I Think You Saved Me

by Brochachoss

Summary:

Su-Bong—better known as Thanos—had been chasing music since he was sixteen. The day his big break came, he didn’t hesitate. He packed his bags, walked out the door, and told his asshole parents to fuck off without a second glance. He had a career to build, a name to make for himself.

And he did.

But ten years in the music industry came with more than just success. It came with late nights, bad decisions, and habits that sank their claws into him before he even realized it. What started as a way to keep up, to take the edge off, turned into something worse. Something that followed him long after the high was gone.

His manager had seen it coming before he did.

The conversation wasn’t a request. It wasn’t a warning. It was an ultimatum.

"Get clean. Go to NA. Or you’re done. I’m not watching you destroy yourself."

For the first time in years, Thanos realized he was standing at a crossroads.

And for the first time in years… he wasn’t sure which way to go.

Chapter 1: The First Meeting

"Fuck me."

That was the only thought running through Thanos’s head as the car rolled to a stop in front of the community center. The fluorescent light above the entrance buzzed faintly, casting an artificial glow on the worn-out sign taped to the door, listing all the meetings scheduled for the evening. His eyes skimmed over the words, already knowing exactly which one he was supposed to be walking into.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair before gripping the car door handle, muttering a half-hearted "Thanks" to the driver. The second he stepped out, the chill of the night air hit him, a stark contrast to the lingering warmth inside the car. The door clicked shut behind him, the sound feeling weirdly final.

God, he didn’t want to be here. Not now. Not ever.

With a tired exhale, he shoved a hand into his jacket pocket, fingers wrapping around the familiar shape of his vape. He pulled it out, pressing it to his lips and taking a long, slow drag. The strawberry-flavored vapor filled his lungs, offering a brief distraction, a momentary relief. He held it in for a second before exhaling, watching as the smoke curled and faded into the night. It wasn’t enough. Not even close.

But it was all he had.

Three days. Three fucking days since he’d last used it, and his body was still screaming at him for it. His skin felt too tight, his nerves on edge, his thoughts a jumbled mess of irritability and exhaustion. The cravings weren’t just whispers in the back of his mind anymore—they were loud, relentless, clawing at his ribs like something alive.

The vape wasn’t a fix. Not really. But it was the only thing keeping him from losing his mind completely.

Shoving it back into his pocket, he let his gaze drift toward the entrance again. Through the glass doors, he could see a few people already inside—some standing around chatting, others sitting in the plastic chairs arranged in a loose circle. The sight made something twist in his stomach.

He could still turn around. Get back in the car, tell the driver to take him literally anywhere else. Pretend he never came.

But then what?

He already knew the answer.

With another deep breath—one that did absolutely nothing to settle the unease crawling under his skin—he forced his feet forward, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets. The automatic doors slid open, and the warmth of the community center washed over him, carrying the faint scent of coffee, cheap disinfectant, and something that smelled vaguely like old books.

He barely registered any of it.

Because no matter how many times he told himself he didn’t want to be here…

He knew this was exactly where he needed to be. He knew he'd lose everything he had left if he didn't

As Thanos moved toward an empty chair, his gaze flickered to the guy sitting beside it. He hadn’t meant to stare, but something about him caught his attention—maybe it was how intensely focused he was on whatever game he was playing, thumb swiping across the screen in quick, practiced motions.

Candy. It looked like one of those matching games—bright colors flashing every time he cleared a row. Thanos had never really gotten into that kind of thing, but this guy looked like he was taking it seriously, brows furrowed just slightly, his lips pressed together in mild concentration.

His outfit was casual, nothing particularly eye-catching—an old-school boomer jacket, the kind that was probably thrifted or passed down, paired with well-worn jeans and simple sneakers. It was the kind of look that said I don’t try too hard, but it worked.

His hair was dark, just past ear-length, slightly tousled in a way that looked effortless. Brown eyes, sharp cheekbones—yeah, he was kind of good-looking, now that Thanos really noticed. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way he rested his chin on his palm, elbow propped against his knee like he was perfectly at ease. The glasses sitting on top of his head, slightly tilted, like he’d absentmindedly pushed them up there and forgotten about them.

Thanos wasn’t sure why, but something about him made it feel a little less suffocating to be here.

Then, as if sensing the attention, the guy suddenly looked up, locking eyes with him.

Thanos froze.

Well. Shit.

Thanos himself wasn’t exactly dressed to impress—not that he particularly cared right now. His jeans were slightly loose, held up by a belt that had seen better days. The bright yellow baggy shirt he had on was a questionable choice, with some random abstract design he vaguely remembered thinking was way cooler when he was on mushrooms. Now? It was just kind of there.

His cross necklace, now empty, rested against his chest, sitting between the mix of other jewelry he never took off—rings on almost every finger, bracelets stacked haphazardly on his wrist. A jacket hung lazily off one arm, like he couldn’t be bothered to actually wear it properly.

But the best thing? His shoes.

Limited edition. Rare as hell. Probably the only thing in his outfit he actually gave a shit about. Well maybe besides his cross.

So, yeah, maybe he wasn’t dressed his best. But at least his shoes were carrying him through.

He spoke.

"Uh—hey..." Thanos mumbled, immediately regretting it.

Talking to people was so much easier when he was high. Words came out smoother, more natural, without the weight of self-awareness pressing down on him. Now? Now he felt like a fish out of water, awkward and exposed, as if he’d slapped a neon sign over his head that screamed loser who doesn’t belong here.

The guy looked up from his phone, brown eyes shifting toward Thanos with a look that was more curious than anything else. At least he didn’t seem annoyed—already better than Thanos had expected.
Still, the silence that hung between them was unbearable.
Thanos wanted to shrink into the shitty plastic chair, melt away, and never speak again.

The nameless guy studied him for a few more seconds, his gaze lingering as if trying to place him, before finally speaking. “You look kinda familiar. Have you been here before?” His tone was casual, but there was something in his eyes—a quiet curiosity—that made it feel more like an invitation than a question. He didn’t seem to be sizing Thanos up or judging him, just genuinely wondering.

Thanos swallowed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. The guy’s expression didn’t flicker with any kind of recognition, just mild interest, and it made the silence between them feel less like an awkward void and more like an opportunity. Maybe this was his chance to say something. Maybe he could actually carry on a conversation without stumbling all over himself.

But the pressure of it, the weight of even the simplest words, made his throat tighten.

"Uh, no—I haven’t." Thanos fumbled with the words, unsure how to make the moment feel less awkward. Should he mention that he was kind of famous? Normally, he’d drop that fact within seconds of meeting someone, a casual flex to gauge their reaction, to see how much attention he could get with just his name or a well-timed story. But something about the guy in front of him made it feel... wrong.

This wasn’t the place for that. This wasn’t a scene where he could just turn on the charm and try to impress. For once, he wasn’t looking to get in someone’s pants. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he was looking for anything at all. Just a few minutes of peace, maybe. Just a moment where he didn’t feel like everything was about who he was or what he’d done.

So, instead of name-dropping or spinning some tale, he kept his focus on the guy’s face—his eyes, still watching him with that quiet curiosity. It almost felt like an invitation, but not in the usual way. More like an invitation to just be a person, not a persona.

Thanos swallowed again, trying not to feel the pressure of what should come next.

“Mhm, a newcomer then?” The guy asked with a small, easy smile, his tone light and welcoming. “My name’s Nam-Gyu. What’s yours?”

Thanos blinked, caught a little off guard by the guy's straightforward friendliness. Most people didn’t smile at him like that, not without some kind of hidden agenda. But Nam-Gyu seemed different. He wasn’t sizing him up, wasn’t waiting for a punchline or some clever retort. Just... genuine.

Thanos opened his mouth to respond but hesitated. There was something oddly disarming about Nam-Gyu. Normally, Thanos would throw out a name, maybe a fake one, just to keep some distance between himself and the world. But this time? He didn’t feel like pretending.

“Sung-Bong, but everyone calls me Thanos,” he said, the name feeling oddly weighty. Like it came with its own expectations, a mask he had to wear.

The oddness of the situation struck him then—he’d been so used to being recognized, approached, admired even. But here? These people were just... talking. Just being. There wasn’t the usual hush that fell over the room when people realized who he was. In fact, looking around, most of the people were happily chatting with each other, completely at ease, like they belonged here. Like it wasn’t some kind of performance.

It made him feel like an outsider in a way he hadn’t in a long time.

“Thanos, huh? So that’s how I know you!” Nam-Gyu’s eyes lit up with sudden recognition, like a light bulb had flicked on. “I’ve listened to some of your stuff—” Nam-Gyu cut himself off, suddenly realizing something. “Shit, uh, sorry. This is supposed to be, like, anonymous.”

He looked away quickly, a wave of guilt flashing across his face, his shoulders tensing as if he were bracing for some kind of reprimand.

Thanos should’ve been annoyed. The rules had been clear—no one was supposed to acknowledge who he was. If they recognized him, they had to keep it quiet, pretend like he was just another guy in the room. He could feel the irritation rising, but then—something stopped him. Maybe it was the genuine guilt in Nam-Gyu’s face or the way his voice had faltered.

“Nah man, you’re good,” Thanos replied before he could second-guess himself. It wasn’t like he cared about the rules—not really. The whole point of this place was to forget who they were outside, to leave the baggage at the door. And honestly? He didn’t mind the recognition as much as he thought he would.

Nam-Gyu looked back at him, surprised, but also relieved, as though he’d expected Thanos to snap at him for breaking the unspoken rule.

“Yeah?” Nam-Gyu’s voice was tentative now, still a little unsure. “Okay, cool... I just didn’t want to make things weird.”

Thanos smiled a little, more to himself than anyone else. It was weird, sure, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d imagined.

Right as Nam-Gyu was about to say something else, a voice echoed across the room, cutting through the chatter and halting him mid-sentence. Nam-Gyu looked toward the front of the room, then leaned in, whispering just loud enough for Thanos to hear. “Hey, let’s talk more later.”

Thanos gave a quick nod, feeling the brief connection slip away as the meeting officially began.

“Okay, everyone, welcome back to this week's group meeting. If you’re new, this is the meeting we have once a week with people from all the support groups we hold,” a voice called out, loud enough to silence the room.

The man speaking was older than Thanos, maybe in his late 40s or early 50s, with short-cropped dark brown hair that was pushed back neatly, giving him a more composed, organized look. He wore a simple long-sleeved black shirt and black slacks, paired with matching shoes—nothing flashy, just clean and professional. His calm demeanor contrasted with the more casual, laid-back atmosphere of the rest of the room, but it wasn’t out of place. It made sense for someone running these kinds of meetings to have that air of authority.

Thanos could feel the shift in the room, the collective focus turning toward the speaker. Everyone was listening. It wasn’t the kind of attention he was used to, but it felt... different. Less about him, and more about the group.

Thanos let his gaze drift across the room, taking in the different faces, the different stories written in scars, tattoos, and tired eyes. Some people looked like they belonged here, like they had settled into this place, made peace with what it meant. Others, like him, looked like they’d rather be anywhere else.

A few caught his attention right away.

There were two guys sitting near each other, laughing quietly, their shoulders bumping in a way that spoke of easy familiarity. One was younger, his long hair tied half-up, half-down in a way that was almost effortless but just controlled enough to be intentional. The other was older—maybe mid-forties—but still had that look about him, the kind that said he’d probably been through a lot and had the stories to prove it.

At first, Thanos couldn’t figure out what had drawn his attention to them. Then, he noticed it—the matching tattoos on their arms. Faded, but still clear enough to make out. A marine symbol.

Maybe they became buddies from shared, terrifying experiences.

Thanos knew how that worked—how trauma could tie people together just as tightly as friendship. Sometimes even tighter. The kind of bond that didn’t need words, didn’t need explanations. Just a look, a nod, an understanding that ran deeper than most people could grasp.

He’d seen it before. Hell, he’d felt it before.

His gaze shifted.

On Nam-Gyu’s other side sat a girl with a lot of piercings, her short hair messily styled, a couple of strands falling into her face. She had the kind of look that screamed tough as nails but also tired as hell. Like she’d been through shit and didn’t have the patience to pretend otherwise.

Next to her were two guys—complete opposites.

One looked tiny, curled in on himself like he was trying to disappear, hands fidgeting in his lap, eyes darting around as if waiting for someone to call him out or call on him. Like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

The other? The other was the definition of unbothered. Leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, just watching the guy who was speaking like he wasn’t sure if he actually cared or not.

Thanos exhaled slowly, rolling his vape between his fingers.

There was a weird energy in the room—something between tension and comfort, like everyone here knew what rock bottom felt like but had learned to carry it differently.

He managed to take in one last person before the speaker wrapped up, signaling it was time for the group to share.

Across the room, a man—probably in his late 40s—sat with short, slightly fluffy hair, his gaze locked on the speaker. But it wasn’t just that he was watching him. There was something deeper in his expression—something quiet, steady. Something that didn’t need words to be understood.

Thanos wasn’t sure why that thought stuck with him, but it did. Maybe it was because whatever it was lasted.

It was grounding in a way he hadn’t expected.

Before he could dwell on it too much, the guy speaking wrapped up, and the room shifted. It was time for the group to share.

---

Only about four people had shared so far, but it felt like an hour had dragged by. It was killing him.

At the very least, it gave him more time to listen, watch, and actually start putting names to faces.

The guys with the matching tattoos were Dae-ho and Jun-bae. From what Thanos gathered from Dae-ho’s share, he had been forced into the Marines by his abusive father—a story that got a few knowing nods around the room. He wasn’t sure about Jun-bae’s past since he chose not to share this time, but the way he sat beside Dae-ho, his presence steady and unwavering, made Thanos think he’d heard the story before.

Then there was the guy making heart eyes at the speaker—Gi-hun. Thanos had already figured out there was something between him and the older guy leading the meeting, but now it made more sense. The faint glint of matching wedding rings on their hands confirmed it.

Huh. Old gay love. That was nice.

Apparently, Gi-hun had been in this program for years, long enough to sponsor half the people in the room. His husband, the speaker, was sharing a story about the early days of his life—about how he lost the first great love of his life, his wife, and how he wouldn’t have made it without the right people standing by him now.

You’d think talking about an ex like that, especially someone he had clearly loved, would cause some kind of tension. But when Thanos glanced at Gi-hun, he wasn’t upset. He just listened, understanding written all over his face.

Thanos slumped further into his chair, letting his fingers drum idly against his knee.

He wasn’t sure if knowing all this made it better or worse.

Maybe a little of both.

Thanos then learned that the speaker’s name was In-Ho. Apparently, he usually ran the grief support group, which made sense given the way he spoke—measured, calm, like someone who had seen the worst of life and made peace with it.

Gi-hun, on the other hand, led the Gamblers Anonymous meetings. That, too, tracked. There was an ease to him, a way he carried himself like he had been through the mess, made every mistake in the book, and somehow crawled out the other side.

Together, they made an odd pair—one reserved and composed, the other expressive and warm. But watching the way Gi-hun occasionally glanced at In-Ho, how In-Ho’s gaze softened just the slightest bit when it landed on him, Thanos could tell they worked.

And he hated to admit it, but that was… kind of nice.

Maybe there were worse places to be.

Thanos had been zoning out a little, his mind drifting between the stories being shared, the quiet hum of the room, and the constant storm of his own thoughts. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t really want to hear any more confessions, but the pull of the place was hard to ignore, even if it only added to the noise in his head.

But then Nam-Gyu spoke, and just like that, his attention snapped back, like a rubber band pulled too tight.

Nam-Gyu spoke with ease, like someone who’d done this before, but Thanos caught the slight tremor in his hands, a vulnerability flickering through the cracks.

"I'm Nam-Gyu, and I'm an addict."

The room responded in unison with a quiet, familiar “hello,” and Nam-Gyu continued, his voice steady but layered with something more.

"I'm going to be three months sober in about a week, and honestly? I couldn't be more scared. Hell, I never even thought I'd make it a week, and here I am with these coins telling me I'm doing it. But then again, why can't I believe them?"

His fingers toyed with something in his lap—probably one of those sobriety coins. The way he fidgeted, his fingers picking at it, betrayed the calmness in his tone. His voice was steady, but his words seemed to carry the weight of years, the kind of weight that never truly lifted.

"Because I still think about just saying 'fuck it' and getting a needle."

The words landed with a heavy thud in Thanos’s chest, a visceral punch he could almost feel in his gut. It wasn’t just the words that hit him—it was the honesty in them. The rawness that seemed to ripple through the room, touching everyone, even if no one spoke it aloud.

"But I haven’t," Nam-Gyu added after a beat, his voice just a little more certain. "And I guess that says something, because I never thought I'd stop."

For the first time since he started speaking, Nam-Gyu lifted his head. His eyes scanned the room, fleeting, uncertain, as if testing the waters—maybe searching for someone who understood. Maybe for someone who’d nod, or smile, or somehow affirm that this whole thing was real.

Then, as if realizing where he was, he gave a small, almost sheepish smile, like a weight had been lifted, but only just enough to make him feel a little less exposed. "Well, that’s all I got. Thanks."

And just like that, he looked back down, fingers still fidgeting in his lap, withdrawing into himself again.

Thanos should’ve looked away. Should’ve kept his eyes anywhere else. He should’ve focused on something, anything, to distract himself from the heavy knot that had formed in his chest.

But he didn’t.

Because for the first time since he walked into this room, he saw himself in someone else. In the way Nam-Gyu had confessed, in the struggle that was hidden behind the words. It was a reminder of everything Thanos had been running from, of the things he pretended weren’t clawing at the edges of his mind. And for a moment, he couldn’t help but wonder if Nam-Gyu had been speaking to him, even without knowing it.

The truth of it hit too close.

"Thank you, Nam-Gyu. Would anyone else like to share? Perhaps a newcomer?" In-Ho spoke from the front of the room, his voice steady and patient.

And like clockwork, a few eyes turned his way.

Thanos felt it immediately—that familiar prickling sensation of being watched, of expectation settling over him like a weight. His shoulders stiffened, and he resisted the urge to sink further into his seat.

Of course, they were looking at him.

He kept his face carefully neutral, forcing himself not to react, not to make eye contact. He had no intention of speaking. He wasn’t here to spill his guts to a room full of strangers. He was just here to be. To exist in the background.

But the silence stretched just a little too long.

His fingers curled into his jacket pockets, gripping at nothing, his pulse a little too loud in his ears.

Shit.

"Uh, hi."

Fuck.

He had no idea what to say.

The silence stretched just long enough to make his skin crawl, but now that he’d opened his mouth, he had to keep going. He exhaled sharply through his nose, glancing at the floor before forcing himself to speak again.

"I'm... Thanos." A beat. "Uh, Sung-Bong, actually. But everyone calls me Thanos."

His own name felt weird in his mouth—too real, too exposed—but he kept talking, words tumbling out before he could stop them.

"I—uh—I don't really know what to say." He let out a dry, humorless chuckle, scratching at the back of his neck. "I guess... I wouldn't be here if everything was fine. But, uh, it's not. Obviously."

He risked a glance up. No one was laughing at him. No one looked annoyed. They were just... waiting. Listening.

"I’ve been clean for three days," he admitted, voice quieter now. "And it fucking sucks. I feel like my skin’s too tight, and my head won’t shut up, and everything pisses me off. So, yeah. That’s where I’m at, I guess."

His fingers fidgeted in his lap, twisting the ring on his index finger. He didn’t know what else to say.

So he just shrugged, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

"That’s it. Thanks, or whatever."

And with that, he looked back down, hoping no one would push him to keep going.

Jesus. He had never stuttered that much in his life.

Stupid detoxing.

His nerves felt frayed, his body on edge, like his own skin didn’t quite fit right. He wasn’t usually like this—hesitant, fumbling over his words like some awkward kid. Normally, he knew what to say, how to say it. Words came easy when he had something in his system, smoothing out the edges, making everything feel effortless.

Now? Now he just felt raw. Exposed.

He clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the way his hands felt too damn shaky in his lap. He just wanted this moment to pass, for someone else to start talking so he could fade into the background again.

But the worst part?

A tiny, infuriating part of him wondered if maybe this was the first real thing he’d said in a long time.

"Thank you, Thanos. I hope to see you around more."

In-Ho’s voice was steady, warm but not overly sentimental. He met Thanos’s gaze with a small, reassuring smile—one that somehow felt genuine, not the forced kind people gave when they didn’t know what else to say. Then, just like that, he shifted his attention away, letting Thanos breathe again.

"Well, that’s all the time we have for sharing today," In-Ho continued, addressing the room with the same measured calm. "I want to thank everyone for showing up and for being here, whether you spoke or just listened. I know it’s not easy, but every time you walk through those doors, you’re choosing something different. Something better."

A few people nodded in quiet agreement, some shifting in their seats, the weight of the meeting settling in their bones.

In-Ho let the words hang for a moment before moving on. "That said, if anyone needs to talk one-on-one, myself and a few others will be staying behind to clean up. If you’re struggling, or if there’s something on your mind you didn’t feel like saying out loud, we’re here. No pressure, no expectations—just conversation, if you need it."

He paused, turning slightly to gesture toward a small table near the entrance. "Also, if you’re looking for more resources, there are pamphlets over there about the different support groups we run. They cover a range of issues—substance abuse, mental health, grief, family support. If you see something that speaks to you, take it. No one’s keeping track."

A few people murmured their thanks, some already standing to stretch, the energy in the room shifting from heavy introspection to quiet relief—the meeting was over, but the weight of it still lingered.

With a final, respectful bow, In-Ho concluded, "Take care of yourselves. And remember, you don’t have to do it alone."

To be honest, it didn’t do much for him.

He was still just a pill-popping loser. Still the same mess he had been when he walked in.

Maybe that was the thing no one wanted to say out loud—just sitting in a circle, talking about their problems, didn’t magically fix anything. It didn’t make the cravings go away. It didn’t erase the weight pressing down on his chest. It didn’t change the fact that he was still fighting himself every second of the day.

With a quiet sigh, Thanos pushed himself up from his chair, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. His body still felt restless, like an itch under his skin that he couldn’t quite scratch. The meeting was over, and yet he didn’t feel any different.

Then, he remembered.

Nam-Gyu.

Hey, let’s talk more later.

His eyes flicked toward where Nam-Gyu had been sitting, wondering if the guy actually meant it—or if it was just one of those things people said out of politeness, with no real intention behind it.

Thanos wasn’t sure which one he was hoping for.

But before he could talk himself out of it, his feet were already moving.

Nam-Gyu had moved across the room, now standing by a table in the corner, casually arranging a plate of cookies. His glasses, which had been perched on his head earlier, now rested properly on his face.

Thanos hesitated for a moment, watching him. There was something effortlessly calm about Nam-Gyu—like he belonged here, like he had already found a rhythm in this place that Thanos couldn’t quite grasp.

His movements were unhurried, casual, as if he wasn’t just stacking cookies but giving himself a reason to linger. Maybe he was waiting for someone. Maybe he was waiting for him.

Thanos exhaled sharply, forcing himself to move before he could second-guess it.

As Thanos walked up, Nam-Gyu glanced up at him, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. A small, easy smile tugged at his lips, like he’d been expecting him.

“Hey, Thanos! I almost forgot—after I’m done cleaning this up, let’s get lunch?”

The words were casual, thrown out as if this was just a normal day, just two people making plans. But for Thanos, the thought of food made his stomach twist. Even after three days clean, his appetite was still a no-show. Everything still felt too raw, his body too out of sync. Eating felt like a chore, one more thing his body hadn’t quite relearned how to do without a chemical crutch.

Still, he wasn’t about to say no.

“Yeah, sure…” The words felt automatic, like muscle memory. His voice wavered slightly, so he quickly added, “Do you want any help?”

Nam-Gyu blinked in surprise before tilting his head slightly, like he was assessing whether Thanos actually meant it.

“You sure?” he asked. “You don’t have to. I’ve got it.”

Thanos shrugged, stuffing his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets. “Yeah, I don’t mind.”

Truth was, he just didn’t want to be left standing around like an idiot. The room was still filled with people chatting, some making their way to the door, others lingering in small clusters. It felt too easy to get lost in the space, too easy to feel like he didn’t belong.

Nam-Gyu gave him a nod of approval and pushed the plate of cookies toward him. “Alright then, help me move these to the snack table over there.”

Thanos picked up the plate, following Nam-Gyu across the room. The small talk around them felt oddly distant, like a soundtrack to a movie he wasn’t really part of. He didn’t know why he was still here—why he hadn’t bolted the second the meeting ended. Maybe it was because Nam-Gyu was different. He wasn’t treating Thanos like some fragile thing or like a celebrity he had to tiptoe around. He was just… normal.

And Thanos wasn’t sure how to handle normal anymore.

As they set the cookies down, Nam-Gyu dusted his hands off and glanced over at him. “You don’t actually want to eat, do you?”

Thanos stiffened. “What?”

Nam-Gyu gave him a knowing look. “You hesitated when I asked. And you look like you’d rather do literally anything else than think about food right now.”

Thanos exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I mean… I guess. Detox screws with my appetite.” He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the discomfort. “But whatever, I can still go.”

Nam-Gyu studied him for a second before smirking. “Alright, but I’m picking the place. You need something decent in your system.”

Thanos scoffed. “Didn’t realize I signed up for a babysitter.”

“You didn’t,” Nam-Gyu shot back, grabbing a water bottle from the table. “But I’m still dragging your ass to lunch.”

Despite himself, Thanos huffed out something that almost resembled a laugh. He wasn’t sure why he let himself get pulled along, why he wasn’t making an excuse and slipping out the door. But for now, he just went with it.

Maybe, for once, that wasn’t the worst thing.

After laying out the last of the cookies and various other snacks, Nam-Gyu clapped his hands together, surveying their work with satisfaction. “Alright, this looks good. Wanna head out?”

Thanos simply nodded, not trusting himself to say much else.

“Awesome,” Nam-Gyu said with a grin. “And it’s a nice night—let’s walk!”

Thanos blinked. Walk? He hadn’t mentally prepared for that. Not that he had strong feelings about it either way, but most people didn’t voluntarily choose to wander around outside when they had the option of sitting in a warm car.

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why this guy was so damn happy.

As they stepped outside, the crisp night air hit Thanos like a slap to the face, sharp and unforgiving. He exhaled slowly, watching his breath curl into the air before fading away. Nam-Gyu, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered by the cold at all. He walked with an easy stride, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets like this was just another night, just another conversation.

Thanos stole a glance at him. It wasn’t just the cold Nam-Gyu seemed immune to—it was the weight of everything. He wasn’t hunched over or closed off like most people Thanos knew, wasn’t dragging himself forward like someone carrying the unbearable. He just... existed. Effortlessly.

It was irritating.

“What’s with you?” Thanos muttered, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re way too cheerful for someone fresh out of a meeting about how much life sucks.”

Nam-Gyu let out a short laugh, tilting his head toward him. “What, you want me to be all doom and gloom?”

“I want you to be normal,” Thanos said, eyeing him suspiciously. “Most people don’t bounce out of those things smiling.”

Nam-Gyu shrugged. “Most people don’t make it three months sober.”

Thanos faltered for a second, his footsteps slowing.

Nam-Gyu didn’t say it in a bragging way, and there wasn’t even a hint of smugness in his voice—just honesty. A quiet kind of pride, like he wasn’t just happy for himself, but for the fact that he was here at all.

Thanos didn’t have a response to that.

He could still feel the shape of his vape in his pocket, the smooth, familiar weight of it beneath his fingertips. A lesser evil, maybe, but still a reminder of all the things he hadn’t let go of yet.

Instead of saying anything, he turned his gaze forward and kept walking, listening to the steady rhythm of their footsteps against the pavement.

Nam-Gyu didn’t push for conversation, didn’t try to fill the silence with unnecessary words.

And honesty Thanos didn't mind.

The restaurant was warm, the kind of warmth that made the cold outside feel even sharper in contrast. Geum-Ja moved efficiently behind the counter, the occasional clatter of dishes and the low hum of the radio filling the quiet gaps between conversation. The scent of sizzling food drifted from the kitchen, making Thanos’s stomach turn.

He wasn’t sure why he let Nam-Gyu drag him here. Maybe because saying no felt like too much effort.

They sat by the window, the condensation on the glass blurring the neon-lit street outside. Their booth was slightly worn, the plastic seating creaking beneath them.

Nam-Gyu was the type to be comfortable anywhere. He leaned back, stretching an arm over the back of the booth like this was just another regular night. “Have you ever been somewhere like this before?” he asked.

Thanos shook his head. “Don’t eat out much.”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow, but before he could respond, Geum-Ja reappeared, balancing two plates with the kind of ease that came from years of experience. She set them down in front of them without ceremony.

“Eat,” she said simply, giving Thanos a pointed look before walking off.

Thanos looked down at his plate—steaming rice, grilled meat, a side of kimchi. Simple, familiar, but somehow unappetizing. His body still hadn’t adjusted to being off things, and food felt more like an obligation than anything else.

Nam-Gyu, on the other hand, picked up his chopsticks without hesitation, digging in like he hadn’t eaten all day. He caught Thanos staring and gestured toward his plate. “You gonna eat or just stare at it?”

Thanos exhaled through his nose, picking up his chopsticks. He poked at the rice first, then took a small bite of the meat. It was good, objectively. Well-seasoned, tender. His body, however, wasn’t on board yet.

Nam-Gyu didn’t comment, just kept eating like he wasn’t paying attention. It was a small mercy.

For a while, they ate in silence, the background noise of the restaurant filling in the gaps. Geum-Ja spoke to a customer at the counter, the low hum of the radio playing something old and slow. The warmth of the food, the quiet atmosphere—it should’ve been comforting.

But Thanos felt restless.

He put his chopsticks down, rubbing his fingers together idly. Across from him, Nam-Gyu glanced up but didn’t say anything right away.

“Hard to eat?” he finally asked.

Thanos hesitated. He wasn’t used to people noticing things like that. “Something like that,” he muttered.

Nam-Gyu nodded like he understood, chewing thoughtfully. “Took me a while, too,” he admitted after a moment. “First couple weeks, everything tasted like cardboard. Stomach felt like it forgot how to function.”

Thanos huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back against the booth. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Nam-Gyu pointed at his plate. “Just eat what you can. No pressure.”

Thanos rolled his eyes but picked his chopsticks back up, taking another slow bite.

And somehow, that made it easier to keep eating. It helped that the food was pretty good—simple but satisfying. Maybe Nam-Gyu would want to come here with him again when his appetite comes back. There was something comfortable about the place, a quiet kind of normalcy he hadn’t realized he was missing.

They didn’t talk much after that, and for once, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Nam-Gyu let him exist in silence, let him sit with the moment without trying to fill it with empty words.

And somehow, that made it easier to keep eating.

After managing to get about four small bites down without his stomach rejecting them, Thanos set his chopsticks down, exhaling quietly. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Progress, maybe.

Nam-Gyu, who had been respectfully letting the silence linger, finally spoke again. “So, what made you wanna get sober?” He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the table. “The idol life not what it looks like?” He smirked, clearly joking, but there was curiosity behind it too.

Thanos snorted, shaking his head. “Idol? Nah, man. I’d get kicked out in a week.”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. “Come on. The name, the jewelry, the expensive-ass shoes? You’re not exactly screaming average guy over here.”

Thanos huffed, leaning back against the booth. “I make music. That’s it.”

Nam-Gyu tilted his head. “That’s it, huh?”

There was something about the way he said it that made Thanos feel like he was being seen a little too clearly. He looked away, tapping a ring against the table.

“I just…” Thanos hesitated, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. He wasn’t used to talking about this—not in a way that felt real, anyway. Usually, it was all deflection, all bullshit. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to answer honestly now.

“I got tired,” he finally muttered.

Nam-Gyu didn’t press, just let the words sit between them.

“Tired of the drugs?” he asked after a beat.

Thanos let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders. “Tired of everything.”

Nam-Gyu nodded like he understood—like he’d been there before. “Yeah,” he said simply, going back to his food. “That makes sense.”

After a second, something clicked in Thanos’s mind. He narrowed his eyes.

“Hey, wait—shouldn’t you already know I make music? You said you’ve heard some of my stuff.”

Nam-Gyu, mid-bite, froze for half a second before chewing like nothing happened. He swallowed, then shrugged, completely unfazed. “Yeah, I have. Just wanted to see how you’d answer.”

Thanos scoffed. “What, testing me or something?”

Nam-Gyu grinned, resting his chin on his hand. “Nah. Just curious. People talk about themselves differently when they think you don’t already know them.”

Thanos clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “That’s some manipulative shit.”

Nam-Gyu let out a short laugh. “Oh, please. It’s not like I was interrogating you. I was just wondering how you see it.” He leaned back, his smirk still lingering. “And now I know.”

Thanos rolled his eyes, but deep down, he had to admit—Nam-Gyu wasn’t wrong. Most people who recognized him already had some kind of idea of who he was, or at least who they thought he was. They expected the version of him they’d seen online, in interviews, in music videos. He wasn’t used to someone asking just to hear his answer.

He picked at the rice on his plate, mulling it over. “So? What was your conclusion?”

Nam-Gyu tilted his head, like he was giving it actual thought. “That you don’t really believe it’s ‘just music.’”

Thanos stopped mid-motion, chopsticks hovering over his plate.

He let out a slow breath, shaking his head with a dry laugh. “You psychoanalyze everyone you meet, or am I just special?”

Nam-Gyu smirked, picking up his chopsticks again. “You? Special. But don’t let it get to your head.”

Thanos scoffed, but for the first time in a while, he felt the corners of his mouth twitch into something close to a smile.

He let those words sit for a few minutes, the comfortable quiet stretching between them as they picked at their food. The restaurant around them was still buzzing in its quiet way—Geum-Ja chatting with a customer at the counter, the radio humming a soft, nostalgic tune.

Then, Thanos spoke again. “My turn.”

Nam-Gyu glanced up at him, his attention drifting away from the window where his gaze had been resting. He didn’t look surprised—if anything, it was like he’d been expecting the question.

“What made you want to go clean?”

Nam-Gyu leaned back slightly, chopsticks pausing mid-motion. He tapped them lightly against the rim of his plate, considering his answer.

For a moment, Thanos thought he might deflect, throw back some joke like he had before. But then Nam-Gyu exhaled through his nose and set his chopsticks down.

“You ever wake up one day,” he started, voice quieter now, “and realize you don’t even recognize yourself anymore?”

Thanos felt something tighten in his chest. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Nam-Gyu gave a small, humorless smile. “I was using for years. Long enough that it stopped being about getting high and just became… normal. The way I functioned. The way I lived. And for a while, I didn’t question it. I figured, ‘this is just how I am. This is how it’s gonna be.’”

His fingers drummed against the table, like he was grounding himself. “Then one day, I looked in the mirror, and I—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I didn’t see me anymore. Just someone running on autopilot, doing whatever it took to not feel like absolute shit for a few hours at a time.”

Thanos swallowed, his throat dry.

Nam-Gyu’s expression was unreadable, but his voice was steady, like he had already made peace with what he was saying. “So, I thought—either I die like this, or I see if I can be something else.” He shrugged, picking up his chopsticks again. “Turns out, I wanted to find out.”

Silence settled between them again, but this time, it was heavier. Not uncomfortable, but full of something unsaid.

Thanos could’ve made a joke, could’ve brushed it off. That was the easier thing to do. But instead, he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I get that.”

Nam-Gyu met his gaze, and for a second, there was something knowing in his eyes. Like he understood more about Thanos than he was saying.

Then, just like that, the weight of the moment passed. Nam-Gyu smirked. “Damn. That was deep, huh?”

Shaking his head as he picked up his chopsticks again. “You’re such a dick.”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “And yet, here you are, having dinner with me.”

Thanos didn’t bother arguing. Instead, he took another bite.

Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the worst company to keep.

---

Finishing up their food and stepping back outside right after Nam-Gyu said his goodbyes to Geum-Ja was not the chilly reminder Thanos needed that he was, in fact, sober.

The cold hit him like a slap, sharp and unrelenting. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, immediately pulling the hood of his jacket closer around his face.

“Ugh,” he muttered, shoulders hunching against the wind. “Has it always been this cold this time of year? Or have I just been high since I moved here?”

Nam-Gyu let out a short laugh, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “Probably both.”

Thanos grumbled under his breath, his breath fogging in front of him as they walked. It wasn’t like he hadn’t felt the cold before, but everything felt sharper now, like his body was just now relearning what it meant to exist without a chemical buffer. He hadn’t realized how much he’d numbed himself to shit like this—the sting of winter air, the way his fingers felt too stiff, the way the city lights looked just a little too bright against the dark sky.

Sober. Fuck.

Nam-Gyu glanced over at him. “You good, or are you about to fold and start layering like a sane person?”

Thanos scoffed. “Shut up. I’m fine.”

Nam-Gyu just smirked, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t push it.

They walked in silence for a while, the city around them settling into its late-night rhythm. Cars passed by in steady intervals, the occasional distant siren breaking through the quiet. Thanos shoved his hands into his pockets, fingers brushing against his vape. He didn’t pull it out, though. Didn’t take a hit.

Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the fact that, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t walking alone.

Either way, he just kept moving forward.

But then a question pulled at Thanos’s mind, nagging at him the same way the cold bit at his skin.

“Hey,” he started, glancing over at Nam-Gyu, who somehow looked completely unbothered by the freezing air. “Does it count as being sober if I’ve been vaping?”

Nam-Gyu let out a sharp laugh. “Ha! Funny—I asked Deok-Su the same thing at my first meeting, but with cigarettes.”

Thanos raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Nam-Gyu exhaled, his breath curling into the night air. “He told me something that kinda stuck.” He stuffed his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, glancing ahead like he was searching for the right words.

“He said, sobriety isn’t about being pure, it’s about being better than you were yesterday.”

Thanos frowned, rolling those words around in his head. Better than you were yesterday.

Nam-Gyu shrugged. “Some people go hardcore with it—no nicotine, no caffeine, no nothing. Me? I still drink coffee like my life depends on it.” He smirked. “Which, honestly, it kinda does.”

Thanos snorted. “So basically, it depends on who you ask?”

“Pretty much,” Nam-Gyu admitted. “Some people think anything that alters your state of mind is a relapse. Others think it’s just about staying off the hard shit.” He tilted his head toward Thanos. “You looking for permission, or you looking to quit?”

Thanos scoffed, looking away. “I don’t know. Just wondering.”

Nam-Gyu hummed like he didn’t quite believe him but didn’t push it either. “Well, either way, you’re here. You’re trying. That’s gotta count for something.”

Thanos didn’t respond right away. His fingers brushed against his vape in his pocket, familiar and comforting. Maybe it wasn’t a full detox, but it was better than what he had been doing before.

Better than yesterday.

He exhaled, watching the breath leave his lips in a mist before finally muttering, “Yeah… guess it does.”

“Wait—who the hell is Deok-Su? Thought the guy in there was In-Ho.” Thanos turned to Nam-Gyu, frowning.

“Oh, dude, that wasn’t the normal NA meeting.”

Thanos blinked. Huh?

Nam-Gyu laughed at his confusion. “That was the weekly all-groups meeting. It’s basically a mix of all the support groups so people can, like, see others dealing with different kinds of pain.” He paused, tilting his head as if reconsidering his words. “Or… I don’t know, maybe it’s just an excuse to remind us we’re not the only ones struggling.”

Thanos processed that for a moment. “So, what—you’re saying most of those people weren’t even addicts?”

Nam-Gyu nodded. “Yeah, some were there for grief support, some for mental health, some for, like, family recovery. It’s kind of a mess, but they bring the best snacks for those meetings, so no complaints from me.”

Thanos huffed, shaking his head. “Great. So I went to the wrong meeting on my first day.”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “Nah, you went to a meeting. That’s what matters.”

Thanos wasn’t sure why, but something about that felt… less bad than he expected.

“And Deok-Su?” Thanos pressed, still trying to piece it all together.

Nam-Gyu smiled. “I’m not sure if you saw him, but he’s got a snake tattoo on his neck. He usually runs the NA meetings—In-Ho just stepped in tonight for the all-groups thing.” He paused, then added, “Plus, he’s a really good sponsor. I can introduce you if you want. He’s helped me a lot.”

Thanos mulled that over, shoving his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets. He wasn’t sure how he felt about any of this yet. He’d barely wrapped his head around showing up to one meeting—getting introduced to a sponsor felt like a whole other level of commitment he wasn’t sure he was ready for.

Still, something in Nam-Gyu’s voice made him hesitate. There was no pressure, no you have to do this kind of tone—just a genuine offer.

“I’ll think about it,” Thanos muttered, looking straight ahead.

Nam-Gyu didn’t push. “Fair enough.”

They walked in silence for a few moments before Nam-Gyu suddenly grinned. “Man, I can’t believe you sat through that whole meeting thinking In-Ho was the NA guy.”

Thanos groaned. “Shut up.”

Nam-Gyu just laughed, shoving him lightly as they kept walking. The cold still bit at Thanos’s skin, but somehow, it didn’t feel as unbearable as before. Maybe it was the lingering warmth of the restaurant, or maybe it was just the fact that, for once, he wasn’t walking alone.

He let out a slow breath, watching it fade into the night air.

Maybe he wasn’t ready for a sponsor. Maybe he wasn’t even ready for all of this recovery shit. But he had made it three days. He had sat through a meeting. He was still here.

And as Nam-Gyu kept talking, as the city stretched out ahead of them, Thanos thought that maybe—with the right people—he just might be able to do this.

Chapter 2: 6:00 is way to early

Thanos was suddenly yanked out of sleep by the sharp, insistent ringing of his phone.

“Ughhhh.” He groaned, blindly reaching for it, his body still heavy with exhaustion. Squinting against the glow of the screen, he saw the name flashing across it—Nam-Gyu.

He barely processed it before pressing the answer button and pulling the phone to his ear.

“Who calls someone? Just text me, man,” Thanos grumbled, his voice thick with sleep. He pulled the phone away from his face to check the time. His eyes barely adjusted before he saw it—6:00 AM.

“Jesus,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “Six AM?”

Nam-Gyu, completely unbothered, chuckled on the other end. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

Thanos groaned again, already regretting answering the damn call. And giving Nam-Gyu his number.

“What do you want, Nam-Su…” he mumbled, still half-asleep.

“Nam-Gyu,” the voice on the other end corrected, clearly amused. “Damn, you really are out of it.”

Thanos sighed, rolling onto his back and rubbing his eyes. “That’s what happens when people wake me up at six in the morning.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’ve got the perfect solution.”

Thanos frowned. “What?”

“Breakfast. Get up, get dressed, and meet me in thirty.”

Thanos blinked up at the ceiling. Then let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be boring. You did say you’d eat more when your appetite came back.”

Thanos gritted his teeth. “That doesn’t mean before the sun’s fully up.”

Nam-Gyu just laughed. “Too bad. I’ll see you soon.”

Before Thanos could argue, the line went dead.

Thanos groaned, dropping his phone onto his chest and staring at the ceiling. He had two options: go back to sleep and ignore Nam-Gyu entirely, or…

With an annoyed sigh, he sat up, already hating himself for what he was about to do.

Thanos pulled himself up and stared at the wall for a good minute, his mind still heavy with sleep. He rubbed his face, groaning. “For a guy that used to do heroin, he gets up early.”

He mumbled the words to himself, half in disbelief, half in frustration, as he tried to wake himself up. The room around him was still dark, the early morning light barely creeping through the blinds. The warmth of the bed was quickly becoming a distant memory, replaced by the cold reality of the day ahead.

It had only been two days since he met Nam-Gyu, but those two days had felt longer than they should have. They’d shared dinner, a brief but surprisingly comfortable walk back to the community center, and then Nam-Gyu had asked for his phone to give him his number.

The next day, Nam-Gyu had started texting him, casually checking in and talking about the upcoming NA meeting. At the time, Thanos didn’t think much of it—sure, he was skeptical about the whole "recovery" thing, but it seemed easy enough to humor the guy.

But now, as he stood there, rubbing his face and still trying to shake off the exhaustion, he realized what that really meant. Nam-Gyu wasn’t just texting him to chat. He wasn’t just offering empty encouragement.

Thanos dragged himself out of bed, his body protesting the movement as he made his way to the closet. He stared at his clothes for a minute, unsure what to wear. He wasn’t exactly the type to dress up for these kinds of things, but he also didn’t want to show up looking like he’d just rolled out of a gutter.

He grabbed a pair of faded jeans, a plain black T-shirt, and his favorite hoodie—worn, but comfortable. The fabric clung to his tired muscles as he slipped it on, his eyes still half-lidded from lack of sleep.

After a few minutes of standing in front of the mirror, brushing his hair out of his face, he sighed, giving himself one last look before grabbing his shoes. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone today—hell, he wasn’t even trying to impress himself—but the fact that he was even bothering to show up felt like a small win in itself.

He was halfway to the door when his phone buzzed again. Nam-Gyu, as expected.

"Get your ass to the diner in 10. I’m starving and you should be too. Don’t make me drag you out of bed."

Thanos snorted to himself, shaking his head. He typed a quick response: just met you and already ordering me around lol?

With that, he made his way out the door and into the brisk morning air, his breath fogging in the cold. “Ugh.” He muttered under his breath, pulling his hoodie tighter around his neck.

As he descended the stairs to the waiting driver, he couldn’t help but appreciate the one perk of his status—never having to drive myself anywhere. Being "kinda famous" had its downsides, sure, but not having to worry about parking, traffic, or Uber prices was definitely a solid win.

He slid into the backseat of the car, leaning his head against the window as it began to roll down the street. He pulled his phone back out, seeing that Nam-Gyu had already replied.

"I’ll buy you breakfast if you stop complaining."

Thanos smirked, typing back a quick response: I’ll hold you to that.

As the car moved through the city, Thanos couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had been settling in his chest since yesterday. Today would be his first official NA meeting, and he wasn’t sure what to expect. Or more honestly—he wasn’t sure what he was expecting from himself.

The one thing he did know was that, for the first time in a long time, he was actually going to show up. And for some reason, that felt like a step forward.

---

Pulling up to the place Nam-Gyu texted him about—supposedly home to the “best waffles in the world”—Thanos couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. From the outside, it didn’t look all that impressive, but what did he know? He was still too half-asleep to judge much about anything today.

He spotted Nam-Gyu almost immediately. He was standing by his car, cigarette hanging from his lips, smoke curling up into the cool morning air. Thanos hesitated for a moment, still feeling a little weird about the whole vaping thing, but seeing Nam-Gyu smoking like it was nothing made him feel a little less like a liar about being five whole days sober.

“Thanks, man,” Thanos muttered, nodding at the driver as he stepped out of the car.

He stretched, rubbing his eyes, still adjusting to being fully awake and functioning this early. Nam-Gyu looked over at him, grinning around the cigarette in his mouth.

“You made it,” Nam-Gyu said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “I was starting to think I’d have to come drag you out of bed after all.”

Thanos rolled his eyes, walking over to him. “You really have a thing for dragging me around, don’t you?”

Nam-Gyu laughed, flicking the cigarette away before tossing it into the nearby trash can. “Only when you make it easy.”

Thanos let out a sharp breath through his nose, trying to shake off the grogginess that was still clinging to him.

“So, what’s so special about these waffles?” he asked, following Nam-Gyu into the diner, the door swinging open with a faint jingle.

Nam-Gyu flashed him a playful grin. “You’ll see. Prepare yourself for greatness.”

The diner’s warmth hit Thanos like a wave as they walked inside. The smell of coffee, fried food, and something sweet made his stomach do a little flip, though he wasn’t sure if it was hunger or nerves. He followed Nam-Gyu to a booth near the window, the faint hum of early morning chatter filling the space.

Nam-Gyu slid into the seat across from him, settling in like he owned the place. “So, what’s your excuse today?” he asked, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table. “You gonna complain about the waffles, or are you actually gonna eat?”

Thanos sat down with a tired sigh, glancing around. The place was cozy enough, but not exactly glamorous. It had that familiar, worn-in charm that made it feel like a spot locals returned to without question. “I’m still wondering what makes them the best waffles in the world,” he muttered, but he couldn’t help the tiny spark of curiosity.

Nam-Gyu grinned, leaning forward. “You’ll see. Trust me, they’re worth it.”

Before Thanos could respond, the waitress came over with two mugs of coffee and a couple of menus. Nam-Gyu gave her a friendly smile and nodded toward the waffles section. “The usual, please.”

The waitress gave him a knowing smile. “You got it.”

As she walked away, Thanos took a sip of his coffee, still trying to shake off the haze of his early start. It wasn’t bad—strong, black, like it was meant to keep you awake through anything. He wasn’t a morning person, but there was something about this moment that felt easy. Almost… natural.

“So, what exactly made you want to bring me here?” Thanos asked, leaning back in his seat. He wasn’t one for breakfast spots, but there was a feeling of calm in the air here, and despite himself, he didn’t mind it.

Nam-Gyu smirked. “A little bit of everything, I guess. You’ve only been to one meeting, but you’ve been showing up. You’re trying, and that’s something. I thought you could use something to take your mind off it. You need to enjoy the process, not just grit through it.”

Thanos frowned slightly, taking another sip of coffee. He hadn’t really thought about it that way. Showing up for one meeting didn’t feel like much, but maybe it was a start. And as much as he hated to admit it, maybe he did need a break from the weight of it all. “Yeah… I guess I have been sort of grinding through it, huh?”

Nam-Gyu nodded, smiling. “Exactly. Recovery is about balance, man. You can’t just do the hard work without giving yourself a moment to breathe.”

Thanos stared at his coffee for a second, letting the words settle in. He didn’t have all the answers yet, but maybe Nam-Gyu was right. He could let himself take this one small step forward without letting it overwhelm him.

The waitress came back, placing the waffles in front of them. The sight of them—golden, fluffy, piled with berries and whipped cream—immediately made Thanos’s stomach growl.

“Told you they were good,” Nam-Gyu said with a grin.

Thanos rolled his eyes, but as he took his first bite, he couldn’t help but nod. The waffles were, indeed, pretty damn amazing. Sweet and crispy on the outside, soft on the inside. “Alright, fine,” he muttered around a mouthful. “You were right.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled, digging into his own waffles. “Good to see you’re finally listening.”

For the next few minutes, the conversation turned light and easy, the silence between them comfortable. For the first time since yesterday, when he’d dragged himself to that group meeting, Thanos felt a little lighter. A little less burdened.

“Stop me if this is rude,” Nam-Gyu said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them, “Do you know how to drive, or do you just spend a shit ton of money on Ubers?”

Thanos paused mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air as he shot Nam-Gyu a look. “What?”

Nam-Gyu grinned, leaning back in his seat. “I mean, you’ve got the whole ‘I don’t drive myself anywhere’ vibe. Not that I’m judging. Just wondering if you actually know how to drive or if you're just dodging it.”

Thanos couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him. He shrugged, setting his fork down. “I know how to drive. I just don’t, like… have to. You know, perks of being ‘kinda famous,’ I guess.”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. “Kinda famous, huh?”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright, full-on famous. You happy now?”

Nam-Gyu laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, I get it. I’d probably do the same if I had someone to chauffeur me around all the time.”

Thanos smirked, leaning back in his seat. “Yeah, it’s a nice perk. No traffic, no parking. Just get in the backseat and zone out. Can’t really complain about that.”

Nam-Gyu tilted his head. “Fair enough. I guess if I had a driver, I’d probably end up using it as an excuse to be lazy too.”

Thanos chuckled. “You know it. But I mean, it’s one less thing to think about. You ever get tired of just, like, thinking about everything? Like, worrying about every little thing?”

Nam-Gyu’s smile softened slightly as he leaned forward. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I think that’s why I try to keep things simple—don’t overthink stuff. Sometimes, it’s easier to just let things happen, instead of forcing them.”

Thanos nodded slowly. It wasn’t a mindset he was used to, but something about the way Nam-Gyu said it felt… freeing. He took another bite of his waffles, chewing thoughtfully. Maybe he was overcomplicating things. Maybe he could just show up and let things happen.

For once, that didn’t seem like the worst idea.

After finishing their waffles, the waitress came back over, refilling their coffee mugs and clearing their plates away. As she walked off, Nam-Gyu leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied sigh.

“When we’re done here, let’s walk to the meeting,” he said casually, as if walking to a meeting at the crack of dawn was just another normal thing

After finishing their waffles, the waitress came back over, refilling their coffee mugs and clearing their plates away. As she walked off, Nam-Gyu leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied sigh.

“When we’re done here, let’s walk to the meeting,” he said casually, as if it was just another normal thing to do on a random morning.

Thanos groaned dramatically, slumping in his chair as he shot Nam-Gyu an exaggerated glare. “Ugh, the hell do I keep letting you talk me into walking everywhere! I literally can have a car take me where I want!”

Nam-Gyu laughed, unfazed. “You’re the one who keeps agreeing. Besides, walking’s good for you. Clears the mind, gets the blood flowing, you know?”

Thanos narrowed his eyes. “Exercise? Really? The only thing I’m ‘exercising’ right now is my right to complain.”

Nam-Gyu grinned, clearly not bothered by the sarcasm. “Well, complaining burns calories, so I guess that counts.”

Thanos rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips. “Right, whatever, I’ll just keep walking then.” He shook his head, picking up his coffee mug again. “But if I end up dead from exhaustion, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal,” Nam-Gyu said with a grin. “I’ll make sure you’re still breathing by the time we get there.”

---

After the most annoying fifteen minutes of his life, trudging down the street with Nam-Gyu talking nonstop about everything from the weather to random philosophy, they finally walked up to the doors of the same community center Thanos had walked into by himself just two days ago.

He couldn’t believe he was back. He felt like he had just barely survived the walk there, and now he was facing the next hurdle—walking through those doors again. He’d only been to one meeting so far, and that had been enough to leave him questioning everything.

“Here we are,” Nam-Gyu said, stopping in front of the glass doors and turning to him with a grin. “Ready to make some progress?”

Thanos let out a long sigh, rubbing his hand over his face. “I dunno if I’m ready for anything, but I guess I’m here now.”

Nam-Gyu clapped him on the back, the friendly gesture almost knocking him off balance. “That’s the spirit! It’s all about showing up. No need to be perfect—just take it one step at a time.”

Thanos gave him a side-eye, shaking his head. “Do you work for NA, or are you just trying to make sure I don’t walk off to pop some pills?”

Nam-Gyu let out a laugh, clearly unbothered by the joke. “A little bit of both, I guess. But mostly, I’m just here to make sure you don’t bail on yourself.”

Thanos smirked but couldn’t deny the sincerity behind Nam-Gyu’s words. “I’ll survive. I’ve been clean for, like, five days now.”

“That’s a big deal,” Nam-Gyu said seriously, his tone shifting slightly. “Don’t discount it.”

Thanos just nodded, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t feel like celebrating five days of sobriety. Not yet, anyway. But hearing someone else acknowledge it made it feel... a little less like a small number. Maybe there was some progress after all.

The nerves were back, creeping up on him again. He could feel his heart rate pick up, and the familiar itch to bail out was right there at the back of his mind.

But as he stood there, staring at the doors, something in him shifted. He’d come this far. He might as well give it a shot.

“Let’s get this over with,” Thanos muttered to himself, more to ease his own tension than to convince Nam-Gyu.

Nam-Gyu looked at him, eyebrows raised. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Thanos said quickly, then gave him a side glance. “Let’s just go.”

Nam-Gyu laughed softly but didn’t push him. Instead, he gave him a nod of approval. “Good choice. We’ll get through it. Together.”

Thanos stepped forward, the door swinging open as they walked inside.

Walking back into the same community center, the first thing Thanos noticed was that it looked different. Gone were the chairs and tables that had cluttered the space before. Instead, a large sign had been set up in the middle of the room, listing all the different groups, the rooms they were in, and the times they started. It felt more organized, more... official.

Thanos glanced around, feeling a bit out of place. The buzz of quiet conversation from the people who had already arrived for their respective groups filled the air, but it was different from the chaotic, almost chaotic energy of the previous day. This was... calmer. More structured.

He glanced over at Nam-Gyu, who seemed completely unfazed by the shift in atmosphere. "Looks different today," Thanos muttered, looking at the sign again. "Feels... more like a real support center or something."

Nam-Gyu nodded, scanning the sign. "Yeah, they try to keep it organized so people don’t get lost. Makes it easier to find what you need." He glanced back at Thanos. “How you feeling? You ready?”

Damn. Thanos couldn’t help but think that maybe Nam-Gyu really was just this nice. But before he could let that sink in, he ruined it—because of course, he did.

"Ha, don’t be gay, man," Thanos joked, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Nam-Gyu stopped walking for a moment, looking at him with an unreadable expression. Thanos’s stomach dropped, instantly regretting the stupid comment.

Shit, shit. Thanos hurried to correct himself, his words stumbling out in an awkward rush. “Uh, sorry. That was a bad joke, but, um… I’m pan, by the way. Still a bad joke, but still.”

Nam-Gyu didn’t seem fazed, and after a second, he smiled. “I’m gay, by the way,” he said, keeping his voice light. “So, now we’re even.”

Thanos blinked in surprise, a laugh escaping his lips before he could stop it. "Well, guess that makes it really not a bad joke then."

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. "Takes one to know one, right?" He grinned, then nudged him with his elbow. "But seriously, don’t worry about it. You’re good."

Thanos felt the tension in his chest ease a little. The lightheartedness of the moment helped, and it made him feel like he wasn’t walking around with a huge target on his back for messing up.

They reached the door of the meeting room. The sign read "NA Group – Room A" in bold letters, and Thanos’s stomach twisted again. This was it.

Nam-Gyu smiled at him again, the reassurance still in his eyes. “After you,” he said, pushing the door open.

Thanos took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. This was the part where everything got real.

He stepped inside, and Nam-Gyu followed behind him, quietly supportive but giving him the space to walk in on his own.

Thanos took a deep breath. There was no turning back now. He stepped through the door, ready for whatever came next.

The room wasn’t much—kind of like the first one Thanos had been in, just smaller. The same plastic chairs were arranged in a circle, their legs scuffing against the worn linoleum floor. The walls were plain, painted in some neutral off-white color that made the space feel oddly sterile, like it could’ve been a classroom, a waiting room, or just about anywhere else.

A few people were already inside, chatting quietly among themselves. Some looked familiar from the last meeting, while others were completely new to him. Thanos felt that familiar urge to turn around and walk right back out, but before he could, Nam-Gyu clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“See? Not so bad,” Nam-Gyu said, his voice casual but reassuring. “Just a bunch of people sitting in a circle, talking about their shit. No pressure.”

Thanos exhaled slowly. No pressure. Right.

He followed Nam-Gyu toward the chairs, choosing one slightly off-center—not too close to the middle but not hiding in the back either. As he sat down, he glanced around, fingers instinctively gripping the edge of his knee.

A few others trickled in, filling up the seats. Some were tapping their feet, some sat still, staring at their hands, and others looked completely at ease, like this was just another routine part of their week.

Then, a voice cut through the low hum of conversation.

“Alright, let’s get started.”

Thanos looked up and immediately noticed the difference. It wasn’t In-Ho speaking this time. Instead, a broad-shouldered man with shoulder-length black hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck stood at the front of the circle. A snake tattoo curled up the side of his neck, partially hidden by the strands that had slipped free from his tie. His expression was firm but not unkind, and there was a weight in his gaze that made it clear he’d seen and heard everything before.

Nam-Gyu leaned over slightly and whispered, “That’s Deok-Su. The actual NA guy.”

Thanos nodded slightly, watching as Deok-Su scanned the group with sharp but patient eyes.

“Most of you know me already,” Deok-Su said, his voice steady, carrying easily across the room. “But for anyone new, my name’s Deok-Su, and I’m an addict.”

The usual Hi, Deok-Su response rippled through the room, and Thanos hesitated for half a second before mumbling along with the rest.

“I’ve been clean for eleven years,” Deok-Su continued, his tone even, as if he were just stating a fact and not something that should’ve been impossible. “And if you’d told me back then that I’d still be here, leading these meetings, I’d have laughed in your face.”

A few people chuckled knowingly, but Thanos just listened, studying the way Deok-Su spoke—like he carried a lifetime’s worth of stories behind his eyes. Like nothing anyone could say would shock him.

“This place isn’t about proving anything to anyone but yourself,” Deok-Su went on. “Doesn’t matter if it’s your first day or your hundredth meeting. The point is that you showed up—and that’s the hardest part.”

Thanos swallowed, shifting slightly in his seat.

Next to him, Nam-Gyu shot him a knowing look but didn’t say anything.

Thanos wasn’t sure what he expected from this meeting, but he had a feeling Deok-Su wasn’t going to let anyone just sit there quietly the whole time.

And for some reason, that made him both anxious and… curious.

Even so, Thanos couldn’t help but lean over to Nam-Gyu and whisper, “Is he your living quote book?”

Nam-Gyu snorted, covering his mouth with his hand to muffle his laugh. He shot Thanos a quick side-eye, shaking his head. “Dude, shut up,” he whispered back, though the amused glint in his eyes betrayed him.

Deok-Su, seemingly unaware—or just too experienced to be thrown off by side conversations—continued speaking.

Thanos leaned back in his chair, still half-listening, half-studying the guy. He had that presence, the kind that made people shut up and listen without needing to raise his voice. Like he wasn’t just repeating words from some script but actually knew what he was talking about.

Annoyingly, Thanos kind of respected it.

Nam-Gyu nudged him lightly with his elbow. “Just wait,” he whispered. “He gets better.”

Thanos rolled his eyes but stayed quiet, waiting to see if Nam-Gyu was right.

Thanos rolled his eyes but stayed quiet, waiting to see if Nam-Gyu was right.

Deok-Su took a slow breath, letting the room settle before continuing. "Now, before we get into open sharing, I want to talk about something a lot of us forget—what happens after you get clean.”

Thanos frowned slightly, shifting in his chair. After you get clean? He hadn't even figured out how to stay sober for a full week yet—why was this guy talking about the long-term already?

Deok-Su glanced around the room, his gaze landing briefly on Thanos before moving on. “Most people think the hard part is quitting. That once you stop, it’s all uphill from there. But the truth is? The hard part is everything that comes after."

The room was silent, everyone listening. Even Thanos found himself caught in the weight of Deok-Su’s words.

"When you’ve spent years running, numbing, drowning everything out, you forget how to just be. How to sit with your thoughts, your feelings. How to handle boredom, anger, grief, happiness—without the thing that used to be your solution."

Thanos inhaled sharply through his nose, eyes flickering downward. Fuck.

Because, yeah. That hit a little too close to home.

He felt Nam-Gyu shift beside him, like he knew exactly what Thanos was thinking but wasn’t about to call him out on it.

Deok-Su continued. “Some of you might be in that stage right now. Maybe you’re still white-knuckling it, just trying to get through the next few days, the next few hours, without falling back into old habits.”

Thanos’s jaw clenched.

“Maybe you feel like everything’s too quiet now. Like something’s missing. Like you don’t even know who you are without it.”

Thanos’s grip tightened on his knee.

Nam-Gyu, as if sensing the shift in his energy, nudged him lightly with his foot under the chair. Not forcing him to talk. Just a reminder that he wasn’t alone.

Deok-Su sighed, running a hand through his shoulder-length black hair before resting his arms on the back of the chair he was sitting in. “That’s why we’re here. Not just to quit, but to figure out how to live after.”

Thanos exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax his shoulders.

Deok-Su let the words settle before finally saying, “Alright. Who wants to share today?”

The silence that followed was thick, the usual hesitation hanging in the air as people debated whether or not they’d speak up.

Thanos stayed quiet, staring at the floor.

Beside him, Nam-Gyu stretched his arms over his head before casually raising a hand. “Guess I’ll go.”

Thanos side-eyed him. Of course he would.

Nam-Gyu glanced at him and smirked like he knew exactly what Thanos was thinking. Then, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Hey, I’m Nam-Gyu, and I’m an addict.”

The room responded in unison, the familiar, steady Hi, Nam-Gyu filling the space.

Nam-Gyu tapped his fingers against his knee for a second before speaking again. “So, I was talking to a friend earlier—" He shot Thanos a glance, and Thanos immediately gave him a warning glare. Do not make me part of this.

Nam-Gyu grinned. “—and we were joking about how much I make him walk everywhere.”

A small chuckle spread through the room.

Thanos sighed, sinking further into his chair.

“But,” Nam-Gyu continued, “the reason I do it—besides the fact that I just like messing with him—is because walking helped me when I first got clean. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had all this extra time, all this energy I wasn’t spending getting high or dealing with the fallout of getting high. I couldn’t sit still without losing my mind. So, I just… started walking.”

He shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “It sounds stupid, but it worked. Some days, that was the only thing that kept me from relapsing. Just putting one foot in front of the other, even when I didn’t want to.”

Thanos swallowed, staring at the floor.

Nam-Gyu glanced around the room. “I guess my point is… Sometimes recovery isn’t some big dramatic moment. Sometimes it’s just showing up. Walking forward, even when it feels pointless. Because eventually, it starts to feel a little less pointless.”

A few people nodded, some murmuring in agreement.

Thanos sat there, arms crossed, staring at his shoes.

And for the first time since stepping into this room, he felt himself actually listening

Deok-Su had an almost proud smile on his face as he listened to Nam-Gyu. It wasn’t big or obvious, but it was there—subtle, like he’d heard this kind of realization before but still appreciated seeing it happen.

Thanos caught the expression and felt something unfamiliar twist in his chest. He wasn’t sure why, but it was weird seeing someone genuinely proud of Nam-Gyu for something that wasn’t flashy or dramatic. Just… existing and making it through.

Nam-Gyu, for his part, didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did and just wasn’t the type to make a big deal out of it. He finished speaking, giving a small nod before leaning back in his chair. “Anyway, that’s all I got.”

A few murmurs of agreement rippled through the room, a couple of people nodding along.

Deok-Su gave Nam-Gyu a firm nod. “Good share.”

Nam-Gyu just grinned and stretched his arms above his head like he hadn’t just said something that made the room pause and reflect.

Thanos exhaled quietly.

He didn’t know what he expected coming here today, but he definitely didn’t expect to be sitting here, actually listening. Actually thinking about what Nam-Gyu said.

He glanced at Deok-Su again, who was scanning the room for the next speaker, his sharp but patient eyes lingering on different people. For a split second, they landed on Thanos.

Thanos immediately looked away, pretending to be very interested in the scuff marks on the floor.

Not today. No way.

He was here. That was enough.

For now.

There was a kind of peaceful quiet in the room after Nam-Gyu finished speaking, the weight of his words settling over the group. For a moment, no one rushed to fill the space. It was the kind of silence that felt earned—like everyone was taking a breath, absorbing what had just been said.

Then, a woman who looked around the same age as Deok-Su shifted in her seat and spoke up.

“I can go next, Su.”

Her voice was steady, familiar, like she had done this a hundred times before.

Deok-Su gave her a small nod of acknowledgment.

She straightened slightly in her chair before continuing, “Hello, I’m Mi-Nyeo, and I’m an addict.”

The room responded in unison. Hi, Mi-Nyeo.

Thanos glanced at her, taking her in. She had sharp features softened slightly by age, dark eyes that looked like they had seen things, and an expression that somehow balanced between guarded and open at the same time. Her long black hair was thick and fluffy, framing her face in waves that looked effortlessly wild, like she had better things to worry about than taming it.

She let out a slow breath, resting her hands on her lap. “So, I had a dream last night,” she started, her tone light, like she was about to tell a casual story. “Nothing dramatic. Just a stupid dream where I was getting high again.”

Thanos stiffened slightly, his fingers curling against his knee.

“I’ve been sober eight years,” Mi-Nyeo continued, shaking her head. “Eight years, and I still have dreams like that sometimes. Woke up sweating, panicked, convinced I’d actually relapsed. Took me a solid five minutes to remember that I hadn’t touched anything.”

A few people nodded in understanding.

“I used to think that shit meant I was weak. Like, how the hell could I still want it after all this time?” She scoffed, almost to herself. “But I’ve been around long enough to know that it’s just the way the brain works. Addiction doesn’t just disappear—it lingers, waiting for you to slip.”

Thanos swallowed, shifting in his seat.

Mi-Nyeo leaned forward slightly, her dark eyes scanning the circle. “But that’s why we come here, isn’t it? Not just to quit, but to stay clean. To remind ourselves we’re not alone in this, even when it feels like we are.”

For the first time since she started speaking, her gaze landed on Thanos. Not in a calling-him-out way, but in a way that felt… knowing. Like she saw him.

It made his skin itch.

She exhaled, leaning back. “Anyway. That’s what’s been rattling around in my brain this morning.” She gave a small shrug. “Thanks for listening.”

A soft chorus of thanks for sharing moved through the group.

Thanos stared at the floor, feeling like something heavy had settled in his chest.

Eight years. And she still had dreams about it. Still had that pull.

He wasn’t even a full week in.

Shit.

---

The rest of the meeting went by faster than he expected.

Thanos was pretty sure Deok-Su wanted him to share—he caught the guy glancing his way more than once—but he wasn’t sure he could do it. Not yet.

Everyone else here had been coming for so long, their words steady, their stories structured. They knew what they were doing, knew how to talk about their pain like it was just another fact of life. Meanwhile, Thanos felt like he was barely keeping his head above water.

Like he was some loser who was only here because he’d run out of pills.

The thought made his stomach twist.

He wasn’t them. He didn’t have years under his belt. Hell, he barely had a week. He wasn’t someone with a success story or even a rock-bottom story worth sharing. He was just… here. Because there was nowhere else to be.

Nam-Gyu didn’t say anything about it, but Thanos could feel him watching from the corner of his eye, like he knew exactly what was going on in his head.

Eventually, Deok-Su wrapped up the meeting, reminding everyone about the next session and offering to stay back if anyone needed to talk.

As the chairs scraped against the floor and people got up to leave, Thanos exhaled, realizing just how long he’d been holding his breath.

Nam-Gyu stretched beside him, looking way too relaxed for someone who just spent the last hour sitting through other people’s trauma. “See? Not so bad.”

Thanos huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Speak for yourself.”

Nam-Gyu smirked, nudging his shoulder lightly. “You didn’t run. I’d call that a win.”

Thanos rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Maybe it was a win. A small one, but still.

He followed Nam-Gyu toward the door, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, already wondering why he felt so drained when he hadn’t even spoken.

Maybe next time.

Maybe.

But right as Thanos was about to walk out, a voice cut through the room, stopping him in his tracks.

"Hey, Nam-Gyu! Gonna bring a new friend here and not properly introduce me?"

The same voice that had run the meeting flooded his ears. Shit.

Thanos froze for half a second before slowly turning around. Deok-Su was watching them, arms crossed, a small but expectant smirk on his face. His long black hair, now slightly tousled from the meeting, framed his sharp features as he leaned casually against the wall.

Nam-Gyu, completely unfazed, grinned and threw an arm around Thanos’s shoulder like this was the most natural thing in the world. “Oh, my bad, Su. This is Thanos. He’s new, still trying to figure out how much he likes me.”

Thanos shot him a glare but didn’t shove him off. “That’s debatable.”

Deok-Su chuckled, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. Now that Thanos was face-to-face with him, he realized just how much presence the guy had. Not in a loud or aggressive way, but in a way that made it clear he wasn’t someone you could bullshit.

“Thanos, huh?” Deok-Su repeated, tilting his head slightly. “Heard your name a few times in the meeting.”

Thanos stiffened. “Yeah, well… I wasn’t exactly taking volunteers.”

Nam-Gyu snorted, but Deok-Su just smiled, like he was used to this kind of response. “Fair enough,” he said easily. “But you still showed up. That’s more than most people can say.”

Thanos shrugged, glancing toward the door. “Yeah. Guess so.”

Deok-Su studied him for a second, his expression unreadable, before nodding once. “Well, hope to see you again, Thanos. You’ve got good company.” He jerked his chin toward Nam-Gyu. “Annoying company, but good company.”

Nam-Gyu placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Wow, Su. You wound me.”

Deok-Su rolled his eyes but didn’t lose his smirk. “Get outta here, both of you.”

Thanos didn’t need to be told twice. He gave Deok-Su a quick nod and turned back toward the exit, Nam-Gyu falling into step beside him. As they pushed open the doors and stepped into the cold air, Thanos let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Well,” Nam-Gyu said, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “that went better than expected.”

Thanos groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I hate that you put me on his radar.”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “Oh, buddy. You were already on it.”

Thanos sighed. Great.

Thanos paused for a minute after stepping outside, his breath curling into the cold air. Then it hit him.

“Mother fucker.”

Nam-Gyu turned to him, eyebrows raised in confusion. “Uh… what?”

Thanos groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I just remembered—we have to walk back to your car!”

Nam-Gyu blinked, then burst out laughing. “Ohhh shit, you just realized that?”

Thanos turned, leveling him with an exhausted glare. “I was too busy mentally preparing to sit through that meeting! It blocked out all other thoughts!”

Nam-Gyu clapped him on the back, still laughing. “Well, look at it this way—you made it through the meeting and you get your morning cardio in. That’s progress.”

Thanos exhaled sharply through his nose. “This is a violation of my basic human rights.”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “Oh, absolutely. But you did agree to it.”

Thanos started walking, muttering curses under his breath as Nam-Gyu fell into step beside him. “Next time, I swear to God, I’m taking a damn Uber.”

Nam-Gyu hummed thoughtfully. “Mmm… but will you, though?”

Thanos side-eyed him. “Don’t push your luck.”

Nam-Gyu just smirked.

And despite his deep frustration, Thanos couldn’t help but feel like—just maybe—this morning hadn’t been a complete disaster.

Before Nam-Gyu could respond, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen before answering.

“Yo,” he said casually, listening for a moment before his expression shifted slightly.

Thanos raised an eyebrow, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “What?”

Nam-Gyu lowered the phone slightly, looking at him with an easy smile. “Hey… would you feel better if I brought you with me to get smoothies with some friends first?”

Thanos frowned. “What?”

Nam-Gyu tilted his head. “Like, a detour before you’re forced to walk all the way back to my car. You know, incentive.”

Thanos scoffed. “You think a smoothie is gonna make me forget the hell you just put me through?”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “Stranger things have happened.”

Thanos exhaled, debating it. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to be around more people right now, but at the same time… it was better than going straight back to sitting in his own thoughts. And, well, a smoothie did sound good.

“…Who’s coming?” he asked, eyeing Nam-Gyu warily.

Nam-Gyu grinned, sensing the hesitation cracking. “Just some good people. No pressure, you can just drink your smoothie and judge us in silence if you want.”

Thanos rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “…Fine. But if they suck, I will complain.”

Nam-Gyu laughed, already texting back a response. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

And just like that, Thanos found himself following Nam-Gyu toward another unexpected situation.

---

“You know,” Thanos said as Nam-Gyu held open the door to the smoothie shop, “I think I’m getting better at not hating you for making me walk everywhere.”

Nam-Gyu shot him a suspicious glare. “Oh yeah? And what brought on that realization?”

Thanos barely managed to contain his smirk before bursting into laughter. “When you fell in that bush!”

Nam-Gyu groaned, running a hand down his face. “Oh my God, let it go.”

“Never,” Thanos wheezed, stepping inside and still laughing. “The way you just—vanished into the leaves? Priceless. I needed that.”

Nam-Gyu huffed dramatically but couldn’t stop the small grin tugging at his lips. “I tripped on a damn curb, okay? That bush attacked me.”

Thanos snorted. “Sure, man. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Before Nam-Gyu could retaliate, a voice called out from the counter.

“Finally! Took you long enough.”

Thanos glanced over to see a small group already waiting, one of them waving Nam-Gyu over. They looked familiar—probably people from the meeting or just regulars in his life.

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but led the way, motioning for Thanos to follow. “Come on, let’s get you that smoothie before you start roasting me in front of everyone.”

Thanos smirked. “No promises.”

To Thanos’s surprise, he recognized almost everyone at the table—except for one girl. She had light brown, almost blonde hair with blue braids at the ends, making her stand out immediately.

The rest, though? He’d seen them before.

The shy guy from the meeting was there, sitting slightly hunched, stirring his smoothie with his straw like he was trying to disappear into the cup. Across from him was the girl with all the piercings, who sat comfortably, lazily sipping her drink like she owned the place. Next to her was the chill-looking dude, the one who had just waved Nam-Gyu over.

Thanos blinked, giving Nam-Gyu a side-eye. “Oh, great. More people from group. Are you trying to turn my whole life into an NA meeting?”

Nam-Gyu grinned as he led the way to the table. “Nah, but it’s funny how that worked out, huh? Plus, they technically aren’t in NA.”

Thanos frowned. “Wait, what?”

Nam-Gyu shrugged. “They go to different groups. Not everyone at those meetings is an addict. Some are here for family recovery, mental health stuff, grief support. You know, life.”

Thanos glanced at the table again, his mind working through that information. He had assumed they were all part of the same struggle as him, but now? It was different.

The piercing girl looked up, giving Thanos a once-over before smirking. “So this is your new stray?” she teased Nam-Gyu.

Thanos raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Nam-Gyu just laughed. “Be nice, Se-Mi. He’s still warming up to us.”

Se-Mi shrugged, sipping her smoothie. “You look like you bite.”

Thanos smirked. “Only when provoked.”

The chill guy chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, welcome to whatever this is. I’m Gyeong-Su.” He nodded toward the piercing girl. “That’s Se-Mi, shy guy over there is Min-Su, and the one you don’t know is Mi-Na.”

The blonde girl with blue braids looked up from her phone and gave a lazy wave. “Yo.”

Thanos nodded slowly, still processing. He had expected some random group of Nam-Gyu’s friends, not half the damn meeting plus extras.

Nam-Gyu pulled out a chair and motioned for Thanos to sit. “Come on. You made it this far—might as well have a smoothie before you go full introvert and run.”

Thanos sighed but sat down anyway, glancing at the menu. “You better be paying for this.”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of making you spend your kinda famous money.”

Thanos rolled his eyes but, despite himself, felt a little less out of place than he had expected.

That got Mi-Na to look back up at him, her gaze briefly studying his face for a few seconds.

Thanos felt her eyes on him, and despite himself, he shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to being looked at so intently, especially not by someone he didn’t know. Her expression was hard to read—she wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t frowning either. It was more like she was trying to place him, her eyes narrowing slightly as she thought it over.

Finally, she spoke, a hint of recognition in her voice. “Wait… I do know you.”

Thanos froze, his stomach sinking. “What?” he asked, his voice a little too sharp.

Mi-Na leaned forward slightly, eyes studying his face as if she were trying to connect the dots. “You’re that musician, right? The one who...” She trailed off, clearly unsure if she should bring it up.

Thanos felt his heart rate spike. “What the hell?” he muttered under his breath, looking at Nam-Gyu for some kind of help.

Nam-Gyu, ever the easygoing one, just grinned. “Guess your fame precedes you.”

Mi-Na smiled, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard some of your music. Didn’t expect to run into you here.” She shrugged, taking a sip of her smoothie. “Small world.”

Thanos sighed, rubbing his face. “Great, now I’m that guy.”

Se-Mi, noticing the tension in the air, smirked. “Oh, please. Like you don’t know how to work your fame. Besides, you’re here, just like the rest of us. Makes you a little less... perfect.”

Thanos couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Guess that’s one way to put it.”

Mi-Na leaned back in her chair, still watching him closely. “Yeah, well, I’m just surprised. You look... different in person, you know?”

Thanos gave her a small, tight-lipped smile. “I bet. Less glam, more... mess.”

“Fair enough.” Mi-Na gave a small shrug, then turned her attention back to her phone.

Thanos, still processing the fact that he’d been recognized, felt his shoulders loosen just a bit. At least she didn’t seem bothered by it.

Se-Mi looked back at Thanos, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. “Don’t worry, if you stick around long enough, you’ll know she’ll chime in every five minutes, then right back to the phone.”

Mi-Na, without even looking up from her screen, flipped Se-Mi off. The gesture was casual, not at all angry, just a playful response that had a strange kind of comfort to it.

Se-Mi raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “See what I mean?”

Thanos couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head. “Guess I’m in for a great time.”

Mi-Na finally glanced up, the corners of her lips curling slightly as she caught his expression. “What? I’m multitasking,” she said innocently, though her eyes glinted with a teasing edge. “Important work.”

Se-Mi rolled her eyes. “Sure, ‘work’,” she said with exaggerated air quotes. “Your ‘work’ is playing some game while the rest of us try to have a conversation.”

Mi-Na smirked. “Hey, I’m listening. But if you want me to stop, just say so. I’ll gladly zone out completely.”

Thanos chuckled, feeling the tension from earlier start to ease. “Honestly, I’m just glad no one’s yelling at me about my phone habits,” he said, his eyes flicking to Mi-Na’s phone.

“Oh, you’d better be careful,” Mi-Na teased, looking at him from over the screen. “Se-Mi’s got the detective skills of a hawk. She’ll catch you sneaking in a glance at your phone when you think no one’s looking.”

Se-Mi’s grin widened, clearly pleased with the acknowledgment. “I do have eyes everywhere.”

Thanos snorted, sinking back in his chair. “Guess I better behave, then.”

Thanos then realized Nam-Gyu had been quiet for a while. He glanced over to see him resting his hand on his chin, watching Thanos with an unreadable expression.

Something about the way Nam-Gyu was looking at him made Thanos’s face feel unexpectedly hot. His pulse kicked up a little, and he quickly looked away, pretending to focus on his smoothie like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

But he couldn’t ignore it. The way Nam-Gyu was watching him—like he was observing him with a kind of quiet intensity—made Thanos feel a little self-conscious. He wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something about that gaze that seemed to cut through the usual joking atmosphere.

“Uh, you good, man?” Thanos asked, trying to sound casual, his voice coming out a little hoarser than he intended.

Nam-Gyu blinked, his expression shifting into one of mild surprise, as if he hadn’t realized Thanos had noticed. “Yeah, just… lost in thought,” he said, his voice smooth, almost too smooth.

Thanos glanced at him, still trying to shake off the weird feeling that had settled in his chest. “About what?”

Nam-Gyu shrugged, a small, knowing smile curling at the corners of his lips. “Nothing. Just thinking about how much of a pain you are to drag around.”

Thanos snorted, relieved by the return of their usual banter. “Yeah, you love it,” he shot back, rolling his eyes.

But despite the joking tone, he couldn’t shake the lingering warmth in his face. Something about the way Nam-Gyu was looking at him, the way their dynamic was shifting, was definitely throwing him off.

Thanos’s eye caught the look Se-Mi shot Nam-Gyu—a kind of yeah, sure face before she turned her attention back on him. The brief glance made Thanos feel like he was missing some unspoken conversation, but he shrugged it off.

“So, you also from NA?” Se-Mi asked, pulling him back to the conversation.

“Yup,” Thanos answered, his voice a little more guarded. “What about you?” He hoped that was okay to ask, but in all fairness, she had asked him first.

Se-Mi didn’t hesitate. “Self-harm,” she said, her tone flat, like it was the most normal thing ever.

Thanos blinked, taken aback by how casually she said it. He wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t know there were support groups for that. “Oh, I didn’t know there was a group for that,” he replied, trying to sound neutral.

Suddenly, the scars on his arms and legs felt itchy. It was an odd sensation, like they had just been reminded of their existence in a way he hadn’t thought about for a while. Thanos rubbed at his arm instinctively, his fingers brushing over the old scars he had forgotten about. He quickly stopped, feeling stupid for even acknowledging it.

Se-Mi didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she didn’t care. She was already back to sipping her smoothie, relaxed as ever. “Yeah, there’s a group for pretty much anything,” she said with a shrug. “People think it’s just for drugs, but it’s for anyone trying to break habits, deal with shit, whatever. Some people are here for a lot worse.”

Thanos nodded slowly, trying not to feel too much. He wasn’t sure if it was a weird compliment or a reminder that everyone here had their own demons to wrestle with. Maybe it was both.

“Guess I didn’t realize how many different groups there are for stuff,” he murmured, glancing at Nam-Gyu who was still quietly observing the conversation.

Se-Mi glanced over at him and smirked. “Yeah, well, the world’s full of things people don’t talk about. You’ll get used to it.”

God, he felt so hot and itchy. It wasn’t just the scars; it was the sudden weight of the conversation, the quiet reminder of everything he was trying to escape. The feeling crawled under his skin, making him uncomfortable in his own body. He couldn’t shake it, and before he could stop himself, Thanos pushed his chair back abruptly.

“I—I have to go to the bathroom, sorry.”

His voice was shaky, and his words didn’t sound as calm as he wanted them to. Thanos stood up faster than he had ever moved in his life, practically stumbling over his own feet.

As he made his way to the bathroom, he could feel Nam-Gyu’s concerned gaze following him, that silent, knowing look that made his chest tighten. Thanos didn’t dare glance back—didn’t want to see the worry in Nam-Gyu’s eyes, because that would only make this worse.

He just needed a moment. To breathe. To calm down.

The bathroom door slammed shut behind him, and Thanos leaned against the sink, staring at his reflection. His face was flushed, and his breathing was too fast. He splashed some cold water on his face, feeling the coolness help a little, but the itch—the feeling that everything was suddenly too tight—was still there.

What the hell was wrong with him? Why did everything feel so… overwhelming all of a sudden?

Thanos stared at his own hands for a moment, trying to steady his pulse. He didn’t have answers. Didn’t know what to think about anything right now.

But he did know one thing for sure: he wasn’t ready to talk about this. Not to anyone.

Chapter 3: I like hanging out with you, I Guess

Shit. Fuck. He needs to calm the fuck down.

God, when the fuck did it get so hard to breathe?

His chest felt tight, like something was pressing down on it, squeezing all the air out of his lungs. His hands were clammy, his pulse pounding in his ears, and—fuck—the walls felt closer than they had a second ago.

Wait. No. Panicking isn’t helping.

Thanos gripped the edges of the sink, grounding himself. Focus. Breathe.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

His reflection stared back at him, flushed, tense, a little too wild around the eyes. He clenched his jaw. He looked like a mess. Felt like one too.

Why the fuck was this happening? He was fine—he was fine. It was just a stupid conversation, nothing major, nothing that should be making his entire body react like this.

But his scars still itched. His skin still felt too tight. His thoughts still wouldn’t shut up.

Thanos shut his eyes, exhaling through gritted teeth. This is so fucking stupid.

It took another few breaths—slow, forced, desperate—before he could even think about moving again. His body still felt wrong, but at least he wasn’t about to pass out.

He turned on the faucet, letting the cold water run over his hands for a moment before splashing some more onto his face. The shock of it helped, just a little.

Okay. Okay. Just… pull it together.

The last thing he needed was to walk back out there looking like he’d just had a breakdown in the bathroom of a fucking smoothie shop.

After a few more deep breaths, Thanos finally felt himself start to settle. His skin still felt too tight, his hands still had a slight tremor, but at least he wasn’t spiraling anymore. He could think again—sort of.

That’s when he heard it.

Low voices, right outside the bathroom door.

He stilled, barely breathing as he strained to listen.

"Shit, I didn’t even think about how some feel about talking about shit like that," Se-Mi muttered, her voice hushed but sharp with frustration—at herself, maybe.

There was a pause before Nam-Gyu spoke, quieter, guilt threading through his tone. "I hope he's okay. I should've just taken him home."

Thanos swallowed hard, gripping the sink again.

Great. Just fucking great. Now they were out there talking about him like he was some fragile, breakable thing.

Like he couldn’t handle a fucking conversation.

Like he needed to be managed.

His stomach twisted. He hated this. Hated that he had made a scene, that he had given them a reason to worry. It was stupid. He was fine. Or at least he should be.

With a frustrated sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and straightened up. No way in hell was he about to stay in here long enough for them to start knocking.

He pulled open the door, stepping out into the hallway.

Nam-Gyu and Se-Mi both turned to look at him instantly, their faces shifting from surprise to something unreadable—concern mixed with careful neutrality, like they weren’t sure how he’d react.

Thanos let out a forced exhale, crossing his arms. “You know I can hear you, right?”

Se-Mi winced slightly but didn’t deny it. Nam-Gyu, on the other hand, looked him over like he was trying to gauge if he was actually okay or just pretending to be.

Thanos met his gaze and rolled his eyes. “Relax. I just needed a second.” His voice came out rougher than he wanted it to, but whatever.

Nam-Gyu studied him for another second before sighing, his shoulders loosening slightly. “Yeah, okay,” he said, not sounding convinced but also not pushing.

Se-Mi gave him a small nod. “Didn’t mean to throw you off like that.”

Thanos shrugged, shifting his weight. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he settled on, “It’s fine.” Even if it didn’t quite feel like it yet.

Nam-Gyu tilted his head toward the table. “Wanna head back, or you wanna leave?”

Thanos hesitated. He could say he wanted to go, could call it a night and disappear.

But the idea of sitting in his own head alone for the rest of the night? That didn’t sound great either.

“…I’ll stay,” he muttered. “But only because I haven’t finished my damn smoothie.”

Nam-Gyu smirked, like he had expected that answer. “Good choice.”

As they turned to walk back, Nam-Gyu casually rested a hand on Thanos’s shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze before letting go.

And—fuck.

That was… nice.

It wasn’t anything big, wasn’t anything dramatic, but it was grounding. Solid. A quiet, wordless you’re good, I got you.

Thanos swallowed, staring ahead like he wasn’t suddenly hyper-aware of the spot Nam-Gyu had touched. Like it wasn’t still warm.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, forcing himself to focus on literally anything else as they made their way back to the table.

Se-Mi barely acknowledged their return, just raising an eyebrow like she knew something but wasn’t about to say it.

Mi-Na looked up from her phone for half a second before muttering, “Welcome back,” and then immediately returning to whatever she was doing.

Gyeong-Su and Min-Su were mid-conversation, not even noticing they had left in the first place.

Thanos sat down, grabbed his smoothie, and took a long sip—maybe too long—just to have something to do.

Nam-Gyu sat next to him, relaxed as ever.

Thanos let out a quiet breath.

Okay. He was fine.

Mostly.

Thanos decided to focus on the other people at the table and give Nam-Gyu a break—and because Se-Mi looked like she wanted to talk to him anyway.

Gyeong-Su was mid-conversation, animatedly talking about… ghosts? From what Thanos could pick up, it sounded ridiculous, but before he could fully piece it together, Gyeong-Su suddenly turned toward him.

“Hey, Thanos, settle this for me and Min-Su—which Pac-Man ghost is the best?”

Thanos blinked, thrown completely off by the question. “The best? What the hell does that even mean?”

Min-Su, who had been quietly sipping his smoothie, finally spoke up. “It means if you had to pick one to be on your side in a fight, which one would you pick?”

Thanos stared at them. “You two are fighting about this?”

Gyeong-Su nodded solemnly. “It’s serious business.”

Min-Su sighed. “He thinks it’s Blinky. Which is just wrong.”

Thanos furrowed his brow. “Isn’t Blinky just the red one that chases you?”

“Yes, exactly,” Gyeong-Su said, pointing like that proved his point. “Blinky’s the fastest, the leader, the main ghost. Clearly the best.”

Min-Su shook his head. “Nah, it’s Clyde. Wildcard. Unpredictable. A true agent of chaos.”

Thanos blinked, looking between them. “Okay, first of all, I hate that you both put this much thought into this. Second… obviously it’s Inky.”

Both of them froze.

Se-Mi, who had been half-listening to Nam-Gyu while still keeping tabs on this nonsense, snorted into her drink.

Min-Su frowned. “Why the hell Inky?”

Thanos shrugged. “Because he’s unpredictable and fast. Best of both worlds.”

Gyeong-Su groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Damn it. That’s actually a solid argument.”

Min-Su just nodded, seemingly pleased. “Yeah, okay. I can accept that.”

Thanos rolled his eyes, taking another sip of his smoothie. “Glad I could bring peace to this very important debate.”

Nam-Gyu, who had clearly been listening, leaned in with a smirk. “You know, if you two had been this passionate about your real lives, you might not have ended up in group.”

Gyeong-Su gasped dramatically. “Wow. Unnecessary and uncalled for.”

Se-Mi laughed, shaking her head. “He’s got a point, though.”

Thanos just sighed, shaking his head at all of them.

At least he wasn’t thinking about the bathroom anymore.

Thanos thought about asking what groups Min-Su, Gyeong-Su, and Mi-Na were in. He already knew about Se-Mi’s, but the rest of them? He had no clue.

He hesitated for a second, debating if it was weird to ask. But then again, they’d been pretty open about everything so far—hell, Se-Mi had just straight-up told him about her self-harm group like it was nothing.

So, after another sip of his smoothie, he glanced between them and asked, “So… what about you guys? What groups are you in?”

Min-Su, who had been quietly chewing on his straw, looked up first. “Uh… social phobia group.”

Thanos blinked. “Oh.” He hadn’t expected that.

Min-Su shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. “I mean… yeah. Talking’s kinda hard. This is, like, the most I’ve spoken in a while.”

Thanos nodded slowly. “Huh. Well, you’re doing great.”

Min-Su looked at him, surprised for a second, then just mumbled, “Thanks,” before returning his focus to his smoothie.

Gyeong-Su, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. “Mental health. Depression, anxiety, trauma, all that fun stuff,” he said with a casualness that didn’t quite match the weight of his words.

Thanos raised an eyebrow. “You’re way too chill for someone in a mental health group.”

Gyeong-Su smirked. “Oh, I cope.”

Nam-Gyu snorted. “Yeah, mostly with terrible ghost theories and arguing about Pac-Man.”

“Hey, whatever works,” Gyeong-Su shot back.

Thanos smirked, then turned to Mi-Na, who was still staring at her phone like she wasn’t part of this conversation at all. “And you?”

She didn’t look up. “Eating disorder recovery.”

That caught him off guard.

She still didn’t look up, just tapped at her screen like she hadn’t just dropped that information casually. “Before you ask—no, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Thanos blinked. “Uh, okay.”

Mi-Na finally glanced up at him, her eyes sharp. “Not trying to be a dick, just don’t feel like having a moment, y’know?”

Thanos nodded. He actually got that. “Fair.”

Mi-Na gave him a small nod in return before going right back to her phone.

Thanos sat back, absorbing all of it. He hadn’t expected this group to be so… open. But maybe that was just how things worked here. Maybe when you spent enough time in places like this—meetings, recovery groups, whatever—you just got used to laying your shit out like it was normal.

And maybe… maybe that wasn’t the worst thing.

He didn’t say anything else, just took another sip of his smoothie, letting it all settle in.

But there was one more question Thanos really wanted to ask.

“Can I ask one more?”

Gyeong-Su looked at him for a second, then suddenly grinned, like a light bulb had just gone off in his head. “If I can ask you one,” he stated calmly, way too pleased with himself.

Thanos narrowed his eyes. “This feels like a trap.”

Gyeong-Su smirked. “Maybe.”

Thanos sighed, but he couldn’t really argue. “Fair enough.” He glanced around the table once more, debating how to phrase it before just going for it.

“So… how’d you guys meet?”

The group collectively reacted—some rolling their eyes, some smirking like they already knew this was going to be a story.

Nam-Gyu chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “You want the short version or the dramatic retelling?”

Se-Mi immediately answered. “Dramatic. Always.”

Mi-Na, still scrolling on her phone, muttered, “Just tell him the short version before he regrets asking.”

Gyeong-Su ignored her. “Alright, so picture this: a group of misfits, all dealing with their own shit, thrown together by fate—”

“We all just ended up going to meetings at the same place,” Se-Mi interrupted, unimpressed.

“—and through sheer luck and maybe a little stupidity, we somehow didn’t hate each other,” Gyeong-Su finished, smirking.

Nam-Gyu laughed. “Basically, yeah. We all came here for different reasons, but we just… stuck. It’s kind of rare, honestly.”

Min-Su nodded, playing with his straw. “Most people come and go. It’s weird when someone actually stays.”

Thanos absorbed that for a second. He wasn’t sure why, but something about it made his chest feel tight. He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy, curiosity, or something else entirely.

“Alright,” Gyeong-Su said, clapping his hands together. “My turn.”

Thanos sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Hit me.”

Gyeong-Su leaned in slightly, grinning. “What’s the worst impulse purchase you’ve ever made?”

Thanos blinked. That was not what he expected.

The table immediately erupted in laughter as Se-Mi nearly choked on her smoothie. “What kind of question is that?”

“A great one,” Gyeong-Su said, grinning. “Now spill, Thanos.”

Thanos groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He already knew the answer, and it was humiliating.

But… maybe that was the point. Maybe this was just how they worked—serious one second, completely ridiculous the next.

And for some reason, he didn’t really mind.

"Alright, alright, ready to hear something stupid?" Thanos asked, already smiling despite himself.

Gyeong-Su leaned in, mirroring his expression. "Always."

The rest of the table perked up, clearly entertained. Even Mi-Na glanced up briefly from her phone, which was saying something.

Thanos exhaled dramatically, rubbing a hand over his face. "Okay. So, a few years ago, I was on tour, right? And I was, uh… very high at the time."

Nam-Gyu groaned, already bracing himself. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," Thanos continued, grinning. "So, I’m scrolling on my phone, just vibing in the hotel room, and suddenly, I see this." He gestured vaguely like that explained anything. "An auction."

Se-Mi raised an eyebrow. "An auction for what?"

Thanos held up a finger. "An authentic full-scale medieval suit of armor."

The table immediately erupted into laughter.

"No fucking way," Gyeong-Su wheezed, practically doubling over.

Se-Mi covered her mouth, eyes wide. "Did you buy it?!"

Thanos sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Not only did I buy it, but I had it shipped internationally because we were on tour at the time."

Min-Su, who had been mostly quiet, finally chimed in. "Wait. You… you had a suit of armor delivered to a hotel?"

Thanos pointed at him. "No, because that would be normal. I was paranoid about it getting lost, so I had it shipped home, where my manager had to sign for it and then personally call me to ask why the hell I had a knight’s armor set sitting in my apartment."

Nam-Gyu was shaking his head, barely holding back laughter. "Oh my god. What did you do with it?"

Thanos smirked. "It’s still in my closet. Full set. Chainmail and everything."

Mi-Na, who had been silent up until now, finally muttered, "Incredible."

Gyeong-Su wiped a tear from his eye. "You absolute dumbass. That’s beautiful."

Thanos shrugged, taking another sip of his smoothie. "Best $5,000 I ever spent."

That set them off again, and for the first time in a long time, Thanos didn’t feel like an outsider in the conversation.

He just felt… there.

And maybe that wasn’t so bad.

"Although," Thanos continued, leaning forward, "there was this other time I was drunk and high—"

Nam-Gyu immediately groaned. "Oh no, another one?"

"Oh yes," Thanos said with a smirk. "And again, eBay being my downfall, I somehow bought three hundred packs of discontinued ramen."

Gyeong-Su, who was still recovering from the armor story, sat up straight. "Three hundred?"

"Three hundred," Thanos confirmed.

Se-Mi nearly choked on her drink. "Why?"

Thanos held up a finger. "Because—and I quote from one of my band members at the time—'I was hungry, yo.'"

That sent the table into another fit of laughter.

Mi-Na actually put her phone down. "I have so many questions."

"Yeah, same," Min-Su muttered.

Nam-Gyu shook his head, laughing into his palm. "Okay, but be honest—did you eat it all?"

Thanos sighed dramatically. "No, because someone—" he made vague air quotes, "—cough my manager cough—donated half of it before I even got home. But I did eat, like, a solid fifty packs before I got sick of it."

Se-Mi stared at him. "That is both impressive and deeply concerning."

Gyeong-Su wiped fake tears from his eyes. "You are a menace to yourself and your finances, and I respect it."

Thanos just smirked, stirring his smoothie. "What can I say? I live life with no regrets."

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. "No regrets?"

Thanos hesitated for half a second before sighing. "Okay, some regrets. But the ramen? Not one of them."

"One of which being the tattoo I had that said that."

Nam-Gyu’s eyes lit up with amusement. “Wait. You had a ‘No Regrets’ tattoo?”

Thanos sighed, already bracing for the inevitable reaction. “Yeah… and before you laugh, I got it covered up.”

Too late. The table immediately burst into laughter.

Se-Mi grinned. “Oh, this is gonna be good. Where was it?”

Thanos groaned. “Inner bicep.”

That only made them laugh harder.

Nam-Gyu shook his head, trying to catch his breath. “That is peak bad decision energy.”

Gyeong-Su leaned in, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “Okay, but was it at least spelled right?”

“Unfortunately, yeah,” Thanos muttered. “But it was in the worst possible font. Like, one of those cheap cursive ones that look like it was pulled straight off some stock tattoo flash sheet.”

Mi-Na, for the first time in a while, actually put her phone down. “So, what’s the cover-up?”

Thanos hesitated before smirking. “A koi fish.”

Se-Mi let out a full-body cackle. “Of course it’s a koi fish.”

Min-Su, who had been mostly quiet, finally spoke up, deadpan: “That is the most predictable cover-up tattoo I’ve ever heard of.”

Thanos threw up his hands. “Look, I panicked! My guy gave me, like, three options, and I wasn’t about to get a skull or some cliché clock with Roman numerals.”

Nam-Gyu, still laughing, leaned on the table. “So do you regret the cover-up?”

Thanos thought for a second, then shrugged. “Nah, not really. At least it looks cool. And now, instead of regretting the tattoo, I just regret why I needed the tattoo.”

Gyeong-Su clapped him on the back. “Growth, my dude.”

The laughter continued, the conversation effortlessly bouncing between jokes and half-serious reflections.

And as ridiculous as it was, Thanos couldn’t remember the last time he felt this… normal. Like he wasn’t just existing in the background but actually part of something..”

The laughter continued, the easy energy buzzing between them. And for the first time in a long time, Thanos wasn’t just getting through a conversation.

He was part of it.

And that? That felt kinda nice.

"Shit, Nam-Gyu, I like this purple-haired dumbass," Mi-Na said, still laughing, wiping at her eyes.

Thanos rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smirk tugging at his lips. “Gee, thanks.”

Nam-Gyu looked at Mi-Na for a second before adding, almost too casually, “Yeah. Me too.”

The laughter around the table didn’t pause, but Thanos felt the words land differently.

Something about the way Nam-Gyu said it—not as a joke, not as a throwaway comment, but like he meant it—made Thanos’s face feel unexpectedly warm. He cleared his throat, grabbing his smoothie and taking a long sip, suddenly very focused on not reacting.

Se-Mi must have noticed something, because she raised an eyebrow at Thanos before smirking. “Aw, look at that. You’re liked.”

Gyeong-Su gasped dramatically. “A rare honor.”

“Cherish it,” Min-Su added, deadpan.

Thanos groaned. “Okay, fuck all of you.”

That just made them laugh harder.

Nam-Gyu, still grinning, nudged Thanos’s foot under the table. “Don’t worry, we’ll bully you with love.”

Thanos rolled his eyes again, but this time, he didn’t bother fighting the smile.

---

About an hour later, after finishing their smoothies and talking about everything from ridiculous conspiracy theories to embarrassing childhood stories, the group slowly called it a night.

Thanos wasn’t sure when the time had passed, but it had. They all stood up, stretching and saying their goodbyes, each of them heading off in their own direction.

Mi-Na and Se-Mi were the first to leave, heading out the door together. Se-Mi threw a casual wave over her shoulder. “See ya, purple-haired idiot.”

Thanos snorted. “I’ll miss you too!”

Mi-Na just gave a half-smile, still walking away. “Try not to get too lost in your own stupidity, yeah?”

Thanos grinned, watching them get into Se-Mi’s car before they drove off into the night.

Once they were gone, Thanos turned back to Nam-Gyu, who had been waiting quietly by the door. “So, guess that’s everyone.”

Nam-Gyu smiled, the kind of smile that was warm and easy, and maybe just a little knowing. “Yep. You good to go?”

Thanos nodded, stretching his arms above his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

They both walked out of the smoothie shop, the night air cooler now, the city streets dimly lit but peaceful. They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, the quietness not awkward but... natural.

“You’ve got a good group,” Thanos said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Nam-Gyu glanced at him, an amused look in his eyes. “Yeah? Thought you were just getting used to them.”

Thanos shrugged. “Guess I was wrong. They’re alright.”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but he didn’t push it. “If you say so.”

They waved at a passing car, watching as it drove off into the distance before continuing down the street.

When they reached Nam-Gyu’s car, Thanos hesitated for a moment, then turned to him. “Thanks for tonight, man. For the smoothies and... not making it weird.”

Nam-Gyu shot him a playful grin. “No problem. I’m here to make things less weird.”

Thanos gave him a half-smile. “Well, you’re doing a good job so far.”

Nam-Gyu paused, looking at him for a second, then reached out to lightly pat Thanos on the back. “I’m glad you came, Thanos. Seriously.”

Thanos felt a small, unexpected warmth spread through his chest at the gesture. It wasn’t a big deal, wasn’t some huge moment, but somehow it meant more than it should have.

“Yeah,” he said, pushing the door open to get in the car. “Me too.”

And as they drove off into the night, the weight of the evening felt a little lighter.

Thanos couldn’t help himself—curiosity was getting the better of him. As Nam-Gyu drove, he glanced over. “So… were they all friends first, or did you already know them?”

Nam-Gyu, still focused on the road, gave him a quick glance before answering. “I went to school with Se-Mi, but we were never that close.”

Thanos raised an eyebrow. “Huh. She acts like she’s known you forever.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled. “Yeah, that’s just Se-Mi. She’s the kind of person who treats you like an old friend even if she barely knows you. But back then? We ran in different circles.”

Thanos hummed in understanding. “And the others?”

Nam-Gyu tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, thinking. “Mi-Na and Gyeong-Su were already friends when I met them. I don’t know how they met, but those two have been stuck together for years.”

Thanos snorted. “Makes sense. They both have the same ‘too cool to care’ energy.”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “Exactly. But they’re solid. Min-Su, though, was a wildcard. He kind of just… started showing up to things.”

Thanos tilted his head. “Like, he just inserted himself into the group?”

“Pretty much,” Nam-Gyu said with a laugh. “I think at first, he just sat near us during group meetings because it was the quietest spot. But eventually, Se-Mi just started talking to him like he was part of the conversation, and no one ever questioned it. He never left after that.”

Thanos considered that for a moment, something about it striking a chord. “And no one minded?”

“Nah,” Nam-Gyu said easily. “We’re not exactly the kind of people to turn someone away.”

Thanos nodded slowly, looking out the window. He didn’t say it out loud, but something about that stuck with him.

Maybe that was why he was here now.

Maybe that was why, despite everything, he didn’t feel like running.

"You sure ask a lot about friends. Any reason for that?"

Nam-Gyu probably hadn’t expected the question to land so heavy, but for some reason, Thanos told him anyway.

“I never really had real friends before.” The words came out before he could stop them.

He leaned back against the seat, staring out the window. “My dad was a preacher. Growing up, the only people who were ‘friends’ with me were the other Sunday school kids whose parents wanted to suck up to my old man and, I guess, to God.”

Thanos let out a humorless laugh. “Then, when I stopped going, their parents figured it wasn’t worth the fight to keep them around. And that just happened to be the same time I started dyeing my hair and painting my nails.”

He fucking hated thinking about this.

“My dad hated that too,” he said, shaking his head. “Which is funny, because he didn’t actually care if boys painted their nails, or dyed their hair, or even if they liked other boys.” He exhaled sharply.

“Unless you were his son.”

The car was quiet for a moment, except for the faint hum of the engine. Nam-Gyu didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush him, just let him talk.

Thanos stared ahead, his voice quieter now. “The first time I got ‘real friends’ was when I was at the mall with my sister, doing some lame-ass karaoke thing. A talent agent saw me, handed me a business card, and suddenly, next thing I knew, I was on stage with four other guys who—” He paused, swallowing. “Who I guess were more like my family than my actual parents ever were.”

He did love his sister—he really did—but there was still that wedge between them. The life he was thrown into had changed things. Put distance where there wasn’t supposed to be any.

He hated that, too.

Thanos let out a breath, rubbing at his wrist absentmindedly. “So yeah. Guess that’s why I ask about friends.”

Nam-Gyu didn’t say anything right away. He just kept driving, the faint glow of streetlights flickering through the windshield, casting shifting shadows across his face. The silence wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t exactly light either—it just existed, stretching between them like an unspoken understanding.

