the opportunity to get under his skin. But, he doesn’t. In fact, he does the exact opposite; always commending him for his backup, sharing his own limited supply of pills to calm him down.
And Nam-gyu eats it up every time, basking in every word of praise like it’s a present to be forever cherished. It’s sort of pathetic. It’s even more pathetic how much Thanos gets off on it.
“You’re staring at him like you’re going to pounce him,” Se-mi murmurs during mealtime, eyes squinting at him contemplatively as she takes a sip of her milk. Beside her, Min-su glances at her anxiously, hands fidgeting in his lap.
Nam-gyu, still in line waiting for his small portions of food and drink, sways absentmindedly, tucking a piece of hair behind his ears. It takes a great amount of willpower for Thanos to tear his eyes away from the subtle twitches of the fingers that peek out of Nam-gyu’s jacket sleeves. Fuck, he deserves a Medal of Honor for this shit.
“Huh?” He tilts his head, eyeing Se-mi with a sense of disgruntlement. To her side, Gyeong-su snickers into the palm of his hand.
“Are you mad at him?” Min-su asks nervously. “Did he do something wrong?”
“Of course not, bro!” Thanos lifts his hands up and crosses his fingers, smiling widely. “Me and Nam-su are like this.”
“It’s Nam-gyu,” Se-mi deadpans. Thanos frowns — it’s really only funny when Nam-gyu himself is the one to correct him.
“I don’t think he’s mad,” Gyeong-su chuckles, like everyone is in on the same stupid inside joke.
Thanos’ scowl deepens. “Why would I be?”
“Because you keep looking at him like you want to eat him,” Se-mi says plainly, as if it’s a natural, well-rounded thing to say. Min-su looks so utterly aghast at the prospect that Thanos would laugh in his face if he wasn’t equally as appalled.
Before he can muster up a response, Nam-gyu plops down beside him, a container of food in one hand and a carton of milk in the other. “If I have to wait in a line that long again for food this shitty, they might as well just fucking shoot me now and get it over with.”
“Well, aren’t you in a wonderful mood?” Se-mi drawls sarcastically. “Speak of the devil. We were just talking about you.”
Instead of paying any attention to Se-mi, Nam-gyu looks expectantly at Thanos. “Hm?”
And then he does it again — the hair tuck. Fingers darting out to swipe at black pieces of hair, then immediately covering his palms back up with the sleeves of his jacket. Then, with his eyebrows furrowed in impatience, his teeth absentmindedly dig into his bottom lip.
Oh, shit. He really does want to pounce him. And eat him. Preferably both.
“Oh, for fucks sake,” he hears Se-mi mutter distantly. “See? He’s doing it again—“
Min-su shushes her before she can continue, and Nam-gyu’s impatience shifts into a mixture of confused annoyance. He turns to glare at Se-mi, eyes narrowed with a sharp, uncanny sense of hatred. Thanos has no idea what caused Nam-gyu’s blatant dislike for her, but he figures he shouldn’t get involved. With the way the games have been going, he doubts the team will remain intact for all that long. It’s best to remain relatively unattached.
(Which, to be fair, he seems to be failing at spectacularly when it comes to Nam-gyu, but it’s not like Thanos can be perfect at everything.)
“Doing what?” Nam-gyu snaps.
“Not you. Him.” Se-mi points to Thanos, continuously unperturbed. Min-su buries his head in his hands, as if taking cover for a bomb that’s about to erupt.
Nam-gyu heaves a sigh, turning to Thanos and gesturing at Se-mi with clear aggravation. “What the hell is she talking about, man?”
“Nothing,” Thanos says, a little too quickly and far too forcefully. Nam-gyu stiffins, righting himself with a look of plain offense.
“Uh-oh,” Gyeong-su mutters — and, yeah, uh-oh is right. Nam-gyu is a man who’s very quick to irritation, and having his fellow teammates refuse to tell him what they were talking about in his absence is a surefire way to piss him off. Thanos can tell by the way his lips shift downward, the way his eyes narrow, the way he tugs harshly at the edges of his sleeves; he’s very clearly aggravated. Maybe Min-su was right for taking cover.
“Calm down, my boy!” Thanos exclaims, reaching forward to take Nam-gyu’s clothed wrists in his own, ringed fingers digging into the soft material of his tracksuit. “Don’t be so serious!”
Nam-gyu swallows, and Thanos tracks the movement of his throat bobbing with careful concentration. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
Nam-gyu’s voice is still tinged with annoyance, and a part of Thanos wants to explain in full that he just came to the acute realization that the reason his brain always feels like jelly when he’s around him isn’t because of drugs, but because of affection. He wants to explain that, actually, he really was staring at Nam-gyu in line, and it really was because he wanted to devour him whole. In a completely normal, friendly way.
Man…first a death game, now a sexuality crisis? Damn, give him a break!
Nam-gyu clears his throat awkwardly, tapping his fingers against Thanos’ wrist. Ah, shit. How long has he been sitting here wordlessly, clutching onto his hands like a lifeline?
“…What’re you staring at?” Nam-gyu asks bluntly, and when the group around them bursts into snickers, Thanos pretends not to hear it at all.