Thanos almost regretted saying all that. It wasn’t like him to spill his past so easily, especially not to someone he hadn’t even known a full week. But something about Nam-Gyu—the way he listened without interrupting, without filling the space with empty reassurances—made it too easy to talk.

Finally, Nam-Gyu spoke.

“That’s fucked up,” he said simply. Not in a pitying way, not in an overly sentimental way. Just a plain, honest statement.

Thanos let out a short laugh. “Yeah, no shit.”

Nam-Gyu glanced at him, something unreadable in his expression. “You ever talk to them? Your old bandmates?”

Thanos shrugged, staring out the window. “A little. Not as much as I probably should.”

Nam-Gyu hummed in understanding, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “Sounds like they meant a lot to you.”

“They did,” Thanos admitted, then hesitated. “Still do, I guess.”

Nam-Gyu nodded, like that made perfect sense. “Then maybe you should talk to them.”

Thanos scoffed, tilting his head back against the seat. “Yeah, sure, I’ll just casually text the guys I spent years making music with after ghosting them for months. Sounds totally normal.”

Nam-Gyu smirked, but there was something softer in his eyes. “Might be less weird than you think.”

Thanos didn’t respond right away. His fingers twitched against his knee, a restless energy settling in his chest.

Would it really be that simple? Just… reaching out?

He wanted to believe it was. But there was too much history there, too much left unsaid, and he didn’t know if he was ready to unearth all of it.

A comfortable silence settled between them as Nam-Gyu pulled up in front of Thanos’s place. The car idled for a second, neither of them moving to get out just yet.

Nam-Gyu shifted in his seat, turning toward him. “For what it’s worth, you’ve got people now.”

Thanos blinked, caught off guard. “Huh?”

Nam-Gyu gave him a small, lopsided smile. “Se-Mi, Gyeong-Su, Mi-Na, Min-Su. Me. You’re not as alone as you think.”

Thanos felt something tighten in his chest. He forced a smirk, trying to shake off the weird feeling creeping up his throat. “You all just met me, dude.”

Nam-Gyu shrugged. “Doesn’t mean we don’t give a shit.”

Thanos looked at him, really looked at him, and something about the sincerity in Nam-Gyu’s expression made it hard to fire back with another joke.

Instead, he exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Not used to that.”

Nam-Gyu’s expression softened. “Yeah. I figured.”

Another beat of silence. Thanos tapped his fingers against his thigh, restless again.

Nam-Gyu let out a quiet breath and turned back to the wheel. “Listen, I’m not saying you gotta spill your whole life story to us, but… you don’t have to do this shit alone.” He paused, then added, almost offhandedly, “People care about you, whether you believe it or not.”

Thanos swallowed. He didn’t know how to respond to that without sounding like an idiot. So he didn’t.

Nam-Gyu must’ve sensed his internal struggle because he suddenly smirked. “Anyway. Get out of my car before I start charging you for emotional support.”

Thanos snorted, relieved for the change in tone. “Yeah, yeah. Later, asshole.”

“Later, dumbass.”

Thanos opened the door but hesitated before stepping out. He glanced at Nam-Gyu one more time, debating saying something—anything—to let him know he heard him, that it mattered.

But Nam-Gyu just smiled, like he already knew.

So Thanos let out a breath, shook his head, and got out of the car.

He stood there for a second, watching as Nam-Gyu’s taillights disappeared down the road, and for the first time in a long time…

Coming home didn’t feel so lonely.

---

The next morning, Thanos woke up to the soft vibration of his phone rattling against the nightstand. He groaned, shifting onto his side and squinting at the screen. A new group chat.

His sleep-heavy brain took a few seconds to register the separate message from Nam-Gyu.

Nam-Gyu: Hey, added you to the group chat me, Gyeong-Su, Min-Su, Mi-Na, and Se-Mi are in.

Thanos stared at it for a second before responding with a lazy thumbs-up emoji. He wasn’t really sure what to say. Group chats weren’t his thing. It wasn’t like he had people constantly blowing up his phone before this.

With a sigh, he tossed the phone back onto the nightstand and ran a hand down his face. His whole body ached—that deep, dragging exhaustion that detox brought, like his bones were weighed down. Every muscle felt stiff from too much walking, or maybe not enough resting.

Had it been three days? Four? He was losing track.

Either way, one thing was clear—he needed a shower.

With a grunt, he forced himself up, running a hand through his messy, unbrushed hair. He probably looked like shit. He felt like shit. And considering the last few days had been filled with non-stop movement, sitting in cars, standing in meetings, and being dragged through conversations—he probably smelled like shit too.

His legs protested as he shuffled toward the bathroom, his joints stiff, like his body was reminding him just how not okay he had been lately. Yeah, yeah, I get it, he thought bitterly, stretching his arms over his head as he turned the shower on.

The bathroom filled with steam almost instantly, the heat fogging up the mirror as he stripped off his clothes and stepped under the water.

For a moment, he just stood there, letting the hot water pound against his skin, the pressure sinking into his sore muscles. His head tilted forward, forehead resting against the cool tile as he let out a slow breath.

Three days. Or maybe four? Fuck, he was already losing track.

Had it really only been that long? It felt like weeks since he first walked into that meeting, since he first heard Nam-Gyu’s voice, since he sat in that damn plastic chair wondering if it was all a mistake.

And now?

Now he was in a group chat.

The idea of it was weird. He hadn’t really had a group of people to casually talk to before—at least, not in a way that felt like this. His old bandmates had always been different; they were family in a way, but it was built on shared pressure, shared expectations. They had each other’s backs, sure, but this? This was just… people. No contracts, no performances, no managers breathing down his neck.

Just people who were there.

He exhaled, running a hand through his wet hair. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it yet. But he didn’t hate it.

After scrubbing away what felt like the weight of the past few days, he shut off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist. The cool air hit his damp skin, making him shiver as he wiped the fogged mirror with his palm.

His reflection stared back at him, tired but… different.

Maybe it was just the lack of withdrawal sweats. Maybe it was just that he finally showered. But something about him looked a little less… gone.

Thanos sighed, running his hands down his face before shaking his head at himself. “Get a grip, man,” he muttered under his breath.

Then, reluctantly, he grabbed his phone from the counter, flicking the screen back on. The group chat already had a few messages waiting.

Se-Mi: Okay but real talk, what’s the official breakfast ranking?
Gyeong-Su: Are we talking just general breakfast foods or full meal combos?
Min-Su: Do drinks count?
Mi-Na: Why the fuck are you people awake before noon.

Thanos snorted, shaking his head as he stared at the messages. Before he could even think about it, his fingers were already typing.

Thanos: Y’all are debating breakfast at 9 AM?
Nam-Gyu: Some of us are functional humans, Thanos.

Thanos smirked to himself before typing back.

Thanos: Couldn’t be me.

The conversation continued like he had always been there, like he wasn’t the new guy still figuring out where he fit in.

Gyeong-Su: Okay but real question—does cereal even count as a real breakfast, or is it just dessert we pretend is acceptable in the morning?

Se-Mi: Excuse me??? Cereal is a CLASSIC.

Min-Su: Depends. Are we talking sugary cereal or the boring, healthy kind?

Mi-Na: If I see a single person defending bran flakes, I’m leaving this chat.

Thanos: Y’all have a lot of opinions about breakfast, huh?

Nam-Gyu: And yet you’re still here reading them.

Thanos rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the small grin tugging at his lips. He adjusted his grip on the phone, stretching out on his bed.

It was weird. He hadn’t had this in a while—casual conversations, stupid debates over food, people just... including him without making it a big deal.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

His phone buzzed again.

Se-Mi: Okay, final question. Best hangover breakfast?

Gyeong-Su: Greasy bacon, eggs, and toast. No debate.

Min-Su: Anything with rice. Rice cures all.

Mi-Na: Coffee. That’s it. That’s the answer.

Thanos smirked, finally typing again.

Thanos: Y’all are weak. The answer is instant ramen.

The chat exploded.

Se-Mi: WHAT
Gyeong-Su: No. Absolutely not.
Min-Su: Thanos, please.
Nam-Gyu: This is worse than the time you told me you only eat one meal a day.

Thanos snorted, shaking his head.

Yeah. This wasn’t so bad.

Thanos: I told you guys I bought all that ramen. Plus, I was pretty much always hungover, so it worked out.

There was a brief pause in the chat, and then:

Gyeong-Su: I’m sorry—are you telling me you lived off nothing but ramen and bad decisions?

Se-Mi: Explains so much, honestly.

Min-Su: I don’t know whether to be impressed or deeply concerned.

Mi-Na: Both. It’s both.

Thanos chuckled, running a hand through his hair as he sat up. His phone buzzed again.

Nam-Gyu: Okay, but real question—how did you not die from malnutrition?

Thanos: Probably the alcohol preserving me. Like a fucked-up version of mummification.

Another explosion of messages followed.

Se-Mi: This is the worst thing I’ve ever read.
Gyeong-Su: Nah, this is a scientific breakthrough. Thanos is proof that the human body can run purely on spite and cheap noodles.
Mi-Na: Hate that I have to agree.

Thanos snorted, shaking his head as he stepped out of the bathroom, towel slung over his shoulders. He hadn’t expected to start his morning with a full-blown roast session about his past eating habits, but somehow, it didn’t bother him. It was dumb. It was easy.

And he wasn’t used to things being easy.

His phone buzzed again as he made his way back to his room, still drying his hair.

Nam-Gyu: Alright, we’ve officially bullied Thanos enough for one morning. What’s everyone actually doing today?

Thanos flopped onto his bed, grabbing his phone off the nightstand. He hesitated for a second before typing:

Thanos: I dunno. You tell me, oh wise functional humans.

The chat immediately picked up again.

Se-Mi: Lunch?
Gyeong-Su: Park?
Mi-Na: Nap.
Min-Su: I have errands, but I can meet up later.

Thanos glanced at the messages, rubbing his towel over his damp hair.

It would be so easy to say no. To make an excuse.

Instead, before he could overthink it, he typed:

Thanos: Yeah, okay. Where and when?

Nam-Gyu: Look at you, being social.

Thanos: Yeah, yeah. Don’t make it weird.

His phone buzzed again, plans already forming, and as ridiculous as it was…

It didn’t feel bad.

Thanos: Though, for the record, the noodles were not cheap.

There was a brief pause before the chat exploded again.

Gyeong-Su: Oh, my bad. You were out here eating gourmet, high-class, five-star instant ramen?

Se-Mi: Hand-crafted by noodle artisans, I’m sure.

Min-Su: Aged to perfection, imported from only the finest convenience stores.

Mi-Na: You are all exhausting.

Thanos smirked as he tossed his towel aside and pulled on a shirt. His phone buzzed again.

Nam-Gyu: Okay, noodle connoisseur, get dressed. We’re meeting at noon.

Thanos: Already ahead of you.

That wasn’t exactly true—he was still half-drying his hair, but whatever. He could pretend to be a functional human for a few hours.

As he sat on the edge of his bed, scrolling through the chat, something about it hit him.

This was normal. Casual. The kind of conversation people had every day without thinking twice.

And somehow, he was part of it.

And for once, he didn’t feel like the outsider.

Notes:

Sorry for the shorter chapter! Though I'm working on setting up a Nam-Gyu backstory drop.

Chapter 4: Some Things Never Go Away

43, 44, 45, 46…

Thanos was in his second meeting, and he was hella bored.

It wasn’t like he wanted to be disinterested—he knew he was supposed to be listening, supposed to be engaged—but his focus had checked out about fifteen minutes ago. Counting the floor tiles had become significantly more entertaining than pretending to absorb anything being said.

It didn’t help that Nam-Gyu had texted him right when he got here.

Nam-Gyu: Work came up. Can’t make it. Sorry.

Thanos had stared at the message for a second, feeling an immediate, irrational wave of annoyance.

Then, almost immediately, guilt.

Because, now that he thought about it… he had no idea what Nam-Gyu even did for work.

He hadn’t asked. Not once.

Shit. I should probably ask him that later…

He sighed, slouching further in his chair. The room was filled with the low, steady voice of Deok-Su, who was currently reading something out of the Bible.

Thanos didn’t even have to look up to know which passage it was. He had, unfortunately, already known most of it by heart.

He rubbed a hand down his face, trying to shake off the itch of familiarity. He’d spent years being forced to sit through sermons, recite verses, be the perfect preacher’s son. And now, here he was, listening to another Bible passage in a place that was supposed to be about healing.

Funny how that works.

But at least there was one thing to look forward to—

Nam-Gyu: Dinner later?

Thanos had answered yeah without hesitation.

So if he had to suffer through this meeting, at least there was that.

With a quiet sigh, he leaned back and went back to counting tiles.

47, 48, 49…

"Okay, we do have twenty minutes if anyone wants to share."

Thanos barely registered the words—he was still halfway lost in counting floor tiles—until he made the mistake of looking up.

And immediately locked eyes with Deok-Su.

Shit.

It was only for a second, but that was enough.

Deok-Su’s gaze was steady, expectant, like he was silently daring Thanos to say something. And the worst part? Thanos knew he couldn’t just look away and pretend it didn’t happen.

He was trapped.

He could already feel the weight of a few other people glancing in his direction, like they had picked up on the silent exchange. His stomach twisted, his heartbeat kicking up just enough to make him feel uncomfortable in his own skin.

This was exactly why he didn’t make eye contact in these meetings.

Thanos swallowed, shifting in his seat. He could shake his head, could pass, could do literally anything else—

But before he could stop himself, he heard his own voice say:

“…Yeah, okay.”

What the fuck am I doing?

Deok-Su nodded, gesturing for him to go ahead.

Thanos exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. He had not thought this through.

Well. Too late now.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to sit up a little straighter. “Uh… I guess I don’t really know what to say.”

Someone chuckled lightly—whether out of understanding or amusement, he wasn’t sure—but it made him feel slightly less like crawling out of his own skin.

He let out a breath, tapping his fingers against his knee. “I didn’t… really plan on talking, but I guess I’m here, so…”

His mind was racing, scrambling for something to say that wasn’t just I don’t know why the hell I’m doing this.

Finally, after a beat of hesitation, he muttered, “It’s my second meeting. And I’m still figuring out if I even belong here.”

“Though, from what I’ve heard from my friend, I do belong here,” Thanos said, his voice edged with something between sarcasm and exhaustion. He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Because, apparently, being sober for a week is something—even though it’s been one of the shittiest weeks of my life in a while.”

A few people in the room chuckled knowingly. Not in a mocking way—more like they got it.

Thanos shifted in his seat, tapping his fingers against his knee. “I mean… I expected it to suck. But I don’t think I realized just how much it was gonna suck. The cravings, the headaches, the way everything feels too loud and too quiet at the same time.” He let out a humorless laugh. “I swear, I’ve had arguments in my head that sound like full-blown custody battles over whether or not I should just give up and take something.”

He shook his head, looking down at his hands. “And then there’s the part where I don’t even know what to do with myself. I used to just… get high and let time pass. Now it’s like I have so much time and no idea how to fill it.”

Someone across the room hummed in agreement. “That part never really goes away. You just figure out better ways to use it.”

Thanos glanced up, surprised by how casual the response was. Like it was a fact, not a cliché.

He didn’t know if that was comforting or fucking terrifying.

“…Cool,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “Looking forward to that.”

A few people laughed again, and for the first time since he’d started talking, Thanos felt like maybe he hadn’t completely embarrassed himself.

Maybe.

As Thanos finished talking, he let out a slow breath and glanced back up at Deok-Su.

“Thank you for sharing, Thanos,” Deok-Su said, his expression calm but unreadable. “I’d like to speak with you before you leave, if possible.”

Fuck.

Did he say something wrong? Was there some unspoken rule he’d accidentally broken? He hadn’t meant to be that honest—was that too much?

Thanos swallowed, nodding stiffly. “Uh… yeah. Sure.”

And just like that, the meeting continued, but now time seemed to move way faster than before.

Before, every second had dragged, stretching out painfully slow. But now, his brain wouldn’t shut up long enough to focus on anything else.

He barely registered the other people who spoke after him, only catching snippets of their words. Something about finding healthy distractions. Something about learning to sit with discomfort instead of running from it. He knew it was probably good advice, maybe even relevant advice, but all he could think about was what Deok-Su wanted to talk about.

Was he in trouble?

Was this the part where someone pulled him aside and told him, Hey, man, maybe this place isn’t for you after all?

By the time Deok-Su’s voice cut through the air, wrapping up the meeting, Thanos realized he’d been bouncing his leg under the chair the entire time.

“Thanks to everyone for coming today,” Deok-Su said, his tone as steady as ever.

Chairs scraped against the floor as people stood up, murmuring their goodbyes or making quiet conversation. Thanos sat frozen for a second before finally forcing himself to move.

Time to figure out what the hell this was about.

“Relax, kid, I’m not gonna bite ya.”

Deok-Su’s voice came from behind him, close enough to make Thanos startle. He flinched, quickly turning to see the older man standing a little too close for comfort.

“Wow, sorry,” Deok-Su added with a half-smile, stepping back slightly. “Let me sit down so we can talk a little.”

Thanos exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the tension. He hadn’t meant to come off as anxious, but damn if it didn’t feel like every nerve in his body was on edge. He nodded quickly, still trying to control his breathing.

Deok-Su settled down across from him, the chair scraping slightly against the floor. He wasn’t huge, but there was something about his calm, steady presence that made Thanos feel small—like he was about to get a lecture, or worse, called out.

Thanos wiped his palms on his jeans, not sure where to start.

“Look,” Deok-Su said, his voice low but firm, “I’m not here to make you uncomfortable. I just… wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Thanos blinked, caught off guard. “I’m fine.”

Deok-Su studied him for a second before leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You sure about that?”

Thanos forced a casual shrug, even though his stomach was still in knots. “Yeah, just… got a lot on my mind, I guess.”

Deok-Su nodded slowly, like he understood but wasn’t going to push. “I’ve been where you are, kid. Trust me, you don’t have to pretend you have it all figured out right now.”

Thanos stared at the floor, avoiding eye contact. His mind was racing, still stuck on the idea that maybe he was overthinking things—that maybe Deok-Su was just trying to make sure he was okay.

He wasn’t sure he could really talk about it right now.

Deok-Su didn’t wait for him to speak, instead letting the silence hang in the air for a moment. “You’re not the only one who’s still figuring it out.”

Thanos finally looked up, meeting his gaze. “Yeah, well, I kinda thought I’d have this shit together by now.”

Deok-Su’s eyes softened slightly. “Ain’t no shame in still figuring it out. It’s the hardest part, that’s all.”

Thanos let that sit with him for a moment, and for the first time in a while, he didn’t feel like he was on the edge of screwing it all up. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the only one feeling lost.

"Thanks," Thanos said, his voice quieter than he’d intended.

Deok-Su gave him a small nod. “Anytime.” Deok-Su then pulled out a small piece of paper, "If you need someone to talk to anytime, any day I'm here." Thanos reached over taking the paper, but before he could say anything Deok-Su spoke again, "And I'd love to know how Nam-Gyu is treating you." Deok-Su had a joking tone of voice with a hint of seriousness.

Thanos narrowed his eyes slightly. “You got something against him or something?”

Deok-Su chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, of course not. He’s actually one of my favorites.”

That caught Thanos off guard. His posture relaxed slightly, but he was still skeptical. “Then what was with the ‘keep your eyes open’ thing?”

Deok-Su leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “Because he’s still new to all of this too. Just like you.” His gaze was steady, unreadable in a way that made Thanos shift slightly in his seat. “And I have a lot of hope for him.”

Thanos frowned. “Hope?”

Deok-Su nodded. “Yeah. Hope that he makes it through this. Hope that he figures himself out. Hope that he doesn’t try to carry more weight than he should.”

Something about the way he said it made Thanos pause.

“And from what I’ve seen,” Deok-Su continued, watching him closely, “I think you do too.”

Thanos swallowed, unsure how to respond to that. His first instinct was to deny it—to brush it off like it wasn’t a big deal. But the words stuck to him in a way he couldn’t quite shake.

Because… yeah. He did have hope for Nam-Gyu, even if they'd only known each other for such a short time.

Nam-Gyu had been the first person to make him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t completely alone in this. And if Nam-Gyu was struggling too, if he was figuring things out the same way Thanos was…

Then, yeah. Thanos wanted to see him make it through this too.

“…Yeah, well,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess we’ll see how that goes.”

Deok-Su smirked slightly, like he knew Thanos wasn’t being completely honest with himself yet. But instead of pushing, he just gave a small nod. “Guess we will.”

Deok-Su nodded toward the slip of paper still in Thanos’s hand. “Keep that, yeah? Offer stands.”

Thanos looked down at it, running his thumb over the edge. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he just gave a quick nod.

Deok-Su smirked knowingly. “And kid, you’re probably gonna walk out of here knowing damn well you’re not going to call me.”

Thanos huffed, about to argue, but Deok-Su wasn’t done.

“But,” he continued, leaning forward slightly, “Nam-Gyu thought the same thing. And yet, here we are.”

That made Thanos pause.

He glanced up, eyebrows furrowing. Nam-Gyu had talked to Deok-Su?

Before he could ask, Deok-Su simply smiled. “I’d like to talk to you more.”

“And I need to give you this.”

Deok-Su reached into his pocket, pulling out a small object and holding it out to Thanos. A coin.

Thanos blinked, taking a second to register what it was—a one-day sober chip.

Deok-Su placed it in his palm with a small nod. “I couldn’t catch you fast enough the last two times I saw ya, so here.”

Thanos stared at it, running his thumb over the smooth surface. The weight of it felt heavier than it should, like it carried something more than just the number stamped into the metal.

He hadn’t expected to care about something like this. It was just a coin, right? A dumb little token.

But looking at it now, it felt… real. Like proof that he had actually done something, even if it didn’t feel like much.

“…Thanks,” he muttered, his voice quieter than before.

Deok-Su gave him a small smile. “Don’t let it collect dust, yeah?”

Thanos smirked faintly, closing his fingers around the coin. “No promises.”

Deok-Su chuckled, patting him on the shoulder as he stood up. “That’s alright. I’ll just keep catching you.”

Thanos sat there for a second, still gripping the coin as Deok-Su walked toward the door.

Nam-Gyu went through the same thing.

That thought lingered, sitting heavy in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as alone in this as he thought.

And somehow, that made holding onto the coin feel a little more important.

Thanos sat there for a moment, turning the coin over between his fingers. He could still feel the slight pressure on his shoulder where Deok-Su had patted him, like the guy had known he needed something steady to hold onto—whether he’d admit it or not.

And even if Deok-Su kinda pissed him off just now, maybe… he wasn’t all that bad.

Annoying? Sure. A little too good at reading people? Definitely.

But bad?

Thanos sighed, stuffing the coin into his pocket as he stood up.

No. Probably not.

Still, that didn’t mean he was about to call him anytime soon.

As Thanos stepped toward the door, Deok-Su’s voice rang out from across the room.

“And Thanos, I better see you at the next meeting.”

Thanos groaned, throwing his head back dramatically before calling over his shoulder, “No promises!”

Deok-Su just chuckled. “That’s alright. I’ll just keep catching you.”

Thanos rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smirk tugging at his lips. Persistent old man.

Thanos was just walking down the hallway toward the main door when he heard it.

“Oh my god! Are you Thanos?!”

A slightly high-pitched voice, full of excitement, rang through his ears.

Was he caught off guard? Yeah. But it wasn’t like this was new to him.

He turned around with a show-worthy smile, already slipping into the persona that had been drilled into him over the years. The one meant for cameras, for fans, for people who saw him as something larger than life.

The girl standing there looked about fourteen, maybe fifteen, with long black hair pulled into a high ponytail. Her eyes were wide with excitement, clutching her phone in her hands like she was already debating whether to ask for a picture.

Thanos braced himself, not because he minded fans, but because he was still adjusting to moments like this happening when he wasn’t on a stage or in some high-energy environment.

"That depends," he said smoothly, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. "Are you a fan, or are you about to tell me I look like someone you used to know?"

The girl gasped, practically vibrating with excitement. "So it is you! Oh my god, I love your music! I’ve been listening to you since—like—forever!"

Thanos couldn’t help the small smirk. "Forever, huh? What were you, five?"

The girl laughed, shaking her head. "No! Well—okay, maybe when I was a kid, but still! I can’t believe I just randomly ran into you! Here of all places!"

Her excitement made something twist in his chest.

Here.

Of all places.

This wasn’t some award show, some industry party, some VIP event. This was a community center for people trying to piece their lives back together. And now, standing in front of him, was someone who still saw him as the version of himself that felt so far away.

The version of him that wasn’t this.

He forced the thoughts away before they could settle in. Instead, he kept up the easy smile and asked, "What’s your name?"

Her face lit up even more. "Ga-Yeong!"

"Well, Ga-Yeong," Thanos said, tilting his head slightly, "should I be honored or concerned that you recognized me so fast?"

Ga-Yeong grinned. "Your hair kinda gives it away."

Thanos huffed out a small laugh, running a hand through the purple strands. "Yeah, I guess I’m not exactly subtle, huh?"

She shook her head, eyes practically sparkling. "Can I get a picture? I swear I won’t post it anywhere if you don’t want me to! I just—my friends are never gonna believe this!"

Thanos hesitated, just for a second. He wasn’t supposed to be here as Thanos, the artist. He was just supposed to be Sung-Bong, some guy trying to get his shit together.

But the way Ga-Yeong looked at him, full of genuine admiration, made it hard to say no.

"Yeah, sure," he said, slipping back into the role he knew best. "Come on, let’s make it a good one."

Ga-Yeong practically squealed, fumbling with her phone as she opened the camera. She moved to stand next to him, holding it up with slightly shaky hands.

Thanos leaned in, flashing an easy smirk like he’d done a thousand times before. Even if he wasn’t on stage, wasn’t in a flashy outfit or under bright lights, the pose came naturally. Muscle memory.

The camera clicked, and Ga-Yeong immediately looked down at the screen, eyes wide with excitement. “Oh my god, this is so cool! Thank you so much!”

Thanos chuckled. “No problem.”

She stared at the photo for a second longer before looking up at him again, suddenly a little nervous. “Hey, uh… is it okay if I ask what you’re doing here?”

There it was. The question.

Thanos knew it was coming the second she recognized him. He could feel the weight of it pressing against his ribs, making his easy confidence falter for just a second.

But he didn’t let it show. Instead, he shrugged, keeping his tone casual. “Just... visiting someone.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

Ga-Yeong’s eyes flickered with curiosity, but she nodded, seemingly satisfied. “That’s cool! I just—I never thought I’d see someone like you in a place like this.”

Someone like me.

Thanos forced a small smile. “Yeah. Life’s full of surprises, huh?”

Ga-Yeong beamed, clearly still reeling from the interaction. “It really is! Oh—um, I won’t tell anyone I saw you here if you don’t want me to.”

That actually caught him off guard. He hadn’t even thought about whether he wanted to keep this quiet, but hearing her say it made something in his chest tighten.

“Yeah,” he said after a pause. “I’d appreciate that.”

She nodded quickly, giving him a thumbs-up. “No problem! Your secret’s safe with me.”

Thanos wasn’t sure why, but that actually made him feel a little lighter.

“Thanks, Ga-Yeong.”

Thanos turned back around, ready to leave, but he could still hear her excited voice echoing down the hallway.

“Dad! In-Ho, you will never believe who I just saw!”

He froze for half a second.

Huh. Dad?

For some reason, the name stuck in his head. He knew that name.

In-Ho.

His brain sluggishly tried to make a connection, but before he could think too hard about it, he shook his head and kept walking.

Not my business.

Still, as he stepped outside and pulled out his phone, the thought lingered in the back of his mind.

His driver pulled up by him once outside.

Mi-Na’s voice rang in his head: “Rich soft boy money.”

He huffed a small laugh before sliding into the back seat and pulling out his phone.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Nam-Gyu: Still alive?

Thanos smirked and texted back.

Thanos: Barely. Some kid just reminded me I’m famous.

Nam-Gyu: Tragic. Must be so hard being loved by the masses.

Thanos: Painful, really. Now tell me where I'm meeting you.

Nam-Gyu’s reply was instant.

Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all.

And maybe—just maybe—he’d actually show up to that next meeting.

Not that he’d admit it out loud.

Then he remembered the coin and pulled it out of his pocket.

The small, metal disc felt solid in his hand—he ran his thumb over the engraving on its surface, the cool edge against his skin grounding him in the moment. It wasn’t much, just a token for one day sober, but it felt like a promise. A reminder.

Thanos stared at it for a moment, the weight of it settling heavier than he’d expected. It’s just a coin, he thought, but even as he said it to himself, he knew it wasn’t.

It was proof. Proof that maybe, just maybe, he could do this.

His phone buzzed again, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Nam-Gyu: You good?

Thanos stared at the message for a moment, his finger hovering over the screen. He wasn’t sure what to say. Not yet.

But after a moment, he typed back:

Thanos: Yeah. I’m good.

He glanced down at the coin in his palm one last time before slipping it back into his pocket. For the first time in a while, something in him felt like it had a little more weight to it—like it mattered.

---

The place Nam-Gyu picked was a cozy little ramen joint, the kind that made you feel like you’d stumbled into a secret spot only the locals knew about. As soon as Thanos stepped inside, the rich, meaty scent of broth and savory noodles hit him like a wave. It wasn’t the kind of fancy place you’d take a date to—no, this was the kind of place that made you feel at home the second you walked through the door.

The first thing he noticed was the hostess. Her name tag read Jun-Hee.

"Hello, I’m meeting someone," Thanos said, feeling slightly awkward as he approached her.

She looked up from the paper she’d been writing on, her gaze flicking over his face for a brief second before she nodded. “Oh yes, right this way.”

Thanos followed her, but as they walked, he couldn’t help but notice how slowly she moved. He was about to complain under his breath when the thought died in an instant.

Jun-Hee was very much pregnant. The kind of pregnant that made it obvious she wasn’t just carrying a few extra pounds. It made him pause for a moment, a strange tug of sympathy rising in his chest. He couldn’t imagine what it’d be like to carry that weight around all day, every day.

She led him to a booth in the back where Nam-Gyu was already sitting, looking comfortable and relaxed. As soon as Thanos spotted him, his tension eased a little. It was funny how easy it felt to just fall into Nam-Gyu’s orbit.

Jun-Hee gestured to the seat across from Nam-Gyu. “Here you go,” she said with a smile, before giving Thanos a small nod and walking back toward the counter.

Nam-Gyu waved as he noticed him. “You made it. Figured you’d appreciate this place. Food’s amazing, and I’m pretty sure they’re the only spot in town that doesn’t charge extra for a ramen egg.”

Thanos smirked, sitting down across from him. “I can already tell I’m gonna like it here.”

As soon as Thanos sat down, he couldn’t help himself. Without missing a beat, he blurted out, “Fuck Deok-Su.”

Nam-Gyu blinked, clearly surprised, but then a grin tugged at his lips. “Whoa, starting strong, huh? What’d the guy do?”

Thanos ran a hand through his hair, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms. “It’s not what he did,” he muttered, “It’s what he said.”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Go on.”

Thanos let out a frustrated sigh, his fingers tapping against the table. “He kept pushing at me, like… like he knew exactly how to get under my skin.” His voice dropped a little, almost to himself, as he continued, “And then he had the nerve to tell me to keep my eyes open, like I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.”

Nam-Gyu leaned forward, his expression softening. “What, you mean, with me?”

Thanos shrugged, a half-smile on his lips. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t even know what he was getting at. But I’m just here trying to figure my shit out without everyone giving me unsolicited advice.”

Nam-Gyu nodded, not pushing. “Sounds like Deok-Su’s got his own way of looking out for people.”

Thanos scoffed. “Yeah, well, it’s annoying. I don’t need him to keep tabs on me.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled softly, clearly understanding. “Deok-Su’s just… like that. But I get it. You don’t want anyone treating you like a project.”

Thanos ran a hand through his hair again, his frustration dissipating slightly with Nam-Gyu’s calm response. “Exactly. I’m not a damn charity case. Just… trying to figure out how to not fuck things up, you know?”

Nam-Gyu smiled, an easy, reassuring smile. “I get it. And you’re doing fine, really. You’re here, you’re trying. That’s already more than some people ever manage.”

Thanos gave a small, rueful smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Just then, their waiter arrived with a steaming bowl of ramen, and the conversation paused as the delicious scent filled the air. Thanos let out a contented sigh, his stomach growling even louder than the thoughts in his head.

“Guess I’ll take that as my win for today,” he said with a smirk, picking up his chopsticks.

Nam-Gyu laughed, lifting his own bowl. “Sounds like a solid win to me.”

After taking one of the best bites of ramen he’d had in a while, Thanos brought the subject back up, his voice casual but laced with curiosity, “Is there a reason you like him so much?”

Nam-Gyu paused mid-bite, his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. The silence between them stretched for what felt like a lifetime, too long for it to mean nothing.

Shit. Did Thanos fuck up?

He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the question. Was it too blunt? Too forward?

Nam-Gyu finally set his chopsticks down, leaning back slightly as he looked at Thanos. The playful smile he usually wore wasn’t there anymore—just a quiet, thoughtful expression.

Thanos couldn’t help but feel the weight of it, like Nam-Gyu was choosing his words carefully.

“Why?” Nam-Gyu asked, his voice a little softer than before. “You think it’s strange I like him?”

Thanos opened his mouth to respond but didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure why he’d asked it so bluntly. It wasn’t that he didn’t get it—he knew Deok-Su had his way of looking out for people, and maybe it was just that whole ‘older mentor’ thing—but something about their conversation kept nagging at him. Something didn’t sit right.

“I mean…” Thanos started, trying to put it together. “He’s not exactly easy to deal with. And I don’t get why he’s so... invested.”

Nam-Gyu’s gaze softened, and his lips curved into a small, almost knowing smile. “Deok-Su's not perfect, but he’s been through a lot. Maybe that’s why he tries to help people, you know? He’s not trying to control you, Thanos. He’s just... trying to make sure you don’t fall through the cracks.”

Thanos chewed thoughtfully, trying to absorb what Nam-Gyu was saying. “So, you think I’m one of those ‘cracks’ he’s worried about?”

Nam-Gyu let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “No. But he knows what it’s like to fall, and he doesn’t want you to hit the ground harder than you have to.”

Thanos looked down at his bowl, the food suddenly losing its appeal. A part of him didn’t want to admit it, but Nam-Gyu’s words made sense. Maybe that was what had been bugging him all along—the unspoken pressure from Deok-Su, even if it came with good intentions.

“Yeah,” Thanos muttered, barely audible. “I guess I get that.”

There was a long pause, the only sound between them the clinking of chopsticks and the quiet hum of background chatter from the other tables.

Finally, Nam-Gyu broke the silence. “Look, Deok-Su’s just... hard to figure out. But I trust him. And you might not get him now, but if you give it time, you’ll see where he’s coming from.”

Thanos looked up at Nam-Gyu, meeting his gaze for a second before breaking it. “You really trust him, huh?”

Nam-Gyu smiled again, but this time it was a little more reassuring. “Yeah, I do.”

Thanos let that hang in the air between them, still unsure what to make of it, but for now, he wasn’t ready to push any further. Instead, he picked up his chopsticks again, poking at his noodles.

“Alright,” Thanos said after a beat. “I’ll give him some time. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna call him anytime soon, though.”

Nam-Gyu laughed, and for a moment, it felt like the tension that had built up in the conversation finally broke.

“Fair enough,” Nam-Gyu said, picking up his bowl. “But when you do, I’ll be here to say I told you so.”

Thanos smirked, finally diving back into his meal, the food suddenly tasting a lot better now that the air between them had cleared.

As they both dug into their ramen, the conversation naturally shifted, the air lightening. But Thanos couldn’t shake the curiosity that had been bugging him for a while now. He glanced at Nam-Gyu, thinking it was about time to ask.

“Hey,” Thanos started, putting down his chopsticks for a second. “I know this is probably a weird question, but what do you actually do for work?”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow, surprised but not thrown off by the question. “You don’t know?” he asked with a grin, clearly amused by the curiosity.

Thanos shrugged, not sure how to explain his ignorance without sounding awkward. “I mean, you keep saying you’re busy, but I never really got what you do.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I’m a club promoter,” he said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

Thanos blinked, processing the information. “A what?”

“A club promoter,” Nam-Gyu repeated, a little slower now, sensing Thanos’s confusion. “I basically help get people into clubs, set up events, make sure the vibe’s good, all that jazz. It’s not as glamorous as it sounds, but yeah, that’s what I do.”

Thanos considered this, not entirely sure how to react. “So... you’re the guy who makes sure the party’s full of people?”

“Exactly,” Nam-Gyu said with a grin. “The one who gets everyone hyped up and makes sure there’s a good crowd. It’s a hustle, but I like it.”

Thanos nodded slowly, now seeing a different side of Nam-Gyu. “That actually makes a lot of sense.”

He paused, a half-smirk playing on his lips. “No wonder you’re always so good at getting people together.”

Nam-Gyu laughed, shaking his head. “Hey, I have my moments. But it’s a lot of behind-the-scenes stuff, too. Getting people in the right mindset, making sure things don’t spiral out of control.”

Thanos tilted his head. “Sounds like you’re really good at reading people, then.”

Nam-Gyu shrugged modestly. “I try. But, honestly, it’s mostly just about creating an environment where people feel comfortable. If they’re comfortable, they show up. If they show up, the whole night’s more fun.”

Thanos absorbed this, feeling like he was learning more about the guy in front of him than he had in the past few weeks. He wasn’t expecting to hear that Nam-Gyu’s job involved so much... people management, for lack of a better term.

“Well, I guess that explains why you’re always so easy to talk to,” Thanos said, his voice thoughtful.

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. “I’m easy to talk to?”

Thanos nodded. “Yeah. You make it feel like I’m not the only one here with a mess of thoughts in my head.”

Nam-Gyu’s expression softened, and for a moment, he didn’t look like the ever-chill, unbothered guy he usually was. He looked a little more... human.

“Well,” he said, giving Thanos a small smile, “I’m glad you feel that way.”

They sat in silence for a beat, letting the conversation simmer for a while. There was something in the air now—a quiet understanding, something unspoken but still there.

For a moment, Thanos didn’t feel like he was just getting through the day. He felt... well, present.

Thanos didn’t even realize what he’d said until the words were already out of his mouth. “Is it hard to stay sober while being around clubs all the time? I mean, that’s where I did the most drugs.”

The moment the words left him, Thanos winced internally, suddenly feeling like he’d overstepped. He was always so damn impulsive with his thoughts. Maybe it wasn’t his place to ask, especially given how easily he slipped into unhealthy patterns when it came to things like that.

He looked up at Nam-Gyu, waiting for some sort of reaction, anything that would indicate he’d just said something completely out of line.

Nam-Gyu, however, didn’t seem phased at all. He simply took a sip of his drink, setting it down carefully, his eyes thoughtful.

“It’s not easy,” Nam-Gyu finally said, his voice quieter than before. “But it’s something I’ve gotten used to.”

Thanos shifted uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly aware of how real the conversation had gotten. “I don’t mean to make it sound like it’s all about me or something. Just, I guess I’ve never really thought about how you manage it, you know?”

Nam-Gyu’s expression softened, like he understood the hesitation behind the question. “Yeah, it’s weird, being around it all the time and still having to resist. I’m not gonna lie, there are days when it’s a battle. But it’s different now. I have to remind myself why I’m doing it.”

Thanos raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And that’s enough to keep you from, you know, falling back?”

Nam-Gyu nodded slowly. “Mostly. But it’s not just about the job, either. It’s about the people I’ve met through it. The ones who get it. You’re not alone, even if it feels like you are. Having those people around, even just to talk to, makes a big difference.”

Thanos let that sink in, realizing he’d never really had that kind of support in his life—not in the same way. The band, sure, but that had always felt more like business than actual friendship. And even now, he had trouble knowing how to be open with anyone who wasn’t already a part of his inner circle.

He shifted in his seat again, looking down at his bowl of ramen. “I guess I’ve never really been good at letting people in like that.”

Nam-Gyu leaned forward slightly, his tone calm. “It’s not easy. But it’s worth it, Thanos. You don’t have to figure everything out all at once. You just have to keep trying.”

Thanos was quiet for a moment, his eyes flicking up to meet Nam-Gyu’s. Something in those words, the way Nam-Gyu said them so assuredly, made him feel like there was a way through this. Even if it wasn’t going to be perfect, it was something worth working toward.

“Well, I’m trying,” Thanos muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling the tension leave his shoulders just a bit. “Guess that’s all I can do, right?”

Nam-Gyu smiled, his usual lightheartedness returning. “That’s all anyone can do.”

For the first time in a while, Thanos didn’t feel like he was just getting by. He actually felt like he had some direction.

Looking back up, Thanos saw Nam-Gyu smirking at him, clearly amused by something.

"What?" Thanos asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Nam-Gyu leaned back, still grinning. "Not that I mind all that much," he said, clearly enjoying the moment. "But isn’t it kinda funny? You’re the ‘kinda famous’ guy, and you ask me way more questions than I think I’ve ever asked you."

Thanos blinked, a slight flush creeping up his neck. Shit, was he really coming off like that?

"Are you seriously calling me out on this?" Thanos said, his tone a mix of disbelief and mock annoyance. He leaned back in his seat, trying to act casual, but he could feel the heat of being called out.

Nam-Gyu chuckled, his eyes lighting up with amusement. "I mean, you do have a lot of questions. I’m just saying, for someone who’s supposed to be all mysterious and cool, you sure like knowing a lot about me."

Thanos snorted, shaking his head. "Okay, okay, fine. Maybe I’m a little curious." He paused, then smirked. "But it’s not like you’ve exactly been open with me, so I gotta fill in the gaps somehow."

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "Is that how it works? You fill in the gaps with a hundred questions?"

Thanos shrugged, trying to play it off, but his smile betrayed him. "What can I say? I’m trying to be a good friend."

Nam-Gyu’s grin softened, and for a moment, there was something more sincere in his gaze. "Yeah, well… maybe it’s working."

Thanos paused, the atmosphere shifting for just a second. There was something in Nam-Gyu’s expression that made him feel like this wasn’t just a casual conversation anymore. They were actually connecting, in a way that felt more real than usual.

But, of course, Thanos couldn’t let that sit for too long. He leaned forward, grabbing his chopsticks again.

"Alright, enough with the sappy stuff. You still haven’t told me what you do for fun," he teased, trying to deflect.

Nam-Gyu laughed, clearly not bothered by Thanos’s attempt to change the subject. "Guess I’ll keep some of my secrets for now."

Thanos rolled his eyes. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

Nam-Gyu smiled, the familiar easy grin returning. "Yeah, but you love it."

"Hey, who's the one paying for lunch?" Nam-Gyu looked at him with fake surprise written all over his face. "What—but—oh my! You, the Legend Thanos, is finally paying for lunch?!"

Thanos rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the smirk tugging at his lips. "I swear, you're acting like this is the first time I’ve ever paid for anything. I've got my moments of generosity."

Nam-Gyu clutched his chest dramatically. "The day has come, everyone! The humble Thanos, with his legendary wealth, is sharing his riches with the common folk!" he said in an exaggerated, mocking tone, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Thanos laughed, shaking his head. "You know, if you keep this up, I'm going to start thinking you just come here for free food."

Nam-Gyu chuckled. "Hey, no shame in that. Free food’s the best kind of food."

Thanos shook his head but couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. "Fine, fine. Enjoy your ‘legendary’ lunch, but next time, you’re paying."

Nam-Gyu grinned, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I’m just here for the memories, not the bill. But I’ll definitely take you up on that next round."

Thanos chuckled again, feeling the easy camaraderie between them. Maybe they were more alike than he realized—or maybe it was just nice to not be so alone in all of this.

This was a better day than he thought it would be. The awkwardness from earlier, the tension that had been hanging over him, all seemed to melt away in the relaxed rhythm of their conversation.

Nam-Gyu had a way of making things feel less heavy, more manageable, even when it seemed like everything was a little out of control. He’d been easy to talk to, casual but real, not pushing Thanos to open up too much but still giving him space to.

Thanos didn’t say it out loud, but in the quiet of their lunch, he realized—Nam-Gyu was a good friend.

It was a thought that sat in his chest, more comfortable than he expected it to be. He hadn’t made many real friends, not the kind who stuck around when things got hard, but maybe that was changing.

---

Blood ran down Thanos’s arms, dripping onto the bathroom floor where he sat.

Because of course.

Of course, even after a good day, his brain had to ruin it.

His breath came out shaky as he stared at the red pooling against the white tile, the sting of fresh cuts barely registering over the numbness creeping through his chest. He hadn’t meant for it to happen—not really. It wasn’t like he’d planned this.

But the weight had crept in so fast, pressing against his ribs, tightening his throat. The moment he was alone, the silence became unbearable. The thoughts got too loud, too tangled.

And then, suddenly, this.

He exhaled, pressing his head back against the wall, his pulse still thrumming in his ears. He should probably clean himself up, wrap the cuts before they stained anything else, but moving felt impossible.

His phone buzzed somewhere near the sink.

Thanos ignored it.

Another buzz. Then another.

Fucking hell.

With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself upright, gripping the edge of the counter for support as he reached for his phone. His fingers were sticky with blood, smearing faint red streaks across the screen as he blinked down at the name lighting up.

Nam-Gyu.

Shit.

For a second, he debated ignoring it. Letting it go to voicemail, pretending he’d just fallen asleep. But something in his chest twisted at the thought of that—of being alone in this mess.

And before he could stop himself, he answered.

“…Hey,” he muttered, voice hoarse.

There was a pause. Then, Nam-Gyu’s voice, light but laced with something unspoken. “Took you long enough. Thought you died or something.”

Thanos let out a weak, humorless laugh. “Not yet.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

Then, softer, “You good?”

Thanos swallowed hard, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The dried tear tracks on his face. The smudges of red on his arms. The exhaustion in his own eyes.

He could lie. Say yeah, I’m fine and change the subject. He was good at that.

But tonight… he didn’t want to.

"...I know you're probably sick of me for the day," Thanos muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "But can you come over?"

The words felt heavy, like they took more energy than he had left. His grip on the phone tightened, half-expecting Nam-Gyu to sigh, to make an excuse, to tell him it was too late.

But Nam-Gyu didn’t hesitate.

“I’m already on my way.”

Thanos exhaled, his shoulders slumping as he closed his eyes. He hadn’t realized how much tension he was holding until that moment—until he knew he wasn’t going to be alone tonight.

“…Thanks,” he mumbled.

Nam-Gyu’s voice was softer now, steadier. “Yeah. Just hang tight, alright?”

Thanos nodded even though Nam-Gyu couldn’t see him. He let the phone drop onto the counter, pressing his palms against the sink as he steadied himself.

The blood on his arms was starting to dry, leaving behind dark, uneven streaks against his skin. He should clean it up before Nam-Gyu got here. Should at least try to look like he wasn’t falling apart.

But for now, he just stood there, staring at his own reflection.

Waiting.

Even if looking at his own face right now made him sick.

Even if he knew that if he kept needing Nam-Gyu, kept dragging him into this mess, he’d probably get tired of him—just like his mother did.

The thought lodged itself deep in his chest, cold and suffocating. People always said they’d be there. They always promised they wouldn’t leave. But sooner or later, they realized he was too much. Too exhausting. Too needy.

And then they walked away.

His mother had. His so-called friends had. Then the drugs drove his bandmates to get tired of dealing with him toward the end.

Why would Nam-Gyu be any different?

Thanos swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the sink until his knuckles turned white. Maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut. Pretended he was fine. Handled this on his own, like he always had.

His phone buzzed again, pulling him out of his spiral.

Nam-Gyu: Five minutes away.

Thanos stared at the message, his breath unsteady. Five minutes.

He had five minutes to pull himself together. To clean up. To make it look like he wasn’t falling apart.

But as he looked at himself in the mirror—at the blood drying on his arms, the thin, jagged cuts that hadn't fully healed yet, the tired, hollow expression staring back at him—he felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. The blood had started to dry, leaving behind a sticky, uncomfortable sensation. The stinging in his skin intensified with each movement, reminding him of how easy it was to slip back into old habits when everything felt too heavy.

He wondered if he had the energy to pretend anymore.

Maybe… just for once… he didn’t have to.

Notes:

To be a little more clear Deok-Su doesn't want one of them to fall and enable the other to go back to bad habits. You'll get to see more fun stuff with Deok-Su in more chapters!
Thank you for reading!
(Also we all say together step-dad In-Ho is adorable)

Chapter 5: I Fucked Up

Notes:

The slow burn from here turns into a slow boil :)

“Too tight?” Nam-Gyu’s voice was laced with concern as he carefully wrapped the bandage around Thanos’s arm, his fingers gentle but firm.

Thanos didn’t respond right away, his breath still shaky as he glanced down at the bandage. It felt too much like a reminder of everything that had gone wrong, everything he was still struggling with. But Nam-Gyu’s presence, steady and constant, was a strange comfort in the chaos of his own thoughts.

“No,” Thanos finally muttered, shaking his head. “It’s fine.”

Nam-Gyu didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t push. He just continued wrapping the bandage, making sure it was secure before looking up at Thanos, his gaze softer than usual. “You sure you’re okay?”

Thanos avoided his eyes, looking down at the bandage instead. He was fine. He had to be.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, a little more forcefully this time, but the words didn’t quite match the tightness in his chest.

Nam-Gyu’s eyes lingered for a moment, as if he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. He simply finished wrapping Thanos’s arm, his movements deliberate, slow. He let the silence hang there, comfortable for once.

When he was done, he stepped back, giving Thanos some space. “Alright, that should hold for now.”

Thanos nodded, his eyes still down. “Thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Nam-Gyu said, his voice gentle. “I’m just making sure you’re good.”

Thanos met his gaze for a split second, the weight of the moment hanging in the air between them. For the first time in a while, he didn’t feel like he had to hide. He didn’t have to push people away just to keep up the front.

But he still wasn’t sure how to say it—how to let someone in without the fear of them eventually walking away.

“Sorry I asked you to come... you can go if you want...” Thanos muttered, not bothering to look up at Nam-Gyu as he sat on the edge of the couch, his eyes glued to the floor.

The words came out too quickly, as if he wanted to push Nam-Gyu away before he had a chance to leave on his own. But in truth, the idea of Nam-Gyu leaving made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t ignore.

He hated himself for it.

Nam-Gyu didn’t say anything at first, but Thanos could feel his presence still lingering—steadfast, unwavering. And then, Nam-Gyu’s voice broke the silence, quiet but steady.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Thanos stiffened, his eyes flickering up for just a second, before he quickly looked away again. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Nam-Gyu’s gaze. He’d never been good at letting people stay—not like this.

“You don’t have to—” Thanos started, but Nam-Gyu interrupted him, his tone soft but firm.

“Yes, I do. I’m here, and I’m staying.”

Thanos swallowed hard, his throat tight. The weight of Nam-Gyu’s words settled deep into his chest, a surprising comfort. He had to fight the urge to let himself break down completely, to just let the walls fall and let someone actually be there.

But the fear was there, lingering. The fear that, eventually, he’d push people away. That they’d get tired of him—just like everyone else had.

For a moment, Nam-Gyu stood there, watching him, but then he sat down beside him, close enough that Thanos could feel the warmth of his presence without saying a word.

And for the first time in a long time, Thanos didn’t feel like he had to hide everything.

He just felt... less alone.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” Nam-Gyu said after a moment, his voice soft but sincere. “It’s okay to need people, you know. You’re allowed to ask for help.”

Thanos stayed quiet, his gaze still fixed on the floor. He didn’t know what to say to that. It felt like something too big for him to process all at once. But Nam-Gyu’s presence, quiet and steady beside him, was already more than he’d let himself hope for in a long time.

Silence hung in the air for about twenty minutes. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it did make Thanos feel uneasy—waiting for Nam-Gyu to say something. Waiting for that steady presence to break the quiet and finally fill the space with words that made sense of everything.

And then, Nam-Gyu spoke.

“Besides,” he began, his voice low and almost thoughtful, “when I heard your voice on the phone, I wanted nothing more than to be there with you.”

Thanos stayed still, his mind racing. The words hit deeper than expected, stirring something inside him he hadn’t realized had been waiting.

Nam-Gyu paused, shifting slightly before continuing. “It’s funny. If you told me two weeks ago that I’d get out of bed at one a.m. to drive to a guy’s apartment I’d only met a week ago, I’d probably have laughed.” He gave a small smile, his eyes still fixed on the off TV screen in front of them. “But you’re different.”

Thanos felt his heart beat a little faster at those words. He wanted to feel them, to understand what Nam-Gyu meant, but the uncertainty crept in again.

Before Nam-Gyu could say more, Thanos couldn’t stop himself. He had to know. “How?” His voice came out quieter than he expected, laced with a mix of vulnerability and curiosity. “How am I different?”

Nam-Gyu finally turned his head, his eyes meeting Thanos’s with an intensity that made his breath catch. For a moment, everything else in the room faded. It was just Nam-Gyu’s gaze, steady and clear, that seemed to see right through him.

“I feel like I’ve known you for years,” Nam-Gyu said, his voice soft but certain. “Which sounds like bullshit, but it’s not. And it’s not because I’ve listened to your music.”

Thanos blinked, surprised by the honesty in his voice. “Then why?”

Nam-Gyu’s smile softened, his eyes never leaving Thanos’s. “Because... when I’m with you, it feels like I’m not pretending. Like I don’t have to be something I’m not. It’s rare to feel that way with someone, you know?” He paused, searching Thanos’s face like he was trying to see if Thanos understood. “It’s like we get each other without having to say everything out loud. And that’s what makes it feel different.”

Thanos felt a lump in his throat, unsure of how to respond. He had never been good with compliments, especially when they came from someone he felt was... well, real. He was used to people praising the version of him that was put out there for public consumption. But this? This was something else.

“Why are you telling me this?” Thanos finally whispered, his voice shaky even as he tried to keep it steady. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the answer, or if he was scared of what it might mean.

Nam-Gyu shrugged slightly, looking almost shy for a moment. “Because you need to hear it. You need to know you’re not alone in this.”

The words hit harder than Thanos expected. He blinked rapidly, fighting the surge of emotion that threatened to overtake him. He wasn’t sure what to say, but the weight of Nam-Gyu’s words, the quiet sincerity in his eyes, made everything feel a little clearer.

Thanos felt… well, he didn’t know what he felt, honestly.

But he knew Nam-Gyu was the reason for it.

It wasn’t nerves exactly, and it wasn’t fear—not the kind he was used to, anyway. It was something heavier, something pressing against his ribs in a way he wasn’t sure he liked.

Like a realization he wasn’t ready for.

Like maybe—just maybe—he believed Nam-Gyu.

He swallowed hard, shifting slightly where he sat, fingers absentmindedly picking at the hem of his hoodie. His brain screamed at him to say something, anything, but the words weren’t coming.

Nam-Gyu was still looking at him, waiting, his expression unreadable but patient.

And Thanos hated that.

Hated how calm he was. Hated how easily he could just say things like that—things Thanos didn’t know how to process, let alone respond to.

“…You’re weird,” Thanos finally muttered, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

Nam-Gyu snorted, shaking his head. “I’m weird?”

“Yes,” Thanos said, shifting again, avoiding his gaze. “Who says shit like that? Who just tells people things like that?”

Nam-Gyu shrugged, still smiling. “People who mean it.”

Thanos scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, stop.”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. “Stop what?”

“Stop—” Thanos gestured vaguely, frustrated at his own inability to put it into words. “Stop being like that.”

Nam-Gyu just laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, not happening.”

Thanos groaned, throwing his head back against the couch. “God, you’re impossible.”

Nam-Gyu leaned back beside him, arms crossed over his chest. “You love it.”

Thanos rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Because maybe, just maybe...

Nam-Gyu was right.

Maybe he did love it.

No, that was crazy.

He barely even knew Nam-Gyu.

He barely even knew himself these days.

Thanos shook the thought away before it could settle in, before it could start pulling apart the fragile balance of whatever this was between them. Instead, he blurted out, “Let’s play a game.”

Nam-Gyu blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Twenty questions,” Thanos said, shifting to sit up straighter.

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was trying not to laugh. “What are we, middle schoolers at a sleepover?”

Thanos scoffed. “Shut up. It’s a good way to get to know people.”

Nam-Gyu tilted his head, considering. “So now you want to get to know me?”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “I just—look, you said you feel like you’ve known me for years, right? But I barely know shit about you. So…” He gestured vaguely between them. “Twenty questions.”

Nam-Gyu hummed, clearly amused, but after a beat, he nodded. “Alright, sure. But if you ask something, you have to answer it too.”

Thanos hesitated for a split second. He hadn’t considered that part.

“…Fine,” he muttered.

Nam-Gyu grinned, shifting to face him. “Alright. You start.”

Thanos thought for a moment before settling on something simple. “Okay. What’s your favorite color?”

Nam-Gyu snorted. “Really? That’s what you open with?”

Thanos shrugged. “You agreed to this, now answer the damn question.”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “Green.”

Thanos narrowed his eyes. “Liar.”

“What?” Nam-Gyu laughed.

“I don’t know, you just don’t feel like a green guy.”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “Okay, psychic. What do I feel like?”

Thanos studied him for a second. “Blue.”

Nam-Gyu tilted his head, considering. “…Huh. You know, maybe you’re right.”

Thanos smirked in victory. “Told you.”

“Alright, my turn,” Nam-Gyu said, leaning back against the couch. “What’s something you pretend to hate but secretly like?”

Thanos opened his mouth, then immediately shut it, feeling his face heat up slightly. “What kind of question is that?”

Nam-Gyu shrugged. “An interesting one.”

Thanos groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. Uh…” He hesitated, then muttered, “Rom-coms.”

Nam-Gyu’s eyes widened in delight. “No way.”

“Shut up.”

“You mean to tell me Thanos, the broody, too-cool-for-everything musician likes romantic comedies?”

“I said pretend to hate,” Thanos shot back. “And you better not tell anyone.”

Nam-Gyu was still grinning. “Your secret’s safe with me. But you do realize I’m never letting this go, right?”

Thanos groaned. “Whatever. Just ask your next question.”

Nam-Gyu leaned forward, tapping his chin like he was thinking hard. Then, his expression softened just slightly.

“What’s something you actually want?”

Thanos stilled.

The easy rhythm of the game suddenly felt like it had shifted into something heavier, something real.

He swallowed, his fingers picking at the hem of his hoodie. “That’s a loaded question.”

Nam-Gyu didn’t let up. “Doesn’t mean you don’t have an answer.”

Thanos exhaled, his gaze flickering to the floor. He didn’t know how to say it. Didn’t know how to put it into words without it sounding pathetic.

But, for once, he figured maybe—just maybe—he could be honest.

“…To not feel like I’m always waiting for something to go wrong,” he finally admitted, voice quieter than before.

Nam-Gyu didn’t say anything right away.

And then, after a beat, he nodded. “Yeah. I get that.”

The silence stretched between them, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was understanding.

Thanos took a slow breath, feeling something in his chest loosen just a little.

“Alright,” Nam-Gyu said, a small smirk playing on his lips again. “But you do realize you still owe me an answer about your favorite color.”

Thanos rolled his eyes, but for the first time that night, he smiled.

“Easy.” Thanos pointed to his dyed purple hair.

Nam-Gyu scoffed. “Oh, come on. That doesn’t count.”

Thanos raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t it count?”

“Because,” Nam-Gyu said, gesturing vaguely at him, “you literally are purple. That’s like me saying my favorite color is ‘skin tone.’”

Thanos snorted. “That’s not the same thing at all.”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “Okay, but did you dye it because it’s your favorite color, or did it just become your favorite color?”

Thanos opened his mouth to argue, but then paused. He actually… wasn’t sure.

“…Huh.” He leaned back against the couch, thinking. “I mean, I liked it before, but I guess after a while, it just kinda stuck.”

Nam-Gyu hummed in amusement. “So you gaslit yourself into loving purple.”

Thanos shot him a flat look. “You’re so annoying.”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “And yet, you’re the one who invited me over at one a.m.”

Thanos groaned. “You just had to bring that up.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Nam-Gyu leaned back, stretching his arms over his head. “Alright, your turn. What’s your next question?”

Thanos thought for a second, then smirked. “What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done?”

Nam-Gyu chuckled. “Oh, that’s dangerous. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. Dumbest thing you’ve ever done while sober.”

Nam-Gyu burst out laughing. “Oh, that narrows it down.”

Thanos grinned, waiting.

After a moment, Nam-Gyu exhaled, shaking his head. “Alright, you want a good one? I once tried to teach myself how to do a backflip off a couch.”

Thanos blinked. “…And?”

“I broke the couch,” Nam-Gyu admitted, rubbing his face. “Didn’t even get close to landing it.”

Thanos let out a bark of laughter. “You idiot.”

“Hey, in my defense, I was, like, thirteen.”

“No, that makes it funnier.”

Nam-Gyu shook his head, grinning. “Okay, your turn. Dumbest thing you’ve done while sober.”

Thanos thought for a second before sighing. “Alright. Dumbest thing I’ve done while actually sober…” He drummed his fingers against his knee, then groaned. “Oh. Okay. This one’s bad.”

Nam-Gyu leaned in, intrigued. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Thanos sighed, rubbing his face. “So, when I first started making decent money, I got really into sneakers, right?”

Nam-Gyu nodded. “Okay…”

Thanos exhaled sharply. “I once got scammed out of, like… two grand trying to buy ‘exclusive’ sneakers that didn’t actually exist.”

Nam-Gyu stared at him for a solid three seconds before bursting into laughter. “Oh my God, you got finessed.”

“Yup.” Thanos groaned. “And the worst part? The guy really sold it. Had a whole website, fake reviews, even a ‘customer support’ email. I didn’t realize until after I sent the money that the tracking number was literally just random numbers.”

Nam-Gyu was wheezing at this point. “Please tell me you at least tried to get your money back.”

“I did,” Thanos muttered, crossing his arms. “Filed a claim with my bank and everything. Got most of it back, but I still lost a couple hundred bucks because I was too embarrassed to admit how dumb I was at first.”

Nam-Gyu wiped at his eyes, still laughing. “Wow. That’s honestly beautiful. You, famous musician, got catfished by a fake sneaker dealer.”

Thanos groaned. “Okay, I take it back. This game was a mistake.”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “Nope. This is the best decision you’ve made all night.”

Despite himself, Thanos chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “Alright, my turn again.”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “Fine. But if you ask me something deep again, I’m kicking you out.”

Nam-Gyu laughed but didn’t deny anything.

And somehow, despite how the night started, Thanos found himself actually… enjoying this.

Nam-Gyu smirked. “Mhmm, first kiss and who?”

Thanos immediately groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, come on.”

Nam-Gyu leaned forward, grinning. “What? It’s a classic question. You brought up 20 Questions, you can’t back out now.”

Thanos sighed dramatically. “Fine. But you better answer after me.”

Nam-Gyu held up his hands. “Obviously.”

Thanos hesitated for a second before muttering, “Some girl from church.”

Nam-Gyu blinked. “Church?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t start.” Thanos waved him off. “I was, like, twelve, and her parents loved my dad, so they kinda encouraged us to ‘spend time together.’” He made air quotes with his fingers. “She kissed me behind the Sunday school building, and then immediately told me she felt guilty and needed to pray about it.”

Nam-Gyu nearly choked on air. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah.” Thanos sighed. “Real confidence booster, that one.”

Nam-Gyu was still laughing. “I cannot believe that was your first kiss.”

“Believe it.” Thanos crossed his arms, pretending to be annoyed but secretly enjoying the way Nam-Gyu was practically wheezing. “Alright, your turn.”

Nam-Gyu wiped at his eyes, still grinning. “Okay, okay. Mine was when I was sixteen.”

Thanos raised an eyebrow. “Late bloomer.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes. “I had opportunities before then, I was just selective.”

Thanos smirked. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Nam-Gyu ignored him. “It was with this guy I had a crush on in high school. He was in my literature class, and I thought he was, like, the coolest person alive.”

Thanos tilted his head. “And?”

Nam-Gyu shrugged. “And it was fine. Nothing life-changing. He kissed me after we ditched an assembly together, and then two weeks later, he got back with his ex.”

“Oof.” Thanos winced. “Rough.”

“Eh.” Nam-Gyu leaned back, looking unbothered. “Honestly, I was more upset that he had bad breath than the actual heartbreak.”

Thanos snorted. “That’s so much worse.”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “Yup.”

They sat there for a moment, the laughter settling into something quieter, more comfortable.

Then Nam-Gyu smirked again. “So, church boy, did that experience scar you for life, or…?”

Thanos groaned, kicking him lightly in the shin. “Shut up.”

Nam-Gyu just laughed. “Never.”

Maybe talking about dumb shit like this wasn’t so bad after all.

“My turn,” Thanos said with a mischievous grin, leaning forward like he was about to drop the most embarrassing question yet.

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow, clearly a little wary now. "What are you thinking, man?"

Thanos smirked. “Alright, alright… most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done to impress someone?”

Nam-Gyu’s face immediately turned a shade of red that was impossible to hide. His eyes widened, and for a second, he didn’t speak.

Thanos couldn’t hold in his laughter. "I knew it. You’ve got something, don’t you?"

Nam-Gyu groaned and put a hand over his face, clearly trying to avoid eye contact. “You really had to pick that one?”

“Oh, come on, I’m dying to hear this.” Thanos leaned back, crossing his arms. “I can’t believe I’ve been hanging out with you for this long and you haven’t shared this gold yet.”

Nam-Gyu dropped his hand, eyes still a little embarrassed. “Okay, fine. But I swear, if you tell anyone…” He trailed off, his tone warning.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Thanos promised, though he was clearly holding back another laugh. “Hit me with it.”

Nam-Gyu huffed but finally relented. “So, there was this guy I had a huge crush on, right? I thought I was being all smooth, so I borrowed this fancy vintage jacket from one of my friends, thinking it’d make me look cool. I even watched a ton of videos on how to talk about art—because that’s a thing, apparently." He paused, grimacing. "I showed up, and he looks at me, and the first thing he says is, ‘That jacket’s so fake.’”

Thanos’s jaw dropped. “No way.”

“Yeah,” Nam-Gyu said, his face still red. “Turns out it was a knockoff. I didn’t know that at the time, but when he pointed it out, it was so obvious.” He chuckled bitterly. “I tried to recover, but then I knocked over a table with wine glasses. I was murdered that night.”

Thanos burst out laughing. “Oh my god, that's incredible.”

“I’m never living it down,” Nam-Gyu muttered, covering his face again. “I can’t even wear jackets anymore without thinking of that day.”

Thanos wiped his eyes, still chuckling. “I gotta say, this was totally worth it.”

Nam-Gyu looked at him, trying to look serious but failing. “I hate you.”

“But you love me,” Thanos said, trying to keep it light, making it sound like a teasing joke. The kind of thing he said without thinking, like he always did, trying to keep the mood easy.

But Nam-Gyu’s reply completely threw him off, making his brain stop working for a moment. The words hung in the air, unexpected and direct.

“Yeah, I think I’m starting to.”

For a second, everything went still. The air between them felt heavier, charged in a way it hadn’t been before. Thanos blinked, the words running over and over in his head, trying to make sense of them. But his brain refused to cooperate.

He’d joked. He’d made it light. But now…

Now, everything felt different.

He could feel the blood rush to his face, the tingling in his wrists, the way his heart started to race, even though he wasn’t moving. His thoughts scattered, unsure of how to respond, unsure of whether he should respond.

Nam-Gyu wasn’t looking at him, not immediately. He was studying the couch, the TV, anywhere but at Thanos. But Thanos could feel the weight of the moment, the unspoken words hanging between them.

“Uh...” Thanos started, his voice sounding way too small for his liking. “You—uh, you serious?”

Nam-Gyu glanced at him then, eyes soft, not playful, not teasing anymore. Just... honest. “Yeah. I am.”

Thanos opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. His brain was still trying to process what the hell had just happened, what it all meant.

He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to respond to something so real.

Instead, he let out a quiet, shaky laugh, his hands gripping the edge of the couch to stop them from shaking. “You’re... kidding, right?”

Nam-Gyu shook his head, that soft smile still playing at the edges of his lips. “Nope. Not kidding.”

Thanos swallowed, still feeling like the room had suddenly gotten ten degrees warmer. He wasn’t sure if he should be thrilled or scared, and the confusion made it harder to breathe.

“Shit,” Thanos muttered, rubbing his face. “This is... fuck, this is weird.”

Nam-Gyu didn’t move, didn’t change his expression. He just sat there, steady and calm.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, “it’s weird. But it doesn’t have to be complicated, you know?”

Thanos turned his head to look at him, the words still sinking in. And for once, it wasn’t about the past or all the bullshit he was running from. It was just about this moment—about them, right here, right now.

It was terrifying.

But it felt, for the first time in a long time, like maybe it was okay to let it be what it was.

Thanos blinked, unsure of what to say next, but finally just settled on something simple.

“Yeah... maybe.”

Nam-Gyu’s eyes softened as he looked at him, a small, understanding smile on his lips.

“The, uh, most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done to impress someone... was doing a talent show for my mom.”

Thanos hadn’t planned on saying that. The words just slipped out before he could stop them. Immediately, his face flushed hot, and he regretted it. The urge to change the subject—any subject—grew too strong.

He couldn’t look at Nam-Gyu, not with the embarrassment and discomfort creeping up in his chest. The pain in his cuts hadn’t fully faded yet, and it was still there, lingering. The reminder of why Nam-Gyu was even here, why he needed him to stay, was too much.

So, instead of letting the silence drag, Thanos fumbled for a new direction. He laughed, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, I was, like, ten. Thought I was gonna be the next big thing. Mom was all about it, though. She made me get up on stage and sing—sing, mind you—in front of people.” He winced, remembering how high-pitched and awkward his voice had been. “I did this awful rendition of ‘Lean on Me.’”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow, but there was no judgment in his expression. He actually looked… curious? “And how’d that go?”

“Terribly,” Thanos said, rubbing his hand over his face. “I had no rhythm, and I could barely remember the lyrics. People were kind—they clapped—but I could tell they were just relieved when it was over.”

Nam-Gyu snickered, shaking his head. “That sounds... adorable.”

Thanos groaned, sinking lower into the couch. “You can’t say that. You’re supposed to be making fun of me, not sympathizing.”

“Hey, I’m not making fun,” Nam-Gyu said, grinning. “It’s cute. Besides, it’s not like we all don’t have embarrassing moments. I mean, my first ‘impress someone’ thing was running my hand through my hair like I was in a shampoo commercial—for a guy—and then walking into a lamp.”

Thanos blinked at him. “...A lamp?”

“Yeah, a lamp,” Nam-Gyu confirmed, smiling at the memory. “I thought I was being smooth. You know, acting all casual—and then I hit the lamp, and it fell right in front of me. I looked like a complete idiot.”

Thanos couldn’t help but laugh, the sound coming out more easily than it had in a while. “Okay, okay. That’s pretty good.”

Nam-Gyu shrugged, still smiling. “It happens. We all do dumb shit. But hey, at least you got to sing in front of your mom.”

Thanos froze for a second, a sudden lump in his throat. The way Nam-Gyu said that, so nonchalant, like it wasn’t a big deal... It hit harder than he expected.

“Yeah,” Thanos said, quieter this time, still trying to hide the lump in his throat. “I guess that was... something.”

“…Do you always trip and fall when you're hitting on someone, or...?” Thanos couldn’t help himself, the teasing tone slipping out before he could stop it.

Nam-Gyu froze for a second, then immediately shot him a mock-offended look. “You’re really gonna bring that up?”

Thanos grinned, leaning back into the couch, clearly enjoying the playful jab. “Oh, come on, you’re the one who made the move in front of a lamp. Don’t act like you didn’t deserve it.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, though his lips twitched upward despite his best efforts. “Alright, alright. I’ll admit, my coordination’s not always on point when I'm trying to impress someone.” He paused, a smirk creeping onto his face. “But you gotta admit, it’s charming. I meant to do that.”

Thanos snorted, shaking his head. “Charming? You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you planned to crash into the lamp just to make an entrance.”

Nam-Gyu laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, fine, I didn’t plan it, but if I had planned it, it would’ve been genius.”

Thanos chuckled, still processing the absurdity of it all. He knew Nam-Gyu was full of surprises, but hearing him own up to something so ridiculous in such a casual, confident way made Thanos laugh harder.

“Alright, alright,” Thanos said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “I’ll give you that one. But next time, let’s stick to smoother moves. Maybe skip the lamp, yeah?”

Nam-Gyu leaned back into the couch, looking at him with that same mischievous glint in his eyes. “What can I say? I’m not perfect. But I am memorable.”

Thanos rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah, definitely memorable. At least you’re not boring.”

“Boring’s overrated,” Nam-Gyu said, looking him dead in the eye. “I’m all about keeping it interesting.”

Thanos met his gaze, something unspoken passing between them, and for a moment, it was like everything else fell away. It wasn’t just about the lamp or the teasing or the jokes anymore. It was something quieter, something real.

And Thanos couldn’t help but feel, for the first time in a long time, that maybe being interesting was a hell of a lot better than being perfect.

“Did you at least get the guy’s number?” Thanos asked, still grinning from the whole lamp fiasco.

“Maybe,” Nam-Gyu teased, raising an eyebrow with a smirk that was just a little too confident.

“Wow, I guess your dumbassery works on some people then?” Thanos snorted, leaning back against the couch, still shaking his head at the absurdity of it all.

“Well, it’s working on you, right?” Nam-Gyu shot back smoothly, giving him a wink.

Thanos’s eyes widened for a split second, and he immediately rolled his eyes. “Oh shut up, that’s what we’re gonna do now? Start with the cheesy one-liners?”

Nam-Gyu leaned back in his seat, clearly enjoying himself. “You’re the one who’s laughing at my failures, not me. I’m just saying, it’s not all bad, right?”

Thanos blinked at him, a moment of pause before he realized something. Yeah, maybe it was a little bit working on him.

“Maybe a little,” Thanos muttered under his breath, his face flushing just a touch.

Nam-Gyu caught the shift in his tone and raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so it is working then?”

Thanos groaned, sinking further into the couch. “Ugh, okay, fine. You’re an idiot. But at least you’re entertaining.”

Nam-Gyu grinned, obviously pleased with the result. “I’ll take it.”

Thanos couldn’t help but smile, even though he was trying to play it cool. It wasn’t just the stupid lamp story—it was everything. How easily Nam-Gyu made him laugh, how he didn’t seem to mind when Thanos acted like an asshole. It felt… real.

---

"Okay, okay, wait—you lived with how many people?"

They’d been talking for around two hours at this point, sleep tugging at both of them, but neither seemed willing to stop. The conversation had shifted naturally, winding through topics until it landed here.

“Thirteen,” Nam-Gyu repeated.

Thanos blinked. “Why?”

Nam-Gyu exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I honestly can’t give a better answer than being poor. That, and drug addiction. And alcohol addiction.”

Thanos’s smile faltered slightly, watching Nam-Gyu’s face carefully. There was something about the way he said it—matter-of-fact, like it was just a thing that was, not something to be pitied.

“Shit,” Thanos muttered. “Like, your parents?”

Nam-Gyu hummed in confirmation. “And my uncles, aunts, cousins, siblings—all in a two-bedroom apartment.”

Thanos let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s… a lot.”

Nam-Gyu leaned his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah. It was.” He shrugged. “It’s weird, though. You’d think I’d hate it, but sometimes I miss it. Not the addiction part, obviously. But… the noise. The chaos. You were never alone in a place like that, you know?”

Thanos thought about that for a second. About how different that was from the way he grew up. His house had been big, always clean, always quiet. But it never felt like a home. Just a place where people existed near each other, not with each other.

“That’s wild,” Thanos finally said. “I mean, I grew up with just my parents and my sister, and it still felt too crowded sometimes.”

Nam-Gyu turned his head, looking at him. “Yeah?”

Thanos shrugged. “Well, I guess it wasn’t the number of people that made it feel like that.”

Nam-Gyu didn’t push, didn’t ask him to elaborate. He just nodded like he understood. And somehow, that made Thanos feel like maybe he did get it.

“Would you ever go back?” Thanos asked.

Nam-Gyu was quiet for a moment before he said, “No. Not really.”

Thanos raised an eyebrow. “Not even for the chaos?”

Nam-Gyu smirked slightly. “Nah. I think I found a different kind of chaos to keep me company.”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “Wow, was that about me?”

Nam-Gyu shrugged dramatically. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

Thanos groaned, shoving him lightly. “Shut up.”

Nam-Gyu just laughed, and Thanos couldn’t help but smile too.

They sat there for a while, letting the quiet settle in again. But this time, it wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was just them.

That peace was interrupted when Thanos yawned, his body finally catching up to the weight of the day.

“Sleepy?” Nam-Gyu asked, his voice softer now, looking just as tired himself.

“Mhm, yeah…” Thanos muttered, blinking slowly. Damn, he was tired. It had been a long, heavy kind of day, the kind that settled deep into his bones and refused to let go. His arm still burned from the cuts, a dull ache reminding him why Nam-Gyu was even here in the first place.

Nam-Gyu shifted slightly, his gaze flickering toward Thanos’s wrapped arm, then back to his face. “You want me to go?”

Thanos answered without hesitation.

“No.”

Nam-Gyu stilled for a moment, like he hadn’t expected the immediate response. Thanos barely even processed what he’d said—he just knew he didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight.

Nam-Gyu seemed to get it. He nodded, stretching his arms with an exaggerated groan. “Guess I’m staying, then.”

Thanos let out a small breath—relief, maybe, though he wasn’t sure why.

Nam-Gyu had just settled deeper into the couch when Thanos mumbled, voice heavy with exhaustion, “Just share the bed with me.”

Nam-Gyu turned his head, eyebrows raising slightly. “Oh? Didn’t know we were at that stage.”

Thanos cracked one eye open, glaring half-heartedly. “Shut up. I’m too tired to care where you sleep. The couch sucks, and I don’t wanna hear you whining about your back tomorrow.”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “Wow. Look at you, looking out for me.”

Thanos let out a long sigh, dragging a hand over his face. “Are you coming or what?”

Nam-Gyu chuckled, clearly enjoying how much Thanos wasn't enjoying this conversation. “Fine, fine.” He pushed himself up from the couch, stretching his arms above his head before glancing down at Thanos, who was still slumped against the cushions.

“You do know you have to get up too, right?” Nam-Gyu teased.

Thanos groaned. “Five seconds.”

“You’re already at three.”

“Fuck off.”

Nam-Gyu just laughed but didn’t rush him. He watched as Thanos finally peeled himself off the couch, moving like the exhaustion was physically weighing him down. The apartment was dimly lit now, the glow from a streetlamp outside casting long, soft shadows against the walls. Their footsteps were quiet against the floor as they made their way toward the bedroom, neither of them speaking.

It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though. If anything, it felt easy.

By the time they reached the room, Thanos barely had the energy to do anything more than collapse onto the mattress with a heavy sigh, sinking into the bed like he might never get back up.

Nam-Gyu stood by the door, watching him with a smirk. “You sure you don’t want me to carry you under the covers too?”

Thanos, face half-buried in the pillow, lifted a hand just enough to flip him off. “If you try, I will kick you.”

Nam-Gyu snorted but finally stepped toward the bed, tugging at the blankets before climbing in on the other side. He settled in, shifting a little until he was comfortable, then let out a breath.

For a second, neither of them spoke. The air felt different now, heavier in a way neither of them acknowledged out loud.

Thanos rolled onto his side, staring at the ceiling. His body still ached—his arm pulsed with the dull, distant sting of his earlier breakdown—but he didn’t feel as alone in it as he normally did. Maybe it was just the exhaustion, or maybe it was Nam-Gyu’s steady, familiar presence beside him. Either way, he wasn’t complaining.

Nam-Gyu shifted slightly. “You good?”

Thanos hummed in response, already halfway to sleep.

Nam-Gyu smiled softly, turning his head toward him. “Night, Thanos.”

There was a long pause, then a slow, mumbled, “Night,” in return.

Nam-Gyu chuckled to himself but let the quiet settle between them.

And as the warmth of the bed seeped into his skin and the steady sound of Thanos’s breathing filled the space beside him, he let his eyes slip shut.

Sleep came easier than expected.

---

Thanos was warm. Really warm.

And oddly comfortable.

Which was weird, because he never really slept comfortably. His bed always felt too big, too empty, and the nightmares—or worse, the endless overthinking—usually made sure he woke up feeling like shit.

But now?

Now, he was wrapped in warmth, and his face was tucked into something solid, something soft.

Something alive.

His brain was sluggish as he started piecing it together, still half-asleep but slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. His arm was wrapped around something—someone—and that someone was definitely real, definitely breathing.

Thanos cracked one eye open, his vision still a little hazy. His gaze landed on the familiar sight of a slightly worn green shirt with a faded Metallica logo, the fabric soft from too many washes. Right above it, black hair, just close enough that he could feel strands tickling his forehead.

Then, all at once, the realization hit.

There was an arm wrapped around his neck.

And fingers—light, slow, absentminded—running through his hair.

Thanos’s entire body locked up.

Oh. Oh.

His mind finally kicked into full gear, panic creeping up his spine, because—what the fuck—when did this happen? How did this happen?

Slowly, carefully, he shifted just enough to tilt his head back, heart pounding as he risked a glance upward.

Nam-Gyu was still asleep.

His expression was peaceful, completely relaxed, mouth slightly parted like he had not a single care in the world. His hand—the one in Thanos’s hair—twitched slightly, fingers still tangled in the strands. The other arm was draped over Thanos’s shoulders, holding him close in a way that felt almost… instinctual.

Like he hadn’t even thought about it.

Like it was just natural.

Thanos’s stomach flipped.

He should move. He should move.

But… he didn’t.

For some reason, he just stayed.

Maybe it was because Nam-Gyu looked so at ease, like this was the most normal thing in the world. Maybe it was because, despite the initial shock, Thanos didn’t actually hate the feeling of being held like this. Maybe it was because—for the first time in a long time—he didn’t wake up feeling empty.

His fingers twitched where they rested against Nam-Gyu’s back, barely grazing the fabric of his shirt.

Nam-Gyu stirred slightly, making a quiet noise in the back of his throat, before shifting just enough that his grip around Thanos tightened slightly.

Thanos’s breath hitched.

Okay. Okay. Play it cool.

He could totally play it cool.

…Right?

Right.

Very, very slowly, he started to lean back, carefully trying to extricate himself from the situation without waking Nam-Gyu up. He’d almost managed to slip free when—

“Mhm.”

Thanos froze.

Nam-Gyu’s hand, the one in his hair, twitched again before flexing slightly—almost like he was pulling Thanos closer. His arm around Thanos’s neck didn’t let go either, holding him in place with an easy, unconscious grip.

Thanos swallowed hard, heart hammering.

Then, in the sleepiest, most unfairly soft voice he’d ever heard, Nam-Gyu muttered, “Stop thinking so loud.”

Thanos died.

Or at least, it felt like he did.

Because what the fuck.

Nam-Gyu wasn’t even awake. He was just saying shit. But that didn’t change the fact that his voice was low and warm and dangerously close to Thanos’s ear.

Thanos squeezed his eyes shut. Kill me. Just kill me now.

Nam-Gyu, still very much half-asleep, sighed and nuzzled closer. “Five more minutes.”

And just like that, Thanos gave up.

He could not deal with this right now.

So, with a deep, slow exhale, he let his body relax again. Just a little. Just enough to make it seem like this wasn’t totally fucking him up.

Just five more minutes.

That was all.

Yeah, well, five minutes lasted—he’d guess—around thirty.

Thanos had no real sense of time anymore. He just knew that at some point, Nam-Gyu had woken up a little more. Not fully, not enough to pull away, but enough that the lazy, absentminded way he had been running his fingers through Thanos’s hair had turned into something more steady. More deliberate.

Yet, neither of them had moved much.

Thanos was still lying there, pressed against Nam-Gyu, his arm draped loosely over his waist. And Nam-Gyu—who should have definitely let go by now—was still holding onto him, his fingers threading through his hair like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Thanos’s brain, however, was not handling this well.

His heart was beating too fast. His skin felt too warm. Every time Nam-Gyu’s fingers scraped lightly against his scalp, he had to fight the full-body shiver threatening to betray him.

This was fine.

Totally fine.

Except it wasn’t, because he was so painfully aware of every little movement, every breath, every shift of Nam-Gyu’s fingers.

And the worst part?

Nam-Gyu definitely knew he was awake.

He wasn’t saying anything, wasn’t acknowledging it outright, but there was something about the way his movements had changed—something slower, something intentional.

Thanos swallowed hard. He had got to say something before he completely lost his mind.

“…You awake?”

Nam-Gyu hummed, low and lazy. “Mhm.”

Thanos hesitated. “…And you’re still doing this why?”

Nam-Gyu’s fingers didn’t stop. If anything, they slowed, dragging slightly as he combed them through Thanos’s hair again.

“Feels nice,” he said simply. Like it was the easiest answer in the world.

Thanos’s breath caught.

He could not deal with this.

And yet, he wasn’t moving away.

Didn’t want to move away.

That realization alone sent his brain into full-blown error mode.

Desperately, he grasped for something—anything—to break whatever this was before he did something really stupid.

“Well,” Thanos muttered, trying so hard to sound normal, “this is definitely the weirdest way I’ve ever woken up.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled softly. “What, not used to getting cuddled in your sleep?”

Thanos scoffed. “Not usually, no.”

Nam-Gyu hummed again, like he was considering that. His fingers trailed down slightly, brushing against the back of Thanos’s neck before moving up again.

“Maybe you should be,” he murmured.

Thanos stopped breathing.

Okay. Nope. That was it. That was the limit.

With a sharp inhale, he quickly rolled onto his back, successfully untangling himself from Nam-Gyu’s hold. He ignored the immediate loss of warmth, ignored the way his body definitely wanted him to stay where he was.

He stared at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. “I hate you.”

Nam-Gyu just laughed, stretching his arms behind his head like nothing had happened. “No, you don’t.”

Thanos groaned, covering his face with his hands. What the fuck is happening to me?

Whatever it was, he was not ready to figure it out.

Not yet.

Thanos was in the middle of a full-blown crisis in his own head when he noticed Nam-Gyu reaching over to the bedside table, grabbing something.

Curiosity got the best of him. He glanced over, trying desperately to think about anything else.

That’s when he saw it—Nam-Gyu, now wearing glasses.

Thanos blinked. “What?”

Nam-Gyu stretched lazily, one arm behind his head, looking at him with mild amusement. “What?”

Thanos squinted at him. “How come this is only the second time I’ve seen you wear those?”

Nam-Gyu smirked, adjusting the frames slightly. “You keeping track of my fashion choices now?”

Thanos scoffed. “I knew something was off about your face.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“No, not like that,” Thanos groaned, rubbing his face. “You just—look different with them. It threw me off.”

Nam-Gyu snickered. “Can’t handle me being too handsome all at once?”

“Oh, shut up.” Thanos rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the small, involuntary twitch of a smile. “Seriously, though. Why don’t you wear them more?”

Nam-Gyu hesitated for half a second before shrugging. “Real answer? I just forget to wear them sometimes.”

Thanos stared at him. “…But don’t you need them to, like… see?”

Nam-Gyu let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, I do.”

Thanos frowned, propping himself up on one elbow. “Then how the hell do you just forget?”

Nam-Gyu shrugged again, like it wasn’t a big deal. “I mean, I can see without them, just not great. And I guess I just got used to going without them when I was younger.”

Thanos raised an eyebrow. “What, you couldn’t afford glasses or something?”

Nam-Gyu’s smirk faltered just a little, and that told Thanos everything he needed to know.

“…Oh,” Thanos muttered.

Nam-Gyu waved a hand dismissively. “It wasn’t that bad. My parents got me a pair when I was a kid, but I broke them once, and after that, I just kind of… made do.” He tilted his head, giving Thanos a lazy grin. “Turns out, you don’t need to see everything all the time.”

Thanos narrowed his eyes. “No, see, that’s the problem. You do need to see.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled. “Says who?”

“Says logic, dumbass.” Thanos flopped back down onto the bed, shaking his head. “God, that’s so stupid.”

Nam-Gyu laughed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You gonna start reminding me to wear them now?”

Thanos sighed dramatically. “Guess I have to, since clearly no one else has bullied you about it properly.”

Nam-Gyu just smirked. “Aw, how sweet. You care.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Thanos grumbled, but his face felt way too warm.

He wasn’t sure if it was lingering embarrassment from waking up tangled together—or the fact that, for some dumb reason, Nam-Gyu with glasses was doing things to his brain he did not want to unpack right now.

“Man, I wonder what insult you’ll come up with when I remember to put my nose piercing back in,” Nam-Gyu mused, stretching his arms behind his head.

“Huh?” Thanos blinked, caught off guard.

“My nose ring,” Nam-Gyu clarified. “Well, nose stud. Haven’t worn it in a while.”

Thanos squinted at him, trying to picture it. “Wait—you have a nose piercing?”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “Yeah. What, you never noticed?”

“No? Because, shockingly, it’s kind of hard to notice something that isn’t there.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled. “Fair point.”

Thanos frowned, still trying to wrap his head around it. “So, what kind? Like a hoop? A stud?”

“Stud,” Nam-Gyu said simply. “Silver. Small. Not flashy.”

Thanos studied him for a second, tilting his head. “Huh.”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Thanos shrugged. “I don’t know. I feel like… yeah. That suits you.”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “Oh? You think I’d look good with it?”

Thanos immediately realized his mistake.

His mouth opened, then closed. Fuck.

“Oh my god,” Nam-Gyu laughed, propping himself up on one elbow. “You totally just admitted it.”

“I didn’t admit shit,” Thanos muttered, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling.

Nam-Gyu nudged him. “Come on, say it.”

“Nope.”

“Just one little compliment.”

“Absolutely not.”

Nam-Gyu sighed dramatically. “Wow. Here I was, planning to put it back in, and now my self-esteem is ruined.”

Thanos groaned. “God, fine. You’d look decent with it.”

Nam-Gyu gasped in mock offense. “Decent?”

“Acceptable?”

Nam-Gyu poked him in the side. “Try again.”

Thanos swatted his hand away, refusing to meet his gaze. “…Cool.”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “Better. But I know what you meant.”

Thanos glared at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are. Sharing a bed with me. Very interesting.”

Thanos threw a pillow at him.

Nam-Gyu caught it, laughing. “Admit it, you’re obsessed with me.”

Thanos groaned into his own pillow. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Tell me that again when I put the stud back in.”

Thanos refused to give him the satisfaction of a response.

But damn it, now he really wanted to see him with it.

“All right, your turn,” Nam-Gyu said, glancing at Thanos with a smirk.

“My turn?” Thanos raised an eyebrow, already feeling the shift in the conversation.

“Yeah,” Nam-Gyu said, leaning back casually, “Do you have any other piercings besides your ears and that snake bite?” He motioned lightly toward Thanos’s lip with a teasing grin.

Thanos blinked, the sudden shift catching him off guard. He wasn’t sure why, but the question made him hesitate for a second, his fingers idly brushing the edge of his lip where the piercing sat. “What, you think I’m a walking jewelry store?” he joked, trying to play it cool.

Nam-Gyu shrugged nonchalantly. “Could be. You’ve got that whole bad boy vibe going on.” He glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, clearly enjoying the way Thanos was now thinking about it.

Thanos rolled his eyes, but inwardly, he felt a strange warmth in his chest. He hadn’t really thought about his piercings in a while. He didn’t do it for attention—mostly just because he liked how they looked, but... now that Nam-Gyu was asking, it felt like maybe he was starting to see him differently.

“Yeah,” Thanos said, giving in. “I’ve got one more. You wanna know?” He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to add that extra hint of curiosity in his voice, but it felt right.

Nam-Gyu leaned in a little, clearly interested. “Tell me.”

Thanos took a breath, deciding to just answer. “I’ve got a tongue piercing, too.”

Nam-Gyu blinked, clearly surprised. “Seriously?”

Thanos smirked, leaning back into the bed. “Yeah. What? You think I don’t have the nerve for it?”

Nam-Gyu’s expression shifted into one of amusement, clearly enjoying the conversation far too much. “No, it’s just... I didn’t expect it. I don’t know, maybe I thought you were all ‘I’m too cool for that’ or something.”

“Yeah, well, surprise,” Thanos said with a grin. “I don’t exactly have a ‘type,’ just kinda go with whatever feels right. And the tongue? Felt right.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled, shaking his head. “You really are full of surprises, huh?”

Thanos leaned forward a little. “You’re just jealous ‘cause I’m cooler than you.”

Nam-Gyu snorted. “You think I’m jealous of your tongue ring?”

Thanos raised an eyebrow, teasing him. “Well, now that you mention it, maybe you should get one.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Could really add to your charm.”

Nam-Gyu gave him a playful shove. “I’m not falling for that.” He grinned. “But nice try.”

Thanos smirked, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “Hey, I can’t help it if I’ve got the style.”

Nam-Gyu just rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the laugh that followed. “You’re ridiculous.”

But for a moment, there was something else behind his smile—something softer, maybe a little more... affectionate. Thanos couldn’t quite place it, but it made his chest feel a little lighter.

“Besides,” Nam-Gyu added, his voice teasing, “I’ve heard it’s harder to make out with someone if you both have tongue piercings.”

Thanos froze for a second, caught off guard. He wasn’t sure if Nam-Gyu was joking or flirting, but either way, it threw him off. His brain tried to work through the words, but all he could focus on was the way Nam-Gyu said it—casual but with an edge to it that he couldn’t quite decipher.

But before he could overthink it, he let out a small snort of laughter and tried to regain his usual teasing tone. “Good point, but I think you're just disappointed I didn’t say dick instead of the tongue.”

The words were out before he could stop them, and immediately, he felt the heat rush to his face. He could feel Nam-Gyu’s eyes on him, sharp and curious. The atmosphere between them shifted, just slightly, the playful edge becoming a little sharper.

Nam-Gyu blinked, his eyes widening for a split second, before his lips curled into an amused smile. “Wow,” he said, a low chuckle escaping his lips. “I didn’t expect you to throw that out there so casually.”

Thanos rolled his eyes, trying to play it cool, but the flush in his cheeks betrayed him. “Hey, you brought up piercings first. I was just being honest.”

Nam-Gyu’s grin softened into something more thoughtful. “Honest, huh?” His voice was softer now, a little teasing but with a hint of something else beneath it. “I didn’t know you were such an open book.”

Thanos shifted slightly, leaning back against the pillows and crossing his arms, trying to mask the fact that he was suddenly feeling a little too aware of everything around him. “Well, I am an open book. You’re just not reading it properly.”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow, and there was that playful gleam in his eyes again. “Mmm,” he hummed, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “I’m still not sure if I should be worried about how much you’re not saying.”

Thanos laughed, the sound slightly strained as he avoided looking at Nam-Gyu. “Nah, don’t worry. I don’t get all deep and philosophical before breakfast.”

Nam-Gyu leaned in a little, propping himself up on his elbows as he watched Thanos with an intensity that made his stomach do a weird little flip. “But you’ve got some layers, haven’t you?” His voice was softer now, more curious. “A lot of layers. Maybe you don’t talk about them much, but I think you’ve got ’em.”

Thanos wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep talking about this. He wasn’t ready for it, but somehow, the way Nam-Gyu was looking at him—so genuine—made him feel like he wasn’t about to run away from it. Not today.

“Maybe,” Thanos said, his voice quieter than usual. “But it’s easier just to… not talk about it. I don’t like people getting too close, you know? I don’t even know how to talk about half the stuff that’s in my head.”

Nam-Gyu didn’t respond immediately. He just looked at him, gaze soft, steady. Then he sighed and leaned back, stretching his arms above his head in that effortless way that always made Thanos’s heart skip a beat. “I get it,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. “Not everyone is easy to talk to. Some stuff you just have to keep to yourself.”

Thanos swallowed, unsure what to say. Something in Nam-Gyu’s tone—the way he wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding, just listening—made him feel like maybe... just maybe, he wasn’t so alone in that.

But the silence between them felt heavier now, like there was something both of them were avoiding. And for the first time in a long time, Thanos realized how much he didn’t want to keep everything buried.

“So,” Nam-Gyu’s voice broke through the silence, his tone light again, “are we gonna keep talking about piercings, or do you have something else up your sleeve?”

Thanos huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Not sure I’ve got any more surprises for you. But sure, let’s talk about piercings,” he said with a smirk, though it felt like a cover for something deeper, something he wasn’t quite ready to face yet.

Nam-Gyu grinned. “I’m just saying, I’m pretty sure I can handle your surprises.” His voice softened again, almost teasing, but there was a sincerity in it that Thanos couldn’t ignore.

Thanos smirked, shaking his head. “You sure about that?”

Nam-Gyu nodded, looking at him with that same glint in his eye. “I’ve got a lot of patience for you. More than you probably realize.”

Thanos didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just rolled his eyes and looked away, pretending to be unaffected. But deep down, it was impossible to ignore how right that felt—how real this was, despite the jokes, despite the casual teasing.

It wasn’t about the piercings. It wasn’t about the weird things they said to each other. It was about the fact that, somehow, Nam-Gyu wasn’t just letting him off the hook. He was staying.

And that made all the difference.

“Alright, Nam-Gyu, let’s talk tattoos,” Thanos said, a teasing edge to his voice as he stretched a little, his body still relaxed but now much more willing to engage in the conversation.

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Oh? You’re the one with the ‘mysterious’ tattoos?”

Thanos grinned. “Mysterious, huh? Alright, sure.” He shifted, adjusting the hem of his shirt, and with a quick motion, he pulled it up just enough to reveal the tattoo. It was a full back piece—the word Thanos in flowing Korean script, the lines sharp and bold against his skin. The tattoo ran from the top of his back all the way down to the lower part of his spine, the letters twisting sideways.

Nam-Gyu’s eyes went wide as he stared at the ink, clearly impressed by the sheer scale of it. “Damn... that's... that's huge.” He paused for a moment, looking impressed. “And sideways? That’s not your average tattoo placement.”

Thanos let out a half-hearted chuckle, glancing over his shoulder at Nam-Gyu. “Yeah, well, it’s not supposed to be ‘average.’ I didn’t exactly go for subtle when I was 20.”

Nam-Gyu smirked, clearly entertained. “No kidding,” he said, still taking in the scale of it. “But... why the sideways thing? What’s the deal with that?”

Thanos shrugged, leaning back slightly as he felt the familiar weight of the tattoo on his back. “Honestly, it’s just how I wanted it. The artist and I were messing around with the layout, and I liked the idea of the word running along my spine. Makes it more... personal, I guess.”

Nam-Gyu nodded, looking thoughtful. “I get it. Makes sense. It’s kind of like your own mark, right? Not just something anyone would notice unless they were paying attention.”

Thanos glanced down for a moment, his fingers absently tracing the edge of the tattoo as he reflected on it. “Yeah, pretty much. It's not something I show off. It's more... for me. A reminder.”

“Damn,” Nam-Gyu muttered, reaching out instinctively before pausing. “Can I—?”

Thanos shrugged. “Go for it.”

Nam-Gyu’s fingers lightly traced the ink on his forearm, following the smooth, sharp precision of the long black line. “That’s serious,” he said, voice quieter now. “What’s the story behind this one?”

Thanos glanced down at it, running a finger along the tattoo himself. “…I got really high and thought it was cool.”

Nam-Gyu’s head snapped up, staring at him in disbelief. “That’s the meaning?”

Thanos grinned, leaning back. “Yep.”

Nam-Gyu squinted at him, then back at the tattoo. “You’re telling me that you have a giant-ass line running down your entire back and arm, and you don’t even remember why?”

Thanos shrugged. “I mean, I remember, I just don’t think it was that deep. I was on something, thought it looked sick, and now—” he waved his arm vaguely, “—here we are.”

Nam-Gyu just stared for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. “You know, I was about to say it looked really meaningful. But no, it turns out you just have stoner logic permanently inked onto your body.”

Thanos snickered. “To be fair, the straight-line thing is kind of cool. Very minimalist. Very sleek.”

Nam-Gyu huffed. “Yeah, yeah. Pretend it was intentional all you want.” He smirked, shaking his head. “You’re a menace.”

Thanos grinned. “Oh, I know.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, still staring at the tattoo like he was trying to wrap his head around it. “Man, I don’t know whether I’m disappointed or impressed.”

Thanos stretched his arms above his head, smirking. “Both. It’s always both.”

Nam-Gyu exhaled through his nose, amused despite himself. “Alright, fine. You got any actual meaningful tattoos? Or are they all just drug-induced life choices?”

Thanos hesitated for a second before pulling up his shirt again, this time revealing the tattoo on his ribs. A set of numbers, small but bold.

Nam-Gyu tilted his head, trying to read it. “What’s that?”

Thanos let his fingers brush over it. “Date of my first album drop.”

Nam-Gyu blinked, then let out a small chuckle. “Oh, so this one had some thought behind it?”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “Yes, I was sober for this one. Shocking, I know.”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “Low bar, but I’ll give you that one.”

Thanos stretched out his fingers, flipping his hand palm down to show another tattoo. “And along with other random ones, I have this demon I thought was cool on my hand.”

Nam-Gyu’s gaze immediately dropped to Thanos’s hand, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the ink. The design was intricate—dark, sharp lines forming the face of a snarling demon, the details crisp against Thanos’s skin.

Nam-Gyu didn’t say anything at first, just stared. Then, slowly, he exhaled through his nose.

Thanos raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Nam-Gyu dragged a hand down his face. “You’re actually the most chaotic person I’ve ever met.”

Thanos smirked. “That’s not an insult.”

Nam-Gyu gave him a flat look. “You got that because you thought it was cool?”

Thanos shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Nam-Gyu pointed at him. “So let me get this straight—you have your own name in giant Korean script down your back, a random-ass line running from your neck to your hand because you got high, and now a demon on your hand just because it looked cool?”

Thanos nodded. “You’re catching on.”

Nam-Gyu just stared at him for a moment before shaking his head in disbelief. “I feel like I’m conducting a psychological study right now.”

Thanos grinned. “And what are your findings, doctor?”

Nam-Gyu exhaled, staring at the demon tattoo again before muttering, “I think I’m in love with an idiot.”

Thanos snorted. “Tragic. Must be tough for you.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “You are a walking contradiction, you know that?”

Thanos smirked. “And yet, here you are. Fascinated.”

Nam-Gyu scoffed, shaking his head. “I hate that you’re right.”

Thanos laughed, flexing his fingers as he glanced at the tattoo on his hand. “What can I say? Bad decisions build character.”

Nam-Gyu hummed. “And here I thought good decisions kept people alive.”

Thanos smirked, tilting his head. “Maybe. But good decisions don’t make good stories.”

Nam-Gyu shot him an exasperated look. “That’s a terrible philosophy.”

Thanos just grinned. “And yet, I’m still here.”

Nam-Gyu sighed, shaking his head again before leaning back against the bed. “Alright, I’ve humored your madness. Now you owe me. Tell me—which tattoo do you actually regret the most?”

Thanos paused, eyes flickering toward his arm before smirking. “Oh, that one’s a story.”

Nam-Gyu exhaled. “Why do I feel like I’m about to be horrified?”

Thanos just grinned wider. “Because you probably are.”

---

It took Thanos one long, insane story about being in America, getting tattoos on a dare, nearly losing a bet that would’ve resulted in something much worse, and then walking back down to the same diner from a week ago—before it hit him.

Nam-Gyu had said love.

Thanos stopped mid-step, his stomach doing something weird that had nothing to do with hunger.

I think I’m in love with an idiot.

That’s what Nam-Gyu had said. Not just you’re an idiot, not I can’t believe you exist, but love.

Thanos suddenly felt very aware of everything—the cool morning air, the way their shoulders kept brushing as they walked, the distant hum of the city around them. And Nam-Gyu, who was walking beside him like nothing had just happened.

Like he hadn’t just said that.

Thanos licked his lips, trying to play it cool. “So... uh, back there,” he started, keeping his tone casual, “when you said ‘love’...”

Nam-Gyu glanced at him, eyebrow slightly raised. “Yeah?”

Thanos swallowed. “Was that just... y’know, one of those things people say? Or was it... something?”

Nam-Gyu blinked at him before realization dawned on his face. His lips twitched, and then—of course—he smirked.

“Oh,” he said, like he was enjoying this way too much. “That.”

Thanos frowned. “Yes, that.”

Nam-Gyu hummed, clearly drawing it out just to mess with him. “I mean... I did say it.”

Thanos gave him a flat look. “No shit.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I dunno, Thanos. You tell me. Are you in love with an idiot?”

Thanos’ brain short-circuited. “What?”

Nam-Gyu laughed, nudging his shoulder. “Relax. I was just messing with you.”

Thanos let out a breath, realizing he’d been holding it. “You suck.”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “And yet, you keep me around.”

Thanos opened his mouth to fire back, but then Nam-Gyu looked at him—really looked at him. The smirk faded just a little, and his voice was softer when he spoke next.

“But... if you’re asking if I meant it?” He tilted his head, expression unreadable. “Yeah. I think I did.”

Thanos suddenly felt very warm. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, drowning out the distant sounds of the city.

For a second, he didn’t know what to say. So he didn’t say anything.

He just kept walking, matching Nam-Gyu’s pace, his mind racing a million miles a second.

Because, holy shit, he really hadn’t been prepared for that.

And the worst part?

He didn’t think he minded it.

Not one bit.

Notes:

This chapter is longer to make up for the last two being shorter! (Plus had to let Thanyu get their screen time)
Also, I know that chapter number says 5 out of 6, there gonna be more but idk how many yet. (Also that is a draft I started on)

Chapter 6: 1 Month

Notes:

Hello everyone! Before you read this just now I've recently broken my wrist so updates for the next 6 weeks are going to be slower!
I've deleted the chapter of my explanation so it's not in the way of the story! But thank you to everyone who has left me such sweet comments! I've saved them so I can still read them :D
Hopefully, I can still write somewhat normally because I've gotten used to it a bit but I'm defiantly slower:,)

It had been a month since Nam-Gyu’s love confession.

The days had grown colder with the season change, the crisp autumn air slipping through the cracks of Thanos’s apartment whenever someone opened a window. And somehow, despite the shift in weather, despite the weeks that had passed, that moment—those words—still lingered in the back of Thanos’s mind.

Which is how he found himself absentmindedly picking at an old scab on his wrist, his thoughts drifting somewhere he couldn’t quite name.

A sharp elbow to his arm pulled him back. “Hey, don’t do that!” Nam-Gyu scolded, barely looking away from the TV, his fingers still locked around his game controller.

Thanos blinked, startled out of his trance. “Huh?”

Nam-Gyu sighed, pausing the game with an exaggerated groan before shooting him a quick glance. “The scab. Stop picking at it. You’ll make it worse.”

Thanos huffed, dropping his hands into his lap. “Not my fault Mi-Na takes four years to decorate Princess Peach’s car.”

Across the room, Mi-Na flipped him off without looking up from the Switch in her hands. “Excuse me for having taste, you basic-ass purple gremlin.”

Se-Mi, sitting next to her with her own controller, snickered. “I mean, she’s got a point. Your Mario Kart builds suck.”

Thanos scowled. “I’ll have you know my builds are elite.”

Nam-Gyu side-eyed him. “Bro, you pick speed over handling every single time, and then you whine when you crash into walls.”

Thanos scoffed. “Yeah, because winning is more important than handling.”

“Not if you spend half the game driving into the goddamn barrier.”

Thanos pointed at him. “Sounds like loser talk.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but was clearly fighting back a smirk. “Alright, crash dummy, let’s see if that strategy holds up.” He unpaused the game, fingers moving swiftly over the buttons as the race countdown began.

Thanos grinned, gripping his controller tighter. The weight in his chest from earlier? It wasn’t gone, not completely. But right now, with Nam-Gyu beside him, their friends yelling insults across the room, and the hum of the game filling the space, it was easier to ignore.

“So what time is this dinner?” Gyeong-Su asked from his place on the couch, lazily stretching his legs across the coffee table like he had no intention of moving anytime soon.

Thanos barely glanced up from his controller. “Why? You actually planning on showing up?”

Gyeong-Su scoffed. “Excuse me, I am a pillar of this community.”

Mi-Na snorted. “Bro, last week you literally ghosted us for two days straight.”

“I napped!” Gyeong-Su defended, sitting up slightly. “And that’s self-care.”

Se-Mi chuckled, shaking her head. “Okay, pillar of the community. The dinner’s at seven.”

The dinner in question was a year-end party that In-Ho and Gi-Hun were throwing—a way to celebrate the progress everyone had made, whether it was sobriety, mental health, or just existing through another year. A way to remind each other that, no matter how hard it got, they weren’t doing this alone.

Thanos wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

On one hand, free food. Good food, if In-Ho was the one handling it. But on the other hand… a celebration? He still wasn’t sure he had anything worth celebrating.

“You’re going, right?” Nam-Gyu asked, nudging him lightly with his elbow.

Thanos hesitated for a second too long.

Nam-Gyu sighed, pausing the game again. “Come on, don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Thanos muttered.

“You thought something.”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “Didn’t know you were a mind reader.”

Nam-Gyu gave him a look. “You’re the most predictable person alive.”

Thanos groaned, throwing his head back. “Fine. I’ll go.”

Mi-Na smirked. “Wow. So romantic.”

Thanos shot her a glare. “Do not start.”

Se-Mi leaned toward Gyeong-Su. “I give it two weeks before they start holding hands in public.”

“One week,” Gyeong-Su countered.

Nam-Gyu just smirked at Thanos, shaking his head as he unpaused the game. “You are going to this dinner,” he said casually. “And you are going to enjoy it.”

Thanos huffed. “Yeah, yeah.”

And maybe—just maybe—he would.

“And we’re not dating, assholes,” Thanos added, glaring at Mi-Na and Gyeong-Su, who both looked way too amused for his liking.

Mi-Na, sprawled out in the side chair with her legs thrown over one armrest, raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So that story you told me—where you two confessed your undying love for each other—never happened?”

Thanos immediately grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at her. “Shut up, man!”

Mi-Na barely dodged, cackling as she swatted the pillow aside. “I’m just saying, some of us have ears.”

Thanos groaned, sinking further into the couch, but he caught Nam-Gyu’s smirk out of the corner of his eye. He turned back to the screen like nothing happened, but as the race continued, Nam-Gyu leaned in slightly, voice low enough for only Thanos to hear.

“Glad you remembered.”

Thanos swallowed, his grip tightening on the controller.

Of course he remembered. It was almost the only thing he could think about when he was with Nam-Gyu. And considering how often they were together now, that was... a lot.

But the problem was, he hadn’t said it back. Yet.

And it wasn’t because he didn’t want to. If anything, he wanted to say it so badly it was kind of pathetic. The last month had been almost the same as before, but with more—more lingering touches, more playful flirting, more nights staying up too late, talking about nothing and everything all at once.

It felt different. And yet, at the same time, it didn’t.

And, of course, it wasn’t like nobody noticed. No, in fact, everyone noticed.

Starting with, well, everyone here.

And more importantly, Deok-Su.

Yeah. That had been a terrifying conversation.

---

One Week Ago

“Alright, kid, spill.”

Thanos had barely made it three steps out of the last meeting before Deok-Su appeared beside him, walking in that easy, unhurried way of his.

Thanos blinked. “Huh?”

Deok-Su gave him a side glance. “You and Nam-Gyu.”

Thanos tensed instantly. “What about me and Nam-Gyu?”

Deok-Su sighed, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Look, I don’t need details. I don’t care if you’re official or if you’re just circling each other like a couple of confused pigeons. But I do care if this thing is messing with your head.”

Thanos frowned, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket. “It’s not.”

Deok-Su gave him a long, unimpressed look. “You sure?”

Thanos hesitated. He wanted to say yes. Wanted to brush it off and move on. But Deok-Su had a way of looking through him, and lying felt pointless.

So instead, he exhaled sharply and muttered, “I don’t know.”

Deok-Su nodded, like that was the answer he expected. “You’re overthinking it.”

Thanos shot him a glare. “Oh, am I?”

“Yeah,” Deok-Su said simply. “Look, kid, I’ve been around a long time. And let me tell you—when someone actually makes you feel okay for once? You don’t let yourself ruin it by being scared of what it might mean.”

Thanos looked away, his jaw tightening.

Deok-Su sighed. “If you don’t want to be with him, that’s one thing. But if you do, and you’re just waiting for some perfect moment to say it back?” He shrugged. “You’ll talk yourself out of it until it’s too late.”

Thanos hated how much that made sense.

And even more, he hated how much it terrified him.

---

Present Day

Yeah. That talk had sucked.

And the worst part? Deok-Su was right.

Thanos was waiting for some big, cinematic, perfect moment—one that would prove it was okay to say it.

But if he kept waiting, he was gonna let something good slip right through his fingers.

His thoughts were interrupted when Nam-Gyu suddenly shoved him, sending his character flying off the Mario Kart track.

Thanos snapped back to reality. “HEY!”

Nam-Gyu grinned at him. “Eyes on the road, lover boy.”

Thanos’ face burned. “You bitch.”

Mi-Na cackled. “That’s what you get for denial.”

Gyeong-Su hummed, nodding sagely. “Karma moves fast. Unlike you, apparently.”

Thanos groaned, tossing his controller onto his lap. “I hate all of you.”

Se-Mi patted his shoulder. “Nah, you love us.”

Thanos grumbled something under his breath but didn’t deny it.

Nam-Gyu nudged him again, voice teasing. “Glad you remembered,” he repeated.

Thanos swallowed hard, his heart stuttering a little.

Yeah, he thought.

I remember.

And maybe soon, he’d finally say it back.

“Toad Wins!!”

The TV blared the victory announcement, the triumphant little mushroom bastard throwing his hands in the air like he knew he was the most unlikely champion.

“Huh?!” Thanos blinked, looking from the screen to the floor where Min-Su had been sitting, completely silent the entire race.

Min-Su, still cross-legged and completely unbothered, simply set his controller down and shrugged. “Happens.”

The room fell into stunned silence for a second before Gyeong-Su groaned, collapsing dramatically against the couch. “Are you serious?! You weren’t even talking!”

Mi-Na threw her hands up. “This dude ninja-stealthed his way into first place—what the fuck?!”

Se-Mi cackled, shaking her head in disbelief. “Quiet kid syndrome strikes again.”

Thanos just sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before nodding at Min-Su. “Damn, dude. I wanna be mad, but I respect that.”

Min-Su finally cracked a small, satisfied smile. “Thanks.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled beside him, nudging Thanos with his shoulder. “See? That’s what happens when you spend the whole race thinking about me instead of playing.”

Thanos whipped his head around to glare at him. “I was not thinking about you.”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow, smug as hell. “Oh no?”

“No.”

“Oh?”

“Shut up.”

Mi-Na whistled. “Damn, if that’s how you two are when you’re not dating, I can’t wait for the mess when you actually get your shit together.”

Thanos grabbed another pillow and launched it at her.

This time, she didn’t dodge. Just let it hit her and stared him down like she was thrilled to be proven right.

Nam-Gyu, still grinning, leaned back into the couch, arms stretching behind his head. “Anyway. That was fun. Now, who's up for a rematch?”

Min-Su shrugged. “I’ll win again.”

Gyeong-Su groaned. “No. We are not letting you silently humble us again.”

Se-Mi grinned. “Oh, come on. Let the man have his moment.”

Thanos sighed, grabbing his controller again. “Fine. One more round.”

Nam-Gyu bumped his knee against Thanos’s. “Think you can focus this time?”

Thanos turned to him, narrowing his eyes. “I swear to god—”

The countdown for the next race began.

And yeah, maybe Thanos would focus this time.

If Nam-Gyu stopped distracting him-

“God damn it! Don’t start the race when I’m distracted!” Thanos yelled, snapping his attention back to the TV just as the Mario Kart starting countdown blared through the speakers.

“Three... Two... One…”

The screen flashed, and the karts shot forward—except for Thanos’s, which sat there like a useless hunk of metal as everyone else sped off.

“FUCK!” Thanos slammed the button too late, his kart finally lurching forward like a drunk turtle.

Nam-Gyu cackled beside him. “Wow, tragic. You sure you weren’t thinking about me?”

Thanos didn’t even turn to look at him. “I will throw this controller at you.”

Mi-Na, already laughing, swerved her character in front of his. “It’s okay, baby boy, we’ll wait for you.”

“EAT SHIT, MI-NA!” Thanos yelled as he mashed the acceleration button, trying to make up for lost time.

Min-Su, unbothered, calmly drifted around a corner. “Should’ve been ready.”

Se-Mi whistled. “Man, this is embarrassing for you, Thanos.”

Thanos gritted his teeth as he fought his way back through the ranks. “Y’all are lucky I was—”

“You were what?” Nam-Gyu interrupted, voice dripping with amusement.

Thanos cursed under his breath, refusing to answer as he focused entirely on the race. His kart bumped into a wall, and Nam-Gyu actually snorted.

“Oh my god,” Nam-Gyu wheezed, dodging a red shell like it was nothing. “You really suck under pressure.”

Thanos whipped his head toward him. “You’re doing this on purpose!”

Nam-Gyu grinned, leaning slightly into Thanos’s space like he was trying to make him more flustered. “Maybe.”

Thanos groaned, slamming the drift button as he finally started catching up. “I hate you.”

“Mm.” Nam-Gyu tapped a finger against his chin like he was deep in thought. “No, you love me.”

Thanos choked on absolutely nothing, missing a crucial turn and crashing straight into a banana peel.

Gyeong-Su howled with laughter. “Ohhh my god, Nam-Gyu, you just mentally destroyed him.”

Mi-Na wiped fake tears from her eyes. “That was beautiful. Pure poetry.”

Thanos, face burning, shoved Nam-Gyu’s arm. “You crash too, asshole!”

Nam-Gyu just laughed, easily dodging another attack. “I could, but see—” he gestured at the screen, where he was comfortably in second place. “I actually know how to play.”

Thanos wanted to kill him.

He also wanted to kiss him.

But mostly, he wanted to kill him.

“Just shut up and race,” Thanos grumbled, gripping his controller like it personally betrayed him.

Nam-Gyu chuckled, shifting just a little closer. “Whatever you say, baby boy.”

Thanos nearly rage-quit on the spot.

---

“What the fuck do I wear to a dinner party?” Thanos called from the depths of his closet, his voice slightly muffled by the sheer amount of questionable clothing he owned.

“Something not totally ugly,” Mi-Na offered lazily from her place on his bed, eyes still glued to her phone.

Thanos poked his head out to glare at her. “Wow. Inspirational.”

Nam-Gyu, sprawled comfortably beside her, gave a small shrug. “Something... nice?”

Thanos groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Wow, thanks, guys. That really narrows it down.”

Se-Mi, Gyeong-Su, and Min-Su had all gone home to change. When they asked Mi-Na if she was planning to do the same, she had simply flipped her hair and said, “I’m always picture-ready.”

Which, to be fair, was probably true.

Nam-Gyu, on the other hand, hadn’t left at all. And now he was watching Thanos struggle with far too much amusement.

“You’re thinking about it too hard,” Nam-Gyu said, shifting onto his side.

Thanos turned back to his closet, flipping through his clothes with growing frustration. “It’s a dinner party. That means dinner and party. That means food and people.” He threw a random shirt behind him. “I need something comfortable enough to eat in but also nice enough to make it look like I didn’t just roll out of bed.”

Mi-Na snorted. “Well, that rules out half your closet.”

Thanos tossed another shirt at her. “You’re the worst.”

She barely reacted, effortlessly dodging it with a flick of her wrist. “And yet, here I am, offering my unpaid consulting services.”

Nam-Gyu propped himself up on his elbow. “Okay, real talk. What’s the actual problem here? You wear whatever you want all the time, but suddenly you’re stressing over this?”

Thanos hesitated. He didn’t want to admit it, but... yeah. He was overthinking it.

Because this wasn’t just any dinner party. This was a dinner party In-Ho was hosting—a night meant to celebrate how far everyone had come this year. And maybe, just maybe, Thanos wanted to look like he actually belonged there.

Which was stupid, because of course he belonged there. Right?

Before he could spiral too much, Nam-Gyu sat up, his voice softer. “Thanos.”

Thanos blinked, looking back at him.

Nam-Gyu tilted his head slightly, studying him. “Just pick something you like. If you feel good in it, you’ll look good in it.”

Thanos stared at him for a moment, then sighed dramatically. “Ugh. Gross. Get out of my room with your supportive energy.”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “Never.”

Mi-Na fake gagged. “God, just kiss already.”

Thanos grabbed the nearest sweater and threw it at her.

“Whatever, I’m raiding your fridge for something to drink. Don’t fuck while I’m gone~” Mi-Na’s voice rang out as she got up and strolled out of the room, the tease practically dripping from her tone.

“Oh my god, you guys are the worst,” Thanos called after her, exasperation laced in his voice. Then he turned to Nam-Gyu, narrowing his eyes. “You too.”

He didn’t mean it. At all.

And judging by the way Nam-Gyu smirked, he knew it too.

Nam-Gyu just smirked, stretching lazily on the bed like he had all the time in the world. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Thanos narrowed his eyes. “No, seriously. You too.”

Nam-Gyu made a thoughtful noise, then tilted his head slightly. “Yeah? So you don’t want my help picking something?”

Thanos opened his mouth, ready to argue—ready to throw some half-assed insult to prove his point—but then Nam-Gyu just looked at him. Not with smugness, not with teasing, but with something softer, something knowing.

And just like that, Thanos lost the fight before it even began.

“...Shut up,” he muttered, turning back to the closet.

Nam-Gyu chuckled, rolling onto his side. “That’s what I thought.”

Thanos grabbed a random button-up and held it up. “Alright, genius, does this work?”

Nam-Gyu gave it a quick once-over before wrinkling his nose. “Mm. No.”

Thanos groaned, throwing it onto the growing pile of discarded clothes on the bed. “I hate you.”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “You love me.”

Thanos stiffened for half a second before rolling his eyes. “Unfortunately.”

Nam-Gyu snickered, then sat up properly, patting the spot next to him. “C’mon, let’s be real about this. I know you have good stuff in there. You’re just being dramatic.”

Thanos crossed his arms. “I am not dramatic.”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow.

Thanos sighed. “Fine. Maybe a little.”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “See? Progress.”

Thanos huffed, but when Nam-Gyu patted the spot beside him again, he hesitated for only a second before flopping down next to him.

Maybe it wouldn’t kill him to actually let someone help.

Just this once.

He let out a dramatic groan. “I’ve never once thought about what to wear in my life—not even when I used to go to church.”

Nam-Gyu snorted. “Yeah, that tracks.”

Before Thanos could argue, Nam-Gyu shifted, leaning back against the pillows and tugging Thanos’s head onto his lap. His fingers found his hair, running through it with slow, lazy motions.

Thanos stiffened at first, then, almost involuntarily, relaxed into the touch.

“…Why are you doing this?” he mumbled, trying—and failing—not to sound affected.

Nam-Gyu hummed, continuing his movements like he wasn’t fully paying attention. “Because you like it.”

Thanos barely had time to process that before Nam-Gyu added with a smirk, “And because it makes your face all red, and that’s cute.”

Thanos groaned again, this time into Nam-Gyu’s thigh. “You suck.”

Nam-Gyu just chuckled, fingers threading deeper into his hair. “Mhm. And yet, here you are, not moving.”

Thanos hated that he was right.

But also… maybe he didn’t mind so much.

"Ughhh, you really suck," Thanos grumbled, eyes slipping shut despite himself.

Nam-Gyu smirked, fingers still lazily threading through his hair. "Yeah?"

"Yes," Thanos sighed, voice muffled against Nam-Gyu’s thigh. "Because I still need to get dressed, and this does feel nice."

Nam-Gyu chuckled, shifting slightly but not stopping. "Sounds like a you problem."

Thanos groaned dramatically. "You're literally the problem."

"And yet, you're still lying here."

"Shut up."

Nam-Gyu just smiled, fingers trailing lightly over his scalp. "Five more minutes."

Thanos exhaled, torn between actual annoyance and the undeniable comfort settling over him.

"...Fine," he muttered. "Five."

Nam-Gyu filled the short five minutes rambling about pretty much nothing—something about a weird dream he had, a debate over whether soup counted as a drink, and a minor rant about people who don’t use their turn signals.

Thanos barely processed half of it, too busy fighting off the urge to stay exactly where he was.

But eventually, with an exaggerated groan, he pulled himself up. “Okay, I need to find something to wear before the others come back and clown me for it.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled, stretching out comfortably on Thanos’s bed like he had no plans of moving. “Oh, they’re definitely clowning you either way.”

Thanos shot him a glare before turning to his closet. “You could help, you know.”

“I am helping.”

Thanos glanced over his shoulder. “By doing what, exactly?”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “Providing moral support.”

Thanos rolled his eyes, already regretting everything

After a few minutes of rummaging through what Se-Mi had once dubbed the closet of hell, Thanos finally pulled out a sweater he had completely forgotten about.

And oh, it was a choice.

Bright pinks, blues, yellows—an explosion of color and patterns that shouldn’t work together but somehow did. An all-seeing eye, chaotic stripes, star patterns, abstract shapes—every inch of it screamed this man makes questionable life choices and doesn’t regret a single one.

From his spot on the bed, Nam-Gyu glanced up and immediately snorted. “Oh my god.”

Thanos held it up against himself, tilting his head like he was considering something deeply philosophical. “Too much?”

Mi-Na reentered the room, a soda in hand, took one look, and wheezed. “Holy shit, that’s ugly.”

Thanos beamed. “So it’s perfect.”

Nam-Gyu sat up, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re actually gonna wear that to a dinner party?”

“In-Ho invited me,” Thanos said, already tugging it on over his shirt. “He knew what he was signing up for.”

Mi-Na scoffed. “Yeah, I don’t think even he could have prepared for that.” She gestured at the sweater like it physically hurt her to look at it.

Nam-Gyu leaned back on his hands, watching Thanos adjust the sleeves. “This is, without a doubt, the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Thanos turned to the mirror, smoothing the fabric over his chest. “And yet,” he said confidently, “I still look good.”

Mi-Na rolled her eyes. “Yeah, the statement you’re making is ‘I dress like I lost a bet.’”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “No, the statement is ‘I want everyone to suffer with me visually.’”

Thanos grinned, striking an exaggerated pose in the mirror. “Suffering is temporary, drip is forever.”

Nam-Gyu let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

“Bold of you to assume I care,” Thanos shot back.

Nam-Gyu just looked at him for a second, something unreadable in his expression. The teasing was still there, but beneath it, there was something else—something softer.

Then, before Thanos could think too hard about it, Nam-Gyu smirked. “You look ridiculous.”

“And yet,” Thanos said, turning to face him fully, “you still haven’t told me to take it off.”

Nam-Gyu blinked.

Mi-Na cackled. “Ohhh, shit.”

Thanos realized exactly how that sounded a second too late.

Nam-Gyu’s smirk widened. “Oh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Thanos muttered, face heating as he grabbed a pillow and hurled it straight at Nam-Gyu’s head.

Nam-Gyu caught it, laughing as he tossed it back onto the bed. “Nah, say it again.”

“Nope, we’re done, I hate you,” Thanos grumbled, pulling the sleeves of his ridiculous sweater down over his hands.

Nam-Gyu just shook his head, still grinning.

Thanos swallowed, his fingers lightly brushing the fabric of his sweater.

The sweater was a choice.

A loud, borderline-offensive, visually assaulting choice.

But Thanos refused to let Nam-Gyu or Mi-Na win this round. He adjusted the sleeves over his wrists, ignoring the warmth lingering in his face as he grabbed his phone off the nightstand.

Nam-Gyu was still smirking, but he finally stood up, stretching his arms over his head before shoving his hands into his pockets. “Alright, dumbass. Let’s get this over with.”

Mi-Na grabbed her coat off the chair. “You’re driving, right?”

Thanos scoffed. “Bitch, do I look responsible enough to drive?”

She gave him a long, slow look. “Yeah, you’re right. I’d rather walk barefoot on Legos than get in a car with you.”

Nam-Gyu laughed. “We’re taking my car.”

Thanos muttered something under his breath but followed them out, still hyper-aware of the way Nam-Gyu glanced at him every so often—like he was trying really hard not to make another joke about the sweater.

They met up with Se-Mi, Gyeong-Su, and Min-Su in the parking lot outside.

The second Gyeong-Su laid eyes on Thanos, he wheezed. “Bro. What the fuck are you wearing?”

Se-Mi let out a whistle, walking a slow circle around him like she was examining some bizarre art exhibit. “Wow. That’s... bold.”

Min-Su simply nodded. “It’s loud.”

Thanos grinned. “And yet, I still pull it off.”

Nam-Gyu sighed dramatically. “Why is he like this?”

Mi-Na patted his shoulder. “I ask myself that every day.”

They all piled into Nam-Gyu’s car, and as Thanos settled into the passenger seat, he caught the small, amused shake of Nam-Gyu’s head as he started the engine.

“Say it,” Thanos challenged.

Nam-Gyu smirked. “I was just thinking, for someone who claims to not care what people think, you sure put a lot of effort into pissing them off with your outfits.”

Thanos leaned back in his seat, smug. “I’m an artist.”

Nam-Gyu scoffed. “You’re a menace.”

The drive to In-Ho’s place was filled with the usual chaos—Gyeong-Su yelling about Min-Su cheating at some mobile game, Mi-Na aggressively DJing through the aux, and Se-Mi providing occasional commentary like she was narrating a documentary about dumbasses in the wild.

But the whole time, Thanos could still feel Nam-Gyu’s occasional glances, the weight of something unspoken pressing between them.

And if he was honest with himself?

He didn’t hate it.

---

In-Ho’s house was warm, the scent of home-cooked food filling the air as they stepped inside. The place was already buzzing with conversation—people from different support groups mingling, laughing, sharing food like they’d known each other forever. The sound of glasses clinking and the hum of friendly chatter created an atmosphere that made Thanos feel oddly comfortable, even if he didn’t belong there in the way everyone else did.

Thanos hesitated in the doorway, his fingers twitching slightly in his sleeves, unsure whether to step fully inside. The feeling of being surrounded by so many people he didn’t know always made him uneasy, no matter how welcoming they seemed.

Nam-Gyu noticed immediately.

Without hesitation, he grabbed Thanos by the wrist and tugged him further inside. “Come on, sweater menace. Let’s get some food before Mi-Na eats everything.”

“I heard that,” Mi-Na called from the kitchen, already loading up a plate, her voice loud enough to carry across the room. She always had a way of making her presence known, whether she was in the background or center stage.

Thanos couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he followed Nam-Gyu further into the house. The place was bigger than he’d expected—sleek wooden floors that gleamed in the soft, warm lighting, bookshelves filled with detective novels, and framed newspaper clippings hanging along the hallway, showcasing some of In-Ho’s past cases. There were old case files stacked neatly on a shelf, subtle but impossible to miss—a quiet reminder of In-Ho’s profession.

Thanos found himself staring at one of the framed clippings for a second too long. What kind of detective invites a bunch of addicts and burnouts into his home?

He snapped out of it when he caught a glimpse of In-Ho across the room. The man was currently helping Gi-Hun arrange dishes on the table while casually side-eyeing Mi-Na for stealing food before it was ready. Thanos could see how he fit here—calm, collected, a steady presence that tied everything together. The house felt like an extension of him, comfortable yet purposeful.

Maybe the question he had wasn’t the right one, he thought.

“Food’s this way,” Nam-Gyu said, guiding him toward the buffet-style spread on the table. “You’re gonna need it after listening to Gyeong-Su’s rant for the next half hour.”

Thanos raised an eyebrow. “What’s he going on about now?”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “I have no idea. But I bet it’s stupid.”

The night settled into a comfortable rhythm.

Thanos found himself sinking into the couch with a plate of food, the warm comfort of it almost enough to distract him from the fact that he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be here. Gyeong-Su was rambling about something stupid, as usual—his voice carrying over everyone else’s like a megaphone. Nam-Gyu sat beside him, legs stretched out like he belonged there. They had that effortless camaraderie, like they’d known each other their entire lives.

But then Thanos noticed something strange—Gyeong-Su, the loudest one in the group, was distracted. His attention kept flickering toward the guy sitting next to him.

Dae-Ho.

Thanos didn’t know much about him—just that he’d seen him at a few group meetings before. He wasn’t as loud as Gyeong-Su, but he wasn’t shy either. He carried himself with an easy confidence, his voice smooth but not overbearing. He didn’t stand out the way Mi-Na did with her forceful presence, or Gyeong-Su with his inability to stay quiet. But there was something about Dae-Ho that drew people in without trying. Even now, he was the one holding Gyeong-Su’s full attention.

Gyeong-Su, who never shut up, was actually listening.

“…Yeah, I used to be in the Marines,” Dae-Ho was saying, absently picking at the label on his water bottle, his voice low but steady. “Got forced into it by my dad. ‘Toughen up,’ he’d say.”

Gyeong-Su nodded, taking a long sip from his drink. “Shit, dads suck.”

Dae-Ho huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Tell me about it. One day, you’re just sitting in the living room with your sisters, playing hairdresser, and the next thing you know, you’ve got the worst black eye and the shittiest haircut.”

There was something about the way he said it—like he wasn’t trying to make it sound like a sob story, just stating a fact. The nonchalance in his voice made it even more impactful.

Gyeong-Su tilted his head. “Fuck, your dad did that?”

Dae-Ho nodded, tapping his fingers absently against the water bottle. “Yup. As soon as I turned twelve, he decided it was time to ‘toughen me up.’”

Gyeong-Su let out a low whistle. “Damn. Fuck him.”

Dae-Ho just shrugged. “Yeah, I try not to let him talk to me anymore.”

For a moment, Thanos thought he saw Gyeong-Su hesitate, like he wanted to say something else. But before he could, Mi-Na called out from the other side of the room, her voice loud as ever.

“Yo, Gyeong-Su! How many times you gonna skip out on helping with the dishes before we start charging you rent?”

Gyeong-Su rolled his eyes, shoving the last bite of food into his mouth before standing up. “Hold that thought, Dae-Ho.”

Dae-Ho smirked, watching him go. “Yeah, I’m not going anywhere.” Even after telling such a heavy story, Dae-Ho still wore a bright smile on his face. There was something oddly reassuring about it, like he didn’t let anything weigh him down for too long.

Nam-Gyu, who had been silent up until now, leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Huh.”

Thanos raised an eyebrow, glancing over at him. “Huh, what?”

Nam-Gyu grinned, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Nothing. Just… interesting.”

Thanos studied him for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Nam-Gyu just shrugged, but his grin widened. “You’ll see.”

Thanos wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but the conversation seemed to have taken a different turn. Maybe it was Dae-Ho’s calm demeanor, or the way he’d so easily opened up about his past. It made Thanos feel like he was a little out of his depth here—like maybe there was more going on beneath the surface than he’d noticed before.

He glanced back at Dae-Ho, who was now chatting with Se-Mi about something random. He was still laughing, still smiling. But there was a sadness underneath it all—something that made Thanos wonder what he’d been through to get to this point. Maybe it was the way Dae-Ho had shrugged off his dad’s influence like it didn’t matter, or how easily he wore that mask of confidence. Either way, something about him was magnetic, and Thanos couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

After a few more moments of silence, he caught Nam-Gyu looking at him, a small, knowing smile still tugging at his lips. “You’re thinking too hard,” he teased.

Thanos shot him a side-eye. “I’m not thinking anything.”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourself that.”

Thanos let out a breath, shaking his head. He could tell Nam-Gyu wasn’t going to let it go. But it was hard to focus on anything else when his mind kept drifting back to Dae-Ho’s words. What kind of life had he led? And why did he seem so at ease despite everything?

At some point, In-Ho walked over, giving Thanos’s sweater a long look before simply patting him on the shoulder. “You know what? I respect it.”

Nam-Gyu groaned, slouching further into his chair. “Stop encouraging him.”

Thanos smirked, shoveling a bite of rice into his mouth. “Too late.”

Eventually, as the night stretched on, the group started splitting off into smaller conversations. Some people moved into the living room, some out onto the balcony, while others lingered by the food table, talking about everything and nothing.

Nam-Gyu nudged Thanos’s knee with his own. “Wanna step outside for a bit?”

Thanos glanced at him, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Yeah. Sure.”

They slipped out onto the balcony, the night air crisp against their skin. The view was better than Thanos expected—high enough that the city stretched out before them, distant car horns and streetlights blinking like fireflies. It was quiet out here, separated from the noise of the party but not completely removed from it.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Thanos focused on the city, trying to push away the knot of thoughts swirling in his chest. Nam-Gyu was here, right beside him, and somehow that made everything feel both incredibly simple and overwhelming all at once.

Then, Nam-Gyu leaned against the railing, exhaling slowly. “You okay?”

Thanos hesitated, his fingers brushing against the cold metal of the railing. He wasn’t sure what to say. The sweater felt ridiculous now, the loudness of it, the way he had used it as a distraction. Because the truth was, it wasn’t just the sweater. It was everything.

Nam-Gyu’s confession. His own avoidance. The way he wanted so badly to say something back but was too afraid of what it would mean.

“I don’t know,” Thanos admitted, his voice quieter than before.

Nam-Gyu didn’t push, didn’t demand more. He just nodded, eyes fixed on the skyline. “That’s okay.”

Thanos exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, gripping the balcony railing a little tighter. “I think... I’m just waiting.”

Nam-Gyu glanced at him, a small question in his eyes. “For what?”

Thanos swallowed, the words feeling heavier than he expected. “The right moment.”

Nam-Gyu’s lips quirked into something small, something knowing. “And what if this is the moment?”

Thanos met his gaze, his heart stuttering. The world seemed to slow, the noise of the party behind them fading away, the distant hum of the city blending with the rhythm of his breath. For a second, it was just them—standing there in the cold, under the vast night sky.

And then Thanos knew. Yeah. This was it.

He let out a slow breath, fingers flexing against the railing before turning fully to Nam-Gyu. The air between them seemed charged with something new, something that made Thanos feel like he might explode if he didn’t say it out loud.

“You were right,” he said, his voice steady despite the way his pulse hammered in his chest.

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. “I usually am, but about what specifically?”

Thanos huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You said I love you a month ago.”

Nam-Gyu didn’t say anything, just watched him, waiting, as though giving Thanos the space to say what he needed to.

Thanos swallowed again, his throat suddenly dry. He wasn’t sure why this felt so difficult. Maybe it was the weight of the moment, or maybe it was how long he’d been running from it. But he took a breath, exhaled, and finally said it: “I—” He inhaled deeply, then, “I love you too.”

For a moment, Nam-Gyu blinked, his expression unreadable, but then he grinned. That grin—the one that always made Thanos’s chest tighten in the best way.

“Damn. Took you long enough.”

Thanos rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Shut up, man.”

Nam-Gyu didn’t. Instead, he reached out, tugging at the sleeve of Thanos’s sweater with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m keeping you to that, you know.”

Thanos smirked, despite himself. “Yeah, yeah.”

Nam-Gyu stepped closer, tilting his head slightly, his gaze flicking between Thanos’s eyes and his lips. “So, does this mean I can kiss you now, or do I have to wait another month for that too—”

And then, it hit him.

Fuck. Shit. Thanos wasn’t expecting this. His face felt like it was on fire, his chest tight, and before he could even think straight, he was already turning away, his hand gripping the cold railing as if it could anchor him to the moment.

"Are you okay?" Nam-Gyu asked, his voice laced with concern, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone as he watched Thanos’s reaction.

“Yup! Look at that view, crazy, right?” Thanos blurted, desperately trying to distract himself. “Oh, look at that! More people are here, well, I’m gonna see if In-Ho needs help with anything! Later, man!” He turned away, as if fleeing, his words tumbling out in a panicked rush.

What. The. Fuck. Was that?!

He could feel the heat on his face, the stupid warmth of embarrassment making his pulse race. He couldn’t believe he’d just done that—dodged the moment like a coward. Nam-Gyu must think he was a complete idiot.

But the worst part? It wasn’t that he’d run away. It was that Thanos knew he was going to have to face it sooner or later.

He could feel Nam-Gyu’s eyes on him, could hear the quiet chuckle behind him, but Thanos wasn’t ready. Not yet. He needed a second.

Walking back inside, Thanos spotted Gi-Hun near the entrance, greeting guests while In-Ho collected coats with his usual composed efficiency.

To his surprise, he recognized most of the people arriving.

The first was Jun-Bae, who was chatting animatedly with Dae-Ho, the two of them clearly caught up in some lively conversation. Then there was a girl—Jun-Hee, if he remembered correctly. She worked at the ramen place he and Nam-Gyu had gone to a while back.

Next to her stood a guy Thanos didn’t recognize, but something about him screamed asshole—the stiff posture, the slightly smug expression, the way he looked around like he was already bored of being here.

Alongside them were two more unfamiliar faces. One was a tall girl with sharp eyes and an easy confidence in the way she stood. The other, standing beside her, seemed quieter, more reserved—but Thanos had the oddest feeling that they were paying attention to everything.

As Thanos made his way further inside, he kept half an eye on the new arrivals.

Jun-Bae and Dae-Ho were still deep in conversation, laughing about something Thanos couldn’t hear. He had never spoken much to Jun-Bae, but from what he remembered, the guy was easygoing—one of those people who made friends without trying. Dae-Ho, usually more reserved, was practically glowing with excitement. Thanos wasn’t sure he had ever seen him that animated before.

Jun-Hee, on the other hand, looked a little stiff, though she tried not to show it. Her eyes flickered around the room like she was still deciding whether she wanted to be here.

The guy next to her—the one Thanos had already labeled an asshole—stood with his arms crossed, scanning the room with an expression that somehow managed to be both bored and judgmental. Thanos didn’t know him, but something about his posture, the way he barely acknowledged the people around him, rubbed him the wrong way.

Then there were the other two.

The tall girl stood confidently, her gaze moving across the room with an assessing sharpness, like she was quietly taking stock of everyone. She didn’t look nervous or out of place, just… aware. Like she was the type of person who never let her guard down.

The person beside her was different—quieter, smaller, their presence much less commanding. But Thanos got the feeling they were paying attention to everything, just in a different way.

He didn’t realize he was staring until Nam-Gyu appeared at his side, bumping their shoulders together.

“Didn’t think you’d actually run away,” Nam-Gyu teased, voice low enough for only Thanos to hear.

Thanos huffed, pretending to focus on the food table instead. “I didn’t run. I just—redirected.”

Nam-Gyu snorted. “Right. And now you’re standing here, looking all broody and mysterious. What’s got you so distracted?”

Thanos gestured subtly toward the new arrivals. “Who are they?”

Nam-Gyu followed his gaze, eyes flickering over the group before shrugging. “Jun-Bae’s been around. He’s cool. Jun-Hee works at that ramen place, right? The other two…” He tilted his head slightly. “I’ve seen them before, but I don’t know their names.”

Thanos glanced back at them just as the taller girl leaned in to say something to her companion. The way they spoke—close, quiet—made it seem like they were sharing some kind of inside joke. Whatever it was, it didn’t feel sinister. Just familiar.

Then, as if sensing the attention, the quieter one lifted their gaze and met Thanos’s eyes.

A second of silence stretched between them.

Then they smiled.

It wasn’t exactly unfriendly, but something about it felt… measured. Like they were waiting for something.

Thanos frowned slightly but didn’t look away. He wasn’t even sure why the interaction felt strange—maybe it was just the unfamiliarity, the way they seemed so at ease despite barely knowing anyone here.

Nam-Gyu, catching the shift in his expression, nudged him. “You good?”

Thanos blinked, breaking eye contact and exhaling. “Yeah. Just… never seen them before.”

Nam-Gyu gave another small shrug. “Well, it’s a big community. People are always coming and going.”

Thanos nodded, pushing the weird feeling aside. Nam-Gyu was right. This wasn’t some big mystery—just new people at a party.

Still, he had a feeling he’d be seeing them again.

And for some reason, that thought stuck with him.

---

How long does a dinner party even last?

Thanos wondered as he slipped out the back door for a vape break. It felt like the crowd inside was only getting bigger, people trickling in as if the night had no endpoint.

It really depended on the crowd, didn’t it? Some dinner parties wound down after a few hours, but this one? This one felt endless.

Thanos exhaled a slow stream of vapor, watching it dissolve into the cold night air. More people had shown up than he expected—some familiar, some complete strangers. The house was packed, voices overlapping in a constant hum of conversation. He liked gatherings enough, but there was a limit, and he was rapidly approaching it.

He leaned against the porch railing, tapping his fingers absently against the metal. A few other people were outside, some chatting in small groups, others just taking a quiet moment like him. The air was crisp, cool enough that he could see his breath between vapes.

The door creaked open behind him.

“Figured I’d find you out here.”

Thanos didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Deok-Su’s voice carried its usual dry edge, like he’d already expected this outcome.

“Needed a break,” Thanos muttered, taking another slow inhale. “This thing’s been going on forever.”

Deok-Su stepped up beside him, lighting a cigarette with a practiced flick of his lighter. “It’s been three hours.”

“Exactly.”

Deok-Su huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he leaned against the railing, exhaling smoke into the night. They stood in comfortable silence for a while, the muffled noise of the party filtering through the open door behind them.

Thanos let his head tip back slightly, staring up at the dark sky. “Think I’m just bad at this.”

Deok-Su glanced at him. “At what?”

Thanos gestured vaguely toward the house. “The whole... being around people thing. Staying for the entire thing instead of bailing halfway through.”

Deok-Su took a drag from his cigarette, considering that. “You’re still here.”

Thanos side-eyed him. “For now.”

Deok-Su smirked slightly, tilting his head toward the door. “Not gonna lie, thought you’d have ghosted an hour ago.”

Thanos exhaled another plume of vapor. “Guess I’m improving.”

The door creaked open again, and this time, Mi-Na poked her head out. “You two done brooding, or should I bring out some whiskey and a sad country playlist?”

Thanos groaned, flipping her off without looking. “Go away.”

Mi-Na cackled but disappeared back inside.

Deok-Su snorted, shaking his head. “She’s got a point. You look like you’re contemplating your entire life out here.”

Thanos scoffed. “And you look like you should be in a crime drama, but we don’t always get what we want.”

Deok-Su let out a low chuckle, taking one last drag before flicking his cigarette away. “Alright, smartass. Let’s go back in before she starts a rumor that we had some dramatic falling out over an unpaid debt or something."

Thanos sighed but flicked his vape off and followed. “She’d do it, too.”

“No doubt.”

He reached for the door handle but hesitated. His fingers curled around the cool metal, but he didn’t push it open. Instead, he exhaled, tilting his head back to stare up at the sky. The night was clear, the stars scattered across the darkness like they were mocking him—tiny, distant things that didn’t have to deal with awkward conversations or figuring out feelings.

Deok-Su must have noticed because he didn’t move either.

“Hey… before we go back in, can I ask you something? Or—actually—tell you something?”

Deok-Su flicked some ash off his cigarette, leaning back against the railing. “Yeah, sure, kid. What’s up?”

Thanos hesitated. His fingers tapped against the side of his vape, his brain suddenly hyperaware of the weight of his own words before he even said them.

“I, uh…” He exhaled, steeling himself. “I told Nam-Gyu I love him.”

There. It was out.

For a second, Deok-Su didn’t say anything. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaled the smoke into the night, then gave Thanos a sidelong glance.

“Well, damn.”

Thanos let out a breathy laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah.”

Deok-Su studied him for a moment. “And?”

Thanos frowned slightly. “And… what?”

Deok-Su smirked. “And how’d it go? Did he throw a parade? Cry? Propose on the spot?”

Thanos huffed. “He told me it took me long enough.”

Deok-Su snorted. “Sounds about right.”

Thanos crossed his arms, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t know, man. It’s just… weird. Not in a bad way, just—it’s different now. Feels more real.”

Deok-Su hummed in understanding. “Yeah, that’s how it works. Words make things real, kid. Once you say ‘em, you can’t take ‘em back.” He took another slow drag. “But you wouldn’t want to, would you?”

Thanos hesitated again, but this time, it wasn’t because he was unsure.

He shook his head. “No.”

Deok-Su nodded like that was the answer he expected. “Then there’s your answer.”

Thanos exhaled slowly, watching the way his breath mixed with the night air. He wasn’t sure why he had even brought it up—maybe because Deok-Su wasn’t the type to make a big deal out of things. Maybe because he needed to say it out loud to someone else before it really settled in.

Whatever the reason, he felt a little lighter now.

Deok-Su glanced at him, then smirked. “You gonna stand out here all night thinking about it, or are we actually going back inside?”

Thanos rolled his eyes but reached for the door again. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go.”

And with that, they stepped back inside, the warmth of the party swallowing them up once more.

Thanos wanted to tell him.

He wanted to say that Nam-Gyu had leaned in, that he had been so close, and that instead of letting it happen—letting himself have this one good, normal thing—he had freaked out. That his heart had pounded too fast, his body had locked up, and before he could even think, he had thrown himself into full-blown retreat.

He wanted to tell him that he didn’t know why. That he had never been scared of a kiss before. Not even his first. Not even with people he hadn’t really cared about.

But this?

This was Nam-Gyu.

And that made it different. That made it real.

And Thanos had panicked.

But now wasn’t the time.

Not here, not now, not when Deok-Su and everyone else were here to have a good night. The house was filled with laughter and warmth, people clinking glasses, swapping stories, acting like nothing in the world could touch them.

Thanos didn’t want to pull Deok-Su into his mess.

Didn’t want to ruin the night with his own shit.

Didn’t want to make it about himself.

For once, he was just going to keep it to himself.

Even if the words sat heavy on his tongue, itching to get out.

---

Heading out after what felt like four years was like a breath of fresh air. The party had been fine—good, even—but it was too much. There were only so many conversations he could have, so many smiling faces he could force himself to engage with before his mind started buzzing, the noise of the room becoming a constant hum in his head. It was a social overload, and he had reached his limit.

But still, before he could slip out unnoticed like he had wanted to, there was one thing he had to do.

Shitty childhood or not, Mom taught me something.

He wasn’t about to leave without at least thanking the host, no matter how awkward it felt.

Thanos made his way toward the kitchen, where Gi-Hun was standing at the sink, stacking plates with practiced efficiency, his movements smooth as he worked. The kitchen was quieter than the rest of the house, the sounds of the party muffled by the walls. Gi-Hun looked comfortable there, like it was his natural habitat—focused, doing something simple that he could control in the midst of the chaos.

Thanos stopped just short of the doorway, about to call out when it hit him.

He’d never actually talked to Gi-Hun before. Not once.

Not in meetings, not during group get-togethers, and certainly not in passing. He’d been in the same room with him countless times, but they had never exchanged more than a few polite words. There was a history there, sure, but it was always in the background, never anything that really bridged the gap between them. And now, standing in the kitchen watching Gi-Hun move about, it hit Thanos that he had no idea how to start a conversation with him.

His throat felt suddenly dry, the words he had been about to say suddenly lost somewhere in the mess of his mind.

He stepped forward, clearing his throat to get Gi-Hun’s attention.

“Hey, uh, Gi-Hun?” Thanos started, his voice a little more strained than he meant it to be.

Gi-Hun glanced over his shoulder, pausing in the middle of drying a plate. His face lit up with a small, friendly smile. “Oh, hey, Thanos! What’s up?”

For a second, Thanos froze, unsure of how to respond. The casual ease in Gi-Hun’s expression made the tension in his chest feel even more ridiculous.

“Uh…” Thanos scratched the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say thanks, man. For, uh, hosting tonight. You know, it was a good time.”

Gi-Hun chuckled, setting the plate down and wiping his hands on a dish towel. “No problem. Glad you could make it. It’s not the same without everyone here, right?”

Thanos nodded, forcing a smile, but the words felt awkward in his mouth, like he was overthinking everything. It was just Gi-Hun. Why was he so weird about this?

“Yeah. I mean, it’s been a minute since I’ve been to a thing like this,” Thanos muttered, trying to sound casual. “I know I’m not the best at these kinds of things, but, uh… yeah. Thanks.”

"Hey, I get it. compared to my daughter I'm not exactly the social butterfly either. But we all kind of make it work, right? It's nice when people actually show up, so don't worry about it."

Thanos blinked at him, surprised at how effortlessly Gi-Hun seemed to be handling the conversation. There was no judgment in his eyes, no awkwardness. Just that same casual openness he’d seen in other people at the party but never really experienced firsthand.

For a second, Thanos felt like he was still outside of it all, like he was looking in on something he didn’t fully belong to.

“Yeah. Well... I used to be better with crowds when I was high,” Thanos admitted, scratching the back of his neck. The confession was out before he could stop it, and it felt almost too real.

Gi-Hun raised an eyebrow, the smile still on his face, but with a hint of understanding. “Hey, I get it. Compared to my daughter, I’m not exactly the social butterfly either. But we all kind of make it work, right? It’s nice when people actually show up, so don’t worry about it.”

Thanos blinked, a little taken aback. “Your daughter?”

Gi-Hun chuckled lightly, drying his hands on a dish towel. “Yeah. She’s always the one dragging me into social stuff. Sometimes, I think she’s got more of a social life than I do.”

Thanos laughed quietly, his unease easing a little. “Yeah, kids are good at that.”

Gi-Hun nodded, smiling. “Exactly. But we all find our way. Don’t sweat it too much.”

Thanos exhaled, realizing he was starting to relax, just a little. Gi-Hun wasn’t pushing, wasn’t making this harder than it needed to be. It wasn’t so bad, having a real conversation.

“Yeah, well... still, thanks for the invite,” Thanos said, finally feeling like he was saying what he actually meant. “It’s been good. Really.”

Gi-Hun’s smile softened. “Anytime. Honestly, it’s not the same without people like you around.”

Thanos blinked at him, unsure if he was being serious or just being polite. But something about the way Gi-Hun said it made him feel a little warmer, like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as much of an outsider as he always thought he was.

“Thanks, man,” Thanos said quietly, finally feeling like the conversation was over, but in a way that didn’t feel awkward or rushed.

Gi-Hun nodded, turning back to the sink as he started drying another plate. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Thanos nodded, feeling a little more grounded than he had in a while. It wasn’t a deep, life-changing conversation. But for once, it felt like he was making a step forward—not just into the room, but into something more. Something he didn’t need to run away from.

Thanos lingered for a moment, unsure if he should say something else or just walk away. The weight of the conversation settled a little more, and he realized that, despite his usual tendency to bail, he felt… lighter. It was strange how something so simple—like thanking someone and having a real conversation—could shift the mood inside him.

Gi-Hun seemed to sense the pause, glancing up again, his eyes softening. "You okay, Thanos?" he asked, the tone of his voice genuine, no judgment, just simple curiosity.

Thanos hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He could feel the usual pull to brush things off, to pretend that everything was fine, but for once, the words didn't come with that sharp, self-protective edge. Maybe it was the conversation with Gi-Hun, or maybe it was just the warmth of the house that felt a little more like home than it had in a long time.

"Yeah," Thanos said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "Just… it's been a weird couple of weeks, y'know? But I'm good."

Gi-Hun nodded, not pushing but clearly understanding the subtext. "You know, you can always talk to me if you need to." The words were casual, but there was something unspoken there—a sense of solidarity, like he'd been where Thanos was before.

Thanos looked at him, feeling a little embarrassed by the sudden lump in his throat. "Thanks," he muttered, his eyes momentarily dipping to the ground. He wasn’t sure if he would talk to Gi-Hun anytime soon, but the fact that it was even an option felt like a shift in the right direction.

"Anytime," Gi-Hun said, his smile returning, warm and easy as ever. He turned back to the sink, picking up another dish to dry.

Thanos lingered for another beat, his hand hovering by the door. He felt that familiar sense of hesitation creeping up again, that old instinct to turn away and retreat into himself, but he forced himself to stand there for a moment longer, just to be present. Just to let the quiet settle around him.

Finally, he pushed open the door and stepped back into the buzz of the party, but this time, it didn’t feel as suffocating. He still wasn’t great with crowds, but for once, he didn’t feel quite as alone in it.

As he rejoined the others, he found himself looking around with a little more openness than before. Maybe it was the conversation with Gi-Hun. Maybe it was just the reminder that, sometimes, people did care. Either way, it was a step forward, and for once, Thanos was okay with that.

Nam-Gyu turned towards him, a small smile playing on his lips. “You ready to go? I think everyone else is.”

Thanos blinked, momentarily pulled from his thoughts. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed since he stepped away. The party was still in full swing, but there was a shift in the air. The clatter of glasses, the laughter, the noise—it was starting to feel less like a crowd and more like just another night, another blur.

He nodded, pushing the door open further. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Nam-Gyu gave a casual shrug, his eyes scanning the room for anyone else who might still be lingering. “Mi-Na’s probably already plotting how she’s gonna make fun of us for leaving early. I’d brace yourself for the roast.”

Thanos snorted, feeling a little lighter than he had earlier. “I can handle it.”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. “You sure? You looked like you were about to implode a few minutes ago.”

Thanos smiled wryly, a mix of frustration and amusement. “Yeah, well. People like Mi-Na have that effect on me.”

“Fair enough.” Nam-Gyu chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before she starts her next round of evil commentary.”

They made their way through the house, weaving between groups of people still chatting and laughing. Thanos felt more grounded now, like he could move through the crowd without feeling like he was drowning in it. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress. Small steps.

By the time they reached the door, Mi-Na was standing near the entrance, clearly waiting to make her exit, a mischievous grin already spreading across her face.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s finally ready to go,” she said, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “What happened? Did the party get too wild for you?”

Thanos rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite to his response. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Mi-Na shrugged as she grabbed her jacket. “You’ll miss me. Don’t worry about it.”

As the three of them stepped outside into the cool night air, Thanos realized that it wasn’t the party or the people that had made him feel out of place. It was the weight of everything he’d been trying to avoid. But right now, with Nam-Gyu and Mi-Na beside him, it felt like he was actually starting to find his way out of that fog.

Maybe he wasn’t as alone as he thought. Maybe he didn’t have to run away every time things got a little too real. And maybe—just maybe—he was starting to figure out how to deal with all of it, one step at a time.

“Hurry up!” Se-Mi’s voice called from Nam-Gyu’s car, the sound of her frustration cutting through the night air.

Thanos turned around to see her leaning out of the passenger side window, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as she shot them an exaggerated look of impatience. “What’s taking you two so long? The car’s not gonna drive itself, you know.”

Thanos grinned despite himself, feeling the familiar lightness that came from their teasing. “We’re not that slow,” he called back, adjusting the collar of his jacket as he stepped out of the house. “Just taking our time.”

Mi-Na, already striding ahead, threw a wink over her shoulder. “Says the guy who took a ten-minute break to avoid socializing. You sure you don’t need another one?”

“Shut up,” Thanos muttered, but there was no real heat behind it. He was still getting used to this—being around people who didn’t make him feel like an outsider, even when they were throwing jabs his way.

Nam-Gyu laughed softly as he fell into step beside Thanos. “You’re just mad because Se-Mi’s right, and you’re the one holding up the whole operation.” He nudged him lightly with his elbow.

Thanos shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, though the warmth in his chest told him it wasn’t working. “I’ve got my own pace. Doesn’t mean I’m holding anyone up.”

Se-Mi rolled her eyes dramatically from the car. “Sure, sure, Thanos. We’ll see how fast you can move when we’re all crammed in here like sardines.”

Thanos glanced at Nam-Gyu, raising an eyebrow. “Does she always make everything sound like a catastrophe?”

Nam-Gyu grinned, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Only when she’s bored.” He waved his hand in the air like he was dismissing an unimportant matter. “Come on, let’s go before she starts texting everyone in the group chat to complain.”

Thanos laughed softly as they reached the car, opening the back door to slide into the cramped space. Mi-Na was already sprawled across the backseat, her legs hanging over the armrest, while Se-Mi was making a face in the front seat as she dramatically flicked the radio dial.

“Are we listening to this?” Se-Mi grumbled, her hand hovering over the control like it had personally offended her.

Mi-Na smirked, tossing her a wink. “It’s called culture, Se-Mi. You might want to try it.”

Thanos buckled his seatbelt, leaning back against the headrest as he glanced out the window. The buzz from the party was already starting to fade in his mind, replaced by the quiet comfort of the car ride. There was something peaceful about this, the simple act of heading home after a night that wasn’t as overwhelming as he’d expected. It was like he had somehow found a small pocket of peace in the chaos.

“Alright, alright,” Nam-Gyu said, starting the engine. “We’re off. Let’s get out of here before we all lose our patience.”

Thanos chuckled, glancing at the backseat again. Mi-Na was humming along to whatever song Se-Mi was now grumbling about, but the sound felt oddly comforting. It wasn’t perfect, but for once, it didn’t have to be.

As they pulled away from In-Ho’s house and headed down the street, Thanos allowed himself to settle back against the seat. It had been a weird night, but in a good way. He had actually talked to people. He had been present.

And for the first time in a long while, that didn’t feel like something to escape from. It felt like progress.

"Alright, alright,” Mi-Na chimed in from the back. “But can we please stop for snacks? I’m not going another mile without chips.”

Thanos couldn’t help but laugh, the tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding easing just a little more. Yeah, this wasn’t such a bad night after all.

“We were just at a dinner party,” Se-Mi said, leaning back in her seat with a dramatic sigh. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Yes, but snacking is good for my recovery, Se-Mi,” Mi-Na shot back with no real bite to it, her tone playful as she rifled through her bag in search of chips or something equally unhealthy.

Se-Mi rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Fair. Can’t argue with that logic.”

Thanos chuckled softly, feeling the familiar camaraderie of their back-and-forth. It was almost comforting how effortless their teasing was—like nothing had changed, even when things sometimes felt like they were in constant flux.

“By the way,” Se-Mi said, glancing over at the rest of the group, “Gyeong-Su left with Min-Su a little bit ago. His social battery for the day was at zero.”

Thanos raised an eyebrow, glancing at Se-Mi. “Min-Su? Really?”

“Yeah,” Se-Mi said, shrugging slightly. “The guy’s usually so quiet, but once he hits that limit, he’s done. Just… done.”

Mi-Na smirked from the backseat. “I mean, who can blame him? Gyeong-Su talks enough for five people, so I’d be ready to bail too if I had to listen to him for hours on end.”

Thanos chuckled, a little more genuinely this time. “Yeah, I guess I get that. I was about to hit my own wall.”

Se-Mi nodded, her expression softening slightly. “It’s funny, though. Min-Su’s got that whole ‘quiet guy’ thing going, but when you get to know him, he’s not that bad. He’s just… selective with his energy. And tonight? He was out.”

Thanos couldn’t help but think about how Min-Su had been sitting off to the side earlier in the night, not saying much but observing everything. It made sense now, though—he could be the type to pick his battles and avoid draining himself more than necessary.

“Yeah, I get that,” Thanos murmured, thinking about how sometimes he felt the same way—navigating the line between being social and overextending himself. “It’s weird. I feel like I could handle it tonight, but by the end of it, I was close to shutting down too.”

Nam-Gyu shot him a sideways glance, a knowing look in his eyes. “You lasted longer than I thought. Props for that.”

Thanos shrugged, the corners of his mouth tugging into a half-smile. “Guess I was feeling... social,” he said, his tone a little more playful than before.

Se-Mi let out a soft laugh. “It’s nice to have moments where we don’t have to be so on all the time. Just relax a bit.”

Mi-Na suddenly perked up from the back. “So, are we planning another get-together like this, or should we just let Min-Su’s battery recharge before we push him into the next round?”

“I say we give him a break,” Se-Mi replied, her voice teasing. “Maybe next time we can do a smaller, quieter thing, more his speed.”

Thanos relaxed back into his seat, listening to the familiar bickering and jokes. It was moments like these—uncomplicated, easy—where he didn’t feel like he was stumbling through everything. And somehow, that was enough for now.

The car rolled down the street, and despite the laughter and casual banter around him, Thanos couldn’t shake the memory of the almost-kiss. He kept replaying it in his mind, the way Nam-Gyu had leaned in, the warmth of his breath so close, and how, in an instant, everything had felt like it was about to change.

The way Thanos had frozen. How he panicked. How he pulled away, retreating into himself before he could even process it. His heart still pounded a little faster when he thought about it, the awkwardness of his reaction still fresh in his chest.

He knew he’d have to talk to Nam-Gyu about it soon. He could feel that conversation hanging in the air, just waiting for its turn. He wasn’t ready for it yet, though. The weight of it all—the uncertainty, the vulnerability—wasn’t something he could unpack in the middle of a car ride with friends.

Later, he told himself. Later, when it’s just us. When it’s quieter.

But for now, as the miles ticked by and the laughter from Mi-Na and Se-Mi filled the car, Thanos let himself just be. He wasn’t running from the moment; he was simply letting it wait. The conversation would come. It had to. But right now, the car felt like a small escape, and he wasn’t going to let the pressure of what-ifs ruin it.

Instead, he focused on the warmth of the night, the easy pace of the drive, and the way Nam-Gyu’s presence still felt comforting even in the quiet moments. Maybe that was the only thing he needed to hold onto for now.

He’d deal with the rest later.

---

This is Thanos's sweater btw :>

Notes:

Thank you again for reading this chapter!! I made it a bit longer due to the fact the next chapter is most definitely going to take longer!
And super thanks again to everyone for being so nice and understanding, even if you didn't comment thank you for reading! <3333
I tried not to leave it on too big of a cliff hanger XD

Chapter 7: Maker-over!

It had only been two days since the party, and Thanos hadn’t seen Nam-Gyu since.

It wasn’t like he was being ignored—Nam-Gyu was still answering his texts, still sending dumb memes, still acting like himself. But something felt… off. Or maybe it was just Thanos who felt off.

Everything just felt like too much.

The party had been fine—more than fine. That stupid sweater, the almost kiss on the balcony, the way Nam-Gyu had looked at him like he had all the time in the world to wait for Thanos to catch up. It should’ve been enough to quiet the doubts in his head.

But it wasn’t.

Because now, left to his own thoughts, the weight of everything was pressing down on him all at once.

What now?

What if he fucks this up?

What if he already is?

His phone buzzed on the couch beside him. He glanced at the screen. Another message from Nam-Gyu.

Nam-Gyu: You alive or what?

Thanos sighed, running a hand through his hair before typing back a quick:

Thanos: Barely.

The reply came almost instantly.

Nam-Gyu: Sounds fake. Prove it.

Thanos huffed a quiet laugh despite himself, shaking his head. But even as he stared at the screen, his fingers hesitated over the keyboard.

Because proving it meant seeing him.

And for some reason, that was the hardest part.

But just as he was about to text Nam-Gyu, his phone buzzed again.

Mi-Na: Hey nerd

Thanos barely had time to roll his eyes before another message popped up.

Mi-Na: I noticed ur roots are ass the other day

Mi-Na: Got time to fill cuz a chick canceled on me, come in so I can fix it :P

Thanos blinked at the screen.

He ran a hand through his hair, frowning slightly. Were his roots that bad?

Before he could spiral into overthinking, another message popped up.

Mi-Na: Also u look like shit lol, free therapy w ur hair appt

Thanos huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.

Thanos: Wow thanks. So kind. Truly an angel.

Mi-Na: Yeah yeah shut up, be here in 30.

Thanos sighed, tossing his phone onto the couch before getting up.

Maybe a change—even just a small one—was exactly what he needed.

---

Mi-Na worked at a nice salon not far from his place. The first time she found that out, she had immediately made a joke about him living in the rich part of town.

Thanos had just rolled his eyes and pointed out that she lived not far from him.

“Yeah, but I work for my money,” she’d shot back, smirking. “Meanwhile, you just exist and somehow manage to get free shit.”

Which, okay, fair.

Thanos sighed, muttering a quick thanks to the driver before stepping out of the car. The crisp autumn air hit him immediately, sharp against his skin. He exhaled, watching his breath curl into the night air before shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets.

The salon was easy to spot, its sleek glass windows glowing warmly against the evening chill. Nestled between a boutique clothing store and a coffee shop, it had the kind of modern, minimalist design that made it look expensive without trying too hard. The name, written in elegant gold lettering, stood out against the deep green awning. Through the windows, he could see a few stylists at work, clients seated in front of wide mirrors, the hum of blow dryers and casual chatter filling the space.

He hesitated on the sidewalk for a second, rocking back on his heels.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to be here. It was just that everything lately felt like too much—too loud, too fast, too real. The party, the almost-kiss, the fact that Nam-Gyu hadn’t pushed him but still lingered in his head like a goddamn song stuck on repeat.

But avoiding people wasn’t helping. If anything, it was making things worse.

So, with another sigh, he stepped forward and pushed the door open.

The bell above the entrance chimed, and the scent of shampoo, hair dye, and something vaguely floral wrapped around him. The warmth inside was a stark contrast to the cold outside, making his hoodie feel suddenly unnecessary.

He barely had a second to take it all in before Mi-Na spotted him from across the room.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to take care of himself.”

Thanos rolled his eyes, his hands still shoved deep in his pockets as he made his way toward her station. “You act like I was on the verge of death.”

Mi-Na snorted. “Bitch, you looked like you were auditioning for it.” She gestured toward the empty chair in front of her mirror. “C’mon, sit your ass down. Let’s fix that mess before it gets worse.”

Thanos huffed but didn’t argue. He slumped into the chair, resting his forearms on the armrests as Mi-Na snapped a cape around his shoulders.

Standing behind him, she ruffled his hair with an exaggerated grimace. “Jesus. It’s even worse up close.”

Thanos gave her a flat look through the mirror. “You’re so good for my self-esteem.”

Mi-Na smirked, reaching for a comb. “That’s what I’m here for, baby boy.”

As she worked through the knots, she glanced at him in the mirror, her gaze assessing. “Alright, spill.”

Thanos blinked. “Spill what?”

Mi-Na raised an eyebrow. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been acting weird since the party.”

He looked away, focusing on a random spot on the floor. “I’ve been fine.”

Mi-Na let out a sharp laugh. “Yeah, okay. And my dad’s the President.” She tugged his hair a little harder than necessary. “Try again.”

Thanos sighed, slouching further into the chair. “It’s nothing. Just… a lot on my mind.”

Mi-Na hummed, snipping away at the dead ends. “Does this ‘lot’ have a name?”

He stiffened slightly, but Mi-Na didn’t miss a beat.

She grinned. “Ohhh, so it does have a name.”

Thanos groaned, tilting his head back against the chair. “Can you not?”

“Nope.” She popped the “p” with a smirk. “Not when I know exactly who’s got you acting all broody.”

Thanos clenched his jaw, glaring at her reflection. “I am not broody.”

Mi-Na pointed the scissors at him. “You so are. Like, premium, tortured main character broody.”

He scoffed, but before he could argue, she continued. “So. You and Nam-Gyu. What’s the deal?”

He tensed again, which was all the confirmation she needed.

Mi-Na grinned triumphantly. “Knew it.”

Thanos exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a second. “There’s no ‘deal.’”

Mi-Na hummed. “Mm-hmm.”

Silence stretched between them as she continued trimming his hair, but Thanos could feel her waiting. Expecting him to say something.

And maybe it was the exhaustion of the last two days. Or maybe it was just Mi-Na’s ability to get under his skin until he had to react.

But before he could stop himself, he muttered, “I almost kissed him.”

Mi-Na’s hands froze for a split second before she whipped around to face him directly.

“WHAT?!”

Thanos winced. “Jesus, can you not yell?”

Mi-Na smacked his shoulder. “NO, I WILL YELL. YOU ALMOST WHAT?!”

He grumbled something under his breath, shrinking into the chair. “It was nothing.”

Mi-Na spun his chair to face her directly, eyes wide. “Excuse me? Excuse me?! You’re telling me you and Nam-Gyu—who’ve been circling each other for weeks—almost kissed, and then what? You ran?”

Thanos scowled. “I didn’t run.”

Mi-Na crossed her arms. “Oh, so what would you call it?”

Thanos looked away, jaw tightening. “I… pulled back.”

Mi-Na stared at him, then dragged a hand down her face. “Oh my god. You are the broody main character.”

Thanos groaned. “Can you stop?”

“No. No, I cannot.” She placed her hands on his shoulders, leaning in slightly. “You like him. He likes you. The entire goddamn universe has been waiting for you two to make it official, and you’re telling me you pulled back?!”

Thanos exhaled heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple.”

Mi-Na scoffed. “It literally is.”

“It’s not,” he insisted. “What if I say it back and then fuck it all up? What if it’s better like this?”

Mi-Na softened, her teasing fading just slightly. “Thanos…”

He shook his head, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know, okay? I just… don’t know.”

For once, Mi-Na didn’t have an immediate comeback.

She sighed, stepping back and tilting her head. “You’re overthinking it.”

Thanos let out a humorless laugh. “That’s what Deok-Su said.”

“Well, Deok-Su’s right.” She turned his chair back toward the mirror and picked up her scissors again. “And that’s saying something, because usually, he’s a dumbass.”

Thanos snorted despite himself.

Mi-Na smirked. “Just think about it, alright? You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”

Thanos nodded slowly, watching her in the mirror as she resumed cutting.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe he was overthinking.

But knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

Mi-Na ran her fingers through his hair, inspecting the length before reaching for the bleach. “By the way, I can cut it just fine like this, but when I bleach and dye it, you need to take off your hoodie so it doesn’t get in the way when I’m rinsing you.”

Thanos stiffened slightly, instinctively gripping the fabric of his sleeves. “Do I have to? Can’t you just… work around it?”

Mi-Na gave him a flat look through the mirror. “Oh, sure, let me just develop telekinetic powers real quick so I can bleach your hair without moving anything. Obviously you have to take it off, dumbass.”

Thanos exhaled, shifting in his seat, but didn’t move to take it off yet.

Mi-Na narrowed her eyes, watching him hesitate. Her teasing demeanor softened just a bit. “Wait… is this, like, a thing? Do you have a weird third nipple or some shit?”

Thanos scowled at her reflection. “Oh my God, Mi-Na.”

She grinned. “I’m just saying, if you’re hiding something freaky, I’d like a heads-up before I bleach your scalp.”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t have a third nipple, you fucking goblin.”

“Then what’s the holdup?” she challenged, crossing her arms. “I’ve literally seen you get tackled through a coffee table. Pretty sure I can handle seeing whatever T-shirt you’ve got on under there.”

He stayed quiet for a beat too long, staring at his reflection, his fingers still curled around the cuffs of his sleeves.

Mi-Na’s smirk faded slightly, her voice dropping from playful to something more thoughtful. “Hey.”

Thanos flicked his eyes toward her in the mirror.

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “It’s not… like, a bad thing, right? You don’t have—” She made a vague motion toward his arms. “—like, scars or something you don’t want me to see?”

His grip tightened just slightly.

Mi-Na exhaled, placing a hand on her hip. “Look, I don’t care either way, okay? If you really don’t wanna take it off, I’ll figure something out. But I promise, whatever it is, it’s not gonna make me think any differently of you.”

Thanos let out a slow breath. “It’s nothing weird,” he muttered, voice quieter now.

Mi-Na arched an eyebrow. “So, what? You just have really ugly arms?”

That startled a short laugh out of him, and she grinned.

He shook his head, finally peeling the hoodie off in one motion, tossing it onto the chair beside him. Beneath it, he wore a simple black tank top—one that clung a little too well to his frame, exposing his shoulders and collarbones in a way that felt more vulnerable than it should have.

Mi-Na blinked.

Then she let out a low whistle. “Ohhh shit. Arms.”

Thanos groaned immediately. “Don’t.”

Mi-Na ignored him completely, circling around him like she was inspecting some rare specimen. “Damn, wouldn’t have guessed under all that fabric.”

“I hate you,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

Mi-Na leaned on the counter, chin resting in her palm. “Wow. This whole time, you were built like that, and you were just hiding it? Tragic.”

Thanos glared at her. “It’s not that deep.”

She clicked her tongue. “Could’ve been out here ruining lives. Wasted potential.”

“Are you done?”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

Thanos groaned, rubbing his face. “I am never coming here again.”

Mi-Na cackled. “Nope. You’re stuck with me, baby boy.”

She turned back toward the counter, grabbing the bleach bowl. “Alright, since you’re finally free of your security blanket, let’s get started.”

Thanos rolled his eyes but let her work, slumping slightly in the chair.

Mi-Na glanced at him through the mirror, her expression still playful but with a flicker of something else—something knowing. “By the way?”

“What?”

She smirked. “Nice arms.”

Thanos smacked his forehead against the counter.

She pulled the cape back on him, securing it around his neck with quick, practiced movements. Thanos let out a quiet breath, relieved that Mi-Na didn’t say anything about the scars.

She had noticed, of course. Mi-Na wasn’t the type to miss details like that. But she also wasn’t the type to push when it really mattered. And for that, he was grateful.

It had already been a long day, and it was only noon.

The sharp scent of bleach hit his nose as she mixed the lightener in a bowl, the rhythmic scrape of the brush against the plastic container filling the space between them.

“Alright, baby boy,” she said, dipping the brush into the bleach, “time to suffer.”

Thanos groaned. “You say that like I haven’t already been suffering.”

Mi-Na snorted. “Yeah, yeah, existential dread and all that. Tilt your head down.”

He obeyed, letting her start applying the bleach to his roots, the cold paste shocking against his scalp.

Mi-Na worked in silence for a moment before casually saying, “So. Nam-Gyu.”

Thanos sighed, already regretting coming here.

“Don’t start.”

Mi-Na grinned, sectioning off another part of his hair. “Oh, I absolutely will. What’s the deal, lover boy?”

Thanos stared straight ahead, unblinking. “There is no deal.”

Mi-Na made a doubtful noise. “Right. And I’m a nun.”

Thanos groaned, slouching further in the chair. “Can you just bleach my hair and not interrogate me?”

“Nope.” She popped the “p” with way too much satisfaction. “You almost kissed, and then what? You ghosted?”

Thanos clenched his jaw. “I didn’t ghost him.”

Mi-Na raised an eyebrow. “Mmm.”

“I didn’t,” he insisted, even as he avoided her eyes in the mirror. “We’ve still been texting.”

Mi-Na nodded, her voice all faux understanding. “Ohhh, so you’re emotionally ghosting him.”

Thanos let out a strangled noise. “I hate you so much.”

Mi-Na just laughed, dragging the brush through another section of his hair. “Nah, you love me.”

He sighed heavily, rubbing his hands together under the cape. “I just needed space, okay? It’s… a lot.”

Mi-Na softened, just a little. “Yeah. I get that.”

Thanos closed his eyes for a second. “Do you?”

“Sure.” She focused on his roots, her voice lighter now. “Big feelings are hard. And you? You’re like, really bad at them.”

He scoffed. “Wow. Therapy session and a haircut. What a steal.”

She smirked. “I should start charging extra.”

Thanos huffed, letting the silence settle again as she continued working.

Mi-Na didn’t push anymore, didn’t pry. She just kept bleaching his hair, giving him the quiet moment he probably didn’t deserve.

“Is the purple thing because you go by Thanos, or is it just a stupid coincidence?” Mi-Na joked, still applying the bleach with practiced ease.

Thanos exhaled sharply through his nose, slumping further into the chair. “You act like I put that much thought into it.”

Mi-Na smirked, sectioning off another part of his hair. “So, just a dumbass coincidence, then?”

He rolled his eyes. “Sure. That.”

Mi-Na snorted, her hands moving expertly as she brushed more bleach onto his roots. “You do realize you’re just feeding into the whole thing, right? Like, what’s next? Are you gonna start collecting infinity stones?”

Thanos shot her a flat look in the mirror. “Yes, Mi-Na. That is exactly my plan. Step one: hair. Step two: godhood.”

Mi-Na grinned. “I knew it.”

He sighed, closing his eyes for a second as she worked. The smell of bleach was strong, but the familiarity of this—sitting in a chair while Mi-Na talked shit—was grounding in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

She was quiet for a moment, focused on getting the bleach evenly distributed. Then, as if she had been waiting for the perfect moment, she casually asked, “So… does Nam-Gyu like the purple?”

Thanos groaned immediately. “Can you not.”

Mi-Na grinned, not looking the least bit sorry. “What? I’m just wondering if your boyfriend approves of your aesthetic choices.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Thanos muttered, staring at himself in the mirror like maybe if he focused hard enough, the conversation would end.

Mi-Na tsked. “Mmm. Not officially, sure. But c’mon.”

Thanos refused to engage.

Unfortunately, Mi-Na thrived in situations where she was being ignored.

“Bet he likes it,” she mused, rinsing the brush in the bowl before dipping it again. “Bet he thinks it’s hot.”

Thanos felt his face heat immediately. “Jesus Christ.”

Mi-Na cackled. “Ohhh, bingo.”

Thanos buried his face in his hands. “I actually hate you.”

Mi-Na patted his shoulder patronizingly. “No, no, keep talking. Tell me more about how you don’t think about what Nam-Gyu thinks of your hair.”

Thanos lifted his head just enough to glare at her. “Do you ever shut up?”

She smirked. “Not when I’m right.”

Thanos sighed dramatically, staring at the ceiling as she continued her work.

Unfortunately, she probably was right.

But he’d rather let the bleach fry his brain than admit it.

“Okay, okay, you’ve reached your limit on Nam-Gyu questions,” Thanos muttered, tilting his head slightly as Mi-Na moved on to another section of his hair. “What’s going on with you?”

Mi-Na raised an eyebrow in the mirror, her hands still working with practiced ease. “Oh? You care now?”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “You’ve been roasting my entire existence for the past hour. The least I can do is ask what’s up with you.”

Mi-Na smirked but didn’t answer right away. Instead, she focused on evenly applying the bleach, the rhythmic motion of the brush scraping against his hair filling the brief silence.

Eventually, she shrugged. “Not much, really. Just work. Clients. Annoying assholes like you.”

Thanos scoffed. “Wow. Heartwarming.”

She smirked. “I try.”

But then, as if sensing that wasn’t enough of an answer, she added, “I did go on a date a few nights ago.”

Thanos raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Mi-Na’s expression shifted slightly—still casual, but there was something else there. Something more guarded. “It was… fine. Dude was nice, conversation was easy. But I don’t know. Just wasn’t feeling it, you know?”

Thanos hummed. “Yeah. Been there.”

Mi-Na glanced at him through the mirror. “You ever have that? Where, on paper, everything should be great, but for some reason, it’s just not?”

Thanos thought about it for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. It’s like…” He frowned slightly, searching for the right words. “Like everything should fit, but it doesn’t click the way you want it to.”

Mi-Na pointed at him with the end of the brush. “Exactly.”

He shrugged. “So what now? You ghosting him, or are you gonna let him down easy?”

Mi-Na scoffed. “Bitch, I am not you. I sent him a text yesterday.”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “I don’t ghost people.”

She grinned. “Oh no, you just emotionally ghost them.”

Thanos groaned, slumping further into the chair. “I take back caring about your personal life.”

Mi-Na laughed, setting the brush down for a second. “Nah, too late. You started this conversation, and now we’re bonding.”

Thanos exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Great. My worst nightmare.”

Mi-Na nudged his shoulder. “Eh, you love me.”

Thanos gave her a flat look. “You keep saying that, but one of these days, I’m gonna bleach your own hair in your sleep.”

Mi-Na gasped dramatically. “How dare you threaten my beautiful, natural locks.”

Thanos smirked. “Keep talking and see what happens.”

Mi-Na chuckled, returning to his hair. “Alright, alright, I’ll be nice. For now.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the sounds of the salon filling the space—muffled conversations, the hum of blow dryers, the faint music playing over the speakers.

And for the first time in days, Thanos felt like he could actually breathe.

“Mhm, maybe I’ll try a girl next time,” Mi-Na mused, still focused on his hair. “None of the guys I’ve seen in the past six months have been worth it, but I usually have more fun with the girls.”

Thanos cracked one eye open. “Oh yeah?”

Mi-Na shrugged. “Yeah. Guys are fine, I guess. But sometimes I just want someone who actually understands what it’s like to be hot and emotionally unstable.”

Thanos snorted. “So, your type is you.”

She grinned. “Exactly.”

Thanos hummed, stretching his legs out under the chair. “Well, if you need someone beaten up, don’t call me. I don’t want to be trending on Twitter for knocking out some asshole.”

Mi-Na cackled, setting the bleach brush down for a second. “Oh my God, could you imagine? ‘Local purple-haired menace arrested for defending his chaotic bisexual best friend.’”

Thanos smirked. “Yeah, no thanks. My reputation is already bad enough.”

Mi-Na nudged his shoulder. “Pfft, please. You’d love the attention.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

She went back to applying bleach, her hands moving with practiced ease. “But nah, I don’t need anyone beat up. If anything, I need someone to tell me not to entertain these crusty men.”

Thanos made a face. “You do have shit taste.”

Mi-Na gasped dramatically. “Excuse you?”

He lifted a hand, lazily gesturing at her. “You literally just said none of the guys you’ve dated have been worth it.”

“Okay, yeah, but you don’t have to agree so fast.”

Thanos smirked. “You walked into that one.”

Mi-Na grumbled under her breath, parting his hair for the last section of bleach. “Ugh, whatever. Point is, maybe it’s time for a change.”

Thanos shrugged. “As long as you’re having fun, who cares?”

She eyed him through the mirror, her smirk returning. “You know, for someone who claims to be emotionally unavailable, you give surprisingly solid advice.”

Thanos sighed. “And yet, I can’t follow it myself.”

Mi-Na huffed out a laugh. “Tragic.”

He closed his eyes again, letting the scent of bleach and the steady movement of her hands lull him into a more relaxed state.

Maybe a change wasn’t the worst thing.

For Mi-Na.

And maybe… for him too.

“Besides,” Thanos added, tilting his head slightly as Mi-Na worked, “it wouldn’t be ‘Local Purple-Haired Menace’—it’d be ‘Celebrity Choi Su-Bong.’ Even my manager would for sure kill me.”

Mi-Na paused mid-motion, bleach brush still in hand, before slowly grinning. “Oh shit, government name drop.”

Thanos blinked, realizing a second too late what he’d just said.

His real name wasn’t some massive secret, and it wasn’t like he was hiding from the law or anything. But hearing it out loud—especially from his own mouth—felt... strange.

It had been a while.

Mi-Na smirked at his reflection in the mirror, tapping her chin dramatically. “No, no, let’s take a moment. Su-Bong?”

Thanos groaned immediately. “Don’t.”

“SU-BONG,” she repeated, dragging out the syllables like she was testing the weight of them. “Wow. It’s been so long since I heard that, I almost forgot you weren’t born a menace.”

Thanos exhaled sharply, slumping further into the chair. “I was absolutely born a menace.”

Mi-Na snickered. “Yeah, I believe that. But damn, you really don’t say it, huh?”

Thanos rolled his eyes, shifting under the cape. “Because it doesn’t matter.”

Mi-Na raised an eyebrow. “It kinda does. It’s literally your name.”

Thanos sighed, looking away. “Dunno. Doesn’t feel like me anymore.”

Mi-Na stayed quiet for a moment, sectioning off another part of his hair, her hands moving more carefully now. “But it is you,” she said finally, her voice a little less teasing.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stared at his own reflection, the sharp contrast of bleach against his roots making him look different.

Su-Bong.

It had been ages since he’d really thought about that name—about the version of himself who used it. Back before Thanos was a thing, before everything got complicated.

Su-Bong was a kid in a choir, forced into Sunday school. Su-Bong was someone people thought would turn out alright. Su-Bong was…

He exhaled through his nose, shaking the thoughts away before they could sink too deep.

Mi-Na watched him carefully through the mirror. She wasn’t the type to push when someone really didn’t want to talk about something. Tease? Sure. Harass? Absolutely. But push? Not unless it was necessary.

And this? This was something she was letting him decide.

So, instead of digging into whatever mess his head was trying to sort through, she leaned forward slightly, smirk returning. “Well, Su-Bong,” she said, grinning when she saw him flinch, “if you do ever make headlines for fighting in my honor, I fully expect an autographed mugshot.”

Thanos scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

Mi-Na patted his shoulder dramatically. “That’s the spirit.”

She went back to applying bleach, her touch still careful but her expression smug, like she’d just won something.

Thanos—Su-Bong—stared at himself in the mirror for another long moment.

Maybe it was stupid to care about something as simple as a name. Maybe he was just overthinking it like he did everything else.

But for the first time in a while, hearing it again didn’t make his skin crawl.

Maybe that was something.

---

The familiar sting of bleach still lingered on his scalp, a sharp reminder of the hours he'd spent sitting under the harsh light of the salon. Thanos winced slightly as he adjusted in his seat, the sensation of the chemicals working its way through his hair almost too much to ignore. Mi-Na, ever the one to keep things moving, looked over at him with a playful smirk.

“Come on, you look like you’re about to melt into the chair,” she teased, standing up and grabbing his arm before he could even protest. “Let’s kill some time while that bleach does its thing.”

Without waiting for a response, she led him across the salon floor toward the nail painting side, a corner of the place that was both calming and kind of overwhelming at the same time. Soft music played in the background, the scent of polish, acetone, and floral soap filling the air. Thanos tried not to roll his eyes at the sight of the array of colors, all perfectly lined up in neat rows.

“Seriously? We’re doing this?” he asked, already feeling a little self-conscious as they approached the nail tech, who was busy with another client but looked up as they arrived.

Mi-Na grinned, practically pulling him toward one of the empty chairs. “Don’t act like you’re too cool for this. You need something to do anyway. Just let me make you fabulous.”

Thanos sighed, but it wasn’t with frustration—more like an internal battle between resisting and giving in. He had always been the type to avoid anything too “extra,” as he liked to call it. But with Mi-Na pulling him along like this, the choice wasn’t exactly his to make.

“Fine. But don’t make me look ridiculous,” he muttered, slouching in the chair as the nail technician set to work, her hands quick and sure.

Mi-Na took a seat next to him, already flipping through a nail art magazine with exaggerated interest. “You say that now, but by the time we’re done, you’ll be texting me about your next mani-pedi appointment. Just wait.”

Thanos couldn’t help but chuckle despite himself, sinking into the chair a little deeper. “I’m sure. Just make sure you don’t pick some crazy neon color.”

“Neon’s in, Thanos,” Mi-Na shot back with a wink. “You’re gonna love it.”

And as she continued flipping through the pages, Thanos found himself relaxing just a little. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Not with Mi-Na’s constant chatter and the weird sense of normalcy in the air.

For once, he decided to just let go of the usual tension. He wasn’t running from anything in here. And maybe, just maybe, that was what he needed right now—something simple, something to distract him from the noise in his head, even if it meant getting dragged into the world of nail art.

 

Mi-Na strutted over to the massive wall of nail polish, scanning the colorful rows like a kid in a candy store. She tapped her chin dramatically, eyes darting over the shades, before plucking five bottles from the shelves—purple, blue, orange, green, and red. When she turned back to Thanos, she held them up like a proud scientist unveiling her latest experiment.

“Really?” Thanos raised an eyebrow, already seeing exactly where this was going. He wasn’t even annoyed—just vaguely amused. He’d worn nail polish before, so the idea didn’t bother him nearly as much as it probably would’ve a few years ago. Honestly, it was just another way to kill time. And with Mi-Na? There was always some weird, chaotic twist to everything she did.

“Yup!” she confirmed with a devious grin. “You’re getting the full Infinity Stone treatment. Power—” she wiggled the purple bottle, “Space—” she lifted the blue, “Reality, Soul, and Time.” She lifted the rest in order, fingers moving like she was performing a magic trick. “What better way to complete your look?”

Thanos exhaled through his nose, feigning indifference even though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “I’ve had worse ideas. At least this one won’t involve me chasing anyone down or breaking a sweat.”

“Exactly!” Mi-Na plopped into the chair next to him, setting the bottles down with a triumphant clack. “And don’t worry. I promise to make it fun, not ridiculous.”

Thanos eyed the collection of colors skeptically. “I don’t believe you.”

Mi-Na gasped, clutching her chest in fake offense. “Wow. No trust.”

“None,” Thanos deadpanned.

The nail technician, a tired-looking person with pastel green hair, glanced at them from the other side of the workstation and let out a quiet chuckle. “You two always like this?”

Mi-Na grinned. “Oh, absolutely. He loves me.”

“I tolerate you,” Thanos muttered.

The nail tech just shook their head, setting up their tools. “Alright, hands out.”

Thanos let his arms rest on the table as the tech started filing his nails. He could feel Mi-Na’s smug gaze burning into the side of his face, but he ignored her, watching as the nail tech worked efficiently, filing and shaping with the kind of casual expertise that made it look effortless.

“You know, it’s no big deal,” the tech said as they examined his nails. “A lot of people go for fun colors. And hey, a guy who isn’t afraid to experiment? I’m here for it.”

Thanos smirked slightly. “Yeah, well, I’ve done worse. It’s not like I’m getting my nails done every week.” He turned his head slightly toward Mi-Na. “But, yeah. I guess I can handle a little Marvel-themed nail art.”

Mi-Na smirked back. “You’ll be fabulous by the time I’m done. No one will be able to resist asking where you got your nails done.”

Thanos huffed. “Sure, as long as they don’t think I’m some superhero wannabe.”

“Oh, please. You are.” Mi-Na waggled a finger at him. “I mean, who else would let me paint their nails with the colors of the Infinity Stones?”

Thanos shrugged. “Guess I’m the most chill Mad Titan around.”

The nail technician raised an eyebrow but kept their focus on the polish. “Wait—Thanos? Is that why you picked these colors?”

Mi-Na practically beamed. “Exactly! He calls himself Thanos sometimes, so I figured, why not complete the look?”

The nail tech snorted, shaking their head. “That’s actually kind of hilarious.”

Thanos sighed, glancing down at his nails, which were now prepped and ready for color. He eyed the five tiny bottles, their bright, bold hues completely different from what he usually wore. But honestly? He didn’t mind. It wasn’t like his image would get affected his fans new him for stuff like this.

If anything, it was just something to do while he was stuck in the salon with bleach slowly seeping into his scalp.

Mi-Na caught his eye, still grinning like she’d won some personal victory. “Wait till you see how this looks once I’m done. You’ll be rocking the Mad Titan vibe like no one else.”

Thanos leaned back, crossing his arms lazily. “I’m sure it’ll be great, Mi-Na. Just don’t make me look like a walking comic book.”

“I can’t make any promises,” she teased, her hands already grabbing the next bottle. “But trust me, this is going to be epic.”

Thanos sighed, letting it all happen. He’d worn worse, and honestly, at this point? He could enjoy the ridiculousness of it.

Besides, if anyone gave him shit about it later, he’d just tell them to fuck off.

Mi-Na glanced down at her phone, checking the timer, then back at Thanos’s head with a satisfied nod. “You got about fifteen minutes before I need to rinse you.”

Thanos sighed dramatically. “Fifteen minutes too long.”

Mi-Na rolled her eyes, stretching her arms above her head. “God, you are such a baby about this. You’re literally sitting in a comfy chair getting pampered.”

Thanos gave her a flat look through the mirror. “If inhaling bleach fumes and getting verbally harassed by you is pampering, I need to reevaluate my life.”

The nail tech, still carefully applying topcoat to his nails, smirked. “Some people pay a lot for that experience, you know.”

Mi-Na cackled. “See? You should be thanking me.”

Thanos just shook his head, already regretting opening his mouth.

A beat of silence passed, Mi-Na tapping at her phone idly before glancing back up. “Okay, real question.”

Thanos tensed. “Oh no.”

Mi-Na ignored him. “If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life—breakfast, lunch, or dinner—what are you picking?”

Thanos blinked at her through the mirror. “That’s the question?”

She shrugged. “We’ve got time to kill. Humor me.”

He frowned, actually thinking about it. “…Breakfast.”

Mi-Na beamed. “Correct answer.”

The nail tech raised an eyebrow. “That was the correct answer?”

“Absolutely,” she said confidently. “Breakfast is superior in every way. You get sweet and savory. Pancakes? Amazing. Eggs? Perfect. Cereal? Nostalgic. No other meal has that range.”

Thanos smirked. “You feel very strongly about this.”

“Because I’m right,” she said, crossing her arms. “Now tell me—what’s the elite breakfast plate?”

Thanos leaned back in the chair, pretending to consider. “Hmm. Hotel waffles.”

Mi-Na gasped. “Oh shit, that’s solid.”

“Right?” Thanos gestured lazily. “Not the basic frozen ones—those heavy-ass waffles from the sketchy self-serve stations at motels that somehow taste better than anything from a five-star restaurant.”

Mi-Na was nodding aggressively. “The kind where you pour the batter yourself and have to flip the iron?”

“Yes!”

The nail tech chuckled under their breath. “You guys are way too into this.”

Mi-Na ignored them, turning back to Thanos. “Alright, alright—what’s the worst breakfast food?”

Thanos didn’t even hesitate. “Oatmeal.”

Mi-Na groaned. “God, thank you. People act like it’s great, but it’s just warm regret.”

The nail tech finished with his last nail, setting the brush down before stretching. “Okay, I gotta disagree. Oatmeal slaps if you do it right.”

Mi-Na made a gagging noise. “Nope. I refuse. It’s just jail food with better branding.”

Thanos chuckled, flexing his fingers to admire the now-dry polish. “I feel like you just don’t know how to make it properly.”

Mi-Na scoffed. “Excuse you, I know how to cook—I just have taste.”

Thanos smirked. “Debatable.”

Mi-Na kicked his chair lightly, making it wobble. “Talk shit after I rinse your hair, bitch.”

Thanos grinned but didn’t argue.

Somehow, arguing about breakfast was exactly the kind of distraction he needed.

Mi-Na waved dramatically at the nail tech as she guided Thanos—pushed was a better word—out of the manicure station and back toward the hair section. “Thanks, girl! He’s having boy trouble, so I’ll make sure he tips you good!” she called over her shoulder, her voice carrying across the salon loud enough for everyone to hear.

Thanos felt the attention shift before he even saw it. A few nearby stylists side-eyed him with barely hidden smirks, while one of the other clients—a girl with freshly dyed pink hair—let out an amused hmm from her chair.

And just like that, there went the distraction.

Thanos groaned, rubbing a hand down his face as they moved. “Wow. Thanks, Mi-Na,” he deadpanned, sarcasm heavy in his voice. “I love being publicly humiliated.”

Mi-Na flashed him an unbothered, completely unapologetic grin. “Oh, please. That’s, like, my third-best personality trait.”

“What, ruining my life?”

“Ruining your life in a loving and supportive way,” she corrected, flipping her hair like she was doing him a favor.

Thanos sighed, giving her a tired look. “Right. How thoughtful of you.”

They reached the hair-washing section, where the row of sleek black sinks gleamed under the overhead lights. Mi-Na patted one of the reclining chairs with an exaggerated flourish. “Alright, Mad Titan, sit your ass down before I accidentally turn your hair purple.”

Thanos muttered something under his breath but obeyed, settling into the chair and leaning his head back against the cool ceramic of the sink. Mi-Na adjusted the faucet, testing the water temperature against her wrist before turning the sprayer toward his head.

She was silent for a moment as she let the water soak into his hair, running her fingers through it with expert ease.

Then—predictably, inevitably—she broke the silence.

“So. Boy trouble, huh?”

Thanos groaned, throwing an arm over his face like he could physically block out the conversation. “I hate you.”

Mi-Na cackled, massaging shampoo into his scalp. “Nah. You love me.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“Literally don’t.”

Mi-Na hummed like she was considering something deeply. “You know… I could ask the entire salon if they think you love me or not. Would you like that?”

Thanos immediately lifted his arm off his face to glare at her. “You wouldn’t.”

Mi-Na met his gaze, completely unfazed. “Oh, baby boy, you know I would.”

Thanos groaned, sinking further into the chair. “Remind me to never get my nails done with you again.”

Mi-Na snickered, rinsing the shampoo out of his hair. “Oh, honey. You say that now, but I know you’re gonna be back.”

The worst part?

She was probably right.

Mi-Na ran her fingers through Thanos’s hair, making sure to rinse out every last bit of bleach. The warm water cascaded down his scalp, washing away the harsh chemical smell but leaving behind that distinct, slightly fried texture that always came with bleaching.

His once purple and black hair was now a pale, uneven blonde, with a faint purple stain still clinging stubbornly to a few strands. It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t matter—he was just going to dye it the same way again anyway.

Mi-Na smirked, inspecting her work. “Well, would you look at that? You’re almost a blonde now.”

Thanos cracked an eye open, giving her a tired look. “Great. Just what I always wanted.”

She flicked some water at his forehead. “Oh, please. You’d make a hot blonde.”

Thanos groaned. “Do not put that idea in my head.”

Mi-Na grinned, squeezing the excess water from his hair before reaching for a towel. “Too late. You’d be like, an edgy, sad version of a K-pop idol. I’m seeing the vision.”

Thanos sighed, sitting up slightly as she wrapped the towel around his head. “Yeah, well, enjoy it while you can. This is all getting dyed over in, like, twenty minutes.”

Mi-Na shrugged. “Still think you should go blonde for a week. Really commit to the crisis.”

Thanos rolled his eyes but didn’t argue as she led him back to the chair. He wasn’t about to let her win that easily.

“You want me to rock a purple-stained blonde for a week?” Thanos scoffed, tilting his head as Mi-Na led him back to the chair. “Man, girl, that’s gonna make you look bad.”

He made a tt sound with his teeth, shaking his head like he was deeply disappointed. “Imagine that—your client walking around looking half-finished, and everyone’s gonna be like, ‘Damn, who messed him up?’”

Mi-Na gasped dramatically, clutching her chest like he had personally wounded her. “Excuse me?! You dare insult my work?”

Thanos smirked, sitting down and draping the towel over his shoulders. “I’m just saying, if I walk around looking busted, that’s your reputation on the line.”

Mi-Na squinted at him, her lips twitching like she was this close to dumping a bottle of developer over his head. “First of all, bitch, you always look good, and you know it. Secondly, I am a professional.”

Thanos grinned lazily. “Uh-huh. A professional trying to sabotage her own brand.”

Mi-Na huffed, grabbing the dye bottle and twisting off the cap with way more force than necessary. “You talk way too much for someone in my chair.”

“I’m just looking out for you,” Thanos said, voice dripping with fake concern. “You’re lucky I’m re-dyeing it today, or this could’ve been a whole scandal.”

Mi-Na rolled her eyes, squeezing the dye into a bowl. “Oh, yeah, because the world is so concerned about your hair color.”

Thanos leaned back in the chair, smirking. “You’d be surprised.”

Mi-Na shook her head, grabbing her brush. “Nah. But what does surprise me is how much you love to hear yourself talk.”

Thanos just smirked wider. “Again—you’re the one who booked me for two hours. Not my fault if you gotta deal with the consequences.”

Mi-Na flicked his forehead. “Shut up and let me make you hot again.”

Mi-Na didn’t waste time. She grabbed the brush and started with the black, carefully painting over the shorter bottom half of Thanos’s hair. The dark color spread smoothly, covering the light blonde underneath and restoring the look he was used to.

Thanos let his eyes drift closed, the rhythmic motion of Mi-Na working almost soothing. The scent of dye filled the air—strong, a little chemical, but familiar.

“So,” Mi-Na said casually as she sectioned off another part, “are you ever not doing this color, or is this just the official Thanos Brand™ forever?”

Thanos cracked one eye open. “You act like I haven’t had this hair for years.”

“Yeah, but maybe it’s time for a rebrand.” Mi-Na smirked, applying more dye. “Like, what if you went fully black? Or maybe platinum blonde. That would be a serve.”

Thanos scoffed. “Yeah, because I definitely wanna look like a discount K-pop idol.”

Mi-Na wiggled her eyebrows. “I dunno, Su-Bong, I think you could pull it off.”

Thanos groaned. “Never call me that while putting chemicals in my hair.”

She cackled, reaching for more dye. “Fine, fine. Stick with your villain arc.” She paused, then smirked. “Speaking of which, this is the part where I could totally leave a random blonde patch in the back and you wouldn’t even know.”

Thanos cracked his knuckles threateningly. “Mi-Na.”

She held up her hands. “Kidding, kidding. Your edgy aesthetic is safe with me.”

He huffed but relaxed again, letting her work in silence for a bit. The black dye spread evenly, coating every strand until the lower half of his hair looked sharp and fresh again.

Mi-Na tilted her head, examining her work. “Alright, phase one complete. Time for the fun part.”

She reached for the purple dye, the same shade he always used—deep, vibrant, impossible to ignore.

Thanos sighed, already knowing what was coming.

Mi-Na grinned. “Ready to be pretty again?”

Thanos smirked, closing his eyes again. “I never stopped being pretty.”

Mi-Na snorted. “Okay, calm down, celebrity.”

He just smirked wider, letting her get back to work.

Mi-Na worked quickly, her hands steady as she started layering the deep purple dye onto the top half of his hair. The vibrant color sank into the strands, covering the uneven blonde and restoring his signature look.

Thanos kept his eyes closed, letting her do her thing. It was kind of funny—he’d been getting his hair dyed for years, but Mi-Na was probably the only person who ever really took her time with it.

Maybe if she did a good job, he’d finally show her the old pictures of when he’d dyed his hair a million other colors.

He smirked to himself. Red, blue, silver, even green that one time. Some of them had been horrific choices, but others? Not bad. He still had the pictures somewhere, buried deep in his phone, though he wasn’t sure why he kept them.

Probably for moments like this.

“Why are you smiling?” Mi-Na asked, side-eyeing him suspiciously as she painted more purple onto his roots. “You better not be thinking of some dumb shit.”

Thanos cracked one eye open. “Just remembering my villain origin story.”

Mi-Na snorted. “Oh God, what was it? The first time you ever bleached your hair and fried it to hell?”

Thanos smirked. “Close. First time I tried to do it myself and ended up with highlighter-yellow hair for two weeks.”

Mi-Na howled. “Noooo. Show me.”

He huffed a laugh. “If this turns out good, maybe.”

Mi-Na wiggled her eyebrows. “Oh, you know I do a good job. So get ready to cough up those cursed photos.”

Thanos just chuckled, closing his eyes again.

Maybe he would dig them up later.

Maybe.

Thanos and Mi-Na had spent the past twenty minutes talking about everything and nothing while his hair processed.

They’d gone from debating whether orange juice was better with or without pulp (without, obviously), to Mi-Na ranting about how some random influencer was ruining their eyebrows on TikTok, to arguing over the worst possible name to give a dog. (Thanos insisted it was ‘Greg.’ Mi-Na countered with ‘Kevin.’ They never reached an agreement.)

At some point, Mi-Na had launched into a very passionate retelling of how someone cut in front of her at the store the other day, complete with exaggerated hand gestures.

“I swear to God, this lady looked me in the eyes—in my soul—and still had the audacity to pretend she didn’t see me! Like, girl, you are not the main character at this Lotte Mart. You are not special! And then—”

Beep!

Mi-Na’s phone chimed, cutting her off mid-sentence.

She blinked, looking down at the screen. “Huh?”

Then, realization hit.

“Oh, shit, it’s rinse time.”

Thanos stretched lazily, cracking his neck. “Wow. Saved by the bell. And here I thought I was gonna have to hear the entire trilogy of the Lotte Mart Wars.”

Mi-Na smacked his shoulder lightly. “Shut up. I wasn’t done.”

Thanos smirked. “Oh, I know. I could feel the sequel coming.”

Mi-Na rolled her eyes but waved for him to get up. “C’mon, Kevin, let’s wash you out before you end up permanently purple.”

Thanos groaned, standing. “Oh my God, I hate you.”

She grinned. “No, you love me.”

“Debatable.”

Mi-Na led him back to the sinks, adjusting the water temperature as he settled in.

“You know,” she said, running her fingers through his hair to loosen the dye, “when I finish this, I better get those old hair disaster pics.”

Thanos huffed, closing his eyes as the warm water ran over his scalp.

“…Maybe.”

Mi-Na gasped dramatically. “Ohhh shit, was that a yes?”

“No,” he muttered.

“Sounded like a yes.”

“Mi-Na.”

“I knew it.”

Thanos sighed, letting the water drown out her cackling.

Somehow, even with her antics, he couldn’t say he minded.

Once again, Thanos found himself at the sink, warm water running through his hair as Mi-Na rinsed out the last of the dye. The deep purple color swirled down the drain, leaving behind the same signature look he’d had for years—black on the bottom, vibrant violet on top.

Mi-Na barely gave him a second to breathe before yanking the towel around his head and practically shoving him back toward her chair.

“Alright, sit down, quick,” she said, guiding him with a firm push to the shoulder. “I totally lost track of time, so I’m gonna style you fast—and then you gotta head out.”

Thanos groaned as he slumped into the seat, dragging the towel down to his shoulders. “Finally. I was starting to think I lived here now.”

Mi-Na spun his chair toward the mirror, smirking. “Nah, you don’t live here, but at this point, you should start paying rent.”

Thanos rolled his eyes, shaking out his damp hair. “Yeah, I’ll just hand over my entire paycheck so you can roast me full-time. Sounds like a great deal.”

“Exactly!” Mi-Na beamed before pointing a finger in his face. “But—before you run off and pretend this never happened, you still owe me something.”

Thanos arched an eyebrow. “Oh God, what now?”

Mi-Na leaned in, eyes sharp, voice low, full of deadly seriousness.

“You will show me those old hair pics later,” she warned, “or I will egg your house.”

Thanos blinked, unimpressed. “Do you even know how to get to my house?”

Mi-Na smirked. “Oh, honey.” She patted his cheek condescendingly. “I will find out.”

Thanos sighed dramatically. “You are so exhausting.”

Mi-Na just grinned, grabbing her blow dryer. “And yet, here you are, coming back to me every single time.”

Thanos let out a long, suffering groan, but as the heat from the dryer hit his scalp and Mi-Na started fluffing his hair with her fingers, he smirked slightly.

Yeah.

Somehow, he always ended up back in her chair.

Thanos stepped outside the salon, running a hand through his freshly styled hair as the crisp afternoon air hit his face. The scent of hair products still clung to him, mixed with the faint chemical smell of dye, but at least he didn’t feel like he’d been sitting there for hours anymore.

Behind him, Mi-Na was already prepping for her next client, barely glancing up as she waved him off. “Don’t forget, Su-Bong! I expect those pictures in my inbox by tonight! Or else.”

Thanos sighed, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Yeah, yeah, later.”

Mi-Na smirked. “I mean it, bitch!”

He didn’t bother responding—just lifted a lazy hand over his shoulder in a halfhearted wave before stepping toward the curb.

Right as his driver pulled up, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Gyeong-Su: Yooo dude

Thanos smirked at the message before unlocking his phone.

Thanos: What’s up?

There was barely a pause before another text popped up.

Gyeong-Su: There’s this new boba shop I wanna try, u free? :D

Thanos exhaled, tilting his head back slightly as he thought about it.

His first instinct was to say no—he had barely recovered from sitting through Mi-Na’s chaos, and the idea of doing anything else today felt like a lot.

But then again, it was just Gyeong-Su.

And it wasn’t like Thanos had anything better to do.

He leaned against the car for a second, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

Thanos: What’s in it for me?

A beat later—

Gyeong-Su: Uhh. Boba?? Duh??

Thanos: Weak offer. Try again.

Gyeong-Su: Fine fine. I’ll pay. But ONLY if you get something weird so I can watch you suffer.

Thanos huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

Thanos: Deal. Send me the location.

Gyeong-Su sent back a pin, followed by a series of thumbs-up emojis.

Thanos sighed, shoving his phone back into his pocket before climbing into the car.

Guess he had plans now.

Notes:

Happy Valentine's everyone! I wanted to get this chapter out by today, even if there isn't a lot on thangyu. I might try to write a Valentine's Day oneshot tho, maybeee even Inhun and a thangyu one <3

Chapter 8: New Fuzzy Friends

Thanos ran his fingers through his freshly dyed hair, still getting used to the way it felt—soft from the salon treatment, the black and purple back in its full glory. Mi-Na had done a good job, not that he’d ever admit that to her face.

Outside the car window, the city buzzed with its usual afternoon chaos. People weaved through sidewalks, neon signs flickered against glass storefronts, and the occasional honk cut through the hum of traffic. The boba shop wasn’t far, and honestly, he didn’t mind the ride. It gave him a minute to just… exist.

His phone vibrated again.

Gyeong-Su: Hurry up, loser, I’m thirsty.

Thanos smirked, shaking his head. He typed back:

Thanos: Cry about it. I’m almost there.

As the car pulled up to the shop, he spotted Gyeong-Su standing outside, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, shifting his weight like he had zero patience.

Thanos sighed, running a hand through his hair one last time before stepping out of the car.

“Alright, alright, calm your ass down,” he called as he approached. “I know you can survive five minutes without your overpriced sugar drink.”

Gyeong-Su turned to him, eyes flicking immediately to his hair. “Damn. Mi-Na really got you looking fresh.”

Thanos scoffed. “Obviously.”

Gyeong-Su smirked. “Too bad you’re about to ruin the look by ordering the worst boba on the menu.”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “This is why I don’t hang out with you.”

“Lies.” Gyeong-Su grinned, pulling the door open. “Now, get in here. You’ve got suffering to do.”

Thanos sighed but followed him inside.

Guess he was trying weird boba today.

Walking into the shop, the scent of sweets hit Thanos instantly—fresh tapioca pearls simmering in syrup, sugary fruit teas being shaken behind the counter, and the distinct aroma of milk and honey blending into the air. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was enough to make him acutely aware that this place thrived on sugar.

The shop itself had a cozy, slightly chaotic energy. A bright menu board hung above the counter, listing an almost ridiculous number of flavors and toppings. Neon signs shaped like boba cups and tapioca pearls glowed along the pastel-colored walls. A couple of customers lounged at small tables, chatting while stabbing at their drinks with oversized straws.

Gyeong-Su was already making his way to the counter, barely waiting for Thanos to take in his surroundings. “Alright, let’s get this over with. I need my sugar fix now.”

Thanos rolled his eyes, stepping up beside him. “You act like you’re gonna die if you don’t get boba in the next five minutes.”

Gyeong-Su shrugged. “Can’t prove I won’t.”

Thanos exhaled, turning his attention to the menu. His gaze flicked over the classic milk teas, fruit teas, slushes—nothing too weird so far. But then he spotted the experimental flavors.

His stomach immediately regretted making this deal.

“Alright, since you’re paying,” Thanos said, tilting his head toward Gyeong-Su, “what’s the worst thing on this menu?”

Gyeong-Su grinned like he had been waiting for this moment. He pointed directly at something near the bottom of the specialty section.

“Cheese foam taro slush,” he announced proudly.

Thanos stared at him. “What the fuck?”

Gyeong-Su clapped a hand on his shoulder. “No backing out now.”

Thanos groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Nope.”

Gyeong-Su turned to the cashier, still grinning. “One cheese foam taro slush for my dear friend here.”

Thanos sighed, already regretting everything.

“Andddd, I’ll go for a classic and pick mango tea!” Gyeong-Su happily told the young man behind the counter, his grin downright smug.

Thanos shot him a glare. “Unbelievable. You get mango tea—a safe, refreshing option—and I get the abomination?”

Gyeong-Su clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Yep. Because I’m smart and you made a bad deal.”

The cashier, a college-aged guy with bleached blonde hair and a name tag that read Ji-Hoon, looked between them, clearly amused. “Sooo… cheese foam taro slush?”

Thanos sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

Ji-Hoon chuckled. “Damn, man. That’s bold. People either love or violently regret that one.”

“Yeah, I can already tell which category I’m gonna fall into,” Thanos muttered.

Gyeong-Su patted his back like he was sending him off to war. “No take-backs.”

Thanos groaned as Ji-Hoon punched in their order.

“Alright,” Ji-Hoon said, still smirking as he handed them their receipt. “Good luck, man.”

Thanos exhaled. “I’ll need it.”

Thanos and Gyeong-Su made their way to an empty table near the window, the scent of fresh tea and sugar lingering in the air. The shop had gotten a little busier, more people filtering inside—groups of friends chatting over their drinks, a couple sharing a giant matcha smoothie with two straws, and a guy in the corner typing aggressively on his laptop like he was trying to finish a novel in one sitting.

The faint sound of K-pop played through the speakers, blending with the rhythmic noise of ice being crushed and shaken behind the counter. It was warm inside, the kind of cozy, dimly lit atmosphere that made it easy to forget about whatever was waiting outside.

Gyeong-Su dropped into his seat across from Thanos, stretching his arms out in front of him before lazily resting them on the table. His expression was easy, relaxed, like he had no real plans today outside of this. Like this was just another part of his day.

He met Thanos’s gaze with that same effortless energy. “So, what’s new with you, man?”

A simple question. Casual. Normal.

But it caught Thanos slightly off guard, like a flicker of something unfamiliar creeping up on him.

He blinked.

When did I start having friends who ask me this shit?

For years, conversations like this had always been surface level—quick, meaningless small talk that never went deeper than "How’s life?" with a half-assed "Eh, same as always." in response. But now? Now he had people who actually wanted an answer.

It was weird. A good weird. But weird.

His first instinct was to deflect, to throw back some sarcastic comment, but instead, he just sighed dramatically and slumped further into the chair.

“Ugh. Stressed,” he answered bluntly, dragging a hand down his face.

Gyeong-Su snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, well, no shit. That’s your natural state.”

Thanos shot him a flat look. “Wow. Inspiring words. Thank you for your deep concern.”

Gyeong-Su smirked. “Hey, man, you set it up. I just speak the truth.” He tilted his head slightly. “Stressed about what, though? Work? Life? Mi-Na torturing you at the salon?”

Thanos exhaled through his nose, rubbing his thumb against the inside of his palm. “A little bit of everything, I guess.”

Gyeong-Su hummed, nodding like he understood. And maybe he did.

For a second, Thanos almost said more. Almost cracked open the mess in his head and let a little bit spill out.

But then he smirked. “Mostly about this disgusting-ass drink you’re making me try.”

Gyeong-Su rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Wow, so brave of you to cover your emotional distress with humor.”

“Wow, so bold of you to assume I have emotions.”

Gyeong-Su snorted. “Nah, you definitely have emotions. You just keep ‘em in a locked box, throw that box into the ocean, and then act shocked when someone finds it.”

Thanos clicked his tongue, pointing at him. “You should really shut up more.”

Gyeong-Su grinned. “Nah. You love me.”

Thanos groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Everyone keeps saying that today.”

“Because it’s true.”

Thanos rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

Because the truth was?

Maybe he didn’t mind it as much as he thought.

"Enough about me right now," Thanos said, leaning back against his chair. "I just spent two hours telling Mi-Na all my problems. You got anything new to talk about?"

He met Gyeong-Su’s gaze, arching an eyebrow as if daring him to steer the conversation somewhere else.

Gyeong-Su hummed, tapping his fingers on the table. “Let’s see… am I in crisis mode? No. Am I thriving? Also no.” He shrugged. “I’m just kinda here.”

Thanos smirked. “So, same as always.”

“Basically,” Gyeong-Su said with a chuckle. He glanced toward the counter, watching as the barista shook a cup filled with something unnervingly bright green before turning back to Thanos. “Oh—actually, I ran into someone the other day.”

Thanos tilted his head slightly. “Yeah?”

Gyeong-Su leaned back, stretching his arms over his head. “Dae-Ho. You remember him, right?”

Thanos blinked. “From the gathering?”

“Yeah.”

Thanos frowned slightly. “Huh. How’d that happen?”

Gyeong-Su shrugged. “Pure coincidence. I was grabbing food, and he was there. We just kinda ended up talking.”

Thanos studied him for a second. “And?”

Gyeong-Su raised an eyebrow. “And what? We talked. That’s it.”

Thanos narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t bring him up if it was just small talk.”

Gyeong-Su rolled his eyes. “You’re acting like I had some life-changing revelation or something. Dude’s chill. We just talked about random shit—music, work, the fact that the place we were eating at charges way too much for a side of fries.”

Thanos huffed. “Yeah, no surprise there.”

Gyeong-Su smirked. “Anyway, that’s all there is to it. He said we should go axe throwing sometime, but I dunno. We’ll see.”

Thanos, who had already stood to follow him to the counter, abruptly stopped in his tracks. “Wait—did you just say axe throwing?”

Gyeong-Su glanced over his shoulder, amused at his sudden interest. “Ha, yeah. In-Ho apparently does some kind of group thing with everyone from grief support.”

Thanos blinked. “You’re telling me In-Ho—a detective—organizes events where emotionally unstable people throw weapons at a wall?”

Gyeong-Su snorted. “I mean, when you say it like that, it sounds insane.”

Thanos gestured wildly. “That’s because it is insane!”

Gyeong-Su grabbed his mango tea from the counter and took a sip, completely unfazed. “Apparently, it’s therapeutic or whatever.”

Thanos picked up his cursed cheese-foam taro slush, eyeing it like it was about to personally ruin his day. “Shit. Maybe I did join the wrong group.”

Gyeong-Su smirked, nudging him with his elbow. “You could still come, you know.”

Thanos scoffed. “And risk accidentally embedding an axe in someone’s skull? Yeah, no thanks.”

Gyeong-Su hummed, eyeing him like he was considering something. “Y’know… now that I think about it, this would be a great way for you to work out all that pent-up tension over Nam-Gyu.”

Thanos groaned. “And there it is.”

Gyeong-Su grinned, slurping obnoxiously at his drink. “Ohhh yeah. We’re definitely circling back to that.”

Thanos sighed, looking down at the horror in his hands. “I hate this. And I haven’t even taken a sip yet.”

“Yeah, yeah, get to suffering.”

Thanos shot him a glare but finally lifted the drink to his lips.

Here goes nothing.

Thanos stared down at the cup in his hands, straw still between his lips, eyebrows furrowed like he had just encountered a deep philosophical dilemma.

“…Huh.”

Gyeong-Su, who had been waiting with anticipation for the inevitable look of disgust, immediately snapped to attention. “Wait. Wait. What does ‘huh’ mean?”

Thanos didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled the straw from his mouth, inspecting the drink with an expression of pure betrayal—not toward Gyeong-Su, but toward himself.

“You’re gonna be mad,” he said simply, voice unreadable.

Gyeong-Su’s eyes went wide. “Dude, no fucking way—”

Thanos sighed, looking genuinely disturbed. “This is kinda good.”

The world paused.

Gyeong-Su gasped so dramatically that the girl sitting at the next table actually looked over in alarm. His hand clutched at his chest like he’d been stabbed. “NO. NOOOO.” He pointed at Thanos, shaking his head so aggressively his hair flopped into his face. “YOU’RE LYING. I REFUSE TO ACCEPT THIS.”

Thanos took another sip, slower this time, as if double-checking his own taste buds. “I mean… I should hate this. I wanted to hate this.” He stared at the cup like it had personally deceived him. “But it’s actually kinda… creamy? Like a weirdly good mix of salty and sweet?”

Gyeong-Su made a strangled noise. “Oh my GOD—this is worse than you having feelings for Nam-Gyu.”

Thanos choked. “EXCUSE ME?!”

“You heard me!” Gyeong-Su threw his hands in the air, looking utterly betrayed. “I was ready to clown on you for days about this! I thought this was gonna be funny! And now you’re out here sipping cheese foam taro slush like it’s normal, like you didn’t spend the past twenty minutes acting like it was gonna kill you, and you wanna talk about me being dramatic?”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “Okay, relax, it’s not that deep—”

“It is that deep! You just became a cheese foam guy!” Gyeong-Su groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

Thanos smirked. “Oh, come on. Maybe you should try it.”

Gyeong-Su took a full step back like he had just been offered poison. “Oh, hell no. I have morals.”

“Uh-huh.” Thanos took another slow sip, purely out of spite. “And yet, I’m the one drinking for free.”

Gyeong-Su groaned dramatically. “I regret everything.”

Thanos raised his cup slightly, smug as hell. “Should’ve picked a worse drink, man. This is on you.”

Gyeong-Su flopped down into his chair like the weight of the world had just hit him. “This was supposed to be my win, Thanos. Mine. I wanted to see you suffer.” He gestured wildly at the cup. “But instead, you’re over there enjoying it! This is actually the worst possible outcome.”

Thanos chuckled, completely unbothered, taking another long sip. “Damn. Feels good to win.”

Gyeong-Su grumbled something under his breath, stabbing his straw into his mango tea aggressively. “I’m never letting you pick dare in truth-or-dare ever again.”

Thanos smirked. “Good. Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before trying to humiliate me.”

Gyeong-Su let out an exaggerated groan before slumping forward onto the table in defeat. “I hate this. I hate you.”

Thanos grinned, raising his cup in mock toast. “Nah. You love me.”

Gyeong-Su just groaned even louder as Thanos happily enjoyed his cursed but surprisingly delicious drink.

---

"I'm still so pissed you like that," Gyeong-Su grumbled as they walked down the sidewalk, heading toward the small animal shelter where Min-Su worked.

Thanos, unbothered, took another slow, obnoxiously deliberate sip of his drink. “You’re just jealous.”

Gyeong-Su narrowed his eyes. “Of what, exactly?”

Thanos smirked, holding up his cup. “That I have refined taste and you’re stuck in your basic mango tea era.”

“No way,” Gyeong-Su scoffed, shoving Thanos’s shoulder as they walked. “I just have self-respect.”

Thanos stumbled slightly but quickly regained his balance, grinning. “Suuuure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Gyeong-Su rolled his eyes, but his smirk didn’t fade. “Whatever, man. Let’s just drop this off.”

Thanos frowned slightly, only now realizing where they were heading. “Wait, hold on—why are we going to the shelter?”

Gyeong-Su blinked at him, like it was obvious. “Duh. We’re bringing Min-Su boba.”

Thanos stopped walking. “We’re bringing him boba?”

“Yeah?”

“And when was I informed of this plan?”

Gyeong-Su shot him a look. “Dude, why do you think I ordered a third drink?”

Thanos turned his gaze to the extra cup in Gyeong-Su’s hand, his brain catching up. “I dunno, I just assumed you were double fisting.”

Gyeong-Su barked out a laugh. “Oh my God, what do you think I am?”

Thanos shrugged, sipping his cursed-but-delicious drink. “A menace.”

Gyeong-Su huffed. “Okay, fair. But yeah, we’re dropping this off to Min-Su. He’s working all day, figured it’d be nice.”

Thanos sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “And when were you gonna tell me about this detour?”

“Just now.”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “You suck.”

Gyeong-Su grinned. “Nah, you just wanted to go home and rot in bed, and I refused to let that happen.”

Thanos groaned. “It’s literally my day off. What else am I supposed to do?”

Gyeong-Su smirked. “From what? Being famous?” Gyeong-Su joked

Thanos fake-gasped. “Wow. Rude.”

“Shut up and keep walking.”

Thanos let out a long, suffering sigh but didn’t argue. Min-Su was cool, and honestly, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do—aside from dramatically flopping into bed and refusing to move for hours.

As they approached the shelter, the distant sound of barking dogs and soft meows filled the air. Thanos glanced at the sign near the entrance, the name of the shelter written in simple, slightly faded lettering. The place was small but well-maintained, tucked between two other buildings on a quiet street.

Gyeong-Su pushed the door open, the little bell above it jingling as they stepped inside.

Thanos exhaled, rubbing his face. “I swear, if I leave here with a cat, I’m blaming you.”

Gyeong-Su smirked. “Not my fault if you get attached.”

Thanos groaned, already regretting everything.

Walking into the shelter, the distinct scent of pet shampoo and clean hay lingered in the air. The barking from the back kennels grew louder, a mix of excited and impatient yips echoing through the small lobby. A soft meowing came from somewhere near the counter, where a sleepy-looking cat lay curled up in a bed, barely acknowledging their presence.

Thanos glanced around, taking it all in. The walls were lined with adoption flyers, volunteer sign-up sheets, and shelves stacked with pet supplies. It was clean, well-kept, but still had that lived-in, slightly chaotic energy that came with a place constantly full of animals.

“Man, I don’t think I’ve ever been to an animal shelter before,” Thanos admitted, stuffing one hand into his hoodie pocket while still holding onto his drink with the other. His eyes flicked toward a small enclosure near the window, where a group of kittens was tumbling over each other in an aggressive-looking cuddle pile.

Gyeong-Su raised an eyebrow. “Ever?”

Thanos shook his head.

“Damn. Ever had a shelter pet?”

“No.” Thanos exhaled, watching as one of the kittens tried—and failed—to tackle another. “I’ve never really had a pet, period.”

Gyeong-Su gave him a surprised look. “Wait. None?”

Thanos shrugged. “My mom had a koi pond in our backyard, and that’s it.”

Gyeong-Su snorted. “Okay, first of all, ‘koi pond’ sounds insanely rich.”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t that deep—literally and figuratively.”

Gyeong-Su smirked but didn’t let it go. “So, what? Your parents just didn’t want pets?”

Thanos hesitated for a second before answering. “My mom was cool with them, but my dad hated animals. Thought they were messy. Unnecessary. A waste of time.” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Dude barely tolerated the koi, and they lived outside.”

Gyeong-Su made a face. “That’s depressing as hell.”

Thanos shrugged again, like it didn’t matter. Like it was just a fact. “I guess.”

Gyeong-Su studied him for a second before nudging his arm. “Well, congrats, man. You’re in a building full of pets now. What’s your first impression?”

Thanos glanced around, eyes landing briefly on the bulletin board covered in success stories, then at the row of small enclosures where a group of puppies was pressing their noses against the glass.

“…Smells like shampoo,” he finally said.

Gyeong-Su wheezed. “Wow. Incredible insight.”

Thanos smirked. “I try.”

Before Gyeong-Su could fire back, a familiar figure stepped out from a side room, wiping his hands on his work apron.

Min-Su.

Quiet, observant, and always giving off the vibe that he was tolerating the people around him rather than actively engaging. He glanced up when he noticed them, blinking like he was processing their existence.

Then, in his usual soft, even tone, he said, “You guys are loud.”

Thanos snorted. “And you’re welcome, by the way.”

Gyeong-Su grinned, holding up the extra drink. “We brought boba, so you have to pretend you like us for at least five minutes.”

Min-Su sighed, but the faintest trace of amusement flickered across his face.

“…I can do five minutes.”

Thanos smirked. “Wow. What an honor.”

Min-Su took the drink, shaking his head. “Don’t push it.”

Gyeong-Su chuckled, motioning for them to sit near the front counter. “C’mon, let’s hang for a bit before Thanos accidentally adopts a cat.”

Thanos shot him a look. “Not happening.”

But as he sat down, a small black kitten appeared seemingly out of nowhere, climbing onto his lap like it had already made the decision for him.

Gyeong-Su grinned. “Ohhh, buddy.”

Thanos sighed.

…He might be here longer than five minutes.

"Wow, uh… what do I do?"

Thanos sat frozen, hands hovering awkwardly in the air as the tiny black kitten made itself right at home on his lap. It wasn’t just sitting there—it was actively batting at the cross necklace hanging from his neck, tiny claws swiping at the chain with laser focus.

The kitten gave a particularly strong paw smack, making the pendant swing, and Thanos instinctively flinched back. “Yo—dude.”

Gyeong-Su, already sipping his drink like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week, grinned. “You let it happen. You’re its dad now.”

Thanos shot him a glare. “I refuse to be taken hostage by a five-inch gremlin.”

Min-Su, still leaning against the counter with his drink, finally spoke up. “Move the necklace.”

Thanos blinked. “Huh?”

Min-Su gestured lazily at the kitten, his tone as neutral as ever. “If you don’t want it attacking your jewelry, move it.”

Thanos hesitated before slowly tucking the necklace under his hoodie. The kitten immediately switched tactics—its ears perked up, eyes narrowing in a way that made it very clear it knew its prize had just been taken.

Then, without hesitation, it started climbing up his chest.

“Hey, hey, HEY!” Thanos leaned back, panicked, as the kitten dug its tiny claws into his hoodie like it was scaling a damn mountain. “Get it off!”

Gyeong-Su was howling with laughter at this point, nearly doubling over. “Oh my God, this is perfect.”

Min-Su sighed, finally setting his drink down and walking over. With the practiced ease of someone who dealt with animals all day, he plucked the kitten off Thanos’s chest like it was nothing. The little menace let out a tiny, unimpressed squeak but didn’t struggle as Min-Su held it up.

“There. Crisis averted.” He handed the kitten off to Thanos, like this was his problem now.

Thanos stared down at it, still holding it at arm’s length like it was a live grenade.

It blinked at him.

Then yawned.

Then curled up right in his hands like it had already claimed him.

Gyeong-Su smirked. “Awww, dude. It chose you.”

Thanos groaned. “No. Absolutely not.”

Min-Su, completely unbothered, picked up his drink again. “Sounds like a you problem.”

Thanos sighed, slumping back in his seat, the kitten purring way too contently in his hands.

Then Min-Su added, “You know, she was brought in two days ago. Her mother was hit by a car. She only had two siblings, but… they didn’t make it through the night.”

Thanos blinked.

Min-Su took a sip of his drink, completely unbothered, before casually finishing, “So, in other words, she doesn’t really have anyone. You’d kinda be a dick if you didn’t take her home.”

The first thing that ran through Thanos’s mind was, Damn. That’s a fucking sad sales pitch.

He stared down at the tiny kitten in his hands, who was now looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes, completely unaware that she had just been weaponized against him.

Gyeong-Su snorted. “Jesus, Min-Su, you should be arrested for emotional manipulation.”

Min-Su shrugged. “I just said the truth.”

Thanos exhaled, tilting his head back against the chair. “Okay, but what if I just leave and pretend this conversation never happened?”

Min-Su didn’t even look up. “Then you’d be a dick.”

Thanos groaned. “You suck.”

Gyeong-Su smirked. “C’mon, man, think about it. You literally have no reason to say no.”

Thanos gestured vaguely. “I dunno, maybe the fact that I’ve never owned a pet?”

Min-Su tilted his head slightly. “Then you’re overdue.”

Thanos opened his mouth to argue, but the kitten chose that exact moment to nuzzle against his palm.

His whole body froze.

Oh, no.

The room went silent as both Min-Su and Gyeong-Su watched the moment unfold.

Gyeong-Su slowly leaned in, grinning. “Oooohhh shit. That’s it. It’s over for you.”

Thanos didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Because this little demon—this tiny, orphaned, defenseless creature—had just activated some deeply buried, completely involuntary instinct in him.

And he was so fucking screwed.

“Ugggggh.”

Thanos groaned like he was being physically pained by this decision, dragging a hand down his face. He lifted the kitten up to eye level, holding her gently but firmly, and stared very intently into her tiny, round eyes.

She blinked back at him, unimpressed.

“You…” Thanos narrowed his gaze, voice low and serious. “You will be named…”

Gyeong-Su and Min-Su both leaned in slightly, waiting.

Thanos thought for a few more seconds, searching for something worthy—something fitting for the tiny, chaos-infused menace in his hands.

Then, finally, he sighed.

“…Doom.”

Silence.

Then—

Gyeong-Su wheezed, nearly choking on his drink. “DOOM?!”

Min-Su, ever the picture of calm, merely nodded. “Good name.”

Thanos ignored Gyeong-Su’s absolute cackling as he lowered the kitten back down into his lap. “Yeah, Doom. Feels right. She’s small, chaotic, and has already ruined my day. The name fits.”

Doom let out a tiny, barely audible mew and batted at his sleeve.

Gyeong-Su, still laughing, wiped at his eyes. “Bro. You just named that innocent little baby Doom.”

Thanos pointed at him. “You don’t get to have an opinion. You were ready to let her go nameless.”

Min-Su, sipping his drink like this was all very normal, simply said, “At least it’s better than what some people pick.”

Thanos raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Min-Su nodded. “A lady came in last week and named her cat Tofu Avenger.”

Gyeong-Su choked. “WHAT?”

Thanos scoffed. “Okay, yeah, Doom is way better than that.” He looked down at her again, tapping her tiny forehead with his finger. “Alright, Doom. Guess we’re doing this.”

Doom meowed again, curling up contently in his lap like she had already won.

Gyeong-Su shook his head, still grinning. “You realize you can never be taken seriously again, right? Like, imagine getting into an argument and yelling, ‘Hold on, I need to go feed Doom.’”

Thanos sighed, shoulders slumping in resignation. “…I really didn’t think this one through.”

Min-Su patted his shoulder. “Too late now.”

Thanos groaned.

Yeah. He was so stuck with her.

And somehow… he didn’t even mind that much.

Min-Su glanced up at the clock on the wall, the small, barely noticeable smile still lingering on his face. “I can talk for a few more minutes, but then I need to prep a pet for pickup.”

Then, his gaze shifted to Thanos, his tone remaining steady and matter-of-fact. “You’ll need to fill out some paperwork—basic stuff. Just to make sure you don’t have a history that would stop you from taking in a pet, plus a few other forms. Since you’re my friend, you can probably come back tomorrow morning or afternoon to pick her up.”

Thanos blinked, processing that. “…Wait—” He sat up straighter, eyes narrowing slightly. “I can’t take her now?”

Min-Su shook his head. “Nope.”

Thanos looked down at the tiny ball of fluff curled up in his lap, her purring so soft that he could feel it more than he could hear it. Doom had practically melded into his hoodie, her tiny paws kneading at the fabric like she was making herself at home—like she belonged there.

“Damn,” he muttered, scratching lightly behind her ear.

Min-Su, completely unfazed, continued, “Yeah, and also, you need to get stuff for her. Like food, a litter box, a carrier, toys, a scratching post—”

Thanos groaned. “Oh my God.”

“—a bed, kitten-safe treats, a brush—”

Thanos held up a hand. “Stop.”

Min-Su arched an eyebrow. “You asked.”

Gyeong-Su, who had been thoroughly enjoying this, rested his chin on his hand, smirking. “Damn, dude. You thought you were just walking in here for a quick visit, and now look at you.” He gestured dramatically at Doom. “Fatherhood changes a man.”

Thanos shot him a glare. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

Gyeong-Su just grinned, clearly enjoying himself too much to be offended. “Yeah, yeah, but for real—this is a commitment, my guy. You ready for that?”

Thanos huffed, dragging a hand down his face. “Do I look ready?”

“No,” Min-Su answered bluntly.

Gyeong-Su cackled. “Absolutely not.”

Thanos groaned again, but even as he complained, he found himself absentmindedly petting Doom, letting his fingers trail gently over the soft fur on her back. She stretched slightly, then burrowed closer into his lap like she had already claimed him.

Min-Su, watching the interaction with a knowing expression, pulled out his phone. “I’ll send you a list of everything she needs. Don’t half-ass it.”

Thanos exhaled sharply, shifting slightly in his seat. “Dude, I just agreed. Let me complain in peace.”

Min-Su tapped a few things on his screen, then looked up. “No.”

Thanos groaned. “You suck.”

Gyeong-Su clapped him on the back, barely containing his laughter. “Welcome to pet ownership, my guy. This is only the beginning.”

Thanos rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

Instead, he looked down at Doom again. She had completely passed out, curled into a tiny, warm ball, her breathing soft and steady. He sighed, shaking his head.

“…I really didn’t think this one through.”

Min-Su, sipping his drink, simply said, “Nope.”

Gyeong-Su grinned. “Ohhh yeah. You’re so screwed.”

Thanos leaned his head back against the chair, exhaling. He had walked into this shelter thinking he’d be in and out in maybe fifteen minutes. Now? Now he was stuck with responsibilities.

…And the worst part?

He didn’t even mind that much.

Leaving a kitten he had just met was way harder than Thanos had expected.

Doom had barely stirred when he stood up to leave, too comfortable and warm to care about the fact that he was abandoning her for the night. But the moment Min-Su picked her up to move her into her temporary cage, she had let out the softest, saddest meow he’d ever heard.

It physically hurt his soul.

Min-Su had reassured him—multiple times—that she’d be put in a cage marked ADOPTED so no one else could try and take her, but it still didn’t make him feel great about walking away.

Now, standing outside the shelter, he let out a deep sigh, finishing off the last of his drink before tossing the empty cup into a nearby trash can.

“…I miss Doom,” he muttered, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket.

Gyeong-Su, who was still sipping his own drink, choked slightly before laughing. “Aw, that’s sweet, man—”

Before he could finish, his phone started buzzing loudly in his pocket.

“Hold up, one sec.” Gyeong-Su fished it out, glancing at the screen before answering.

Thanos caught a glimpse of the name before he picked up. Se-Mi.

Gyeong-Su brought the phone to his ear. “Yo, what’s up?”

Thanos, now left standing there without a distraction, exhaled, rocking back slightly on his heels. His mind drifted immediately back to Doom—how she had burrowed into his lap, how tiny and fragile she had felt curled up in his hands.

He had known her for less than an hour and had already fallen into some weird, emotional attachment.

God. He was so screwed.

Gyeong-Su’s expression suddenly shifted—still casual, but slightly more focused. “Wait, slow down—where?”

Thanos blinked, glancing over. “Something up?”

Gyeong-Su held up a finger, signaling him to wait. His brows furrowed slightly as he listened, whatever Se-Mi was saying clearly grabbing his full attention.

Thanos straightened a little, his previous Doom-related thoughts momentarily pushed to the side.

Whatever was going on, it probably wasn’t good.

“Okay, okay, girl, it’s okay, breathe,” Gyeong-Su said into the phone, his tone shifting to something more grounding. “Me and Thanos will come get you, and plus—” he shot a look at Thanos, smirking slightly, “Min-Su got him to adopt a cat, so we can all go cat shopping together!”

Thanos, who had been half-listening before, straightened slightly at the mention of his name. What the hell was going on?

Gyeong-Su nodded as he listened to Se-Mi’s response, his expression still relaxed but with an underlying seriousness. “Yeah? Okay, awesome. Meet you in a few. Stay calm, it’s gonna be cool.”

He ended the call and stuffed his phone back into his pocket before turning to Thanos, all business now. “You have a driver, right? How fast can he get here?”

Thanos had several questions but prioritized the one thing he could do. “I’ll text him now.” He pulled out his phone, fingers already moving. “What’s wrong?”

Gyeong-Su exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening slightly before he spoke. “Some fuck ass from Se-Mi’s past decided to show up at her work to ‘apologize’—without any warning.” His tone turned sharp, irritation bleeding into every word. “Like, I don’t give a fuck if you feel guilty, maybe that person never wants to see your ass again.”

Thanos paused mid-text, glancing up. Gyeong-Su’s usual carefree demeanor was gone. There was something angry about the way he spoke—not just casual annoyance, but genuine frustration. The kind that only came from really caring about someone.

“…Shit,” Thanos muttered, finishing his text and hitting send. “Driver’s on his way.”

Gyeong-Su nodded, still visibly irritated, his fingers drumming against his thigh.

Thanos studied him for a moment. “So… we’re kicking someone’s ass, or?”

Gyeong-Su let out a short, humorless laugh. “Nah, Se-Mi just wants out of there. But if dude tries something, he’s gonna have a real bad fucking day.”

Thanos smirked slightly, cracking his knuckles. “Good. I was hoping I’d get to make someone else suffer today instead of just you.”

Gyeong-Su rolled his eyes, but a flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Shut up.”

A second later, Thanos’s phone buzzed.

Driver: ETA 4 minutes.

Thanos glanced up. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Without another word, the two of them turned and headed for the curb, the tension between them shifting from frustration to pure focus.

Time to handle business.

---

The second the car pulled up in front of the tattoo shop, Gyeong-Su was already moving. Before the driver could even come to a full stop, he threw the door open, his entire posture shifting from casual irritation to something sharper—something serious.

“I’ll go grab her and head out the back,” he said, his voice low but firm. “If we’re not both here in three minutes—” he turned, locking eyes with Thanos, “—and I’m not joking when I say this—call the cops, okay?”

Thanos’s stomach twisted slightly at the very specific time limit, but he didn’t question it. Gyeong-Su wasn’t the type to overreact. If he was saying this, it meant he thought there was a real chance things could go wrong.

Thanos nodded, his usual smirk nowhere in sight. “Got it.”

Gyeong-Su exhaled, giving him a quick nod before stepping out of the car and shutting the door behind him.

Thanos’s knee bounced slightly as he watched him cross the sidewalk, slipping into the shop without hesitation.

The second the door swung shut behind him, Thanos checked the time on his phone.

Three minutes.

A pit settled in his stomach.

He wasn’t the kind of guy who panicked. He’d been in enough real bad situations to know that freaking out never helped. But something about the way Gyeong-Su had said it—completely serious, no jokes, no sarcasm—was making his skin itch.

Thanos glanced toward the shop window, but from this angle, he couldn’t see inside.

He exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders.

Okay. Worst case scenario?

If Gyeong-Su didn’t come out in exactly three minutes, Thanos was getting out of this car.

And if things got ugly?

Well.

It wouldn’t be his first fight inside a tattoo shop.

The moment his phone hit three minutes exactly, Thanos moved.

He glanced out the window, his hand already on the car door handle, ready to step out. His muscles tensed, his mind already cycling through worst-case scenarios—until he spotted them.

Gyeong-Su and Se-Mi.

They weren’t just walking out of the shop—they were speed-walking, their steps quick and purposeful. Gyeong-Su looked noticeably more relaxed than before, though there was still a tightness in his jaw, like he was keeping himself in check.

Se-Mi, on the other hand, looked pissed.

Her eyes were sharp, her movements stiff like she was using every ounce of self-control not to turn around and throw hands.

Thanos narrowed his eyes, watching as they reached the car. Gyeong-Su opened the door for her first, ushering her inside with a quiet, “Get in.”

She did, sliding into the seat with an irritated huff, crossing her arms over her chest. Gyeong-Su climbed in after her, shutting the door firmly behind them.

The second the door clicked, Thanos spoke.

“Well?”

Gyeong-Su ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “It’s fine. We just needed to go before she turned around and set the place on fire.”

Se-Mi scoffed. “No promises I won’t go back later.”

Thanos raised an eyebrow, shifting slightly to look at her. “That bad?”

Se-Mi exhaled sharply, her fingers gripping her sleeves like she was still trying to burn off some residual rage. “Worse.” She shook her head. “Motherfucker really thought he could just show up, say ‘oops, my bad,’ and that’d be it.”

Thanos clicked his tongue, leaning back against the seat. “Wow. Genius level thinking right there.”

Gyeong-Su snorted. “Right?”

Se-Mi muttered something under her breath before pulling out her phone and aggressively typing something—probably rage-texting Mi-Na.

Thanos exhaled through his nose, side-eyeing Gyeong-Su. “So. No one got punched?”

Gyeong-Su smirked. “Not for lack of trying.” He nodded toward Se-Mi. “She was ready to throw hands.”

Se-Mi didn’t look up from her phone. “Still am.”

Thanos smirked. “Love that for you.”

Se-Mi exhaled loudly before locking her phone and shoving it into her pocket. “I need sugar before I do something stupid.”

Gyeong-Su grinned, nudging Thanos. “Good thing we’re already out, huh? Let’s go get snacks before Se-Mi starts plotting a murder.”

Thanos sighed, already knowing he had no choice in the matter. “Fine. But I get to pick this time.”

Se-Mi waved a hand. “Whatever. Just drive.”

Thanos turned to the driver. “You heard her.”

The car pulled away from the shop, leaving whatever bullshit had just happened behind them.

For now.

---

The pit stop Thanos picked was this small dessert shop he liked called Honey Sugar.

It was tucked into a side street, not exactly hidden, but not the kind of place people just stumbled upon unless they knew what they were looking for. The moment they stepped inside, the scent of caramelized sugar and roasted coffee filled the air, warm and familiar. The shop specialized in all things dalgona—from the classic crisp honeycomb cookies to drinks infused with its distinct burnt-sugar sweetness.

It was, in Thanos’s humble opinion, elite.

Se-Mi, still visibly annoyed but now at least distracted by the overwhelming scent of sugar, took a deep breath and exhaled. “Okay. Fine. This was a good call.”

Gyeong-Su smirked, nudging Thanos. “You got a secret sweet tooth or something?”

Thanos scoffed, stepping up to the counter. “Nah, I just have taste.”

The shop itself was cozy, all warm-toned wooden furniture, soft lighting, and shelves lined with jars of pre-packaged dalgona candies in different shapes—stars, hearts, even little cat silhouettes. A few people sat at the tables, chatting over drinks, their spoons clinking gently against glass cups.

Thanos had been coming here for a while, ever since he’d randomly wandered in on a particularly shitty day and walked out at least 10% happier.

Behind the counter stood Yong-Sik, the usual worker on shift—tall, lean, with his black hair slightly tousled like he either styled it that way on purpose or just didn’t care. His sharp eyes flicked up as they approached, and a familiar smirk tugged at his lips.

“Oh, hey! Haven’t seen you in a bit.” He eyed Thanos’s company before raising an eyebrow. “What, you finally making friends?”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately.”

Se-Mi, still grumpy but intrigued, leaned on the counter. “What’s good here?”

Yong-Sik didn’t even hesitate. “Everything.”

Thanos smirked. “See? Taste.”

Gyeong-Su hummed, looking over the menu. “What’s your usual?”

Thanos shrugged. “Depends on my mood, but the dalgona milk tea slaps.”

Se-Mi hummed. “I’m getting something with caffeine before I make a bad decision.”

Yong-Sik chuckled, already punching in their orders. “Bad decisions pair well with sugar. Trust me.”

Thanos tapped his fingers against the counter. “You still do that thing where if I break the dalgona clean, I get a free drink?”

Yong-Sik raised an eyebrow. “You still suck at it?”

Gyeong-Su snorted. “Ohhh, now I need to see this.”

Thanos huffed. “Watch me.”

Yong-Sik handed over the honeycomb candy with a knowing smirk. “Good luck, celebrity.”

Thanos gritted his teeth. He was about to prove him so wrong.

When Thanos looked down at the honeycomb cookie, the celebrity comment suddenly made a lot more sense.

The design pressed into the crisp, golden surface? A star.

“Wow. A star.” He rolled his eyes, holding it up between two fingers. “Very funny.”

Yong-Sik smirked, arms crossed over his chest. “You like it? Thought it’d be fitting.”

Se-Mi snorted. “Oh, that’s good.”

Gyeong-Su grinned. “You better nail this, dude. Imagine the headlines—‘Celebrity Choi Su-Bong Humiliated by a Cookie.’”

Thanos exhaled dramatically, shaking his head. “Y’all are so annoying.”

Without looking away from the cookie, he added, “Go ahead and add those rice cakes, by the way.”

Yong-Sik hummed, punching it into the register. “Anything else, superstar?”

Thanos gritted his teeth. “Yeah. Respect.”

Yong-Sik chuckled. “We don’t sell that here.”

Se-Mi wheezed.

Thanos ignored her, cracking his knuckles before carefully picking up the needle Yong-Sik handed him. He focused on the cookie, tapping it lightly with the point, testing its strength.

Alright. No big deal. He just had to do what millions of desperate reality show contestants had failed to do.

Break the shape out perfectly.

Without snapping it.

Totally fine.

No pressure.

Gyeong-Su leaned on the counter, watching closely. “Hey, if you break it in under a minute, I’ll cover your drink.”

Se-Mi smirked. “And if you fail in under a minute, I’m telling Mi-Na.”

Thanos froze, his hand tightening on the cookie slightly. “Why the fuck would you tell Mi-Na?”

Se-Mi’s smirk widened. “Because she’d make fun of you forever, and I live for that.”

Thanos exhaled through his nose, muttering under his breath. “You guys are actually the worst.”

Yong-Sik smirked, drumming his fingers against the counter. “Clock’s ticking, star boy.”

Thanos shot him a glare.

Then, with extreme focus, he carefully tapped the needle against the edge of the star, the first tiny crack forming—

This was gonna end badly, wasn’t it?

Thanos was bitterly munching on his dalgona-flavored rice cakes, his jaw tight with irritation as the sugary snack crunched between his teeth. Meanwhile, Se-Mi and Gyeong-Su were absolutely losing their shit in the seat next to him, their laughter echoing through the car.

“Dude, I can’t—” Se-Mi gasped, barely able to get the words out. “The way it just—SNAPPED—” She broke into another fit of laughter, clutching her stomach.

Gyeong-Su wiped at his eyes, his shoulders still shaking. “Oh man, I wish I had recorded that.”

Thanos scowled, aggressively biting into another rice cake. “You guys are total dicks.”

Se-Mi, still wheezing, wiped a fake tear from her eye. “No, but the best part—” she pointed at him, barely keeping it together “—was that right before it broke, you had this whole concentrated, serious face, like you were defusing a fucking bomb.”

Gyeong-Su nodded, grinning. “And then—CRACK!” He mimicked the way the dalgona had snapped clean in half, sending Thanos straight to hell in front of everyone.

Thanos groaned, shoving another rice cake in his mouth, chewing aggressively. “Y’all are so lucky I need to buy cat shit right now, or I’d make the driver pull over and leave you both on the curb.”

Se-Mi patted his knee mockingly. “Aww, poor baby~”

Gyeong-Su smirked. “Gotta say, though—real poetic that Doom is getting a brand-new litter box while your ass got wiped out in front of Yong-Sik.”

Thanos glared. “You suck.”

Gyeong-Su just grinned, leaning back in his seat. “Nope. But you do—at dalgona challenges.”

Se-Mi cackled. “Ohhhh, we have to tell Mi-Na about this.”

Thanos groaned louder, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate you both so much.”

The car took a turn, and Thanos exhaled as they pulled into the lot of the pet store Min-Su had recommended.

“Alright, idiots,” he muttered, finally swallowing his bitterness (and the last of his rice cakes). “Let’s buy some cat shit.”

Gyeong-Su nudged Se-Mi. “That’s the spirit.”

Se-Mi snickered as they stepped out of the car. “C’mon, ‘star boy.’ Let’s get your little menace everything she needs to ruin your life.”

Thanos sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets as they headed inside.

“Wait—even better—let’s tell Nam-Gyu when he gets back tonight,” Gyeong-Su added, elbowing Se-Mi with a wicked grin.

Se-Mi immediately perked up. “Ohhh, yes. That’s perfect.”

Thanos groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Man, you two need to shut up—” He paused mid-complaint, suddenly processing something. “Wait. Where is Nam-Gyu?”

Se-Mi raised an eyebrow, tilting her head in that obnoxiously teasing way that meant she had already clocked why he was asking. “Oh? Missing him already?”

Thanos shot her a look. “Don’t start.”

Gyeong-Su, clearly unfazed, waved a hand dismissively. “He said he had to take care of some family shit.” His voice was casual—too casual—like it wasn’t even a big deal as he pulled open the door to the pet store.

Family?

Thanos hesitated for a second before stepping inside.

“How do you know?” he asked, glancing at Gyeong-Su while walking past him.

“I called him this morning to ask if he remembered when the next big group meeting was,” Gyeong-Su replied, holding the door open for Se-Mi as well. “We talked for a little after.”

Thanos frowned slightly. Family shit? Nam-Gyu didn’t talk about his family much—at least, not in the time they’d been hanging out. The few times it had come up, the conversations never lasted long.

Not exactly a red flag, but... something about it didn’t sit right with him.

Before he could think too much about it, Se-Mi nudged his shoulder. “Damn, you really are missing him, huh?”

Thanos rolled his eyes and kept walking. “Jesus, can you chill for like five minutes?”

“Nope,” she said, popping the p with a smirk. “Not when it’s this easy.”

Gyeong-Su chuckled, grabbing a shopping basket. “Anyway, don’t get all in your head about it. He’s probably just handling some boring family obligation—nothing deep.”

Thanos hummed in response but didn’t say anything.

He wanted to believe that.

But something about it still felt... off.

“Oh, Thanos, look!”

Gyeong-Su practically lit up like a kid in a candy store, his excitement completely disproportionate to the situation as he excitedly pushed the cart toward a display. “This cat bed is shaped like a crab!”

Thanos blinked as Gyeong-Su grabbed the absurdly orange, fluffy, crab-shaped bed off the shelf, holding it up like it was the most important discovery of his life.

Se-Mi, already laughing, peered over at it. “Oh my god, that’s so stupid.”

Gyeong-Su grinned. “It’s perfect.”

Thanos exhaled, rubbing his temples. “You do realize I’m buying this shit for Doom, right? She’s a kitten, not a damn deep-sea explorer.”

Gyeong-Su ignored him, plopping the crab bed into the cart with zero hesitation. “Yeah, yeah, I heard you. Doom deserves the best.”

Thanos sighed, but honestly? He didn’t even care anymore. If a crab-shaped bed made Doom happy, then whatever.

Se-Mi, still snickering, pulled out the list Min-Su had sent them. “Alright, I’ll go grab the kitten food. You two can look at toys and whatever other ridiculous crap you wanna waste money on. I’ll meet you back here.” She waved as she walked off, heading toward the pet food aisle.

Thanos ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the cart. “Alright. We got a crab bed. What else does a spoiled little menace need?”

Gyeong-Su’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, don’t worry. I got you.”

Thanos had a bad feeling about this.

Gyeong-Su practically bounced down the aisle, scanning the shelves like he was picking out the perfect weapons for battle. Thanos, already tired, followed behind with the cart, watching as Gyeong-Su grabbed things at random.

“Okay, so Doom definitely needs a cat tunnel.”

He dropped one in the cart without waiting for Thanos’s approval.

Thanos raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

Gyeong-Su nodded aggressively. “Yes. Trust me. Cats love these things. It’s like, built into their little goblin DNA.”

Thanos exhaled, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Fine. What else?”

Gyeong-Su scanned the shelves again. “Ooooh, okay, these.” He grabbed a pack of little plush mice and tossed them into the cart. “And a wand toy.”

Thanos picked it up, inspecting it. “Bro, this looks like a cheap fishing rod with feathers on it.”

Gyeong-Su nodded. “Exactly. Doom’s gonna go feral for it.”

Thanos sighed, shaking his head as Gyeong-Su grabbed a few more things—a scratching post ("Trust me, unless you want your furniture destroyed, she needs one."), a cozy blanket ("So she has something soft to knead."), and a bag of treats ("Because if you don’t bribe her with food, she’ll never respect you.").

By the time they made it to the check-out area, the cart looked ridiculous.

Se-Mi, who was already waiting by the register with the kitten food, raised an eyebrow at the pile. “You do realize you’re only bringing home one cat, right?”

Thanos sighed dramatically, rubbing his face. “I tried to stop him.”

Gyeong-Su beamed. “Lies. You enabled me.”

Se-Mi smirked. “Mm. Sure. But I am gonna need a picture of Doom in that crab bed.”

Thanos groaned as he pulled out his card. “I hate all of you.”

Gyeong-Su patted his shoulder. “You love us.”

Thanos rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

As they walked out of the store, bags stacked in his arms, he glanced up at the sky.

Tomorrow, Doom was coming home.

And for some reason, despite everything, despite how ridiculous this whole thing had become—

He didn’t actually mind.

Not even a little.

---

After leaving the pet store, Se-Mi and Gyeong-Su rode with him back to his place, the car packed with way too many bags for a single kitten.

“Bro,” Thanos muttered as he looked at the pile of stuff taking up the seat next to him, “she’s, like, the size of a fucking potato. Why does it look like I’m preparing for a zoo?”

Gyeong-Su smirked, leaning back against the seat. “That’s the spirit, man. You’re thinking long-term.”

Se-Mi snorted. “Yeah, like, long-term debt.”

Thanos waved a dismissive hand. “Pfft. I’m not worried about money.”

Gyeong-Su grinned. “Ohhh, right. My bad, rich boy.”

Thanos rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

By the time they reached his place, he barely had the energy to haul everything inside, so he made them help. Gyeong-Su carried the crab bed with way too much enthusiasm, while Se-Mi stacked all the smaller bags onto the counter, inspecting the ridiculous amount of toys with an amused shake of her head.

“Alright,” Se-Mi said, stretching her arms, “this was fun, but I’m starving, and I don’t live here, so I’m leaving.”

Gyeong-Su hummed, checking his phone. “Yeah, I should eat too. You want the driver to take us somewhere first?”

She nodded. “Hell yeah. I’m thinking ramen.”

Thanos yawned, barely registering their conversation as he tossed his hoodie onto the couch. “Cool. Have fun with that.”

Se-Mi side-eyed him. “Damn, not even pretending to invite yourself?”

Thanos flopped onto the couch, sprawled out like his soul had left his body. “I have never been more tired in my life.”

Gyeong-Su snickered. “Bro, you did, like… basic errands today.”

Thanos groaned. “Exactly. Hell.”

Se-Mi laughed. “Alright, alright. We’ll get out of your hair. Try not to die before Doom gets here.”

Thanos lifted a lazy hand in a half-hearted wave as they grabbed their things and headed back out.

The door clicked shut.

Finally. Silence.

Thanos sighed, sinking further into the couch. His eyes felt heavy, his body sluggish from the longest day of his life—though, realistically, nothing that intense had even happened.

Still.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, Doom would be home.

And with that final thought, exhaustion took over, pulling him straight into a deep, dreamless sleep...

---

“Ah!—Fuck, shit!”

The last thing Thanos expected was to be woken up at three in the goddamn morning by his ringtone blaring through the quiet of his apartment.

He groggily reached for his phone, eyes barely open as he squinted at the screen. “Who the hell calls someone this late?” His voice was thick with exhaustion, his brain still sluggish from sleep.

He was pissed.

And honestly? He would’ve ignored it. Wanted to ignore it.

But something—some instinct—made him hesitate.

Something told him to answer.

So, without even looking at the contact, he sighed and pressed the phone to his ear.

“Hello…?” His voice was rough, tired, the bare minimum level of functional.

There was a sharp inhale on the other end. Then—

“Shit—sorry, I should’ve known you were asleep. Uh, never mind, I’ll see you later—”

Thanos blinked, suddenly much more awake.

It was Nam-Gyu.

A very stressed-sounding Nam-Gyu.

“Whoa, whoa, dude, chill—what’s up?” Thanos sat up properly, running a hand through his hair, his exhaustion evaporating fast.

“I… I know you’re stressed about what’s going on between us, and I shouldn’t have called you—”

Thanos frowned, cutting him off immediately. “Oh my god, fuck that, man—are you okay? I’m fucking worried.”

The line was quiet for a second. Then, when Nam-Gyu spoke again, his voice sounded even more anxious.

“I… I just—” There was a shaky exhale. “I don’t want to be alone tonight. Can I… Can I crash at your place?”

Thanos didn’t even hesitate.

“Yeah. Of course.”

There was a slight pause, like Nam-Gyu hadn’t expected him to agree so quickly. “…Are you sure?”

Thanos huffed, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Dude, where are you? I’ll come get you.”

“No—no,” Nam-Gyu said quickly, voice tight. “I—I’m already outside your place.”

Thanos froze.

“What?”

“I, um…” Nam-Gyu let out a strained laugh, but there was no real humor in it. “I kinda just… ended up here.”

Thanos’s stomach twisted.

Without another word, he threw on a hoodie and walked straight to the door, unlocking it in one smooth motion.

When he pulled it open, Nam-Gyu was standing there, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, shoulders tense, face slightly paler than usual under the dim glow of the hallway lights.

And for the first time since knowing him, Thanos saw something in Nam-Gyu’s expression that made his chest ache.

He looked tired. Not the casual, I-didn’t-sleep-enough kind.

The bone-deep, worn-down, barely-holding-it-together kind.

Thanos stepped back, tilting his head toward the inside. “Come in.”

Nam-Gyu didn’t move at first, his gaze flickering up to meet Thanos’s like he was checking—double-checking—that he really meant it.

Then, finally, he nodded and stepped inside.

Thanos shut the door behind him.

“…You wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked, voice softer now.

Nam-Gyu swallowed, shifting slightly on his feet. “I just…” He exhaled slowly. “Not yet. Can we just—can we just exist for a bit?”

Thanos nodded. “Yeah. We can do that.”

And just like that, Nam-Gyu was staying the night.

Whatever this was, whatever was going on in his head—Thanos could wait.

But one thing was for sure.

Nam-Gyu wasn’t spending tonight alone.

Notes:

To the person who asked for Nam-Gyu angst, dw next chapter is gonna be written from his pov <3
Also, did I name the cat after one of Top's songs? Yes, yes I did.

Chapter 9: Nam-Gyu's Skeletons

Notes:

Warning for child abuse and homophobia!

Nam-Gyu took a slow drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling it into the cold night. The ember at the tip glowed softly, barely illuminating his fingers as he rested his arm against the open window of his car.

He’d been sitting here for a while.

The house in front of him—the place he’d grown up in—looked worse every time he came back. The once-familiar walls were cracked and worn, the roof sagging, the windows either boarded up or covered with makeshift curtains that barely held against the wind.

Condemned.

The city had slapped that notice on the front door last year. And yet, somehow, his family was still here.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know how.

His mom had always been good at pretending—at finding ways to ignore problems until they crushed her entirely. And his older brothers? They never gave a shit about anything as long as it didn’t inconvenience them.

And then there was him.

Sitting outside like a fucking coward.

The only reason he knew they were still here was because of Ji-Ho—his youngest brother, fifteen years old and the only one who didn’t make Nam-Gyu want to disappear whenever he thought about his family.

Ji-Ho hadn’t asked for any of this.

He hadn’t asked to grow up in a house that barely had running water. Hadn’t asked to be left with a mother who couldn’t take care of herself, let alone her kids. Hadn’t asked for an older brother who wouldn’t lift a fucking finger to help, and another that that left to never talk to any of them anymore.

And maybe Nam-Gyu hadn’t asked for it either, but—

It wasn’t about what he wanted.

It was about the fact that if he didn’t show up, no one would.

And that wasn’t Ji-Ho’s fault.

Nam-Gyu sighed, tapping his cigarette against the side of the car door, watching the ash fall to the pavement. He hated this place. Hated that he still came here. Hated that no matter how much distance he tried to put between himself and this house, it never really left him.

And yet—

He turned his head slightly, glancing at the plastic bag in the passenger seat.

Food. Enough to last Ji-Ho the next few days.

It wasn’t much. It never felt like enough. But it was something.

And it was the reason he was still sitting here, even though every part of him was telling him to drive the fuck away and pretend he never came.

He wasn’t here for his mother.

He wasn’t here for his brothers.

He was here for Ji-Ho.

And that?

That was the only thing keeping him from lighting another cigarette and disappearing into the woods behind the house, never to be seen again.

"Fuck me."

He exhaled sharply, stamping out the cigarette with his boot before grabbing the bags from the passenger seat.

For a second, he just sat there, gripping the handles a little too tightly, silently praying that when he stepped out, he wouldn’t find his car missing a side mirror, a tire slashed, or—worst of all—completely gone.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

He still remembered the last time he parked too close to the house, only to come back and find his cousin had fucking hotwired it in the middle of the night. Apparently, losing all your money on a bad bet meant family cars were fair game.

Nam-Gyu had found that cousin, and let’s just say… no one in the family had ever tried that shit again.

Still, it didn’t mean he wasn’t cautious now.

He pulled the door handle and stepped out, scanning the yard, his breath fogging in the cold air. The front porch light was dead—as always—leaving the place in shadows, save for the dim glow of a single flickering streetlamp down the road.

The weight of the bags in his hands felt heavier than usual as he approached the house. His footsteps were quiet against the pavement, instinctively light, like he was still some kid trying to sneak back in after being out too late.

Only difference now?

He didn’t live here anymore.

And yet, somehow, this place still felt like it had claws in him.

Nam-Gyu sighed, rolling his shoulders, then knocked twice—sharp and quick. Not loud enough to wake the whole damn house, but just enough so Ji-Ho would hear.

He really didn’t want to deal with anyone else tonight.

Just grab Ji-Ho, hand over the food, and get the fuck out.

That was the plan.

But in this family?

Shit never went according to plan.

And of course Ji-Ho wasn’t answering.

Nam-Gyu checked his phone for what felt like the hundredth time, the screen glaring back at him with nothing but the time—ten whole minutes of waiting outside like an idiot.

His irritation finally got the best of him, and without thinking, he knocked harder, longer, his patience wearing thin.

Bad move.

"Fucking hell, I’m coming!"

The voice from inside was raspy, thick with booze and irritation.

Nam-Gyu’s stomach dropped.

"Shit."

Without missing a beat, he crouched down, quickly shoving the plastic bags behind the old bench on the porch, tucking them out of sight. He already knew that voice—rough, bitter, laced with alcohol and every bad memory he’d tried to forget.

Do-Yun.

The door yanked open just as Nam-Gyu straightened, forcing him to meet his oldest brother’s bloodshot stare.

Do-Yun leaned against the frame, his posture lazy, but his eyes were sharp, scanning Nam-Gyu like he was looking for a reason—any reason—to start something.

Then he scoffed.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" His lips curled, voice slurred but still dripping with resentment. "Thought you were too good for us?"

Nam-Gyu barely blinked, keeping his expression neutral despite the way his pulse spiked with irritation.

The booze on Do-Yun’s breath was strong, mixing with the faint, stale scent of cigarettes and whatever the hell he’d been up to tonight.

Nam-Gyu already knew what this was.

A test.

Do-Yun wanted a reaction. He wanted a fight.

And Nam-Gyu wasn’t fucking giving him one.

He kept his tone flat, steady. "Where’s Ji-Ho."

Do-Yun rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Figures. You’re here for the pussy."

Nam-Gyu clenched his jaw.

His fists curled tight at his sides, the fabric of his sleeves straining slightly as he fought the immediate urge to put this bastard on his ass.

But he knew better.

Hell, he even dressed for the part—no glasses, long-sleeved black shirt, and a forest-green corduroy jacket to cover the tension stiffening his shoulders. He didn’t need Do-Yun seeing anything in his face.

"I said—" His voice was sharper now, cutting through the space between them. "Where is he?"

Do-Yun grinned. A slow, lazy, cruel thing.

Because he knew that Nam-Gyu was pissed.

And he was enjoying it.

"Why?" Do-Yun sneered, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the whole damn place. "Gonna take him off to shoot up with you?"

Nam-Gyu felt something hot coil in his chest.

His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to do something—to react, to hit, to throw this piece of shit into the ground where he belonged.

Because Do-Yun knew.

Knew he was sober. Knew he’d been clean for months.

And still, the bastard went for the lowest fucking dig he could.

But Nam-Gyu had played this game before.

So instead of giving Do-Yun the reaction he wanted, he smirked. A slow, sharp tilt of his lips as he cocked his head slightly to the side, posture unbothered.

"Oh?" His voice was almost mocking. "Well, that’s more of a you thing to do, isn’t it?"

Do-Yun’s grin faltered for a second. Just a flicker. But Nam-Gyu caught it.

Because they both knew it was true.

Nam-Gyu wasn’t the one who’d disappeared for weeks at a time. Wasn’t the one who’d pawned shit that wasn’t his to pay off drug debts. Wasn’t the one who had blown every second chance handed to him.

No, that was all Do-Yun.

And for a split second, he knew it too.

Then, just as quickly, Do-Yun’s expression hardened, his lips curling into something nastier. “You always were a cocky little shit.”

Nam-Gyu kept his smirk in place, even as his jaw ached from how tightly he was holding himself together. “And you always talk too much. Where’s Ji-Ho?”

Do-Yun exhaled loudly through his nose, rolling his eyes before jerking his chin toward the house. “He’s in his room. Whatever.”

Nam-Gyu didn’t wait for another bullshit comment. He brushed past him, stepping inside, already tuning out the muttered insult Do-Yun threw at his back.

He wasn’t here for him.

He was here for Ji-Ho.

And the sooner he got this over with, the better.

The second Nam-Gyu stepped inside, the smell hit him first.

Stale air. Cigarettes. Something rotten that no one had bothered to throw out.

Then, the memories came.

They crashed into him all at once, fast and disorienting, like stepping into a room he thought he’d locked away forever. The faded wallpaper, the sagging couch, the old coffee table still littered with junk—nothing had changed, and yet everything felt smaller.

Fuck.

His breath hitched slightly, but he pushed forward, forcing himself not to stop. Not to hesitate.

But then—

"But Mom!"

The voice was his own. Small, desperate, younger.

Nam-Gyu blinked, but the memory ripped through him before he could stop it.

He couldn’t have been younger than ten.

He stood in the cramped bathroom, his bare feet cold against the tile, his reflection in the spotted mirror blurred by unshed tears. His mother loomed behind him, one hand gripping the scissors, the other tight around his wrist.

"I don’t wanna cut my hair!" He was crying, begging.

She scoffed, yanking him closer. "Stop acting like a brat, Nam-Gyu."

Her grip was too tight. His wrist ached, his shoulders tensed as she forced him to sit on the closed toilet lid.

"You look ridiculous," she muttered, lifting the scissors. "You wanna go around looking like a damn girl? You wanna embarrass me?"

Nam-Gyu shook his head quickly, his breath hitching as the cold metal pressed against the strands of his too-long hair. "No—"

"Then sit still."

The snip of the first cut rang louder in his ears than it should have.

His stomach twisted as he watched pieces of his hair fall onto his lap, onto the floor. His chest ached with something he didn’t know how to name yet—something worse than sadness, something more than just not getting his way.

And when she was done, when she finally let go, he didn’t move.

Didn’t look at the mirror.

Didn’t cry anymore.

Because crying never changed anything.

Nam-Gyu blinked.

The house snapped back into focus, the dimly lit hallway stretching out in front of him.

His hands were shaking.

He shoved them into his jacket pockets, exhaling sharply through his nose.

Not now.

He wasn’t here to drown in old memories.

He was here for Ji-Ho.

So he forced his feet forward, walking past the ghosts that clung to this place, heading straight for the one person who still mattered.

Nam-Gyu continued down the hall to Ji-Ho's room.

Nam-Gyu continued down the hall, his steps slow, controlled—forced.

The walls felt too close, the air too thick, the floor beneath him creaking in all the same places it had when he was a kid sneaking out after curfew.

Everything smelled old—not in a comforting, nostalgic way, but in a way that made his skin itch. Stale cigarettes. Unwashed clothes. That faint, ever-present dampness that no one ever bothered to fix.

And underneath it all, memories clawed at the edges of his mind, trying to drag him back.

Don’t think about it.

He kept walking.

As he passed the living room, his gaze flickered toward the couch—once a faded green, now stained and sagging. He still remembered sitting there, knees pulled to his chest, as his mother screamed at his father over something neither of them would remember the next day.

He still remembered his brothers pushing him into the armrest, roughhousing until it wasn’t fun anymore—until it wasn’t playful, just another excuse to hurt.

He still remembered—

No.

Not now.

His jaw tightened, and he focused ahead, his pace quickening as he neared the only door that mattered.

Ji-Ho’s room.

The door was slightly ajar, the dim glow of a phone screen visible through the crack.

Nam-Gyu exhaled, steadying himself before knocking twice.

A pause.

Then, a muffled voice. "Go away."

Nam-Gyu huffed, pushing the door open anyway.

Ji-Ho was curled up on his bed, hoodie pulled over his head, his phone in one hand as he clearly tried to ignore everything outside his own little bubble.

The second he looked up and saw Nam-Gyu standing there, his eyes widened.

"Hyung?"

Nam-Gyu leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Who else?"

Ji-Ho blinked, glancing past him, as if checking for signs of their other brother. "I thought—"

Nam-Gyu shook his head. "Not here for them. Just you."

Something in Ji-Ho’s shoulders relaxed.

And just like that, the tightness in Nam-Gyu’s chest eased.

Even after everything—after years of distance, of this house trying to strangle the life out of them both—Ji-Ho still looked at him like he was safe.

Like he was the only good thing left here.

Nam-Gyu exhaled, nodding toward the door. "C’mon. Got food outside. Let’s go before Do-Yun gets any dumb ideas."

Ji-Ho hesitated for half a second, then quickly grabbed his jacket.

No argument.

No questions.

Because Ji-Ho knew, too.

He knew what this house did to them.

And he knew that, at least for today, he didn’t have to stay in it.

---

They walked outside in silence, the cold air biting against Nam-Gyu’s skin as they made their way to the car. Ji-Ho climbed into the passenger seat while Nam-Gyu grabbed the bags from behind the bench.

Once inside, the car was warm, the scent of the food filling the space as they unwrapped their sandwiches.

Nam-Gyu took a bite, chewing slowly before side-eyeing Ji-Ho. “So... you wanna talk about it?”

Ji-Ho hesitated, picking at the edge of his sandwich instead of eating it. “Mom was yelling at me.”

Nam-Gyu’s jaw tightened slightly, but he forced himself to stay neutral. “Yeah? About what?”

Ji-Ho exhaled, still avoiding his gaze. “She knows you’ve been coming here.”

A heavy pause.

Nam-Gyu already didn’t like where this was going.

His grip on the sandwich stiffened slightly. “And...?”

Ji-Ho hesitated again, shifting uncomfortably. “And she, uh… she wants to talk to you.”

Nam-Gyu’s stomach turned.

Slowly, he set his sandwich down, licking the grease off his thumb before leaning back against the headrest.

He should’ve seen that coming.

“She wants to talk to me,” he repeated flatly, staring at the windshield.

Ji-Ho finally glanced up, expression cautious. “Yeah.”

Nam-Gyu scoffed, shaking his head. “Right. Because now she suddenly has something to say.”

Ji-Ho didn’t respond right away. Instead, he just sighed, sinking further into his seat like he already knew how this conversation was going to go. “Look, I’m not saying you have to talk to her. I just… I figured you should know.”

Nam-Gyu ran a hand down his face, inhaling sharply through his nose.

There was no way this was anything good.

And yet, despite every instinct telling him to drop it, to ignore it, to never give that woman another second of his life…

He still asked.

“What does she even want?”

Ji-Ho hesitated. Then, quietly—

“I don’t know.”

Nam-Gyu exhaled through his teeth, shaking his head. “Yeah. That makes two of us.”

---

The first memory Nam-Gyu had of hating his mother was from before his dad left.

He had been young—too young to understand the full picture, but old enough to know something was wrong.

The house had been loud that night. His parents screaming at each other in the kitchen, his mother’s voice shrill with anger, his father’s slurred with indifference. He had curled up in his room, pressing his hands over his ears, waiting for it to end.

Then suddenly—silence.

A few minutes later, his father stormed out, slamming the front door behind him.

And his mother?

She came straight for him.

"You little shit!"

Nam-Gyu hadn’t even gotten a chance to speak before she grabbed him by the arm, yanking him off the floor so hard his knees hit the ground.

"You think this is funny? You think you can steal from me and get away with it?!"

He had no idea what she was talking about.

He was confused, panicked, his small hands gripping her wrist as she shook him, his heart pounding against his ribs.

"Mom—Mom, I didn't—"

But she didn’t listen.

She never listened.

The first hit wasn’t the worst. Just the shock of the bottle cracking against his shoulder, the dull pain blooming under his skin.

The second hit sent him to the floor.

By the third, he stopped trying to defend himself.

Because what was the point?

She had already decided it was his fault.

It wasn’t until years later—when he was older, when he knew exactly the kind of man his father was—that he realized what really happened.

His dad had taken all the money from her purse.

Probably to pay off some hooker or a gambling debt or both.

And instead of questioning him, instead of even considering that her husband had stolen from her, she had blamed Nam-Gyu.

No hesitation.

No doubt.

Just rage.

And the worst part?

After she was done, after she had finally stopped, she simply shoved him toward his room, her voice sharp and cold—

"Get the fuck out of my sight."

That night, Nam-Gyu went to bed hungry, his body aching, his stomach twisting with something new.

Something bitter.

Something like hate.

Because that was the first time he realized—

His mother never needed a real reason.

She just needed a target.

And back then?

That target had always been him.

To his second older brother’s credit, he had been the only one who ever tried to defend him.

Hak-Kun.

The only person in that house who had ever stepped between Nam-Gyu and their mother. The only one who had shoved Do-Yun against a wall when he got too rough. The only one who had cursed their father out before he disappeared for good.

And yet—

He still left.

Ran away the moment he turned sixteen, leaving Nam-Gyu behind at eleven, alone in that house with the worst parts of their family.

The reason? The breaking point for the only savior Nam-Gyu had ever known?

Mom got pregnant again.

With Ji-Ho.

Nam-Gyu still remembered that night. The night Hak-Kun found out. The way he laughed—not in amusement, but in disbelief, in something dark.

"She’s bringing another kid into this house?" he had muttered, shaking his head, hands clenched into fists. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Two months later, he was gone.

And Nam-Gyu? He never heard from him again.

Not a letter. Not a call. Not even a rumor.

Just gone, like he had never been there in the first place.

And the worst part?

Nam-Gyu didn’t even blame him.

If he had been sixteen with a way out? He probably would have done the same thing.

But still.

It didn’t make being left behind any easier.

And their mother?

The funniest part—the part that would almost make him laugh if it didn’t make him so fucking sick—was that she had always wanted a girl.

Spent years complaining about how she was cursed to have sons.

Said shit like, "If I had a daughter, she’d take care of me. She’d be good to me."

The irony?

She did have a daughter.

Mi-Cha.

Her first kid. The one she had at fourteen years old.

The one who had been sent away before Nam-Gyu was even born.

The only thing he knew about her was that she had gone to live with their grandparents in another city.

Other than that?

Nothing.

No face to put to the name. No voice to remember. No stories to cling to.

Just a sibling who existed somewhere—a ghost of the family he never really had.

And maybe that was for the best.

Because if she had stayed, if she had been raised in this house, with this mother?

She would have ended up running away too.

Just like Hak-Kun.

Just like everyone who was smart enough to leave before this place could finish swallowing them whole.

“Fine.” Nam-Gyu stared blankly at the road ahead, fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel. “I’ll see what she wants.”

Ji-Ho’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide with surprise. “Wait… seriously?”

Nam-Gyu took another bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly before responding. “Not for her. For you.”

Ji-Ho hesitated, his expression shifting. “Hyung… you really don’t have to.” His voice was quieter now, edged with worry.

Nam-Gyu exhaled through his nose, swallowing the bite before side-eyeing him.

“I know.”

And he did. He knew he didn’t owe that woman a single second of his life. He knew whatever bullshit she wanted to spew at him wasn’t worth the headache.

But he also knew Ji-Ho was the one stuck here.

Ji-Ho was the one who had to deal with her every day.

And Nam-Gyu always told himself that, when it came to Ji-Ho, he would try to be what Hak-Kun had been for him.

So if sitting through a conversation he didn’t want to have meant their mother would get off Ji-Ho’s back for a little while?

Then, fine.

He could handle it.

Nam-Gyu sighed, finishing the last of his sandwich before crumpling the wrapper and tossing it onto the dashboard.

“I don’t want her bitching at you more,” he muttered, voice casual, like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s okay.”

Ji-Ho didn’t look convinced.

But after a second, he just exhaled and leaned back in his seat. “…Okay.”

Neither of them spoke for a while after that.

Outside, the streetlights flickered against the pavement, casting long shadows as the city stretched out ahead of them.

Nam-Gyu tightened his grip on the wheel, jaw tense.

Yeah.

This was gonna suck.

Now, all that was left to do was wait.

Wait for his mother to drag herself home from whatever club she was working at now—probably reeking of cheap perfume, cigarette smoke, and regret she’d never admit to.

Nam-Gyu leaned back against the car seat, exhaling slowly through his nose.

He fucking hated waiting.

Because waiting meant thinking.

And thinking meant remembering.

He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, gaze locked on the cracked pavement outside, the dim glow of the porch light barely cutting through the darkness.

The house looked even shittier at night.

Like something that should’ve been abandoned years ago—except it wasn’t, because his mother was too fucking stubborn to leave.

Or maybe she just had nowhere better to go.

Not that it mattered.

None of this was his problem anymore.

Except, somehow, it still was.

Nam-Gyu ran a hand through his hair, already regretting agreeing to this.

But if it got her off Ji-Ho’s back…

Then, fine.

He could handle one more conversation.

Even if he already knew it wouldn’t change a damn thing.

“So, uh…” Ji-Ho shifted in his seat, clearly trying to fill the silence. “How’s being sober going?”

Nam-Gyu huffed a quiet laugh, tilting his head back against the headrest. “Most likely trying to change the topic, huh?”

Ji-Ho shrugged, not even trying to deny it. “I mean… kinda.”

Nam-Gyu glanced at him, debating how honest he wanted to be.

The truth? It sucked.

The cravings hadn’t completely left. Some days were worse than others. Some nights, he’d catch himself gripping a pack of cigarettes a little too tightly, wishing it was something stronger.

And then there were the other parts of it. The parts no one warns you about.

Like how suddenly, he had to actually deal with shit. Feel shit.

How every old wound—every scar, every fucked-up thing he used to numb out—was still there, waiting for him.

But Ji-Ho didn’t need to hear all that.

So instead, Nam-Gyu just exhaled, stretching his legs out slightly. “It’s… going.”

Ji-Ho raised an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “Nah. Not bad. Just—” He rolled his shoulders. “Weird.”

Ji-Ho nodded, like he got it. “Still, I guess it’s better than, y’know… before.”

Nam-Gyu’s smirk faded slightly. “Yeah,” he said, quieter this time. “Guess so.”

A beat of silence.

Then Ji-Ho, voice softer, “I’m glad you’re still here.”

Nam-Gyu stilled.

Something in his chest tightened, just for a second, before he forced himself to breathe through it.

He didn’t respond right away.

Just glanced out the window, fingers tapping against his knee.

“…Yeah,” he muttered finally. “Me too.”

And for the first time in a while, he actually meant it.

“Umm… make any new friends?” Ji-Ho asked, flashing a small smile.

Nam-Gyu shot him a look. “What’s with the interview questions?”

Ji-Ho lifted his hands in mock innocence. “What? I’m just trying to catch up. You never tell me anything.”

Nam-Gyu exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He tapped his fingers against the wheel, thinking for a second. “I guess… yeah. A few.”

Ji-Ho blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. “Why do you sound so shocked?”

Ji-Ho snorted. “I dunno, man. You’ve never exactly been Mr. Social Butterfly.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “I go to those meetings, remember? You talk to the same people enough times, and eventually, they either become your friends or your worst enemies.”

Ji-Ho smirked. “And which one are they?”

Nam-Gyu huffed a laugh, leaning back against the seat. “Jury’s still out.”

Ji-Ho tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “Mmm, I feel like there’s someone in particular you’re not talking about.”

Nam-Gyu stilled for half a second before masking it with a sip of his drink. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Ji-Ho grinned. “Ohhh, okay. So there is someone.”

Nam-Gyu gave him a look. “Ji-Ho.”

“I knew it.”

“Ji-Ho.”

“Is it a guy?”

Nam-Gyu groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Drop it.”

Ji-Ho just smirked, leaning back in satisfaction. “Yeah, okay. But I know I’m right.”

Nam-Gyu sighed, shaking his head.

This little shit was too observant for his own good.

Silence hung in the air for a few seconds before Ji-Ho leaned forward, his grin widening as he nudged Nam-Gyu with his elbow.

“Oh, come on! Just tell me a name!” His voice was full of playful insistence, but the curiosity in his eyes was sharp, too focused.

Nam-Gyu exhaled through his nose, tilting his head back against the couch. “You can be really annoying, you know that?” His tone was dry, but the corner of his mouth twitched—just slightly.

Ji-Ho smirked, seeing right through him. “Yeah, yeah. But I’m your annoying little brother, so you have to tell me.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, staring up at the ceiling, fingers drumming against his thigh. The weight of the question settled over him heavier than he expected.

He could say a name.

He could give Ji-Ho something.

But the truth?

Saying it out loud felt… dangerous.

Like it would make everything real.

What happened if he told Ji-Ho the name of the guy he was in love with?

Would Ji-Ho tease him? Would he get it? Would it make things complicated?

Would it make Nam-Gyu admit it to himself?

Before he could overthink it any further—

“Pleaseeeee!!!” Ji-Ho begged, shaking his arm like a child throwing a tantrum.

Nam-Gyu let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “God, you’re so dramatic.”

Ji-Ho beamed. “And yet, here you are, still not answering.”

Nam-Gyu smirked slightly, but his stomach twisted.

Because for once?

He wasn’t sure if he could.

“I—”

Right as Nam-Gyu was about to answer, just as the words almost slipped past his lips—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Sharp. Rhythmic. Impatient.

His stomach dropped.

Fuck.

His entire body tensed, instincts kicking in before his brain even caught up. His hand twitched toward the door handle, ready to move, ready to react.

Ji-Ho stiffened beside him. “Uh… were you expecting someone?”

Nam-Gyu didn’t answer.

Didn’t breathe.

Instead, he turned his head toward the window, his pulse pounding loud in his ears.

And then he saw her.

Through the glass, dimly lit by the flickering streetlamp—

Their mother.

Her makeup was smudged, her lipstick faded at the edges like she’d been drinking. She was wrapped in an old jacket, her hair slightly disheveled, her eyes sharp, too awake for this hour.

She lifted a cigarette to her lips, exhaling a slow drag before tapping her knuckles against the window again.

Knock. Knock.

A slow smirk curled at the edge of her lips.

Nam-Gyu felt Ji-Ho shrink slightly beside him, shoulders drawing inward, but he didn’t look away.

Didn’t blink.

Because in that moment, with her standing right there, watching them—

Every fucking instinct in his body told him the same thing.

This was not going to end well.

---

Somehow—some-fucking-how—they had ended up back in the one place Nam-Gyu swore he’d never step foot in again.

The house.

The house that smelled like stale cigarettes and bad memories. The house that had never been a home, just a place filled with fights, silence, and the lingering scent of booze no matter how many windows were cracked open.

And the worst part?

He was standing face-to-face with the one person he had spent years running from.

His mother.

The woman who made his childhood a living hell. The woman who never protected him, never gave a shit unless it was about herself. The woman he had cut out of his life the moment he turned eighteen and packed his bags to crash on a friend’s couch—never looking back, never answering her calls, never giving her a chance to sink her claws into him again.

And yet, here he was.

Back in her space.

In her world.

The only difference?

This time, he wasn’t a scared kid.

This time, he wasn’t going to let her control the conversation.

Nam-Gyu crossed his arms, keeping his expression neutral, refusing to let her see even a flicker of emotion on his face.

“So?” he said, voice flat. “You wanted to talk. Talk.”

His mother smirked, leaning back against the wall, cigarette dangling between her fingers. Her eyes flickered over him like she was studying a stranger, trying to place him.

“You got taller,” she murmured, voice smooth, almost amused.

Nam-Gyu clenched his jaw. “And you got older. What’s your point?”

Her lips twitched, a slow, knowing smirk stretching across her face.

And in that moment, Nam-Gyu knew—

This wasn’t going to be a conversation.

This was going to be a fucking game.

And she was already playing.

Nam-Gyu didn’t move. Didn’t react. Didn’t let the slow smirk curling at his mother’s lips dig under his skin the way she wanted it to.

He knew this game.

He had played it his entire childhood.

And now? He was too fucking old to let her win.

His mother took a long drag from her cigarette, exhaling slowly before tilting her head. “You got a sharp tongue now, huh? Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Always had a mouth on you.”

Nam-Gyu huffed out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, you always had a habit of trying to shut me up.”

Her smirk didn’t falter, but there was something colder in her expression now. Like she wasn’t expecting him to bite back so quickly.

She flicked the ashes onto the floor, not bothering to look where they landed. “So, what? You finally decided to stop pretending you don’t have a mother?”

Nam-Gyu’s fingers twitched.

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets before they curled into fists. “Ji-Ho said you wanted to talk. That’s the only reason I’m here. So just fucking say whatever you have to say so I can leave.”

His mother clicked her tongue, shaking her head like he was some disappointment. Like he was still that kid begging for something—anything—she was never going to give.

“You always were impatient,” she muttered, before finally really looking at him.

And when she spoke again, her voice was something different. Something he didn’t trust.

“I need money.”

Nam-Gyu almost laughed.

Almost.

Of fucking course she did.

He let the silence hang between them for a moment before scoffing, shaking his head. “Yeah. No shit.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but her smirk didn’t drop. “So? You gonna help out your dear mother?”

Nam-Gyu let out a slow breath, tilting his head slightly. “Let me get this straight.” He held up a hand, voice dripping with mock patience. “You have never given a single shit about me. You beat the hell out of me whenever you felt like it. You let Do-Yun and Dad do whatever the fuck they wanted to me. And now—now—you want money?”

He let out a humorless laugh. “Bitch, be for real.”

Her smirk finally cracked.

And Nam-Gyu?

He smiled.

It was small, sharp, victorious.

Because for the first time, she wasn’t the one controlling the conversation.

He was.

Ji-Ho shifted beside him, tense and too quiet, but Nam-Gyu didn’t take his eyes off her.

Because this?

This was the moment he had been running from since he was eighteen.

And now that he was standing here?

He was done being afraid.

Her face twisted, something ugly and feral, as if she could barely contain the rage burning through her.

“You were always a fuck-up fag!” she spat, her voice shaking with venom.

Ji-Ho flinched beside him.

Nam-Gyu didn’t.

He just stared at her, his expression blank, unreadable, while she shoved herself up from her seat, jabbing a finger at him like she thought she could control this conversation.

“And you—” she snarled, stepping closer like she could loom over him, like she could still make him feel small. “You’re the reason your father left! You ruined this family!”

Nam-Gyu exhaled slowly, tilting his head, his face betraying nothing. “Damn,” he said flatly. “I didn’t realize I had that much power.”

She stumbled for a second, caught off guard.

But then, just as quickly, she dug her heels in, the anger boiling over in her eyes.

Her lips curled in disgust. “You think this is funny?” she hissed. “You ruined my life! You’re the reason everything went to shit!”

Nam-Gyu scoffed. “Me?” He pointed to himself, feigning disbelief. “Oh, right. A ten-year-old child—so fucking powerful he destroyed his mother’s entire world.”

She shook, her fingers twitching, like she was fighting the urge to slap him.

Nam-Gyu almost wished she would.

Because this time?

He wouldn’t just stand there and take it.

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, forcing her to tilt her chin up to keep glaring at him.

“You wanna know why your life is shit?” His voice was quiet now, sharp enough to cut. “Because you made it that way. Not me. Not Ji-Ho. Not Dad. You.”

Her nostrils flared. “Your father would’ve stayed if it wasn’t for you—”

Nam-Gyu laughed.

Cold. Detached.

“That deadbeat?” He shook his head, letting out a low chuckle. “Yeah, sure. He totally would’ve been father of the year if I hadn’t been born.” His smirk dropped, voice flattening. “You’re delusional.”

She took a step forward like she wanted to strike him, but Nam-Gyu didn’t flinch.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t give her an inch.

“You think I wanted you?!” she spat, her voice cracking now, the rage and something else—something desperate—spilling over.

Nam-Gyu’s smirk returned. “No,” he said easily. “I don’t think that. I know it.”

Her whole body shook.

Ji-Ho tensed beside him, looking like he wanted to shrink into himself, his fingers curling into his hoodie sleeves. But Nam-Gyu didn’t look away from her.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t let her win.

For the first time ever—she had nothing to say.

And Nam-Gyu?

He smiled.

Because this was the moment he had been running from since he was eighteen.

And now? He was done running.

“You’ve got nothing left, do you?” he murmured. “No one to blame but yourself. Must be fucking exhausting.”

Her jaw clenched, her nails digging into her own palms. “You—”

“No, you listen.” Nam-Gyu cut her off, stepping even closer, lowering his voice to something dangerous.

“You can say whatever the fuck you want.” His words were slow, deliberate, sharp. “Call me whatever makes you feel better about being a miserable fucking failure.”

She trembled.

But Nam-Gyu wasn’t finished.

“But don’t you ever—” his voice dropped lower, deadly—“think for a fucking second that your failures are my fault.”

She stood there, seething, but Nam-Gyu had already won.

Because she couldn’t even deny it.

He saw it in her face.

In the way she wanted so badly to throw another insult, another accusation—anything to keep the power over him.

But there was nothing left for her to take.

Ji-Ho was the first to speak, his voice quiet but firm.

“Let’s go.”

Nam-Gyu glanced at him.

Ji-Ho looked tired. But there was something else there too—something Nam-Gyu hadn’t seen before.

Maybe it was relief. Maybe it was just realization.

Either way, Nam-Gyu nodded.

Without another word, he turned on his heel, heading straight for the door. Ji-Ho followed quickly behind him.

He didn’t look back.

Didn’t need to.

Because whatever she screamed after them? Whatever bullshit she tried to throw at his back?

It didn’t fucking matter.

Because he was done.

Because he won.

And because, for the first time since he was a kid—

He didn’t feel like he owed her a single fucking thing.

Walking out of the house was nice, the cold air hitting Nam-Gyu’s face, sharp and crisp, but before he could really enjoy it, Do-Yun’s voice rang through his ears like a jarring chord. "The fuck you going?"

Nam-Gyu turned quickly to see Do-Yun grabbing Ji-Ho’s arm, yanking him back toward the house with a force that made Ji-Ho stumble.

And that… that pissed him the fuck off.

He was gonna kill this asshole.

"Get your hands off him!" Nam-Gyu’s voice was louder now, fury rising inside him like a wave. His fists clenched, ready to lash out, but just as he made a move, Ji-Ho stopped him.

“Please,” Ji-Ho whimpered, his eyes wide with fear. His voice cracked, breaking Nam-Gyu’s resolve. “Just go. I’ll be fine.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Ji-Ho looked so small, so fragile in that moment, his usual confidence gone, replaced with something worse—something that made Nam-Gyu’s blood boil.

“Don’t fucking tell me to go,” Nam-Gyu spat, his steps quickening, his anger flaring up again. He could feel the adrenaline surge, his body already preparing to take down Do-Yun with everything he had.

But Ji-Ho’s hand shot out, shaking, stopping him in his tracks.

"Please," Ji-Ho whispered, his voice barely audible now, pleading, desperate. “I’ll be fine. Just… please.” His eyes weren’t just scared—they were shattered. Every word from him felt like it was tearing Nam-Gyu’s heart in two.

Nam-Gyu’s gaze flickered between the two of them. Do-Yun’s smirk was too familiar. That cocky, dismissive look as if nothing mattered—like Ji-Ho was nothing more than a possession to him. Nam-Gyu’s fists clenched tighter, the urge to strike building again. But he knew… Ji-Ho needed him to back off.

Ji-Ho’s lips quivered, his face pale, as if he was battling a storm of emotions. He was trying to protect him, Nam-Gyu realized, trying to keep him safe by not escalating things further. But how could he just stand there, let that piece of shit do whatever he wanted?

“You think you’re tough, huh?” Do-Yun sneered, a low laugh escaping him as he twisted Ji-Ho’s arm just a little more. “Get the fuck outta here, before I make you.”

Nam-Gyu took a step forward but froze when Ji-Ho made a quick motion—just a slight shake of his head. Nam-Gyu’s heart stuttered. He knew that look. It wasn’t just fear. It was something else. Something that told him to leave—to walk away and give Ji-Ho the space to handle it on his own, even if it meant swallowing every instinct screaming at him to act.

“Ji-Ho…” Nam-Gyu said, voice rough. His gaze softened. “I’m not leaving you with him. Not like this.”

Ji-Ho finally met his eyes, and for a split second, Nam-Gyu saw the weight of everything. The uncertainty, the fear, the pain. But there was also something else. Resignation. Acceptance. Maybe it was hopelessness. Maybe he thought he couldn’t be saved.

"I’m fine," Ji-Ho said again, the words so small, so fragile. "Please, just go."

Nam-Gyu’s throat tightened, every muscle in his body screaming for him to stay, to fight, but he saw the tear welling up in Ji-Ho’s eye, and it shattered him. He didn’t want to be the cause of more pain. Not to Ji-Ho. Not to anyone.

Do-Yun’s laugh cut through the tension, loud and mocking. “You hear that? He’s fine. Now fuck off.”

With one last, lingering look at Ji-Ho, Nam-Gyu turned. It was like his feet were made of stone, the weight of his decision heavy with every step he took. But he walked, even as every part of him screamed to go back, to fix this, to take care of Ji-Ho, the way he always should’ve.

But Ji-Ho had asked him to go. And somehow, in that moment, that was all he could do.

It felt fucking wrong—turning around, walking away from Ji-Ho, hearing the door slam behind him with a finality that echoed in his chest. The cold night air that had once been refreshing now felt suffocating, as if it was closing in on him, pressing in from all sides. His breath came out in shaky clouds, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. He hated to admit it, but after everything that had just happened, the anger, the helplessness—it all felt like it was draining out of him, leaving nothing but this hollow emptiness. He felt sick. Tired. He wanted to scream, to punch something, but there was this weight in him, a pressure that made him want to curl up and break down.

But he couldn't. Not now. Not like this.

He shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, fighting the urge to cry. He couldn’t let himself. Not in public, not in front of anyone. He had to keep it together. He had to drive home. His hands clenched the steering wheel with white knuckles as he got into his car, but it was like they were numb. Everything felt numb.

The engine roared to life, the sound too loud, too real, cutting through the silence in a way that felt invasive. He slammed the gearshift into drive, but his mind kept circling back to Ji-Ho—his face, the look in his eyes when he said, Please, just go. That fucking look—like he’d just ripped a piece of himself out and handed it over, asking for nothing in return.

Nam-Gyu gripped the wheel harder, his jaw tight. He couldn't shake the image of Do-Yun’s hand on Ji-Ho, the way he’d pulled him around like he was some fucking ragdoll. He hated it. Hated himself for not doing more. For listening. For leaving.

The cold air from the open window cut through the car, but it did nothing to soothe the fire burning in his chest. The guilt. The anger. The helplessness. It was all consuming, and it made the drive feel longer than it should.

He kept his eyes on the road, forcing the tears back, swallowing them down, even though every part of him screamed for release. But he couldn’t. He wouldn't.

Not yet.

He needed to think of a way to get Ji-Ho out of that house. But as the thought settled in his mind, the cold, harsh reality hit him like a freight train. No judge in their right mind would let someone like him—someone with a criminal record as long as his—take care of a 15-year-old. Not after everything. Not after the last four and a half months of sobriety that still felt so fragile, like the faintest touch would shatter it.

His past wasn’t something he could hide. It was there, a constant weight on his shoulders, in the form of a long list of offenses: driving under the influence, drug possession, larceny-theft, disorderly conduct—and that was just scratching the surface. The truth was, the list could go on for pages, and half of it was a blur. He didn’t even remember most of it. The blackouts, the days lost to whatever was in his veins, the moments where he’d wake up in a place he didn’t recognize and wonder how the hell he got there. That was his reality. And now, here he was—trying to be a better man, trying to fix everything that was broken inside him, but how the hell could he fix this?

How could he fix Ji-Ho?

Every time he thought of it, of seeing Ji-Ho, one of the nicest, sweetest people he’d ever met, living under that roof with someone like Do-Yun—his blood boiled. It felt like a betrayal of the worst kind. And yet, what could he do? How could he fight for Ji-Ho when the truth of his own failures hung over him like a storm cloud, blocking out any hope of doing what was right?

It wasn’t just that he didn’t think he could win. It was the sinking feeling that, deep down, he wasn’t good enough to protect Ji-Ho. That maybe Ji-Ho deserved better than someone like him. Someone with a history like his.

And the worst part? Watching Ji-Ho suffer like this, seeing the pain in his eyes, knowing there was nothing he could do—it made him feel like he was failing in the most fundamental way.

He should be able to do something. He should be able to stand up and fight for him, for Ji-Ho’s safety, his happiness, his future. But with every step forward, Nam-Gyu couldn’t shake the feeling that he was only ever two steps behind.

He wasn’t good enough. He didn’t deserve to be the one to save Ji-Ho.

He wasn’t Hak-Kun. He could never be. And maybe that was why this whole fucking situation hurt so much. Hak-Kun was the kind of brother Nam-Gyu had always wanted to be—a steady force, someone Ji-Ho could rely on without question. But Nam-Gyu? He wasn’t that guy. He never had been.

He loved Ji-Ho, god did he love him, but love wasn’t enough. Not now. He wasn’t strong enough to fix this, to protect him the way he should’ve. And that realization, that painful truth, shattered him.

It broke him. It made him feel so fucking small.

Before he knew it, the familiar streets blurred past him, the headlights flashing over them as his car made a sharp turn. The road ahead was unfamiliar, a dark path that didn’t lead anywhere he was supposed to go, but it didn’t matter. His mind was racing, thoughts swirling like a storm, and he needed something. Anything.

He needed time to think, time to breathe.

It was late, too late for anyone to be out driving, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t go home, not yet, not when everything felt like it was falling apart.

His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles tight, as he let the car take him where it would.

The truth was, he couldn’t go back to the emptiness of his apartment. He couldn’t sit there alone, surrounded by silence, with only his thoughts to keep him company. The weight of everything—of Ji-Ho’s situation, of his own failures, of the constant battle to stay sober—was crushing. It felt like the walls were closing in on him, and every breath he took only made it worse.

So, he kept driving.

The road twisted and turned beneath the tires, the headlights cutting through the darkness as if trying to guide him somewhere, anywhere but back home. His hands gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded, but his mind was far away—lost in the chaos inside him. His heart pounded in his chest, every beat a reminder of how much he was losing control.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something, anything, just to feel like he had some release, some way to rid himself of the pressure building inside. But there was no outlet, no escape. All he had were these empty roads and the sound of his own thoughts drowning him.

And then it hit him—the only place that made any sense, the only person who might understand the storm inside him. Thanos.

The thought of him was like a lifeline, something to hold on to when everything else felt too heavy to bear. He wasn’t looking for answers. He wasn’t looking for someone to fix him. He didn’t even know if Thanos had the answers to anything. He just needed… someone. Someone to stand there, to witness all this pain without judgment. Someone who could help him breathe again.

It wasn’t a decision he made consciously. His car had already turned onto the familiar street, already pulling up outside the apartment, before he even realized it. His feet weren’t in control anymore. His body had already made the choice, and it didn’t matter that it was late or that he had no idea how Thanos would react. It didn’t matter if it was the right thing to do.

All that mattered was that Thanos was there. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

The car came to a stop, the engine’s hum fading into the stillness of the night. Nam-Gyu sat there for a moment, staring at the building in front of him, as if gathering himself before stepping into the unknown.

He didn’t have the energy to knock. He didn’t have the patience to wait for permission. He needed to be inside. He needed the space to breathe, even if it was just for a few minutes. Without thinking, he killed the engine, grabbed his jacket, and stepped out of the car. His legs felt heavy, like they were fighting against him, but he pushed forward anyway, his steps quickening with each moment.

By the time he reached the door, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Like it was just him and Thanos. Nothing else mattered.

Nam-Gyu paused at the door, his hand hovering above the handle, and suddenly a heavy weight settled on his chest. He was so lost in his own head that he hadn’t even considered how much Thanos might be dealing with. The tension in their interactions, the unsaid words, the way Mi-Na had joked about their “will-they-won’t-they” dynamic. Even if Thanos didn’t say it outright, Nam-Gyu could feel it—the stress, the unspoken pressure that seemed to hang between them.

He didn’t want to add to it. Didn’t want to be one more thing to complicate things for Thanos.

Taking a deep breath, Nam-Gyu stopped himself from knocking, his mind racing. He didn’t want to barge in on Thanos unannounced. He needed to be careful. Instead of doing something impulsive, something that might just make things worse, he pulled out his phone, his fingers moving automatically as he searched for Thanos’s contact.

He hovered for a moment, debating whether to call. But in the end, he pressed the button anyway, his thumb shaking just slightly as he waited. He needed something—some sort of connection, even if just for a moment.

The phone rang for a few seconds, each one seeming to drag on longer than the last. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, a mix of nervousness and desperation. Was this a mistake? Would Thanos even pick up?

And then, just as his thoughts were threatening to spiral out of control, the phone clicked.

“Hello…?” Thanos’s voice was groggy, low, as if he’d been pulled from sleep or deep thought. But there was a clarity in it too, the kind of clarity that made Nam-Gyu’s stomach tighten.

Notes:

I wrote this one out faster than I thought I would

Chapter 10: Doom!!!

Notes:

Woahhh ten chapters!

“Do you, uh… want something to drink?” Thanos asked, his voice softer than usual as he stood in front of the open fridge.

The dim light from inside flickered against his hands as he scanned the shelves—random energy drinks, the occasional juice or soda, and a bottle of water he was pretty sure had been sitting there for way too long.

No answer.

He glanced over his shoulder.

Nam-Gyu hadn’t moved much since coming in.

He was still sitting on the couch, back slouched, hands resting limply in his lap. His shoulders rose and fell with slow, uneven breaths. His face was turned slightly away, but even from here, Thanos could see the way his eyes were glazed over, unfocused, as if he was somewhere else.

The only sign of movement was the slow, silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

Thanos’s stomach twisted.

He wasn’t good at this.

At the whole comforting people thing. At knowing the right words, the right actions. Normally, he’d crack a joke, say something to break the tension, distract them until things didn’t feel so fucking heavy.

But right now?

That didn’t feel like the move.

With a quiet sigh, he grabbed two random drinks—one juice, one energy drink—before closing the fridge and walking over to the couch.

He sat down next to Nam-Gyu, not too close, not too far, and placed the drinks on the coffee table in front of them.

“Dunno what you’re in the mood for,” Thanos said casually, leaning back, trying to keep his voice light. “But pick your poison.”

Still, Nam-Gyu didn’t answer.

Didn’t even acknowledge him.

Thanos exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face before finally breaking the silence.

“You, uh…” He hesitated, tapping his fingers against his knee. “You wanna talk about it?”

For a long moment, Nam-Gyu didn’t move.

Then, finally—

A small, shaky inhale.

“…I don’t know,” Nam-Gyu admitted, his voice raw, barely above a whisper.

Thanos nodded slowly. “That’s cool. You don’t have to.”

Another silence.

Then—

Nam-Gyu finally blinked, shifting just slightly, like he was trying to pull himself out of whatever hole he was sinking into.

His hands curled into the fabric of his jeans, voice quiet but firm.

“But… can I just be here for a while?”

Thanos swallowed, feeling something tighten in his chest.

He nodded. “Yeah, man. Of course.”

No more words were needed.

They just sat there, the sound of the fridge humming softly in the background, the weight of the night settling around them.

And for now?

That was enough.

Sitting here, in the dim quiet of his apartment, Thanos realized just how fucking tired he was.

Not just physically—though, yeah, he was running on fumes at this point—but mentally. Emotionally. The kind of exhaustion that settled into his bones, pressing into his chest like a weighted blanket he couldn't shake off.

Everything about today had been too much.

Too much talking. Too much thinking. Too much feeling.

His body felt heavy, like every ounce of energy had been wrung out of him, leaving nothing but sluggish limbs and the distant hum of thoughts that refused to settle.

Without thinking, he let out a long yawn, stretching slightly before slumping deeper into the couch. His body moved on instinct, head tilting to the side until it found something warm, solid—

Nam-Gyu.

For a split second, Nam-Gyu tensed under the sudden weight, his breath hitching like he wasn’t sure if he should move.

Then, slowly, carefully—he relaxed.

An arm wrapped around Thanos’s shoulder, warm and steady. A silent, unspoken permission.

Thanos barely registered it, too far gone in exhaustion to care about anything beyond the comfort it provided.

The room felt still, wrapped in the quiet hum of the city outside, the distant tick of the clock on the wall. It should’ve felt awkward, maybe even tense, but it didn’t.

It felt… nice.

Safe.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

And then—out of nowhere, voice thick with sleep—Thanos mumbled,

“I adopted a cat today…”

Nam-Gyu blinked.

“…What?”

Thanos shifted slightly, pressing his face further into the soft fabric of Nam-Gyu’s hoodie. “Doom.”

Nam-Gyu frowned slightly, looking down at him. “Doom?”

“Mm. That’s her name.” Thanos yawned again, his body sinking even further into the couch. “She’s got these huge-ass bug eyes. It’s sick.”

Nam-Gyu stared at him, lips parting slightly in pure disbelief.

“You—” He scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re literally falling asleep on me right now, and that’s what you choose to bring up?”

Thanos just hummed, clearly seconds from passing out. “She’s gonna be a menace… Fits the vibe, y’know?”

Nam-Gyu let out a small, incredulous laugh. “Unbelievable.”

He should’ve pushed Thanos off. Teased him for being a clingy, exhausted mess. But instead…

Instead, he just exhaled, allowing the warmth to settle between them.

His arm—on its own—tightened slightly around Thanos’s shoulders, pulling him in just a little closer.

“…Yeah,” Nam-Gyu murmured, his voice softer than before. “I bet she does.”

And for the first time that night, something in Nam-Gyu’s chest felt just a little lighter.

Right before sleep fully pulled him under, Thanos mumbled one last thing, voice barely above a whisper.

“…You don’t have to tell me shit…”

His breath was slow, heavy, his body completely slack against Nam-Gyu’s side. His fingers twitched slightly where they rested on his lap, like he was fighting off sleep just long enough to say this.

Nam-Gyu stayed still, not even sure if Thanos was aware he was still talking.

Then—

“…But I’m here, Nam-Gyu…”

It was so quiet. Soft. Words drenched in exhaustion but still honest.

Nam-Gyu’s throat tightened.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone said something like that to him. Not just empty words, not just something people said because it was the right thing to say—but something real. Something that didn’t ask for anything in return.

Something that didn’t expect him to talk.

Didn’t expect him to be okay.

Just… an offer.

A presence.

Thanos wasn’t even awake enough to realize what he’d said. His breathing had already deepened, slow and steady, his entire body completely at ease.

Nam-Gyu swallowed thickly, his grip unconsciously tightening around Thanos’s shoulder for just a second before he let out a slow breath.

“…Yeah,” he murmured, voice so quiet it barely escaped past his lips.

Then, softer—

“I know.”

And for the first time in a long time, Nam-Gyu didn’t feel so fucking alone.

---

Thanos stirred at the shrill sound of his alarm, groaning into the fabric beneath his cheek.

“Uggggh.”

He really didn’t wanna get up.

He was warm. Comfortable in a way that felt rare, like his body had finally figured out how to relax for once. His limbs were heavy, weighted by sleep, and for a second, he considered just letting the alarm ring forever.

Before he could make that executive decision, a quiet voice broke through his half-conscious haze.

“Sorry,” Nam-Gyu murmured. “I moved your head to my lap so your neck wouldn’t hurt.”

Thanos let out a low, half-asleep hum, his brows furrowing slightly as a hand—warm, gentle—drifted through his hair.

Fingers.

Running through his fucking hair.

Slow, rhythmic.

His brain was too fogged with sleep to process the fact that this was new. That this was something he would normally make a comment about, something he’d tease Nam-Gyu for until he got a reaction.

But right now?

Right now, all his sleep-addled brain could think was—

Mhmm. That’s nice…

Wait.

Did he just say that out loud?

A soft chuckle came from above him, and yeah, fuck, he definitely said it out loud.

Thanos forced his eyes open, squinting against the dim morning light filtering through the curtains.

Nam-Gyu was looking down at him, the ghost of a smile on his lips, but his eyes were still red-rimmed, tired in a way that even sleep hadn’t fixed.

And yet—

He was here.

Still here.

Still absentmindedly running his fingers through Thanos’s hair, like it was natural. Like it wasn’t something weird or something to overthink.

Thanos blinked up at him, brain still sluggish, and murmured the first thing that came to mind.

“…This is some real boyfriend shit, dude.”

Nam-Gyu snorted, but didn’t stop his movements. “Shut up.”

Thanos smirked sleepily. “Make me.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but gave his hair a quick ruffle, making it even more of a mess before pulling his hand away.

“There. Consider yourself made.”

Thanos groaned, finally actually forcing himself to sit up, stretching his arms over his head. “Ugh. Remind me to never fall asleep like that again.”

Nam-Gyu quirked an eyebrow. “Why?”

Thanos rubbed his face, yawning. “Because now I’m never gonna wanna wake up unless someone’s playing with my hair.”

Nam-Gyu huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Tragic.”

Thanos shot him a sleepy grin. “Guess that means you’re stuck with the job now.”

Nam-Gyu looked at him for a second—then, with a smirk, stood up, stretching his arms.

“Nah,” he said simply, heading for the kitchen. “I think I like watching you suffer.”

Thanos groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. “You suck.”

Nam-Gyu’s voice drifted back lazily.

“You love me.”

Thanos opened his mouth to fire back some snarky comment—

But instead, he just lay there, lips pressing together as something warmer curled in his chest.

Because, yeah.

Maybe he did.

Thanos stirred at the shrill sound of his alarm, groaning into the fabric beneath his cheek.

“Uggggh.”

He really didn’t wanna get up.

He was warm. Comfortable in a way that felt rare, like his body had finally figured out how to relax for once. His limbs were heavy, weighted by sleep, and for a second, he considered just letting the alarm ring forever.

Before he could make that executive decision, a quiet voice broke through his half-conscious haze.

“Sorry,” Nam-Gyu murmured. “I moved your head to my lap so your neck wouldn’t hurt.”

Thanos let out a low, half-asleep hum, his brows furrowing slightly as a hand—warm, gentle—drifted through his hair.

Fingers.

Running through his fucking hair.

Slow, rhythmic.

His brain was too fogged with sleep to process the fact that this was new. That this was something he would normally make a comment about, something he’d tease Nam-Gyu for until he got a reaction.

But right now?

Right now, all his sleep-addled brain could think was—

Mhmm. That’s nice…

Wait.

Did he just say that out loud?

A soft chuckle came from above him, and yeah, fuck, he definitely said it out loud.

Thanos forced his eyes open, squinting against the dim morning light filtering through the curtains.

Nam-Gyu was looking down at him, the ghost of a smile on his lips, but his eyes were still red-rimmed, tired in a way that even sleep hadn’t fixed.

And yet—

He was here.

Still here.

Still absentmindedly running his fingers through Thanos’s hair, like it was natural. Like it wasn’t something weird or something to overthink.

Thanos blinked up at him, brain still sluggish, and murmured the first thing that came to mind.

“…This is some real boyfriend shit, dude.”

Nam-Gyu snorted, but didn’t stop his movements. “Shut up.”

Thanos smirked sleepily. “Make me.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but gave his hair a quick ruffle, making it even more of a mess before pulling his hand away.

“There. Consider yourself made.”

Thanos groaned, finally actually forcing himself to sit up, stretching his arms over his head. “Ugh. Remind me to never fall asleep like that again.”

Nam-Gyu quirked an eyebrow. “Why?”

Thanos rubbed his face, yawning. “Because now I’m never gonna wanna wake up unless someone’s playing with my hair.”

Nam-Gyu huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Tragic.”

Thanos shot him a sleepy grin. “Guess that means you’re stuck with the job now.”

Nam-Gyu looked at him for a second—then, with a smirk, stood up, stretching his arms.

“Nah,” he said simply, heading for the kitchen. “I think I like watching you suffer.”

Thanos groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. “You suck.”

Nam-Gyu’s voice drifted back lazily.

“You love me.”

Thanos opened his mouth to fire back some snarky comment—

But instead, he just lay there, lips pressing together as something warmer curled in his chest.

Because, yeah.

He did.

“How are you feeling?”

Thanos tried to keep his voice casual, but the worry still bled through. He couldn’t help it.

Nam-Gyu showing up at his apartment at three in the morning, looking like he’d been through hell, wasn’t something he could just brush off.

He’d never seen him like that before.

And now, even with the morning light filtering through the curtains, Nam-Gyu still looked drained. Like whatever weight he’d been carrying hadn’t lifted, just settled deeper into his bones.

Nam-Gyu exhaled, leaning his elbows onto his knees. “Ehh…” His voice was soft, rough from exhaustion. “Didn’t really sleep much.”

Thanos frowned, studying him for a second. “Yeah. No shit.”

Nam-Gyu huffed a weak laugh but didn’t argue.

Thanos ran a hand through his own messy hair, trying to ignore how his stomach twisted at the sight of Nam-Gyu like this. He didn’t know what had happened exactly—Nam-Gyu hadn’t told him yet—but whatever it was, it had shaken him.

He’d seen Nam-Gyu put on a front before, crack jokes even when he was feeling like shit. But right now?

Right now, he just looked tired.

Not just physically.

Tired.

“Did you at least eat something?” Thanos asked, pushing himself up off the couch before Nam-Gyu could bullshit an answer. “Or are we adding that to today’s list of things that make me wanna shake you?”

Nam-Gyu sighed, rubbing at his temples. “I had, like… half a sandwich before I came over.”

Thanos narrowed his eyes. “What, yesterday?”

Nam-Gyu shrugged, which meant yes.

Thanos rolled his eyes, already making his way to the kitchen. “Yeah, okay. You’re eating something.”

Nam-Gyu groaned but didn’t stop him. “You don’t have to—”

“I do have to,” Thanos cut in, rummaging through his fridge. “Because if I don’t, you’re just gonna sit there looking sad and malnourished, and I can’t have that on my conscience.”

Nam-Gyu let out another small laugh—actually a little amused this time. “Sad and malnourished?”

Thanos grabbed a leftover rice bowl from the fridge and shut the door with his hip. “Yeah, dude. You got that tragic leading man in a depressing indie film vibe going on. It’s concerning.”

Nam-Gyu watched as Thanos popped the food into the microwave, his expression unreadable for a second.

Then, quietly—

“…Thanks.”

Thanos didn’t turn around right away. Just let the soft hum of the microwave fill the silence before finally responding.

“Yeah, yeah. Just eat, dumbass.”

And for once—Nam-Gyu didn’t argue.

While waiting for the microwave to ding, Nam-Gyu pushed himself up from the couch and wandered over to the kitchen island, moving like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk or just stand there in silence.

Thanos didn’t push.

He just leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching as Nam-Gyu hesitated—like he was still debating whether to say anything at all.

Then, finally—

“I… visited my little brother yesterday.”

His voice was low, almost careful, like the words were fragile. Like saying them out loud might break something.

Thanos stilled.

Not because Nam-Gyu had a little brother—he knew that much—but because this? This wasn’t something Nam-Gyu ever talked about.

And he could tell—just from the way Nam-Gyu wouldn’t look at him, just from the way his fingers curled slightly against the counter—that this wasn’t a casual yeah, I saw my brother, we caught up kind of thing.

This was something heavier.

Thanos exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. “Yeah?”

Nam-Gyu nodded but didn’t elaborate right away.

The microwave beeped, the sound cutting through the quiet tension in the room.

Neither of them moved.

Thanos wasn’t an idiot. He knew whatever happened wasn’t good. He could see it in the way Nam-Gyu’s shoulders tensed, in the way he kept his hands flat against the counter like he needed to ground himself.

So Thanos just stood there, waiting. Letting Nam-Gyu take his time.

After a long pause, Nam-Gyu sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet, a little tired. “And my mom was there.”

That was all Thanos needed to hear to know that the visit hadn’t gone well.

“…Shit.”

Nam-Gyu let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah. Shit.”

Thanos didn’t know everything about Nam-Gyu’s family, but he knew enough.

He knew his mom was not the kind of person you wanted to run into.

He knew that Nam-Gyu had spent years putting as much distance between himself and that house as possible.

And he knew—just from looking at him now—that something had happened.

Something that had fucked him up enough to make him show up at Thanos’s door at three in the morning.

Thanos grabbed the warmed-up food from the microwave, setting it in front of Nam-Gyu before leaning on the counter across from him.

“You don’t have to tell me shit,” Thanos said, voice steady. “But I’m listening if you do.”

Nam-Gyu didn’t say anything for a moment. Just stared at the food in front of him, fingers tapping lightly against the counter, thoughts clearly tangled up in his head.

Then, quietly—

“…She said it was my fault.”

Thanos’s grip on the counter tightened.

Nam-Gyu let out a soft, bitter laugh. “She said I ruined everything. That I’m the reason my dad left. That I—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Same old shit, honestly.”

Thanos felt something ugly settle in his chest, something hot and furious.

But instead of letting it boil over, instead of ripping into the things Nam-Gyu’s mother deserved to hear, he exhaled slowly, keeping his voice steady.

“That’s bullshit.”

Nam-Gyu finally met his eyes, something unreadable in his expression. “Yeah. I know.”

But the way he said it? The way his fingers curled against the edge of the counter, gripping like he was holding onto something he couldn’t let go of?

Told Thanos he didn’t really believe it.

At least, not yet.

Thanos ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “So… what’d you say?”

Nam-Gyu blinked, caught off guard by the question.

Then, slowly, a small smirk curled at his lips—tired, but still there.

“I told her she ruined her own life,” he murmured. “Told her she had no one to blame but herself.”

Thanos’s lips twitched. “Damn. Bet she loved that.”

Nam-Gyu huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, she lost her shit.”

Thanos grinned, but it softened just slightly as he studied Nam-Gyu’s face.

The exhaustion was still there, still heavy, but… there was something lighter, too. Like saying it out loud took some of the weight off.

Thanos leaned against the counter again, tapping his fingers idly against the surface.

“Good,” he muttered. “She deserved it.”

Nam-Gyu didn’t say anything right away, just sat there for a moment, staring at the food in front of him before finally picking up the chopsticks.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly.

And this time?

It sounded like he almost believed it.

Right as Thanos opened his mouth to say something else, his phone started ringing from the living room.

At first, he was just going to ignore it. Whatever it was, it could wait.

But then—

Doom.

The little bug-eyed menace flashed through his mind, and suddenly, his priorities shifted real fast.

“Shit,” he muttered, already pushing away from the counter. “Sorry, man—I’d ignore it any other day, but—”

Nam-Gyu huffed out a small laugh as Thanos dashed into the living room, practically skidding to a stop as he snatched up his phone.

Yup. Min-Su.

Which meant Doom.

Nam-Gyu shook his head, still smirking, but there was something softer in his expression now.

“It’s okay, man,” he said, amusement clear in his voice. “Go save your child.”

Thanos barely glanced back at him as he answered the call, pressing the phone to his ear.

“Yo, Min-Su—tell me my daughter is okay.”

Nam-Gyu actually laughed at that, shaking his head. “Daughter?” he muttered under his breath, still amused.

Thanos ignored him, too focused on whatever Min-Su was saying on the other end.

Nam-Gyu just leaned back against the counter, watching as Thanos’s shoulders tensed for half a second—then relaxed when, apparently, Doom was fine.

And maybe it was stupid, maybe it didn’t mean much, but…

Seeing Thanos rush to answer a phone call, just because some tiny kitten might need him?

Yeah.

That was something Nam-Gyu hadn’t expected.

And he didn’t hate it.

“Wait, really!?”

Thanos’s voice practically leaked excitement, his whole body perking up as he pressed the phone tighter against his ear.

“Fuck yeah!”

Without thinking, he pumped his fist in the air like he had just won the lottery.

It wasn’t until he turned his head—ready to share his victory with literally anyone—that he noticed Nam-Gyu watching him from the kitchen, one eyebrow raised, a very amused smile tugging at his lips.

And that’s when Thanos realized.

He had just fist-pumped.

Over a cat.

In front of Nam-Gyu.

His face flushed instantly, heat crawling up his neck like a slow, humiliating burn.

He cleared his throat, immediately trying to play it off like he wasn’t just having a full-body reaction to kitten-related news.

“Uh—” He turned his back slightly, facing the wall like that would somehow erase what just happened. “I mean, yeah, cool. That’s, uh, that’s great.”

He winced at himself.

Yeah. Super smooth.

From behind him, Nam-Gyu chuckled, the warmth in his voice making Thanos’s blush somehow worse.

“You’re so fucking cute when you’re not trying to be,” Nam-Gyu teased, his tone way too casual as he took a sip of his drink.

Thanos’s soul left his body.

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbled, gripping his phone tighter as Min-Su’s voice kept going on the other end of the call—completely unaware that Thanos was currently fighting for his life.

Nam-Gyu just smirked. “Not my fault you’re embarrassing yourself.”

Thanos hated him.

He really, really did.

And the worst part?

Nam-Gyu wasn’t even wrong.

"You suck—" Thanos snapped, still reeling from humiliation overload before suddenly remembering—

"Oh shit, sorry, Min-Su!"

On the other end of the line, there was a pause. Then, a very unimpressed, "What?"

Thanos cleared his throat, running a hand down his face like that would somehow erase his own stupidity. "Uh—yeah. I’ll be there soon."

Another beat of silence.

Then—

"Are you fighting someone right now?" Min-Su asked, his voice flat, like this was not at all outside the realm of possibility.

Thanos groaned. "No, dude. Just—I'll explain later."

"*Mhm.**" Min-Su sounded deeply unconvinced but let it go. "Just don’t take forever."

“Yeah, yeah,” Thanos muttered before quickly hanging up.

He turned back to Nam-Gyu—who was still smirking, the absolute bastard.

“You suck,” Thanos grumbled, shoving his phone in his pocket.

Nam-Gyu took another sip of his drink, looking way too pleased with himself. “Yeah, yeah. You love me.”

Thanos glared, ignoring the way his face was still warm.

"Keep talking and you're walking home," he muttered, grabbing his keys.

Nam-Gyu just grinned, standing up and stretching. "Aw, you’d never leave me behind."

Thanos didn't dignify that with a response.

Mostly because Nam-Gyu was right.

"Not getting dressed?" Nam-Gyu teased, watching as Thanos rushed around the apartment like a man possessed.

Thanos barely spared him a glance, still wearing the same oversized sleep shirt and sweatpants he’d crashed in the night before. “No time, bro! I texted my driver to floor it here.”

Nam-Gyu let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he walked over to put on his shoes. "You’re really this hyped over a kitten?"

Thanos shot him a look, stuffing his phone into his pocket. "Yes, Nam-Gyu. This is my child we’re talking about."

Nam-Gyu smirked, tying his laces. "God, you’re a mess."

“And?” Thanos pulled on a hoodie, clearly not giving a single shit about his disheveled state.

Nam-Gyu stood up, watching as Thanos practically bounced on his feet, eyes darting toward the door like he was ready to bolt.

“Alright, alright,” Nam-Gyu said, still amused. “I gotta meet this cat.”

Thanos grinned, yanking the door open. "Buckle up, bitch. You're about to meet the greatest cat to ever exist."

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, following him out. "Jesus. I think you love this cat more than you love me."

Thanos stopped for just a second.

Then, without looking back, he muttered—

"Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to."

Nam-Gyu cackled the whole way to the car.

---

The car ride felt like it took four fucking hours when, in reality, it had been ten minutes.

Thanos had been bouncing his knee the entire time, fingers drumming impatiently against his thigh, checking his phone every thirty seconds like that would somehow make the car move faster.

Nam-Gyu, on the other hand, had spent the whole ride watching him with a mix of amusement and light concern.

“You act like this cat’s been deployed to war and is finally coming home,” Nam-Gyu had muttered halfway through.

Thanos had ignored him.

But finally, as soon as the car pulled up to the shelter, Thanos didn’t wait for it to come to a full stop—he was already grabbing Nam-Gyu’s arm and dragging him out before the driver could even say a word.

"Woah, careful, honey," Nam-Gyu blurted out without much thought, stumbling slightly as Thanos practically yanked him onto the sidewalk.

Thanos froze.

Nam-Gyu froze.

A slow, horrified realization flickered across Nam-Gyu’s face as his own words registered.

Thanos turned to stare at him.

“…What the fuck did you just call me?”

Nam-Gyu’s mouth opened—then closed—then opened again, like he was debating whether to double down or throw himself into oncoming traffic.

Then, finally, he cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets like it would somehow make this moment less mortifying.

“Nothing,” he said quickly.

Thanos squinted, grinning now, because oh, this was gonna be fun.

“No, no,” Thanos drawled, folding his arms. “Repeat that? What’d you just say?”

Nam-Gyu groaned, already walking toward the door. “Shut up, man.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think I will.” Thanos smirked, following close behind. “You called me honey. That’s some real boyfriend shit.”

“I will literally leave you here.”

“You like me.”

“I hate you.”

“Ohhh, yeah, that’s why you’re here, huh? Because you hate me.”

Nam-Gyu swung the door open, ignoring him. “Where the fuck is this cat?”

Thanos snickered, thrilled.

“Yeah, yeah. Change the subject, honey.”

Nam-Gyu swore under his breath, vowing to never let his mouth get ahead of his brain again.

As they stepped inside, Thanos’s eyes immediately locked onto the front desk—

And there, sitting in the small cat crate he had totally forgotten to drop off earlier (thank god for his driver), was Doom.

Tiny. Bug-eyed. Perfect.

A relieved breath left him, but before he could even start cooing over his new child, he noticed Min-Su watching them with an amused expression, arms crossed, one brow raised like he had just walked in on something interesting.

And then—

Min-Su smirked.

“Oooh,” he drawled, dragging out the word as he leaned back in his chair. “That’s why you sounded so flustered on the phone.”

Thanos froze.

His face flushed instantly, the heat creeping up his neck before he could even try to stop it.

“I—what?” His voice cracked slightly, and he immediately wanted to walk into traffic.

Min-Su just grinned, clearly having the time of his life.

Nam-Gyu, who had been suffering the entire way here, perked up instantly, a slow smirk curling at his lips.

“Flustered, huh?” Nam-Gyu mused, obnoxiously casual. “Damn, Thanos. You got something you wanna tell me?”

Thanos glared at him, face still burning.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Nam-Gyu hummed, clearly thrilled to finally have the upper hand. “Oh, no, no. I think we should unpack this.”

Thanos groaned, rubbing a hand down his face like that would somehow erase this entire moment from existence.

“No, we should not.”

Min-Su snorted. “You’re, like, really bad at hiding it, dude.”

“I hate you.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled, reaching down and tapping the top of Doom’s crate. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag, huh?”

Thanos turned to glare at him. “I hope she scratches you first.”

Nam-Gyu just grinned. “Nah. She loves me already.”

Thanos huffed, finally grabbing the crate and focusing on what actually mattered—his new little menace of a kitten.

Doom, as if sensing the chaos around her, just blinked up at him, completely unbothered.

Yeah.

She was gonna fit right in.

Thanos crouched down slightly, gripping the handle of the crate as he locked eyes with Doom.

Big. Round. Unblinking.

She stared back at him like she was studying his soul, and for some reason, instead of finding that terrifying, Thanos just… felt something settle in his chest.

Warm. Unexpected.

Like he had no idea he’d been missing something until this tiny, weird-eyed creature was suddenly in front of him.

“I never knew I needed you,” he murmured.

Doom just blinked slowly, completely unbothered, as if to say I know, fool.

And damn.

Nam-Gyu wasn’t expecting that.

He had been fully prepared to keep teasing Thanos—especially after that whole flustered moment outside—but then Thanos had to go and say some genuinely heartfelt shit like that.

Nam-Gyu felt it—that weird warm feeling creeping into his chest, the kind that made his throat feel tight if he thought about it for too long.

The kind that reminded him that no matter how much he tried to play it cool, he was so fucking gone for this man.

He exhaled softly, leaning a little on the counter, watching as Thanos reached a finger through the crate bars, letting Doom sniff at him like this was some important life bond initiation.

And for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, Nam-Gyu felt okay.

Not because he had forgotten what happened yesterday—he hadn’t. He wouldn’t.

But because, for right now, in this moment, he wasn’t drowning in it.

He was here.

Watching Thanos be a total soft idiot over a tiny kitten.

And that?

That was enough for today.

“Alright, my boy, hand over those papers so I can take this little princess home!”

Thanos straightened up, looking directly at Min-Su with zero hesitation, practically buzzing with excitement.

Min-Su, still lounging in his chair with his usual calm and unimpressed expression, didn’t move right away. He just slowly raised an eyebrow, gaze flicking between Thanos and the tiny, bug-eyed menace in the crate.

“…Princess?”

Nam-Gyu snorted at that, covering his mouth slightly like he wasn’t trying to laugh.

Thanos shot him a quick glare before turning back to Min-Su, completely serious.

“Yes. Princess.” He folded his arms. “She deserves the title.”

Min-Su exhaled slowly, like he was truly considering whether or not to engage in this conversation. Then, with a small smirk, he opened a drawer, pulling out the paperwork.

“Alright, King of Adoption,” Min-Su said, sliding the forms across the counter. “Sign these, and Doom is all yours.”

Thanos immediately grabbed a pen, practically slamming the papers down as he started filling them out.

Nam-Gyu leaned in slightly, watching with a raised brow. “Damn, dude. You sign contracts this fast normally, or is this a special occasion?”

Thanos didn’t even pause in writing. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Nam-Gyu huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

Min-Su just sat back, watching Thanos speed through the paperwork. “You do know you’ll have to take her to the vet for checkups and keep up with shots and all that, right?”

Thanos waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, whatever it takes.”

Min-Su raised an eyebrow. “And if she destroys your furniture?”

Thanos shrugged, eyes still on the paper. “She can have the couch, man. I’ll sit on the floor.”

Nam-Gyu full-on laughed at that one, and Min-Su just shook his head with an exasperated sigh.

“Alright, cool dad, just sign the last page, and she’s officially yours.”

Thanos did so with dramatic flourish, then slid the papers back across the counter like he had just made the greatest deal of his life.

Min-Su flipped through them, double-checking the signatures, then nodded.

“Alright,” he said, handing the crate over. “Congrats. You’re a dad now.”

Thanos grinned down at Doom, eyes practically sparkling. “Damn right I am.”

Nam-Gyu, watching all of this unfold, wasn’t even surprised anymore.

Thanos had been completely gone for this cat since the second he laid eyes on her. It was ridiculous.

And, unfortunately, kind of cute.

But then, as he watched Thanos practically vibrating with excitement over signing a damn adoption form, a stray thought crossed his mind before he could stop it—

If Thanos was this insane over a cat, did that mean he’d want kids someday?

The idea caught Nam-Gyu off guard.

Because for him? The answer had always been no.

He loved his little brother—he really did. But raising him? Stepping up when their mom failed, making sure Ji-Ho was fed, safe, didn’t turn into another version of their shitty family?

That had been hard.

And the idea of doing it again—of bringing a kid into the world and hoping he could be enough? That he wouldn’t fuck them up? That they wouldn’t end up hating him for the things he didn’t know how to fix?

Yeah.

That wasn’t something Nam-Gyu had ever wanted to risk.

He quickly shook the thought away, stuffing his hands into his pockets like that would physically shove the idea out of his head.

Whatever.

One thing at a time.

And today?

Today was about Doom.

Nam-Gyu hadn’t even realized what Min-Su and Thanos were talking about until he actually started listening again.

“Dude, I’m strictly a cat dad,” Thanos was saying, waving a dismissive hand. “Nothing else. My sister has a kid, and it looks boring as hell.”

Nam-Gyu blinked.

Huh.

He hadn't expected that answer, but the second he heard it, he felt something in his chest unclench—something he hadn’t even realized was tight.

He exhaled through his nose, watching as Thanos continued rambling about how kids seemed like so much work and cats were the superior choice in every way.

Nam-Gyu huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head.

Yeah.

That sounded about right.

He hadn’t even realized he was bracing himself for an answer he didn’t want to hear. But now that he had heard it?

He felt... lighter.

Min-Su gave him a side glance, noticing the shift in his expression, but didn’t say anything. Just smirked slightly, like he had figured something out.

Nam-Gyu ignored him.

Instead, he turned his attention back to Thanos—who was now gently rocking Doom’s crate back and forth like a goddamn baby stroller.

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but smiled anyway.

Yeah.

One thing at a time.

And today?

Today was about Doom.

---

“Oh my god,” Thanos practically melted onto the floor, eyes wide with unfiltered joy as he jiggled the string with a feather. “She’s so cute I can’t.”

Nam-Gyu sat beside him on the floor, one arm resting on his knee as he watched the tiny menace that was Doom launch herself at the feather with pure determination.

She missed.

Tumbled.

Immediately scrambled back up and tried again.

And Thanos?

Thanos looked like he was experiencing the pinnacle of happiness.

He wiggled the feather again, watching as Doom’s tiny paws swiped at it, her bug-eyed stare locked in like this was the most serious mission of her life.

Nam-Gyu chuckled. “Damn. I haven’t seen you this happy since… actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy.”

Thanos beamed, not even looking away from Doom. “Bro, this is peak entertainment.”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. “So all it takes to unlock your inner child is a cat and a five-dollar toy?”

Thanos flicked the feather toward Doom again, watching her pounce. “Nah, man. This is next level. You don’t get it. This is, like—biological satisfaction. Human instinct. We evolved to do this shit.”

Nam-Gyu laughed, shaking his head. “That’s your scientific reasoning for playing with a cat?”

“Yes.” Thanos looked at him dead serious. “The hunter-prey dynamic. The thrill of the chase. This is primal shit, bro.”

Nam-Gyu snorted. “You are so fucking stupid.”

Thanos grinned but kept his focus on Doom, his free hand now resting against his knee, completely at ease.

Nam-Gyu watched him for a moment, taking in the way he was so lost in this moment—so present in a way Nam-Gyu rarely ever saw him.

There was no stress on his face.

No tension in his shoulders.

Just pure, unfiltered joy.

And fuck.

Nam-Gyu liked seeing him like this.

A lot.

Maybe too much.

Before he could think about why that was, Doom suddenly paused, turning her wide-eyed stare onto Nam-Gyu now.

He froze. “Uh.”

Thanos immediately gasped. “Oh shit—she’s locked on.”

Doom pounced.

Right into Nam-Gyu’s lap.

Thanos lost it, laughing as Nam-Gyu barely caught her, looking entirely out of his depth as she scrambled up his chest, tiny claws digging into his hoodie.

“What the fuck—”

“She chose you, man,” Thanos wheezed. “You’re her now.”

Nam-Gyu sighed dramatically but didn’t make any move to push her away. Instead, he just muttered, “I did not sign up for this,” while gently adjusting her so she wasn’t actively climbing his face.

Thanos, still grinning, reached out to scratch Doom behind her ear. “Nah, dude. This is primal shit.”

Nam-Gyu groaned, but a smile tugged at his lips anyway.

Yeah.

Maybe today wasn’t so bad.

Doom reached her tiny paw up and swiped at Nam-Gyu’s loose hair, her little claws snagging just enough to make him jolt slightly.

“Ahh, you little devil—!” Nam-Gyu laughed, pulling his head back as Doom’s bug-eyed stare followed his movement, clearly plotting her next attack.

Before he could stop it, Thanos made a sound.

Not just any sound.

A pure, unfiltered noise of happiness—somewhere between a gasp, a squeak, and a laugh—like he had just witnessed the single greatest thing to ever happen in human history.

Nam-Gyu turned to stare at him, eyebrows raised. “Bro.”

Thanos grabbed his own face, shaking his head dramatically. “That was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire fucking life.”

Nam-Gyu snorted, still gently prying Doom’s claws from his hoodie before setting her back down on the ground. “You seriously need to chill.”

“No,” Thanos refused immediately, still grinning like an idiot.

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at his lips as he grabbed one of the little plastic balls with a bell inside and rolled it across the floor.

Doom locked in, wiggled her tiny butt—then launched after it.

Nam-Gyu huffed a small laugh. “You’re lucky your dad is cute,” he muttered, mostly to Doom.

But.

The second the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake.

Too late.

Because Thanos froze.

Then turned his head so fast that Nam-Gyu felt the shift in the air.

Nam-Gyu blinked. “What?”

Thanos was staring at him, eyes wide, face slowly shifting into something between smug and horrified glee.

“…Did you just call me cute?”

Nam-Gyu’s soul left his body.

“No,” he said way too fast.

“Oh, you did.” Thanos’s grin was growing, his voice borderline gleeful. “You just called me cute.”

Nam-Gyu scowled, running a hand down his face. “I meant the cat—”

“Nooope,” Thanos cut him off, pointing at him. “No backsies. You called me cute.”

Nam-Gyu groaned, standing up immediately like he could physically escape this conversation.

Thanos, still sitting on the floor, gasped dramatically, hands on his chest. “Oh my god, you have a crush on me.”

Nam-Gyu whipped around. “I will throw you out that window.”

Thanos cackled, rolling onto his back, thriving in Nam-Gyu’s suffering.

Doom, meanwhile, was still chasing her ball, completely unbothered by the chaos she had accidentally caused.

Yeah.

She was gonna fit right in.

“You are such an ass,” Nam-Gyu grumbled, already reaching for a pillow off the couch.

“We literally said ‘I love you’ to each other less than a week ago—”

Before Thanos could finish basking in his victory, Nam-Gyu launched the pillow straight at his face.

Thanos barely had time to react before it smacked him square in the head, sending him toppling slightly to the side.

“Ow—” He sat up, rubbing his temple, still grinning like an idiot. “Okay, rude.”

Nam-Gyu crossed his arms, scowling. “You deserved that.”

Thanos, still grinning, leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees. “C’mon, babe—”

Nam-Gyu froze.

Thanos’s eyes widened.

The air shifted.

A solid three seconds of complete silence passed before—

“…Did you just call me babe?”

Nam-Gyu’s face went flat. “Shut up.”

“OH MY GOD.” Thanos threw his head back, howling with laughter. “You do have a crush on me—”

“I WILL END YOUR BLOODLINE.”

Nam-Gyu lunged for another pillow, but Thanos scrambled off the floor, hands up in surrender as he dodged behind the couch, still wheezing with laughter.

“Okay, okay—wait—” Thanos gasped between laughs, gripping the back of the couch. “Just to clarify, you can call me cute, but I can’t call you babe?”

Nam-Gyu launched the second pillow at his head.

Thanos ducked, barely avoiding it. “Unbelievable double standards!”

Nam-Gyu pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply like he was fighting the urge to actually commit a crime.

Meanwhile, Doom—completely unbothered by the absolute chaos in the room—sat in the middle of the floor, watching them with her bug-eyed stare, tail flicking slowly like she was judging them both.

Nam-Gyu groaned, rubbing a hand down his face before dropping back onto the couch. “I hate you.”

Thanos, still grinning, flopped onto the other end of the couch, stretching his arms out. “Nooo, you love me.”

Nam-Gyu huffed, looking away. “…Unfortunately.”

Thanos chuckled, watching him for a second before reaching over and giving his knee a light nudge.

“Hey,” Thanos said, voice softer now, still playful but genuine. “You know I’m just messing with you, right?”

Nam-Gyu sighed, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

Yeah.

He knew.

Nam-Gyu shook his head, letting out a small, reluctant laugh before finally leaning back into the cushions.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Just shut up and help me pick a movie.”

Thanos grinned, stretching his arms behind his head.

“Babe, I thought you’d never ask.”

Nam-Gyu whipped a third pillow at him.

Doom blinked slowly.

Yeah.

She was definitely in a household of idiots.

“Fine, fine,” Thanos relented, holding his hands up like he was being so reasonable. “But we can’t watch a scary movie—Doom is just a baby. She’s not ready for that.”

Nam-Gyu stared at him.

Then slowly blinked.

“…You think a kitten is going to be traumatized by a horror movie?”

Thanos nodded, completely serious. “Yes. She’s sensitive.”

Nam-Gyu groaned, rubbing his temples. “Jesus Christ—”

“And,” Thanos continued, completely ignoring him, “maybe not a Batman movie.”

Nam-Gyu squinted. “What?”

Thanos sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Dude. She’s an orphan.”

Nam-Gyu fully processed what he just said—then threw his hands up, absolutely done.

“Oh my god, Thanos—”

Thanos was already grinning, holding Doom up in his arms like a Disney character. “She’s been through enough, Nam-Gyu. We don’t need to remind her.”

Nam-Gyu dragged a hand down his face, struggling between wanting to strangle him and actually laughing.

Meanwhile, Doom just blinked, tiny ears twitching, completely unaware of her tragic superhero backstory.

Nam-Gyu sighed deeply.

“Okay, fine. No horror, no Batman,” he muttered, slumping back onto the couch. “But if you try to tell me we can’t watch a movie with cars because she’s too young to drive, I am leaving.”

Thanos snickered, setting Doom down on his lap. “Damn. That would’ve been a good one.”

Nam-Gyu glared at him.

Thanos just patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, babe. We’ll find something safe for our daughter.”

Nam-Gyu picked up a pillow.

Thanos immediately shielded Doom.

“You wouldn’t hit a father in front of his child, would you?”

Nam-Gyu launched it at his head anyway.

Doom let out a tiny, dramatic yawn, her little mouth stretching wide before she tucked her head against Thanos’s hoodie.

All the excitement from the day was probably catching up to her tiny body, and now she was crashing—the way babies did after running on pure chaotic energy for hours.

Thanos immediately melted, his voice dropping into something softer as he lightly stroked her tiny back.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “She’s so tired.”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow, watching the way Thanos was looking at her like she had just performed the most miraculous act of all time.

“Yeah,” Nam-Gyu muttered dryly, stretching his arms behind his head. “Because you’ve been tormenting her with a feather for the past hour.”

Thanos scoffed. “I was enriching her life.”

“Uh-huh.”

Thanos ignored him, shifting slightly on the couch to get more comfortable, making sure Doom didn’t stir too much. She barely even reacted—just let out a tiny sigh, curling into a tighter ball.

Nam-Gyu watched as Thanos’s entire posture relaxed, his fingers absentmindedly scratching behind her ear. The bright, chaotic energy he had all day had simmered down into something… softer.

Something that made Nam-Gyu’s chest feel warm in a way he wasn’t prepared to deal with.

Thanos yawned too, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie before looking over at Nam-Gyu, sleepiness settling in.

“Wanna just watch something tomorrow?” he mumbled. “Kinda feel like knocking out.”

Nam-Gyu huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Wow. Big talk earlier, but now you’re just as wiped as her.”

Thanos gave him a sleepy glare. “Shut the fuck up.”

Nam-Gyu smirked but didn’t push it. Instead, he grabbed the blanket draped over the back of the couch, tossing it over Thanos’s lap.

Thanos blinked at him, surprised.

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes. “Just go to sleep, dumbass.”

Thanos grinned, looking obnoxiously pleased as he sank further into the couch.

Nam-Gyu shook his head, settling in beside him, arms crossed—but he didn’t move away.

Doom let out a tiny purr, her body rising and falling with steady, even breaths.

Yeah.

Tomorrow, they’d watch something.

But tonight?

Tonight, they were exactly where they needed to be.

Watching Thanos slowly drift off, the steady rise and fall of his chest matching the tiny, rhythmic purrs of Doom curled up in his lap, Nam-Gyu realized something.

He had spent the entire day here.

And he hadn’t even noticed.

Hadn’t felt the usual urge to leave, to escape before he overstayed his welcome. Hadn’t felt like he needed an excuse to be here, like he was waiting for the moment when Thanos would inevitably get tired of him.

And now?

Now, this was about to be his second night here.

And tomorrow?

Thanos wanted to watch a movie.

Which meant Thanos wanted to see him again.

Wanted to spend more time with him.

And wasn’t that the strangest fucking thing?

Because as dumb as it sounded, Nam-Gyu didn’t think he’d ever felt this… wanted before.

Not just in a temporary way. Not in a way that came with conditions, where people only kept him around for what he could give them—what he could do for them.

This was different.

Thanos had no expectations, no ulterior motive.

He just wanted him here.

Nam-Gyu swallowed, shifting slightly in his seat, the realization settling somewhere deep inside his chest.

He knew Thanos still needed time.

He knew whatever this was—whatever they were—was still figuring itself out.

And for once, Nam-Gyu didn’t mind waiting.

Because if this feeling—this quiet, simple certainty that everything was going to be okay—could last forever?

Then yeah.

He could wait a lifetime.

Wait to figure out how to help his brother.

Wait to figure out how to handle being sober.

Wait to figure out how to just… be happy.

But for now?

For now, he let himself lean back against the couch, let himself watch as Thanos breathed softly, Doom curled up against his stomach.

For now, he let himself exist in this moment.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he was running from something.

For the first time in a long time, he felt home.

Thanos cracked one eye open, barely awake, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. "Are you gonna keep watching me, or are you actually gonna sleep?" Nam-Gyu chuckled, At Thanos's words.

Nam-Gyu chuckled, At Thanos's words. "Says the one sleeping on the couch again."

"Yeah, well, you’re the one who keeps stealing the couch." Thanos mumbles before adding.

"Plus, Can’t move Doom, bro," Thanos murmured, his voice heavy with sleep, his hand resting protectively over the tiny ball of fur curled up on his stomach.

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched up in amusement. "Right. Of course. How could I forget? The tiny tyrant has claimed you."

Thanos made a soft, tired sound—half a hum, half a laugh. "She has. My life’s not mine anymore."

Nam-Gyu shook his head, shifting slightly to get comfortable. "Tragic."

"Yeah," Thanos sighed dramatically, already half gone. "But, like... worth it..."

His breathing evened out almost immediately after, sinking fully into sleep.

Nam-Gyu glanced at him, then at Doom, who was also fully knocked out, her tiny paws twitching in a dream.

He exhaled softly, letting himself relax.

Yeah.

Maybe he would sleep after all.

Notes:

Yay!! More Thangyu! :D

Chapter 11: Feeling Good

Notes:

Hiii! Sorry this chapter took longer I got sick and my laptop is getting fixed so I finished this chapter on my ipad

For the first time since Thanos had walked into this meeting—since he had even started this whole thing—he felt... good.

Like, really good.

Not just in the fleeting, surface-level way he used to chase. Not the artificial kind of good that came from distractions, from keeping himself busy enough to ignore everything lurking under the surface.

No.

This was different.

This was the kind of good that settled in his bones. That made him sit just a little easier in his chair, made the usual weight in his chest feel a little lighter.

And it was crazy, really.

Because if you had asked him months ago if he thought he’d get here, he would’ve laughed in your face.

But now?

Now, he was here.

Sitting next to Nam-Gyu and Min-Su at what was maybe his third big group meeting, listening to In-Ho’s voice carry across the room.

It was routine now, the way In-Ho ran these meetings—steady, calm, patient. There was something about him that made you want to listen, even if you weren’t entirely sure why.

Thanos’s fingers idly toyed with the bracelet on his wrist, the sound of quiet shuffling, murmured conversation, and the occasional sniffle filling the space around him.

Beside him, Nam-Gyu sat with his arms crossed, his expression relaxed but focused, like he was actually taking this in instead of just waiting for it to be over.

And on his other side, Min-Su sat calmly, flipping his coin between his fingers, listening without saying much—like he always did.

Thanos exhaled, shifting slightly in his seat, taking it all in.

He had thought, back when he first walked into this place, that he wouldn’t last. That this was just something he had to do, something temporary, something to prove to other people that he could get his shit together.

But now?

Now, sitting here, next to people who had somehow become his friends, hearing voices he had come to recognize, feeling grounded in a way he never thought possible...

He wasn’t just surviving anymore.

He was living.

And yeah.

That was crazy.

But maybe crazy wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

In-Ho’s voice carried steadily through the room.

“Does anyone want to share?”

Silence stretched for a few beats, the usual pause as people glanced around, waiting to see if someone else would step up first.

Thanos exhaled slowly, fingers still idly twisting the bracelet on his wrist.

He could share.

He knew that.

Hell, this wasn’t even his first meeting anymore. He’d sat through enough of these to know the pattern, the way people hesitated before speaking, the way the weight of their words seemed lighter once they let them out.

And for the first time since coming here…

He kind of wanted to.

Not because he had to. Not because it was expected.

But because, somehow, it didn’t feel as terrifying as it used to.

Beside him, Nam-Gyu shifted slightly, arms still crossed but his body angled just enough toward Thanos, like he was aware of the internal debate happening in his head.

Min-Su, on the other side, remained still, flipping his coin between his fingers, his expression unreadable.

Thanos took another breath.

Then—

He raised his hand.

In-Ho’s gaze landed on him, his expression calm and unreadable as he nodded. “Go ahead, Thanos.”

Thanos swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of the room settle on him.

Okay.

Here goes nothing.

“Yo, I’m Thanos, and I’m an addict.”

The room responded in unison, a familiar chorus of Hi’s and Hello’s, voices blending into the quiet hum of support.

But the one next to him?

That one stood out the most.

“Hi, Thanos.”

Nam-Gyu’s voice was steady, warm—not loud, not overdone, just there, grounding in a way that Thanos hadn’t even realized he needed.

And when he glanced over—

Yeah.

Big mistake.

Nam-Gyu was watching him, his arm bent on his knee, chin resting lightly in his hand. His lips curled into a soft, easy smile, the kind that wasn’t forced or practiced, just natural.

The overhead lights cast a subtle glow on his skin, making his freckles stand out more than usual, dark lashes framing his sharp, thoughtful gaze. His pitch-black hair fell effortlessly around his face, messy in a way that looked annoyingly good, like he hadn’t even tried.

And wow.

Okay.

Getting very distracted here.

Thanos forced himself to blink, clearing his throat as he turned his focus back to the meeting before he fully derailed himself.

Jesus Christ, pull it together.

Nam-Gyu was just sitting there. Existing.

It wasn’t his fault that he happened to look ridiculously good while doing it.

Thanos inhaled, exhaled.

Right.

Back on track.

“I, uh—” He scratched at his wrist, ignoring the heat creeping up his neck. “Anyway. Yeah. Been clean for a bit now. Still feels weird.”

Nam-Gyu’s smile didn’t falter.

If anything?

It grew.

Thanos didn’t look at him again.

Because if he did, he was absolutely going to fuck this up.

“But also,” Thanos continued, shifting slightly in his seat, “and maybe this is just a one-time thing, but…”

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair before letting it drop back into his lap.

“I’ve had one of the best weeks of my life.”

A few people in the room smiled at that—small, knowing smiles, like they understood exactly what he meant.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s not like my life suddenly figured itself out or anything. I’m still a mess. But…” His lips quirked, just slightly. “I became a cat dad this week, so, like. That’s a win.”

A soft chuckle rippled through the group.

Nam-Gyu let out a short laugh beside him, and Thanos felt it in his chest—that warmth, that lightness, like this moment was something real, something he was actually allowed to have.

He swallowed, gaze dropping slightly. “And I, uh… I’ve grown closer to someone. And it’s… going really well.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, but he kept going.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just one good week, and maybe next week will suck, and maybe I’ll be sitting here at the next meeting wondering why the hell I ever thought this was working.”

He paused, fingers tightening around the fabric of his hoodie.

“But on the way in here, I realized something.”

He glanced up, exhaling through his nose.

“I haven’t thought about relapsing in a week.”

The weight of that admission settled over him slowly, sinking in deeper than he expected.

“I—I got my one-month chip the other day,” he added, his voice quieter now. “And I guess… for the first time, I’m actually seeing this work.”

The room was quiet for a beat, the weight of his words settling over them.

Then—

Soft claps. A few nods. That silent, unspoken understanding that passed between people who had been there.

And next to him, Nam-Gyu’s hand twitched, like he was about to reach for him, but stopped himself at the last second.

Thanos barely resisted the urge to lean into him anyway.

Instead, he let out a small, breathy chuckle, shaking his head.

“Anyway. That’s all I got.”

And as he sat back, as In-Ho nodded in thanks, as the meeting carried on, Thanos felt something settle in his chest.

Something solid.

Something real.

Yeah.

This was working.

And maybe, for the first time, he actually believed it.

---

“And I can’t just forget my mother,” Sae-Byeok finished, her voice steady but heavy, like the words had been sitting in her chest for too long, weighing her down. “But if I’m being honest… I’m starting to lose hope.”

The room sat in silence.

Not the awkward kind. Not the kind that begged to be filled.

The heavy kind. The kind that settled over everyone like a thick fog, lingering, pressing, sticking to the air.

Thanos let out a slow breath through his nose, his fingers absently twisting the bracelet on his wrist.

Sae-Byeok.

That was her name. He had caught it when she introduced herself, but now it felt etched into his brain, carved into the moment.

Because damn.

That was hard shit to say out loud.

She had talked about her family—what was left of it. About how it was just her and her little brother now. About how she was trying—really trying—to hold onto something, but it was slipping through her fingers like sand.

And Thanos?

Thanos got it.

Way more than he wanted to admit.

The feeling of wanting to hope but not knowing how. Of not trusting that the future had anything good in store for you. Of carrying so much but having no one to carry it with you.

Yeah.

He fucking got it.

Next to him, Nam-Gyu sat perfectly still, his arms crossed, gaze fixed on the floor.

His expression was unreadable, but Thanos knew him well enough by now to recognize the signs—the subtle way his shoulders had tensed, the barely-there way his jaw had locked.

A storm was brewing in his head.

And then—

“Thank you, Sae-Byeok,” In-Ho said, his voice even, measured. He let the pause settle before scanning the room. “We have time for one more.”

Thanos barely had a second to process that before—

Nam-Gyu stood up.

Too fast. Too sudden.

Then, just as quickly—

He rushed out of the room.

Thanos didn’t think.

Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t even glance at anyone else before he was pushing back his chair and moving—his feet already carrying him toward the door before his brain had fully caught up.

Because that?

That wasn’t nothing.

That wasn’t just Nam-Gyu needing air.

That was Nam-Gyu running.

And Thanos would be damned if he let him do it alone.

“Fuck!”

Nam-Gyu’s voice echoed off the tiled walls, raw and shaking.

Thanos found him in the bathroom, pacing back and forth, his hands covering his face, fingers digging into his skin. His glasses had been shoved up onto his head, forgotten, his breathing uneven—shallow and too fast.

He was panicking.

Thanos had never seen him like this before.

And that?

That scared the shit out of him.

“They’re gonna kill—” Nam-Gyu’s voice broke, a sharp sob cutting through the words before he could even finish them. His hands trembled where they pressed against his forehead, like he was trying to physically hold himself together.

Thanos stepped forward immediately. “Who?” His voice was firm, but gentle—not demanding, not pushing too hard, just trying to break through whatever spiral Nam-Gyu had gotten himself into.

Nam-Gyu didn’t answer.

Didn’t even look at him.

He just kept pacing, kept breathing too fast, his body too tense, like if he stopped moving, he’d completely fall apart.

Thanos clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay calm, even though everything inside him was screaming at the way Nam-Gyu was shaking.

“Nam-Gyu.”

Still nothing.

Thanos took another step closer, his voice lowering—steadying. “You need to talk to me, or I can’t help you.”

Finally—

Nam-Gyu stilled.

Just for a second.

His hands slid down his face, just enough for Thanos to see his eyes—wide, unfocused, filled with something raw, something desperate.

And when he spoke again, his voice was barely there.

“…Ji-Ho.”

Thanos felt his stomach drop.

Shit.

This was bad.

This was really fucking bad.

“I need—I—” Nam-Gyu’s breath hitched, his chest rising too fast, hands curling into fists at his sides. “I have to help him—”

Shit.

His breathing was only getting worse.

Thanos didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t stop to think.

He moved, stepping closer until he was right in front of Nam-Gyu, his hands slowly coming up to rest against his face, palms warm against his clammy skin.

Nam-Gyu flinched—just slightly—like he hadn’t even registered that Thanos was there.

So Thanos held steady, thumbs brushing lightly over his cheekbones, keeping him anchored.

“Okay, baby, breathe for me,” Thanos said, his voice gentle but firm, trying to keep his own panic from leaking through. “I promise we’ll figure out how to help Ji-Ho. But you can’t help him if you’re panicking.”

Nam-Gyu’s breath stuttered—uneven, still shaky—but his eyes finally focused on Thanos.

That was something.

Thanos swallowed, forcing himself to keep his tone even, to keep his hands steady, even though his heart was racing.

“In for four,” Thanos murmured, his thumbs tracing slow circles against Nam-Gyu’s skin. “Hold for four.”

Nam-Gyu’s breathing was still too erratic, too unsteady, but Thanos kept going, voice lowering into something softer.

“Out for four,” he whispered. “Come on, baby. Just breathe.”

Nam-Gyu’s hands twitched at his sides. His shoulders stiffened. But—

He tried.

Took a shaky inhale.

Held it.

Let it out way too fast.

Thanos didn’t let go.

“Again.”

Nam-Gyu sucked in another breath, still too quick, but—better.

Thanos nodded, his forehead dipping slightly toward Nam-Gyu’s, keeping their eyes locked. “That’s it. You got it.”

Nam-Gyu swallowed hard, his hands finally moving—gripping onto the sleeves of Thanos’s hoodie like a lifeline.

Thanos squeezed his face just slightly—a silent reminder that he was here. That he wasn’t leaving.

“You with me?” Thanos murmured.

Nam-Gyu exhaled, still shaky, but this time?

He nodded.

And fuck—

Thanos had never been more relieved.

Without letting go, Nam-Gyu’s breath hitched, another sob breaking past his lips. His grip on Thanos’s sleeves tightened, like he was holding onto him just to stay upright.

“I—I’m sorry,” he choked out, shaking his head. “Fuck, Sae-Byeok’s story—”

Thanos stilled.

Oh.

That’s what this was about.

“Hey, hey!” Thanos cut in immediately, hands still cupping Nam-Gyu’s face, thumbs brushing away the fresh tears spilling over his cheeks. “None of that.”

Nam-Gyu let out a shaky breath, his whole body trembling under Thanos’s hands. His breathing was uneven, still too fast, like he was teetering right on the edge of another full-blown panic attack.

Thanos refused to let him go over.

“Look at me,” Thanos murmured, his voice steady, gentle. He waited until Nam-Gyu finally blinked his eyes back open, wide and raw with emotion.

Thanos forced a small, reassuring smile onto his lips, his grip staying firm but soft. “It’s okay, baby. Breathe for me, yeah? You’re safe. You’re here. Don’t start panicking again.”

Nam-Gyu sucked in a sharp breath, trying—really trying—to pull himself together. But his fingers stayed locked around Thanos’s sleeves, his knuckles white from the tension in his grip.

Thanos exhaled, keeping his tone light, his presence solid. “Besides, if you wanted to skip the rest of the meeting, you could’ve just said so. You didn’t have to dramatically run out.”

Nam-Gyu let out a breathless, wet laugh, shaking his head.

Thanos grinned. “See? There you go.”

Nam-Gyu sniffled, exhaling shakily. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

Thanos chuckled, pressing his forehead lightly against Nam-Gyu’s. “Yeah, but I’m also right here, so deal with it.”

Nam-Gyu’s fingers finally loosened their grip on Thanos’s hoodie, his hands shifting just slightly, like he was grounding himself in the warmth of the fabric.

Thanos didn’t push him to talk.

Didn’t tell him he had to explain why Sae-Byeok’s story hit so hard.

He just stayed there. Holding him.

Because fuck whatever else was happening.

This was more important.

And Nam-Gyu?

Nam-Gyu wasn’t alone.

Not anymore.

Slowly, finally, Nam-Gyu’s breathing began to steady.

The sharp, panicked edge in each inhale dulled, his exhales growing longer, deeper—more controlled.

His grip on Thanos’s hoodie loosened, fingers uncoiling, tension unwinding from his knuckles.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, he opened his eyes.

They were still red-rimmed, still glassy from the lingering emotion, but the wild, unfocused panic was gone.

Nam-Gyu let out a long, shaky breath.

“Fuckkkk.” He dragged the word out, his voice rough, raw from crying. His lips curled just slightly, a ghost of his usual smirk, but there was still something tired in it. “That was embarrassing.”

Before Thanos could respond, Nam-Gyu lifted one hand, resting it over one of Thanos’s—still cradling his cheek.

His fingers lightly traced over Thanos’s knuckles, not quite holding his hand, but not letting go either.

Then, as if the weight of everything had finally caught up to him, he closed his eyes again, exhaling deeply.

Thanos didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t say some dumb, sarcastic comment to lighten the mood.

He just stayed there, thumbs still brushing slow, absentminded circles over Nam-Gyu’s cheekbones, grounding him as much as himself.

“Not embarrassing,” Thanos murmured after a moment, voice softer now. “Just... human.”

Nam-Gyu let out a quiet, breathy chuckle, shaking his head without opening his eyes. “Gross.”

Thanos huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Terrible. Let’s never do it again.”

Nam-Gyu smirked just slightly, but his fingers didn’t move from Thanos’s hand.

And Thanos?

Thanos let him take his time.

Because there was no rush.

Not tonight.

Just then, Thanos realized.

Realized how close they were.

Realized that his hands were still on Nam-Gyu’s face, that Nam-Gyu’s fingers were still resting over his.

Realized that he had called Nam-Gyu baby more than once.

And that Nam-Gyu hadn’t said shit about it.

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

Thanos’s brain stuttered, the weight of it all hitting at once—

Had Nam-Gyu noticed? Was he thinking about it too? Was this weird? Did it mean something? Had he been doing it the whole time without realizing?

Oh my god, was he—

Before Thanos could start fully spiraling, Nam-Gyu blinked his eyes open again, still tired, still red-rimmed, but softer now.

And then—

“…Wanna get smoothies?”

Thanos froze.

“What.”

Nam-Gyu tilted his head slightly, looking at him like he was the weird one. “Smoothies. You know. Blended fruit. Cold. Delicious. Those things.”

Thanos blinked.

Twice.

Then furrowed his brows. “You—What?”

Nam-Gyu exhaled, like he was explaining something painfully obvious. “I feel like if I don’t put something in my body that isn’t pure nicotine and regret, I might actually drop dead.”

Thanos just stared at him.

He was—

This man was unbelievable.

Five minutes ago, Nam-Gyu had been on the verge of collapse, sobbing into Thanos’s hands, shaking apart at the seams.

And now?

Now he was batting his fucking eyelashes and asking if Thanos wanted a smoothie.

Jesus Christ.

Thanos exhaled sharply, shaking his head, something between a laugh and a groan slipping out.

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” he muttered, finally letting his hands drop from Nam-Gyu’s face.

Nam-Gyu grinned, his fingers trailing lightly over Thanos’s for a half-second longer before pulling away.

“So that’s a yes?”

Thanos sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Sure. Fine. Let’s get fucking smoothies.”

Nam-Gyu beamed. “Great. You’re paying.”

Thanos groaned. “You’re actually the worst.”

Nam-Gyu just nudged him playfully as they headed for the door, acting like the past ten minutes hadn’t just happened.

Thanos rolled his eyes but followed.

Because, honestly?

He’d let Nam-Gyu drag him anywhere at this point.

---

Thanos and Nam-Gyu stepped outside, only to be immediately hit by a gust of freezing wind.

Thanos hissed, instinctively curling in on himself, arms wrapping tightly around his own torso.

“Fuck, I hate winter.” He hunched his shoulders, glaring at the sky like it had personally offended him. “Why the hell is it this cold? What did I do to deserve this?”

Nam-Gyu, completely unfazed, simply chuckled, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

“You’re such a baby,” he teased, glancing over at Thanos with a knowing smirk.

Thanos shot him a glare. “I am literally dying.”

“You are literally not.”

“Literally freezing to death as we speak.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he reached for Thanos’s wrist. Without hesitation, he tugged him forward, pulling him toward his car.

Thanos let himself be dragged, still muttering under his breath.

“This is actually illegal. I should sue the sky. The government. God, maybe—”

Nam-Gyu snorted. “Uh-huh. You do that. Let me know how that lawsuit works out.”

Thanos shivered violently as another gust of wind cut through his hoodie. “Why the hell didn’t I bring a jacket?”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow as he unlocked the car. “Because you’re stupid.”

Thanos huffed, stomping dramatically toward the passenger seat. “You’re never getting your smoothie now.”

Nam-Gyu just laughed, already sliding into the driver’s seat. “Sure, baby.”

Thanos froze mid-motion.

Nam-Gyu wasn’t even looking at him when he said it. Wasn’t teasing—wasn’t saying it to make him flustered. It had just… slipped out.

Casual. Easy. Natural.

Like he didn’t even think about it.

Thanos, who was very much thinking about it, quickly ducked into the car before he could embarrass himself any further.

The second the doors shut, Nam-Gyu turned on the heat, and warmth blasted through the vents.

Thanos immediately stretched his hands toward it, groaning in relief. “Oh my God, yes.”

Nam-Gyu smirked as he backed out of the parking lot. “Dramatic and easy to please. What a combo.”

Thanos side-eyed him, but the warmth in the car and the easy flow of the moment made it hard to actually be annoyed.

Besides, Nam-Gyu had called him baby again.

And that?

That was a whole other problem.

One that Thanos wasn’t about to unpack tonight.

Instead, he leaned back in his seat, sighed, and muttered, “Drive faster. I’m still holding your smoothie hostage.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled, eyes flicking toward him for half a second before returning to the road.

“Yeah, yeah.”

And just like that, the night carried on.

“Don’t ‘Yeah, yeah’ me, honey.”

That’s right.

Thanos could play those cards too.

Nam-Gyu had been throwing them around so effortlessly—baby this, cutie that—so why not throw one back?

He glanced at Nam-Gyu with a smug look, expecting him to stutter, or roll his eyes, or something.

But—

Nam-Gyu just grinned.

Like full-on, shamelessly grinned.

“Ohhh,” he hummed, his voice practically dripping with amusement. “I know you’re only trying to be funny because I called you that the other day.”

Thanos felt a very slight prickle of heat in his ears but kept his expression neutral. “And?”

Nam-Gyu glanced at him briefly before returning his attention to the road, his smirk widening.

“But it’s actually really sweet,” Nam-Gyu continued, so casually, like he hadn’t been having a full-blown panic attack less than twenty minutes ago. Like this was just a normal conversation.

Then, just to be extra, he added, “So, thank you, cutie.”

Thanos froze.

It took every single ounce of willpower he had not to react.

Not to immediately combust. Not to let the heat rising in his face show.

Because what the fuck.

Nam-Gyu had zero shame.

Absolutely none.

And worse?

It wasn’t even just a tease anymore. It wasn’t said with that usual cocky smirk or smug tone.

It was genuine.

Just like that. Casual and easy, like it belonged in the conversation.

Like this was normal for them.

Thanos exhaled sharply, crossing his arms and looking out the window. “Shut the fuck up.”

Nam-Gyu laughed.

Full, light, completely unbothered. “Awww, is my baby getting shy?”

Thanos gritted his teeth. “I will open this fucking car door and throw myself into traffic.”

Nam-Gyu cackled. “Relax, dramatic ass. I’ll buy you extra tapioca pearls for your smoothie.”

Thanos huffed, shifting in his seat. “I hate you.”

“No, you love me.”

Thanos closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and muttered, “I am being tested.”

Nam-Gyu just smirked and kept driving.

And the worst part?

Thanos did love him.

And that was so much worse than being called cutie.

Thanos let out the longest, most dramatic sigh of his entire existence.

“Sighhhhhhhhh,” he exhaled, shaking his head like he was physically in pain.

Then, with the most begrudging tone, he muttered, “Yeah. I do.”

Nam-Gyu glanced at him, eyebrows raising slightly.

Thanos, fully committed to the bit now, crossed his arms over his chest and pouted, his expression deeply fake-grumpy. “Dick.”

Nam-Gyu beamed.

Like, full radiant sunshine levels of beaming.

“Ohhh, wow,” Nam-Gyu teased, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “Are my ears deceiving me, or did Thanos just admit he loves me?”

Thanos scoffed, looking away like the passing streetlights were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “I said yeah, I do. You can interpret that however you want.”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “Mmm. I choose to interpret it as ‘Thanos loves me so much it physically hurts him to say it out loud.’”

Thanos shot him a deadpan look. “You would.”

Nam-Gyu hummed, completely unbothered. “Yep.”

Thanos sighed again, shaking his head dramatically. “Man, I really picked a smug little shit to fall in love with, huh?”

Nam-Gyu smirked, clearly thriving off this entire interaction. “You sure did, baby.”

Thanos groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “I regret everything.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled, eyes flicking toward him before returning to the road. “No, you don’t.”

Thanos grumbled something under his breath but didn’t argue.

Because, yeah.

He didn’t.

Not even a little.

Before Thanos could keep thinking about how stupidly cute Nam-Gyu looked when he was focused on driving—his lips slightly parted, his brow furrowed just the tiniest bit in concentration—they pulled up to the smoothie shop.

“You know,” Thanos mused as Nam-Gyu shifted into park, “it’s kinda funny we’re going to the same smoothie shop where I had a panic attack right after you had one.”

He said it as a joke, lighthearted, not really thinking much of it.

But when he turned to look at Nam-Gyu—

Oh, no.

Nam-Gyu was giving him the most kicked-puppy expression he had ever seen in his life.

“Wait, what?” Nam-Gyu’s voice was frantic, his whole body shifting toward Thanos, eyes wide with concern. “I didn’t know you had a panic attack when you were in the bathroom—why didn’t you tell me? We can go somewhere else, it’s fine.”

Thanos blinked, thrown off by how fast Nam-Gyu latched onto that information.

“Woah, woah, dude—” Thanos put his hands up before Nam-Gyu could start spiraling on his behalf. “It’s fine, I really don’t care. Plus, they have really good smoothies.”

Nam-Gyu still looked unsure, his gaze darting toward the shop like it had personally offended him.

Thanos sighed, reaching for the door handle. “And besides,” he added casually, “if I avoided all the places I’ve had a panic attack, I’d literally never leave my apartment.”

Nam-Gyu opened his mouth, paused, then closed it again.

He did not look reassured.

Thanos gave him a knowing smirk before pushing the door fully open. “So come on, and let’s get your feel-better treat.”

Nam-Gyu squinted at him, clearly still not happy about this revelation, but sighed in defeat, shaking his head. “You are so annoying.”

Thanos grinned. “Yeah, but you love me.”

Nam-Gyu groaned, shoving him toward the entrance. “Just get inside, baby.”

Thanos chuckled, stepping into the shop, the scent of fresh fruit and blended ice hitting him immediately.

Nam-Gyu followed, muttering, “I swear, you tell me one more deeply concerning fact about your life in passing like it’s casual weather talk, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Thanos hummed, tapping a finger against his chin like he was deeply considering it. “That does sound fun.”

Nam-Gyu shot him a look.

Thanos just smirked, stepping up to the counter.

Yeah.

This was already worth the trip.

Thanos squinted at the menu for a few seconds before nodding to himself. “Can I get... the mixed berry?”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Oh? Not getting a tropical one?”

Thanos rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “I like to try new things here and there.”

The tired-looking employee barely looked up as they typed in the order, voice flat with exhaustion. “And what does your boyfriend want?”

Thanos froze.

Nam-Gyu’s smirk exploded into a full-on grin.

“Ohhh,” Nam-Gyu drawled, turning to Thanos with his arms crossed, clearly enjoying this. “What does your boyfriend want, babe?”

Thanos, internally screaming, did not look at him.

Or at the employee.

Or at anything.

He just stared at the smoothie menu like it personally held the answers to the universe.

“…He’ll have the mango,” Thanos muttered.

Nam-Gyu laughed, clearly thriving in the moment. “Oh? You’re ordering for me now?”

Thanos gritted his teeth. “Do you want the mango or not?”

Nam-Gyu beamed. “Oh, I do. Please, continue making decisions for me, baby.”

Thanos groaned, dragging a hand down his face while Nam-Gyu just thrived in the chaos.

The employee, still exhausted and unaware of what they had just done, just nodded and typed it in. “Alright. That’ll be—”

Thanos was already shoving his card at them. “Just take it.”

Nam-Gyu cackled, leaning against the counter with an infuriatingly smug grin. “I love this day.”

Thanos shot him a look before sighing dramatically. “Can I un-order your smoothie?”

Nam-Gyu leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice. “Aww, don’t be shy, babe. The employee thinks we’re so cute.”

Thanos physically turned away, pulling his hoodie over his face.

Nam-Gyu, absolutely living for this, just chuckled, nudging Thanos’s arm. “Don’t worry. You’ll be my boyfriend someday.”

Thanos groaned again.

This was never going to end.

Nam-Gyu grinned as he followed Thanos over to a table, still very pleased with how things had just played out.

Thanos, on the other hand?

Still recovering.

He dropped into his seat with a sigh, pulling his hoodie up like he wanted to hide from existence.

Nam-Gyu sat across from him, chin resting on his palm, watching him with far too much entertainment.

Thanos peeked up at him. “Don’t.”

Nam-Gyu’s smirk widened. “Don’t what?”

“Whatever shit you’re about to say.” Thanos huffed, running a hand through his hair. “Just don’t.”

Nam-Gyu leaned forward slightly, completely ignoring that request.

“So,” he said, voice dripping with amusement, “how does it feel to be publicly claimed as my boyfriend?”

Thanos groaned, dropping his head onto the table. “I hate you.”

Nam-Gyu laughed, reaching over to poke at Thanos’s arm. “No, you love me, remember?”

Thanos lifted his head just enough to glare at him. “I take it back.”

Nam-Gyu gasped, dramatically clutching his chest. “Wow. Heartbreaking.”

Thanos rolled his eyes, but the corner of his lips twitched like he was fighting a smile.

Before Nam-Gyu could tease him any further, their order number was called.

Thanos shot up so fast that Nam-Gyu chuckled.

“Oh? Now you wanna be productive?”

Thanos just flipped him off over his shoulder before making his way to the counter.

Nam-Gyu smirked, leaning back in his chair.

Yeah.

This was easily the best smoothie trip of his life.

---

“And then—” Thanos could barely get the words out between wheezes of laughter. “I told her to fuck off!”

Nam-Gyu snorted, shaking his head as he leaned back against the car seat. “Oh my God,” he groaned, a grin pulling at his lips. “You told your sister to fuck off? Over weed?”

Thanos wiped at his eyes, still grinning as he nodded. “Yup.”

“You have no survival instincts.”

“None.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled, shaking his head as he took another sip of his smoothie. They’d been sitting in his car for a while now—seeking out privacy, warmth, and an excuse to avoid going home just a little longer.

Somehow, the conversation had drifted to dumb childhood stories.

Stories that, in hindsight, weren’t actually all that funny—but now, sitting here, with Nam-Gyu’s effortless laughter filling the space between them, they felt funny.

Felt lighter than they used to.

“So what happened after you said that?” Nam-Gyu asked, amusement still thick in his voice.

Thanos snorted, running a hand through his hair. “What do you think happened? She beat my ass, dude. Like, full-on—chased me through the fucking house with a broom.”

Nam-Gyu cackled, covering his mouth. “Oh my God.”

“I barely made it out alive.” Thanos shook his head, feigning deep trauma. “And the worst part? I wasn’t even high yet.”

Nam-Gyu groaned, rubbing his temples like he was physically in pain. “Jesus Christ. You’re the worst.”

Thanos grinned. “I really am.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the heater humming in the background as their laughter faded into quiet smirks and head shakes.

After a moment, Nam-Gyu exhaled, his fingers tapping absently against the steering wheel.

“Man…” His voice was a little softer now, a little slower. “It’s kinda fucked up how we just—laugh about this shit now, huh?”

Thanos leaned his head back against the seat, sighing. “Yeah.”

They weren’t really joking about their childhoods.

They were joking about how badly they survived them.

Nam-Gyu glanced at him, something knowing in his expression. “You ever just—talk about it? Like, for real?”

Thanos huffed, his lips quirking up slightly. “What do you think?”

Nam-Gyu snorted. “Yeah. Same.”

Silence settled between them again, but it wasn’t awkward.

It was understanding.

Like they both knew—knew that there were things neither of them had said yet. Things that mattered.

But for now?

For now, it was enough to sit here, laughing about the past instead of letting it haunt them.

Thanos nudged Nam-Gyu’s knee with his own. “Alright. Your turn.”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

Thanos smirked. “Tell me about a time you were an idiot.”

Nam-Gyu scoffed. “Oh, you mean, like, every day of my life?”

Thanos chuckled, stretching his arms behind his head. “Exactly.”

Nam-Gyu shook his head, smirking as he set his smoothie down. “Alright, alright. Let’s see…”

Nam-Gyu tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, pretending to think deeply, though the grin on his face said he already had something in mind.

“Okay,” he said, dragging it out for dramatic effect. “Here’s one.”

Thanos leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. “Hit me.”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “So, when I was, like, fifteen, me and my dumbass cousin had this brilliant idea—”

“Oh no.”

“—to sneak into an abandoned amusement park.”

Thanos snorted, already invested. “I love how you started that like it was gonna be a normal teenage rebellion story.”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “Normal is boring. Anyway, the place had been shut down for years, right? Completely fenced off, old-ass signs everywhere saying ‘No Trespassing’—you know, all the warning signs we should’ve listened to.”

“Obviously,” Thanos deadpanned.

“But did we? Nope.” Nam-Gyu shook his head, feigning disappointment in his past self. “So we climb this rusted-ass fence, and the second my cousin lands on the other side, he goes, ‘Dude. What if this place is haunted?’”

Thanos huffed a laugh. “Fantastic time to start thinking critically.”

“Right?! But by then, we were already in, so we’re like, ‘Fuck it, let’s look around.’” Nam-Gyu leaned forward slightly, voice dropping as he got into the storytelling zone. “It was weirdly quiet—like, no wind, no birds, nothing. And the deeper we went, the worse it got. It started feeling, like… I dunno, wrong.”

Thanos squinted. “Wait. Is this actually a ghost story? Because I swear to God, Nam-Gyu—”

Nam-Gyu laughed, shaking his head. “No, no, listen! So we’re creeping through this place, and we get to the old carousel, right? It’s all rusted, busted up, hasn’t moved in years—but the second we step near it, we hear this high-pitched creaking.”

Thanos stiffened slightly, despite himself. “The fuck?”

“That’s what I said! So we freeze, looking at each other like, ‘Dude, was that you?’ And then—” Nam-Gyu clapped his hands together suddenly, making Thanos jump. “BOOM! The carousel fucking moves.”

Thanos stared at him. “Lies.”

“I wish, man!” Nam-Gyu threw his hands up. “It made this horrible grinding noise—like the gears were barely holding together—and then it starts spinning.”

Thanos gawked at him. “Nah. Absolutely not.”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “So what do we do? We scream like little bitches and sprint for the exit.”

Thanos cackled, already picturing it. “Oh my God.”

Nam-Gyu sighed dramatically. “And guess what? In all the panic, I was the one who had to climb the fence first—”

Thanos smirked. “Because you were the fastest?”

“No, because my cousin panicked and threw me over it.”

Thanos lost it, doubling over in laughter. “Oh my fucking God—”

“Dude launched me like a fucking ragdoll, and I landed face-first in the dirt on the other side.” Nam-Gyu groaned, rubbing his forehead like he could still feel the impact. “Meanwhile, he’s still inside, screaming his ass off because he forgot to climb.”

Thanos was wheezing now. “So did the ghosts get him, or—?”

“Nah, but he did rip his pants wide open on the fence.” Nam-Gyu shook his head with a fond chuckle. “Had to walk home holding them together.”

Thanos wiped at his eyes, still grinning. “That’s fucking amazing.”

“Yeah, well.” Nam-Gyu smirked, sipping his smoothie like the chaos he just described was totally normal. “Moral of the story? Trespassing is a crime.”

Thanos snorted. “And yet, I feel like you didn’t learn your lesson.”

Nam-Gyu shrugged, completely unrepentant. “I learned to run faster.”

Thanos just shook his head, still grinning. “Fucking menace.”

And somehow, even though they were sitting in a dark car, talking about stupid childhood mistakes, Thanos felt—

Light.

Like for once, the past wasn’t something weighing them down.

Just something to laugh about.

Together.

Thanos leaned back against his seat, grinning as he looked over at Nam-Gyu. “I knew you had that bad bitch in you.”

Nam-Gyu snorted, shaking his head with a smirk. “Haha, well yeah—even without the heroin, I’ve been told that ‘bad bitch’ is still there.”

Thanos hummed, tilting his head slightly, eyes dragging over Nam-Gyu like he was actually considering that statement.

Then, with a smirk, he added, “Good thing I like them crazy.”

And, because he was a menace, he threw in a wink for good measure.

Nam-Gyu froze.

Just for a split second.

Then, his lips curled, something slow and dangerous, something that said, Oh? You wanna play this game?

He turned toward Thanos, elbow resting against the center console, leaning in just enough to close some of the space between them.

“Oh yeah?” Nam-Gyu’s voice dropped slightly, that lazy confidence slipping in. “So that’s your type? A little unhinged?”

Thanos smirked, refusing to back down. “I mean… clearly.”

Nam-Gyu huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head as he grabbed his smoothie again. “So what you’re saying is, I could literally ruin your life, and you’d still be into it?”

Thanos clicked his tongue, fake thinking about it. “Mmm. That depends.”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow, sipping his drink. “On?”

Thanos leaned in slightly, dropping his voice. “Would it be hot?”

Nam-Gyu nearly choked on his smoothie.

Thanos grinned.

“You’re the worst,” Nam-Gyu coughed, wiping his mouth.

Thanos beamed, clearly thriving off this. “Yeah, but you love me.”

Nam-Gyu groaned, tossing a balled-up napkin at him. “Shut up.”

Thanos cackled, dodging it effortlessly.

But even as Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, sipping his smoothie like Thanos hadn’t just flustered him, the pink dusting his ears did not go unnoticed.

And Thanos?

Oh, he was storing that information for later.

Nam-Gyu looked forward for a second, as if thinking.

Then, suddenly, he turned back to Thanos, eyes glinting with something mischievous.

“You want crazy?”

Thanos barely had time to process before Nam-Gyu jabbed a finger toward the window, pointing at something down the street.

Thanos followed his gaze—

The indoor ice-skating rink.

“Let’s do something crazy,” Nam-Gyu declared, grinning like he’d just cracked the greatest idea of all time.

Thanos blinked. “Wait. Wait. Are you serious?”

Nam-Gyu nodded—too eagerly. “Absolutely.”

Thanos narrowed his eyes. “Do you even know how to ice skate?”

Nam-Gyu’s grin widened.

Thanos’s stomach dropped.

“…You don’t, do you?”

Nam-Gyu shrugged. “Minor details.”

Thanos gawked at him. “That’s a major fucking detail!”

“Come on, Thanos.” Nam-Gyu nudged his arm. “I’ve never done it before. It’ll be fun.”

Thanos crossed his arms, trying to act unimpressed. “Oh, now you wanna try new things?”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “Well, you did say you like them crazy.”

Thanos opened his mouth—then shut it again.

…Damn it.

The worst part?

Nam-Gyu did look ridiculously happy about this idea.

Like, genuinely excited.

And Thanos had never seen him smile that big before.

It was disarming.

Thanos groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I hate you.”

Nam-Gyu beamed. “I know.”

Thanos sighed deeply, then pointed a finger at him. “If you fall—”

“I’m absolutely taking you down with me.”

Thanos groaned again. “I knew you were gonna say that.”

Nam-Gyu laughed, already putting the car in drive. “Buckle up, baby.”

Thanos shot him a look. “Don’t call me that right before attempting to commit a crime against physics.”

Nam-Gyu just smirked. “Too late.”

And with that, they pulled out of the parking lot—toward absolute chaos.

---

The drive to the ice-skating rink was short—barely enough time for Thanos to process the absolute bullshit he had just agreed to.

And then—

As soon as they pulled into the parking lot, Nam-Gyu practically hopped out of the car.

Excited.

Like, genuinely excited.

Thanos watched from the passenger seat, momentarily stunned.

Because—

Shit, that was cute.

Nam-Gyu looked so effortlessly happy—grinning like an idiot, eyes lit up with something bright and boyish as he looked up at the neon sign of the rink.

Like he had no hesitation, no second-guessing, no overthinking.

Just pure, undiluted joy.

Thanos sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair before finally forcing himself out of the car. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Nam-Gyu turned to him, grinning even wider. “Believe it, baby.”

Thanos paused, staring at him for a second.

“…You really wanna do this, huh?”

Nam-Gyu nodded enthusiastically. “Hell yeah.”

Thanos exhaled through his nose, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “…Fine. But if I bust my ass because of you—”

Nam-Gyu slung an arm around his shoulders, already walking them toward the entrance. “Then I’ll personally make sure you land on me.”

Thanos let himself be dragged, grumbling under his breath. “That’s not comforting.”

Nam-Gyu snickered, tightening his hold slightly. “It should be.”

And, well…

Maybe it was.

Just a little.

But Thanos wasn’t about to admit that.

Not yet, at least.

Nam-Gyu pushed the door open, stepping aside to hold it for Thanos with a dramatic flourish. “After you,” he said, voice dripping with exaggerated politeness.

Thanos rolled his eyes but still muttered, “Thanks.”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “Why, of course!”

Thanos huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he stepped inside. The blast of cold air from the rink hit him immediately, and somewhere in the distance, the sound of blades scraping against ice filled the space.

As much as he hated to admit it, part of him was actually kind of looking forward to this.

And—okay, fine.

Maybe half the reason he was going along with it was because Nam-Gyu had one of the worst fucking nights not even twenty-four hours ago.

And now?

Now, he looked so damn happy.

Like a kid seeing snow for the first time—eyes bright, grin wide, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet as he scanned the rink.

So, yeah.

If Thanos had to risk his life on slippery ice to keep that look on Nam-Gyu’s face?

Maybe it was worth it.

Nam-Gyu turned to him suddenly. “Wait. Have you ever done this before?”

Thanos hesitated.

Which was probably the worst thing he could’ve done, because Nam-Gyu immediately narrowed his eyes, suspicious.

“Uhh,” Thanos stalled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe?”

Nam-Gyu’s grin turned devious. “Ohhh, no. That was the worst ‘maybe’ I’ve ever heard.”

Thanos huffed, looking away. “What does it matter?”

Nam-Gyu leaned in slightly, too entertained. “So you have.”

Thanos groaned. “Technically.”

Nam-Gyu’s eyes lit up. “When?”

“I dunno!” Thanos waved a hand vaguely. “A long-ass time ago!”

Nam-Gyu crossed his arms, looking him up and down like he was assessing a challenge. “So what I’m hearing is… you might actually be better at this than me.”

Thanos smirked. “And what if I am?”

Nam-Gyu tilted his head, considering.

Then, with zero hesitation, he declared, “Then I’m absolutely making you hold my hand.”

Thanos choked. “What?!”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “For safety reasons, obviously.”

Thanos stared at him, mouth opening and closing like he had too many things to say at once.

But before he could recover, Nam-Gyu was already walking toward the skate rental counter, whistling like he hadn’t just dropped that on him.

Thanos exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a second.

This was so going to be a disaster.

And yet—

When he opened his eyes, he saw Nam-Gyu still grinning to himself, rubbing his hands together like he was genuinely excited about this whole thing.

And somehow?

Somehow, that made it a little less of a disaster.

Maybe.

Nam-Gyu turned toward him, cupping his hands around his mouth like he was making an important announcement.

“What’s your shoe size?!”

Thanos laughed, shaking his head. “Nine!”

Nam-Gyu shot him a thumbs-up before turning back to the counter, chatting with the employee as he got their rentals.

Thanos, still smirking to himself, pulled out his phone to check the time.

6:12 PM.

He hummed, slipping his phone back into his pocket just as Nam-Gyu walked back over, holding two pairs of skates.

Nam-Gyu plopped down onto the bench beside him, dropping Thanos’s skates in front of him with a satisfied grin. “Alright. Time to suffer.”

Thanos looked up at him, stretching his legs out lazily. “Okay, but we’re doing this for an hour max.”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Already setting a time limit?”

Thanos nodded, completely serious. “Yeah. Then we’re going home to Doom.”

Nam-Gyu blinked.

Then—

Blushed.

And shit, it was instant.

That pretty pink dusting his cheeks, creeping up to the tips of his ears.

“You want me to go home with you again?” he asked, voice slightly softer, like he was processing that in real-time.

Thanos furrowed his brows. “Well, duh.”

Nam-Gyu just stared at him, still flustered as hell.

Thanos, meanwhile, completely oblivious, bent down to untie his sneakers. “Doom is used to your presence,” he added casually.

Nam-Gyu blinked again.

Thanos… didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t stumble over the words, didn’t act like he’d just invited Nam-Gyu over for the third night in a row like it was no big deal.

Which—

Apparently, to him, it wasn’t.

Nam-Gyu exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he bent down to start putting on his skates.

This man is going to kill me.

Still, despite everything, a small smile tugged at Nam-Gyu’s lips.

Because, yeah.

Thanos was so doomed.

And maybe…

Maybe Nam-Gyu was, too.

---

“Shit! Fuck— Thanos, help!”

Nam-Gyu latched onto Thanos’s arms like his life depended on it, his skates slipping wildly beneath him.

Thanos barely had time to react before instinct kicked in—his hands shot up, gripping Nam-Gyu’s forearms firmly to steady him.

“Okay, okay, I got you,” Thanos said, adjusting his stance. He moved smoothly into position, turning just enough so he could skate backward, leading Nam-Gyu by the arms.

Nam-Gyu stared at him, panicked, but he let Thanos take control, his grip still tight like he did not trust himself to stay upright.

Thanos huffed a laugh. “Damn, you really suck at this.”

Nam-Gyu glared, though it lacked any real heat. “Oh, fuck off—I told you I’ve never done this before!”

“Yeah, yeah, I just didn’t think you’d be this bad.”

Nam-Gyu groaned, but his grip on Thanos didn’t loosen.

Thanos smirked, tightening his own hold just slightly in reassurance.

“I won’t let you fall,” he murmured.

Nam-Gyu stilled for half a second.

The words were simple. Casual, even.

But the way Thanos said it—so certain, so solid—made something in Nam-Gyu’s chest tighten.

He swallowed, looking anywhere but Thanos’s face. “You say that now,” he muttered. “But if I go down, you’re coming with me.”

Thanos chuckled. “That’s the deal, huh?”

Nam-Gyu nodded firmly. “If I die, we die together.”

Thanos rolled his eyes, but his hands didn’t move. “Not happening, baby.”

Nam-Gyu groaned, tilting his head back. “I swear, if you call me that one more time—”

“You’ll what?” Thanos grinned, effortlessly guiding him across the ice. “Fall harder for me?”

Nam-Gyu hated how fast his brain short-circuited at that.

“I will throw you into the boards,” he threatened, still clinging to Thanos’s arms.

Thanos just laughed, steady as ever.

And despite the horrifyingly embarrassing way his heart was racing, Nam-Gyu couldn’t bring himself to let go.

Nam-Gyu gritted his teeth, legs wobbling beneath him as he desperately tried to find some kind of rhythm.

“Why is this so hard?!” he groaned, grip still iron-clad on Thanos’s arms. “It’s just standing on ice, why is my entire body betraying me?”

Thanos, effortlessly skating backward like he’d done this his whole life, grinned. “It’s really not that hard.”

Nam-Gyu scowled. “Oh, I’m so glad this is easy for you.”

Thanos snickered. “You’re just mad ‘cause I look cool as fuck right now, and you look like a baby deer on stilts.”

Nam-Gyu glared at him. “You are one wrong move away from me dragging you down with me.”

Thanos smirked, giving his arms a small reassuring squeeze. “I’d love to see you try.”

Nam-Gyu huffed but didn’t say anything, too focused on not dying.

Thanos, meanwhile, easily adjusted his grip, slowly loosening the hold between them. “Okay, let’s try something.”

Nam-Gyu narrowed his eyes. “If you tell me to let go, I swear to God—”

Thanos chuckled. “No, dumbass. Just try moving your feet with the rhythm.”

Nam-Gyu groaned. “There is no rhythm!”

“There is, I swear.” Thanos grinned, shifting even closer. “Just follow me.”

Nam-Gyu sighed dramatically but hesitantly mimicked Thanos’s movements.

Right foot.

Left foot.

Right foot—shit, too far—

Thanos caught him before he could completely lose balance, their hands gripping tighter around each other’s arms.

Nam-Gyu froze.

Because—

Oh.

They were really close.

Like, face inches apart, breath visible in the cold air close.

And Thanos was still holding onto him, still looking at him with that easy, lopsided smirk—like Nam-Gyu wasn’t a complete mess, like he wasn’t a disaster clinging onto him for dear life.

Nam-Gyu’s heart did something stupid in his chest.

Thanos tilted his head slightly. “You good?”

Nam-Gyu cleared his throat, forcing his voice to stay even. “Yeah. Totally fine.”

Thanos raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You sure?”

Nam-Gyu nodded quickly. Too quickly. “Mhm.”

Thanos squinted at him for a second, then—

He grinned.

Nam-Gyu’s stomach flipped.

“That’s cute,” Thanos said, voice light, teasing.

Nam-Gyu froze again. “What’s cute?”

Thanos leaned in slightly, like he knew exactly what he was doing. “How flustered you get.”

Nam-Gyu’s brain short-circuited.

His first instinct was to deny, deny, deny—but before he could snap back with a sarcastic retort, his skate slipped slightly beneath him.

“Fuck!”

And, true to his earlier threat—

If he went down, Thanos was coming with him.

“Fuck!”

Thanos barely had time to react before gravity betrayed them both—

Nam-Gyu yanked them both down as his skate slid out from under him, and Thanos, true to his word, refused to let go.

There was a split second where Thanos thought, Maybe I can save this, maybe I can get my balance back—

Nope.

They hit the ice, Nam-Gyu’s back slamming into it first, with Thanos landing half on top of him.

“Oof—”

There was a sharp moment of silence.

And then—

Thanos burst out laughing.

Nam-Gyu groaned, eyes squeezing shut like he was praying for death. “I told you I was taking you down with me.”

Thanos was still laughing, cheek resting against Nam-Gyu’s shoulder as he shook with it. “Dude, that was so dramatic. We went down like a fucking Shakespearean tragedy.”

Nam-Gyu shoved at his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Thanos was gasping for breath. “You wiped out so hard, dude. That was so bad—”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Nam-Gyu sighed and let his head fall back against the ice. “God. I am never doing this again.”

Thanos, still grinning, lifted himself up slightly, bracing his hands on either side of Nam-Gyu’s head. “You sure? I think you were getting the hang of it.”

Nam-Gyu glared at him. “I hate you,” he repeated.

Thanos smirked. “Say it again, but like, convincingly this time.”

Nam-Gyu grumbled something under his breath before shifting slightly beneath him—

And that’s when he realized.

They were still tangled up together.

Thanos was still half on top of him.

And Thanos noticed the second he did.

The teasing look in his eyes softened into something else, something quieter, something almost dangerous in the way it made Nam-Gyu’s chest feel tight.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

The air between them shifted, the world around them fading out—the sound of other skaters, the chill of the ice beneath them, the distant music playing over the speakers.

It was just this.

Just them.

Thanos’s gaze flickered down to Nam-Gyu’s lips for a split second.

And then—

“Are you two good?”

The voice startled them both.

Thanos jerked back slightly, and Nam-Gyu scrambled to sit up.

One of the rink staff members was standing over them, arms crossed, looking very unimpressed.

Thanos, still breathless from laughing (and maybe something else), lifted a hand. “Yeah, yeah, we’re good.”

Nam-Gyu was still catching up with the fact that they almost—

Almost what?

He shook his head, standing up with Thanos’s help.

The second they were both upright, Nam-Gyu cleared his throat. “Okay, I’m so done with this.”

Thanos snorted. “You lasted, what? Five minutes?”

Nam-Gyu glared. “Shut up.”

Thanos grinned but didn’t push it further. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

And Nam-Gyu—who should have corrected him, should have pointed out that it wasn’t his home—

Said nothing.

Because maybe…

Maybe it was starting to feel like it.

---

The car ride back was quieter than before.

Not in a bad way.

Just… different.

Nam-Gyu drummed his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, glancing over at Thanos every so often. He wasn’t even doing anything. Just sitting there, watching the city lights blur past them, his expression unreadable.

Nam-Gyu exhaled through his nose and focused back on the road.

He still couldn’t stop thinking about earlier.

About Thanos on top of him.

About how close they had been.

About how, for one stupid second, he’d thought—

Nope.

Not thinking about it.

Not—

“…You’re awfully quiet, honey,” Thanos teased, finally breaking the silence.

Nam-Gyu gripped the wheel tighter. “Don’t start.”

Thanos smirked. “I’m just saying, usually you’re either complaining about something or threatening me. You feeling okay?”

Nam-Gyu sighed dramatically. “You’re so annoying.”

Thanos hummed. “And yet, you keep coming back.”

Nam-Gyu had no response for that.

Didn’t need one.

The rest of the drive passed in comfortable silence, and by the time they reached Thanos’s apartment, Nam-Gyu had mostly managed to bury whatever it was that had almost happened back at the rink.

Mostly.

Doom was waiting for them when they walked inside, immediately weaving between their legs with tiny, happy meows.

“Yeah, yeah, I missed you too, princess,” Thanos said, scooping her up and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You been good?”

Doom purred in response.

Nam-Gyu shook his head as he closed the door behind him. “You really weren’t lying when you said you’d go full crazy cat dad, huh?”

Thanos turned toward him, holding Doom in one hand and dramatically placing the other over his chest. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know, I am a fantastic father.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips.

Thanos set Doom down and stretched his arms over his head, his shirt lifting just slightly, and Nam-Gyu immediately looked anywhere else.

“Movie?” Thanos asked.

Nam-Gyu blinked. “Huh?”

Thanos smirked. “A movie. You did say I could pick this time.”

Nam-Gyu groaned. “God, you’re not gonna make me watch something stupid, are you?”

Thanos gasped, offended. “I only have good taste, thank you very much.”

Nam-Gyu gave him a look. “You literally made me sit through a Lee Byung-Hun marathon last time.”

“And it was incredible,” Thanos shot back. “You’re just uncultured.”

Nam-Gyu sighed heavily. “Fine. Whatever. Just pick something.”

Thanos grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

Nam-Gyu shook his head, dropping down onto the couch.

Doom jumped up beside him, curling up against his leg, and he absentmindedly ran a hand over her back.

He glanced toward Thanos, watching as he scrolled through the movie options.

And for the first time in a long time, Nam-Gyu realized—

He felt good.

Really, genuinely good.

And maybe, just maybe…

This was exactly where he was meant to be.

An hour into the movie, Thanos realized he had no fucking idea what was happening.

Not because it was bad—though it kind of was—but because his brain was very focused on the fact that Nam-Gyu was sitting way too close to him.

Like, closer than usual.

Like, their legs were touching, and neither of them had moved.

Like, Nam-Gyu kept laughing—really laughing—and every time he did, Thanos felt it in his fucking chest.

He took a slow breath, staring blankly at the screen, determined not to make this weird.

Then, as if the universe was actively trying to fuck with him, Nam-Gyu shifted—stretching his arms over his head, yawning loudly, before letting one arm casually drop across the back of the couch.

Casually.

Like this was nothing.

Like it wasn’t the most obvious fucking thing ever.

Thanos swallowed, trying not to react.

“…You good, honey?”

Fuck.

Nam-Gyu was looking at him.

Thanos forced himself to scoff, rolling his eyes for good measure. “I swear to god, if you’re trying to pull some shitty rom-com move on me—”

Nam-Gyu grinned. “Oh? You think I’m trying to put my arm around you?”

Thanos narrowed his eyes. “Are you not?”

Nam-Gyu made a mockingly thoughtful face. “I could be.”

Thanos stared at him.

Nam-Gyu stared right back.

Then, so nonchalantly it almost didn’t register, Nam-Gyu dropped his arm fully around Thanos’s shoulders.

Thanos’s brain short-circuited.

“Oh my god,” he muttered under his breath.

Nam-Gyu chuckled. “Relax, baby. It’s just a movie.”

Thanos gritted his teeth. “Then fucking watch it.”

Nam-Gyu leaned in slightly, voice dropping just a bit. “You’re awfully tense, sweetheart.”

Oh my god.

Thanos inhaled sharply, looking back at the screen, forcing himself to focus on the truly awful movie playing in front of them.

And for the rest of the night, he pretended really hard that his heart wasn’t racing.

That he wasn’t hyper-aware of Nam-Gyu’s warmth beside him.

That he wasn’t kind of enjoying this.

That maybe—just maybe—he wouldn’t mind if Nam-Gyu did this again.

Although, he couldn’t help but notice how they kept taking turns teasing each other. It was becoming a little game between them, a back-and-forth that neither ever really won—but both enjoyed far too much.

And well… maybe he should just do it.

Thanos leaned in slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Hey, Nam-Gyu, look at me.”

Nam-Gyu turned his head, raising a brow. “What?”

Thanos kept his expression neutral, gaze flicking to Nam-Gyu’s lips for just a second before he spoke again. “You got something on your face.”

Nam-Gyu frowned, instinctively reaching up to touch his cheek. “Where?”

Thanos hummed, pretending to inspect him closely. “Right… there.”

And just as Nam-Gyu was about to ask again, Thanos reached out—his touch featherlight as he brushed his thumb over the corner of Nam-Gyu’s mouth, slow and deliberate.

Nam-Gyu froze, breath hitching.

Thanos could feel it—the shift in the air, the way the teasing suddenly wasn’t just teasing anymore. He could hear the way Nam-Gyu’s breath faltered, could see how his lips parted slightly like he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Thanos’ voice was softer now, lower. “Got it.”

Nam-Gyu didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

And maybe it was reckless, maybe it was fast, but fuck it.

Thanos leaned in, just a little. Just enough to give Nam-Gyu the chance to pull away.

He didn’t.

So Thanos closed the distance, capturing Nam-Gyu’s lips in a slow, lingering kiss.

It was careful at first—like testing the waters, like making sure neither of them would drown. But then Nam-Gyu kissed back, just a little, tilting his head, pressing closer. And just like that, any hesitation melted.

Thanos felt Nam-Gyu’s fingers grip his hoodie, pulling him in deeper. He could taste the faint remnants of the smoothie they’d shared earlier, feel the warmth of Nam-Gyu’s breath against his skin.

When they finally pulled away, just barely, Thanos chuckled breathlessly. “Okay, that was way better than a boop.”

Nam-Gyu huffed a small laugh, shaking his head as his hands stayed in place, still holding onto Thanos like he wasn’t ready to let go. “…Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

Thanos let out a breathy laugh, eyes flicking back to the TV. “Okay, what’s happening? Because, if I’m being honest, I haven’t been listening—”

Before he could finish, Nam-Gyu grabbed the front of his hoodie and pulled him into another kiss.

It wasn’t hesitant like before. It wasn’t testing the waters. It was deliberate, like Nam-Gyu had finally stopped overthinking and just acted.

Thanos barely had time to react before warmth consumed him—Nam-Gyu’s lips pressing against his own, firm and sure. A surprised noise slipped from Thanos’ throat, but it quickly faded as he melted into it. His hand instinctively lifted to cup Nam-Gyu’s jaw, fingers brushing against the soft skin beneath his ear.

The kiss deepened for just a moment—Nam-Gyu tilting his head, Thanos’ thumb tracing along his cheek—before they both pulled away slightly, lips still hovering close.

Thanos blinked, trying to catch his breath, heart pounding in his chest. “Damn,” he mumbled, voice laced with something between awe and amusement. “Not that I’m complaining, but—what was that for?”

Nam-Gyu’s lips curled into a small, lopsided smile, his voice quiet but steady. “You were talking too much.”

Thanos let out a breathy chuckle, his forehead gently bumping against Nam-Gyu’s. “Yeah?” His fingers absentmindedly traced along Nam-Gyu’s jaw. “Guess I should run my mouth more often.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance there—just a warmth that hadn’t left since the moment their lips met.

The TV continued playing in the background, long forgotten.

Notes:

😘
Also yall leave some of the sweetest comments 😭🫰💕

Chapter 12: The Phone Call

Notes:

Thanos angst won by a lot lol, dw tho more Nam-Gyu angst is planned!

Also sorry if the quality of this chapter isn't the best I wrote it on my phone, and personally I just think I write way better on my laptop 😂

Thanos had noticed something over the past few days since he and Nam-Gyu had kissed and… well, started kinda maybe dating?

Okay, they hadn’t actually talked about it, but it was obvious. At least, Thanos thought it was obvious. They were always together, and Nam-Gyu had even spent the night at his place more often than not. But the thing that stood out the most?

If Nam-Gyu knew you were okay with it—he was really clingy.

And honestly? Thanos fucking loved it.

It wasn’t something he’d expected, not after seeing how Nam-Gyu carried himself most of the time—cool, a little detached, someone who didn’t let people too close unless he wanted them there. But the second Nam-Gyu figured out Thanos wasn’t going to push him away? Yeah, turns out he loved being close.

It started small. Fingers brushing against his in passing, lingering touches that seemed casual but lasted just a little too long to be accidental. But then it became more obvious—Nam-Gyu would walk up behind him, arms casually wrapping around Thanos’ waist while he mumbled something against his shoulder.

Sometimes he’d hold onto Thanos’ arm while they were out, tugging at his sleeve absentmindedly like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. And other times? He’d just straight-up grab his hand and not let go, tracing his thumb over the back of it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And God, Thanos was not complaining.

In fact, every time it happened, he felt this warm, giddy feeling settle deep in his chest. Like a little reminder that yeah, someone wanted him. Not just for a night, not just for the idea of him, but him.

Still, as much as he loved it, there was something nagging at him. They hadn’t talked about what they were. Not really. And sure, Nam-Gyu was touchy, affectionate, practically glued to him at this point—but that didn’t mean Thanos knew where they stood.

So yeah. He wanted to talk about it. Needed to.

Because if Nam-Gyu was holding onto him like this, if he was letting himself be soft with him, then Thanos wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to fuck it up.

But—

"Ughhh, I hate reading about stupid custody cases." Nam-Gyu groaned from the couch, tossing his phone onto the coffee table like it had personally offended him.

Right. For the past few days, between stealing kisses, bickering over what to watch, and Nam-Gyu practically molding himself to Thanos' side whenever they were alone, they'd also been drowning in research—trying to figure out how the hell to get Ji-Ho out of that absolute hellhole of a house.

And it was exhausting.

Thanos ran a hand through his hair, watching as Nam-Gyu slumped back against the cushions, frustration written all over his face. His glasses had slipped down his nose, his jaw was clenched, and his fingers twitched like he wanted to throw something but knew it wouldn’t help.

"Like, I already know there's no way in hell a judge is gonna let him live with me," Nam-Gyu muttered, voice tight with anger. "I wouldn't even let him live with me, let’s be real. But I don’t want him to go to a fucking group home, either."

He exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand down his face before shaking his head. "I spent a summer in one once. It's like a fucking prison. Except worse, because at least in prison, you know what you did to get there."

Thanos' stomach twisted at that. He hadn’t heard much about Nam-Gyu’s past, not in detail. He knew little pieces—things Nam-Gyu had let slip between sarcastic comments and deflections—but this? This was the most he’d ever admitted outright.

Nam-Gyu scoffed, shaking his head. "Like, do you know what it's like? Having everything decided for you by people who don't give a shit about you? Waking up every day knowing that no one actually wants you, they just have to tolerate you because it’s their fucking job?"

His voice cracked slightly at the end, and Thanos felt something deep in his chest ache.

He didn’t say anything at first—he just got up, walked over, and dropped onto the couch next to Nam-Gyu. He nudged their knees together, then reached out, gently fixing Nam-Gyu’s glasses before resting his hand over Nam-Gyu’s own, giving it a light squeeze.

"I don’t know what that's like," he admitted, voice soft but firm. "But I do know that we're gonna figure this out. Together."

Nam-Gyu let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, but his fingers curled around Thanos' like he neededsomething to hold onto.

"...Yeah," he mumbled, squeezing back. "Together."

Thanos reached over, grabbing Nam-Gyu’s phone off the coffee table and skimming through what he was reading. Legal jargon, case studies, pages of frustrating red tape—no wonder Nam-Gyu looked like he was ready to throw his phone across the room.

“The church my dad worked at did this fostering thing,” Thanos said after a moment. “I remember this one kid—no one else would take him in. My dad fostered him for a few months until his uncle could take him.” He set the phone down, rubbing his thumb over the edge of the case. “It was kind of a shitty situation, but at least the kid ended up with family.”

He looked over at Nam-Gyu. “Is there anyone else in your family who could take Ji-Ho?”

Nam-Gyu exhaled sharply and leaned back into the couch, staring up at the ceiling like the answer might be written there. “My grandparents on my mom’s side took in my sister when she was a baby.” His voice was careful, almost distant. “But I’ve never met them. Or her.”

Thanos blinked. “Wait, really?”

Nam-Gyu nodded, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. “She was way older than me. When my mom had her, she couldn’t take care of her, so my grandparents took her in. Then she had Do-Yun, Hak-Kun, me, and finally Ji-Ho—and for some reason, they never took any of us.” A bitter chuckle escaped him. “Guess one grandkid was enough.”

Thanos frowned. “You ever think about reaching out to them?”

Nam-Gyu shrugged, still staring at the ceiling. “What would be the point? They didn’t want anything to do with me, Do-Yun, or Hak-Kun. And I don’t even know if they’re good people. If I send Ji-Ho to them, am I just throwing him into another bad situation?” He clenched his jaw, his voice dropping lower. “I don’t want him to end up like me.”

Thanos nudged his knee against Nam-Gyu’s, grounding him. “Then we figure it out first. See what kind of people they are before making a decision.”

Nam-Gyu finally looked over at him, a little startled by the “we.” He wasn’t used to having someone stand beside him like this—someone who just wanted to help, no strings attached. It felt… unfamiliar. But not bad.

“…Yeah,” he murmured after a moment. “Okay. Let’s see what we can find out.”

Nam-Gyu took his phone back checking the time, "Damn, its only seven, you want to get some breakfast?"

Thanos grinned, "I thought you'd never asked."

Nam-Gyu took his phone back, glancing at the time before sighing. “Damn, it’s only seven.” He stretched his arms over his head, his sweater riding up slightly before he let them drop back down. “You wanna get some breakfast or something?”

Thanos grinned, propping his chin on his hand. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. You got somewhere in mind, or are we just driving until we find a place?”

Thanos leaned back against the couch, pretending to think. “Well, we could go classic—greasy diner, cheap coffee, the works.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or… we could get something fancy. Pancakes stacked a mile high, overpriced lattes, tiny portions that cost way too much.”

Nam-Gyu snorted. “Right, because we totally fit in at some bougie brunch place.”

Thanos smirked. “What, scared they’ll take one look at us and kick us out?”

“More like I don’t wanna pay thirty bucks for toast.”

“Valid.” Thanos pushed himself up, stretching. “Alright then, diner it is. You driving, or do I have to carry you there?”

Nam-Gyu shook his head, already grabbing his keys. “I don’t trust you to drive before noon.”

“Fair,” Thanos said, following him out the door. “Let’s go get some damn pancakes.”

---

Thanos pushed open the door to the diner, the warm scent of sugary syrup, freshly brewed coffee, and butter sizzling on the grill wrapping around them like a cozy blanket. The soft hum of chatter mixed with the occasional clatter of plates as they stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling to announce their arrival.

He held the door open for Nam-Gyu with an exaggerated bow. “I’d call you ‘princess,’ but that title belongs to my little Doom. Guess that means I’ll just have to make you my prince instead.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, but the blush creeping up his cheeks was impossible to hide. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, trying and failing to suppress a grin. “I’m only a prince if you’re the annoying dragon that won’t stop perching outside my castle.”

Thanos gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Annoying? I’ll have you know I am the most charming, handsome, and well-behaved dragon in the land.”

Nam-Gyu snorted, walking past him toward an empty booth. “Yeah, well-behaved, my ass. You’d probably set fire to the moat just to be a menace."

Thanos slid into the booth across from him, smirking. “Only if it means I get your attention.”

Nam-Gyu shook his head, pretending to be exasperated, but the warmth in his gaze gave him away. “God, you’re impossible.”

“Impossible but lovable,” Thanos corrected, grabbing the sticky laminated menu. “Now, let’s talk pancakes. You feeling classic or something with a ridiculous amount of toppings?”

Nam-Gyu hummed, flipping through the menu. “I dunno, what says ‘prince stuck in a castle with an annoying dragon’ more? Chocolate chip or blueberry?”

Thanos leaned back, tapping his chin. “Blueberry. Feels more tragic.”

“Chocolate chip it is,” Nam-Gyu shot back smugly, and Thanos couldn’t do anything but laugh as the waitress came over to take their order.

The woman who approached their table had the kind of presence that made it clear she'd been working there for years. She wore a faded apron over her uniform, a pen tucked behind her ear, and had that no-nonsense but warm demeanor of someone who had seen it all. Her honey-sweet voice wrapped around them like a comforting hug.

"Hello, kiddos. What can I get you this morning?" she asked, flipping open her notepad with practiced ease.

Nam-Gyu smiled up at her, his voice light. “Chocolate chip pancakes all around, and two coffees, please.”

Thanos raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, we’re ordering for me now?”

Nam-Gyu shot him a look. “You were going to get the same thing anyway.”

The waitress chuckled, jotting down the order with a knowing smile. “He’s got you figured out, huh?”

Thanos sighed dramatically, leaning back in the booth. “Unfortunately.”

The woman shook her head fondly. “That’s how you know it’s real.” She tucked her notepad away. “I’ll get those started for you two.”

As she walked off, Thanos smirked at Nam-Gyu. “So, does this make you my doting prince now? Ordering for me, making sure I’m fed?”

Nam-Gyu scoffed, stirring the sugar packet basket on the table with one finger. “More like your handler. Someone’s gotta keep you in check.”

Thanos grinned, resting his chin on his hand. “I like the sound of that.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, but his smile didn’t fade.

The conversation flowed easily between them, the kind of effortless back-and-forth that came when two people were completely comfortable around each other. They hadn’t talked about anything serious since sitting down, just lighthearted debates and playful banter.

“I don’t know, man,” Nam-Gyu mused, tapping his fingers against the table. “I just think Lee Byung-hun’s early work was better.”

Thanos gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Wow, Nam-Gyu. I thought I knew you.”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “What? I can’t appreciate the classics?”

“No, no, I never said that.” Thanos leaned in, eyes narrowing. “But how could you not like his newer work? I mean, have you even seen—”

His phone suddenly buzzed against the table, cutting him off. He frowned, pulling it out of his pocket and checking the caller ID.

“Ughhh,” he groaned loudly, rubbing his face.

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow, curiosity evident. “Who is it?”

Thanos sighed and muted the call before setting his phone facedown on the table. “I don’t know, but if that random-ass number calls me one more time, I swear to God, I’m gonna punch something.” His irritation was clear in the sharp edge of his voice.

Nam-Gyu chuckled, resting his chin in his hand. “Why not just block it?”

Thanos huffed, sitting up straighter. “Because then they win!” His frustration boiled over just enough that he slammed his hands on the table—not too hard, but enough to rattle the silverware.

Nam-Gyu startled slightly before breaking into laughter. “Dude, it’s probably just some telemarketer trying to sell you insurance or a vacation package.”

Thanos crossed his arms, scowling. “I don’t care. If they’re trying to scam me, I should at least get to yell at them first.”

Nam-Gyu shook his head, still grinning. “You’re way too dramatic.”

“And yet you keep hanging out with me,” Thanos shot back, smirking.

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, but there was no denying the warmth in them. “Yeah, yeah. Now shut up and drink your coffee, drama queen.”

Thanos took a sip, muttering under his breath. "I prefered when you called me dragon." Nam-Gyu just chuckled in response.

The waitress returned, balancing two large plates piled high with steaming chocolate chip pancakes. The rich scent of melted chocolate and warm batter filled the air as she set them down in front of them.

"Here you go, boys. Enjoy," she said with a kind smile before walking away.

Thanos practically lit up, rubbing his hands together like a kid on Christmas morning. "Hell yeah, pancake time!" he cheered, grabbing his fork with unrestrained enthusiasm.

Nam-Gyu chuckled, watching him with amusement as he immediately drowned his stack in syrup. "You get this excited over pancakes?"

Thanos didn’t even pause as he cut into the fluffy stack. "Uh, yeah? Have you ever had a bad day after eating pancakes? Didn’t think so." He shoved a big bite into his mouth, groaning at the taste. "Perfection."

Nam-Gyu just shook his head, resting his chin in his hand. His eyes softened as he watched Thanos eat, the warm diner lights reflecting in them.

"You’re so cute," he murmured, almost absentmindedly.

Thanos, mid-bite, nearly choked. He quickly swallowed and pointed his fork at Nam-Gyu. "You can’t just say shit like that when I have food in my mouth! I could’ve died."

Nam-Gyu smirked. "What a tragic way to go. Death by pancakes."

Thanos scoffed, taking another bite. "At least I’d die happy."

Nam-Gyu hummed, watching him for a few more seconds before picking up his own fork. "Yeah... I guess you would."

The moment the first bite of chocolatey, buttery, syrup-drenched goodness hit Thanos’s tongue, he nearly melted right then and there. It was almost unfair how good it was—like a warm hug in food form. He had to stop himself from groaning out loud, but the way his eyes fluttered shut said enough.

It was weird. Ever since getting sober, everything tasted a hundred times better than before. Flavors were sharper, richer—like he was experiencing food for the first time all over again. He never realized just how much he’d dulled his senses, how much he’d been missing.

Maybe if he had known food could taste this good three months ago, giving up drugs wouldn’t have been so hard.

Well… probably not. But still.

He had a month now. Thirty full days. And the small, round chip tucked safely in his pocket was proof. Sometimes he pulled it out just to remind himself it was real. It still felt new, like a fresh layer of skin forming over an old wound. Every day, he was feeling things he hadn’t let himself feel in years—most of them since he was a kid.

It was terrifying,

And kind of amazing.

"Good?" Nam-Gyu’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

Thanos blinked, then grinned, licking a bit of syrup from his lip. "Dude, you have no idea."

Nam-Gyu smirked. "I think I do. You look like you just had a religious experience."

Thanos snorted. "I mean, it’s up there." He twirled his fork between his fingers, tapping it lightly against the plate. "But, uh… hey, can I tell you something?"

Nam-Gyu raised a brow, setting his fork down. "Of course."

Thanos hesitated for a second, then reached into his pocket, pulling out his one-month sobriety chip. He rolled it between his fingers before setting it on the table, letting Nam-Gyu see it.

Nam-Gyu’s eyes flicked to the small piece of metal, his expression shifting. Slowly, he reached out, running his fingers over the engraved words.

"One month, huh?" His voice was softer now.

Thanos nodded, suddenly feeling shy. "Yeah. Still kinda surreal."

Nam-Gyu smiled, warm and proud. "That’s amazing, Thanos."

Thanos exhaled, something in his chest loosening. "Yeah… I think so too."

"Watch out, Mr. Four Months," Thanos teased, leaning forward with a playful smirk. "I’m catching up to you."

Nam-Gyu huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he twirled his fork between his fingers. "Oh, please. You’ve got a whole three months to go before you can even talk shit."

Thanos shrugged, stuffing another bite of pancakes into his mouth. "Yeah, well, time flies when you're not completely ruining your life every day." He said it with a grin, but there was something honest in the words, something that made Nam-Gyu's teasing expression soften just a little.

"That’s true," Nam-Gyu admitted, nudging his coffee cup closer to him. "I swear, the first month was the worst. Every day felt like a goddamn year."

Thanos nodded, setting his fork down for a moment. "Right? I kept thinking, ‘Okay, I just gotta get through today.’ And then the next day, it was the same thing all over again." He tapped his fingers against the edge of his plate, glancing down at the one-month chip still resting between them. "But I dunno… this time, it’s different. Feels different. Like I actually wanna keep going."

Nam-Gyu smiled, nudging the chip with his finger. "That’s ‘cause you do."

Thanos met his eyes, something warm settling in his chest. He hadn’t really thought about it like that, but… yeah. He did.

"Guess I do," he murmured, picking the chip back up and slipping it into his pocket. Then he smirked. "Still, you better watch your back. Before you know it, I’ll be sitting at four months too, and then what? You won’t even be special anymore."

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, but there was fondness in it. "Trust me, I’ll still be way cooler than you."

Thanos gasped, clutching his chest. "Wow. And here I thought we were having a moment."

Nam-Gyu snickered, raising his coffee cup in a mock toast. "We were. And now it’s over. Suck it up, loser."

Thanos just laughed, shaking his head as he took another bite of his pancakes, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

Thanos rolled his eyes, still grinning as he stuffed more pancakes into his mouth. "You’re such an asshole."

Nam-Gyu smirked over the rim of his coffee cup. "Yeah, but you like me anyway."

Thanos made a dramatic show of sighing. "Yeah, yeah. Unfortunately." He chewed for a second, then glanced at Nam-Gyu with a thoughtful look. "So… what now?"

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Thanos gestured vaguely between them. "I mean, like—us. Are we actually… you know?" He trailed off, not entirely sure how to word it without making it weird.

Nam-Gyu blinked, then tilted his head, lips twitching like he was fighting a smile. "Are you asking if we’re dating?"

Thanos huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, kinda? I just— I wanna know where we stand, you know? 'Cause, like, I really like being around you, and I think you like being around me too, and we’ve kissed—multiple times, might I add—so…" He let out an exasperated breath, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I don’t know how to do this."

Nam-Gyu watched him for a second, then leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Thanos."

Thanos glanced up, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

Nam-Gyu’s smile softened. "Yeah. We’re dating."

Thanos blinked. "Oh. Cool." He cleared his throat, trying to play it off, but the way his ears turned red completely gave him away.

Nam-Gyu laughed, shaking his head. "You’re such a dork."

"Shut up," Thanos muttered, but he was smiling, and Nam-Gyu could tell he was happy.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, just enjoying their food and the warmth of the little diner. The morning rush had started to pick up, the hum of quiet conversations filling the space, but in their little corner, it still felt like just the two of them.

After a while, Nam-Gyu set his fork down and stretched, his sweater riding up just slightly as he did. "Alright, boyfriend," he said, testing the word out with a teasing lilt. "What’s the plan for today?"

Thanos nearly choked on his coffee. "Boyfriend?"

Nam-Gyu grinned, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Yeah? Too soon?"

Thanos wiped his mouth, staring at Nam-Gyu like he was trying to process something. Then, suddenly, he leaned back in his seat with a smug grin. "Nah. I like the sound of it."

Nam-Gyu snorted. "Of course you do."

Thanos propped his chin on his hand, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Say it again."

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but played along, leaning in slightly. "Boyfriend."

Thanos’ grin widened. "One more time?"

Nam-Gyu huffed a laugh and grabbed a napkin, throwing it at Thanos’ face. "Eat your damn pancakes, loser."

Thanos laughed, catching the napkin before tossing it back onto the table. "Yes, sir." He took another bite before mumbling around his food, "But I’m still gonna make you say it again later."

Nam-Gyu just shook his head, fighting back a smile. Yeah, he was definitely in trouble with this one.

"And to answer your question,” Thanos said, stretching his arms over his head, “I was just thinking that I need to go grocery shopping.”

Nam-Gyu turned to him, brows furrowing slightly. He just… stared.

Thanos blinked. “What?” He glanced around like he was missing something. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Nam-Gyu tilted his head, still staring like Thanos had just spoken in a foreign language. “I guess I just can’t picture you grocery shopping.”

Thanos narrowed his eyes. “What—huh?”

“Well, no offense, sweetie,” Nam-Gyu said, his lips twitching into a smirk, “but you cannot cook.”

Thanos gasped, pressing a hand over his chest. “Wow. Rude.”

Nam-Gyu just shrugged, completely unrepentant.

Thanos scoffed. “So what? You think I just DoorDash all my meals?”

Nam-Gyu didn’t even hesitate. “Honestly? Kinda.”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “I’ll have you know that I can cook.”

“Oh?” Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. “Name one thing you can make that doesn’t involve a microwave or boiling water.”

Thanos opened his mouth—then immediately closed it. His brain scrambled for anything that wasn’t instant ramen or frozen pizza. “Uh… grilled cheese?”

Nam-Gyu sighed dramatically. “So basically a hot sandwich.”

“Hey! There’s an art to a good grilled cheese.”

“Oh, I’m sure there is, Gordon Ramsay.”

Thanos huffed. “Fine, I admit I mostly survive on takeout and snacks, but I do go grocery shopping! You think I just wake up and magically have energy drinks in my fridge?”

Nam-Gyu snorted. “Honestly? I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Thanos shoved him lightly. “You’re such an ass.”

Nam-Gyu just laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. Next time you go shopping, prove me wrong. Show me you actually know how to buy real food.”

Thanos crossed his arms. “Challenge accepted.”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Thanos grinned, but as he glanced at Nam-Gyu, something about the way he was smiling—genuine, teasing, comfortable—made his chest feel a little too warm.

…Shit. He was in trouble.

---

Nam-Gyu pulled into the grocery store parking lot, easing into a spot near the entrance. The engine hummed for a moment before he turned the key, cutting it off. Thanos sat beside him in the passenger seat, slouched comfortably with one leg stretched out, his fingers drumming absentmindedly against his knee.

As the car settled into silence, Thanos let out a dramatic sigh. “So this is what my life has come to. Grocery shopping on a perfectly good night when I could be doing literally anything else.”

Nam-Gyu shot him a flat look as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “Oh, please. You act like I just dragged you here against your will.”

“You did drag me here,” Thanos argued, making no move to get out of the car. “I distinctly remember you saying, ‘If you’re so determined to prove you buy real food, then let’s see it,’ and then suddenly, I was in your car.”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “And yet, you willingly got in.”

Thanos opened his mouth, then shut it, clicking his tongue in mild irritation. “Damn. He’s got me there.”

Nam-Gyu laughed as he reached for the door handle. “C’mon, before you start acting like a kid in a sitcom who gets lost in a supermarket.”

Thanos scoffed but finally unbuckled himself. “Joke’s on you, I have an excellent sense of direction.”

“Oh, really?” Nam-Gyu quipped as he pushed open his door. “Then why do I get texts from you saying, ‘Hey, I think I took a wrong turn, how do I get back?’ at least once a week?”

Thanos groaned, stepping out of the car. “You never let things go, do you?”

Nam-Gyu locked the car and grinned. “Nope. Now, come on. Let’s see if you can survive a grocery store without just buying energy drinks and instant noodles.”

Thanos muttered something under his breath but followed him toward the entrance anyway.

As they walked through the automatic doors, Thanos glanced around, hands shoved into his pockets. The bright fluorescent lights, the beeping registers, the mix of people pushing carts down aisles—it was normal. Mundane. And yet, something about being here with Nam-Gyu made it feel oddly… less boring than usual.

“Alright,” Nam-Gyu said, grabbing a shopping cart. “Let’s see what you actually consider groceries.”

Thanos smirked, cracking his knuckles. “Prepare to be amazed.”

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

With that, they stepped forward, the adventure of grocery shopping officially underway.

As they made their way into the first aisle, Thanos took one look around and immediately veered off toward the snack section.

Nam-Gyu sighed, steering the cart after him. “We’ve been here for two minutes, and you’re already proving my point.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Thanos said innocently as he grabbed a giant bag of spicy chips and dropped it into the cart.

Nam-Gyu stared at it. “You do realize chips aren’t a meal, right?”

Thanos waved a hand. “That’s subjective.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but kept pushing the cart. “Okay, fine. But real food next, got it?”

Thanos hummed in fake consideration. “Define real.”

Nam-Gyu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Food with actual nutrients, Thanos. Something that won’t send you into cardiac arrest by the time you’re forty.”

Thanos snorted. “Well, if I’m gonna die young, might as well do it eating good.”

“Jesus Christ,” Nam-Gyu muttered before grabbing Thanos by the sleeve and dragging him toward the produce section. “Come on, before you start loading up on nothing but sugar and caffeine.”

Thanos didn’t resist but did dramatically sigh. “This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Oh, hush,” Nam-Gyu shot back. “It won’t kill you to eat a vegetable.”

Thanos raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

Nam-Gyu grabbed a bag of spinach and tossed it into the cart. “Only one way to find out.”

Thanos squinted at the bag like it personally offended him. “You would pick the most depressing leafy green.”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “Eat it in a smoothie. You won’t even taste it.”

“That sounds like a lie, but whatever.” Thanos grabbed a bundle of bananas off the shelf and dropped them in the cart, acting like it made up for all his unhealthy choices.

Nam-Gyu watched him with mild suspicion. “You actually eat bananas?”

Thanos shrugged. “I mean, yeah? They’re easy. No prep, no hassle, just peel and go.”

Nam-Gyu huffed a laugh. “So basically, you only eat fruit that requires zero effort?”

Thanos pointed at him. “Exactly.”

Nam-Gyu shook his head, amused. “Alright, fine. But if you’re getting bananas, we’re also getting strawberries and oranges. Balance.”

Thanos groaned but didn’t argue when Nam-Gyu added them to the cart.

As they moved through the aisles, their cart filled up in a weird mix of health and chaos—fresh produce right next to instant ramen, a family-sized bag of candy, and three different types of frozen pizza. By the time they reached the dairy section, Nam-Gyu was actually impressed.

“You know,” he mused, eyeing the cart, “this is a lot better than I expected.”

Thanos grinned. “See? I can shop like an adult.”

Nam-Gyu snorted. “Sure, if ‘like an adult’ means buying more frozen food than fresh.”

“Hey, baby steps,” Thanos said, grabbing a carton of milk. “At least I’m getting stuff that requires refrigeration.”

Nam-Gyu laughed. “Fair enough.”

By the time they reached checkout, their cart was a strange, chaotic mix of junk food and actual groceries, but Nam-Gyu counted it as a win.

Thanos stretched, looking satisfied. “Well, that wasn’t as painful as I thought it’d be.”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “See? Told you grocery shopping isn’t so bad.”

Thanos side-eyed him. “Don’t get carried away. I’m still not doing this regularly.”

Nam-Gyu just shook his head and started unloading the cart. “We’ll see.”

As they paid and bagged everything up, Thanos stole a glance at Nam-Gyu. It was weird—he never thought something as simple as grocery shopping could actually be... fun. But here he was, feeling oddly content in a mundane moment.

Maybe this whole “having people around” thing wasn’t so bad after all.

And maybe… maybe having a boyfriend was even better—

Buzzz

Thanos groaned, his moment of introspection immediately shattered. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, glaring at the screen like it had personally offended him.

“I swear to god, if this is the same fucking number…” he muttered.

Nam-Gyu, who was wheeling the cart toward the exit, glanced over. “Just answer it, baby.” His lips curled into an amused smirk.

Thanos scoffed. “I told you, I’m not letting them win.”

“Uh-huh.” Nam-Gyu arched a brow. “And what exactly do you think they’re winning?”

Thanos ignored the question, staring at his phone as it vibrated insistently in his hand. The same unknown number. The same damn call he’d been getting for days. He clenched his jaw, then hit the decline button with a little more force than necessary before shoving the phone back into his pocket.

Nam-Gyu just shook his head, pushing the cart across the parking lot. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Says you,” Thanos shot back, jogging a little to keep up. “I’m just setting boundaries.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes. “You don’t even know who it is. What if it’s important?”

“If it was important, they’d leave a message,” Thanos argued.

“They did leave a message,” Nam-Gyu reminded him, “and you still won’t check it.”

Thanos narrowed his eyes. “Whose side are you on?”

Nam-Gyu laughed, stopping beside the car and unlocking it. “I’m on the side of common sense.”

Thanos let out a dramatic sigh. “Boring.”

Nam-Gyu popped the trunk open and started loading in the bags. “Fine, ignore it. But don’t come crying to me when it turns out to be something serious.”

“Oh please, my life is a mess, but it’s not that kind of mess.” Thanos grabbed a bag and tossed it into the car, ignoring the amused look Nam-Gyu gave him.

“Whatever you say.” Nam-Gyu shut the trunk and slid into the driver’s seat.

Thanos followed, buckling himself in before slouching down with a groan. “Watch, it’s probably just a scam call about an expired car warranty.”

Nam-Gyu hummed. “Or a long-lost relative trying to reach you.”

Thanos snorted. “Oh yeah, can’t wait to hear from my great-uncle twice removed who suddenly wants to reconnect.”

Nam-Gyu started the car, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” Thanos pointed out smugly.

Nam-Gyu shot him a sideways glance, lips twitching into a small smile. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

Thanos felt a warmth creep up his neck, but before he could dwell on it, his phone buzzed again. He groaned, pulling it out just in time to see the same unknown number flash across the screen.

Nam-Gyu side-eyed him. “You gonna answer this one?”

Thanos clenched his jaw. “Nope.” And with that, he turned his phone off completely.

Nam-Gyu just sighed, pulling out of the parking lot. “Like I said. Dramatic.”

Thanos smirked, resting his head against the window. “You love it.”

Nam-Gyu didn’t argue.

Thanos rested his head against the cool glass, watching as snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, swirling under the glow of the streetlights. The world outside was quiet, blanketed in soft white, and for the first time in a while, he felt… still. No buzzing phone, no nagging thoughts clawing at the back of his mind—just the peaceful hum of the car and the occasional crunch of tires rolling over snow-covered pavement.

He exhaled slowly, his breath fogging up the window slightly before fading away. Then, turning his head, he glanced over at Nam-Gyu, who had one hand on the wheel and the other resting casually in his lap, his expression calm and unreadable.

Thanos studied him for a moment, the way his fingers tapped absentmindedly against the leather steering wheel, the way his eyes flickered briefly toward him before returning to the road.

“What do you wanna do now?” Thanos asked, his voice softer than usual.

Nam-Gyu raised a brow, glancing at him again. “You’re actually giving me a choice?”

Thanos smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

Nam-Gyu hummed, pretending to think. “Well, since you asked…” He shot Thanos a sideways look. “Wanna go on a walk?”

Thanos immediately groaned, slouching in his seat. “Oh my God, why are you like this?”

Nam-Gyu laughed. “What? You literally just said I could pick.”

“Yeah, but I was hoping for something normal, like going home and watching a movie,” Thanos complained.

“Walking in the snow is normal,” Nam-Gyu pointed out.

“Not when it’s this cold,” Thanos muttered. “And besides, we just spent like an hour walking around a grocery store. I think I’ve met my exercise quota for the year.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes. “Fine, lazy. What do you wanna do?”

Thanos thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe just… drive around for a bit? Talk?”

Nam-Gyu glanced at him again, this time with something softer in his expression. He didn’t say anything right away, just gave a small nod and turned the wheel, guiding them down an empty side street.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “I can do that.”

And so, they drove. No destination, no rush—just them, the snow, and the quiet hum of the city.

---

They’d been driving around for a while now, the city passing by in a blur of snow-covered streets and quiet intersections. Even though it was only noon, the roads were relatively empty, the usual buzz of traffic replaced by the steady hum of the heater and the occasional swoosh of passing cars.

Thanos had his elbow propped against the window, fingers idly tapping against the glass as he watched the snowfall. He wasn’t really thinking about where they were going—he didn’t care, honestly. He was just… comfortable. And when was the last time he felt like that?

His fingers stilled against the window as a thought crossed his mind. He hesitated for a second, then glanced over at Nam-Gyu, who was focused on the road, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other absentmindedly adjusting the radio dial.

"You wanna know something?" Thanos asked, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Nam-Gyu glanced over at him briefly, his expression curious but relaxed. "Yeah?"

Thanos exhaled, looking forward again. "You're the first person in a really long time I've really been myself with."

Nam-Gyu didn’t respond right away, but Thanos didn’t mind the silence. He wasn’t even sure why he had said it—maybe because it had been sitting on his chest for a while now, or maybe because he felt like Nam-Gyu deserved to know.

It wasn’t like he’d been fake around other people, but there was always some kind of mask, some layer of himself that he kept hidden. It was easier that way—less risk, less vulnerability. But with Nam-Gyu, it was different. He didn’t feel like he had to perform, didn’t feel like he had to shrink himself down into something more palatable.

And that was terrifying. But also… kind of nice.

Nam-Gyu’s fingers drummed lightly against the steering wheel before he spoke. "I get that." His voice was softer now, more thoughtful. "It’s hard to find people like that."

Thanos glanced at him again, watching the way he kept his gaze on the road, his jaw tight like he was thinking too much.

"You got people like that?" Thanos asked, tilting his head.

Nam-Gyu let out a quiet chuckle. "I do now."

Thanos felt his face heat up despite himself, and he turned back toward the window, hiding the small smile threatening to tug at his lips.

The car continued down the road, snowflakes swirling around them, the city stretching out ahead.

Thanos glanced down at Nam-Gyu’s hand, resting casually on his thigh as he drove. His fingers twitched slightly, hesitating for a moment before he reached over, his fingertips ghosting against the back of Nam-Gyu’s hand before he laced their fingers together.

Nam-Gyu’s hand was warm—warmer than his, as usual. He always seemed to radiate heat, whether it was from the way he curled up next to him on the couch or the way his hand would press against Thanos’s back absentmindedly when they walked together. It was something Thanos had grown used to, something he’d even started looking forward to.

Sometimes, it was easy to forget to initiate contact when Nam-Gyu did it so effortlessly. He was always the one reaching out, always the one smoothing his fingers through Thanos’s hair when he was lying on the couch, always the one resting his hand on the small of his back without even thinking about it. And Thanos… well, Thanos wasn’t bad at it, but it didn’t come as naturally to him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it—God, no—but sometimes, he just didn’t think about it fast enough.

But he didn’t want Nam-Gyu to think he didn’t want it. Because he did.

Nam-Gyu’s thumb brushed over his knuckles, and when Thanos glanced over, he caught the small smile on his face, the way his grip instinctively tightened. He didn’t say anything, didn’t tease him, didn’t make a big deal out of it—he just let their hands rest there, fingers intertwined, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe it was.

Thanos let out a quiet breath, relaxing back into his seat, their hands still linked together between them. The snow outside continued to fall, the car heater humming softly, and for once, everything felt just right.

As they drove through the quiet streets, the heater humming softly against the chill outside, Nam-Gyu suddenly perked up, pulling his phone out of his pocket at a stoplight.

“Oh yeah! Se-Mi texted me while we were shopping,” he said, glancing over at Thanos with a small grin. “She and the others want to go bowling in a couple of hours. Wanna go?”

Thanos blinked, turning his head away from the snowy scenery outside the window to give Nam-Gyu a skeptical look. “Bowling?”

“Yes, bowling,” Nam-Gyu said, amused.

Thanos snorted. “Are you secretly amazing at bowling? Is this a setup? Are you about to destroy me in front of your friends?”

Nam-Gyu laughed. “Oh, absolutely not. I suck at bowling. Like, embarrassingly bad."

Thanos smirked. “Good, because I do too.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes. “Great, so we’ll both be terrible together. You in?”

Thanos pretended to think about it, tapping his fingers against his knee. Truthfully, the idea of spending more time with Nam-Gyu’s friends—his friends now, maybe—wasn’t as intimidating as it had been before. And after how surprisingly fun their last hangout was, he was actually kind of looking forward to it.

“Fine,” he finally said, stretching out the word as if he were agreeing under duress. “But only because I wanna see you gutter-ball an entire game."

Nam-Gyu gasped dramatically. “Wow. No faith in me at all?”

“None,” Thanos deadpanned, though the grin tugging at his lips gave him away.

Nam-Gyu reached over, flicking his arm playfully before returning his attention to the road. “You are the worst.”

“And yet, here you are, still holding my hand,” Thanos pointed out, giving their still-laced fingers a little squeeze.

Nam-Gyu huffed, but his smile lingered. “Shut up.”

Thanos just chuckled, already wondering how much chaos they were about to cause at that bowling alley.

But then—

Buzzzzz.

Thanos groaned loudly, letting his head fall back against the headrest. "Oh my god."

Nam-Gyu glanced over. "Same number again?"

"I'm not even checking it," Thanos grumbled, shifting in his seat but making no move to grab his phone. "I refuse to let them ruin my day. They can go fuck themselves."

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. "That bad, huh?"

Thanos exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. "Yeah. That bad." He crossed his arms, staring out the window like if he ignored the buzzing long enough, it would just go away.

Nam-Gyu didn’t push, but he didn’t let it drop either. "You know, at some point, you might wanna just block them," he suggested lightly.

Thanos sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I could... but then they'd know they got to me. And I'm not giving them that satisfaction."

Nam-Gyu hummed thoughtfully, squeezing Thanos’s hand where it still rested in his. "Fair enough," he said.

The buzzing finally stopped, leaving behind a tense silence. Thanos exhaled, shaking off the lingering frustration before shooting Nam-Gyu a small, teasing smile. "Anyway, weren’t we talking about you embarrassing yourself at bowling?"

Nam-Gyu scoffed but let him change the subject. "Excuse you, we were talking about both of us embarrassing ourselves."

Thanos chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t cry when I accidentally discover I’m a bowling prodigy."

Nam-Gyu snorted. "Oh, I cannot wait to see that happen."

And just like that, the weight of the missed call started to fade.

"We should see if anyone needs a ride while we're still out," Nam-Gyu suggested, glancing over at Thanos.

Thanos hummed in agreement, already pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Good call. I'll text Mi-Na—she seems like the type to hate driving in the snow."

Nam-Gyu chuckled. "She is always complaining about people who don't know how to drive in bad weather."

"Exactly," Thanos said, already typing out a message. "Hey, we're still out—need a ride to bowling? Or are you risking your life on the icy roads?"

Nam-Gyu snorted. "You’re so dramatic."

Thanos smirked. "Please, she’ll appreciate the flair."

As he hit send, he glanced over at Nam-Gyu. "Think anyone else will need a ride?"

Nam-Gyu shrugged. "Maybe Se-Mi or Gyeong-Su. We can just send a message in the group chat, make it easy."

"Look at you, being all efficient," Thanos teased, already switching over to their group chat. "Yo, Nam-Gyu and I are still out—anyone need a ride to bowling before we head home? We promise minimal kidnapping."

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but smiled. "That’s not reassuring."

"It is for this group," Thanos shot back, slipping his phone onto his thigh while he waited for responses. "Now, let's see who’s brave enough to get in a car with us."

It didn’t take long for Thanos’s phone to buzz with a reply.

Mi-Na: I literally just parked at home. If you think I’m stepping back outside before I absolutely have to, you’re insane.

Se-Mi: Pick me up!! My car is still buried in snow, and I’m not digging it out just to bowl.

Gyeong-Su: I’ll take a ride. My brother took my car this morning, and I’m too lazy to fight him for it.

Thanos read the messages out loud, making Nam-Gyu huff a laugh. “Alright, so we’re picking up Se-Mi and Gyeong-Su.”

Thanos smirked. “We should make them fight to see who gets shotgun.”

Nam-Gyu shook his head. “You love to cause chaos.”

Thanos grinned. “What can I say? It keeps life interesting.”

He shot back a quick response: Cool, we’ll be there soon. Hope you guys don’t mind being locked in a car with us for an extended period of time.

Gyeong-Su: If I die in this car, I want it on record that it was probably Thanos’s fault.

Thanos barked out a laugh. “Damn, I feel so trusted.”

Nam-Gyu just shook his head fondly as he turned down a familiar street. “You did just threaten to kidnap them.”

“That was more of a promise than a threat,” Thanos said casually, leaning back into his seat.

Nam-Gyu shot him a playful glare. “I am not being an accomplice to your nonsense.”

Thanos smirked, reaching over to squeeze Nam-Gyu’s hand. “Too late, baby. You’re already in too deep.”

As they waited for Gyeong-Su and Se-Mi to get ready, another message popped up in the group chat.

Min-Su: Are me and Nam-Gyu the only ones who know how to drive in the snow?

Thanos snorted, shaking his head as he read the message out loud. "Damn, Min-Su really just called everyone out."

Nam-Gyu smirked, glancing at him. "I mean, he's not wrong."

Thanos leaned back against the seat, stretching his legs out. "Hey, I know how to drive in the snow."

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. And when was the last time you actually drove yourself anywhere?"

Thanos made a vague gesture. "That's not the point."

Nam-Gyu laughed. "Right. Of course not."

Thanos tapped out a response.

Thanos: I know how to drive in the snow, I just choose not to. Big difference.

Gyeong-Su: That’s exactly what someone who doesn’t know how to drive in the snow would say.

Se-Mi: I refuse to acknowledge roads exist when they’re covered in ice. That’s my right as a citizen.

Mi-Na: I just don’t care enough to go anywhere. Problem solved.

Thanos smirked, turning his phone screen toward Nam-Gyu. "See? Everyone has their reasons."

Nam-Gyu sighed dramatically. "I feel like I should be concerned that I'm the responsible one here."

Thanos grinned, reaching over to pat his thigh. "Welcome to your new reality, babe."

Nam-Gyu chuckled, shaking his head as he flicked on the turn signal. "Unbelievable," he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching up in amusement.

Thanos watched him for a second, then smirked as he turned his attention back to his phone. "You love it," he teased while typing out a quick message.

Thanos: We’ll be there in a few. Try not to freeze to death before we get there.

A response came almost immediately.

Mi-Na: No promises.

Thanos snorted, locking his phone before glancing at Nam-Gyu. "Alright, Mi-Na’s either dramatic as hell or actually turning into an icicle as we speak. Either way, we should probably hurry."

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes fondly. "Guess I better step on it before she files a lawsuit for emotional distress."

Thanos grinned, settling back into his seat as the car smoothly merged onto the next street. "You joke, but I feel like she'd actually do it."

Nam-Gyu hummed, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. "Oh, she absolutely would."

The drive to Mi-Na’s place was smooth, the snow still falling steadily but not enough to make the roads treacherous—at least, not for someone like Nam-Gyu, who actually knew what he was doing. Thanos, on the other hand, was perfectly content to remain a passenger, legs stretched out comfortably as he idly scrolled through his phone.

A few minutes later, Nam-Gyu slowed to a stop in front of Mi-Na’s building. Through the windshield, they spotted her standing just outside the entrance, arms crossed tightly over her chest, shoulders hunched against the cold. She wasn’t wearing anything close to proper winter gear—just a hoodie layered under a slightly oversized denim jacket, her breath visible in the freezing air.

Thanos squinted. “Is she allergic to coats?”

Nam-Gyu let out a quiet laugh as he unlocked the doors. “Probably.”

Mi-Na wasted no time getting in, slamming the back passenger door shut before shoving her hands into her sleeves. “Took you long enough,” she muttered, voice muffled as she tried to warm up.

Thanos smirked. “Damn, and here I was, rushing to save you from the elements.”

Mi-Na shot him a glare but didn’t argue, instead leaning forward and turning the heat vents toward herself. “God, I hate winter.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled, putting the car into drive. “And yet, you still refuse to wear a real coat.”

“I own coats,” she grumbled, “I just don’t like wearing them.”

Thanos blinked. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Mi-Na smirked. “You’ll survive.”

Nam-Gyu shook his head, amused as he pulled back onto the road. “Alright, next stop: Se-Mi’s.”

Thanos leaned his head back against the seat, shooting Mi-Na a sideways glance. “If she’s waiting outside in just a hoodie, I’m done with both of you.”

Mi-Na rolled her eyes but didn’t deny the possibility.

---

As expected, when they pulled up to Se-Mi’s place, she was standing outside in—yep—just a hoodie. Thanos groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up.

“I knew it! What the hell is wrong with you people? Do none of you own a winter coat?”

Se-Mi grinned as she hopped into the back seat, brushing a bit of snow off her shoulders. “Oh, I own one. I just didn’t feel like wearing it.”

Thanos turned in his seat to give her an exasperated look. “Why?”

She shrugged, buckling in. “Too much effort.”

Mi-Na smirked. “See? I’m not the only one.”

Thanos turned back around, rubbing his temples. “I am surrounded by morons.”

Nam-Gyu, still focused on driving, chuckled under his breath. “You’ll survive.”

Thanos scoffed, crossing his arms. “You and Mi-Na say that like I’m not actively suffering.”

Se-Mi leaned forward between the seats, resting her chin on Nam-Gyu’s shoulder dramatically. “Aww, is our little rockstar feeling cold and betrayed?”

Thanos shoved her away with a laugh. “Get off him, you menace.”

Nam-Gyu, ever patient, just shook his head. “Alright, alright. Let’s pick up Gyeong-Su before this turns into an actual fight.”

As they drove through the steadily falling snow, the car was filled with laughter and light bickering, the kind that came easy between friends. And despite all his complaints, Thanos realized—this felt nice. Normal.

Maybe even something he could get used to.

When they finally pulled up outside Gyeong-Su’s place, he was already standing at the door, bundled up in a thick coat, scarf, and gloves. Thanos pointed at him through the windshield.

“See? This is how you dress for the weather. You two could learn something.” He shot a look at Se-Mi and Mi-Na, who both ignored him completely.

Gyeong-Su jogged over and climbed into the car, rubbing his hands together. “Okay, why does it feel even colder than earlier?”

Nam-Gyu glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Because it is?”

“Unfair,” Gyeong-Su muttered, buckling in.

Mi-Na, who was still on her phone, finally spoke up. “You think the bowling alley is gonna be crowded?”

Nam-Gyu shrugged, pulling back onto the road. “It’s a weekday, so maybe not too bad.”

Thanos stretched in his seat. “As long as there’s an open lane, I don’t care. Been a while since I played, but I was pretty damn good.”

Se-Mi smirked. “Oh yeah? How good are we talking?”

Thanos grinned, leaning back with a smug expression. “Let’s just say I may have once gotten kicked out of a bowling alley for being too good.”

Gyeong-Su raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like bullshit.”

Thanos gasped dramatically, hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

Nam-Gyu shook his head, laughing softly. “No, you definitely did something stupid.”

Thanos huffed, crossing his arms. “Fine, maybe I bet a little too much money on a game.”

Se-Mi perked up. “Wait—gambling?”

“It wasn’t gambling,” Thanos defended, but his guilty expression said otherwise.

Mi-Na finally looked up from her phone. “So you did get kicked out.”

“Look, let’s not focus on me.” Thanos waved them off. “Let’s focus on the fact that I’m about to destroy all of you.”

Nam-Gyu hummed in amusement. “We’ll see.”

Thanos pointed at him. “Oh, you’re so going down.”

As they drove through the snowy streets, the atmosphere was light, filled with teasing and laughter. Thanos found himself grinning like an idiot, the kind of smile he didn’t have to force.

Yeah. This? This felt good.

But the Nam-Gyu had to say something, "I'll just pretend you didn't tell how ass you were at bowling twenty minutes ago.

But of course, Nam-Gyu had to say something.

“I’ll just pretend you didn’t tell me, twenty minutes ago, how ass you are at bowling.”

The car went dead silent for half a second before Se-Mi burst out laughing.

“Wait, wait, what?” Gyeong-Su wheezed from the backseat. “He sucks at bowling?”

Thanos immediately pointed at Nam-Gyu. “Lies and slander.”

Nam-Gyu, completely unfazed, kept his eyes on the road. “You literally said, and I quote, ‘I think I still hold the record for most gutter balls in one game.’”

Se-Mi practically folded in half, laughing so hard she smacked Mi-Na’s shoulder. “Oh my god, I can’t breathe.”

Mi-Na, as usual, was more composed, but there was definitely amusement in her voice. “So, Thanos, when exactly were you planning to tell us that your ‘destroying us all’ plan was actually self-destruction?”

Thanos groaned dramatically, sinking into his seat. “You guys are acting like I said I was bad—”

“You are bad,” Nam-Gyu cut in, shaking his head.

“—but I’m saying I have passion.”

“You have delusions,” Se-Mi corrected between laughs.

Gyeong-Su clapped a hand over his mouth, clearly trying to stifle his own laughter. “No, no, let him cook. I wanna see this ‘legendary’ technique in action.”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “Yeah, me too.”

Thanos rolled his eyes, arms crossed. “Y’all are just jealous of my raw talent.”

Se-Mi wiped a tear from her eye. “I am so getting video proof of this. No way I’m letting you live it down.”

Thanos exhaled, pretending to accept his fate. “Fine. But when I do beat all of you, I expect apologies and praise.”

Nam-Gyu’s smirk deepened. “Deal.”

And just like that, the stakes were raised.

---

The bowling alley was packed, the sound of pins crashing and people cheering filling the air as Thanos and the others stepped inside. The neon lights overhead reflected off the polished lanes, making everything glow in shades of blue and purple. The place smelled like fried food, cheap beer, and just a hint of floor wax.

“Alright, let’s get a lane,” Nam-Gyu said, leading the way toward the front desk.

Se-Mi nudged Thanos with her elbow, a sly grin on her face. “Feeling confident?”

Thanos scoffed. “Always.”

She snorted. “We’ll see about that.”

Nam-Gyu handled the sign-in, getting them a lane near the back where they could have some space to themselves. Mi-Na, who had been mostly quiet during the car ride, went straight for the snack bar to order drinks while the others grabbed their bowling shoes.

Thanos stared down at the ugly rental shoes in his hands. “I feel like these are a personal attack on my sense of style.”

Gyeong-Su flopped down onto one of the plastic seats, lacing up his own shoes. “Yeah, yeah, you can suffer like the rest of us.”

As they all finished getting their shoes on, Min-Su set up the scoreboard. “Alright, teams or free-for-all?”

“Free-for-all,” Nam-Gyu said immediately.

“Oh, you just wanna watch Thanos suffer,” Se-Mi accused.

Nam-Gyu smiled innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Thanos, stretching dramatically, rolled his shoulders. “Joke’s on all of you. I’ve evolved. I studied the game. I—”

“You watched one YouTube video on bowling,” Nam-Gyu cut in flatly.

“And I learned some things,” Thanos shot back. “Such as…” He pointed at the colorful bowling balls stacked on the racks. “You gotta find the right weight ball. The heavier it is, the harder it hits the pins.”

Gyeong-Su blinked. “Congrats. You discovered basic physics.”

Thanos ignored him, grabbing a dark blue bowling ball and testing its weight. It was fine, but maybe a little too heavy.

Nam-Gyu grabbed a lighter ball, spinning it between his hands with ease. “You also have to be able to control it, though. A ball that’s too heavy will just mess up your aim.”

Thanos narrowed his eyes. “Are you, like, a secret bowling master or something?”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

Mi-Na returned with a tray of drinks—some sodas, a couple of beers for those who wanted them, and a giant cup of slushie that Se-Mi immediately claimed.

“Alright,” Min-Su said, holding up the remote for the screen. “Who’s going first?”

“I’ll go,” Nam-Gyu offered.

The others stepped back, watching as he approached the lane with practiced ease. He lined up his shot, took a smooth step forward, and released the ball in one fluid motion. It rolled straight down the lane, curving slightly at the end—

Crash!

A clean strike.

The group erupted into groans and cheers, Se-Mi dramatically flopping against the table. “Oh, come on!”

Thanos whistled. “Okay, okay, I’ll admit that was clean.”

Nam-Gyu turned, a smug look on his face. “Told you.”

Gyeong-Su clapped his hands together. “Alright, so, Nam-Gyu is the enemy. Got it.”

Nam-Gyu just grinned and took a sip of his drink.

Se-Mi went next, her form a little sloppier but still decent. She knocked down seven pins and managed to pick up the spare on her second try.

“Not bad,” Thanos admitted.

Se-Mi flipped her hair dramatically. “I am a woman of many talents.”

Gyeong-Su was up next, and his strategy seemed to be just chucking the ball as hard as possible. It veered slightly to the left but still managed to knock down eight pins. His second attempt? Gutter.

“Tragic,” Thanos commented.

“Don’t talk to me,” Gyeong-Su muttered, sitting down with a huff.

Mi-Na went next, her movements deliberate and controlled. She hit a respectable nine pins, then calmly took down the last one. She didn’t celebrate—just sipped her drink and sat back down.

Min-Su followed with a decent round, picking up a spare after an eight-pin start.

Then, finally, it was Thanos’s turn.

He stepped up to the lane, gripping his ball like he actually knew what he was doing.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself. “Just roll it straight. No weird spins. Just—”

He swung his arm back and released.

The ball went straight—for about two seconds. Then it took a violent turn into the gutter.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then—

Se-Mi wheeze-laughed so hard she almost fell over.

“Oh my god, that was even worse than I expected,” Gyeong-Su cackled.

Nam-Gyu just covered his mouth, clearly trying not to laugh.

Thanos turned to them, hand over his heart. “Betrayal. Absolute betrayal.”

Se-Mi wiped a tear from her eye. “Nah, nah, you get another shot. Prove us wrong.”

Thanos inhaled deeply. He could do this. He would do this.

He grabbed his ball again, adjusted his stance, and took his shot.

The ball rolled down the lane, wobbled slightly—

And knocked over three pins.

The group clapped politely.

Thanos sighed. “I’m retiring.”

Nam-Gyu patted his shoulder. “Maybe mini-golf is more your thing.”

Thanos groaned. “I hate you.”

The game continued, and despite Thanos’s struggles, he found himself enjoying the night. There was something easy about being with these people, about laughing at their victories and failures alike. Even when he was losing horribly, it didn’t really feel like losing.

Midway through the game, as he sat back and watched Nam-Gyu take another near-perfect shot, he realized—

This was nice.

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he was playing a part or putting on a performance. He was just existing, surrounded by people who—shockingly—seemed to genuinely enjoy his company.

Nam-Gyu returned to the seats, plopping down next to him.

“You’re staring,” Nam-Gyu teased, nudging his knee.

Thanos rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Nam-Gyu just smiled, sipping his drink. “I don’t need to. You already do that for me.”

Thanos didn’t have a response for that—mostly because he was too busy fighting off the warmth creeping up his neck.

The game went on, filled with more laughter, a few more questionable throws from Thanos, and a dramatic victory for Nam-Gyu, who finished with the highest score.

“Alright, alright, you win,” Thanos admitted as they packed up.

“Next time, you’ll still suck,” Min-Su interrupted, smirking as he tossed his bowling shoes into the return bin.

Thanos gasped in mock offense. “Excuse you? I improved dramatically by the end.”

Se-Mi snorted. “Babe, your ‘dramatic improvement’ was getting a spare one time.”

“Yeah, but I got one strike,” Thanos pointed out, crossing his arms. “That’s gotta count for something.”

“It does,” Nam-Gyu said, patting Thanos’s back. “It counts as one.”

Min-Su burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you really set that one up for him.”

Thanos groaned. “I hate all of you.”

Mi-Na, who had been relatively quiet most of the night, checked the final scores on the screen and gave a small nod. “Well, Nam-Gyu won, obviously.”

Nam-Gyu leaned back in his seat, smug. “Naturally.”

“And second place goes to Min-Su,” Mi-Na continued, taking a sip of her drink.

Min-Su stretched dramatically. “What can I say? I’m just naturally gifted.”

“That, or you’re the only one who actually knows how to bowl besides Nam-Gyu,” Gyeong-Su muttered, shaking his head.

Thanos pointed at him. “Thank you. Finally, some justice.”

Se-Mi finished gathering her things. “Alright, so, now that we’ve established that Nam-Gyu is an annoying bowling god and Thanos is barely functional, what’s next?”

“We could grab food,” Min-Su suggested. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving.”

“That’s because you actually burned calories playing,” Gyeong-Su teased. “Meanwhile, Thanos spent most of his time dramatically sighing after every throw.”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “You’re all lucky I’m nice, or I’d be taking revenge right now.”

“Oh, I’m so scared,” Min-Su said, deadpan.

Nam-Gyu chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled his jacket on. “C’mon, let’s go get food before Thanos starts plotting.”

Thanos smirked. “Too late.”

Mi-Na grabbed her phone. “I’ll see what’s still open.”

With that, the group headed out, the cold night air hitting them as they stepped into the parking lot. Thanos wasn’t sure where they’d end up next, but as he glanced at Nam-Gyu—who was still smug over his win—he found that he didn’t really care.

Wherever they went, he was pretty sure the night was far from over.

Thanos playfully bumped his shoulder against Nam-Gyu’s, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Hey, I thought you said you suck at bowling, liar,” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

Nam-Gyu grinned, shrugging dramatically. “I migggght have lied just a little. Sorry.” Then, without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around Thanos’s shoulders, pulling him in close. “Forgive me?”

Thanos let himself lean into the warmth, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Hmmm…” He pretended to consider it before grinning. “Always.”

And before Nam-Gyu could respond, Thanos leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

It was nice. A quiet moment, just the two of them. No teasing, no games—just warmth and the soft hum of streetlights buzzing above them.

And then—

Buzzzzz.

Thanos groaned, pressing his forehead against Nam-Gyu’s shoulder.

“Holy shit, fine!” he grumbled, pulling his phone out of his pocket. The same goddamn number that had been harassing him for days flashed across the screen.

Nam-Gyu tilted his head. “You’re finally answering?”

“I swear to god, if this is some scam call—” Thanos muttered before swiping the answer button and bringing the phone to his ear.

“What—?”

"Oh my god! Finally, you asshole!"

Thanos froze. That voice—

“…Kyung-Hu?”

Nam-Gyu stiffened beside him, and the others, who had been chatting nearby, turned to look at him.

“Yes, dickhead! Fucking hell, I’ve been trying to call you for days!” Kyung-Hu’s voice was sharp, cutting straight through the cold air. “I can’t plan Dad’s funeral by myself anymore—”

Thanos’s blood ran cold.

“…Wait, what?” His voice sounded distant, like it wasn’t even his own. “Dad’s funeral? He… died?”

The world seemed to slow around him.

Nam-Gyu’s grip on him tightened slightly, and the others had gone completely silent.

Kyung-Hu let out a frustrated breath. “Yes! Jesus, Su-Bong, how do you not know this? He died almost a week ago!”

A week ago.

Thanos stared blankly at the pavement. His ears were ringing.

A week ago.

His father was dead.

And no one had told him.

“…Oh,” was all he managed to say.

A long sigh came from the other side of the call. "Listen, I know you and Dad never got along, but I can't do this alone, Su-Bong. I have to plan the funeral, comfort Mom, and take care of my boys. I’m stretched too thin."

Thanos exhaled, gripping his phone tighter. The weight of the moment settled over him like a heavy blanket. His father was dead. It wasn’t like he’d ever planned on seeing the man again, but hearing that he was gone was something else entirely.

His throat felt dry, and his thoughts scattered. A part of him wanted to ask how it happened, but did it really matter? The last time they spoke, his father had barely even acknowledged him as his son. Would knowing the details change anything?

Kyung-Hu sighed again, softer this time, her voice losing some of its edge. "I know this is a lot, but I really need you here. Mom’s holding up okay, but..." She hesitated. "I think she’d feel better if you came too."

That caught him off guard. His mom wanted him there?

His mother had never been perfect, but she had tried—tried to love him, even when his father didn’t. When he left home, she was the only one who reached out to him, even if it was only in small ways. Checking in, asking if he had eaten, making sure he knew she cared in her own quiet way. She never forced him to come home, never pressured him to mend things with his father, just reminded him every so often that she still loved him.

And now, she needed him.

Thanos exhaled sharply, glancing to the side. Nam-Gyu was watching him closely, concern written all over his face. His friends had stopped talking, their laughter from earlier now completely gone. Se-Mi and Gyeong-Su exchanged glances, clearly unsure whether they should step in or give him space. Min-Su shifted uncomfortably, and Mi-Na, for once, wasn’t glued to her phone. They were all waiting to see what he’d say.

Kyung-Hu’s voice pulled him back to the call. "I heard you’re in Daejeon now. Can you take the train to visit?"

He hesitated. The idea of going back—of stepping into that house again—made his stomach twist. But his mother needed him. Kyung-Hu needed him. He might have never wanted to see his father again, but this wasn’t about him anymore.

Thanos swallowed hard, his grip tightening around the phone. His sister's voice felt distant, muffled under the weight of her words. His dad was dead. Just like that.

He used to be his father’s pride—when he was younger, when he still looked and acted the way his dad wanted him to. When he sang hymns at church, when he was the golden boy, the preacher’s son who could do no wrong. Before the nail polish. Before the hair dye. Before he started liking boys.

Before his dad started looking at him like he was something broken.

"Su-Bong?" Kyung-Hu's voice snapped him back. She sounded tired, stretched thin. "Are you still there?"

Thanos exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah," he muttered. "I'm here."

Nam-Gyu’s hand found his, warm and steady, but Thanos barely registered it. He couldn’t think. His dad was dead. His dad, who had once held his hand crossing the street, who taught him how to ride a bike, who used to ruffle his hair and call him his little songbird. The same dad who, later, could barely stand to look at him.

He had always thought there would be more time. Time for things to change. Time for his dad to maybe stop hating who he became.

But now there wasn’t.

Thanos felt like he was floating, like the bowling alley around him had blurred into something distant and unreal. The laughter, the crashing of pins, the bright neon lights—it was all background noise now.

"I…" He tried to say something, anything, but his throat was tight, his chest heavy.

Kyung-Hu sighed on the other end. "I know this is a lot. And I know you probably don’t… feel much about it, but Mom’s needs help. I can’t do this alone, Su-Bong. Please."

He flinched at her words. Not feel much? That wasn’t true. He felt everything, too much, all at once. But what was he supposed to say? That he wasn’t sure how to grieve a man who had already grieved him years ago? That he didn’t know if he was allowed to feel sad when his father made him feel like a disappointment until the very end?

Nam-Gyu squeezed his hand. Thanos hadn’t realized he was gripping it so tightly, like he was afraid to let go.

He exhaled sharply. "Yeah," he said finally, his voice quieter than before. "I can come."

Kyung-Hu sounded relieved. "Thank you. I’ll text you everything. Just let me know when you’re on your way."

"Yeah. Okay."

A beat of silence passed between them before she said, softer, "I know you and Dad… weren’t good. But you’re still family, Su-Bong. That hasn’t changed."

Thanos swallowed, but he didn’t answer.

When the call ended, he stood there for a moment, staring at nothing.

Nam-Gyu was still holding his hand, his grip firm, grounding. "Hey," he said gently. "Do you wanna go? We don’t have to stay."

Thanos blinked a few times like he was coming back to himself. His father was dead. The man who raised him, who loved him once, who turned away when he stopped being the son he wanted—he was gone.

And Thanos didn’t know how to feel.

Thanos took a deep breath, forcing the thoughts back. He couldn’t stay there, frozen in place. He couldn’t let the weight of everything drag him down, not now—not when there was still a night ahead with people who made him feel alive in ways his father never did.

Nam-Gyu’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. “Hey, you alright?” He rubbed his thumb over the back of Thanos’s hand, steadying him.

Thanos blinked and slowly nodded, but there was still a knot in his stomach. “Yeah. I just… I don’t know how to feel, you know? It’s a lot.”

Nam-Gyu nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I get it. It’s a lot for me too, and I’m not even in your shoes. But, you know… if you want to talk about it later, or even if you don’t, I’m still here. Whatever you need." He gave Thanos’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “But if you want to keep moving tonight, we can do that too. We don’t have to talk about it unless you’re ready.”

Thanos took another shaky breath, feeling the pressure of everything in the pit of his stomach. "I don’t even know what I need right now, Nam." His voice was quiet, almost like he was speaking to himself. "But… I don’t want to ruin tonight."

The quiet that followed between them felt heavy, but Nam-Gyu didn’t pull away. He didn’t pressure him to open up. He just stayed with him. That was enough for now.

“Let’s go grab food, then,” Nam-Gyu said softly, taking the lead again. “We’ll just chill. You don’t have to talk about anything you’re not ready for. But we can laugh. We can make fun of my awful bowling skills. Whatever you need.”

Thanos chuckled weakly, grateful for the ease Nam-Gyu was offering him. Maybe he didn’t have to deal with everything right away. Maybe he could just take the night, one small step at a time.

As they walked away from the bowling alley, Thanos glanced at Nam-Gyu’s face, the concern there that he couldn’t hide, but also the warmth. It was something different than he’d gotten from his dad—a kind of love that wasn’t conditional.

“Alright,” Thanos finally said, trying to pull himself together. “Food sounds good. Let’s do it.”

Nam-Gyu gave him a reassuring smile. “Good. I know this place just around the corner that has the best dumplings. Trust me, you’ll forget your problems for a while."

Thanos shook his head in disbelief but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “You always know the best spots.”

Nam-Gyu grinned, his eyes lighting up. “I mean, I’m not just good at bowling.”

As they got into the car, the tension still lingered in the air, but it wasn’t suffocating anymore. Thanos felt like he could breathe again, even if just a little bit. Maybe tomorrow, he’d think about what Kyung-Hu said. Maybe he’d process his dad’s death. But tonight? Tonight, he could just be here, with Nam-Gyu and the others, trying to hold onto a moment of normalcy.

They pulled up to the little restaurant, a cozy place with glowing lanterns in the windows. Thanos followed Nam-Gyu inside, and as the door closed behind them, the noise of the city seemed to melt away. For a moment, it was just them. And that small piece of calm felt like a lifeline.

The waitress greeted them warmly, and they were led to a small booth in the back. As they sat down, Thanos couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, the pressure on his chest easing just enough to let him feel like himself again.

Nam-Gyu leaned across the table, his face serious but gentle. “You sure you’re okay?”

Thanos met his gaze, and for the first time in hours, he felt like he could speak the truth. “I don’t know. But I’m trying.”

Nam-Gyu gave him a soft smile, that quiet understanding still in his eyes. “That’s all you can do, right?”

Thanos nodded. And for the first time, it felt like enough.

Notes:

I finshed this faster then I thought I would 😂

Also dw I saved all the sweet comments from the last chapter 💕💕

Chapter 13: Back In The House

Notes:

So sorry this chapter took so long!
Also warning for talk about self harm, talk about death, and past drug use!

Thanos watched the rain streak down the glass window of the train station, the cold gray afternoon wrapping everything in a dull haze. His fingers tapped idly against his knee, following the rhythm of the quiet hum stuck in his throat. He barely even noticed he was doing it.

The last few days had been a blur—booking train tickets, packing a small bag, making sure Doom had enough food and dropping him off with Min-Su for the week. It all felt like going through the motions, like he was watching someone else do it from outside his own body.

Numb. That was the best word for it.

The weight of everything still hadn't fully settled. Maybe it would on the train ride, or maybe when he saw his mom for the first time in years. Or maybe not until he stood in front of the coffin. Hell, maybe it wouldn't hit him at all.

He didn't know which option scared him more.

A warm voice broke through his fog.

"Hey."

Nam-Gyu's voice was gentle, the way it always got when he was checking in. He stood beside him, close enough that their arms were almost touching without actually brushing. His dark hair was tucked under his favorite beanie, and his eyes were softer than Thanos deserved right now. "Holding up okay?"

Thanos's fingers stilled on his knee. He glanced over, meeting Nam-Gyu's gaze for just a second before looking away again.

"Yeah. I'm fine." The lie slipped out too easily.

Nam-Gyu didn't call him on it, but Thanos knew by now that he could tell. He always could.

Maybe bringing his very new boyfriend to help plan his dad's funeral wasn't the best idea in the world. They'd only been dating a few weeks—hell, Nam-Gyu hadn't even seen him have a full-on breakdown yet. He could still back out if he wanted to.

But when Thanos asked him to come, Nam-Gyu hadn't even hesitated.

The memory flickered back in his mind—just a few nights ago, sitting on Thanos's couch surrounded by half-packed bags and Doom snoring on the floor.

"Are you sure you want me to come?" Nam-Gyu had asked, his voice cautious but steady.

Thanos had barely looked up from folding one of his sweaters. His chest felt too tight to think straight, but the words had just spilled out without him even meaning to.

"I don't know if I can do this alone."

The second he'd said it, he'd wanted to take it back. He hated how small his voice sounded. Hated how fragile he'd felt.

But Nam-Gyu didn't even blink.

"Then you won't."

Now, standing here with him at the train station, Thanos felt something warm and steady pressing against all the hollow places inside him.

He let out a slow breath, trying to find something—anything—to ground himself.

"You didn't have to come," Thanos murmured, still watching the rain.

Nam-Gyu's hand brushed against his, just for a second before pulling away again.

"I know." His voice was soft. "But I wanted to."

Thanos's throat felt tight, but he just nodded.

They stood there in silence for a while, the low murmur of announcements echoing through the station. The train wouldn't be there for another twenty minutes, but Nam-Gyu had insisted on getting there early—something about giving Thanos time to breathe before they had to board.

He always thought about things like that. Always paying attention, even when Thanos was barely holding himself together.

"You don't have to be fine, you know," Nam-Gyu said quietly after a long pause.

Thanos's breath caught in his chest. He clenched his jaw, staring harder at the rain.

"I know."

Another beat of silence stretched between them.

Nam-Gyu's voice dropped even softer, like he was afraid pushing too hard might break him.

"Do you... miss him?"

The question was so simple—so gentle. But it knocked something loose inside Thanos anyway.

He swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the water droplets sliding down the glass.

"I don't know." His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "I don't think he ever really... liked me. Not after I started—" He broke off, glancing down at his chipped nail polish.

Nam-Gyu's eyes softened even more, if that was possible. He didn't say anything—just let Thanos find the words at his own pace.

"I think he loved me once," Thanos finally admitted, voice barely audible. "When I was still... his kid. When I was still what he wanted me to be. Before the hair dye, before the eyeliner, before—"

Before he started liking boys.

He couldn't bring himself to say that part out loud.

Nam-Gyu didn't fill the silence. He just stood there, steady and patient, like he was holding space for every word Thanos couldn't quite say.

Thanos's chest squeezed painfully.

"I don't even know if I'm... sad he's gone," he confessed. "I'm sad about what he could've been. About what we never got to have."

He blinked quickly, turning his head so Nam-Gyu wouldn't see the way his eyes were burning.

"I think that makes me a shitty son."

Nam-Gyu's hand closed around his fingers—warm and solid and real. He squeezed gently, grounding him.

"That makes you human."

Thanos's breath caught.

He squeezed back.

Neither of them said anything for a while after that. They just stood there, hands tangled loosely together, watching the rain.

It still hurt. It still felt like there was something heavy and broken lodged under his ribs. But with Nam-Gyu beside him—quiet and steady and here—it didn't feel quite so impossible to carry.

Eventually, the train's low rumble echoed through the station, lights glowing in the distance.

Nam-Gyu shifted beside him.

"You ready?"

No.

Not even a little.

But Thanos took a deep breath and nodded anyway.

"As I'll ever be."

Nam-Gyu gave his hand one last squeeze before letting go.

"I'm right here," he promised.

And for the first time in what felt like years...

Thanos believed him.

They boarded the train in quiet, the shuffle of feet and distant murmur of passengers filling the air. Thanos kept his head down, hood pulled up over his purple hair, trying not to feel like a walking nerve ending.

Nam-Gyu stayed close but didn't hover—just enough presence to remind Thanos he wasn't alone without crowding him. They found their seats by the window, tucked in the corner away from most of the other passengers.

The train jerked forward, starting its slow crawl out of the station

Thanos stared out at the rain-smeared landscape blurring by. He felt Nam-Gyu shift beside him, the faint crinkle of his jacket as he got comfortable. For a while, neither of them spoke.

Thanos liked that about Nam-Gyu—how he could fill silence without breaking it.

It gave Thanos space to feel without pressure. To try and untangle the mess in his chest without someone rushing him to slap a label on it.

After a while, Nam-Gyu pulled out his headphones and offered one to Thanos without a word.

Thanos glanced at him, surprised.

Nam-Gyu just shrugged. "Figured you might want something to drown out the world for a bit."

Thanos took the earbud without thinking, sliding it into place.

A soft acoustic guitar filled his ear—some indie song he didn't recognize, but the gentle rhythm immediately loosened something in his chest.

"Thanks," he mumbled, not sure Nam-Gyu could even hear him.

But Nam-Gyu just smiled, eyes flicking toward him like he heard anyway.

They sat like that for a long time, sharing the same playlist without saying a word.

After a while, the guitar faded into the next track, but the soft plucking of strings lingered in Thanos’s mind—pulling him somewhere else.

Somewhere warm.

Somewhere before.

---

He was turning eleven.

Back when he was still Su-Bong—back when he still fit into the neat little mold his father wanted him to be. The good son. The choirboy.

It had been about three months since he'd joined the church choir—a decision he hadn't even really made for himself. His dad had just signed him up one Sunday after hearing him hum along to a hymn during service.

"You've got a gift, Su-Bong," he'd said, ruffling his hair. "It's only right to use it for the Lord."

And maybe back then—when the world still felt simple—he'd liked the way those words made him feel. Special. Chosen.

But music... music had always been bigger than the church to him.

It was the only thing that made him feel whole. Even at eleven, he knew that much.

He'd spend hours in his room with the little tape recorder his sister had handed down to him, rewinding and replaying songs off the radio—scribbling down half-misheard lyrics in the margins of his school notebooks, trying to match every note with his own shaky voice.

He never told anyone how happy it made him.

But his dad must've seen it—must've noticed something—because on the morning of his birthday, he'd handed Su-Bong a big box wrapped in balloon-covered paper.

Su-Bong had torn into it, breath caught in his throat.

The guitar was smaller than the ones he'd seen grown-ups play, the wood warm and honey-colored under the sunlight spilling through the kitchen window.

His heart almost stopped.

"For me!?" was all he managed to choke out, clutching the neck with both hands like he was afraid it might disappear if he blinked too long.

His dad had laughed—a real laugh, warm and proud.

"You'll have to learn how to play it first," he'd said, crouching down to eye level. "But I figured... every musician needs an instrument, right?"

Su-Bong nodded so hard his hair flopped into his eyes.

His dad had brushed it back, smiling.

For a few golden years, that guitar was everything.

He'd sit on the front porch after school, plucking clumsy little melodies until his fingertips blistered. His dad would sit nearby, pretending to read the newspaper but always listening—always there to tell him he sounded better every day.

They'd even play together sometimes—his dad strumming along on an old acoustic he'd dug out of the closet, the two of them filling the house with off-key duets.

He'd loved him then.

Really, truly loved him.

---

The memory cracked in his chest like ice underfoot.

Because it hadn't been wrong—not at first.

His dad had loved him once.

Before Su-Bong started turning into someone his father couldn't quite recognize.

---

"Hey."

Nam-Gyu's voice cut softly through the fog.

Thanos blinked back into the present, the rain-blurred landscape rushing past the window.

"You okay?" Nam-Gyu asked, his voice low.

Thanos's throat felt tight.

He hadn't even realized his fingers were curled into fists on his lap.

"Yeah." He cleared his throat, forcing his hands to relax. "Just... thinking."

Nam-Gyu didn't push.

Instead, he reached over—slow, careful—and slid his fingers into Thanos's palm.

Warm.

Solid.

Real.

Thanos squeezed back, like he was afraid to let go.

---

By the time the train finally pulled into Seoul, the ache in his chest had dulled into something heavier. Something harder to name.

They stepped out onto the platform, cold air biting at their faces.

Kyung-Hu was already waiting—leaning against a pillar with her arms crossed, hair tucked under a knitted beanie. She looked so much older than he remembered—thinner, more tired.

But the second her eyes found him, they softened.

For a moment, she just stared.

Then she pushed off the wall and crossed the distance between them in three quick steps—throwing her arms around him without a word.

Thanos froze.

It had been years since anyone in his family had touched him like this—like he was worth holding on to.

He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing hard.

"You're an asshole," Kyung-Hu muttered into his shoulder. "But I'm glad you're here."

Thanos's arms slowly came up, hugging her back.

"...Me too."

It was warm.

Warmer than he'd expected.

Kyung-Hu had always been the protective one—the loud, bossy big sister who looked out for him whether he wanted her to or not. Growing up, she'd been half a second away from fighting any kid who so much as looked at him wrong. She'd patch him up after playground scrapes, smuggle snacks into his room when he got grounded, and cover for him when he snuck out to listen to music past bedtime.

Even when they fought—and they'd fought a lot—she'd always come back around, ruffling his hair or slipping him an extra piece of candy like some unspoken apology.

Thinking about it now made his chest ache.

He'd left her behind too.

Sure, he'd had his reasons—needed to get the hell away from everything that hurt—but she hadn't deserved that. Not after everything she'd done for him.

Not after she loved him when no one else in that house really had.

Kyung-Hu pulled back, her sharp eyes scanning his face like she was trying to memorize every new line and wrinkle time had carved into him.

"Man..." she muttered, shaking her head. "You pretty much look the same... Well, except for the whole—" She flicked her fingers toward his hair and the silver hoops in his ears. "But we all knew that was coming."

Despite everything, Thanos snorted.

"Yeah, you were the first one to call it, huh?"

"Damn right I was." Her smile was small but real. "You always were a little weirdo."

Thanos smirked, but the warmth of the moment made something in his throat close up.

He couldn't even remember the last time someone from his family talked about who he was without a hint of disgust in their voice.

Kyung-Hu's gaze shifted to Nam-Gyu, who was standing a little off to the side, hands tucked into his jacket pockets like he was trying not to intrude.

"And who's your friend, Su-Bong?"

Thanos's heart squeezed at the sound of his real name coming from her—he hadn't heard anyone call him that in so long. It made him feel like a kid again, like he'd never left.

"This is Nam-Gyu," Thanos said, clearing his throat. "He's... he's my boyfriend."

Kyung-Hu's eyebrows shot up, eyes flicking between the two of them before she smirked.

"Boyfriend, huh?" she teased, folding her arms. "Guess I owe Mom twenty bucks."

Nam-Gyu blinked, looking between them. "Wait—what?"

Thanos groaned, covering his face. "Oh my god."

Kyung-Hu just laughed, pulling him into another quick hug. "She always said if you ever came back home, it'd be with a cute boy on your arm." Then she leaned in, voice dropping just for him. "She never stopped loving you, Su-Bong. You know that, right?"

Thanos's throat closed up. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Kyung-Hu smiled, brushing a piece of purple hair from his eyes. "Come on, let's get you both out of the rain. Mom's gonna cry when she sees you."

Nam-Gyu laughed softly, the sound lightening the heavy fog in Thanos's chest.

"It's nice to meet you," he said, bowing his head slightly in polite greeting.

Thanos glanced over at him, warmth flickering beneath his ribs. Nam-Gyu looked so calm—like meeting Thanos's estranged family in the middle of a rainstorm was just another part of the day. No pressure. No judgment.

God, he really didn't deserve him.

Kyung-Hu gave Nam-Gyu a once-over, smirking. "Polite and cute. Yeah, Mom's definitely gonna cry."

Nam-Gyu flushed a little, rubbing the back of his neck. Thanos felt a small grin tug at his lips despite everything.

"Alright, alright, stop embarrassing me in front of my boyfriend," Thanos muttered, rolling his eyes.

Kyung-Hu snorted but took one of the suitcases from him, leading them toward the parking lot.

"You did that to yourself the second you dyed your hair purple, Su-Bongie."

Thanos's ears burned at the old nickname, but... it didn't sting as much as he thought it would. Not coming from her.

Nam-Gyu leaned in close as they walked, his shoulder brushing Thanos's.

"Su-Bongie?" he whispered, teasing.

"Don't."

Nam-Gyu grinned wider. "Oh, I'm absolutely calling you that now."

"Don't you fucking dare."

He could hear Kyung-Hu laughing ahead of them.

And maybe—just maybe—coming home wouldn't be as bad as he thought.

Then he remembered—his eyes widening as excitement flickered through the numb haze in his chest.

"Wait... where's my nephews?"

Kyung-Hu paused mid-step, glancing back at him. Her smirk softened into something warmer.

"Oh, now you care about your favorite nephews, huh?"

Thanos rolled his eyes, but the grin tugging at his lips was genuine. "Shut up—of course I care. Last time I saw Ji-Yun, he was barely out of diapers... and you popped out another one since then, right?"

Kyung-Hu huffed a laugh, shifting the suitcase in her hand. "Yeah... Jae-Yul. He's three now. Ji-Yun's six and acts like he's thirty."

Thanos's chest squeezed a little. Six. God, he'd missed so much. He'd seen the photos on Instagram—birthday parties, first days of school, Ji-Yun grinning with two missing front teeth—but photos weren't the same. He'd never gotten to be there.

He never let himself be there.

"Shit... I'm a terrible uncle, huh?" he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Kyung-Hu's face softened completely at that, her teasing fading. She stopped walking, turning to look at him fully.

"You're not a terrible uncle, Su-Bong," she said quietly. "You've just... been figuring your shit out. That's allowed."

Thanos's throat tightened—he suddenly couldn't meet her eyes.

A warm hand slid into his, fingers lacing between his own. Nam-Gyu, quiet and steady beside him.

Thanos squeezed back, grounding himself.

"Well," Kyung-Hu continued, her voice lighter again, "lucky for you, Ji-Yun still thinks you're some kind of rockstar superhero. He’s been talking about 'Uncle Bongie' coming to visit for three days straight."

Thanos blinked. His heart squeezed painfully.

"He remembers me?"

Kyung-Hu snorted. "Are you kidding? You played him that dumb cartoon theme song on guitar one time, and he’s been telling everyone his uncle's a famous musician ever since."

Thanos's chest ached in a way that was both warm and hollow at the same time. He swallowed hard, glancing down at Nam-Gyu's hand still wrapped around his own.

Maybe he'd missed a lot.

But maybe it wasn't too late to try.

"...Where are they now?" he asked, voice rough.

"Home with Mom. She practically begged me to let her babysit so she could cook for you." Kyung-Hu's smile turned a little crooked. "She’s... really excited to see you, Su-Bong."

Thanos's stomach flipped. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or terrifying.

He glanced at Nam-Gyu again, like maybe his boyfriend could somehow tell him what to feel.

Nam-Gyu just squeezed his hand a little tighter.

"You ready?" Kyung-Hu asked softly.

Thanos exhaled slowly, rain pattering quietly on the car roofs around them.

No. He wasn't ready.

But he nodded anyway.

"Yeah... let's go home."

Once they reached Kyung-Hu's car, Thanos pulled open the back door for Nam-Gyu with a little flourish, earning a raised eyebrow.

"Chivalrous and punk rock? You're full of surprises," Nam-Gyu teased softly, lingering just close enough for his breath to brush against Thanos's ear.

Before he could pull away, Nam-Gyu leaned in, voice dropping even lower.

"You would be the crazy fun uncle, though."

Thanos rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the way his face heated up. "Yeah, yeah. Get in the car, brat."

Nam-Gyu smirked but obeyed, sliding into the backseat. Thanos shut the door with a little more force than necessary, muttering under his breath.

By the time he climbed into the passenger seat, Kyung-Hu was already loading their bags into the trunk, humming under her breath. The sound was weirdly nostalgic—he remembered her doing the same thing when they were kids, packing for summer trips to the beach.

Funny how some things didn't change, even when everything else did.

Once she was back behind the wheel, she glanced between them in the rearview mirror, eyes flicking toward their intertwined hands before smirking to herself.

Nosy ass.

"So," Thanos drawled, leaning back against the seat, "you still dating the boys' dad?"

Kyung-Hu snorted, starting the engine. The old car rattled to life, the familiar scent of stale air fresheners and baby wipes filling the cabin.

"Dating, he says." She shot him a glare. "First of all, yes. Second, no, we're not married yet—thanks for rubbing that in, by the way—"

"I'm just saying, he's basically been my brother-in-law since I was, like, eighteen."

"Yeah, well, some of us don't like rushing into things with questionable life choices." Her eyes flicked pointedly toward his hair.

Thanos smirked. "That's not what you said when you were getting his name tattooed on your ankle."

"That was one time, and I was drunk—"

Nam-Gyu leaned forward, suddenly very interested. "Wait, wait, wait—what name?"

Kyung-Hu's eyes narrowed. "I don't know you well enough to answer that."

"It's Jung-Ho," Thanos grinned.

"Su-Bong, I swear to God."

Nam-Gyu burst out laughing, clutching Thanos's shoulder for balance as the car jolted over a pothole.

"Okay, I definitely see the family resemblance now."

Kyung-Hu huffed, but there was no real bite behind it.

"Anyway," she continued, like the conversation hadn't derailed, "he's on a business trip. Work wouldn't let him leave until tomorrow, so he'll be there about three days before the funeral."

Thanos's smile faded a little at that, the weight of why they were even here creeping back in around the edges.

Three days.

The funeral.

Fuck.

He glanced out the rain-streaked window, watching the gray landscape blur by. His stomach twisted.

"You... doing okay?" Kyung-Hu asked quietly, not taking her eyes off the road.

Thanos didn't answer right away.

He didn't know how to.

Nam-Gyu's fingers brushed against the back of his hand again, light and patient.

Finally, Thanos sighed, leaning his head against the cool glass.

"I don't know."

Kyung-Hu's mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Yeah," she murmured. "Me neither."

The car filled with soft rain and the low hum of the engine. No one spoke for a long moment.

Then Kyung-Hu cleared her throat, focing brightness back into her voice.

"Well, at least you'll have Ji-Yun and Jae-Yul climbing all over you to distract you. They've been bouncing off the walls since I told them Uncle Bongie was coming."

Thanos's heart twisted painfully at the old nickname.

Uncle Bongie.

He could picture it already—Ji-Yun with his big toothy grin, Jae-Yul toddling around on chubby legs.

God, he'd missed so much.

He swallowed hard, glancing back at Nam-Gyu.

"You ready to see me get absolutely wrecked by two tiny humans?"

Nam-Gyu's smile was soft. "I don't know... I think you'll hold your own."

Thanos snorted. "You say that now. Wait until Ji-Yun challenges me to a Beyblade battle or whatever kids are into these days."

Kyung-Hu snorted, eyes still on the road. "You're about five years too late for that, Grandpa."

"Jesus Christ, I'm not that old—"

"You literally groaned when you sat down just now."

"That was the train seats, thank you very much—"

"Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, Su-Bongie."

Thanos flipped her off, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

For a second, it almost felt like they were kids again—just two siblings bickering in the car on the way home.

Like maybe everything hadn't changed as much as he thought.

Maybe... coming home wouldn't be so bad.

"Anyways!" Kyung-Hu announced, breaking the quiet lull in the car with a dramatic sigh. "Since you both sat in the back and made me feel like an Uber driver, I'm gonna make weird small talk like one!"

Thanos huffed out a breath, shaking his head. His sister never missed a chance to tease him.

Kyung-Hu's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, locking onto Nam-Gyu. "Sooo, Nam-Gyu, what do you do for work?"

Nam-Gyu straightened up a little, like he hadn't been expecting to be put on the spot. His hand was still resting on Thanos's knee—warm, steady, grounding.

"I'm a club promoter," he answered casually, like he'd said it a hundred times before. "I handle events, book talent... make sure people have a good time."

Kyung-Hu's brows lifted, clearly impressed. "A club promoter, huh? Bet that's... interesting."

Nam-Gyu smiled politely, but Thanos caught the flicker in his eyes—the one that always showed up when people thought his job was all parties and flashing lights.

"It has its moments," Nam-Gyu said simply.

Kyung-Hu smirked. "Bet you meet a lot of drunk idiots in your line of work."

Nam-Gyu's mouth curved, dark eyes flicking toward Thanos—just for a second.

"You could say that."

Thanos frowned, the gears turning slowly in his head. There was something about the way Nam-Gyu said it—like he knew something Thanos didn't.

"...What?" Thanos asked, narrowing his eyes.

Nam-Gyu's smile stretched a little wider, almost playful.

"We've actually met before."

Thanos blinked, thrown completely off guard. "Wait—what?"

Nam-Gyu leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"At the club I work at. About a year ago now."

Thanos's stomach dropped, his mind immediately scrambling through foggy memories—nights blurred out by whatever he'd been shoving into his body back then.

"I—" He shook his head, trying to piece it together. "No way. You're messing with me."

Nam-Gyu chuckled softly. "You wouldn't remember. You were... well, pretty far gone."

Kyung-Hu snorted from the front seat, eyes still locked on the road. "Oh, this just keeps getting better."

Thanos's face burned, and he sank lower into the seat.

"I was working the guest list at the door," Nam-Gyu went on, his voice softer now. "Your manager practically carried you in. You were loud—kept trying to charm your way into a private booth without a reservation."

Thanos groaned, pressing his hand over his face. "Oh, god."

Nam-Gyu's smile stayed, but there was no judgment in his eyes.

"I remember thinking you were kind of an asshole," he teased lightly.

Thanos peeked through his fingers, half-embarrassed, half-intrigued.

"And then... a few months later, I walked into that NA meeting... and there you were."

Thanos's heart squeezed painfully in his chest.

He'd thought that night at the meeting was the first time they'd ever crossed paths—that Nam-Gyu had only ever known this version of him. The trying-to-get-better version.

But Nam-Gyu had seen him at his worst—and still chose to sit next to him.

Still chose to like him.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Thanos asked quietly.

Nam-Gyu's smile softened. "Because that wasn't really you."

Thanos's throat felt tight. He dropped his hand, staring out at the rain-splattered window.

He wasn't sure what to say to that—how to thank someone for seeing the person he was trying to become instead of the mess he'd been.

Kyung-Hu, completely oblivious to the weight of the moment, snorted again.

"Man... you're lucky he's even dating your ass after that."

Nam-Gyu chuckled under his breath, squeezing Thanos's knee gently.

"I like the version of him I met at NA better anyway."

Thanos's heart twisted—too full, too fragile all at once.

He glanced at Nam-Gyu, searching his face like maybe he'd find whatever the hell he did to deserve this person sitting next to him.

Nam-Gyu just met his gaze, steady and warm.

Thanos swallowed hard.

"Me too."

Kyung-Hu, for once, stayed quiet.

The rain kept tapping against the windows, the road stretching out ahead of them.

And for the first time in days, Thanos felt like he could breathe again.

---

After a while, the busy streets thinned out, giving way to quieter roads lined with bare trees and faded storefronts. The further they drove, the more familiar everything became—the chipped brick walls, the same convenience store where he'd shoplifted cigarettes at fifteen, the rusting playground where he'd smoked them with kids whose names he couldn't even remember now.

Thanos's knee bounced restlessly, his eyes glued to the window as the rain poured steadily around them. It was strange how nothing had really changed, but everything felt smaller—like the whole neighborhood had been preserved in some warped snow globe.

Nam-Gyu must have noticed the shift in him, because his fingers brushed lightly against Thanos's knee, stilling it.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

Thanos swallowed, eyes tracing the familiar curve of the road.

"I haven't been back here in... shit, almost ten years."

Kyung-Hu's eyes flicked to him through the rearview mirror, her voice quieter now.

"Not much has changed."

That wasn't exactly comforting.

The silence stretched out between them, only broken by the steady rhythm of the rain against the roof. The houses they passed were still the same squat little homes with peeling paint and old cars parked in the driveways—ordinary, forgettable.

Except Thanos remembered every crack in the sidewalks, every busted porch light. He could still picture himself walking these streets as a kid, clutching his sister's hand on the way home from choir practice. He'd memorized every shortcut, every hiding spot.

Back then, this place had felt like the whole world.

Now it just felt... heavy.

They turned onto a narrow street lined with houses pressed close together—his street. Thanos's stomach clenched hard, his breath catching in his throat before he could stop it.

Nam-Gyu's hand squeezed his knee gently, grounding him.

Kyung-Hu slowed the car as they approached a small white house with a sagging porch and an overgrown yard. The front window still had the same lace curtains his mom had always kept up, even though they were probably yellowed and stiff by now.

Thanos's chest felt like it was caving in.

He hadn't even realized how tightly he'd been holding his breath until Nam-Gyu's thumb started tracing slow circles against his knee—silent, steady reassurance.

"It's just a house, Su-Bong," Kyung-Hu said quietly. "You're not that kid anymore."

Thanos blinked hard, throat closing up.

Maybe he wasn't that kid anymore—but stepping back onto this street made him feel like it.

The version of himself he'd spent the last ten years trying to outrun was still buried in these cracked sidewalks, these peeling walls.

Nam-Gyu leaned in a little closer, his voice so quiet it was barely louder than the rain.

"I'm right here."

Thanos's heart clenched painfully in his chest.

He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath—then nodded.

Kyung-Hu pulled into the driveway, the tires crunching over wet gravel.

The house loomed in front of them, smaller than he remembered—but still standing.

Still waiting.

Thanos's fingers curled tighter around Nam-Gyu's hand.

"I hate this fucking place," he muttered under his breath.

Nam-Gyu squeezed back, gentle but certain.

"Then we'll leave as soon as you're ready."

Thanos's throat closed up again—because he hadn't realized until right then just how much he needed someone to say that.

The engine cut off, leaving only the patter of rain against the roof. For a moment, none of them moved—just sitting in the thick, loaded silence.

Kyung-Hu's voice broke it first, softer than before.

"Mom's probably in the kitchen... She hasn't been sleeping much."

Thanos's chest squeezed painfully. He could picture it perfectly—his mom at the sink, hands busy even if there was nothing left to clean, filling the silence with the soft clatter of dishes because she never knew what to do with stillness.

The last time he'd seen her, he'd barely said goodbye—just a quick hug in the driveway before he boarded a train to Seoul. She'd kissed his cheek and called him Su-Bong-ie like he was still a little kid.

Then he'd gone and chased the only thing that had ever made him feel alive.

He'd barely thought about how lonely he must have left her.

Guilt coiled hot and tight in his stomach.

Nam-Gyu's hand was still wrapped around his, thumb brushing slow circles against his knuckles.

"You don't have to go in yet," he murmured, like he could read Thanos's mind.

But Kyung-Hu was already climbing out, popping the trunk to grab their bags.

"I know," Thanos said quietly. His voice sounded strange—small, like it belonged to someone else.

Then he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and opened the car door.

---

The rain had eased into a steady drizzle by the time they made it to the porch. Thanos hung back a few steps, eyes fixed on the warped wood beneath his feet. The old welcome mat was still there—faded and fraying around the edges.

Kyung-Hu rapped her knuckles against the door before pushing it open without waiting.

"Mom, we're here."

The smell hit him first—clean laundry, dish soap, and something faintly floral. It was exactly the same.

He hadn't expected that.

For a second, Thanos couldn't move.

Then Nam-Gyu's fingers brushed against the small of his back—gentle, grounding.

I'm right here.

Thanos forced himself to step inside.

The house was smaller than he remembered—narrow hallways, low ceilings. It was like the walls were closing in on him.

Footsteps shuffled from the kitchen.

And then there she was—his mom.

Her hair had more gray in it than the last time he'd seen her, tied back in the same low bun she always wore. There were deeper lines around her eyes, but her face still had that soft, tired warmth he'd always associated with home.

For a second, she just stared at him like she couldn't believe he was real.

Then her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes welling up.

"Su-Bong-ah..."

His throat closed up so tight he couldn't breathe.

He barely had time to brace himself before she was wrapping her arms around him, pulling him into a hug so tight it knocked the air out of his lungs.

He froze—just for a second—then melted into it.

Her hands slid up into his hair, holding him like he might disappear if she let go.

"You came home," she whispered into his shoulder.

Thanos squeezed his eyes shut, throat burning.

"I'm sorry, Mom."

Her arms only tightened around him.

"You don't have to be sorry, baby."

He couldn't remember the last time she'd called him that.

For a second, he was eleven years old again, clutching a brand new guitar in the middle of the living room, glowing under his dad's proud smile.

Before everything got so fucking hard.

Before he started breaking his own heart to survive.

He didn't realize he was crying until Nam-Gyu's hand landed gently between his shoulder blades, steadying him without a word.

Kyung-Hu stood off to the side, watching quietly with her arms crossed.

"Okay," she sniffed, breaking the moment before it could swallow them whole. "Well... now that we've all gotten our feelings out... who wants coffee?"

Thanos let out a shaky breath, laughing wetly against his mom's shoulder.

It was such a Kyung-Hu thing to say.

His mom finally pulled back, brushing his damp hair off his forehead. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but she was smiling—small, tired, but real.

"You must be Nam-Gyu," she said, her voice still thick with emotion.

Nam-Gyu straightened like he'd been caught eavesdropping, offering a polite little bow.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Choi."

Her eyes flicked between them, taking in the way Nam-Gyu's hand lingered between Thanos's shoulder blades.

She didn't say anything—just smiled a little wider.

"Call me Ahjumma."

Thanos blinked, throat going tight again.

His mom had always been better than his dad—kinder, softer. He'd just never let himself believe she'd still be waiting for him with open arms.

Nam-Gyu shot him a quick, reassuring glance before following Kyung-Hu into the kitchen, giving them a little space.

His mom cupped his face, studying him like she was memorizing every line.

"You look so tired, baby."

Thanos's mouth wobbled.

"I am."

Her fingers brushed over the stubble on his jaw, her smile turning sad.

"You don't have to run anymore, Su-Bong-ie."

God.

He didn't realize how badly he'd needed to hear that until right then.

His chest cracked open, raw and aching—but for the first time in years, he didn't feel like he had to hold it all in.

Maybe coming home wasn't the worst idea after all.

His mother headed toward the kitchen, the soft creak of floorboards following her. She was likely helping Kyung-Hu bring coffee to the table—a ritual he'd almost forgotten. Whenever anyone came through that door, his mom's first instinct was always to put something warm in their hands, no matter what time of day it was.

Thanos lingered by the entrance, letting the familiar smells wrap around him—coffee, clean linen, and the faint trace of rain still clinging to his jacket. He bent down to slide off his sneakers, placing them neatly on the worn wooden shelf by the door like he'd done a thousand times as a kid.

Nam-Gyu followed suit without needing to be told, his own shoes landing beside Thanos's with a soft thud. It was such a small thing—something most people wouldn't even notice—but it tugged at something deep in Thanos's chest. Nam-Gyu fit into the rhythm of this house so easily, like he'd always been meant to be here.

Still, Thanos couldn't shake the knot tightening in his stomach.

"Hey..." he said quietly, his fingers lingering on the laces of his shoes. His eyes flicked toward Nam-Gyu—toward the old track marks trailing down his arms, faint but still there if you knew what to look for. Then his own scars ghosted to the forefront of his mind—the ones he always kept hidden under long sleeves or quick excuses.

"Sorry if she asks anything... personal."

Nam-Gyu's brow lifted, surprised.

"Personal?"

Thanos shifted on his feet, suddenly feeling like he was sixteen again—bracing for judgment that never came from his mom but always seemed to follow him anyway.

"You know... about meetings. Or... whatever." His gaze dropped, voice low like he was trying to keep the words from filling the whole room.

Nam-Gyu was quiet for a second. Then he reached out, brushing his knuckles against Thanos's hand.

"I don't mind," he said softly. "If she asks, she asks."

Thanos swallowed hard, staring down at their feet lined up next to each other—his scuffed-up Converse, Nam-Gyu's slightly nicer boots.

He hated how easily Nam-Gyu could just be—how he never flinched at the parts of themselves they usually tried to hide.

It made Thanos feel raw and exposed in a way that was equal parts terrifying and... warm.

"Okay," he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. "Just... let me know if it's too much."

Nam-Gyu's fingers curled around his, squeezing gently.

"I will."

The knot in Thanos's chest loosened—just a little.

Footsteps creaked down the hall, and Kyung-Hu's voice floated back toward them, half-laughing, half-scolding.

"Mom, seriously—he's not a guest, he's your son. You don't have to put out the good cups."

Thanos's mouth twitched, the smallest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Welcome home, huh?" he muttered, squeezing Nam-Gyu's hand back before finally stepping forward into the house he'd spent years convincing himself he'd never see again.

Then his mother's voice floated in from the kitchen, light and teasing—just like he remembered it.

"Hey, what about his boyfriend? Doesn't he get the good cups too?"

Thanos's heart did a weird little stutter in his chest. His ears burned, but before he could even process the warmth rising to his face—

"Boyfriend?"

A small voice piped up from around the corner, curious and high-pitched.

There was a sudden shuffle of tiny footsteps, and then a little head peeked out from behind the wall—messy black hair sticking up at odd angles and wide brown eyes blinking up at them.

Ji-Yun.

Thanos's heart cracked wide open at the sight of his oldest nephew—last time he'd seen him, he'd still been in diapers, barely able to waddle across the living room floor. Now he looked... big. Still small, but not a baby anymore.

The kid stared at Nam-Gyu, then at Thanos, then back at Nam-Gyu. His little brow furrowed hard, like he was trying to put something together in his head.

"You're Uncle Su-Bong's boyfriend?" Ji-Yun asked, voice dead serious.

Nam-Gyu's eyes went wide, clearly not expecting to be interrogated by a five-year-old. He glanced at Thanos, like he was waiting for permission to answer.

Thanos felt his face heat up even more, but something about the whole situation made his chest ache in the best way.

He crouched down to Ji-Yun's level, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Yeah, kiddo," he said, voice soft. "He's my boyfriend."

Ji-Yun's eyes narrowed, like he was considering this information very carefully. Then, out of nowhere—

"Do you guys kiss?"

Thanos choked on his own spit.

Nam-Gyu's mouth fell open, and Kyung-Hu's laugh echoed down the hallway.

"Oh my god, Ji-Yun!" she called out, barely containing herself. "You can't just ask people that!"

Ji-Yun blinked innocently.

"Why not?"

Thanos buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with laughter he couldn't quite hold back.

Nam-Gyu, to his credit, recovered faster—grinning as he crouched down beside Thanos.

"Only when your uncle behaves himself," he said, shooting Thanos a sideways look.

Ji-Yun's eyes went wide, like Nam-Gyu had just told him the biggest secret in the world.

"Ohhhh," he whispered dramatically.

Kyung-Hu wheezed from the kitchen, half laughing, half pretending to be scandalized.

"Okay, that's it—no more YouTube for you."

Thanos finally lifted his head, face flushed but smiling—really smiling—for the first time in what felt like days.

He glanced at Nam-Gyu, who was already looking back at him with that soft little grin, like he'd been waiting for Thanos to crack.

Maybe bringing Nam-Gyu here had been a good idea after all.

His mom finally appeared with a tray of steaming mugs, shaking her head fondly at the whole scene.

"Boys," she muttered under her breath, setting the tray down on the coffee table. Then she caught Thanos's eye and gave him that same gentle smile she always had.

"Welcome home, Su-Bong."

And for the first time in a long time, it actually felt like he was.

---

Thanos walked toward the connecting rooms down the hall, Ji-Yun trailing behind him like a little shadow. His small fingers wrapped tightly around Thanos's hand, swinging it back and forth as they went.

The door to his old room was cracked open. Thanos hesitated for half a second before pushing it open fully, the hinges letting out a familiar creak.

The room smelled... the same. A little dusty, maybe, but underneath that—faint traces of his mom's lavender air freshener and something warm, like old wood.

And the room—

It was his.

Not just the bare, cleaned-out shell he'd expected to see.

The walls were still the same muted blue his mom had let him pick out when he was thirteen—before he'd started dyeing his hair and poking holes in his ears. The corkboard above the desk was cluttered with old flyers and crumpled setlists from high school gigs. His CD collection still lined the narrow shelf by the window, cases stacked haphazardly—like he'd only left them there yesterday.

Even the old acoustic guitar leaned in the corner, strings probably rusted to hell by now, but... still there.

His mom hadn't boxed everything up.

She'd left pieces of him here.

Thanos's throat closed up. He stepped further inside, fingers brushing along the chipped edge of the desk. He could still feel the shallow grooves where he'd carved S.B. was here with a pocketknife when he was fourteen.

Ji-Yun clambered onto the bed without asking, bouncing a little on the thin mattress.

"This is your bed?" he asked, wide-eyed.

Thanos swallowed hard, forcing his voice to stay steady.

"Yeah, little man. This was my bed."

Ji-Yun's nose scrunched.

"It's kinda small."

Thanos huffed out a laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Well, I was smaller back then."

Nam-Gyu leaned against the doorframe, quiet and watchful. His dark eyes scanned the room—taking in every faded poster, every scuff mark, every little trace of the kid Thanos used to be.

His gaze lingered on the wall by the window. Thanos followed his eyes—

There were still faint outlines of old stickers he'd ripped off years ago. The ghostly shapes of skulls and band logos he'd thought were so badass at fifteen.

"You were kinda punk, huh?" Nam-Gyu teased softly, the smallest smile tugging at his lips.

Thanos snorted, shaking his head.

"Yeah... for about five minutes."

But the warmth in Nam-Gyu's voice—the way he was seeing him—made something fragile flutter behind Thanos's ribs.

Ji-Yun flopped onto his back with a dramatic sigh, kicking his feet against the blankets.

"Do you miss it?" he asked suddenly, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Thanos blinked.

That was twice now the kid had asked him that.

He glanced around the room—at the guitar, the posters, the CD shelf.

At the version of himself frozen in time here.

"I don't know," he admitted quietly. "I think I tried really hard not to."

Nam-Gyu's eyes flicked toward him, something soft and knowing in his gaze.

Ji-Yun hummed thoughtfully.

"You can miss stuff even if it made you sad," he said—like it was just a fact.

Thanos's breath caught in his chest.

Nam-Gyu smiled faintly.

"Smart kid."

Ji-Yun beamed, clearly pleased with himself.

Thanos cleared his throat, trying to shake off the sudden tightness behind his ribs.

He crossed the room slowly, reaching for the old guitar in the corner. The wood was worn smooth under his fingertips. He plucked at the strings—the sound brittle and out of tune, but familiar all the same.

He could still remember the night his dad had given it to him. The way his hands had trembled with excitement as he tore off the wrapping paper.

Back before everything got... complicated.

Back when his dad still looked at him like he was something to be proud of.

He let out a slow breath, setting the guitar back down carefully.

Nam-Gyu stepped forward, his fingers brushing lightly against Thanos's elbow. Just a small touch—barely there—but grounding all the same.

"You wanna stay in here for a bit?" he asked softly.

Thanos's throat bobbed. He glanced around the room again—the cluttered shelves, the scratched desk, the faint smell of lavender lingering in the air.

Yeah. Maybe he did.

"...Yeah," he murmured.

Nam-Gyu squeezed his arm once, then stepped back—giving him space.

Ji-Yun, still sprawled dramatically on the bed, perked up.

"You want me to show you my bunk beds now?"

Thanos huffed out a breath, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

"Yeah, alright, little man."

Ji-Yun scrambled off the bed like a shot, grabbing Thanos's hand and tugging him toward the hallway.

Nam-Gyu followed quietly—close enough to touch if Thanos needed him, but letting him take his own steps.

And for the first time since he'd gotten the news...

The numbness didn't feel quite so heavy anymore.

His mom caught them in the hallway, arms crossed over her chest with that same sly smile Thanos remembered from when he was a kid—like she'd caught him sneaking out or trying to pocket an extra snack before dinner.

"So that's where you boys disappeared to."

Ji-Yun clung to Thanos's side, practically bouncing on his heels.

"I was showing them my bunk bed! I get to sleep on the top when I stay the night!" His little voice was full of pride, eyes wide like he was revealing the best secret in the world.

Thanos couldn't help but grin, ruffling Ji-Yun's hair.

"Top bunk, huh? You must be the king of the house."

Ji-Yun nodded so hard his curls bounced.

Mrs. Choi's smile lingered, but her gaze flicked to Nam-Gyu—soft, but sharp in that way mothers always were when sizing someone up.

"Well then, I won't keep the king from his royal duties." Her eyes shifted back to Thanos, playful but warm. "But do you mind if I borrow your... friend for a little while?"

Nam-Gyu froze, caught like a deer in headlights.

Thanos's stomach twisted—not because he thought his mom would say anything mean, but... it was still weird having those two worlds collide.

Nam-Gyu glanced at him, wide-eyed, like he wasn't sure if he was supposed to say yes or no.

Thanos gave his hand a little squeeze before letting go.

"It's okay... I'll catch up with Ji-Yun." He tried to sound casual, even though his pulse picked up.

Nam-Gyu nodded slowly, swallowing hard.

Mrs. Choi's smile stayed steady, but there was a knowing glint in her eye as she turned on her heel, heading back toward the kitchen.

Nam-Gyu followed, glancing back once before disappearing around the corner.

Thanos stood frozen for a second, heart thumping harder than it should've been.

Ji-Yun tugged at his sleeve.

"Do you love him?"

Thanos blinked down at him, caught off guard.

He glanced down the hall where Nam-Gyu had disappeared, then back at Ji-Yun—this wide-eyed little kid who didn't know how heavy that question could feel.

"Yeah... I do."

Ji-Yun beamed like he'd just won a prize.

"Cool."

Thanos's heart squeezed.

Kids always made things sound so simple.

If only the rest of the world could be like that.

---

Nam-Gyu followed Mrs. Choi down the narrow hallway, the sound of their footsteps softened by the worn carpet. His heart was beating faster than he'd like to admit, palms a little sweaty as he shoved them into his jacket pockets.

He hadn't been expecting this.

Meeting the family? Sure. He'd braced himself for polite introductions, maybe some small talk—but not being pulled aside for... what exactly? An interrogation? A heart-to-heart?

Mrs. Choi led him into the cozy little kitchen, the air warm with the scent of coffee and something faintly sweet—probably whatever she'd been baking earlier.

"Have a seat," she said, her voice soft but leaving no room for argument.

Nam-Gyu sat down at the small wooden table, the same kind of table he'd grown up wanting to eat breakfast at. It made the whole room feel even more weird in a way, like he'd accidentally stepped into someone's family photo album.

Mrs. Choi poured two cups of coffee, setting one in front of him before sitting down across the table.

For a second, they just sat in silence, the rain tapping gently against the windowpane.

Nam-Gyu's fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic mug, trying to hide how shaky they felt.

"So," Mrs. Choi finally broke the silence, her dark eyes steady. "How long have you known Su-Bong?"

Su-Bong.

It was so strange hearing Thanos's real name out loud—like a secret version of him that Nam-Gyu hadn't fully unlocked yet.

He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat.

"A few weeks... We met at—"

He stopped himself.

How the hell was he supposed to explain that they met at NA without making it sound bad?

Mrs. Choi raised a brow, waiting patiently.

Nam-Gyu's eyes flicked down to his coffee.

"At a meeting... a support group."

Her expression didn't change—no judgment, no surprise.

Instead, she just nodded like she already knew.

"Good."

Nam-Gyu's head snapped up.

"Good?"

Mrs. Choi's eyes softened a little, fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup.

"I'm glad he's going... I worried he might not have anyone."

Nam-Gyu's chest ached a little at that.

Thanos had told him how much better his mom was now, but he'd always spoken about her from a distance—like a part of his life he'd already left behind.

Mrs. Choi's gaze flicked over him again, sharp in that quiet, motherly way.

"You care about him."

It wasn't a question—just a simple observation.

Nam-Gyu's throat felt tight, but he nodded anyway.

"Yeah... I do."

Mrs. Choi's lips twitched like she was holding back a smile.

"You know... he never brought anyone home before. Not even when he was younger."

Nam-Gyu's eyes widened.

"I—really?"

Mrs. Choi nodded, taking a slow sip of her coffee.

"He's always been... stubborn." Her eyes flicked toward the window, distant for a moment. "Too afraid of what people might think—what his father might think."

Nam-Gyu's stomach twisted at the mention of Thanos's dad.

He knew enough to understand that particular wound ran deep.

Mrs. Choi turned back to him, her voice softer now.

"I'm glad he has someone... especially now."

Nam-Gyu's heart squeezed.

He wanted to say something—something reassuring, something that would prove he wasn't just another temporary thing in Thanos's life.

But all he could manage was a quiet, "Me too."

They sat in silence for a few moments, the rain tapping steadily against the glass.

Finally, Mrs. Choi reached out, giving his hand a small squeeze across the table.

"Thank you... for being here."

Nam-Gyu's breath caught in his throat.

He hadn't expected that—not from Thanos's mom, not from anyone.

He squeezed back, blinking a little too fast.

"Of course."

Mrs. Choi smiled, warm and knowing.

"Now, finish your coffee before Su-Bong starts pacing like a lost puppy."

Nam-Gyu couldn't help but chuckle, the knot in his chest loosening just a little.

---

Thanos sat cross-legged on the floor of Ji-Yun's room, letting the little kid chatter away as he showed off his action figures and dinosaur toys. He was trying—really trying—to stay present, nodding along and making the occasional wow noise when Ji-Yun held something up.

But his mind kept drifting back to the kitchen.

Back to Nam-Gyu.

He shouldn't have let his mom corner him like that. Not because he didn't trust Nam-Gyu to handle himself—he did. It was just... weird. His mom had never exactly been the sit-down-and-chat-with-the-boyfriend type when he'd been younger. Hell, she barely acknowledged that he liked boys at all when he was a teenager.

Then again... she was different now. Softer. Trying. And if anyone deserved to get the better version of her, it was Nam-Gyu.

Still, he couldn't help the knot of nerves twisting in his stomach.

What if she asked about how they met? What if Nam-Gyu told her about NA? What if she started digging into Nam-Gyu's family or his work—both topics Thanos already knew were sore spots?

He didn't want Nam-Gyu to feel like some charity case just because his mom was suddenly playing the nurturing mother role. And he definitely didn't want him to feel like he was something to be ashamed of.

Thanos knew exactly what it was like to have a family that only wanted the version of you they could brag about.

"Uncle Bong? You okay?" Ji-Yun's little voice broke through his spiraling thoughts.

Thanos blinked, refocusing on the kid in front of him. Ji-Yun was staring up at him with big, round eyes, a plastic T-Rex clutched in both hands.

"Yeah, buddy. Just... thinking."

Ji-Yun squinted at him, like he could tell Thanos was lying but didn't know what to do with that information. Then he brightened.

"You wanna play dinosaurs?"

Thanos huffed a small laugh, the knot in his chest loosening just a little.

"Sure, kid. You can be the T-Rex. I'll be the... what is this, a stegosaurus?"

"That's a triceratops!" Ji-Yun corrected, scandalized.

Thanos grinned, letting the little kid boss him around for a while. It was easier than thinking about the conversation happening downstairs.

But every now and then, he'd glance toward the door, waiting for Nam-Gyu to come back.

Got it! Here's the improved passage:

But right when Ji-Yun made a loud "Rahh!" sound, a little head poked out from under a blanket on the bottom bunk. Thanos blinked, surprised to see a familiar mop of dark hair and sleepy eyes peeking out.

Jae-Yul.

His youngest nephew—three years old now—rubbed his eyes with a tiny fist, his chubby cheeks still flushed from sleep.

Thanos's chest squeezed. He hadn't even met the kid in person yet. Just seen pictures Kyung-Hu posted online.

"Ah shit," Thanos muttered under his breath, heart unexpectedly softening.

"Uncle Su-Bong," Ji-Yun whispered like they were sharing a top-secret mission, "you woke him up."

Thanos bit back a smile and crouched down next to the bed.

"Hey, little man," he said softly, fingers brushing Jae-Yul's hair back. "Didn't mean to wake you."

Jae-Yul blinked at him for a long second, his sleepy little face still scrunched—like his brain was taking a minute to catch up. Then his eyes went wide, and a grin stretched across his face, all baby teeth and dimples.

"Woahhh..." he whispered, like Thanos was the coolest thing he'd ever seen.

Thanos couldn't help but smile back, heart cracking open in a way he hadn't expected.

Jae-Yul's small, pudgy hand reached up, fingers brushing through Thanos's purple hair with clumsy fascination.

"Purpleeee..." the toddler drawled out, eyes still wide.

Thanos chuckled low in his chest, letting the kid mess with his hair.

"Yeah, little man. It's purple." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Think it makes me look cool?"

Jae-Yul nodded solemnly, still playing with a strand between his fingers.

"Cool..."

Ji-Yun, not one to be outdone, huffed from behind them.

"He's not that cool, Jae-Yul. He sucks at bowling."

Thanos shot a glare over his shoulder, but Ji-Yun just smirked.

Nam-Gyu's soft laughter floated in from the doorway, and Thanos glanced up at him.

He wasn't sure if it was the jet lag, the familiar walls around him, or the fact that Nam-Gyu was here at all—but something in his chest felt lighter. Warmer.

Like maybe, just maybe, there was still room for him in this family.

Even after everything.

Even after leaving.

"Alright, alright," Thanos muttered, ruffling Ji-Yun's hair, "If I'm not cool, then I guess you don't want me to give you guys piggyback rides, huh?"

Ji-Yun's eyes immediately lit up, pretending to think it over for a second before blurting out, "Wait—no, you're kinda cool."

Thanos smirked.

"Damn right I am."

Nam-Gyu leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, that smug little smile tugging at his lips—the one Thanos was quickly learning to both love and hate.

"So... it's no family secret you're a bad bowler, huh?" His voice was light, teasing.

Thanos shot him a half-hearted glare, but it didn't have much heat behind it.

Ji-Yun snickered, clearly enjoying the moment.

Nam-Gyu's smile widened, eyes flicking between the kids and Thanos like he'd just found new ammunition.

"If only they knew how badly I schooled you." He tapped his chin, mock thoughtful. "Maybe I should tell your mom? Or Kyung-Hu? I'm sure they'd love to hear about the great Thanos getting his ass handed to him by his boyfriend."

Thanos's ears burned at the word—boyfriend.

It was still new, still a little weird hearing it out loud. But the way Nam-Gyu said it—casual, like it was the most natural thing in the world—made something warm uncurl deep in Thanos's chest.

"You're so full of shit," Thanos muttered, trying to sound annoyed.

But Nam-Gyu just grinned wider, leaning in a little.

"Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, baby."

Ji-Yun made a disgusted noise from the bunk bed.

"Ewww! Gross! You're too old to have a boyfriend!"

Thanos's mouth dropped open, genuinely offended.

"Too old? I'm twenty-eight, not eighty!"

Ji-Yun just shrugged, like that didn't change a damn thing.

Nam-Gyu snorted behind his hand, eyes crinkling with barely-contained laughter.

Even Jae-Yul giggled into Thanos's shoulder, his little fingers still tangled in purple hair.

Thanos glared at all of them—traitors, the lot of them—but the corner of his mouth kept twitching.

It was stupid. It was chaos.

But for the first time in days, maybe even weeks... he felt something close to happy.

"Hey! No swearing in front of the kids, Su-Bong!" Kyung-Hu's voice cut through the room as she appeared in the doorway, hands on her hips in that same scolding stance she'd had since they were kids.

Thanos rolled his eyes, but there was no bite behind it.

"Okay, Mom Junior," he muttered, shooting her a lazy grin.

Ji-Yun giggled like he'd just heard the best joke ever, while Jae-Yul clapped his little hands, still tugging lightly at Thanos's purple hair.

Kyung-Hu just arched an eyebrow. "Keep that up, and I'll start making you do the dishes like I used to."

Nam-Gyu snorted, biting back a laugh behind his hand.

"Come on, you four—wash up for lunch before Mom starts yelling at me next."

Thanos groaned dramatically but stood, scooping Jae-Yul into his arms with ease. The little boy squealed, clinging to his shirt like a baby koala.

Nam-Gyu brushed his fingers lightly against Thanos's lower back as they passed, just a fleeting touch—but enough to make Thanos's heart thump harder in his chest.

---

"Ughh, I'm so full," Nam-Gyu groaned dramatically, sprawled out on Thanos's childhood bed like he'd just fought in a war.

The tiny twin mattress creaked under his weight, the floral quilt that had probably been there since Thanos was a kid half-draped over him. His hand rested on his stomach, eyes squeezed shut like he was seconds away from slipping into a food coma.

Thanos leaned against the doorframe, watching him with a smirk.

"I told you to stop after the second round of japchae," he teased, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

Nam-Gyu cracked one eye open, lips twitching. "You said I had to try everything if I wanted your mom to like me."

"And she did—by the first plate. The extra three were just you showing off."

Nam-Gyu groaned again, tossing an arm over his eyes. "She kept offering. I didn't want to be rude."

Thanos huffed out a laugh, pushing off the doorframe and padding into the room. The carpet was still the same scratchy beige it had been when he was a kid, and the walls were faintly yellowed with time. Faded posters of old rock bands were tacked up haphazardly, curling at the edges. The bookshelf by the window still held his middle school music trophies, comic books, and a few CDs he'd burned himself back when that was still a thing.

It was weird being back here.

Weirder still with Nam-Gyu here.

Thanos sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. His fingers traced absent patterns into the quilt.

He didn't know what he'd expected coming home—definitely not the warm welcome his mom had given him. Definitely not her inviting Nam-Gyu in like he'd always been part of the family.

The fact that she liked him so easily made something ache deep in Thanos's chest.

"Your mom's nice," Nam-Gyu mumbled, still half-covered by his own arm.

Thanos's fingers stilled on the blanket. "...Yeah. She is."

It still surprised him how much she'd changed over the years—how much softer she was now. When he'd left home at sixteen, she'd been quieter, smaller. Always caught between his dad's anger and her own fear.

But now?

Now she smiled more. She joked. She hugged him without hesitation, like she was trying to make up for lost time.

It made Thanos wonder what life would've been like if he'd stuck around—if he'd given her the chance to become this version of herself.

He shook the thought off before it could spiral, glancing down at Nam-Gyu instead.

"You really didn't have to come, you know," he murmured.

Nam-Gyu's arm shifted, and both of his dark eyes peeked out from under it.

"I wanted to come," he said simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Thanos's throat felt tight for a second.

No one had ever really wanted to be there for him before—not like this. Not without him having to beg or earn it somehow.

He looked away, eyes fixed on the cracked paint near the window.

"You didn't sign up to deal with all my family shit," he muttered.

Nam-Gyu huffed, finally dropping his arm fully.

"News flash, baby—I come with plenty of my own family shit," he said, shifting to prop himself up on one elbow. His voice was lighter, teasing, but there was something more serious underneath it. "I think we're past the point of keeping score on whose baggage is heavier."

Thanos's heart squeezed painfully in his chest.

He felt Nam-Gyu's fingers brush against his knee—just barely, like he was giving him the option to pull away if he wanted to.

Thanos didn't.

"I like seeing this side of you," Nam-Gyu murmured after a beat. "The little kid version."

Thanos snorted. "The little kid version was a total loser."

Nam-Gyu's fingers curled a little more firmly around his knee.

"Then I guess I have a thing for losers."

Thanos's breath caught—just for a second—before he leaned down and kissed him, soft and slow. Nam-Gyu's hand slid up to his thigh, squeezing gently as he kissed back.

It was warm and lazy, the kind of kiss that could stretch on forever if they let it.

When they finally broke apart, Nam-Gyu flopped back against the mattress with a grin.

"I'm still too full for sex, though."

Thanos snorted, flopping down beside him.

"God, you're so fucking romantic."

Nam-Gyu chuckled, eyes slipping closed again.

Outside, rain pattered steadily against the window. Down the hall, Thanos could faintly hear his mom and Kyung-Hu talking quietly, the occasional burst of laughter filtering through the walls.

He never thought he'd be here again—curled up in his old bed with someone who actually made him feel like maybe... maybe coming home didn't have to hurt so bad.

Maybe this time, he wouldn't have to survive it alone.

Thanos's eyes drifted closed, the weight of the day finally catching up to him.

He could hear Nam-Gyu's slow, even breathing beside him.

For the first time in a long time, the house didn't feel so suffocating.

"Besides..." Thanos cracked one eye open, turning his head toward Nam-Gyu.

Nam-Gyu glanced over, his glasses folded neatly on the nightstand. Without them, his features looked softer—more boyish somehow, even with the faint shadows under his eyes from the long day.

"Mhm?" Nam-Gyu's voice was low, lazy.

Thanos's smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he could stop it. He huffed a quiet laugh, eyes flicking to the ceiling.

"If you told sixteen-year-old me that by the time I was twenty-eight, I'd have a hot guy in this bed... willing to sleep with me, he'd probably lose his shit."

Nam-Gyu snorted, breaking into a wide grin. His head lolled on the pillow, turning fully toward Thanos.

"I don't know... sounds like sixteen-year-old you had pretty high standards."

Thanos smirked, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. "He thought he was straight, for one."

Nam-Gyu hummed, amused. "Poor kid. Must've been rough."

Thanos's smile flickered—just for a second—because yeah, it kinda was. But then Nam-Gyu's warm fingers found his wrist under the covers, squeezing gently, and the weight of that thought eased off his chest.

"Bet he would've had a crush on me, though," Nam-Gyu teased, grinning.

Thanos huffed, rolling his eyes. "Sixteen-year-old me would've been terrified of you."

Nam-Gyu's grin widened. "Would've made you buy me cigarettes outside the corner store, huh?"

Thanos laughed under his breath, the sound soft and raspy. "You would've been one of the cool older boys sneaking into clubs. I'd have been the weird kid with bad hair and a guitar strapped to his back."

Nam-Gyu's smile softened, his thumb tracing slow circles against Thanos's wrist. His eyes flicked over Thanos's face—like he was trying to picture him at sixteen, all awkward limbs and sharp edges.

"I would've liked you," Nam-Gyu said quietly.

Thanos's breath caught in his chest.

He didn't know how to respond to that—because there was something in Nam-Gyu's voice, something warm and certain, like he wasn't just saying it to be nice.

Like he'd meant it.

Thanos swallowed hard, glancing away.

"Sixteen-year-old me would've been a mess."

Nam-Gyu squeezed his wrist again, gentle and steady.

"You still are," he murmured.

Thanos snorted, but Nam-Gyu's grip didn't let up.

"But you're my mess."

Thanos's heart gave that annoying little lurch again—the one that always snuck up on him when Nam-Gyu got like this. Soft. Sure.

Like he actually wanted all the broken pieces of him.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The rain kept tapping against the window, filling the quiet.

Eventually, Nam-Gyu shifted closer, pressing his forehead to Thanos's shoulder, his breath warm against the fabric of his shirt.

"Sixteen-year-old you," he mumbled sleepily, "would probably be losing his shit right now."

Thanos's smile flickered—small and a little sad.

Yeah.

He probably would.

"Kiss me," Thanos asked.

Nam-Gyu's breath caught, warm against Thanos's shoulder. He pulled back just enough to meet Thanos's eyes, his dark lashes low and heavy.

For a second, neither of them moved—like they were testing the weight of the moment, seeing if it would crack under their hands.

Then Nam-Gyu's fingers slid up along Thanos's jaw, slow and careful, thumb brushing over the faint stubble there.

"You sure?" he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Thanos's heart thudded hard against his ribs.

"Yeah..." he breathed. "Kiss me."

Nam-Gyu leaned in, closing the space between them. Their noses bumped first, soft and clumsy, before Nam-Gyu's mouth finally found his.

It was tentative at first—like he was giving Thanos every chance to pull away. But Thanos didn't. He chased after it instead, tilting his head just a little, lips parting under Nam-Gyu's.

The kiss deepened—slow and warm, not rushed. Nam-Gyu's fingers tangled in Thanos's hair, nails scratching lightly at the nape of his neck, and fuck—Thanos hadn't realized how much he missed this.

Being touched like this.

Being wanted.

Nam-Gyu's thumb traced along the curve of his jaw, gentle and steady. Thanos's breath hitched, his own hands finally moving—one curling into Nam-Gyu's shirt, the other sliding up the curve of his waist under the blanket.

It felt... good. Easy, in a way he hadn't expected. Like Nam-Gyu wasn't trying to take anything from him—just offering something up.

But then—

Fuck.

It hit him like a punch to the gut.

Thanos ripped away, sitting up so fast the blanket slid off his shoulders and pooled around his waist. His chest heaved, heart pounding in a whole different way now.

Nam-Gyu startled, blinking in the dim light.

"What's wrong—"

"I forgot—" Thanos's voice cracked, hands flying up to claw through his messy purple hair. "I forgot my dad's dead."

The second the words were out, his breath caught sharp in his throat—like saying it out loud made it real all over again.

"Fuck, that's so fucked up—" His whole body trembled, breath stuttering as the tears started welling up without his permission. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, like he could hold it all back if he just tried hard enough.

Nam-Gyu reached out, but Thanos flinched away before he could touch him.

"I'm such a fucking piece of shit." His voice broke completely now, thick and choked. "My dad's dead, and the first thing I do is try to get off with my boyfriend? What kind of son does that?"

His breath started coming faster, shallower—his heart racing so hard it made him dizzy.

"I—fuck—I'm terrible. He hated me, and he was fucking right—I'm selfish, I'm a coward, I ran away—"

"Hey, hey—Su-Bong."

The name stopped him cold.

Nobody called him that except Kyung-Hu and his mom. Hearing it now—soft and steady from Nam-Gyu's mouth—made something snap clean in half inside him.

Nam-Gyu sat up too, not touching him yet, just close enough that Thanos could feel the warmth of him.

"You are not a terrible son." His voice was low, calm—like he was trying to anchor him. "You're grieving. That's not selfish, baby. That's just... human."

Thanos shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. He felt like he was coming apart—like if Nam-Gyu so much as touched him, he'd shatter into a million jagged pieces.

"I left," he whispered. "I left, and I never went back."

Nam-Gyu's breath caught, but he didn't argue.

"You were a kid," he said quietly.

"I was sixteen."

"You were a kid."

Thanos's chest hitched, another sob threatening to break loose. He felt Nam-Gyu's hand—gentle, tentative—rest on his back between his shoulder blades.

He didn't flinch away this time.

"You did what you had to do to survive," Nam-Gyu said softly. "That doesn't make you a bad son."

Thanos's whole body trembled under his touch. He wanted to believe him—fuck, he wanted to so bad. But the guilt had been rotting inside him for so long, it felt like part of his bones now.

"He loved me before I..." He couldn't even finish the sentence.

Before he started sneaking out.
Before he started dyeing his hair.
Before he kissed a boy for the first time behind the church.
Before his dad looked at him like he didn't know who he was anymore.

Nam-Gyu's hand moved, sliding up to the back of his neck—fingers tangling in the damp hair there.

"I'm sorry he made you feel like you had to choose," he whispered.

Thanos's breath caught.

Nobody had ever said that to him before.

Not Kyung-Hu.
Not his mom.
Not anyone.

Nam-Gyu shifted closer, wrapping his arms around Thanos from behind—gentle but solid, like he was trying to hold him together without pressing too hard.

"You deserved to be loved for exactly who you are," Nam-Gyu murmured against his shoulder. "Not just who he wanted you to be."

Thanos squeezed his eyes shut, hot tears finally spilling over. He turned his head just enough to bury his face in Nam-Gyu's neck, whole body shaking in his arms.

It was messy. It was ugly. It felt like ripping open a wound he'd kept stitched shut for twelve years.

But Nam-Gyu just held him through it—one hand stroking slow and steady through his hair, the other splayed warm over his back.

They stayed like that for a long time—long enough for Thanos's sobs to quiet into ragged breaths, long enough for the knot in his chest to start loosening.

When he finally pulled back, Nam-Gyu's thumb brushed under his eyes, wiping away the leftover tears.

"You okay?" he whispered.

Thanos sniffled hard, eyes red and puffy.

"I don't know."

Nam-Gyu's hand found his again under the blankets, fingers lacing through his.

"That's okay too."

Thanos's breath caught in his throat.

Nobody had ever told him that before either.

He squeezed Nam-Gyu's hand tight—like maybe if he held on hard enough, he wouldn't fall apart again.

And for the first time in a long, long time...

He actually believed someone would still be there if he did.

Thanos's eyes flicked down to their joined hands, the pads of Nam-Gyu's fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against his knuckles. His own hand was rough—scarred and calloused from years of guitar strings and... other things.

But it was the faint white lines running along the inside of his wrist that caught his eye—marks he'd spent so long hiding under layers of leather jackets and long sleeves.

He still remembered the first time he'd done it.

It was carved into him just as deep as the scar itself.

The room felt too quiet, the only sounds the distant rain against the window and Nam-Gyu's soft, steady breathing.

Thanos swallowed hard, hating the way his heart started to hammer in his chest just at the thought of saying it out loud.

His thumb stroked over Nam-Gyu's hand without thinking.

"Hey... Nam-Gyu?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

Nam-Gyu blinked like he was half asleep, turning his head toward him. "Mhm?"

Thanos's throat tightened.

He could still back out. Nam-Gyu would never push him to talk if he didn't want to.

But something about the way Nam-Gyu was looking at him—soft, patient, like there was nothing in the world he couldn't tell him—made the words crawl up his throat anyway.

"...Did I ever tell you the first time I... cut?"

Nam-Gyu's fingers froze against his knuckles. His whole face shifted—his mouth parting like the air had been knocked out of him.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then—so slowly Thanos almost didn't notice—Nam-Gyu shifted closer, his hand squeezing a little tighter around Thanos's. His eyes were already glassy, blinking fast like he was trying to keep his emotions in check.

"No," he said quietly, voice shaking. "But... I'm here if you want to."

Thanos's eyes burned.

He took a shaky breath, staring at the ceiling.

"I was fifteen," he said, voice barely holding steady. "It was... right after my dad found out I liked guys."

Nam-Gyu's breath caught, his fingers gripping harder around Thanos's hand—like he already hated where the story was going.

Thanos kept going.

"He didn't hit me or anything. He just... looked at me." His chest ached just thinking about it—his dad's face that night, like something precious had shattered right in front of him. "Like I'd ruined everything. Like I wasn't... his son anymore."

Nam-Gyu's breath came out shaky, his free hand rising like he wanted to wipe his eyes—but instead, he reached out and traced a featherlight touch over Thanos's wrist, right over the oldest scar.

Thanos's throat locked up.

"I locked myself in the bathroom that night. Found one of Kyung-Hu's razors under the sink." His voice cracked, tears slipping out before he could stop them. "I just wanted to feel something else. Anything else."

Nam-Gyu let out this soft, broken sound—like the story was physically hurting him. His eyes were glassy, shining in the dim light.

"You were just a kid..." he whispered, voice trembling.

Thanos's chest caved in at the crack in his voice.

"I thought... if I could bleed it out, maybe I'd stop feeling like such a fucking mistake."

Nam-Gyu made that sound again—this choked-off little noise like he was trying not to cry but failing. He squeezed Thanos's hand so tightly it almost hurt, then suddenly leaned in and pressed his lips to the scar without even thinking.

Thanos's breath hitched.

Nam-Gyu's mouth trembled against his wrist, tears slipping down his face and wetting Thanos's skin.

"You're not a mistake," Nam-Gyu whispered fiercely, his voice shaking. "You're not—Su-Bong, you're not."

Thanos's heart cracked clean down the middle.

He'd never heard anyone say his name like that—like it was something precious, something worth holding on to.

He couldn't stop crying now if he tried.

Nam-Gyu's free hand came up, brushing through Thanos's hair, his whole body shaking with how hard he was trying not to sob.

"I'm so fucking glad you're still here," he whispered, voice cracking with every word. "I'm so—God, Su-Bong—I'm so glad you're still here."

Thanos broke. Completely.

He curled into Nam-Gyu's chest without thinking, clutching at his shirt like he might fall apart if he let go.

Nam-Gyu wrapped his arms around him tight, burying his face in Thanos's hair. His whole body was shaking, breath hitching with quiet, broken sobs.

They stayed like that for what felt like forever—wrapped around each other, breaking open and holding each other together at the same time.

Eventually, when the storm inside him started to quiet, Thanos whispered,

"...Thank you."

Nam-Gyu pulled back just enough to press a trembling kiss to his forehead, his tears still wet against Thanos's skin.

"Anytime," he whispered back.

And somehow—wrapped up in Nam-Gyu's warmth, his scars laid bare in the dim light—Thanos started to believe him.

Thanos's breath was hot against Nam-Gyu's neck, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

"I love you so much..." The words tumbled out like he'd been holding them in for days—weeks—maybe even his whole life. "More than I think I've ever loved anyone... and it scares the fuck out of me."

His arms tightened around Nam-Gyu's waist, like he was afraid if he let go, the whole world would fall apart.

Nam-Gyu's breath caught—his fingers still tangled in Thanos's hair, heart pounding so hard in his chest it was almost painful.

For a long second, he didn't know what to say. No one had ever said that to him before—never like this. Never so raw, like it was breaking them open just to admit it.

Thanos shifted, his face pressing further into Nam-Gyu's neck, like he was trying to hide.

"I don't know how to do this..." Thanos whispered, voice cracking. "I don't know how to love someone without fucking it up."

Nam-Gyu's chest ached, tears burning in his eyes again.

He wrapped his arms tighter around Thanos's shaking body, holding him like something fragile—like something he'd never let break if he could help it.

"You won't fuck this up," Nam-Gyu whispered back, voice thick with emotion.

Thanos let out a shaky breath, his whole body trembling.

"You don't know that."

"I do." Nam-Gyu pulled back just enough to look at him—hands framing Thanos's tear-streaked face. His own eyes were glassy, cheeks flushed. "You don't scare me, Su-Bong. Not your past, not your scars, not... not how much you love me."

Thanos's breath caught—his eyes wide, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Nam-Gyu leaned in, pressing their foreheads together.

"You wanna know what scares the fuck out of me?" he whispered, voice trembling. "That you're gonna wake up one day and realize I'm not worth all this."

Thanos's heart cracked right open.

He cupped Nam-Gyu's face without thinking, thumbs brushing over the faint old track marks along his arms—the same way Nam-Gyu had traced his scars earlier.

"You are," Thanos whispered, voice rough. "You're worth every fucking second."

Nam-Gyu's breath hitched—his face crumpling like no one had ever said that to him before.

He leaned in without thinking, crashing their mouths together in a messy, desperate kiss—like he was trying to pour every single thing he couldn't say into it.

Thanos kissed him back just as desperately—tears still wet on both their faces, bodies tangled up in sheets and each other.

It was clumsy and wet and perfect—like two broken pieces finally clicking together.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, Nam-Gyu rested his forehead against Thanos's again—eyes still shining.

"I love you too," he whispered, voice barely holding steady. "So fucking much it scares me too."

Thanos let out a shaky breath—a small, broken laugh caught somewhere between a sob and a smile.

"Guess we're both fucked then."

Nam-Gyu huffed out a watery laugh, brushing his nose against Thanos's.

"Yeah... guess we are."

They stayed like that—wrapped around each other in the dim light, hearts pounding in sync—until sleep finally pulled them under.

For the first time in a long time, neither of them was scared of waking up alone.

Tomorrow, he'd deal with his dad's dirt nap.

Tonight... he just wanted to be here.

Wrapped up in the quiet hum of rain against the window, the weight of Nam-Gyu's warm hands wrapped around him. The ache in his chest was still there—probably always would be—but it felt softer somehow. Less like something trying to hollow him out from the inside, and more like something he could hold without it cutting him open.

He hadn't expected to cry tonight. He sure as hell hadn't expected to break down in the middle of trying to get his boyfriend to kiss him. But maybe this was how it was supposed to happen—grief sneaking up on him in the safest place it could find, cracking him open right where someone could catch him.

His whole life, he'd thought that was the worst thing that could happen—to fall apart in front of someone. To let them see all the ugly, broken pieces he'd spent years learning how to hide.

But Nam-Gyu was still here.

Holding him tighter the more he unraveled.

"You scare the shit out of me sometimes," Thanos admitted quietly, his voice still wrecked from crying. He kept his eyes fixed on a freckle on Nam-Gyu's, too afraid of what he'd see if he looked over. "How fucking easy you make this look."

Nam-Gyu shifted beside him, the mattress creaking under his weight. His thumb traced slow, steady circles over Thanos's back—like he wasn't even aware he was doing it.

"Make what look easy?" he murmured voice also rough.

"This." Thanos swallowed hard, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. "Loving me."

Nam-Gyu's fingers stilled against his back. For a second, Thanos was sure he'd fucked it up—said too much, pushed too far. But then Nam-Gyu's grip tightened, his other hand sliding up to cradle the back of Thanos's neck, fingers threading through the tangled mess of purple hair again.

"I'm not saying it's always easy," Nam-Gyu said softly. "But it's not hard either."

Thanos's throat locked up. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight off the fresh wave of tears building behind his ribs. God he was sick of crying already.

"Why?" His voice cracked—barely more than a whisper. "Why would you even want to?"

Nam-Gyu huffed out a breath—not annoyed, just... tired. Like he'd been waiting for this question all along.

"Because you're you, Su-Bong." His fingers stroked slow and steady through Thanos's hair, voice steady even as it shook at the edges. "Because even when you're a mess, even when you hate yourself more than anyone else ever could—you still show up. You still try. You still... fucking fight to be here."

Thanos's chest clenched so tight it hurt. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, trying to hold back the sob clawing its way up his throat.

He didn't deserve this.

He didn't deserve any of this.

"I don't know how to be this person," he choked out. "The one you're talking about."

Nam-Gyu's thumb brushed slow and careful along the curve of his jaw.

"You already are," he whispered. "You just don't see him yet."

Thanos broke.

He turned his face deeper into Nam-Gyu's chest, muffling the sobs that ripped out of him against the soft cotton of his shirt. Nam-Gyu held him through all of it—hands steady, breath warm against the top of his head. He didn't say anything else, didn't try to fix it or fill the silence.

He just stayed.

Nobody had ever stayed before.

By the time Thanos's sobs finally quieted, he felt wrung out—like something that had been wound tight inside him for years had finally snapped loose.

Nam-Gyu shifted behind him, pulling the blanket up higher around both of them. His arm stayed draped over Thanos's waist, holding him close like he was afraid he'd disappear if he let go.

"You wanna know what I think?" Nam-Gyu murmured into the dark.

Thanos made a low, broken sound—somewhere between a laugh and a sniffle.

"Not really."

Nam-Gyu's lips twitched against his hair, but his voice stayed soft—serious.

"I think sixteen-year-old you would've been scared shitless of me." His fingers traced absent circles along Thanos's stomach under the blanket. "But he still would've let me hold his hand if I asked."

Thanos's heart squeezed painfully in his chest.

He blinked hard at the ceiling, trying to breathe through the sudden ache behind his ribs.

"I would've let you," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Even if it ruined my whole fucking life... I would've let you."

Nam-Gyu's breath caught.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

Then Nam-Gyu shifted closer, pressing his forehead to the back of Thanos's neck.

"I'm really fucking glad I found you now, then," he whispered.

Thanos squeezed his eyes shut tight, something breaking wide open inside him all over again.

Tomorrow, he'd have to wake up and worry about how to bury his father.

Tomorrow, he'd have to wade through all the wreckage of the life he'd run away from.

But tonight...

He could just be here.

Held.

Wanted.

Loved.

Maybe not fixed.

But not alone either.

He tangled his fingers tighter through Nam-Gyu's, his breath evening out slow and steady as sleep finally started to pull him under.

"Me too," he whispered back, so quietly he wasn't even sure Nam-Gyu would hear it.

But Nam-Gyu just squeezed his hand tighter—like he'd been waiting for that answer all along.

Like he wasn't going anywhere.

Chapter 14: Funeral Prep

Notes:

The song is "I will be okay" from helluva boss, definitely recommend even if you don't watch the show <3

Thanos awoke to a way-too-familiar sunbeam cutting through the cracked blinds, landing hot and bright across his face.

"Uhh—fuck." He winced, raising a sluggish hand to block the light, only to freeze halfway when he felt the steady weight of Nam-Gyu draped against him—warm breath puffing soft and slow against his neck.

Shit.

For a second, he thought he'd woken him, but Nam-Gyu barely stirred—his fingers still curled loosely into the front of Thanos's shirt, face tucked right into the crook of his shoulder like he belonged there. Like he'd always belonged there.

Thanos let out a careful breath, dropping his hand back down to rest lightly over Nam-Gyu's arm where it was slung across his waist. The room was still wrapped in the soft, grey hush of early morning—the kind of quiet he remembered from being a kid, lying awake in the blue hours before the rest of the house started to stir.

It couldn't have been later than six. He doubted anyone else was up yet. Not unless his mom had kicked the habit of sleeping in on Sundays—a small mercy she always gave herself after spending the whole week chasing after Jae-Yul.

He should probably get up—go start the coffee, make himself useful.

He didn't move.

Instead, he just lay there—staring at the cracked ceiling, listening to the faint creak of the old pipes in the walls and the steady, even rhythm of Nam-Gyu's breathing against his throat.

His heart felt raw in his chest—like someone had scraped him clean from the inside out. The crying jag last night had wrung him out completely, leaving nothing behind but bone-deep exhaustion and the kind of numb ache that always followed after.

It should've felt worse—waking up in this house, in this bed, knowing what today was.

But somehow... it didn't.

Somehow, all he could feel was the warm weight of Nam-Gyu pressed against him—like a living, breathing reminder that he hadn't made it through the night alone.

His fingers traced absently over Nam-Gyu's arm where it curled around him—soft, slow strokes against the fine hairs on his forearm. He wasn't even sure if he was trying to soothe Nam-Gyu or himself.

Probably both.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up next to someone like this—wrapped up so tight it felt like the only thing holding him together was the person wrapped around him. Most of the time, he never even stuck around long enough to find out what it felt like.

Nam-Gyu had fallen asleep holding him last night, and somehow... he'd never let go.

Thanos's throat went tight.

He turned his head just enough to press his lips to the top of Nam-Gyu's head—barely more than a brush, barely enough for him to feel it—but Nam-Gyu made a soft, sleepy sound against his neck anyway, nuzzling closer without ever fully waking.

Thanos's heart gave a hard, painful thud behind his ribs.

Fuck.

He could get used to this.

He was so fucking scared of how badly he wanted to.

The sunlight kept creeping higher across the ceiling, inch by inch. Soon enough, the whole house would start waking up. His mom. Kyung-Hu. Jae-Yul with his endless energy and too-loud cartoons.

Soon enough, the whole shitty day would come crashing in on him.

But not yet.

Not right now.

For just a little longer, he could stay right here—wrapped up in the kind of quiet he'd spent most of his life convincing himself he didn't deserve.

Nam-Gyu shifted again, murmuring something soft and unintelligible against his neck before settling back down with a sigh.

Thanos squeezed his eyes shut.

Just a little longer.

He didn't deserve this.

But maybe—just maybe—he could let himself have it anyway.

But after a while, the slow creep of time and the nagging itch in his chest made it impossible to stay still any longer. The need to get up—to move, to breathe, to keep himself from sinking too deep—started gnawing at the edges of the fragile quiet they'd built around themselves.

Thanos swallowed hard, glancing down at Nam-Gyu where he was still tucked against him, soft and warm and utterly defenseless in sleep. His heart gave another traitorous squeeze.

Fuck. He didn't want to move—didn't want to break whatever spell had wrapped around them in the early dawn hours.

But he had to.

"Mmhm... sorry, baby," he murmured, barely louder than a breath, voice rough and cracked from sleep.

He shifted—slow, careful—easing his arm out from under Nam-Gyu's weight inch by inch. Even with the gentle movement, Nam-Gyu stirred a little, brow twitching before he curled in on himself—folding into a tight little ball with one hand tucked under his cheek.

Thanos's chest ached.

God, he was so fucking beautiful like this—so soft and sweet and completely unaware of the mess he was making of Thanos without even trying.

He hovered for a second longer, caught between the pull to stay and the need to go, before giving in just a little. His fingers brushed through Nam-Gyu's hair, sweeping the messy fringe back from his face. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the warm curve of Nam-Gyu's cheek—lingering just long enough to feel the faint flutter of breath against his lips.

Nam-Gyu let out a sleepy little hum, barely shifting.

Thanos closed his eyes for a second, breathing him in—the faint scent of shampoo, sweat, and whatever cheap body wash Nam-Gyu used that somehow still smelled better than half the expensive shit he'd used in the past.

Just a little longer.

But if he stayed, he wasn't sure he'd ever get up.

With a deep breath, he forced himself to pull back—slow, quiet—until he was finally off the mattress. His knees cracked loud enough to make him wince, but Nam-Gyu only curled tighter, burying his face deeper into the pillow.

Lucky little shit.

Thanos's lips twitched faintly—some small, tired ghost of a smile—before he padded barefoot toward the door, easing it open with the same care he'd learned sneaking out of this house a thousand times before.

The hallway was still dim, the air cold against his bare arms. The whole house felt like it was holding its breath—waiting.

Waiting for the day to start.

Waiting for the weight of everything waiting on the other side of it.

Thanos's stomach twisted, that familiar knot of dread coiling low and tight.

He glanced back once—just once—at the shape of Nam-Gyu tangled up in his sheets.

Then he closed the door behind him, shutting the quiet away.

Time to face the day.

Thanos paused, leaning back against the door he'd just closed, the cool wood pressing into his bare skin. He let his eyes fall shut, dragging in a long, slow breath through his nose.

The house felt different in the early morning—quieter, heavier—like it was holding onto something just beneath the surface. Like if he stood still long enough, he could almost feel it settling into his bones.

He could still smell coffee faintly from the kitchen—his mom's habit of setting the timer the night before. The walls creaked somewhere down the hall, the old pipes groaning against the winter chill.

Then, beneath it all, he heard it.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

A clock.

His brow furrowed, eyes cracking open.

It wasn't just any clock.

It was that clock.

The one tucked away in his dad's office—the heavy brass thing he'd wound religiously every Saturday night for as long as Thanos could remember. The steady, rhythmic tick had always filled the whole house on Sunday mornings, echoing out into the hallway while his dad prepared his sermon notes or scribbled in the leather-bound journal he never let anyone else read.

Thanos hadn't realized how much he'd missed the sound.

Or how much he fucking hated it.

His feet were moving before he even really thought about it—bare soles silent against the cold wood floor as he padded down the hallway. The door at the end stood half-closed, just like always. For a second, he almost expected to hear papers shuffling inside—the low scratch of a pen or the occasional sigh of frustration when his dad couldn't find the right words.

But there was nothing.

Just the clock.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Thanos's chest felt tight.

He pushed the door open without knocking—another old habit that should've gotten him smacked upside the head a hundred times over but never did.

The office was exactly the same.

Dusty shelves lined the walls, still cluttered with old theology books and binders full of handwritten notes. His dad's desk sat in its usual place by the window, perfectly neat—pens lined up in a little ceramic holder, Bible stacked on top of his worn leather journal. There were a few empty coffee cups scattered around, but not much else out of place.

Like he'd just stepped out for a second and would be right back.

Except he wouldn't.

The clock sat on the edge of the desk, its brass face gleaming in the pale morning light. Thanos stared at it for a long moment, the steady tick-tick-tick filling up all the empty space in the room.

He hated that stupid fucking clock.

He hated how it kept going—how everything in this room was still standing, still perfectly intact, like his dad hadn't just dropped dead a few days ago.

His hand twitched at his side—itching to grab the damn thing and hurl it straight through the window.

Instead, he walked forward slowly, dragging his fingers along the edge of the desk. The wood was smooth beneath his hand, worn down from years of use. His dad's chair was still pulled out just a little—like maybe he'd been sitting there before...

Before.

Thanos's throat closed up.

He sank down into the chair without really meaning to, elbows resting on his knees as he buried his face in his hands.

He didn't feel sorry.

He didn't feel anything.

Just... empty.

Like maybe there was something wrong with him—some crucial piece missing that everyone else seemed to have.

The clock kept ticking.

He dragged his hands down his face, letting out a sharp breath through gritted teeth.

"Fucking hell..."

His voice sounded too loud in the quiet.

He glanced down at the desk again, eyes catching on the leather journal tucked beneath the Bible.

His fingers curled around the edge without thinking.

He shouldn't.

He knew he shouldn't.

But the clock kept ticking—filling up the silence, filling up his head—until he couldn't take it anymore.

With one quick motion, he yanked the journal out from under the Bible, flipping it open to the first page.

His dad's handwriting stared back at him—neat, slanted cursive.

February 16th, 2009
Su-Bong didn't come home again last night.

Thanos's stomach dropped.

He snapped the journal shut so fast it nearly pinched his fingers.

For a second, all he could do was sit there—heart pounding, hands shaking—while the clock kept ticking.

Thanos shook his head sharply, like he could physically dislodge the knot tightening in his chest. His fingers dug into the leather journal for a second longer before he forced himself to set it down—carefully, like it might explode if he handled it wrong.

He pushed back from the desk, the chair legs scraping softly against the floor, and crossed the room toward the storage closet tucked into the far corner.

He'd forgotten about this closet—or maybe just tried to.

It was one of those places his dad always kept locked when they were kids. Not because there was anything valuable inside, but because it was his space—filled with spare pens, papers, half-used notebooks, birthday presents hidden a few weeks too early, old sermon drafts no one would ever hear, and a hundred other little things that never seemed important enough to throw away.

Thanos remembered getting caught snooping in here once when he was twelve—his dad's voice sharp as a whip cracking through the air.

"That's not for you, Su-Bong."

He'd never opened the door again after that.

Until now.

The knob turned easily under his hand. The old hinges groaned, the door swinging open slower than it should've—like even the house itself was hesitant to let him back inside.

It smelled the same too—stale paper and dust, with just the faintest hint of something warmer underneath. His dad's smell. That mix of cedar wood and old books and the aftershave he'd used every day for as long as Thanos could remember.

Nothing had been touched.

Shelves lined the small space, stacked with neatly labeled boxes and plastic containers. A few old coats hung limply on a rack, their sleeves brushing against the wall.

Thanos's eyes scanned the shelves until they landed on a battered cardboard box shoved onto the lowest one—the edges fraying, the tape peeling at the corners.

He knew that box.

It had been there since he was a kid.

Without really thinking, he crouched down and dragged it out into the light, brushing off the thin layer of dust. His fingers caught on the lid for a second—hesitant—before he finally peeled it back.

Photos.

Stacks and stacks of them.

Most of them loose—some tucked into half-broken albums, others bundled together with old rubber bands that had dried out and snapped apart over the years.

He shuffled through the top layer, fingers grazing over glossy prints and faded Polaroids. His parents' wedding photos. Kyung-Hu as a baby, all chubby cheeks and big dark eyes. Him and one of his cousin he hadn't seen in years in matching suits one Easter Sunday, both of them scowling at the camera.

He almost laughed at that one.

Then he found himself.

It felt like the breath had been knocked clean out of his lungs.

He barely recognized the kid staring back at him.

He couldn't have been more than eight—knees scabbed, face smudged with dirt, grinning wide enough to show the gap where one of his front teeth was missing. His dad's arm was slung around his shoulders, holding him close, both of them squinting into the sun.

They looked... happy.

Back when things were still good.

Before Thanos had started listening to punk records and sneaking out at night. Before he'd figured out why all the girls and boys in church made his stomach twist. Before his dad had started looking at him like he was something broken—something he couldn't quite figure out how to fix.

Thanos swallowed hard, thumbing the edge of the photo.

It would've been so much easier if he'd hated the man.

If his dad had just been some cold, heartless bastard who'd never given a shit about him.

But that wasn't how it was.

His dad had loved him—right up until the moment he'd decided not to anymore.

Thanos's fingers curled tighter around the photo until the edges bent beneath his grip.

He didn't realize he was crying until a tear splashed down onto the glossy surface, smudging the ink.

"Fuck..."

His voice cracked in the empty room.

He should've never come in here.

He should've just stayed in bed—wrapped around Nam-Gyu, buried under warm sheets, pretending none of this shit existed.

But he couldn't.

Not when the clock was still ticking.

Not when the whole damn house was pressing down on him—so full of things his dad had left behind.

Things he'd never get to say.

Things he'd never get to hear.

Thanos sank down onto the floor, his back resting against the storage closet as he clutched the photo tightly in his hands, unable to tear his eyes away. The edges were curled, the colors faded, but that warmth — that fleeting memory of simpler times — was still there, trapped beneath the glossy surface.

He leaned back with a sigh, letting his head thud against the wall — or at least, that’s what he thought.

"Ouch, what the hell?" He winced, reaching behind him.

His fingers brushed against something hard beneath an old coat. Pushing the fabric aside, his brows knit together as he uncovered a familiar black guitar case tucked away in the shadows.

Confusion flickered across his face. He sat up on his knees, both hands wrapping around the handle as he pulled the case out into the dim light. It was heavier than he remembered. The leather was cracked in places, the brass clasps tarnished from years of neglect.

For a long moment, he just stared at it.

His hand traced slowly along the worn leather, fingertips ghosting over the faint scratch marks near the edges. He hadn't seen this thing in over a decade — not since he was a kid messing around with cheap chords and church hymns.

Not since before everything went to shit.

A lump formed in his throat. He popped open the latches, the metallic click echoing in the small space. The lid creaked as he lifted it, revealing the dusty acoustic guitar nestled inside — strings long unplayed, wood still faintly smelling like his dad's cologne.

Thanos's chest ached. He reached out, brushing his thumb along the fretboard, the weight of old memories pressing down on him harder than ever.

Thanos's fingers froze when he spotted something tucked just beneath the strings — a small folded card wedged inside the sound hole. His heart kicked in his chest.

The handwriting on the front was unmistakable, even after all these years — neat, slanted letters in dark blue ink.

Su-Bong, Happy 17th.

"No fucking way..."

His voice came out barely above a whisper, throat tightening. He'd left home six months before his seventeenth birthday — swearing he'd never look back, convinced there was nothing left for him here.

Yet here it was.

Hands trembling, Thanos carefully slid the card out, the paper yellowed at the edges but still intact. He stared at it for a long moment, like it might disintegrate if he opened it too fast.

Slowly, he unfolded it — half-expecting the damn thing to bite.

Inside was his father's handwriting again, a little shakier than he remembered.

I know you think I forgot, but I didn't. You're always gonna be my son, Su-Bong. I hope this finds you when you're ready.

No date. No apology. Just those few lines — simple, steady... unshakable.

Thanos's breath caught in his throat. His thumb brushed over the ink, smudging it slightly.

He didn't even realize he was crying until a tear splattered onto the paper, bleeding into his father's words.

"Shit..." He pressed the heel of his palm to his eyes, choking out a broken laugh.

All these years, he'd carried around this weight — this belief that his father had written him off, same as everyone else.

But he'd been wrong.

He'd been so fucking wrong.

Thanos picked up the guitar, the weight of it so familiar it made his chest ache. His fingers traced the neck, calluses long faded but muscle memory still buried somewhere deep. The new strings gleamed under the soft morning light — someone had cared enough to restring it. His father, probably.

His breath shook as he pressed down on the strings, testing them with a tentative pluck. The first few notes were wobbly, but then his fingers remembered — picking out each note, one by one.

It felt like he'd been thrown back in time, like he was sixteen again, hiding away in this very room, strumming until his fingertips were raw just to drown out the sound of his father's sermons echoing through the house.

Without even thinking, the melody slipped out — something he'd written years ago. A song he'd never finished.

"Your boxes packed up on the bed... your words are in my head..."

His voice cracked on the first note, scratchy from sleep and swallowed tears. He winced but kept going, letting the chords guide him.

"Tellin' me it will be okay... You'll remember what you said..."

His throat tightened, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

"...Or was it just another lie?"

The room seemed smaller suddenly, the walls pressing in. He could almost hear his younger self — a scrawny kid with too many feelings and nowhere to put them — playing this same song in secret, hoping his father would hear.

Hoping he'd come in.

Hoping he'd say something.

Anything.

"This place that used to be your home..."

His strumming grew heavier, the anger bubbling up before he could stop it.

"Would you call me on the phone?"

"Will I hear your voice in the middle of the night... when I turn off the lights?"

"Or are you just another ghost?"

"Ohhhh..."

His heart slammed against his ribs. He'd always felt like he was chasing him — running down the hallways, begging for scraps of attention, only to watch his father's back disappear through doorways.

"How could you lie to my face? And did our time mean nothing to you?"

"Were you bluffing all along?"

The anger hit harder now, spilling out in the roughness of his voice, the sharp snap of the strings under his fingers.

"That you would be there to see... Yourself forgiven by me..."

"If you thought that I'd take it you were wrong!"

"Oh, you were wrong!"

He wished his father wasn't dead. He wished he could sing this right to his face — lay every word at his feet like a fucking confession. But he couldn't.

All that was left was this — a hollow room, a ghost of a song, and years of words unsaid.

The tears started falling before he even realized.

"And when you're gone, I will be okay..."

His voice wavered, but he didn't stop.

"I will be okay... though I'll never be the same..."

"And I'll know that I was right to doubt you..."

"I'll grow without you and you'll only know my name..."

The final chord lingered in the air, trembling in the silence.

He closed his eyes, chest heaving, tears dripping onto the old guitar. His father's guitar.

He'd never know who Thanos was now — never know the man he'd become or the scars he carried.

To his father, he'd always be Su-Bong.

And maybe that was the cruelest part of all.

"You always told me I'd be okay... Well, I'll be okay, though I'm not okay today..."

"But my tears won't fall upon your shoulder... I'll just get older, and you'll only know my name."

The last note hung in the stillness like a prayer.

Or maybe a curse.

Thanos's fingers slipped from the strings, falling to his lap. He wiped his face roughly on his sleeve, sniffling hard.

There was no one left to forgive him.

No one left to hate.

Just him.

And the only name his father would ever know.

But slowly — breath by breath, tear by tear — Thanos picked himself up.

His legs felt shaky as he pushed himself off the floor, the ache settling deep in his bones. His heart still pounded against his ribs, the echo of the song lingering in the corners of the room. He glanced down at the guitar, resting on the floor where he'd set it. The strings still hummed faintly, as if the instrument itself was mourning with him.

With careful hands, he picked it up again — running his fingers one last time over the worn wood. He traced the scratches along the body, the nicks along the fretboard — scars from a life it had lived long before him.

It would have been so easy to smash it — to break it into pieces and leave it splintered on the floor like all the promises his father had made. But instead, he tucked it back into its case, closing the latches with a soft click.

He pushed it back into the closet, behind the coats and forgotten boxes — right where he'd found it.

Out of sight.

Out of mind.

Almost.

Thanos lingered for a moment, staring at the closed door. It felt like sealing up a wound — not healed, not really, but hidden. He swallowed hard, swiping at the dampness still clinging to his face.

His eyes fell back to the photo on the floor.

Slowly, he bent down and picked it up, brushing dust from the edges. His thumb ran over the faces — the frozen smiles of a family he barely recognized anymore.

It felt heavier now.

More fragile.

He should put it back in the box — leave it buried like the rest of his father's memories. But something in him couldn't let go.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Instead, he folded it carefully, tucking it into the pocket of his hoodie. It sat warm against his chest, a small weight pressing into his heart.

For now... he wanted to hold on to it.

Just for a little while longer.

Thanos stepped back, glancing around the office one last time. The room felt different now — smaller, quieter. Like it had been waiting for him all these years, holding its breath until he was ready to come back.

He closed the door behind him, the latch clicking shut.

The house was still silent.

His dad was still gone.

But somehow, Thanos felt a little less haunted.

Just a little.

He was back where he started — standing in the hallway, bathed in the soft morning light leaking through the lace curtains. The familiar creak of the floorboards beneath his feet grounded him.

The photo sat warm against his chest, tucked safely away. His eyes flicked down the hall toward his old bedroom door — the same chipped paint, the same worn handle — like no time had passed at all.

He still felt hollow, like there was something carved out of him that would never quite fill back in... but there was something else too. A little less weight pressing down on his chest. A little less empty.

Maybe he'd left some of the ghosts behind in that office.

He exhaled slowly, letting his eyes flutter closed.

One breath at a time.

His moment of peace didn't last long.

"Hey, dickweed."

Kyung-Hu's sharp voice cut through the silence just before a fist landed square on his shoulder.

"Ow— the fuck?" Thanos snapped, stumbling forward.

His sister smirked like she'd been waiting all night to do that. She stood there in her pajamas, hair sticking up at odd angles, looking half asleep but still somehow ready to kick his ass.

"That's for leaving me to deal with Mom making breakfast alone, asshole."

Thanos rolled his shoulder with a wince. "Jesus Christ, you could've just said good morning like a normal person."

Kyung-Hu snorted. "And miss the chance to remind you you're still the little brother? Not a chance."

Despite everything — the ache in his chest, the funeral looming over the day — Thanos felt the corner of his mouth twitch. The familiar push and pull between them felt like slipping into an old sweater. A little frayed at the edges, but still warm.

"You could've woke me up, you know," he muttered.

Kyung-Hu's smirk faded just a little, her eyes flicking down the hallway toward the room he'd just come from.

"I thought about it," she said quietly. "Figured maybe... you needed a minute."

Thanos's throat tightened, but he just nodded, not trusting himself to say anything.

Kyung-Hu reached out, softer this time, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes — the same way their mom always used to.

"You okay?" she asked.

He didn't have the heart to lie to her.

"I don't know," he admitted.

Her hand dropped, but she didn't pull away.

"Yeah," she sighed. "Me neither."

They stood there for a long second, the weight of the house pressing in around them. The sound of the old clock ticking down the hall, the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen.

Finally, Kyung-Hu shoved him lightly.

"Come on. Mom's making those weird-ass savory pancakes Dad always liked. Someone's gotta pretend to like 'em."

Thanos let out a breathy laugh — quick and sharp, like he'd surprised himself.

"Right. Wouldn't want her to think he's haunting the kitchen or some shit."

Kyung-Hu's grin flicked back to life.

"Exactly. And hurry the fuck up before Jae-Yul eats all the good ones."

Thanos followed her down the hall, feeling the weight in his chest shift — not gone, not even close — but maybe a little easier to carry.

Just a little.

---

Thanos and Kyung-Hu made their way down the hallway, footsteps soft against the worn hardwood. The morning light filtered in through the thin curtains, casting long streaks across the faded wallpaper. They passed by old family photos lining the walls — stiff portraits from church Sundays, blurry candids from birthdays long gone.

Thanos’s eyes caught one in particular — a shot of him and Kyung-Hu as kids, him maybe seven or eight, missing a front tooth, clinging onto her side while she made a face at the camera. Their dad must have taken it. He always used to carry that old film camera everywhere back then.

Kyung-Hu let out a long, exaggerated yawn, stretching her arms behind her head like a cat.

"Okay," she started, voice still scratchy with sleep, "so the church is booked for Thursday... Uncle Sung-Min is supposed to be handling the flowers, but knowing that idiot, we should probably double-check before he shows up with some half-dead grocery store bouquet."

Thanos snorted under his breath, picturing their clueless uncle waddling into the church with a bunch of half-wilted carnations.

Kyung-Hu kept going, rubbing the back of her neck. "We still need to confirm who's coming outside of the family, order the food... Oh, and I guess someone's gotta write the eulogy. Not it, by the way."

She shot him a warning glance before he could even think about protesting.

"No one ever tells you how fucking annoying planning a funeral is," she muttered, voice dropping low.

Thanos huffed out a breath through his nose, fingers brushing along the edges of the photo frames as they walked.

"No one ever tells you how weird it is either," he mumbled. "Feels like we're... organizing a party for a guy who's not even gonna show up."

Kyung-Hu's face flickered, something tight passing through her eyes before she covered it up with another tired smirk.

"Well, if he did show up, that'd be a whole different kind of problem."

The joke hung in the air for a second — dark and a little fucked up — but it cracked something between them. Thanos's mouth twitched into the smallest smile.

"I'd kick his ass," he muttered.

Kyung-Hu snorted. "Get in line."

They turned the corner into the kitchen, the smell of burnt coffee and something vaguely fried wafting through the air. Their mom stood at the stove, still in her nightgown, flipping jeon in an old pan — the same savory pancakes their dad always used to love. She was humming softly under her breath, face drawn, moving on autopilot.

Thanos's stomach twisted.

He wondered if she even realized she was making his favorite — or if muscle memory had just carried her there without her noticing.

Kyung-Hu's shoulder bumped his lightly, pulling him back.

"Hey," she said, quieter now. "We'll get through this shit, okay?"

Thanos glanced at her, eyes flicking over the shadows under her eyes, the tight lines around her mouth. She looked just as tired as he felt.

He nodded once.

"Yeah... okay."

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Kyung-Hu cleared her throat, plastering on a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Now, if you'll excuse me — I'm about to eat enough pancakes to summon his ghost out of pure spite."

Thanos snorted, biting back a laugh, and followed her into the kitchen.

The first thing Thanos noticed when they stepped into the kitchen was Jae-Yul perched in his little booster seat at the table, happily shoveling spoonfuls of oats mixed with sliced strawberries into his mouth. His cheeks were sticky, a smear of red clinging to the corner of his lips, but he was too focused on his breakfast to care. The little plastic spoon clattered against the ceramic bowl with each bite, the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

"Hey, little man," Thanos murmured, crossing over to the table. He reached out, tousling Jae-Yul's soft, dark hair. "Where's your brother?"

Jae-Yul glanced up, mouth full, eyes wide and round. He blinked once, then shrugged — as if the whereabouts of his brother were far too complicated for someone with oatmeal on their face to worry about.

Thanos couldn't help but crack a small smile.

"That's what I thought."

Their mother turned away from the stove at the sound of his voice, her face lighting up with that tired, familiar warmth that only moms seemed capable of. The lines around her eyes were a little deeper than he remembered, her hair pinned up messily beneath a faded headscarf.

"Oh, good morning, Su-Bong." She smiled, though there was something fragile about it — like if you looked too hard, it might crack. "I asked Ji-Yun to go wake up Nam-Gyu. Thought the poor thing might want something to eat before we get started today."

Thanos's heart stumbled a little at the sound of Nam-Gyu's name coming out of her mouth so naturally — like he'd always been meant to be here, tucked in bed upstairs while the rest of them stumbled through the morning.

He leaned against the edge of the table, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You didn't have to do that, Mom. He... He probably would have been fine sleeping in."

"Nonsense." She waved him off, flipping another jeon onto the growing stack beside the stove. "He's family, isn't he?"

Thanos blinked, caught completely off guard by how casually she said it — like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Family.

It felt like a rope had been cut somewhere deep in his chest, something unspooling loose. He didn't even realize how tightly he'd been holding onto the fear that she'd look at Nam-Gyu the way their dad would have — with judgment, or suspicion, or worse — until the relief of it knocked the wind out of him.

"Yeah," he said, voice quieter. "He is."

Kyung-Hu shot him a sideways glance from where she was raiding the cabinets for coffee mugs, but for once, she didn't have anything smart to say.

Their mom turned back to the stove, humming under her breath again — the same little tune she'd been humming since they were kids, some half-forgotten church hymn that had probably been stuck in her head for thirty years.

Jae-Yul clumsily dropped his spoon into his bowl, splashing milk onto the table.

"Uh-oh," he mumbled, eyes going wide.

Thanos chuckled, grabbing a napkin from the counter and wiping him down.

"Don't worry, kid. Happens to the best of us."

Jae-Yul grinned around a mouthful of oats, completely unbothered.

For a second, everything felt weirdly... normal. Like they weren't standing in the middle of a week that would end with them burying their father. Like the house hadn't been filled with ghosts for days.

Just breakfast. Just family.

Thanos swallowed hard and glanced toward the stairs, listening for any sign of Nam-Gyu waking up.

He hoped Ji-Yun was gentle.

---

Nam-Gyu slowly stirred awake, the warm sunlight filtering through the curtains casting a golden glow across the room. He stretched out, reaching blindly for Thanos, but his hand met cold sheets instead. His eyes fluttered open, blinking against the light.

For a moment, panic gripped him — waking up in an unfamiliar room always did that — but then the events of the night before came rushing back. Thanos’s voice, his arms around him, the way he made him feel safe. His heart settled.

A soft knock came at the door before it creaked open.

"Mr. Uncle Su-Bong's boyfriend!" A small voice whispered.

Nam-Gyu pushed himself up on one elbow, blinking at the little boy standing in the doorway. Ji-Yun — the spitting image of Kyung-Hu, right down to the stubborn pout — hovered in the frame, clutching a half-empty toy car in one hand.

"Uh... hey there," Nam-Gyu croaked, voice thick with sleep.

"Halmeoni says breakfast is ready," Ji-Yun declared, eyes wide with curiosity. He stepped into the room, then froze, his gaze flicking between Nam-Gyu and the empty bed. "Where's Su-Bong hyung?"

Nam-Gyu's lips twitched, the corner of his mouth curving into a small smile. "He went out already. You wanna show me the way to the kitchen?"

Ji-Yun's face brightened instantly. He nodded eagerly, spinning on his heel and marching out like a little soldier.

Nam-Gyu sat up fully, dragging a hand through his messy hair. He glanced around the room — the old furniture, the slightly faded wallpaper — everything about this house felt lived in, warm. A family home.

A home Thanos had left behind.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Nam-Gyu climbed out of bed and followed the small footsteps down the hall.

---

Ji-Yun came speeding into the kitchen, arms pumping wildly as his fish-patterned pajamas flapped with every step. "Done!" he announced triumphantly, both fists shooting into the air like he'd just won a marathon. The little car he'd been holding was now tucked safely in his pocket.

Kyung-Hu snorted into her coffee, while their mom turned from the stove with a fond smile.

Nam-Gyu stumbled in a few seconds later, hair sticking up in every direction, still blinking sleep from his eyes. "Man— that kid can run," he huffed, leaning against the doorway with one hand on his hip.

Thanos barely glanced up from where he was cutting fruit at the counter, smirking. "Maybe if you were wearing your glasses, dumbass."

Nam-Gyu's sleepy glare sharpened, even as his lips twitched. "Maybe if someone hadn't left me alone in bed, I wouldn't have had to chase after your tiny nephew."

Thanos's smirk deepened, eyes flicking over Nam-Gyu's messy hair and wrinkled shirt — one of his old band tees that Nam-Gyu must've swiped from his suitcase. He looked like he belonged here, even with sleep still clinging to him.

"Aw, poor baby," Thanos teased, setting down the knife and wiping his hands on a dish towel. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "You want me to kiss it better?"

Nam-Gyu's cheeks flushed pink, but before he could fire back, Ji-Yun piped up from the table.

"Uncle Bong said a bad word," he tattled through a mouthful of cereal, strawberry smeared across his chin.

Thanos chuckled, pushing off the counter and ruffling Ji-Yun's hair on his way past. "Yeah, well... don't repeat anything your Uncle Su-Bong says, alright?"

"Or anything Nam-Gyu says," Kyung-Hu added, sipping her coffee without missing a beat.

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, but there was no bite behind it. His gaze flicked toward Thanos again, softer this time — like maybe he did want that kiss after all.

But Thanos only smirked wider, like he knew exactly what Nam-Gyu was thinking.

"Sit down, princess," he said, brushing past him with a bowl of cut fruit. "Breakfast's almost ready."

"Mkay," Nam-Gyu mumbled, voice still thick with sleep as he dragged himself to the table. His eyelids drooped, and his hair stuck up in wild little tufts — looking more like a grumpy cat than a person. Thanos couldn't help but smile to himself, hoping Nam-Gyu had at least managed to sleep alright after everything.

Kyung-Hu slid a steaming cup of coffee in front of him without a word, like she'd already taken pity on him. Nam-Gyu blinked down at it, surprised, then gave her a small, grateful smile. "Thanks."

Kyung-Hu just grunted, already halfway through her own cup.

Ji-Yun wasted no time clambering into the chair beside Nam-Gyu, launching into a rapid-fire explanation about all the different types of cars he knew — their brands, engines, and which ones could totally transform into robots if you believed hard enough. Nam-Gyu nodded along sleepily, humming in agreement every few sentences even though it was clear he was only catching about half of what the kid was saying.

Thanos leaned against the counter, watching the whole thing unfold with a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The sight of Nam-Gyu sitting there, still in his wrinkled shirt, hair messy, sipping coffee while patiently listening to Ji-Yun babble — it did something weird to Thanos's chest.

He pushed the feeling down.

"We gotta go flower shopping later, babe," Thanos said casually, breaking the moment. His voice was low, just for Nam-Gyu, but the smirk playing on his lips was unmistakable.

Nam-Gyu's tired eyes flicked up to him, narrowing slightly.

"Don't call me babe in front of your whole family," he muttered, though the flush on his cheeks betrayed him.

Kyung-Hu snorted behind her coffee cup. "Too late for that, sweetheart."

Nam-Gyu groaned, letting his head thud against the table.

Ji-Yun barely paused his car rant, patting Nam-Gyu's shoulder like it was a totally normal thing for grown-ups to be called babe.

Thanos grinned wider, crossing his arms. Yeah... maybe he could get used to this.

---

"Wait... so where are we going again?" Nam-Gyu mumbled around the toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, leaning heavily against the bathroom sink. His hair was still sticking up in messy little tufts, eyes half-lidded as if he could fall back asleep right there.

Thanos leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him with that lazy little smirk that Nam-Gyu was starting to realize might just be permanently glued to his face.

"Flower shopping, dumbass," Thanos said, voice still scratchy from sleep. "Try to keep up."

Nam-Gyu shot him a sleepy glare in the mirror, brushing harder just out of spite. He looked absolutely wrecked — like he hadn't gotten more than two hours of sleep — but the way Thanos's eyes kept flicking over him made Nam-Gyu's stomach flip all the same.

He spit into the sink, rinsed, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Why the hell am I getting dragged along for that?"

Thanos shrugged, smirk deepening. "You wanted to come, remember? Or did I tire you out too much to remember last night?"

Nam-Gyu's face instantly flushed, and he nearly choked on his own tongue.

"You—!" He spluttered, turning around so fast he almost knocked the toothbrush into the sink. "Shut the fuck up!"

Thanos just chuckled low in his throat, pushing off the doorframe to close the distance between them. Nam-Gyu's back hit the sink, and suddenly they were way too close — Thanos's hands bracketing the edge of the counter, trapping him in place.

"Don't act so innocent," Thanos teased, voice dropping into something rougher. "You're the one who wouldn't let go of me all night."

Nam-Gyu's heart slammed against his ribs. He wanted to bite back — to call Thanos a cocky bastard or tell him to fuck off — but his brain short-circuited somewhere between the smirk on Thanos's lips and the heat in his half-lidded eyes.

Instead, all that came out was a weak, "You're such a dick."

Thanos's smirk stretched wider. "Yeah... but you like me anyway."

Nam-Gyu opened his mouth — maybe to deny it, maybe to insult him — but before he could even form the words, Thanos leaned in and pressed a slow, lazy kiss to the corner of his mouth.

It was barely anything, barely even a kiss — but it left Nam-Gyu breathless all the same.

"Brush your teeth, babe," Thanos murmured against his skin, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. "We're leaving in twenty."

Then he was gone, leaving Nam-Gyu gripping the sink like his knees might actually give out.

"...I fucking hate him," Nam-Gyu muttered to himself — but the way his heart was still hammering in his chest said otherwise.

"That's a bad word," Ji-Yun announced from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest like a tiny little judge ready to hand down a life sentence.

"Holy fuck—!" Nam-Gyu nearly jumped out of his skin, gripping the edge of the sink like it might actually save him from dying of embarrassment.

Where the hell did that kid even come from!?

Ji-Yun's eyes narrowed, clearly unimpressed. "That's another bad word."

Nam-Gyu's mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish out of water, absolutely caught. He glanced at the mirror, silently praying for it to crack open and swallow him whole — but no such luck. Instead, Ji-Yun just stood there, small but mighty, the kind of kid who probably wouldn't hesitate to snitch straight to God himself.

"I— I was just—" Nam-Gyu stammered, face burning hotter by the second.

"You swear a lot," Ji-Yun said matter-of-factly, like he was making a mental list of every curse word Nam-Gyu had ever said.

Nam-Gyu's eye twitched. "Yeah, well... life's hard, kid."

Ji-Yun tilted his head, considering that. Then, with all the self-righteous confidence only a six-year-old could possess, he declared, "Jesus wouldn't swear."

Nam-Gyu's jaw dropped. He blinked, completely at a loss for words.

Thanos's wheezy-ass laugh echoed down the hallway.

"Oh, fuck off!" Nam-Gyu snapped automatically — before immediately slapping a hand over his mouth.

Ji-Yun gasped so loud it could have shattered glass. His little hands flew to his chest like he'd just witnessed a crime.

"You need to repent!" Ji-Yun shouted, spinning on his heel and sprinting down the hall. "Grandma! He's going to hell!"

"Oh my god!" Nam-Gyu groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "I'm never gonna live through this fucking day."

From the hallway, Thanos's laugh only got louder.

But at least Thanos seemed okay right now — they were joking a few minutes ago, trading insults like it was nothing. It felt...normal, easy.

Still, Nam-Gyu couldn't quite shake the weight sitting in his chest. Last night had been a lot, even for him.

Just hearing Thanos talk about hurting himself made him sick. The words kept looping in his head, scratching at the back of his brain no matter how hard he tried to push them away.

He'd seen plenty of shit working at the club — guys OD'ing in the bathrooms, girls crying their eyes out in the middle of their shifts, people with nowhere to go dragging themselves through life like they were barely holding on. He'd always thought he was good at keeping some distance, at not letting things get to him too much.

But that night Thanos opened the door with blood on his arm? He'd barely held it together. He'd been trying not to cry the whole time, trying to be the strong one when all he wanted to do was fall apart.

The worst part was knowing how close it could've been. Like if he hadn't called him to ask to go see a movie the next day or If he'd shown up a few hours later — hell, even a few minutes later — Thanos might not have been here at all.

Nam-Gyu swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the sink like it might steady him.

He didn't know what scared him more — how close Thanos had come to disappearing... or how badly he wanted to beg him to stay.

Not just for today. Not just for this shitty funeral week.

For good.

For him.

But he couldn't say that — not yet. Not when Thanos was still barely holding himself together.

All Nam-Gyu could do was be here, brush his teeth, crack dumb jokes, and hope to God it was enough to make Thanos want to stay a little longer.

Even if it was just one more day at a time.

When they got back home — after the flowers, after the funeral, after all the shit that had to be done — Nam-Gyu knew he needed to talk to Thanos. Really talk to him.

He'd lost so much already by not asking questions, by keeping his head down and pretending everything was fine when it wasn't. He'd spent years swallowing his own pain, letting it rot inside him because it felt easier than facing the truth.

But this... this was different.

This was Thanos.

Nam-Gyu couldn't afford to fuck this up — not when he'd finally found someone who made him feel safe, someone who made him want to try.

He wanted to know everything — every scar, every bad night, every secret Thanos thought no one could handle.

Even if it hurt.

Even if it scared him.

Because the thought of not knowing — of waking up one day and realizing he'd never asked, never pushed, never tried — scared him more than anything.

He'd spent his whole life running from people's messes, but he didn't want to run from Thanos. Not now. Not ever.

When they got back home, he'd ask.

He'd listen.

And he'd prove to Thanos that someone was finally ready to stay — no matter how fucked up the answers were.

But for right now, he was just going to be here.

He was going to sit next to Thanos in the car, pick out some stupid overpriced flowers, hold his hand if he needed it — or if he didn't — and be the thing neither of them had ever really gotten from anyone else.

Someone steady.

Someone who stayed.

Nam-Gyu didn't have all the answers — hell, most days he barely had his own shit together — but he could do this. He could be here. He could show up.

And maybe that was enough for now.

Maybe that was how you started fixing things — not with big promises or perfect words, but with the small stuff.

A warm cup of coffee pushed into shaking hands.

A tired smile across the breakfast table.

A soft "I'm here."

Even if neither of them quite knew what that meant yet.

They'd figure it out together.

---

Soon after, Thanos grabbed Nam-Gyu's wrist, pulling him outside towards the driveway where Kyung-Hu's car was parked. The chilly morning air nipped at their faces, but the sunlight was starting to break through the clouds, warming the pavement.

"Since Kyung-Hu's boyfriend isn't getting here till tomorrow, she's letting me use his car," Thanos explained, tugging open the passenger door with a little smirk. "Guess she trusts me not to wreck it or some shit."

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Bold of her."

Thanos snorted. "Yeah, well... don't tell her I failed my driving test twice."

Nam-Gyu's eyes widened. "Wait—what?"

Thanos just grinned wider, motioning for him to get in. "Too late, you're already in the car, babe."

Nam-Gyu muttered something under his breath but climbed inside anyway, sinking into the passenger seat with a sigh. The car smelled faintly like lavender air freshener and something warm — like Kyung-Hu had been blasting the heater the last time she drove it.

Thanos rounded the front of the car, sliding into the driver's seat with a little groan as he adjusted it back.

"So... where exactly are we going again?" Nam-Gyu asked, half-yawning.

Thanos twisted the keys in the ignition, the engine rumbling to life.

"Flower shop first... then probably a couple other boring funeral errands."

He glanced over, voice softer now.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to, you know."

Nam-Gyu blinked at him, surprised he'd even offered.

Of course he wanted to come.

"Shut up and drive, dick."

A small smile flickered across Thanos's face. He put the car into gear and pulled out onto the quiet street, the morning sun slowly climbing higher behind them.

"But maybe you should've packed your driver too," Nam-Gyu teased, leaning against the car with his arms crossed.

Thanos rolled his eyes, already pulling open the driver's side door. "I don't need Sang-Chul holding my hand everywhere I go."

Nam-Gyu smirked, sliding into the passenger seat. "Oh? The mighty Thanos, driving himself like a commoner? What will the tabloids say?"

Thanos snorted, adjusting the seat like he hadn't driven in a while. "Shut up."

Nam-Gyu buckled in, watching as Thanos started the car. The engine purred to life, and for a second, the little bubble of teasing settled into something quieter.

Nam-Gyu glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Thanos's hands were steady on the wheel, but his face was a little tight — like he was trying not to think too hard.

Nam-Gyu reached over, resting a hand lightly on Thanos's thigh. "Hey... You really okay to drive?"

Thanos's eyes flicked to him, surprised — then softened. He covered Nam-Gyu's hand with his own for a second, squeezing.

"I'll be fine," he said quietly. "Just... don't let me back into any dumpsters, okay?"

Nam-Gyu smiled, squeezing back. "Deal."

Nam-Gyu narrowed his eyes, lips quirking. "Wait... Don't tell me you've done that before."

Thanos's grin stretched wider, the kind of grin that meant trouble. His hand left the wheel just long enough to brush a stray strand of hair off Nam-Gyu's glasses, fingers lingering against his temple.

"Let's just say... Sang-Chul wasn't hired for the company."

Nam-Gyu's jaw dropped, half amused, half horrified. "Oh my god, you have. You're such a menace."

Thanos chuckled, eyes flicking back to the road as he pulled out of the driveway. "Relax, babe. It was one time. And technically... the dumpster backed into me."

Nam-Gyu couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

But the way Thanos was smiling — relaxed, almost playful — made something in Nam-Gyu's chest unclench. After everything that had happened yesterday, seeing Thanos like this felt like a small miracle.

He leaned his head against the window, watching the houses roll by as the morning sun started to rise higher.

Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all.

---

Thanos agreed to the flower run because it sounded simple — in and out, grab some lilies or whatever, and be done with it. Easy. Quick. Nothing too complicated.

But now that he was actually pulling into the tiny parking lot, dread settled low in his stomach.

He hated this flower shop.

It was run by Mrs. Park, a cranky old bat who'd been going to their church for as long as he could remember. Every Sunday, she'd corner him after service to complain about the noise from his music, his hair, his tattoos — whatever sin he happened to be embodying that week. His mom used to drag him here every Tuesday to pick out fresh flowers for the living room, and Mrs. Park always made sure to slip in a lecture about how boys should keep their hair short and their mouths shut.

Honestly, he'd be more surprised if she was still kicking than if she was six feet under by now.

Thanos threw the car into park and leaned back against the headrest, staring at the sun-bleached sign hanging crookedly above the door.

"Alright... maybe this won't be so bad," he muttered to himself.

Nam-Gyu snorted beside him. "You sound like you're trying to convince yourself."

Thanos shot him a sideways glance. "That's because I am."

Nam-Gyu stretched in his seat, glasses sliding down his nose. "Come on, tough guy. What's the worst she could do? Call you a heathen? Break your kneecaps with a broomstick?"

Thanos snorted but didn't answer right away. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

Heathen.

Funny how a word could still sting even after all these years.

Nam-Gyu must've caught the shift in his expression, because he reached over, squeezing Thanos's knee gently. "Hey... it's just flowers. We get in, we get out. No exorcisms today, promise."

Thanos glanced down at his hand, warmth flickering through his chest. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Alright, fine. But if she starts throwing holy water, you're my human shield."

Nam-Gyu grinned. "Deal."

Thanos laughed, stepping out of the car with Nam-Gyu following close behind, adjusting his glasses. The morning sun was already warm, casting a soft glow over the cracked pavement.

When Thanos pushed open the old door, a bell chimed overhead — the same damn bell he'd heard a hundred times as a kid. The scent of fresh flowers and aged wood filled the air, hitting him like a memory he hadn't asked for.

Behind the front counter, a girl looked up from the notebook she was scribbling in. Her eyes flicked over them both before widening in recognition.

"Oh shit—Su-Bong?" A grin stretched across her face. "Man, I haven't seen you in years! Well... kinda. I've been to a few of your concerts."

Thanos blinked, brain scrambling to catch up. For a second, he thought she had him mixed up with someone else—until he finally got a proper look at her.

Holy shit.

"Ha-Yoon?" His voice pitched up in disbelief.

Park Ha-Yoon. They went to school together, sat in the same church youth group every Thursday night, and—fun fact—she just so happened to be his first girlfriend back when they were fifteen.

She looked nothing like the shy girl he remembered—always tucked behind thick glasses and her Bible. Now, delicate flower tattoos wrapped around both her arms, a little gold ring glinted on her nose, and her hair was dyed this soft strawberry pink that actually kinda suited her.

"That's me," she grinned wider, leaning her elbows on the counter. "Guess you're still out here breaking hearts and pissing off old ladies, huh?"

Thanos snorted. "Yeah, well... some things never change."

Nam-Gyu shifted beside him, glancing between them with his brows slightly raised.

"Oh, shit—uh," Thanos scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling weirdly flustered. "This is Nam-Gyu... my—"

"Boyfriend," Nam-Gyu cut in smoothly, offering a small smile.

Ha-Yoon's eyes flicked to him, and for a split second, Thanos's stomach tensed—waiting for something. A weird look, a judgmental comment—he'd been bracing for that his whole life.

But Ha-Yoon just grinned wider, eyes warm.

"Nice. Good for you."

Thanos blinked, caught off guard by how... easy that was.

Nam-Gyu smiled back politely. "Nice to meet you."

"You too." Ha-Yoon leaned back against the counter. "So... what brings the great Thanos to this humble flower shop? You finally repenting for all those sins?"

Thanos snorted, some of the tension easing from his shoulders.

"Nah. Just picking out flowers for the funeral."

Her face softened instantly. "Oh... Mr. Choi."

"Yeah."

A beat passed.

"I'm really sorry," she said quietly.

Thanos shifted on his feet, not quite knowing what to do with the sympathy.

"Thanks." He cleared his throat. "Anyway... you still got those pre-made arrangements? We're kinda on a schedule."

Ha-Yoon nodded, pushing off the counter. "Yeah, come on. I'll show you."

She disappeared into the back, leaving them alone for a moment.

Nam-Gyu leaned in, whispering with a teasing grin.

"She was totally your First girlfriend, huh?"

Thanos shot him a look.

"Shut up."

They followed Ha-Yoon through a narrow hallway lined with shelves overflowing with potted plants and half-finished bouquets. The deeper they went, the thicker the floral scent became — sweet and heavy, making the air feel warmer.

The back room was even more chaotic — flowers in every shade imaginable sprawled across wooden tables, buckets of water holding stems upright, and stray petals scattered across the floor. It looked more like an artist's studio than a flower shop.

"So," Ha-Yoon started, tying her hair back into a messy bun, "depending on what you pick out today, I can probably have the arrangements ready by tomorrow... ish." She shot him a look. "Might be a little tight, but I'll make it work."

Thanos hummed, arms crossed as he scanned the room. He hadn't really thought this far ahead—just kinda figured he'd grab a couple of lilies and call it a day. But now, standing here surrounded by all these flowers, he realized how little he actually knew about... any of this.

What kind of flowers did you even get for a funeral? Did his dad like flowers? He couldn't remember ever seeing him with any.

Hell, the last flowers he'd seen in the house were the ones his mom used to buy every Tuesday—always white, always fresh, sitting in the same chipped vase by the window.

"You good?" Nam-Gyu asked quietly, nudging his shoulder.

Thanos blinked, snapping out of it.

"Yeah. Just... dunno what the hell I'm doing."

Ha-Yoon glanced up from sorting stems, a small smirk on her face.

"Welcome to the club, man." She twirled a single white daisy between her fingers. "Nobody ever knows what they're doing when they walk in here."

She tucked the flower behind her ear, then grinned wider.

"And if it makes this whole situation any funnier... I'm dating a girl now, so I like to think we were each other's gay awakening."

Thanos snorted before he could stop himself, caught completely off guard.

"No fucking way."

"Swear to God." Ha-Yoon held up two fingers in a scout's promise. "You were my first beard, Choi Su-Bong."

Nam-Gyu let out a soft laugh beside him, hiding it behind his hand.

Thanos shook his head, half-smiling.

"Well... that makes two of us, I guess."

Ha-Yoon's grin widened like she already knew.

"Called it." She flicked a petal at him. "Honestly? I always thought you were too pretty to be straight."

Nam-Gyu straight-up giggled at that, and Thanos shot him a look.

"Don't encourage her."

Nam-Gyu raised his hands in surrender, grinning behind his glasses.

"She's got a point though."

Ha-Yoon cackled, clearly enjoying this way too much.

"Man, I can't believe we wasted all that time pretending to like each other when we both just wanted to make out with other people."

Thanos huffed a laugh, scratching the back of his neck.

"Yeah... well. Took me a little longer to figure that part out."

Ha-Yoon's teasing grin softened a little, something gentler flickering in her eyes.

"Better late than never, though... right?"

Thanos glanced at Nam-Gyu beside him — the way he was already half-distracted, poking curiously at some blue hydrangeas with that sleepy little smile still on his face.

He felt his chest ache in this weird, quiet way.

"Yeah," he muttered, barely even realizing he was smiling. "Better late than never."

Ha-Yoon's eyes flicked between them before her smirk returned.

"Alright, enough of that sentimental shit. Let's pick out some flowers for the old man." She clapped her hands together, breaking the moment. "What vibe are we going for? Classic? Low-key? Passive-aggressive?"

Thanos snorted.

"Passive-aggressive?"

"Y'know—like, 'Sorry you're dead but also kinda glad you can't yell at me anymore.'"

Nam-Gyu snickered behind him.

Thanos just shook his head.

"Yeah... maybe something in between."

Nam-Gyu looked up from the hydrangeas, pushing his glasses up on his nose with the back of his hand.

"Okay, wait—are there actually flowers that mean passive-aggressive? Because if there are, I swear to God, I'll lose my shit."

Ha-Yoon's grin stretched wider, eyes lighting up like she'd been waiting for someone to ask that.

"Oh, absolutely. The entire flower language is just petty Victorian shade throwing wrapped in pretty petals." She leaned against the workbench, arms crossed. "Yellow carnations? Straight up mean disappointment. Basil means 'I hate you,' which—why the hell is that even a flower? And my personal favorite—snapdragons. They mean deception, but they also ward off evil spirits." She wiggled her fingers for dramatic effect.

Nam-Gyu's jaw dropped slightly, looking genuinely offended.

"Wait, wait, wait—so you're telling me we've been giving each other flowers for centuries and they all just secretly mean 'fuck you' in different fonts?"

Thanos snorted, trying to bite down a smile.

Ha-Yoon just shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

"Pretty much. History's wild, man."

Nam-Gyu turned back to Thanos, eyes wide behind his glasses.

"Okay, now I have to know what kind of flowers your mom's was putting in the living room every the other day. What if she's been passive-aggressively calling everyone a disappointment for twenty years and nobody even noticed?"

Thanos huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.

"Honestly? Wouldn't even surprise me at this point."

Ha-Yoon grinned, clearly enjoying this way too much.

"Alright, so... how petty are we trying to get here, Su-Bong? Like... lilies for peace? Or do you want me to slip a few yellow carnations in there just for the drama?"

Thanos's smile faded a little, eyes dropping back down to the buckets of flowers in front of him.

For a second, the joke hung there—funny on the surface, but underneath it... it wasn't, not really.

He shifted on his feet, fingers flexing at his sides like he wasn't sure what to do with them.

Nam-Gyu's smile softened beside him, like he could feel the mood shift even without looking directly at him.

Thanos cleared his throat.

"Just... something nice," he muttered, voice quieter. "Nothing too fancy. Nothing... fake."

Ha-Yoon's teasing smirk faded, her expression turning softer — more understanding.

"Got it." She nodded, pushing off the workbench. "No bullshit flowers. Just the good ones."

Nam-Gyu glanced at Thanos, then back at Ha-Yoon.

"Can you... maybe throw in a couple of those snapdragons too?" he asked, voice light but careful.

Thanos looked at him, eyebrow raised.

Nam-Gyu just shrugged, lips quirking up at the corners.

"For, y'know... evil spirit purposes."

Thanos blinked—then let out this small, surprised huff of laughter he didn't even seem to realize was coming.

Ha-Yoon grinned.

"I like you," she said, pointing at Nam-Gyu with a handful of roses.

Nam-Gyu smiled, a little pink in the face.

Thanos just shook his head, lips twitching.

"Yeah... me too."

---

After a while of casual conversation and picking out flowers, Ha-Yoon went to grab some flower scissors to trim a few errant leaves on the daisies. Meanwhile, Thanos was distracted, completely absorbed in examining a row of colorful gerbera daisies in the corner, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the petals. Nam-Gyu, noticing his opportunity, quietly moved closer to the counter where Ha-Yoon stood, still sorting through ribbons and some other supplies.

"Hey, Ha-Yoon, right?" Nam-Gyu said, trying to sound casual, though there was a hint of excitement in his voice.

Ha-Yoon looked up from her desk, her eyes brightening immediately when she saw him.

"Yup, that's me!" she replied, her smile wide and genuine. "Need something, Nam-Gyu?"

He couldn’t help but smile back, his usual easygoing demeanor slipping into something a little more playful. He glanced at Thanos out of the corner of his eye, then leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "I wanna do something cheesy... Something that'll make Su-Bong blush."

Ha-Yoon raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. She set the scissors down on the counter and walked over toward him, crossing her arms as she leaned back slightly, considering the request.

"Oh-ho, okay," she said, amusement flickering in her eyes. "A little bit of mischief, huh? You trying to make Su-Bong turn red in front of you? Bold move." She paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Alright, let's see... Any flowers that scream Choi Su-Bong to me, huh?"

Nam-Gyu smirked, turning his head to look at a row of plant holders filled with greenery. "Yeah. Something that would... suit him, you know? He's got this whole... ‘bad boy with a heart of gold’ thing going on, but he’s always acting like he doesn’t care. But I know he does."

Ha-Yoon nodded, listening intently, her eyes narrowing as if she were trying to picture the type of guy Thanos was from Nam-Gyu's description. She glanced over at Thanos, still lost in the flowers across the room, and then back at Nam-Gyu with a knowing look.

"Alright," Ha-Yoon said, walking over to one of the large glass vases on the shelf and pulling out a few flowers. She held them up one by one, considering them before setting them down gently on the counter.

"How about these," she began, picking up a sprig of lavender, "for devotion? It’s subtle, but the kind of devotion you can see in actions, not words. It’s kind of... quiet, steady, you know? Perfect for someone who’s all tough on the outside, but a softie underneath."

Nam-Gyu nodded, already liking where this was going. "Yeah, that sounds like him. But I want something with a bit more... punch, you know?"

Ha-Yoon smiled knowingly and reached for a few vibrant, deep orange marigolds. "Well, these will definitely punch," she said, placing them next to the lavender. "Marigolds are for the bold. Stubbornness, loyalty, and a kind of... fiery passion. They're strong, unapologetic. I think these might be for your Su-Bong."

Nam-Gyu felt a slight tug at his heart. He could almost see Thanos, all gruff and guarded, but still with that fire in him that always burned just beneath the surface. He liked the idea of him with marigolds—something fierce and loyal, just like Thanos, despite how he'd always tried to hide it.

"But..." Ha-Yoon trailed off, moving to the shelf behind her, reaching for something delicate. She pulled out a bunch of forget-me-nots, their tiny, soft blue flowers glimmering under the light. "Forget-me-nots. A little cheesy, but they’re perfect for someone who’s got a past full of memories they try to run away from." She held them up, and Nam-Gyu felt the words hit too close to home.

"That’s exactly it," he murmured, his chest tightening. "He’s always running from everything—his past, his feelings, the people he cares about..."

Ha-Yoon nodded with a little sigh, setting the forget-me-nots down carefully beside the marigolds. "And a little reminder that some things are worth remembering. No matter how hard we try to forget."

Nam-Gyu swallowed hard, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside him. He’d never really thought about Thanos like this—about all the things he’d buried under layers of sarcasm and pride. But seeing these flowers laid out together, it almost felt like the perfect representation of him: the devotion, the stubbornness, and the haunting past he couldn't escape.

He looked up at Ha-Yoon, who was now watching him with a knowing smile. "What do you think? Too cheesy?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood, though his voice was soft.

Ha-Yoon chuckled, crossing her arms. "Honestly, I think it’s just the right amount of cheesy. Trust me, Su-Bong's gonna blush and probably try to act all tough about it, but... he’ll secretly love it."

Nam-Gyu grinned at that, feeling a little lighter despite how complicated everything felt. "Alright," he said, glancing at Thanos one more time. "I’ll take them."

Ha-Yoon smiled brightly, moving to gather the flowers into a small bundle. "One bouquet coming right up. It’ll be ready by tomorrow morning. But you’re not off the hook, Nam-Gyu," she added with a wink. "You still gotta make sure this tough guy of yours actually knows how to take a compliment."

Nam-Gyu laughed, his heart a little lighter than when he walked in. "Oh, I think I can handle that."

As Ha-Yoon finished tying the bouquet together, Nam-Gyu glanced back at Thanos, wondering if his plan would work—if he could finally show Thanos just how much he meant to him, even if it meant stepping out of his comfort zone.

He couldn’t help but smile to himself. Maybe this was just the beginning of something more.

---

"Uggggh, I'm not even making the flowers, and I’m already exhausted," Thanos groaned as he stretched his arms high above his head, his back arching as he walked out of the flower shop with Nam-Gyu beside him. He looked over at him, his eyes squinting slightly against the midday sun as he tried to shake off the lingering exhaustion.

"Seriously, I feel like I've been running errands for a week," he muttered, glancing over at the car.

"I swear, it's like one thing after another. I thought picking out flowers would be easy, but it's like... an endless game of 'this one’s pretty, but does it scream ‘serious funeral flowers’? And then I’ve got to make sure everything’s in order for Thursday"

Nam-Gyu chuckled softly, trying to stifle a grin as he walked beside him. "Yeah, well, that's what happens when you try to plan a whole damn funeral. You're not exactly on vacation."

Thanos laughed along, but it was a tired sound. He had been running on little sleep, and everything was catching up with him now. His shoulders felt tense, his mind fuzzy, and all he really wanted to do was collapse into bed.

"What do you think?" Thanos said, trying to brush off the weight of the day with a casual suggestion, "Get some lunch and then head back? I'm honestly about ready to just pass out for a bit." He turned to Nam-Gyu, flashing a tired, yet genuine smile, the kind that reached his eyes even if it didn’t quite reach the rest of him. "I know we still have more to do, but maybe we could just take a break. I just want to be with you for a minute."

Nam-Gyu raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I thought you said we had more stuff to do today? Like, flowers, errands... what about all the other shit your mom’s gonna ask you to take care of?" He teased, but his voice softened when he caught Thanos’s expression—there was a quiet kind of exhaustion there, and maybe a little bit of frustration.

Thanos shrugged, rolling his eyes as if it didn’t matter anymore. "Ehh, we can always go back out later. I’m sure everything can wait for a bit. I kinda... maybe just wanna lay in bed with you for a while, okay?" His tone was more sincere now, the exhaustion seeping through. He ran a hand through his messy hair and offered a small, almost embarrassed smile, the kind he only ever showed to Nam-Gyu.

He paused, glancing down at the ground for a moment, before meeting Nam-Gyu’s gaze again.

"I don't know, man. I just need a minute to breathe, to not think about... well, everything. Just... with you."

Nam-Gyu didn’t say anything right away. He was quiet for a moment, his expression softening. Thanos's offer wasn’t just about wanting rest; it was about wanting comfort, wanting a break from the overwhelming weight of everything—his father’s passing, the funeral planning, the guilt, the emotions he didn’t know how to process.

Nam-Gyu placed a hand gently on his shoulder, his voice low and warm. "Yeah," he said, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"We can do that. We can take a break. You deserve it."

And as they continued walking back toward the car, Thanos felt a small weight lift from his chest, as if for a brief moment, he didn’t have to worry about anything else except being with Nam-Gyu. He was going to be okay—for now, at least. And that was enough.

They'd go back out later.

Notes:

Sorry if the ending was a little dry, I realized I was at like 12,000 words and I need to wrap it up lol

Dw next chapter will round it out

Chapter 15: The Funeral

Notes:

This is sad chapter ya'll

Also its funny that the chapters i've written on my phone are the longest ones lol

The ceiling above him cracked in jagged lines, the paint peeling from years of neglect. Thanos traced the shapes with his eyes, the familiar patterns etched into his memory like scars on skin. The house always smelled the same—dust, old wood, faint traces of incense from his mom’s little altar in the corner. It was the smell of a home he never really belonged to, not after everything.

The memories here were all bitter, haunted by anger, disappointment, and the weight of everything unsaid. The house was a museum of things that no longer mattered. Time had worn it all down to a dull ache. The walls knew everything about him—every blow, every tear—and yet, they never had a way to speak back.

Nam-Gyu’s breath brushed against his neck again, soft and steady. Thanos glanced down, watching the way Nam-Gyu’s face scrunched slightly in sleep, his hair messy and glasses folded neatly on the nightstand beside him. His hand was still resting on Thanos’s stomach, fingers curled in loose sleep-fisted security.

It was so simple, this quiet intimacy. Nam-Gyu existed beside him with no pretension, no questions, no judgment. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it didn’t matter that Thanos was a walking disaster—always running, always hiding. Nam-Gyu didn’t expect him to be anything other than what he was, broken pieces and all. He just stayed. No demands. No pressure. Thanos wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or scared as hell.

He should wake him up. They had to get ready. The funeral was in a few hours. But he couldn’t bring himself to move. Not yet.

Today. Just today, they'd shoved his dad into the ground. Just today of pretending it all felt real.

It didn’t. None of it did. Not the casket, not the body lying frozen behind locked doors in some cold room beneath the church. He hadn’t seen him yet—not really. The wake was later today, open casket, for everyone to say goodbye. But goodbye to what?

Goodbye to what?

The man had been gone long before they’d covered his face with a sheet. His father had been dead in every way that mattered—long before the stroke that had rendered him unrecognizable.

Thanos clenched his jaw, swallowing against the lump rising in his throat. His chest felt tight, like someone had shoved a heavy weight inside him. He needed to breathe, but it felt like he couldn’t. His fingers twitched against the sheets, fighting the urge to reach for his pocket. No blade. No lighter. No escape.

It had been almost two weeks since he last cut himself—the longest stretch in years. But the itch was still there, crawling under his skin, begging for release. Two weeks had felt like years.

I kinda want to die.

The thought slithered in, so quietly it almost felt comforting. It was familiar, like an old friend he didn’t want to face but couldn’t shake. He didn’t panic anymore when it came. Didn’t flinch or cry. It was just there. It always had been, lurking in the corners of his mind—static, background noise to everything else.

He wondered if it would always be there—if he’d spend the rest of his life carrying this weight around, never quite wanting to die but never really wanting to live either.

Would Nam-Gyu still love him if he knew how fucked up he was inside? If he knew how close Thanos had been that night, standing in his bathroom, clutching a razor in shaking hands?

Probably.

And that was the worst part.

Nam-Gyu would still love him. He would probably kiss him and hold him tighter, tell him all the stupid little reasons he thought Thanos deserved to live—even when Thanos couldn’t believe a single word of it.

A lump lodged in his throat, heavier now.

He glanced down at Nam-Gyu again, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. He didn’t want to die. Not really. He just didn’t know how to live.

His eyes burned, but he blinked the tears away before they could fall. He couldn’t break down. Not now. Not today.

Instead, he reached down slowly, brushing his fingers over Nam-Gyu’s hand where it rested against his stomach. Nam-Gyu stirred slightly but didn’t wake, his fingers instinctively curling around Thanos’s like they were meant to fit there.

Thanos squeezed his hand gently.

Maybe that was enough.

Maybe this—just holding on for a little while—was enough to get him through today.

---

They finally dragged themselves out of bed around eight. The house was already stirring by then—his mom bustling around in the kitchen, Ji-Yun loudly narrating some cartoon to anyone who would listen. Kyung-Hu’s voice drifted faintly down the hall, probably on the phone with her boyfriend again. It was like nothing had changed. It was like the world kept spinning without him, unaffected by the things he couldn’t control.

Nam-Gyu stood at the sink brushing his teeth, hair still sleep-mussed, one of Thanos’s old sweatshirts hanging loose on his frame.

Thanos leaned against the doorway, arms crossed tight over his chest, watching him.

He looked so fucking... normal.

Like this was just another morning. Another day.

Like they weren’t about to bury a man who had spent half his life trying to beat the softness out of Thanos with a leather belt. Like Thanos wasn’t still haunted by the ghost of that man’s fists, his words, his cold indifference.

Nam-Gyu caught him staring in the mirror and grinned around his toothbrush. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

"Yeah." Thanos’s voice was rough, still scratchy from sleep. He shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets. "You're fucking disgusting. Can’t believe I let you sleep in my bed."

Nam-Gyu snorted, spitting foam into the sink. "Whatever, you loved it." He rinsed his mouth, wiping his face on a towel before turning to lean against the sink, eyes flicking over Thanos’s face.

"You sleep okay?"

Thanos looked away, shifting on his feet. "Yeah."

"Liar."

Thanos’s chest squeezed.

It should piss him off—how easily Nam-Gyu saw through his bullshit. How he always knew exactly when Thanos was lying or deflecting, or drowning in his own head.

Instead, it just made him want to cry.

Nam-Gyu sighed softly, pushing off the sink. He crossed the small bathroom in three steps, crowding into Thanos’s space without hesitation. Thanos froze, breath catching as Nam-Gyu’s hands slid up under his hoodie, fingers pressing warm against the bare skin of his waist.

Nam-Gyu didn’t say anything. He just stood there, forehead pressed to Thanos’s shoulder, holding him without asking why.

Thanos’s throat closed up, a hot ache blooming behind his ribs. His fingers curled into Nam-Gyu’s sweatshirt, clinging hard enough to wrinkle the fabric.

"I don’t know how to do this," he whispered, so quietly he wasn’t even sure he’d said it out loud.

Nam-Gyu’s arms wrapped tighter around him. "You don’t have to," he murmured. "You just gotta get through it."

Thanos squeezed his eyes shut.

He wished it were that easy.

But maybe... maybe with Nam-Gyu, it could be. Just for today.

He could survive today.

"I love you," Nam-Gyu whispered into his ear, his breath warm against Thanos’s neck—just loud enough for only him to hear. The words were soft, certain, like they’d always been meant for him.

Thanos’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, but he couldn’t help the thought that slipped through the cracks. Why?

Why would someone like Nam-Gyu love someone like him—broken, scarred, a mess of bad decisions and mistakes? Why would anyone willingly chain themselves to the wreckage he’d become?

He swallowed hard, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead at the old painting on the wall. His fingers curled tighter around Nam-Gyu’s hand, as if he could anchor himself in the warmth of it, in the certainty in Nam-Gyu’s voice—even if he didn’t understand how he’d earned any of it.

Maybe he never would.

But he didn’t have to understand. He just had to hold on.

Thanos wrapped his arms around Nam-Gyu’s waist. “Thank you again for the flowers, honey,” he said quietly. He needed to be put together—for Nam-Gyu, for the funeral.

He wasn’t sure how he could be. But he could fake it—for now.

Nam-Gyu lifted his head, his dark eyes soft, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah?" His voice was quiet, still laced with sleep, but there was a warmth there — the kind of warmth that always made Thanos's chest ache in places he didn't know how to name.

Thanos's throat tightened. He could feel the words clawing their way up, heavy and raw, but they caught somewhere behind his teeth. How the fuck was he supposed to explain it? How was he supposed to make Nam-Gyu understand that the flowers — those delicate little bundles of color and meaning — were the first gift anyone had given him in... fuck, probably years?

It wasn't just the flowers themselves. It was the fact that Nam-Gyu had remembered. That he'd thought about it — about him — long enough to pick out the meanings behind every single bloom. Like Thanos was someone worth remembering, worth caring about.

Of course, he really did love them. Fuck, he loved them more than he knew how to say.

He wanted to tell Nam-Gyu that nobody had ever done shit like that for him before. That he still had the little card tucked into his wallet, folded and creased from how many times he'd pulled it out just to read the scrawled handwriting over and over again. That when he'd woken up in the middle of the night, heart pounding and skin crawling with the itch to fucking hurt again, he'd reached for those flowers instead — tracing the petals with trembling fingers until the storm passed.

But the words wouldn't come.

Instead, he just swallowed hard and muttered, "Yeah... they're—" His voice cracked, and he had to clear his throat. "They're really fucking pretty."

Nam-Gyu's smile softened, eyes flicking over Thanos’s face like he could see straight through the deflection — like he always could.

He didn't push, though. He never did.

"Good," he whispered, brushing his thumb along the waistband of Thanos's sweats where his hoodie had ridden up. "I’m glad."

Thanos's chest squeezed so tight it hurt.

Why the fuck do you love me?

The question rattled through his skull again, loud and insistent. It was always there, gnawing at the edges of every quiet moment between them. He couldn't wrap his head around it — how Nam-Gyu could look at him like this, touch him like this, when all Thanos saw in the mirror was a walking fucking disaster.

He didn't deserve this.

Didn't deserve him.

But Nam-Gyu just stayed — steady and unshakable — holding on even when Thanos kept trying to slip through the cracks.

And maybe that was the cruelest part of all.

Because the more Nam-Gyu stayed, the more Thanos wanted to believe he was worth staying for.

His fingers curled into the fabric of Nam-Gyu’s sweatshirt, knuckles whitening with the effort of holding on.

"I—I kept the card," he blurted out, barely above a whisper.

Nam-Gyu blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"The card." Thanos's face burned, and he immediately wanted to punch himself in the fucking throat for saying anything at all. He dropped his gaze to the floor, fingers tightening in the soft cotton at Nam-Gyu’s waist. "The little note you wrote... I kept it."

There was a beat of silence.

Then Nam-Gyu's arms slid up around his neck, pulling him in until their foreheads bumped together, soft and clumsy.

"You fucking idiot," he whispered, but there was a smile in his voice — that bright, gentle smile that always made Thanos feel like maybe he wasn't completely beyond saving. "You’re supposed to keep those."

Thanos's throat closed up again, but this time it wasn't just the grief or the guilt or the thousand other broken things clawing at the edges of his mind.

It was something softer.

Something scarier.

His arms wrapped around Nam-Gyu's waist, squeezing him tighter — like maybe if he held on hard enough, he could keep him here forever.

He didn't know how to say it — how to tell Nam-Gyu that he loved the flowers, loved the stupid little card, loved the way Nam-Gyu always saw straight through his bullshit without ever making him feel small.

He didn't know how to say that the only reason he was still fucking breathing right now — standing in this shitty little house, bracing himself to bury a man who never wanted him — was because Nam-Gyu had shown up that night on his doorstep and refused to leave.

So he just buried his face in Nam-Gyu’s shoulder, holding on like his life depended on it.

Because maybe it did.

"I don't know how to do this," he whispered again — softer this time, like maybe if he said it enough, the universe would cut him a fucking break and show him how.

Nam-Gyu's fingers slid into his hair, gentle and steady.

"You don't have to," he murmured. "You just gotta keep holding on."

Thanos's eyes burned, but he squeezed them shut, pressing his face harder into the crook of Nam-Gyu's neck.

He didn't deserve this.

Didn't deserve him.

But fuck — he was going to hold on anyway.

Even if it was just for today.

Tomorrow morning, they'd pack their bags. They'd have lunch with his family — one last meal crowded around that rickety kitchen table where the chairs wobbled and the conversation always felt a little too heavy. His mom would cry again. Ji-Yun would cling to his leg like she always did when he had to leave. Kyung-Hu would hug him a little too tightly, whispering something about calling more often even though they both knew he probably wouldn't.

Then they'd get on the train — back to the apartment, back to the city, back to whatever the fuck normal was supposed to feel like.

And at least then... at least he could stop feeling like he was in the way.

The thought twisted like a knife behind his ribs, sharp and familiar. He knew Nam-Gyu would tell him he was being stupid — that he wasn't an inconvenience, that he didn't need to apologize for existing — but that didn't make the feeling go away.

For the past week, Nam-Gyu had followed him through every miserable obligation, every long night, every awkward, stifling silence. He'd slept in the same cramped bed, folded himself into every aching crack without complaint — holding Thanos when the weight got too heavy and giving him space when he couldn't bear to be touched. He'd sat quietly through the prayers and the condolences, his small hand pressed steady against Thanos's back like some kind of fucking lifeline.

He never asked for anything.

Never complained.

Never acted like any of this was too much — even though Thanos knew it had to be.

Tomorrow they'd go home. Nam-Gyu would go back to work. Thanos would try to remember how to breathe without his chest feeling like it was caving in. He'd take Doom for long walks. He'd go to meetings. He'd text Nam-Gyu to ask if Ji-Ho was okay.

He'd get back to what was important — real problems, not all this self-indulgent bullshit.

He'd focus on staying sober.

He'd focus on Doom.

He'd focus on anything but the gnawing ache hollowed out behind his ribs — the one that whispered over and over again that Nam-Gyu deserved better than this.

Better than him.

Thanos's fingers tightened in the fabric of Nam-Gyu's sweatshirt, heart pounding uneven against his ribs.

He could feel the warmth of him — solid and steady in his arms, so fucking close — and for one terrifying second, he wanted to beg him to stay.

Not just for the funeral.

Not just for the week.

But... always.

The thought scared the shit out of him.

Because wanting things — needing things — had never done anything but wreck him.

He didn't know how to have someone without ruining them. He didn't know how to keep something this soft, this good, without crushing it between his fucked-up fingers.

He didn't know how to want someone without losing them.

But Nam-Gyu just stood there — patient and steady — like he was waiting for Thanos to catch up to something he'd already known all along.

"You don't have to pretend you're fine, you know," Nam-Gyu murmured into his shoulder, voice low and careful. "Not with me."

Thanos's throat clenched, shame rising hot in his chest.

"I'm trying," he muttered, barely above a whisper.

"I know." Nam-Gyu's fingers traced slow circles against the nape of his neck. "That's enough."

It didn't feel like enough.

It never fucking did.

But Thanos's grip tightened anyway — holding on like maybe if he stayed here long enough, he'd start to believe it.

He wished he could say something back — something soft, something good, something that didn't sound like it was breaking apart in his throat.

Instead, all he could manage was a hoarse, "You're not... you're not supposed to be taking care of me."

Nam-Gyu huffed softly against his shoulder. "Says who?"

"Says me."

"Well, that's stupid." Nam-Gyu pulled back just far enough to meet his eyes, dark and steady behind those wire-rim glasses. His voice stayed quiet — steady in that way that always made Thanos's heart ache. "You take care of me too, you know."

Thanos's chest squeezed tight — hard enough to hurt.

"I don't," he muttered, gaze dropping to the floor.

"You do," Nam-Gyu insisted, soft but certain. "You just don't notice when you're doing it."

Thanos's fingers twitched against the hem of Nam-Gyu's sweatshirt, mind spinning uselessly through every sharp-edged memory — every cigarette shared on the balcony, every clumsy cup of instant coffee shoved into Nam-Gyu's hands without a word, every night he forced himself to stay sober just so he wouldn't break another fucking promise.

It didn't feel like taking care of anything.

It just felt like trying not to wreck the one good thing he had left.

Nam-Gyu's thumb brushed over the curve of his jaw, coaxing his gaze back up.

"You don't have to pay me back, Su-Bong," he murmured — soft and serious in a way that made Thanos's stomach twist painfully. "It's not a fucking transaction."

Thanos's breath caught in his throat.

He hated when Nam-Gyu called him that — not because he didn't like the sound of it, but because it always made him feel like someone softer than the person he was trying so fucking hard to be.

Someone smaller.

Someone... real.

He swallowed hard, something hot and helpless rising in his chest.

"I don't know how to let people... do that," he admitted, voice cracking around the edges.

Nam-Gyu's smile flickered — small and sad, but steady.

"Yeah," he whispered. "I know."

His fingers brushed over Thanos's knuckles, prying them loose from where they were still clenched tight in the fabric of his sweatshirt. He laced their fingers together slowly, squeezing warm and solid around every shaking inch.

"You're learning," he murmured.

Thanos's heart slammed uneven against his ribs.

He wanted to believe that.

He really, really fucking did.

But all he could think about was tomorrow — about how much easier it would be once Nam-Gyu was gone off to his own life and apartment. Once he could stop feeling like he was dragging someone else down with him.

He stared at their tangled hands, stomach twisting.

"I don't want you to leave," he admitted hoarsely — so quietly he almost hoped Nam-Gyu wouldn't hear.

But of course he did.

Nam-Gyu's fingers squeezed tighter around his.

"I'm not leaving," he whispered. "We're going home."

Thanos's breath caught.

Home.

He didn't even know what the fuck that meant anymore.

But maybe... maybe it was this.

Maybe it was Doom snoring at their feet.

Maybe it was cigarette smoke curling out the window at three in the morning.

Maybe it was holding on, even when everything in him was screaming to let go.

Maybe it was Nam-Gyu — warm and steady at his side, refusing to leave no matter how many times Thanos tried to shove him away.

His throat burned, eyes stinging behind clenched lids.

He squeezed Nam-Gyu's hand like a fucking lifeline.

"Okay," he whispered.

He didn't know if he'd ever believe he deserved any of this.

But maybe — just for today — he could hold on anyway.

---

Thanos buttoned the stiff white dress shirt, his fingers fumbling on the small plastic buttons. It reminded him of getting dressed for church when he was a kid — back when his mom would smooth down his collar with careful hands, murmuring something about looking presentable in God's house. He hadn't liked it then, either.

The fabric felt foreign against his skin now — too clean, too crisp — like it didn't quite belong to him.

Behind him, Nam-Gyu was already dressed, fussing quietly with his hair in the cracked mirror by the closet. He'd smoothed down the white button-up, sleeves neatly rolled to his elbows, his tie tucked loosely under the collar. He looked... soft. Put together in a way that made something small and aching curl low in Thanos's chest.

He glanced at him through the mirror — the way his lips pursed slightly as he finger-combed through his hair, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

Thanos cleared his throat, eyes flicking away.

He didn't want to think about the funeral.

He didn't want to think about the train ride home or the empty apartment waiting for him.

He didn't want to think about how much harder it was going to be to breathe without Nam-Gyu here — without the quiet warmth of him pressed against his side every night.

So instead, he reached for something smaller — something easier.

"You heard from your little brother?"

Nam-Gyu's fingers stilled in his hair, meeting Thanos's eyes in the mirror. For a second, he looked almost surprised — like he'd forgotten anyone might ask him that.

It made Thanos feel like shit.

Nam-Gyu had spent the whole week wrapped up in his grief, moving around him like a steady orbit — holding him together piece by piece. And Thanos had just... let him.

He hadn't asked about Ji-Ho. He hadn't asked about Nam-Gyu's work or how he was holding up or if he even wanted to be here in the first place.

He'd been so fucking selfish.

Nam-Gyu blinked, fingers dropping from his hair.

"Yeah," he said softly. "He texted last night... asked when I was coming home."

His voice was steady, but Thanos could hear the flicker of guilt underneath.

"Is he okay?"

Nam-Gyu's mouth pressed into a thin line.

"He's... managing." His fingers toyed with the hem of his sleeve. "I think he's been skipping school again, but he won't admit it."

Thanos's chest twisted — the ache shifting from his own grief to something sharper, something heavier.

He didn't know much about Ji-Ho — just the scraps Nam-Gyu had let slip in quiet conversations late at night. Fifteen years old, too smart for his own good, stuck in the same shitty house Nam-Gyu had spent most of his life trying to claw his way out of.

Their mom was worse than useless. Their dad was long gone.

And Nam-Gyu... Nam-Gyu had been holding it all together on his own for as long as Thanos had known him.

Thanos swallowed hard, staring down at the row of buttons still half-undone on his shirt.

"You... you should go back soon," he muttered, the words tasting bitter in his mouth.

Nam-Gyu's eyes flicked up in the mirror, something flickering behind the lenses of his glasses — something sharp and stubborn.

"I'm not leaving you here."

It was the same thing he'd been saying all week — every time Thanos tried to nudge him away, every time he opened his mouth to say I'm fine, you don't have to stay.

He didn't understand how Nam-Gyu could just... do that. How he could fold himself so quietly into the background of someone else's grief — like he didn't even exist until Thanos needed him.

Thanos's stomach twisted.

"I'm not your fucking responsibility," he muttered, barely above a whisper.

Nam-Gyu's fingers stilled on his sleeve.

"You're not," he said quietly. "I want to be here."

The words sat heavy in the space between them — warm and unwavering.

Thanos's throat clenched.

He didn't know what the fuck to do with that.

He'd never had someone want to stay before.

He stared down at his shaking hands, the half-buttoned shirt hanging loose around his ribs.

After a long moment, Nam-Gyu's reflection shifted in the mirror. He crossed the room slowly, footsteps soft against the worn carpet.

When he reached him, he didn't say anything.

He just reached out and started buttoning the rest of Thanos's shirt — small, steady fingers brushing lightly against his chest.

Thanos's breath caught in his throat.

He stood perfectly still, letting Nam-Gyu dress him like he was something fragile — something worth taking care of.

When Nam-Gyu finished, his hands lingered on the collar — smoothing it down the same way Thanos's mom used to.

His fingers were so fucking gentle.

Thanos's eyes burned.

"You take care of everyone, don't you?" he muttered, voice rough.

Nam-Gyu's hands stilled against his collar.

"I don't—"

"You do." Thanos's throat felt tight. "Ji-Ho. Me. You just... fucking do it. Like it doesn't even cost you anything."

Nam-Gyu's fingers twitched, like he wanted to pull away — like he didn't know how to hold that kind of attention on himself.

But he didn't move.

Instead, he pressed his palms lightly against Thanos's chest — steady and warm through the thin fabric.

"It does cost me something," he murmured.

Thanos's heart clenched painfully.

He didn't know what the fuck to say to that.

He wanted to apologize.

He wanted to thank him.

He wanted to promise he'd never let him carry someone else's weight like that again.

But the words got stuck in his throat — too big, too messy, too fucking much.

Nam-Gyu must've seen it on his face, because his hands slid up — fingers brushing lightly over Thanos's jaw, tilting his face down until their foreheads touched.

"You don't have to fix everything for me, Su-Bong," he whispered. "You just have to let me be here."

Thanos's breath caught.

He squeezed his eyes shut — fighting the prickling heat behind his eyelids, the ache swelling hard and fast in his chest.

He didn't deserve this.

He didn't deserve him.

But Nam-Gyu just stayed there — patient and steady — until Thanos's shaking hands finally lifted, fingers curling tight around his wrists.

"Okay," he whispered — the word breaking ragged between them.

Nam-Gyu's breath brushed warm against his lips.

"Okay," he echoed.

They stood there like that for a long moment — pressed close in the dim light, the rest of the world blurred behind them.

And for the first time in days, Thanos felt like maybe he wasn't holding all of it alone.

But still.

Fuck.

Why did he feel so sad?

It didn't even feel like it was about his dad anymore — not really. That raw, hollow ache had settled into something heavier, something messier. Like the grief had cracked him open, and now everything else he’d been trying not to feel was leaking out all at once.

He just felt shitty.

Like he was disappointing everyone without even trying.

Like he was wasting Nam-Gyu's time.

Like he'd never quite be whole again — not even if he stayed clean for the rest of his life.

Not even if he wanted to.

His throat clenched, fingers curling into fists at his sides.

He didn't even know how to explain it — not without sounding pathetic.

Not without making Nam-Gyu stay even longer.

Behind him, Nam-Gyu shifted — his eyes flicking toward the clock on the wall before back to Thanos, something soft and patient flickering behind his glasses.

"Okay," he said gently, like he could feel Thanos folding in on himself. "We should get going. Your sister's probably waiting by the door to head to the funeral."

His voice was steady — no pressure, no expectation — just... there.

Like he was giving Thanos an out.

A way to move forward without asking for more than he could give.

Thanos's chest squeezed so fucking tight it hurt.

He nodded stiffly, even though every inch of him felt like sinking into the floor would be easier than stepping outside.

Nam-Gyu didn't push — just grabbed his own jacket off the bed and waited quietly by the door.

Like he knew.

Like he could feel the storm crawling under Thanos's skin without him having to say a single fucking word.

Thanos's fingers twitched at his sides, nails biting into his palms.

He hated how easy Nam-Gyu made it — how he could see right through him without asking for explanations.

It made him feel exposed.

It made him feel safe.

It made him want to crawl into his arms and sob until he couldn't breathe.

But he couldn't.

Not here.

Not now.

Not when his sister was waiting and there was a whole fucking church full of people ready to whisper about what a disappointment Su-Bong Yoon had turned out to be.

He took a slow, shuddering breath — forced his feet to move toward the door.

Nam-Gyu's eyes flicked up as he approached, scanning him with that quiet, careful attention that made Thanos feel like he was worth something even when he felt like absolute fucking garbage.

For a second, Thanos thought he might say something — something gentle, something reassuring — but all he did was hold out Thanos's black jacket without a word.

Simple.

Steady.

Like always.

Thanos's throat burned.

He took the jacket with shaking hands, shoulders hunching under the weight of it.

"Thanks," he muttered.

Nam-Gyu just nodded — like it wasn't a big deal at all.

Like he'd been holding him together all week without even noticing.

But Thanos noticed.

He noticed every fucking second of it.

He didn't know how to say thank you.

He didn't know if he'd ever know how.

So he just kept his head down and followed Nam-Gyu out into the cold morning air — his heart heavy in his chest, the world pressing down on him from all sides.

Nam-Gyu walked close beside him — close enough that their sleeves brushed with every step — but he didn't reach out.

He didn't hover.

He just stayed.

And somehow, that was the only thing keeping Thanos upright.

---

The church looked the same.

The same cracked brick walls. The same narrow steps leading up to the heavy wooden doors. The same crooked cross perched at the top, weathered and dull against the gray sky.

It hadn't changed at all — not in the years since he'd stopped coming. Not in the years since he'd stopped believing.

Thanos stood at the edge of the parking lot, hands buried deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold. His heart thudded sluggishly in his chest, his lungs tight like he couldn't quite catch a full breath.

He'd spent so many days in this place — Sundays crammed into stiff wooden pews, Bible study in the back room, choir practice he never really wanted to go to. His dad's rough hand squeezing the back of his neck whenever he slouched or talked too loud. The weight of expectation pressing down on him from every angle — sit up straight, don't embarrass the family, pray harder, be better, be something you're not.

He hated this place.

He fucking hated it.

But standing here now, with Nam-Gyu warm and solid beside him, Thanos couldn't help but feel... small.

Like the same scared kid he'd always been — the one who used to sit through every sermon with his nails digging into his palms, praying for God to fix him even though deep down he knew there was nothing to fix.

His heart twisted painfully in his chest.

He didn't want to be here.

He didn't want to walk through those doors and see the coffin.

He didn't want to say goodbye to a man who'd never really loved him — not the way he was.

Not the way he'd ever be.

But he didn't have a choice.

Not today.

Nam-Gyu shifted beside him, his shoulder brushing against Thanos's arm — light, steady, grounding.

He didn't say anything — didn't try to fill the silence or offer some empty reassurance. He just stood there, close enough that Thanos could feel the warmth radiating off him, like he was ready to catch him if he started falling apart.

Thanos's throat burned.

He clenched his fists tighter in his pockets, nails biting into his palms until the sting cut through the numbness crawling under his skin.

He couldn't break now.

Not here.

Not in front of everyone.

Not with Nam-Gyu watching.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to take a step forward.

One step.

Then another.

His legs felt like lead, every muscle screaming at him to turn around and run.

But Nam-Gyu followed without hesitation — close, quiet, there.

Thanos's chest squeezed painfully.

He glanced sideways, heart lodged high in his throat.

Nam-Gyu's eyes flicked toward him — soft and steady behind his glasses — like he could feel every crack spider-webbing through Thanos's ribs without a single word being said.

He didn't ask if Thanos was okay.

He didn't need to.

Instead, he just reached out — slow, careful — and brushed his fingers lightly against the back of Thanos's hand.

Not holding on.

Not pushing.

Just offering.

Thanos's breath caught.

He stared down at their hands — his own fingers twitching, itching to pull away.

But he didn't.

Instead, he let his pinky curl around Nam-Gyu's — small, barely there — like a lifeline wrapped around shaking bones.

Nam-Gyu's thumb brushed over his knuckles, a soft little reassurance — I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.

Thanos's chest ached so fucking bad he thought he might shatter right there on the steps.

But somehow, with Nam-Gyu beside him — warm and steady and holding on without ever asking for more — he forced himself to climb the rest of the way.

One step at a time.

All the way to the door.

All the way inside.

"I swear to God," Thanos muttered under his breath, his voice low enough that only Nam-Gyu could hear, "if anyone says some shit about me being gay, we're fucking leaving."

His heart was already hammering in his chest, the tight knot of anxiety winding harder with every step deeper into the church. The familiar scent of old wood and incense clung to the air, pressing in heavy around him, making it harder to breathe.

He could feel the stares already — subtle, lingering glances from the handful of distant relatives scattered near the pews. People he hadn't seen in years. People who probably still remembered him as the quiet, strange kid who never quite fit right.

The whispers hadn't started yet — not out loud, at least — but he could feel them simmering beneath the surface.

Heard he went punk. Heard he ran off to the city. Heard he's a singer now — not the good kind, either. Heard he's a junkie. Heard he likes boys.

He clenched his jaw, shoulders locking up so tight it hurt.

Nam-Gyu's fingers brushed lightly against the back of his hand — a barely-there touch, so soft he might've missed it if he hadn't been waiting for it.

"I'll walk out with you," Nam-Gyu murmured, voice steady but gentle. "Even if no one says anything. Just say the word."

Thanos's throat closed up.

It was such a simple offer — so fucking easy — like it didn't even cross Nam-Gyu's mind that leaving would be the wrong thing to do. Like he didn't give a shit about the judgment or the sideways looks or the weight of expectations pressing down from every corner of this place.

Like he was perfectly fine throwing his whole middle finger up to God and everyone else if it meant keeping Thanos safe.

Thanos's chest squeezed so tight it hurt.

He swallowed hard, staring straight ahead at the rows of pews.

"...Yeah?" His voice came out rough, barely more than a whisper.

Nam-Gyu's pinky hooked around his again — that same quiet promise he'd been offering all week.

"Yeah," he said simply. "I don't care if it's five minutes in or halfway through the service. You want to go? We go."

Thanos's eyes burned, but he blinked hard, forcing it down.

He didn't deserve this.

Didn't deserve Nam-Gyu standing beside him like this — ready to fight whatever battles Thanos couldn't even bring himself to name.

But fuck if he wasn't going to hold on anyway.

He should tell Nam-Gyu all of this — everything clawing under his skin, every fucked-up thought swirling in his head — but not now.

Not today.

Maybe not for a while.

There was too much weighing down on them already — the funeral, the stares, the whole suffocating weight of this place pressing in on his chest. Nam-Gyu had been carrying him through this week without ever asking for anything in return, steady and unwavering, like it didn't even cross his mind that Thanos might be too much.

But Thanos knew the second they got back home, Nam-Gyu needed to pour every ounce of himself into Ji-Ho again — into making sure his little brother was okay, into holding his whole shitty family together like it was his responsibility to patch up every broken piece they left behind.

And Thanos... Thanos was going to be a good fucking boyfriend for once.

He was going to help.

Even if he didn't know how to be helpful.

Even if he didn't know how to love without ruining everything he touched.

He'd do the dishes without being asked. He'd clean the apartment while Nam-Gyu was at work. He'd take Doom on long walks to give Nam-Gyu space. He'd go with him to NA meetings, sit quietly in the back even when the walls felt like they were closing in.

He'd do anything — everything — just to feel like he was worth even half of what Nam-Gyu had given him this week.

Just to feel like he deserved to be standing beside him at all.

He glanced at Nam-Gyu out of the corner of his eye — taking in the soft curve of his mouth, the gentle slope of his shoulders, the way he carried himself like he belonged anywhere he chose to stand.

Nam-Gyu caught him looking and offered a small smile, barely there but warm enough to cut through the cold knot tightening in Thanos's chest.

Thanos's heart ached.

He'd tell him.

Eventually.

When things were easier.

When they got back to that tiny apartment with Doom snoring at their feet and Ji-Ho's dumb little texts lighting up Nam-Gyu's phone.

He'd tell him everything — about the itch under his skin, about the blade he'd almost reached for that night, about the way his own mind felt like it was trying to kill him half the time.

Just... not now.

For now, he'd get through today.

And when they got home — when this whole shitty week was finally behind them — he'd spend every second trying to give Nam-Gyu something good to hold onto.

Even if he didn't believe he deserved it.

Even if he never would.

---

"Dearly beloved," the sermon began, the priest's voice echoing through the old church.

Thanos barely heard the words. They floated above him like smoke — weightless, meaningless. He kept his eyes locked on the casket at the front of the room, hands clenched into tight fists against his thighs. The white dress shirt felt too stiff, too tight around his throat. His heart pounded sluggishly in his chest, like it was struggling to keep him upright.

Nam-Gyu's shoulder brushed against his, a steady warmth anchoring him to the pew. He didn't look over — couldn't — but he could feel Nam-Gyu there, close and solid. The only thing keeping him from floating out of his own skin.

The priest droned on about love, about forgiveness, about God’s infinite mercy.

Thanos wondered if his father ever asked for mercy — or if he just expected it, the way he'd always expected obedience. Respect. Fear.

A bitter taste curled on his tongue.

What the fuck were they even supposed to be forgiving?

The bruises? The belt? The years of silence stretched between them like barbed wire?

His mom was crying softly beside Kyung-Hu, her tissue crumpled in her hands. Ji-Yun fidgeted in his little black suit, swinging her legs under the pew. The whole room smelled like incense and dying flowers, thick and cloying.

Thanos's throat closed up.

He had cried.

But.

Not when he got the call.

Not when they'd lowered the body into that ice-cold drawer.

Only when he'd sat up all night in his childhood bedroom, staring at the ceiling and trying to feel something.

But now — here, with Nam-Gyu's warmth pressed up against his side and the weight of the whole fucking church bearing down on his chest — he felt dangerously close to breaking.

His nails dug into his palms.

Don't.

Not here.

Not in front of everyone.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the lump in his throat to dissolve.

Nam-Gyu shifted beside him. A second later, his fingers brushed against Thanos's hand, barely there — just a whisper of contact. He didn't push. Didn't grab. Just... offered.

Thanos's breath caught.

For a second, he couldn't move.

Then slowly — so slowly it felt like dragging himself out of his own grave — he uncurled his fingers and let Nam-Gyu's hand slide into his.

Their palms pressed together, warm and steady.

Nam-Gyu squeezed once.

I'm here.

Thanos's chest cracked wide open.

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood, and clung to Nam-Gyu like a fucking lifeline.

Maybe the priest was right.

Maybe there was mercy in this world after all.

It just didn't come from God.

The priest's voice echoed through the church, steady and practiced.

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."

Thanos's jaw clenched. He stared straight ahead, eyes locked on the casket. His father's framed portrait sat beside it — the same stiff, unsmiling face Thanos remembered from every family photo.

"We gather here not only to mourn a life lost, but to celebrate the man he was—"

Thanos’s fingers twitched in Nam-Gyu’s grip.

Celebrate?

His stomach twisted.

He could feel Nam-Gyu's thumb tracing slow, absent circles over the back of his hand — grounding him, silently telling him to breathe.

The priest kept talking.

"A devoted husband... a loving father—"

Thanos's heart kicked hard against his ribs, breath catching sharp in his throat.

Loving.

What a fucking joke.

His grip on Nam-Gyu's hand tightened without meaning to, fingers digging in hard.

Nam-Gyu squeezed back. Not too tight. Just enough.

Steady. Here.

Thanos swallowed hard, forcing his voice out in a low whisper.

"This is bullshit."

Nam-Gyu didn't answer right away. He just shifted a little closer, their knees pressing together.

Finally, soft — just for him:

"I know."

The simple honesty cracked something in Thanos's chest.

The priest kept talking.

Thanos tuned him out.

He focused on the weight of Nam-Gyu’s hand in his — warm and solid. The only real thing in this whole fucking room.

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted."

Thanos's throat closed up.

Nam-Gyu leaned in a little, voice barely above a breath.

"You’re not alone, Su-Bong."

Thanos’s heart lurched.

Fuck hearing his real name like that — soft, gentle — in... God, he loved him so much.

He squeezed Nam-Gyu's hand tighter.

It hurt.

But he didn't let go.

---

Thanos felt like he barely made it through the sermon, but here he was — standing outside the church, hidden behind the corner wall, hitting his vape like life depended on it. The cold air stung his lungs with every drag, but it was better than feeling like he was suffocating inside.

He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl into the gray sky. His hands were shaking. He didn't know if it was from the cold or everything pressing down on him — probably both.

Footsteps crunched on gravel behind him.

"I was wondering where you'd run off to."

Nam-Gyu's voice was quiet, careful — like he already knew how close Thanos was to falling apart.

Thanos didn't look at him. Just took another drag, holding the smoke deep in his lungs before letting it go.

"Needed a minute."

Nam-Gyu stepped closer, his arms folding across his chest. He didn't push. Didn't tell him to come back inside. Just... stayed.

Thanos's fingers twitched around the vape. He wanted to say something — maybe apologize for ditching him in there — but the words wouldn't come out. His throat felt tight, like if he opened his mouth too wide everything he'd been holding back would come spilling out.

Nam-Gyu didn't fill the silence. He just stood there, patient, his presence steady and unwavering.

Finally, after a long minute, Thanos let out a breath that felt like it had been trapped in his chest for hours.

"I fucking hated him." His voice cracked on the last word, barely above a whisper.

Nam-Gyu's gaze flicked toward him, eyes soft but sharp — like he was listening to every fractured piece spilling out.

"I know," he murmured.

Thanos's fingers clenched around the vape, knuckles going white.

"I don't know why I'm so fucking sad."

Nam-Gyu took a small step closer — close enough that their arms brushed.

"Because he was still your dad."

Thanos's throat closed up again.

He hated that answer. Hated how true it was.

"I don't know how to grieve him," he muttered, voice raw. "I don't know how to feel sorry for someone who made me wish I was never born half the fucking time."

Nam-Gyu's hand found his, fingers wrapping gently around his wrist.

"You don't have to be sorry." His voice was steady, but there was something fragile underneath — something careful. "You don't owe him that."

Thanos's eyes burned hot, but he blinked hard, swallowing it down.

He didn't deserve this. Nam-Gyu standing here, holding onto him like he was worth saving.

He didn't deserve to be comforted.

But Nam-Gyu squeezed his wrist a little tighter — like he knew exactly what was running through Thanos's head.

"You're still allowed to grieve," Nam-Gyu said softly. "Even if he never deserved it."

Thanos closed his eyes.

He took another drag, held it in.

Nam-Gyu didn't let go.

"Fuck— I... why the hell can't I tell you what I want?" Thanos's voice cracked, the words tumbling out faster than he could stop them. The rush of emotion was too much, spilling over everything he had kept locked away for so long.

He could feel the lump in his throat grow heavier, and it made him want to cry more than anything had all week. "I just wanna say how much I love you, and how I don't know how I can ever be good enough for you— or even how to love like you deserve!"

He finally turned to face Nam-Gyu, his eyes burning with frustration and something raw. His heart felt too big in his chest, threatening to break free of its ribcage and take everything with it. The silence between them was thick, heavy with words unsaid.

Nam-Gyu's face softened, and for a moment, Thanos thought he might say something that would shatter him into pieces. But instead, Nam-Gyu reached out, his hand coming to rest gently on Thanos’s cheek.

"You don’t have to be good enough," Nam-Gyu said, his voice low, but steady. "You’re just... you. And that’s more than enough for me."

The words were so simple, but they hit Thanos like a punch to the chest. His breath caught. He wanted to pull away, wanted to hide from how exposed he felt, but he couldn’t. Not with Nam-Gyu standing there like that, steady and patient, like he had all the time in the world to wait for Thanos to figure it out.

"I don’t know how to do this," Thanos whispered, his voice shaking now. "I’m so fucking broken... and I don’t know how to make it better. For you. For me."

Nam-Gyu didn't hesitate. His thumb brushed over Thanos’s cheek, wiping away a tear that had slipped down unnoticed. "You don't have to fix anything," he murmured. "You don't have to be perfect. You just need to let me be here. That's all I need."

Thanos closed his eyes, taking a slow breath in, trying to steady himself. But the weight of Nam-Gyu’s words, the tenderness in his touch, was almost too much to bear.

"You deserve someone better," Thanos said, barely above a whisper, the shame creeping into his words.

Nam-Gyu shook his head, his grip tightening on Thanos’s arm. "No," he said firmly, his voice carrying conviction. "I don’t want anyone else. I want you. I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m just asking you to be here with me. That’s enough for me."

And in that moment, Thanos realized that maybe it was enough. Maybe just being here, being with Nam-Gyu, was all he needed to make it through this.

Thanos pressed his hand over Nam-Gyu's, holding it there for a moment before he closed his eyes, letting the tears fall freely down his face. They came in a steady stream, a release he hadn't allowed himself in so long, and it felt almost like suffocating relief.

"Just promise me," his voice was hoarse, the words trembling, "that if I ever do something fucking selfish—like I always do—that... you'll go. Don’t look back."

The weight of the words hung between them, suffocating and dark, but Thanos couldn’t stop them. He needed to say it, needed to hear it. He wanted Nam-Gyu to know that if he ever pushed him away, if he ever messed it all up, he wouldn’t blame him. He’d want Nam-Gyu to leave. To walk away without a second thought.

But as soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. The way Nam-Gyu’s hand jerked back, his eyes wide with shock, fear, and something else—something Thanos couldn’t quite place—made his heart drop.

Thanos opened his eyes, staring into Nam-Gyu’s face as the silence stretched out painfully.

"Su-Bong..." Nam-Gyu’s voice was sharp, but soft, laced with fear. His face twisted with something Thanos couldn’t quite comprehend. "Fuck no... don’t say that shit. Fuck no, that actually scared me."

His words hit Thanos like a punch. He saw the way Nam-Gyu’s brows furrowed in confusion, the way his hand shook slightly as he reached back for Thanos’s cheek, but then pulled away at the last second, like he wasn’t sure how to touch him anymore.

"I... I can't—" Nam-Gyu swallowed hard, looking down at his feet, then back up at Thanos, his expression torn. "I can’t promise that. Not like that."

Thanos felt the weight of those words, the rejection pressing against him like a physical thing. His chest ached, raw and exposed. He felt smaller in the moment, like he was drowning in the vulnerability of it all, but he couldn’t stop himself. The words just kept spilling out.

“I don’t want you to hurt because of me,” Thanos whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m already... a fucking mess. You’re too good for all this. You deserve more than I can give.”

Nam-Gyu’s eyes were full of hurt now, but also something softer—something that made Thanos feel like he was teetering on the edge of something fragile. "Su-Bong, don’t you ever say that again. Don’t you dare."

Thanos felt the guilt clawing at him, the crushing weight of his own self-loathing. He pulled his hand away from his face, rubbing his palms against his eyes to try and stop the tears that kept falling, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped.

“I don’t know how to be better for you," he said quietly, each word heavy. "I don’t know how to do this... I don’t know how to be someone you deserve."

Nam-Gyu’s voice softened, a quiet ache in his words. "You don’t have to be someone else. You don’t have to change who you are. I don’t want someone else. I want you, Su-Bong. All of you. Even the parts you think are broken." He stepped closer, his hand gently cupping Thanos’s jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze. "You are enough, even if you can’t see it. Especially when you can’t see it."

Thanos wanted to pull away, wanted to retreat into himself, but Nam-Gyu’s touch was grounding, warm and steady. And despite all the hurt, all the fear, the love in those words made something in Thanos crack open. It was like a dam breaking, and for the first time in a long while, he let himself believe it.

"I don’t know how to be that person," Thanos whispered, voice breaking again, "but I’ll try. For you. If you’ll let me."

Nam-Gyu didn’t answer right away. He just took a deep breath, brushing the hair from Thanos’s forehead, his eyes soft but full of intensity. "You don’t have to try alone. I’m right here with you. Always."

Thanos closed his eyes again, the words wrapping around him like a lifeline. Maybe, just maybe, he could let himself believe it this time.

Nam-Gyu’s grip tightened on Thanos, his hands trembling just slightly but still holding him with a fierce urgency. His voice was thick with emotion, words coming out like they were laced with a kind of desperate sincerity that hit Thanos deeper than he expected. "Please... Su-Bong," Nam-Gyu’s voice cracked, his eyes never leaving Thanos’s, "I’ll always be here for you. So if you ever, ever think about doing something—something you know will take you away—remember how much I love you."

Thanos’s chest tightened painfully at the unspoken word that hung heavy between them. Suicide. He knew what Nam-Gyu was saying. He’d known it from the first moment those words left his lips, and it made his stomach twist, like someone had just knotted his insides. The thought of Nam-Gyu—his soft, gentle, loving Nam-Gyu—saying those words, meant for something so final, something so dark, made the weight of it hit harder than anything Thanos had felt in a long time.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the images away, trying to stop the wave of guilt, of helplessness, from swallowing him whole.

"I'll never give up on you, okay?" Nam-Gyu whispered again, his voice breaking but determined, each word pressing deeper into Thanos’s heart. "And when we get home, we’ll talk more. We’ll figure it out together."

Thanos felt the warmth of Nam-Gyu’s tears soaking into his jacket, the soft, wet sensation on his chest like a reality check he didn’t want. He didn’t want to see how much Nam-Gyu was hurting, didn’t want to face how much weight he was putting on him. But even as the tears fell, as they soaked into the fabric between them, he couldn’t pull away. He couldn’t make himself leave.

Nam-Gyu’s hands slid down Thanos’s arms, pulling him even closer, until they were standing so close their bodies pressed together, the proximity overwhelming. Thanos could feel Nam-Gyu’s heartbeat against his, fast and frantic like it was matching his own. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just let himself be held, let the tears fall and mix with the weight of everything unsaid, everything unspoken.

“I’m sorry,” Thanos finally whispered, his voice breaking on the apology, like it was the only thing he could offer. “I’m so fucking sorry, Nam-Gyu.”

Nam-Gyu shook his head, his hands reaching to cup Thanos’s face gently, guiding it up so their eyes could meet. “You have nothing to apologize for, Su-Bong,” he said softly, his voice low and steady. “Nothing. You don’t have to carry all this alone. You’re not alone.”

The words didn’t fix anything. They didn’t take away the dark thoughts that constantly crept up in the back of Thanos’s mind, but they felt like the only truth that mattered in that moment. Maybe, just maybe, with Nam-Gyu’s unwavering presence, he could hold on for a little longer. Maybe he could believe that he was worth fighting for—at least enough to fight through today.

“I’ll always fight for you,” Nam-Gyu continued, his thumbs brushing against Thanos’s cheeks, wiping away the tears that kept falling. “No matter what. I won’t leave you. You’re mine, and I’m never going anywhere. Not now, not ever.”

Thanos leaned into the touch, the warmth of Nam-Gyu’s words washing over him. He wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what the next hour would hold. But in that moment, as the tears fell and the weight of everything felt almost too heavy to carry, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, Nam-Gyu was right. Maybe he could make it through.

Maybe he could keep holding on.

Nam-Gyu’s arms wrapped around him again, pulling him into a tight hug, and Thanos buried his face in the crook of his neck, letting himself finally break. Letting the tears fall freely, without shame, without fear of judgment.

Nam-Gyu didn’t let go. Not once. Not ever.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Thanos didn’t feel quite as alone.

---

After about twenty minutes of being wrapped up in each other, Thanos knew it was time. He felt the weight of it in his chest—he couldn’t hide out here forever. The funeral wasn’t going to pause just because he couldn’t breathe inside the church. He had to face it. He had to face everything, even if it felt like too much.

Nam-Gyu was still standing a little farther off, staring out into the distance, the cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers. He didn’t look like he wanted to go back in either, but there was a quiet understanding in his eyes when he met Thanos’s gaze.

“Hey,” Nam-Gyu’s voice was soft, but it carried a plea with it, an unspoken request for a moment longer. “Is it okay if I smoke one more before we go in?”

Thanos didn’t hesitate. He was exhausted in ways that were hard to explain, but the last thing he wanted to do was rush Nam-Gyu. “Of course, love you,” Thanos said, the words slipping out with more affection than he’d intended, but he meant them all the same. The lightness of that feeling, the weightlessness of knowing Nam-Gyu was still with him, still fighting for him, was almost enough to make him forget the heaviness of the day.

He turned to walk back inside the church, but his feet felt like they were dragging. The thought of stepping back into that room, into the sea of people with their hollow condolences and prying eyes, made his stomach churn. Walking in without Nam-Gyu at his side felt wrong, but Thanos knew—he knew that Nam-Gyu needed a moment alone. After everything, after all the raw honesty they’d shared, it wasn’t just about him anymore. Nam-Gyu had his own grief to carry, his own pain that Thanos couldn’t fix. Not today.

The door to the church creaked as he pushed it open, stepping back into the dim, heavy air. It felt too quiet, too suffocating. The priest’s voice had already become a faint echo in the background, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered in that moment except the thought that Nam-Gyu might be out there, trying to hold it together for both of them. Thanos could almost feel the tension rolling off of him, the weight he carried—more than he ever let on.

Thanos walked down the aisle, taking the steps one by one with a heaviness he hadn’t expected. His body felt like it was moving on autopilot, but his mind was stuck in a fog. He wanted to believe that somehow, everything would be okay—one day, it would. But that was a lie he wasn’t ready to tell himself yet.

He sat back down in the same spot he’d occupied earlier, his hands folded tightly together in his lap. The people around him were talking in hushed whispers, and the sound of their murmurs felt distant, like it belonged to a different world. His mind kept drifting back to Nam-Gyu, out there in the cold, probably already on his second cigarette, giving himself space to breathe, to be.

Thanos shifted uncomfortably, trying to focus on the service, trying to focus on anything other than the worry that seemed to gnaw at his insides. Nam-Gyu needed him, he knew that. But more than that, Thanos needed to be able to give him the space he deserved—to give him a chance to process, to grieve in his own way, without feeling like he had to carry Thanos’s burdens as well.

His thoughts were interrupted as Nam-Gyu walked back through the door, his face a little more guarded now, but the weight of what had passed between them still lingered in the air. Thanos could tell that Nam-Gyu had taken that moment for himself, and though he hated that they were both hurting in their own ways, he felt a small sense of relief that his boyfriend had taken the time to breathe.

Nam-Gyu sat down beside him, his presence calming, as if he was the anchor Thanos had been desperately clinging to since the moment they met. Thanos’s eyes flickered to him, and he offered a small, shaky smile. Nam-Gyu didn’t say anything right away, just sat there quietly, the silence between them speaking volumes. Sometimes, no words were needed to convey everything.

As the minutes passed, Thanos felt his heartbeat slowly return to some semblance of normal, though the heaviness in his chest didn’t quite leave. He wasn’t sure what would happen when they left here today. But for now, for this moment, he had Nam-Gyu by his side. And that was enough to make him believe that maybe, just maybe, they could make it through this together.

---

The after-service party was tolerable at best. It was a blur of polite smiles, empty chatter, and faces he barely recognized, some of them looking like they were trying too hard to act like they cared. Thanos stayed near the edges, nursing a plastic cup of something bland, his eyes flickering around the room, hoping for a distraction. The whole thing felt like a performance—a performance he had no interest in starring in.

He couldn't shake the heaviness in his chest, though. The church had been hard enough, and now, with the crowd of people and the muffled conversations around him, it felt like he was just floating through, detached from it all. No one came up to him except for random faces he didn’t quite remember, offering vague condolences that felt like they were being read from a script. They didn’t understand, and Thanos didn’t know how to make them.

The thought crossed his mind again, more insistently this time: fuck, I wish I could just drink.

The craving hit him like a wave, sudden and sharp. He wanted that release, that sweet numbness, the feeling of not having to think about all of this. He wanted to drown out the noise in his head, the weight of everything that had happened. But no, he couldn’t do that—not now. Not after everything he’d been through.

Instead, he let out a slow, frustrated breath, letting his fingers run over the smooth edge of his cup. He could taste the bitterness of it, the absence of the alcohol that he used to rely on to handle days like this. The hunger for it gnawed at him, but the part of him that wanted to stay sober—wanted to stay for Nam-Gyu—held firm.

Then he remembered the conversation with Nam-Gyu earlier, the vulnerability, the honesty. The words Nam-Gyu had spoken to him, the way he’d promised he wouldn’t give up on him no matter how hard it got, echoed in his mind. That talk, as raw as it had been, had made something in him feel lighter. It was like a crack in the wall he’d built around himself—a reminder that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to do this alone.

Thanos let out another deep breath, this one a little steadier. The craving for alcohol was still there, like a shadow, but it didn’t feel as suffocating anymore. He could make it through this. He’d promised Nam-Gyu that he would, and even if he didn’t believe it completely, he at least believed in Nam-Gyu’s love for him.

That was enough to hold on to, for now.

Thanos brought the plastic cup back up to his lips, taking another slow sip of whatever bland, non-alcoholic drink they'd managed to scrounge up for the after-service gathering. The lukewarm liquid tasted like cardboard on his tongue, but it gave him something to do with his hands—something to keep him from reaching for anything stronger.

He barely noticed Kyung-Hu approaching until her voice broke through the low murmur of conversation around them.

"There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere."

Her tone was soft, but there was a gentle urgency beneath it—the kind only a sister could have. Thanos glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, not quite ready to meet her gaze. He knew if he did, she'd see right through him.

"I know the sermon was rough, but..." She trailed off, her eyes flicking around the room, scanning the faces. "Where's Nam-Gyu?"

Thanos's fingers tightened around the cup, the plastic crinkling slightly under his grip. He glanced toward the door out to the courtyard where he'd left Nam-Gyu with a cigarette and the promise of a few more stolen minutes to breathe.

"He's outside," Thanos mumbled, clearing his throat. "Needed a break... I don't blame him."

Kyung-Hu's eyes softened, her sharp features relaxing just a little. She took a step closer, lowering her voice so only he could hear.

"He's good for you, you know? You seem... steadier with him around."

Thanos let out a short, bitter laugh, finally daring to meet her gaze. "Yeah? Feels like I'm just dragging him down half the time."

Kyung-Hu's brow furrowed, and for a second, she looked like she wanted to scold him—like she used to when they were younger, back when he'd come home with scraped knees or bruised knuckles from picking fights he had no business being in. But then her expression softened again, her hand coming up to rest lightly on his arm.

"You don't give yourself enough credit, Su-Bong." Her voice was quieter now, but steady. "I see how he looks at you. He wouldn't be here if he didn't want to be."

Thanos's throat tightened, something fragile stirring deep in his chest. He glanced back toward the door again, half-expecting Nam-Gyu to walk through it any second, those warm brown eyes searching for him the way they always did—like he was something worth finding.

He swallowed hard, forcing down the knot in his throat.

"I don't know what he sees in me," he admitted, the words barely above a whisper.

Kyung-Hu squeezed his arm gently. "Maybe you should let him tell you."

She gave him one last lingering look before stepping away, blending back into the crowd.

Thanos stood there for a long moment, staring down into his half-empty cup. The craving was still there—gnawing, persistent—but Nam-Gyu's voice echoed louder in his mind now.

I'll always be here for you.

He closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath.

Maybe, just maybe, he'd let himself believe it.

"Hey, stranger!"

Ha-Yoon's bright voice cut through the low hum of conversation, seconds before a hand clapped firmly against Thanos's back.

"Shit!" He flinched, nearly spilling what little was left in his cup. "You scared the fuck out of me—"

The words were out before he could stop them, and as soon as they left his mouth, his brain caught up. His eyes widened slightly, glancing around like God Himself might come smite him down right then and there.

If hell was real, dropping both shit and fuck inside a church—on the day of his own father's funeral, no less—was definitely securing him a front-row seat.

Ha-Yoon just snorted, completely unfazed. "Pretty sure you've already got one foot through the pearly gates, don't worry."

Thanos couldn't help the small, breathy chuckle that escaped him, some of the tension loosening in his chest. Leave it to Ha-Yoon to act like they'd just run into each other at some shitty bar instead of standing in the middle of a funeral reception.

She looked the same as ever—sharp bob framing her face, makeup flawless, dressed in a sleek black dress that was definitely toeing the line of what's appropriate for church.

"You clean up nice," Thanos muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess you haven't changed much."

Ha-Yoon grinned, leaning in a little closer. "Neither have you. Still smoking like a chimney outside and looking like you'd rather be anywhere but here."

Her teasing smile faltered just a little at the edges, eyes flicking over him more carefully now—taking in the faint redness around his eyes, the way he kept rolling his shoulders like he couldn't quite get comfortable in his own skin.

Thanos dropped his gaze, suddenly feeling too exposed.

"I'm fine."

It was automatic. He didn't even believe it himself.

Ha-Yoon huffed, crossing her arms. "Didn't ask."

He cracked a small, tired smile at that.

Same old Ha-Yoon—always seeing through his bullshit.

Her gaze softened. "I'm sorry, Su-Bong... for your dad."

Thanos's throat tightened, the weight pressing down on him again.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Me too."

They stood in silence for a moment, the noise of the room fading into the background. Then Ha-Yoon's voice dropped lower, quieter.

"How long you been clean?"

Thanos's head snapped up, startled. His heart thudded painfully in his chest.

He hadn't told her. Hell, he hadn't told most people. But Ha-Yoon had always had this annoying, terrifying way of knowing exactly what was going on beneath the surface—like she could see straight through him no matter how hard he tried to hide.

"...About a month and a few weeks," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Her eyes softened even more, something warm flickering in them.

"I'm proud of you."

Thanos's stomach twisted painfully at those three simple words.

He didn't feel like he deserved them. Not yet.

But fuck... it still felt good to hear.

Thanos shifted on his feet, the corners of his mouth tugging into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"Well, as much as I'd love to stand around reminiscing about my drug days in the middle of my dad's funeral reception... I should probably find my mom before she thinks I've snuck out to get high in the parking lot."

Ha-Yoon's lips twitched, like she was holding back a laugh. "Can't blame her for thinking that—wouldn't be the first time, huh?"

Thanos huffed out a low, breathy chuckle, shaking his head.

"Yeah, well... I'm trying not to be that guy anymore."

The weight of those words lingered between them, heavier than he'd meant them to be. He hadn't even realized how much he meant it until it came out.

Ha-Yoon's smirk faded, her eyes softening again. "You're not, Su-Bong. You're still you. Just... a little less of an asshole these days."

Thanos snorted, but the lump in his throat made it harder to laugh. He glanced down into his empty cup, thumb tracing the rim absentmindedly.

"Still feels like I'm figuring out who the hell that is."

Ha-Yoon reached out, squeezing his arm gently. "You'll get there."

He nodded slowly, swallowing hard.

For once, he actually believed her.

After a beat, he cleared his throat, trying to shake off the sudden wave of emotion clawing at his chest.

"Anyway... I really should find my mom before she sends out a search party."

Ha-Yoon finally let herself smile, stepping back. "Go on, then. I'll be here... judging everyone's outfits and sneaking wine from the catering table."

Thanos smirked faintly, already turning to leave.

Thanos weaved through the small clusters of mourners scattered around the church hall, the low murmur of conversations blending into a dull hum in his ears. Every now and then, someone would glance his way — old family friends or distant relatives who barely remembered his name — but no one stopped him.

Good.

He wasn’t in the mood to play the grieving son — not when he still wasn’t sure if he was even grieving at all.

His eyes scanned the room, searching for the familiar curve of his mom’s hunched shoulders or the neat bun pinned at the nape of her neck. Instead, his gaze caught on Nam-Gyu standing by the windows, cigarette long since finished, hands tucked into the sleeves of Thanos’s hoodie like they always were when he was nervous.

Thanos's chest squeezed.

He hadn't even realized how badly he wanted to go to him — to bury his face in the crook of Nam-Gyu’s neck and let him soak up all the static buzzing under his skin.

But Nam-Gyu had been right earlier — they couldn't cling to each other every second of the day. He couldn't keep hiding behind him like some fucked-up human shield.

He had to do this.

So, with a deep breath, he dragged his gaze away and kept walking.

He finally found his mom near the refreshment table, clutching a glass of barley tea with both hands. She looked so small, so tired — like she’d aged ten years in the span of a week.

Thanos’s heart twisted painfully.

"Mom."

Her head jerked up at the sound of his voice, eyes widening slightly before softening. For a second, she just looked at him — like she was trying to memorize him, like maybe she hadn't really expected him to show up at all.

Then, without a word, she reached out — her small, calloused hand wrapping around his wrist.

"I'm so glad you're here," she said quietly, her thumb brushing lightly against his sleeve.

Thanos's throat closed up.

He hadn't expected that — not really.

"Yeah... me too," he mumbled, eyes darting away.

They stood there in thick silence, her hand still holding onto him like she was afraid he'd slip away.

"You look nice," she said after a moment, her voice careful — like she didn't want to push too hard. "Healthier."

Thanos's fingers curled tighter around the empty cup in his hand.

"I quit," he said, barely above a whisper. "Drugs... drinking. Been clean for a few weeks now."

His mom's eyes filled — not with judgment or suspicion like he'd feared, but with something softer.

Pride.

"You’ve always been stronger than you think, Su-Bong."

Thanos's breath caught in his chest, his heart thudding painfully against his ribs.

No one had ever told him that before — not his dad, not his sister, not anyone.

He didn't know what to do with it.

He looked down at her hand still wrapped around his wrist, the warmth of it grounding him in a way he hadn't realized he needed.

"I'm trying," he said quietly, like maybe if he said it out loud enough times, it would start to feel true.

His mom's grip tightened — just a little.

"I know," she whispered. "I'm proud of you."

Thanos squeezed his eyes shut, his chest threatening to cave in.

Fuck.

He wanted to tell her how much that meant — how badly he'd wanted to hear those words for years.

But all that came out was a shaky breath.

His mom let go of his wrist only to reach up, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face like he was still a kid.

"You look so much like your father when you were little," she murmured, more to herself than him. "But you've always had my heart... even when I didn't know how to show it."

Thanos's eyes snapped open, his breath catching.

He hadn't realized how much he'd needed to hear that either.

He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly against the sudden burn behind his eyes.

"Thanks... Mom."

Her lips trembled, but she managed a small smile.

"You'll always be my baby, Su-Bong."

Thanos’s chest squeezed painfully, his throat closing up around all the things he wanted to say but couldn't.

Instead, he just nodded — small, shaky — and let her pull him into a brief, tight hug.

It wasn’t perfect.

It didn't erase everything.

But for the first time in years, it felt nice.

---

"Ugggggh," Thanos face-planted onto his childhood bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. His voice was muffled against the worn-out sheets that still smelled faintly like old laundry detergent and the ghost of cigarettes he used to sneak when he was seventeen.

Behind him, Nam-Gyu's soft laugh filled the room — a sound so warm it made the knot in Thanos's chest ease just a little.

"Tired?" Nam-Gyu teased, leaning against the doorframe with his hands tucked into the sleeves of Thanos’s hoodie — the same one he'd been practically living in all week.

"So tired," Thanos groaned dramatically, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. The paint was still cracked in the corners, spiderwebbing out from water stains that had been there since before he'd moved out. "And Kyung-Hu's boyfriend is here now, so we still have to have dinner."

Nam-Gyu's smile softened as he pushed off the wall, crossing the small room to sit on the edge of the bed.

"You like Kyung-Hu's boyfriend, though."

"Yeah, yeah... whatever." Thanos waved a hand lazily, then let it flop down onto his chest. "Doesn't mean I wanna play happy family over grilled meat like we didn't bury my fucking dad today."

The words hung heavy between them, thicker than the late afternoon heat creeping through the cracked window.

Thanos sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

He was trying — trying to be... well, happier, or whatever the fuck that meant. Trying not to sink back into the same pit he'd been crawling out of for weeks.

It was weird, though — how his heart could feel like it was still dragging through the mud while the rest of the world just... kept going.

Less than an hour ago, he was standing at his dad’s grave, feeling numb and small and fucked up.

Now he was lying on this bed like nothing had changed — like he hadn't just laid a whole goddamn lifetime to rest.

Nam-Gyu shifted closer, his weight dipping the mattress. When Thanos glanced over, he found him sitting cross-legged, picking at a loose thread on the comforter.

"You don’t have to be happy, you know," Nam-Gyu said quietly, his voice careful in that way he always got when he was trying not to push too hard. "Not today."

Thanos’s throat bobbed.

"I know... I just—" He trailed off, fingers tapping anxiously against his stomach. "I don't wanna be the sad fucker all the time, you know? Like—what if this is all I ever am? What if I never figure out how to feel... normal again?"

Nam-Gyu's fingers stilled on the blanket.

For a long moment, he didn't say anything.

Then, slowly, he reached out — gentle and hesitant — until his hand covered Thanos's where it rested on his stomach.

"You don't have to be normal," Nam-Gyu murmured, brushing his thumb across Thanos's knuckles. "You just have to be here."

Thanos's breath caught.

God, he wanted to believe that.

He wanted to believe that just surviving was enough — that staying clean and showing up and not completely falling apart was something to be proud of.

But it was hard when every inch of him still felt so fucking broken.

Nam-Gyu squeezed his hand tighter — like he could feel the spiral starting to pull him under.

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, leaning in until their foreheads were nearly touching. "Okay? Even if you're sad forever... I'll still be here."

Thanos's eyes burned.

He blinked hard, turning his head away like that would somehow keep Nam-Gyu from seeing how fucking close he was to crying.

Again.

"You're too good for me, you know that?"

Nam-Gyu's lips curved into the softest, saddest little smile.

"Yeah," he teased lightly, trying to break the tension. "But I'm already in too deep."

Thanos huffed out a wet, shaky laugh.

God, he really loved him.

It was terrifying.

"Okay," he rasped, squeezing Nam-Gyu's hand back. "Okay... I'll try."

Nam-Gyu's smile softened, his fingers tracing gentle circles over Thanos's knuckles.

"That's all I want."

Thanos let out a shaky laugh, the sound barely holding itself together as he sat up. His heart felt raw — stretched too thin between grief and whatever fragile warmth Nam-Gyu kept pressing into the cracks.

He blinked at Nam-Gyu through red-rimmed eyes, his breath catching somewhere between his ribs.

"Kiss me."

It came out quieter than he'd meant — like a secret he wasn't sure he was allowed to ask for.

Nam-Gyu's dark eyes flicked to his, widening just a little in surprise. For a second, he didn't move — like he was giving Thanos the chance to take it back if he wanted to.

But Thanos didn't want to.

He needed this — something solid, something good. Something to remind him he was still here, still breathing, still wanted — even with all the fucked-up, broken pieces spilling out of him.

Nam-Gyu's fingers were gentle as they slid along Thanos's jaw, tilting his face just enough to bring their mouths together. The kiss was soft — barely more than a brush of lips — but it was enough to make Thanos's whole chest ache.

He exhaled shakily against Nam-Gyu's mouth, chasing the warmth before it could slip away.

Nam-Gyu kissed him again — slower this time, like he was trying to tell him something without saying a word.

I'm here.

I'm not leaving.

You're not alone.

Thanos's hands found their way to Nam-Gyu's waist, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his hoodie like he was afraid to let go.

When they finally broke apart, Nam-Gyu rested his forehead against Thanos's, their breath mingling in the quiet.

"You don't have to ask for that," Nam-Gyu whispered, his thumb brushing over Thanos's cheekbone. "I'll always kiss you... whenever you need it."

Thanos's throat tightened, a fresh wave of emotion threatening to drown him.

"I need you," he admitted hoarsely, squeezing his eyes shut like it was too much to look at him. "Fuck... I need you so bad, Nam-Gyu."

Nam-Gyu's breath caught.

His hand slid into Thanos's hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, leaning in to press another soft kiss to the corner of Thanos's mouth. "Not ever."

Thanos's eyes stayed shut, letting the words sink in — letting himself believe them.

He didn't know how to deserve this — how to deserve him.

But for now... he'd let himself hold on.

Thanos barely had time to register the soft pressure of Nam-Gyu's hands before he was being gently pushed back onto the mattress. His breath caught, heart stumbling as his back met the worn sheets of his childhood bed.

Nam-Gyu climbed on top of him, one knee slotting between Thanos's legs as he leaned down — his dark hair falling forward like a curtain around their faces.

For a second, he just hovered there — eyes searching Thanos's face like he was memorizing every line, every freckle, every tired crease beneath his eyes.

Then, slowly, he leaned in — pressing a soft kiss to Thanos's temple.

Another to his cheekbone.

Then one at the corner of his mouth.

Thanos's chest rose shakily beneath him, hands gripping the hem of Nam-Gyu's hoodie like a lifeline.

"You don't have to..." he mumbled, but the words died in his throat the second Nam-Gyu's lips brushed his jaw.

"I know," Nam-Gyu whispered against his skin, his breath warm and steady. "I want to."

He kissed along the sharp line of Thanos's jaw, soft and slow — like he was trying to press all the words he couldn't say directly into his skin.

I'm here.

I'm not afraid of your mess.

You're allowed to be loved.

Thanos's eyes fluttered shut, his breath catching with every gentle press of Nam-Gyu's mouth.

It was too much — too good.

Too fucking much for someone like him.

His throat closed up, fingers curling tighter into the fabric between them.

"Nam-Gyu..." His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "I don't... I don't know how to do this."

Nam-Gyu paused, lifting his head just enough to meet Thanos's glassy eyes.

"You don't have to know how," he murmured, brushing his nose against Thanos's. "You just have to let me love you... okay?"

Thanos's heart squeezed so painfully in his chest, he thought it might shatter right there between them.

He'd been chasing something like this his whole life — someone who wanted him, who saw all the worst parts of him and still chose to stay.

He didn't deserve it.

Not even close.

But fuck... he wanted it.

He wanted him.

Thanos swallowed hard, eyes flicking between Nam-Gyu's — like he was trying to find the catch, the hidden condition that would make this all fall apart.

But there was nothing there.

Just patience.

Just kindness.

Just love.

"O-Okay," Thanos whispered, his voice barely holding together. "Okay... I'll try."

Nam-Gyu's face softened, eyes shining like he already knew how hard that was for Thanos to admit.

"That's all I ever want," he murmured, pressing another soft kiss to Thanos's lips. "Just... try."

Thanos's hands finally let go of Nam-Gyu's hoodie — sliding up beneath the fabric to press flat against the warm skin of his back, holding him closer.

For once, he let himself believe it — even if it was just for a little while.

Even if he didn't know how.

But it also made him realize why everything inside him had felt so off — like he was walking around wrapped in cotton, numb to everything but the ache lodged deep in his chest.

He'd felt like this before — not often, but enough times in his life to recognize the pattern if he really stopped to think about it. The hollow feeling. The way everything felt too heavy and too far away at the same time. How even the happiest moments, like Nam-Gyu kissing him so sweetly just minutes ago, barely seemed to reach him before slipping through his fingers.

Most of the time, he'd just waited for it to pass — throwing himself into music, drinking, or whatever distraction he could find until the fog eventually lifted on its own.

But this time... it didn't feel like it was going away.

And fuck, he was so tired of pretending he was fine when he wasn't.

Thanos stared up at the ceiling, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

His voice felt small and fragile when he finally broke the silence.

"... I think I might be depressed."

The words sat heavy between them — foreign on his tongue, even if he'd heard the diagnosis before. It sounded weird coming out of his own mouth. Like maybe if he didn't say it, it wouldn't be real.

Nam-Gyu's breath caught, his hands stilling where they'd been trailing soothing circles along Thanos's ribs.

"You've felt like this before?" he asked softly, like he already knew the answer but wanted Thanos to say it anyway.

Thanos squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing hard. "A few times... when I was younger. My parents sent me to all these specialists — therapists, psychiatrists — whatever they thought would fix me." His voice wobbled, the memories pressing in around him like a weight. "They always said the same thing. Depression. But I never really... believed them."

Nam-Gyu's fingers tightened slightly against his side, grounding him.

"Why not?"

Thanos blinked up at the ceiling, his throat thick.

"Because I always thought... I dunno. That I was just being dramatic. That if I could just get my shit together, I wouldn't feel like this." His voice cracked on the last word, shame curling hot in his chest. "And I guess part of me always figured I deserved to feel this way."

Nam-Gyu sucked in a sharp breath like the words physically hurt him.

"Su-Bong... no." His voice was so gentle, but there was steel underneath it — like he wouldn't let Thanos get away with that kind of self-hatred. "You don't deserve this. Nobody does."

Thanos bit down on his trembling bottom lip, blinking hard to keep the tears from spilling over.

"I don't know how to fix it," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if I never get better?"

Nam-Gyu leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against his forehead.

"You don't have to fix it by yourself," he murmured. "We'll figure it out... together."

He kissed him again, slower this time — pressing the promise into Thanos's skin.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Thanos didn't know what to say — didn't know how to wrap everything twisting inside him into neat little sentences that wouldn't make him sound pathetic.

But he did know what he wanted.

"I want..." His voice wavered, his fingers curling weakly in the fabric of Nam-Gyu's shirt. "...I want to be there for you too."

Nam-Gyu's eyes softened instantly, his thumb brushing slow, careful strokes along Thanos's jawline.

"You are there for me."

Thanos shook his head, frustration bubbling up behind the lump in his throat.

"No, I'm not — not like I should be." His voice cracked, raw and thin. "You've been dealing with your own shit all week — your brother, your family — and I've just been... falling apart. Making everything about me. And it's so fucking stupid because I felt... pretty much fine the last couple days, and then today just—" He broke off, squeezing his eyes shut. "—it feels like I got hit by a truck."

Nam-Gyu's hand moved from his face to his hair, fingers slipping through the strands with slow, soothing care.

"That's how it works sometimes," he murmured. "You don't have to explain why you're feeling bad... or apologize for it."

Thanos's chest squeezed painfully tight.

He hated this — hated how easily Nam-Gyu could look at him like he was worth something when all he could see was everything broken and ugly inside himself.

"I just... I don't want you to think I'm weak," he whispered, barely audible.

Nam-Gyu froze for half a second — like the words physically hurt him — before leaning down and pressing his forehead against Thanos's.

"You think you're weak?" he whispered back, his breath warm against Thanos's lips. "Su-Bong... I've seen you walk into those NA meetings every fucking week, even when you wanted to crawl out of your own skin. I've seen you fight to stay sober when your whole body was screaming for a drink or pills. I've seen you smile at me when I know you're barely holding yourself together."

He pulled back just enough to meet Thanos's glassy eyes, his own gaze fierce and unwavering.

"You're the strongest person I've ever met."

Thanos's throat clenched so hard it physically hurt.

He didn't know what the hell he'd done to deserve Nam-Gyu — didn't know how the fuck someone like him could still be here, still choosing him over and over again, even when Thanos kept giving him reasons to walk away.

A shaky breath escaped him, his fingers sliding up into Nam-Gyu's hair.

"You're gonna make me cry again," he muttered, trying for a weak little smile.

Nam-Gyu's lips quirked, soft and fond.

"Good," he whispered, brushing the tip of his nose against Thanos's. "You need to cry, baby."

The pet name slipped out so naturally that neither of them seemed to realize it at first — but the second it registered, Thanos's breath caught sharply.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a few stray tears slipping down his temples.

"Fuck... you're gonna ruin me."

Nam-Gyu smiled against his lips, pressing the softest little kiss there.

"I think you're already ruined."

"Ugh, you suck," Thanos grumbled, his voice thick with tears even as a shaky laugh bubbled out of him. "I hate cryinggg."

Nam-Gyu chuckled softly, leaning down to press another featherlight kiss to his damp cheek.

"I know, baby... but you always look so cute when you cry."

Thanos groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over his face to hide the flush creeping up his neck.

"You're such an asshole."

Nam-Gyu just grinned, fingers still carding gently through Thanos's messy hair. The warmth of his body pressed against Thanos's was grounding, like he was holding him together without even trying.

They stayed like that for a long moment — tangled up on the bed in the dimming afternoon light — until reality started creeping back in.

Thanos sighed, letting his arm fall away from his face.

"And we have to go downstairs in like... twenty minutes for dinner." He glanced at the clock on the wall, his stomach sinking a little. "Fuck, I don't wanna face everyone right now. They're all probably whispering about how I'm still a mess even after the funeral."

Nam-Gyu's brow furrowed, his fingers pausing in Thanos's hair.

"Su-Bong... no one is thinking that."

Thanos scoffed quietly, eyes flicking away.

"You don't know them like I do."

Nam-Gyu shifted, leaning down until their noses were almost touching again.

"No," he said softly, "but I know you. And I know you're doing the best you can — even if you can't see it right now."

Thanos's throat tightened painfully, his fingers curling weakly in the back of Nam-Gyu's shirt.

"...What if my best isn't enough?"

Nam-Gyu's eyes softened, and he kissed him — slow and lingering — like he was trying to press every unspoken answer into Thanos's trembling mouth.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against Thanos's again.

"Then I'll still be here."

It was so simple — so fucking sure — that it made Thanos's chest ache.

He let out a shaky breath, trying to blink back the fresh burn of tears.

"...You really love me that much?"

Nam-Gyu smiled, brushing his thumb over Thanos's damp cheek.

"Yeah, idiot. I really do."

Thanos's heart clenched so tight he thought it might break apart entirely.

He tugged Nam-Gyu down into another kiss — desperate and a little messy — like he was trying to memorize the feeling of being loved this much, just in case it ever went away.

After a long moment, they both pulled back, breathing unevenly against each other's lips.

"...Okay," Thanos whispered, his fingers still tangled in Nam-Gyu's shirt. "Let's go to dinner."

Nam-Gyu's smile was small and warm as he brushed a few stray curls out of Thanos's face.

"Okay."

He didn't say anything about how red Thanos's eyes still were, or how he'd probably cry again the second someone hugged him — just leaned in and pressed one last soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before climbing off him.

They both sat there for a second, legs tangled on the bed, neither of them quite ready to move yet.

But Thanos felt... lighter.

Not fixed — not even close.

But maybe... a little less empty...

---

The dining room was filled with the warm clatter of plates and the low murmur of conversation. Thanos sat at one end of the table, Nam-Gyu beside him, while Kyung-Hu and her boyfriend occupied the other side with their sons, Jae-Yul and Ji-Yun. Their mom floated between the kitchen and the table, making sure everyone had enough food.

Ji-Yun was busy explaining something about his latest drawing to Nam-Gyu, his little hands moving animatedly in the air. Jae-Yul, meanwhile, clung to his dad’s side, more interested in his bowl of rice than the conversation.

"You really have an artist on your hands," Nam-Gyu smiled at Ji-Yun, leaning in to listen.

"He's always drawing," Kyung-Hu beamed, brushing her son's hair back. "He wants to be a comic book artist, isn't that right, baby?"

Ji-Yun nodded enthusiastically, his cheeks puffing with pride.

"That's awesome," Thanos said, his voice soft. He still felt heavy, but the sight of his nephew's excitement chipped away at the weight on his chest. "You gotta show me your drawings later."

Ji-Yun's eyes went wide, like he'd just been offered a job on the spot.

"Really?"

"Really."

Their mom placed another plate of japchae on the table, her eyes flicking to Thanos. "Eat more, Su-Bong. You're too thin."

It was such a familiar thing to hear that for a second, he almost forgot how weird the past week had been.

Nam-Gyu's hand brushed against his under the table, and Thanos squeezed it without looking. The food tasted better than he expected, and the voices around him, the warmth of family—even if everything still hurt—it made him feel a little less lost.

It had been a long, shitty day—one of the longest he'd had in years. But sitting at the dinner table surrounded by family, with Nam-Gyu's hand resting in his under the table, Thanos felt... something close to okay.

The ache in his chest hadn't gone away completely, but it was quieter now, like a dull throb instead of something sharp and jagged. Maybe it was the food, or Nam-Gyu's steady presence, or the sound of Ji-Yun rambling on about superheroes, but for the first time all week, Thanos let himself believe that things might actually get better.

Tomorrow morning, they'd pack their bags and head to the station. He and Nam-Gyu would ride the train back home, probably half-asleep the whole way. Then they'd swing by Min-Su's place to pick up Doom—God, he missed that little menace more than he'd ever admit out loud.

And after that?

They'd crash at Thanos's apartment, probably order something greasy for dinner and lay around watching movies until they both passed out. Nam-Gyu would try to pretend he wasn't exhausted, but Thanos would make him go to bed early.

It sounded... nice. Simple. Safe.

Thanos didn't know if the emptiness would stick around or if tomorrow he'd wake up feeling like himself again—but at least he wouldn't be alone.

He squeezed Nam-Gyu's hand a little tighter.

Yeah... they'd be okay.

---

Laying in the same bed as this morning felt like it had been years ago—like they'd somehow lived a whole lifetime in a single day. But here they were, tucked under the same worn blankets, the room dim and quiet except for the occasional creak of the old house settling around them.

Thanos's head rested on Nam-Gyu's chest, rising and falling with every steady breath. Nam-Gyu's fingers threaded slowly through his hair, tracing lazy patterns against his scalp. It was grounding—comforting in a way Thanos hadn't realized he needed until now.

He let out a long, shaky sigh, eyes half-lidded as the exhaustion finally started to pull at him.

"I don't know a lot about your family... but from what you've told me, I'm glad you're here now."

Nam-Gyu's hand paused for a second, then started moving again—gentler this time.

"I'm glad I'm here too." His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. "I wouldn't wanna be anywhere else."

Thanos's throat tightened, that lump he'd been swallowing down all day threatening to rise again. He shifted a little closer, curling into Nam-Gyu's warmth.

"You deserve better," he murmured, barely audible.

Nam-Gyu's fingers stilled completely.

"Hey." His voice was firm but still gentle. "Don't do that. I'm exactly where I wanna be."

Thanos squeezed his eyes shut, hating how quickly his chest felt like it was caving in again. He didn't know how to put it into words—that deep-rooted fear that one day Nam-Gyu would wake up and realize how much baggage he was carrying, how broken he really was underneath it all.

But Nam-Gyu just wrapped his arm tighter around him, holding him close like he could feel every thought running through Thanos's head.

"I'm here because I want to be, Su-Bong," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Not because I feel sorry for you. Not because I think you need saving. Just... because I love you."

Thanos's breath caught.

He wanted to believe him—fuck, he really did. But it was hard to shake years of feeling like he was too much or not enough all at once.

"...Okay," he whispered back, because it was all he could manage without his voice breaking completely.

Nam-Gyu didn't push him to say more. He just held him a little tighter, fingers returning to their slow, soothing rhythm in his hair.

Eventually, the weight of the day started to pull Thanos under, his body finally giving in to sleep. But even as his breathing evened out, Nam-Gyu's hand never stopped moving—like he was silently reminding him that he wasn't going anywhere.

Notes:

Sorry if the event's felt rushed, I really want to focus on how Thanos emotions shifted with his mental state, and how that changed mental state has affected how he thinks he impacts Nam-Gyu's life

Chapter 16: Back Home

It had been three days since Thanos's dad's funeral—three days since he'd cried into Nam-Gyu's arms out in the freezing church parking lot, spilling out everything he'd been trying to hold in for weeks. Three days since they'd packed up their bags and caught the first train back home, the weight of the trip still clinging to both of them like smoke.

Now, they were back in Thanos's apartment—the space that was starting to feel a little less like just his and a little more like theirs.

Nam-Gyu was pacing around the bedroom, rifling through the mess of clothes draped over chairs and half-folded piles on the floor. Thanos leaned against the edge of the bed, one knee pulled up, lazily watching him.

"What'cha looking for?" His voice was low, still a little scratchy from sleep.

Nam-Gyu glanced up briefly, hair falling into his face before he pushed it back and kept searching. "My red button-up—y'know, the silky one. It's stupid fucking inventory night at the club, so I have to be there early." He sighed, digging through another pile. "Because the bartenders get pissy if I forget to order something... again."

Thanos smirked faintly, hiding it behind his hand. He liked watching Nam-Gyu like this—hair messy, half-dressed in boxers and a white tank top, muttering under his breath as he tore the room apart.

"But I have no clue if it's here or my apartment..." Nam-Gyu trailed off, pausing mid-search. His eyes flicked back to Thanos, softening just a little. "Also... how are you feeling today, baby?"

Thanos blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

He still wasn't used to that—someone checking in on him like this. Like how he felt actually mattered.

"I'm... okay, I guess." He shrugged, trying to play it off. "Better than yesterday."

Nam-Gyu's brow furrowed, like he was weighing whether to push or let it slide. Eventually, he just nodded, turning back to the closet.

"I found a black one," Thanos offered after a beat, trying to fill the silence. "Black's hot too."

Nam-Gyu huffed out a tired laugh. "I know it is... but I always wear black."

Thanos leaned back on his elbows, watching him fondly. "You could wear a garbage bag and still look hot, babe."

Nam-Gyu shot him a quick smile over his shoulder, but there was something tired in his eyes—like he was stretched thin underneath it all.

It hit Thanos then how much Nam-Gyu had been holding him together the past few weeks—never asking for anything back, never making him feel like a burden even when Thanos was sure he was.

"...You don't have to check on me all the time, y'know," Thanos said quietly, breaking the silence. "I'm... I'm not gonna break."

Nam-Gyu stilled, his back still to him.

"I know you're not," he said softly. "But I'm still gonna check... because I love you."

Thanos's heart squeezed painfully in his chest.

He swallowed hard, glancing down at his hands like he didn't know what to do with them.

"I love you too." It came out a little rough, like it still didn't quite fit right in his mouth—but it was the truth.

Nam-Gyu's lips curved, even if he didn't turn around.

"Good."

Nam-Gyu's eyes flicked back to the mess of clothes scattered around the room, then out toward the window where the late morning light was filtering through the blinds. He let out a slow breath, rolling his neck like he was shaking off the weight of the night ahead.

"You know what?" He finally said, turning back toward Thanos with a small smirk. "I'm gonna take my time getting there... If they bitch at me, I'll just tell them where the fuck I was the last week."

Thanos's brows lifted in surprise, a quiet laugh slipping out of him. "Damn... someone's feeling bold today."

Nam-Gyu grinned, walking over to the bed and crawling onto it, straddling Thanos's thighs without warning. His hands rested on Thanos's chest, thumbs brushing along the thin fabric of his worn-out t-shirt.

"They should be grateful I'm even showing up," Nam-Gyu teased, leaning down a little closer. His voice softened, playful but still warm. "Besides... I'm pretty sure 'supporting my grieving boyfriend through his traumatic family reunion' counts as a valid excuse."

Thanos's breath caught in his throat at the word boyfriend. They had only... talked a little about labels-- Before the whole dead dad thing. But hearing Nam-Gyu say it so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world, made something warm curl low in Thanos's chest.

He glanced away, trying to cover how red his ears were getting. "Fuck, you're really milking this sympathy card, huh?"

Nam-Gyu's grin only widened, leaning down until their noses were brushing. "Damn right I am."

Thanos's heart was beating faster now, but he couldn't stop the small smile tugging at his lips. His hands found Nam-Gyu's waist, holding him there like he was afraid he'd disappear if he let go.

"You really think they'll buy that excuse?"

Nam-Gyu's eyes softened, his thumb brushing along Thanos's jaw. "I don't give a shit if they do or not."

Thanos's breath caught—because he believed him. Nam-Gyu would probably take all the heat in the world if it meant staying close to him a little longer.

For a second, neither of them said anything. They just stayed like that—pressed close, the steady rhythm of Nam-Gyu's breathing filling the space between them.

"...You're really good at this whole 'being there for someone' thing," Thanos mumbled, breaking the silence.

Nam-Gyu's smile faded into something softer, more serious.

"Well... you're kinda the first person who's ever let me."

Thanos's chest ached at that—because he got it. He really fucking got it.

Without thinking, he leaned up, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Nam-Gyu's mouth. It wasn't rushed or desperate—just gentle, like he was trying to say all the things he couldn't put into words yet.

When they finally pulled apart, Nam-Gyu's forehead rested against his.

"You don't have to thank me, Su-Bong," he whispered. "I want to be here."

Thanos's heart squeezed painfully at the sound of his real name coming from Nam-Gyu's lips—like it wasn't something ugly or shameful. Like it was just... him.

He closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the warmth of it.

For once, he didn't feel like he had to say anything back.

He just let himself be held.

After a few minutes little tiny footsteps were heard walking in to the room, and the loudest cutest meow filled the room.

After a few minutes of quiet, the soft pitter-patter of tiny footsteps echoed through the apartment, followed by the loudest, most dramatic little meow.

Both Thanos and Nam-Gyu turned their heads toward the door just in time to see Doom strutting in like she owned the place—her tiny white paws tapping against the hardwood floor. Her tail flicked high in the air, letting out another loud, demanding meow that echoed through the room.

Thanos couldn't help but smile, his chest squeezing at how fucking cute she was.

"Jesus... you're so fucking loud, baby girl," he mumbled, sitting up a little. Doom's green eyes locked onto him immediately, letting out another meow like she was scolding him for not getting up faster.

Nam-Gyu laughed softly, still straddling Thanos's lap but leaning back a little. His fingers brushed through Thanos's messy hair one last time before pulling away.

"Mhm... guess she missed being spoiled all week," Nam-Gyu teased, pressing a quick kiss to Thanos's forehead before sliding off him.

Thanos blinked up at him, already missing the warmth of him there.

"I'll feed her," Nam-Gyu said, stretching a little as he stood up. "You just... sit there and look pretty."

Thanos snorted, flopping back down onto the bed dramatically. "Yeah, because I'm so good at that."

Nam-Gyu grinned, already halfway to the kitchen with Doom trotting close behind him like a little shadow.

"You are, actually," he called over his shoulder.

Thanos's heart skipped a beat at how casual he said it—like it was just a fact. Like there was no doubt in his mind.

He laid there for a second, staring up at the ceiling with a small smile tugging at his lips.

Maybe today wasn't gonna be so bad after all.

---

Nam-Gyu had stayed a bit longer than he probably should've—long enough to make breakfast for both of them, even though he was the one who needed to leave soon.

Now he stood by the front door, half out already, one hand gripping the frame as if he was trying to convince himself to finally go.

"I love you, baby," he called out, his voice soft but firm. His eyes flicked back to Thanos, who was still sitting at the kitchen Island in his sweatpants, a half-empty cup of coffee cradled in his hands.

"If you need me—anything at all—call me, okay?" Nam-Gyu's brows pinched together, like the idea of leaving him alone even for a few hours didn't sit right.

Thanos's chest ached at how fucking sweet he was.

He managed a small smirk, trying to lighten the mood. "What if I just miss you?"

Nam-Gyu's face softened instantly, a little smile pulling at his lips. He took a step back inside, walking over to press one last lingering kiss to Thanos's temple.

"Then call me anyway, dumbass." His fingers brushed through Thanos's hair one more time before he finally pulled away.

Thanos watched him go, the door clicking shut behind him.

The apartment felt too quiet without him.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that settled deep in his chest and made his skin itch.

Thanos stared down into the dark swirl of coffee in his cup, watching the way it rippled when he shifted his fingers around the ceramic. His own reflection ghosted back at him—tired eyes, messy hair, the faint red stain on his cheek from where Nam-Gyu had kissed him goodbye.

He hated this part.

The coming down. The emptiness that followed after Nam-Gyu walked out the door and left him alone with his own head.

He tried to shake it off, taking another sip of coffee that had already gone lukewarm. His eyes flicked over to Doom, who was perched lazily on the windowsill, watching the world outside with half-lidded eyes.

At least she was here.

Still, the apartment felt hollow without Nam-Gyu's soft voice filling up the space. Without the way he always hummed under his breath when he thought no one was listening, or how he'd tap his fingers against the counter while waiting for the coffee to brew.

Thanos set the cup down with a soft clink, rubbing at his face with both hands.

It was gonna be a long fucking day.

Then a bad thought slipped in—like a shadow creeping through a crack in the wall.

It was so easy, how it always found him when he was alone.

Thanos's eyes drifted down to his wrist, where faint, not-so-old scars lined the pale skin. His heart squeezed tight in his chest, breath catching like something fragile about to break.

Fuck.

He hadn't thought about it in a while—not really. Not since he'd started trying, not since Nam-Gyu. But now... now it was back, clawing at the edges of his mind.

Everything felt numb, like someone had turned the volume down on the whole world.

He should get up—shake it off, call Mi-Na or text Nam-Gyu like a normal fucking person. Hell, even Doom would probably appreciate him not spiraling right now.

But he didn't.

Instead, he stood up—feet dragging across the floor—and made his way to the bathroom. The mirror flicked on under harsh white light, casting his reflection back at him.

God, he looked like shit.

Thanos leaned forward, palms pressed against the sink as he stared at himself. The shadows under his eyes were darker than he'd noticed before, his lips chapped from how often he'd been biting at them.

His fingers ghosted over his wrist.

He didn't want to feel like this.

He didn't want to go back.

But fuck if he knew how to stop.

Thanos crouched down slowly, knees creaking as he opened the cabinet beneath the sink. His heart was pounding in his ears, drowning out everything else. His fingers fumbled through old toiletries and half-empty bottles until he found what he was looking for—tucked way in the back, hidden behind a dusty box of band-aids.

A pack of razors.

He hadn't even realized he'd kept them—at least not consciously. He thought he'd thrown them out months ago, but some sick part of him must've tucked them away just in case.

Just in case.

Thanos turned the small plastic pack over in his fingers, the weight of it heavier than it should've been. His chest ached, shame curling hot and sharp under his ribs. It was fucked up—how even now, with everything he'd been trying to build, this was still his first instinct.

Nam-Gyu would be so fucking disappointed if he walked in and saw this.

Not angry—never angry. No, he'd just get that soft, sad look in his eyes, like Thanos was breaking his heart without even meaning to.

Fuck.

Thanos squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the razors tighter in his fist. He hated himself for even thinking about it. Hated how easy it was to fall back into this familiar, awful place.

He wasn't gonna do it.

He wasn't.

But he didn't put the razors down either.

His breath caught as he snapped the plastic case open with his thumb, the little blades glinting under the dim bathroom light.

It would've been so easy.

Too easy.

Thanos stared down at them, heart pounding in his ears. His fingers trembled as he traced one of the blades, the sharp edge catching against the pad of his thumb. The weight in his chest was crushing—like something heavy pressing down on him from the inside out.

Why the fuck was he like this?

He'd been doing better, hadn't he? He had Nam-Gyu now—someone who actually gave a shit, who looked at him like he was worth something. But that only made it worse.

Because what if he fucked it all up? What if Nam-Gyu finally realized he was wasting his time?

What if Thanos was always gonna be this broken?

He closed his eyes, clutching the blade between his fingers. His whole body was shaking. He didn't even really want to do it—not like before. It wasn't about wanting to feel pain or see blood.

It was just... habit.

A fucked up little itch in the back of his brain that wouldn't let go.

Tears burned behind his eyes, spilling down his cheeks before he could stop them. He hated this. Hated himself.

Nam-Gyu would hate this.

No—he wouldn't.

That was the worst part.

He'd just hold Thanos close, tell him it was okay, promise he wasn't going anywhere.

And Thanos didn't deserve that.

His grip on the razor tightened, nails digging into his palm so hard it hurt.

"...Fuck," he choked out, voice breaking.

He couldn't do this.

Not again.

With a shaking breath, Thanos snapped the case shut and threw it across the room, the plastic clattering against the tiles. He buried his face in his hands, sobbing so hard his whole body curled in on itself.

Thanos flinched at the sound of the plastic case hitting the tiles, but the moment it was gone, the panic crept in.

His breath came out in short, sharp gasps, chest tight, throat burning.

Fuck—why did he throw it?

Why did he always have to make everything so fucking hard for himself?

With shaking hands, he stumbled forward, fingers scrambling to pick the case back up. It felt heavier now—like it was mocking him.

He sat down on the cold tile floor, back pressed against the cabinet, knees pulled up to his chest.

No one was here.

No one would know.

His hands were shaking so bad it took him three tries to get the case open again. He picked out one blade between his fingers, turning it over and over in his palm.

It would be so easy.

Just a little bit.

Just enough to make the weight in his chest ease up.

He pushed his sleeve up, eyes locking on the faded scars lining his wrist. His heart hammered against his ribs, his breath ragged. It had been months since the last time. He'd sworn he'd never do it again.

But now—now everything was caving in, pressing down on him from the inside out.

He pressed the cold metal to his skin—just testing, just a little.

The sting was sharp—almost too sharp.

His chest heaved, something twisting deep inside him, but he pushed down harder until the first thin line of red bloomed beneath the blade.

The relief was instant.

Like a knot loosening just enough to let him breathe again.

He did it again.

And again.

Tears blurred his vision, dripping down onto his wrist.

He hated himself.

Hated that this still felt like the only thing that could make the noise in his head shut up.

Hated that if Nam-Gyu could see him right now, he would probably still look at him with that same soft, heartbroken face—like Thanos was someone worth saving.

But he wasn't.

Not really.

By the time he finally dropped the razor, his wrist was stinging, smeared with red in shaky little lines. Nothing deep—just enough to feel it.

Just enough to punish himself.

He let his head fall back against the cabinet, eyes squeezed shut.

Fuck.

He needed to clean up.

Nam-Gyu couldn't see this.

No one could.

Thanos wiped at his face with the sleeve of his shirt, wincing when the fabric brushed over the fresh cuts.

He'd be fine.

He just needed to get his shit together before Nam-Gyu came back.

It would be like it never happened.

It always was.

He didn't know how long he'd sat there, legs numb and stiff, with blood slowly dripping down his arm onto the cold bathroom tiles.

His mind had gone blank—just white noise buzzing in his skull, keeping him trapped in that awful stillness.

When he finally forced himself to move, it felt like breaking out of a trance.

His whole body ached as he stumbled back into the bedroom, wiping at his swollen eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. The sting of the fresh cuts made him wince, but it barely registered—just another dull throb buried under everything else.

He reached for his phone on the nightstand with shaky fingers, the screen lighting up.

4:43 PM.

His stomach dropped.

Three hours.

Three whole fucking hours since Nam-Gyu left.

It felt like minutes. It felt like years.

Thanos scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to blink away the heaviness weighing down his eyelids.

He should text Nam-Gyu—let him know he was okay.

Okay.

What a fucking joke.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his thumb hovering over Nam-Gyu's contact for a long moment before locking the screen again and setting the phone down.

No. He couldn't.

He couldn't lie to him—couldn't slap on that fake smile through text and pretend like nothing happened.

But he also couldn't let him know.

Nam-Gyu had been through enough.

He didn't need to deal with Thanos's fucked up head on top of everything else.

Thanos stared down at his arm—the thin red lines still fresh, still stinging.

He swallowed hard, pulling his sleeve down over them, pressing the fabric tight against his skin.

Out of sight, out of mind.

That's what he'd always told himself.

But this time, it didn't feel like it was going to be that easy.

He should do something. Anything. He couldn’t just lie here in this mess and wait for Nam-Gyu to come back and see that look in his eyes—the one that would tell him everything he didn't want to admit.

Thanos let out a long, shaky breath, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of his own thoughts pressing down. His body felt heavy, like it had turned into the bed beneath him, unable to move or escape the thoughts that swirled in his head.

Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, a soft weight settled on his stomach. A light, delicate pressure that broke his spiraling thoughts for a moment.

"Meowww."

Doom’s little face appeared, her green eyes wide and her paws pressing into his chest, her tiny body curling up against him. Thanos couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips as he gently reached out a hand, scratching the top of her soft head.

“Hey, girly,” he murmured, his voice rough, thick with emotion. “Man, even you look sad.”

She meowed again, almost like she understood him, before nestling into his side, purring softly. Her warmth felt comforting, in a way that nothing else could at that moment.

Thanos closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the steady rhythm of her purrs. It was funny how something so small could remind him of what it felt like to feel cared for. Even if it was just a cat, even if it was just a fleeting moment of calm, it felt... something like peace.

His hand continued to pet her, the motion automatic as he stared into space.

It wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. But it was something. And maybe—just maybe—he could build on that.

Nam-Gyu would be back soon. He would want to know what happened, and Thanos had no idea how he was going to explain this.

But right now, he had to keep breathing. Keep moving. Keep fighting.

For himself. For Nam-Gyu. For whatever they were building together.

“Maybe I’m not totally fucked, huh?” Thanos whispered to no one in particular, even as his fingers gently stroked Doom’s fur.

She looked up at him, as if to say, "Yeah, maybe not."

---

Nam-Gyu rested his arms on the cold metal railing, staring down at the empty expanse of the club below. The music hadn’t started yet, and the lights were dim, casting long shadows across the polished floors. It was one of those moments where the place felt more like a ghost town than the buzzing energy he usually thrived on.

He never really minded the job—most of the time, it was something that kept him occupied, gave him purpose. The rush of the night, the quick exchanges with regulars, the hum of the crowd—it was always chaotic, but in a way that made him feel alive. But this... this quiet before the storm? He hated it.

The silence felt oppressive, like the world was holding its breath. And tonight, he just didn’t have the energy for it. He could almost hear the ticking of the clock, the seconds dragging, too slow for his liking. It was only just after five, but it already felt like the longest hour of his life.

Nam-Gyu shifted, leaning back slightly against the railing, letting his head rest against the cool metal. The thoughts about Thanos crept in again, even though he’d been trying to focus on anything else. He was supposed to be checking inventory, making sure everything was ready for the night, but he couldn’t help but wonder how Thanos was doing.

He hated that he couldn’t be there right now. He hated how distant things felt, even when he was just a call away. He thought about the quiet moments at Thanos’s apartment, the times he felt like they were finally in sync—before the shit hit the fan.

But he couldn't afford to dwell on that now. Not when work was the only thing keeping him tethered.

He rubbed a hand across his face, feeling the exhaustion creeping in again, the kind that settled deep into his bones. Another hour to go, and then maybe it would pick up. Maybe.

"Nam-Gyu!" a young voice called out, breaking through the low hum of the club. Nam-Gyu glanced over his shoulder, catching the sight of a DJ, one he recognized but couldn’t quite remember the name of. The DJs came and went so fast, a revolving door of youthful faces that seemed to blend together after a while. When he first started, he'd made an effort to know everyone, to remember their names, to understand their stories. He used to wonder what brought these kids into the club scene, what drove them to hustle, to live for the beat and the flashing lights. But now? It was just another face, another fleeting interaction. Just another night.

"Yeah?" Nam-Gyu responded, leaning back against the bar and crossing his arms, his voice a mix of curiosity and indifference. He wasn’t really in the mood for small talk, but he could sense that this kid was eager, buzzing with some kind of excitement he couldn’t quite place.

The DJ approached with a wide grin on his face, his eyes lit up with a certain spark that Nam-Gyu had long since lost. It was that eager, wide-eyed enthusiasm that came from being fresh in the scene, from wanting to prove something. Nam-Gyu had been there once, too, but it was a long time ago.

"Yo, I heard from one of the bartenders that you're dating the rapper Thanos! Is that true?!" the DJ blurted out, his voice full of excitement and disbelief.

Nam-Gyu blinked, his posture tightening slightly as his mind flicked between confusion and annoyance. Why the hell is everyone so obsessed with this?

For a moment, he just stared at the guy, unsure how to respond. The question felt too casual, too... public. He never really liked talking about his personal life at work. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of Thanos—God, far from it—but the idea of people gossiping about their relationship, especially with the crowd that frequented the club, always felt wrong. There was a part of him that wanted to protect whatever piece of their world they’d managed to carve out together.

"Yeah, it's true," Nam-Gyu answered after a beat, his voice steady, though there was a hint of irritation bubbling beneath the surface. "But let's not make it a topic of conversation, alright? I’m just here to work."

The DJ blinked, a little taken aback by the sudden shift in tone, but he quickly recovered, flashing a sheepish grin. "Oh, yeah, of course! No worries, man. Just... just wanted to say, that's pretty wild! Didn’t think you'd be the type, you know?" The DJ chuckled awkwardly, clearly trying to backpedal now that he realized he might have crossed a line.

Nam-Gyu didn’t say anything in response, just gave a curt nod and returned his focus to the rest of the club. He couldn’t really explain why he didn’t like talking about it, but he didn’t. It wasn’t about Thanos or the relationship itself—it was about everything else that came with it, the expectations and assumptions, the way people started looking at him differently when they knew who he was with.

The DJ didn’t press further, thankfully, and after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, he turned back to his equipment, leaving Nam-Gyu alone with his thoughts.

Nam-Gyu leaned against the bar again, his mind wandering briefly to Thanos, to the days they’d spent together since the funeral. To the quiet moments, the comfort, the way Thanos always seemed to know what he needed even before he did. He let out a quiet sigh and pushed the thought aside, focusing back on the present. Not the time for that, he told himself. He had a job to do.

He took one last glance at the DJ before turning his attention to the club, the people, the music, and the thumping bass that drowned out everything else. It was just another night, just another crowd, and soon, the DJ would be forgotten, just like the rest. But that didn’t make the loneliness of it any less real.

Nam-Gyu walked down the stairs to the main floor of the club, the heavy bass of the music vibrating through his chest, but it did nothing to drown out the thoughts spinning in his head. Not his type? The hell is that supposed to mean? The words lingered in his mind, growing louder with each step he took. He could feel his jaw tightening as his frustration started to boil up.

He knew Thanos’s type. Hell, Thanos’s entire persona was built around it—the confident, enigmatic rapper with a style that was as sharp as his music. It was no secret. People in the industry talked about it all the time. He had seen it, been a part of it even. So why the hell did it sting so much hearing that from some random DJ?

It wasn’t that Nam-Gyu cared about the opinion of a kid he barely knew, but something about the way he’d said it—casually, like it was a fact—bothered him. It felt like he was being dismissed. As if, just because he wasn’t some flashy figure like Thanos’s past lovers or the people he normally surrounded himself with, he somehow didn’t fit into that picture. The thought made his chest tighten. I should have said something. I should’ve called him out on it.

But the anger was fleeting, replaced by the same quiet ache that always seemed to settle in his chest when it came to Thanos. He hated that his thoughts always came back to him, that he couldn’t escape the pull of his feelings. It was fucking exhausting, trying to reconcile everything—his role as a partner, his worries about being enough for someone like Thanos, his fears of messing it all up.

Nam-Gyu paused, standing in the middle of the darkened club floor, a sea of people moving around him. His phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts. His fingers automatically reached for it, unlocking the screen, and without thinking, he tapped out a quick message:

“Hey, just wanted to check in. I’m at work, but I’ve been thinking about you. Call me when you get a chance?”

The text felt strange coming from him, the words awkward, like he was trying too hard to convey something he couldn’t fully articulate. He hesitated before sending it, but then just as quickly, pressed ‘send,’ as if the act of putting the words out there might stop the tightness in his chest.

As soon as it was sent, Nam-Gyu felt a shift. He didn’t know if it would make him feel better or worse, but at least he wouldn’t be stuck with this gnawing feeling, wondering if he’d said too little or said too much. At least, now, he’d given himself a chance to stop driving himself crazy.

Nam-Gyu leaned against the bar, letting the chaotic noise of the club surround him as he waited for his phone to buzz again.

Before Nam-Gyu could let his mind spiral too much, a hand clapped down on his shoulder from behind, and a voice broke through the fog of his thoughts.

"Dudeee! Haven’t seen you in like a week! Where’ve you been?"

Nam-Gyu turned, momentarily startled, only to be met with Jax’s familiar grin. Jax was a bartender who’d started around the same time Nam-Gyu did, a guy he’d had some casual chats with over the months. Nam-Gyu had no clue what his real name was—everyone at the club seemed to go by their stage names or nicknames, and Jax was no different. He was known for his infectious energy, his ability to make everyone feel like they were part of some inside joke, even if they barely knew him.

"Yo, Jax," Nam-Gyu greeted, a little of the tension easing from his shoulders as he forced a smile. "You know, just... dealing with stuff. Work’s been crazy, personal stuff... you know how it is."

Jax raised an eyebrow, clearly seeing right through Nam-Gyu’s half-assed explanation. “Personal stuff? Come on, dude, you’re always the life of the party. What’s goin’ on?”

Nam-Gyu hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering to the bar, the crowd of people moving around them. He didn’t want to spill everything to Jax—he barely knew the guy—but there was something about his easy-going presence that made him feel like it wouldn’t hurt to be a little more honest.

"Just... life, you know?" Nam-Gyu shrugged, trying to downplay it, but Jax’s inquisitive eyes weren’t letting him off that easily.

“Life’s been hitting you hard?” Jax asked, his tone light but laced with curiosity, as if he genuinely wanted to know. “I can tell you’re not your usual self, man. You’ve got that... vibe. Something’s weighing you down. What’s up?”

Nam-Gyu took a deep breath, momentarily looking past Jax to the flashing lights and pulsating music in the club. He wasn’t sure why he was even considering it—Jax was just a guy he worked with, not someone he’d trust with something so personal. But he couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, talking would help.

“I don’t know, man,” he began slowly. “I’m just... trying to figure some things out. Relationships, work, my own head. It’s all just a bit much right now.”

Jax nodded thoughtfully, leaning against the bar casually. “Yeah, I get that. Relationships can mess with your head, especially when you’ve got someone who matters, you know? But if you’re doing the right thing, it’s worth it. Even when it feels like it’s all over the place.”

Nam-Gyu wasn’t sure if Jax was talking about his relationship with Thanos or just relationships in general, but the words felt like they hit something deep in him. He nodded slowly, grateful for the moment of clarity.

“You know, you’re right,” Nam-Gyu said, letting out a small laugh. “It’s just... hard to figure it all out sometimes.”

Jax grinned again, a wide, reassuring smile. “Hey, if it helps, I’ve got a little bit of wisdom under my belt, even if I don’t have a whole lot of life experience. But if you ever need to talk or want to get out of your own head for a bit, I’m around. Just hit me up.”

Nam-Gyu appreciated the offer more than he let on. As much as he tried to keep it together, sometimes just knowing someone else was willing to listen—even if they didn’t know all the details—was enough to make him feel less alone.

“Thanks, Jax. I appreciate that.” Nam-Gyu clapped the guy on the back, finally feeling like he could breathe a little easier.

Jax gave him a mock-serious look. “Of course, man. Now go get your shit together, alright? You’re lookin’ like you might pass out any minute, and we need you on your A-game for tonight.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled, a real smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get my shit together. Don’t worry about it.”

As Jax wandered off to continue his rounds, Nam-Gyu stood there for a second, taking in the noise of the club once more. He hadn’t expected to talk so openly with Jax, but it had helped. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as he’d thought. The thought of Thanos popped into his mind again, a small ache in his chest, but at least for now, it was manageable.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking his reverie, and without thinking, he pulled it out, his heart skipping a beat when he saw the message.

Nam-Gyu:  Hey, just wanted to check in. I’m at work, but I’ve been thinking about you. Call me when you get a chance?

Nam-Gyu’s lips curved into a smile. The weight in his chest lightened as he read the reply.

Thanos:  I miss you. I’ll call you soon, baby.

He felt a little lighter, a little more sure of himself. Whatever was going on in his life, whatever the mess with Thanos, at least he had someone who cared. That was enough for now.

---

Thanos stared at the message for a moment longer, his thumb hovering over the screen as he debated what to say. The words felt too heavy, like if he typed them, it would make everything more real. More complicated.

He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on him again. He hadn’t meant for it to go like this, but he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in the back of his mind that maybe he needed to talk to someone who wasn’t Nam-Gyu. Someone who wouldn’t look at him with that quiet, concerned gaze. Someone who wouldn’t carry the same weight of expectations.

Thanos exhaled slowly and typed.

Thanos: Hey, ignore this if you're busy, but can we get lunch or something?

It felt like an awkward thing to ask, but he knew it was the only option. He needed a break, something other than the whirlwind of his emotions and the pressure he was feeling. He stared at the message, wondering if he should add more, explain what he was feeling, but he knew it wasn’t the time for that. Not yet.

Instead, he hit send and waited. It felt strange to ask for something like this, but he needed to break out of the isolation he’d let himself fall into. Talking to Nam-Gyu was always easy, comforting even, but he couldn’t lean on him for everything. Not today.

He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the tension creep back up his neck. The room felt too quiet again, his mind racing with all the things he was avoiding. But he couldn’t sit in silence for much longer. He needed something different, something that could take his mind off everything—even if it was just for a little while.

He glanced back down at his phone, half-expecting to see a response from Deok-Su immediately. But all that greeted him was the tiny blinking cursor at the bottom of the screen, waiting for him to make the next move.

It was strange how the smallest actions, like sending a simple text, could feel so heavy when everything else in your head was a storm.

The phone dinged, and Thanos' heart skipped a beat as he read the message.

Deok-Su: Sure, kid. Everything alright?

Thanos stared at the screen for a moment, the question hanging in the air like an invitation to dive deeper into something he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront. Deok-Su’s message was casual, but there was an undertone of concern—something Thanos wasn’t sure he wanted to unpack. Still, he knew that if he didn’t take this chance to talk, he’d just spiral further into his own head.

He leaned back against the wall, his eyes flicking to the window, watching the light of the afternoon slowly fade into the evening. The silence in the apartment was suffocating, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he was supposed to be doing, something important, but he couldn’t remember what it was. Maybe just getting out, seeing someone who wasn’t wrapped up in the mess of his life would be enough to clear his head.

Thanos typed slowly, trying to think of a way to explain everything without really saying anything.

Thanos: Yeah, I’m alright. Just need to get out of my head for a bit, you know? Been one of those days...

He stared at the message, the words feeling oddly vulnerable, but in a way that felt necessary. It was a small step—one that didn’t ask for much but gave him just enough space to breathe. He pressed send before he could second-guess himself.

It felt strange to reach out like this, even if it was just for a quick distraction. He didn’t usually go to Deok-Su for this kind of thing, but the weight of the last few days, the funeral, the emotions, the silence—it was all starting to crack him open, piece by piece. And maybe, just maybe, getting out of the apartment and into a different setting was the escape he needed.

As soon as he sent the message, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His phone was quiet again, and for a second, he considered just going back to laying in bed and staring at the ceiling. But he knew that wouldn’t help. It never did.

The phone buzzed again, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Deok-Su: I get it. I’ll meet you in an hour, that one place I was telling you and Nam-Gyu about, okay?

Thanos couldn’t help but smile a little at the simplicity of it. For once, everything felt manageable, even if it was just for a few hours. It wasn’t the deep, life-altering conversation he might have needed, but it was a start.

Thanos: Yeah, sounds good. See you then.

Thanos set the phone down on the table, running a hand over his face. It was small, but it was progress. Just a little bit of distance from everything that had been weighing on him, and maybe, just maybe, a chance to remind himself that things didn’t have to be so heavy all the time.

He took a deep breath, standing up, feeling a bit lighter than he had in hours. This would be good. It had to be.

Thanos stared at the message, thumb hovering over the screen before locking his phone. The quiet settled in again, heavier now, pressing against his chest. He glanced at the bathroom door — still cracked open, the light off, the faint metallic scent lingering in the air.

He hadn't cleaned up yet.

Doom curled up on the couch, her green eyes half-lidded as if watching him through a haze. Thanos scratched at the back of his head, pacing a little. His heart felt sluggish, like it was dragging behind him with every step.

He should shower.

He should wrap his arm.

He should—

He sank down at the edge of the couch instead, letting his head fall into his hands.

"Fuck, man..."

The weight of the last three days was catching up to him. The funeral, Nam-Gyu holding him like he'd break apart, the way he'd been trying so hard to stay okay for everyone else — it was all too much. He'd been clean for months now, but sobriety didn't mean the bad days stopped coming. It just meant he had to feel every inch of them.

His phone buzzed again on the table.

Deok-Su: I'll grab us a table. Don't ghost me, kid.

A shaky breath left him. Deok-Su always said shit like that — half-joking, half-serious. They'd known each other long enough to see through each other's bullshit. If Thanos didn't show, he'd get another text in an hour. Maybe another in two. Deok-Su was annoyingly persistent like that.

He stared at the message until the words blurred.

Don't ghost me.

Thanos glanced down at his wrist, the thin line of red half-dried, barely stinging anymore.

He could still bail. He could still stay here in the quiet, where no one would see him like this — broken open and hollowed out.

But if he didn't go, he'd probably do it again.

Fuck.

With a groan, he pushed himself off the couch, moving sluggishly toward the bathroom. The harsh white light flicked on, making him wince. He grabbed a towel, running warm water over the fabric before cleaning his arm with slow, deliberate motions. The sting made his breath catch, but he welcomed it — something real, something grounding.

By the time he was wrapping his wrist in gauze from the half-empty first aid kit under the sink, his phone buzzed again.

Nam-Gyu: Miss you too, baby. I'll text youn when I'm done, okay?

Thanos squeezed his eyes shut for a second, swallowing hard. He pressed the edge of the bandage down and leaned heavily on the counter.

Thanos: I will, promise.

He forced himself to finish cleaning up, then threw on a white t-shirt and the wild patterned jacket Nam-Gyu had picked out for him a few days ago — something space-themed, covered in swirling stars and bright bursts of color. It was loud. Bold. Definitely something he'd pick for himself when he was younger.

But Nam-Gyu had said he looked good in it, his eyes soft and warm when he helped him try it on.

"You should wear more stuff like this," he'd murmured, fingertips brushing Thanos's collar.

Thanos had rolled his eyes at the time, but now... it felt like armor. Like maybe if he put on something bright enough, no one would notice how dark he felt underneath.

By the time he slipped out the door, the sun was dipping low, painting the sky in muted orange and pink.

He'd meet Deok-Su.

He'd get through the next few hours.

One step at a time.

---

Thanos pushed through the glass doors of his apartment's lobby, the sharp bite of cold air hitting him square in the face. It was the kind of chill that cut straight to the bone, the kind he usually bitched about under his breath — but tonight, it felt... good. Bracing. Like maybe the cold could scrape something raw and heavy off his skin.

He stood there for a second on the cracked pavement, eyes flicking up to the hazy, dim-lit sky. His breath fogged out in front of him, curling like smoke. The city always felt louder at night — cars rushing by, voices echoing off brick walls, the distant thud of bass from clubs buried underground.

It made him feel small. But maybe that wasn’t the worst thing right now.

Headlights washed over him as his driver’s car rolled up to the curb. Thanos exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping with relief. Thank fucking god for this guy — he didn’t trust himself behind a wheel tonight. His hands were still a little shaky, the leftover adrenaline from earlier clinging to him like static.

He opened the door, sliding into the backseat. The heat was already on, blasting warm air against his frozen fingers. The driver glanced at him in the mirror but didn’t say anything — he never really did. That was the whole reason Thanos kept him around. No small talk. No judgment. Just point A to point B.

"Where to, Mr. Bong?"

Thanos's mouth twitched at the name. It always sounded weird when people called him that — like it belonged to someone else entirely.

He cleared his throat, voice low.

"That noodle place off Gangnam-daero. The shitty one with the green awning."

The driver nodded, pulling away from the curb without another word.

Thanos leaned back against the seat, head tipping against the cold window. His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, heart still beating a little too fast in his chest. He couldn't tell if it was from earlier or if he was just wired — that kind of restless, hollow feeling that never really went away, even on the good days.

He should text Nam-Gyu back again — something sweet, something reassuring. But his fingers felt heavy, and he didn't know how to sound okay when he still felt like he was crawling out of his own skin.

Instead, he scrolled back up through their texts from earlier — the soft, shy baby tucked between the lines. His chest ached a little at that. He didn't deserve to be called that — not when he'd spent half the night trying to disappear into himself.

Thanos squeezed his eyes shut, fingers tightening around the phone.

Just get through the night.

Get through the next few hours.

He could break apart later.

He just had to distract himself. That was the trick — keep moving, keep busy, don't let his mind settle long enough to pull him under.

His driver’s steady hands on the wheel, the low hum of the engine, the faint static crackle from the radio — it all helped. It gave him something to latch onto, something steady when everything inside him felt like it was teetering on the edge.

As the city lights blurred by outside the window, another thought crept in — one he'd been avoiding for days.

He should call his manager.

It'd been almost two months since he'd started getting clean — not perfect, not all at once, but he'd been showing up to meetings, staying away from the shit that used to keep him numb. Two months might not sound like much to anyone else, but for him, it felt like dragging himself out of quicksand one inch at a time.

Maybe Hyun-Sik would be proud of him.

Maybe.

He thumbed at the cracked edge of his phone case, debating it. The last time they'd talked, it hadn't exactly been warm — more like Hyun-Sik laying down the law, spelling out the only terms that would keep Thanos from getting dropped for good.

You want this life? You want to stay in this industry? Then clean the fuck up. Or we're done.

It should've pissed him off — it had at first — but deep down, he knew the guy was right. He'd been circling the drain for too long. People stopped giving a shit about the music when the mess behind the scenes got louder.

The worst part was... Hyun-Sik was probably the closest thing he had to a father figure these days.

Thanos chewed the inside of his cheek, staring down at his screen. He didn't want to admit how much

Before he could think about it more, the car slowed to a stop.

"Here we are, sir."

Thanos glanced out the window, his breath fogging the glass. The small ramen place sat tucked between two other buildings, its neon sign flickering faintly in the cold dusk. He remembered Deok-Su swearing up and down about this place just a few weeks ago — best broth in the whole damn city, no arguments.

It was small, cramped, the kind of spot you could walk by a hundred times without noticing. The kind of place you only found if someone told you about it — or if you'd spent enough nights wandering around trying to kill time.

He didn't move right away. His fingers curled around the door handle, but the weight in his chest made him hesitate. The idea of stepping out into the world again, of actually sitting across from someone and having a conversation — it felt harder than it should.

"Let me know when you'd like to be picked up."

The driver's voice was low, polite — not prying, just... patient.

Thanos nodded absently, still staring out at the warm glow spilling onto the sidewalk. His hand tightened on the handle. He was stalling, and he knew it.

He pushed the door open, the cold air biting at his face.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice quieter than he'd meant.

He was halfway out when the driver spoke again, softer this time — like maybe he'd been holding onto the words for a while.

"I hope you're doing okay, sir."

Thanos froze, his breath catching in his throat.

It was such a simple thing — barely even a sentence — but it knocked something loose in his chest. He didn't know what to say back, so he just stood there for a second, the door half-open, the night air swirling around him.

Finally, he nodded once without turning around.

"I'm trying."

It was barely above a whisper, but the driver must've heard it because he just gave a small, understanding hum — like that was enough.

Thanos shut the door and stood there for a moment, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, trying to steady his breathing.

One step at a time.

He could do this.

He had to.

With a deep breath, he headed toward the glow of the ramen shop — and toward whatever came next.

---

Deok-Su was already settled in at a corner table, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place. His deep, raspy laugh echoed through the small shop, filling the warm space with that familiar rough-around-the-edges charm. He was mid-story, hands gesturing animatedly to the young waiter hovering by the table — a kid who looked half-amused, half-scared that Deok-Su might actually demonstrate whatever fight he was talking about.

"And then I told the motherfucker—" Deok-Su smacked his fist into his palm for emphasis, his voice carrying over the low murmur of the other diners, "—if he didn't leave the girl alone, I was gonna punch his teeth in!"

The waiter let out a nervous chuckle, shifting from foot to foot, clearly not sure if he was supposed to laugh or call for backup.

Thanos stood near the entrance, watching the scene play out from behind the glass door. The sight of Deok-Su — loud, alive, filling up every inch of space around him — made something in Thanos' chest unclench just a little.

He hadn't realized how badly he'd needed to see someone familiar — someone who didn't look at him like he was fragile or broken or something to be handled with care.

Deok-Su was the kind of guy who never let you feel sorry for yourself. If you showed up looking like shit, he'd call you out on it, crack a few jokes, and then slap a bowl of food in front of you like that was gonna fix everything.

And maybe... sometimes it actually did.

Thanos shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, his eyes flicking to the worn wooden floor beneath his feet. For a second, he thought about turning around, walking right back out into the cold. But before he could make up his mind, Deok-Su's eyes flicked up — sharp, always aware — and locked onto him through the glass.

A grin split across his face, wide and easy, like Thanos showing up was the most natural thing in the world.

"There he is!" Deok-Su's voice boomed across the shop, making a few heads turn. He waved him over like they'd seen each other just yesterday.

"Hey, kid! Took you long enough. You gonna stand there lookin' pretty or you gonna sit your ass down?"

Thanos' stomach twisted, caught between irritation and gratitude.

Kid.

He hated when Deok-Su called him that. He wasn't a kid anymore — hadn't been for a long time — but there was something weirdly comforting about it too. Like no matter how much shit he'd been through, there were still people who saw him as something... softer.

He sighed through his nose, forcing his feet to move.

One step at a time.

By the time he reached the table, Deok-Su was already pushing the chair out with his foot, like he'd known all along Thanos would sit down — like there was never any question.

"Order already?" Thanos muttered, sliding into the seat.

Deok-Su leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest, smirking.

"Not yet, figured you'd show up late and make me wait, so I waited for ya."

Thanos huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

"Asshole."

Deok-Su's grin widened.

"That's more like it."

For the first time in days, the knot in Thanos' chest loosened just a little.

It was funny how people always sized Deok-Su up the same way — like he was one wrong look away from breaking someone's nose.

On the outside, he was built like a brick wall — broad shoulders, thick arms, the kind of guy you'd cross the street to avoid if he so much as glanced your way. The snake tattoo curling down from the corner of his eye and disappearing under his collar only added to the whole don't fuck with me aesthetic.

But Nam-Gyu had told him once — in that soft, thoughtful way he always spoke about people — that if you spent enough time around Deok-Su, you could tell exactly how he felt about you.

"He's got this way, you know?" Nam-Gyu had said, tucked into Thanos' couch one night, legs folded under him like a cat. "If he likes you, he's always making sure you're fed, checking if you got home safe, remembering dumb little shit you told him weeks ago... But if he doesn't?" Nam-Gyu had snorted, eyes crinkling at the corners. "You'll know."

Thanos hadn't really believed him at the time — not until he started paying attention.

Deok-Su never said much outright — not the soft shit, anyway. But he'd order extra food without asking if you wanted any, then act like he was doing you a favor by letting you have some. He'd bitch about giving people rides but always showed up when you needed one. And if you were having a shit day — if the whole world was pressing down on your chest until you couldn't breathe — he'd crack some stupid joke at your expense just to get you to laugh.

That's how Deok-Su looked out for the people he cared about — hidden under layers of gruffness, sarcasm, and bad language.

Thanos hadn't really clocked how much he needed that right now until he was sitting here, watching Deok-Su banter with the waiter like they were old friends.

He wondered if Deok-Su knew — if he'd agreed to lunch because he could tell Thanos was barely holding himself together.

Probably.

People took one look at Deok-Su — all broad shoulders, scarred knuckles, and that snake tattoo winding down his neck — and assumed there wasn’t much going on behind the tough-guy act.

They were wrong.

The guy was a lot sharper than people gave him credit for — sharp in a way that could cut through bullshit without even trying. Thanos had seen it more than once.

He sat down in the chair Deok-Su had pulled out for him, the legs scraping against the floor. For a second, he just stared down at his hands resting on the table — fingers tapping absently against the surface, chipped colorful nail polish catching the dim light.

He really needed to redo them.

Or maybe just take it off completely.

Nam-Gyu would probably like them painted again.

The thought caught him off guard, flickering through his mind before he could shove it back down.

He curled his fingers into loose fists, trying not to let himself sink too deep.

Deok-Su didn’t say anything, just watched him with that steady, unreadable gaze — the kind of look that could pry you open without ever asking a single question.

It made Thanos' skin itch a little, but it also made him feel... safe.

Like he could sit here in silence and not have to explain the mess going on inside his head.

Like maybe someone saw him without him having to beg for it.

Deok-Su finally leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table.

"You eat today?"

It was such a simple question, but it cracked something in Thanos' chest.

He almost wanted to lie — brush it off with some half-assed joke.

But Deok-Su would know. He always knew.

Thanos' mouth twisted into something caught between a smirk and a grimace.

"Does coffee count?"

Deok-Su's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything right away — just snorted and leaned back again, waving the waiter over with two fingers.

"Two bowls. Extra pork belly."

Thanos blinked, caught off guard.

"I didn't—"

"Shut up." Deok-Su cut him off without looking at him. "You're eating. End of discussion."

Thanos' mouth snapped shut, something warm curling low in his stomach that had nothing to do with hunger.

He forgot sometimes what it was like — to have someone just... take care of him without making him feel like a burden.

Without asking for anything in return.

He glanced down at his nails again, picking at the edges of the polish.

"Thanks," he muttered, barely loud enough to hear.

Deok-Su just grunted, already halfway through lighting a cigarette he probably wasn't supposed to smoke in here.

"Don't mention it, kid."

Thanos tilted his head toward the stereo, letting the distant twang of some country song fill the silence between them. It was one of those old, scratchy tracks — the kind of music that clung to the walls of places like this, playing on repeat for years until it became part of the air.

He was trying to lose himself in it, let the sound drown out everything rattling around in his brain — the funeral, Nam-Gyu's tired voice on the phone, the ache in his chest he couldn't quite name.

But Deok-Su was always watching.

Nothing ever slipped past him — not the way Thanos kept fidgeting with his sleeves, not the tired shadows under his eyes, and definitely not the bandage peeking out from beneath the cuff of his jacket.

Deok-Su took a slow sip of the lemon water they gave every table, his gaze steady.

"Okay. Talk."

Thanos blinked, head snapping back toward him.

"What—"

"Don't bullshit me, kid." Deok-Su's voice was low, calm — the kind of calm that warned there was no wriggling out of this. "I won't judge, but you're gonna tell me."

Thanos' mouth opened, then closed again. His fingers twitched against the table, nails digging into his palm.

He could lie — shrug it off, say it was nothing. He was good at that. Spinning half-truths until even he started believing them.

But Deok-Su wouldn't buy it.

Nobody ever really expected much from Thanos — not his family, not his manager, not even himself most days.

But Deok-Su was different.

He expected Thanos to tell the truth, not because he demanded it, but because he believed Thanos could.

The weight of that pressed heavy against his chest — heavier than he'd been ready for.

Thanos swallowed hard, shifting in his seat.

"It's... stupid." His voice was barely above a whisper.

Deok-Su didn't even blink.

"Let me be the judge of that."

Thanos' fingers curled tighter around the edge of his sleeve, his heart hammering in his throat.

He hadn't told anyone — not Nam-Gyu, not even himself if he was being honest.

It had just been a slip. A moment where everything got too loud, too heavy. He hadn't even realized what he was doing until it was already done, the sting of the blade bringing everything into sharp, awful clarity.

He hadn't done it in as a way out in well — not since he was a teenager trying to claw his way through the noise in his own head.

But this time, the shame was so much worse.

"I'm fine," he muttered, eyes fixed on the glass of water in front of him. "It was just... one time."

Deok-Su's gaze didn't waver.

"And?"

Thanos clenched his jaw, shoulders hunching forward.

"And... I don't know. I guess I just wanted to feel something else for a second."

The words tasted sour in his mouth, like he'd dragged them up from the deepest part of himself — the part he tried to bury under cheap highs and half-smiles.

Deok-Su leaned back, exhaling a long breath through his nose. He didn't look shocked or disappointed.

Just... tired.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I know that feeling."

Thanos' head snapped up, startled.

Deok-Su didn't offer any more than that — no story, no explanation. Just four simple words that cracked something wide open.

For a second, neither of them said anything.

The song on the stereo changed — something slower, softer — and the smell of garlic broth drifted from the kitchen.

Thanos' throat felt tight.

He wasn't used to this — people not pushing, not filling the silence with platitudes or lectures.

Deok-Su just let the truth hang between them, steady and unflinching.

"You gonna do it again?" he asked finally, his voice as casual as if he were asking if Thanos wanted more lemon water.

Thanos blinked, caught off guard by the question.

"I—" He shook his head quickly. "No. I don't... I don't think so."

Deok-Su's dark eyes stayed locked on him for another long moment, like he was trying to see straight through him.

Then he nodded once, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette into the tray.

"Good." He took another drag, voice low. "But if you do... you tell someone next time. Don't sit in it alone."

Thanos' throat closed up, something sharp and hot burning behind his ribs.

He didn't deserve that kind of grace — not from anyone, least of all from someone like Deok-Su.

But Deok-Su didn't seem to care what he thought he deserved.

He just leaned forward again, flicking open the chopsticks that had been set down in front of them.

"Now eat your fucking ramen before it gets cold."

Thanos chuckled softly, the sound breaking through the heavy air like the first crack in a frozen lake. He picked up his chopsticks, twirling them between his fingers before diving into the steaming bowl in front of him.

The broth was rich, savory — the kind of warmth that settled deep in his bones. For a second, he just focused on chewing, letting the simple act of eating ground him.

But the thought was already creeping in — gnawing at the edge of his mind like a splinter he couldn't quite dig out.

His chopsticks hovered over the bowl, noodles slipping between them.

"I don't know how to tell Nam-Gyu..." The words tumbled out before he could stop them, barely louder than the clatter of dishes in the kitchen.

Deok-Su's eyes flicked up from his own bowl, but he stayed quiet, letting him talk.

Thanos swallowed hard, staring down at the swirling broth.

"He'll be so sad." His voice cracked, shame curling around the edges. "And—" He paused, throat tight. "I'm worried I'm just gonna end up dragging him down with me... like I do with everyone else."

The confession hung heavy between them, the steam from the ramen rising up like smoke.

Thanos' fingers clenched tighter around his chopsticks.

"And then... I'd never forgive myself." His breath hitched. "Hell, I'd just have to kill myself at that point—"

"Hey."

Deok-Su's voice cut through the spiral like a knife, low and steady.

Thanos' mouth snapped shut, the words dying on his tongue.

Deok-Su leaned forward, his elbows on the table. His tattooed fingers tapped once against the edge of his bowl.

"Don't talk like that."

It wasn't harsh — not exactly — but there was something in the way he said it that made Thanos' chest go tight.

Deok-Su stared at him, eyes dark and unwavering.

"You think you're the first fuckup to worry about dragging someone down?" He snorted, shaking his head. "You think I didn't feel the same way about my wife before she walked out?"

Thanos' breath caught in his throat.

Deok-Su looked back down at his ramen, stirring the noodles slowly.

"You ain't that special, kid."

It should have stung — maybe it did a little — but somehow, the weight of those words settled around Thanos like a blanket instead of a slap.

Deok-Su glanced back up.

"You think Nam-Gyu's some fragile little doll who's gonna shatter just 'cause you're not fucking perfect?" He scoffed. "That boy's stronger than you give him credit for."

Thanos swallowed hard, his chest twisting.

He knew that. He'd seen it in the way Nam-Gyu kept showing up — at meetings, at his apartment — even when Thanos was trying to push him away.

Even when Thanos didn't think he deserved it.

"But what if I ruin him?" The question slipped out before he could stop it, barely more than a whisper.

Deok-Su leaned back, lighting another cigarette with slow, practiced fingers.

"Then that's his decision to make, isn't it?"

Thanos' heart clenched.

That was the worst part — knowing Nam-Gyu would probably let him.

He'd let himself be dragged under, all soft smiles and gentle hands, trying to hold Thanos together piece by broken piece.

Deok-Su exhaled a long stream of smoke, eyes fixed somewhere just past Thanos' shoulder.

"You can't make yourself smaller just to protect someone else." His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. "That ain't love, kid. That's just fear dressed up in prettier clothes."

Thanos' vision blurred for a second, his breath catching in his throat.

He'd been doing that his whole life — shrinking down, tucking away the ugliest parts of himself so no one else would have to carry them.

But Nam-Gyu... Nam-Gyu kept reaching for those parts, like he wanted to hold them just as much as the good ones.

It fucking terrified him.

Deok-Su tapped his chop sticks into his bowl, eyes flicking back to him.

"You tell him when you're ready. And if he gets sad?" He shrugged. "Then he gets sad. That's not the worst thing in the world, you know."

Thanos' throat closed up.

"But if you keep trying to carry all this shit by yourself?" Deok-Su's gaze sharpened, pinning him to the spot. "That's what's gonna kill you."

The truth of it sliced clean through him — sharp and undeniable.

Thanos' chest caved in, his chopsticks slipping from his fingers with a quiet clatter.

He pressed the heel of his palm to his eyes, trying to blink back the sting behind them.

Deok-Su didn't say anything else — just went back to eating like they hadn't cracked something wide open between them.

For a long moment, the only sound was the faint twang of the country song drifting through the speakers and the clink of chopsticks against ceramic.

Finally, Thanos dragged in a shaky breath, lowering his hand.

"You're kind of a dick, you know that?"

Deok-Su smirked.

"Yeah, well... somebody's gotta be."

---

Deok-Su and Thanos lingered at the table long after the bowls had been emptied, the conversation shifting to safer ground — bullshit small talk about music, the shitty weather, the latest scandals clogging up the tabloids. Nothing too deep. Nothing that might crack him open again.

It was easier like this — pretending he hadn't just laid himself bare, even if Deok-Su had seen right through it.

When Thanos' phone buzzed, signaling his driver had arrived, he pushed back from the table with a tired sigh.

"Thanks for... you know." His voice was quieter now, like the weight of everything was finally starting to settle.

Deok-Su just grunted, flicking the last of his cigarette into the ashtray.

"Don't mention it, kid." He leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. "And if you're gonna do something stupid—" his eyes cut sharp beneath heavy brows— "call me first."

A small, tired smile tugged at the corner of Thanos' mouth.

"Yeah... I'll keep that in mind."

He slipped out into the cold night air, the sharp bite of it stinging his cheeks. His driver was already waiting by the curb, the sleek black car idling quietly.

The door clicked open.

"Where to, sir?"

The question hung in the air, simple and routine — but tonight, it felt heavier. Like it was waiting for something more.

Thanos stood there for a second, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, staring out at the city lights blurring through the mist.

You'll tell him when you're ready.

Deok-Su's voice echoed in his head — steady, unwavering.

Maybe he wasn't ready yet. Maybe he'd never be ready.

But sitting alone in that apartment all night with his own fucked up thoughts crawling under his skin?

That wasn't an option either.

He licked his lips, tasting smoke and salt on his tongue.

"Club Pentagon."

The words slipped out before he could think twice, surprising even himself.

His driver didn't flinch — just nodded once, like he'd been expecting it all along.

"Right away, sir."

Thanos climbed into the backseat, the door shutting with a soft click behind him. The city started to blur past the windows, neon lights streaking through the dark like veins.

He leaned his head back against the seat, eyes flicking to his reflection in the glass.

The bandage on his wrist peeked out from beneath his sleeve — a quiet reminder of how close he'd come to slipping back into that black hole.

He could feel the weight of it still clinging to him — heavy and familiar.

And maybe — if he was lucky — Nam-Gyu would still be there, leaning against the railing with that bored, tired look on his face.

Waiting.

Just like he always was.

And maybe he wasn't ready. Maybe walking into a club to find his boyfriend—his good boyfriend—just to tell him he'd slit his wrist not even twelve hours after he left was a god-awful fucking idea.

Maybe two months sober wasn't enough to handle this. Maybe he'd just ruin everything.

But he'd spent the whole day trying to bury it — trying to distract himself with ramen and half-assed small talk and the comfort of Doom's tiny paws pressing into his chest. He'd done everything he could to not think about it.

And none of it worked.

He couldn't wait any longer.

If he didn't tell Nam-Gyu now, he'd never tell him. He'd keep it buried under fake smiles and "I'm fine"s until it rotted him from the inside out — just like every other fucked-up secret he'd carried for the last decade.

Nam-Gyu didn't deserve that.

Not after everything he'd done — the endless patience, the way he always seemed to know when Thanos was spiraling without him even having to say a word. The way he looked at him like he was still something worth saving, even when Thanos could barely look at himself in the mirror.

And yeah, maybe this would break him a little. Maybe he'd get that soft, disappointed look in his eyes — the one that made Thanos feel like the shittiest person on the planet.

But maybe Nam-Gyu deserved to know.

Maybe he deserved the truth — the whole ugly, bleeding mess of it.

Thanos closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cold glass window, his breath fogging up the glass.

"Almost there, sir," the driver said softly.

He nodded, swallowing hard.

His heart was starting to pound in his chest, hands twitching against his thighs.

The club lights were already visible in the distance — bright neon flashing against the dark skyline.

He could still turn around. He could tell the driver to take him home, curl up in bed with Doom, and pretend none of this ever happened.

But if he did...

He knew exactly where he'd end up tomorrow.

Back in that fucking bathroom.

Back with razors tucked away in the cabinet, burning against his skin like a promise.

No.

He couldn't do this alone anymore.

Even if it broke something between them.

Even if Nam-Gyu never looked at him the same way again.

He needed him.

He needed someone.

The car slowed to a stop in front of the club, the low thump of bass rattling through the pavement.

Thanos' chest felt like it was caving in, the weight of what he was about to do pressing down hard.

The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror, eyes soft.

"I'll wait here if you need me, sir."

Thanos' throat tightened.

He nodded once.

"Thank you."

His hand hovered on the door handle, fingers trembling.

He didn't know how this night was going to end.

But he knew he couldn't carry this alone anymore.

He took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and stepped out into the cold.

Thanos walked up to the bouncer at the door, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket. He kept his head down, but the guy clocked him immediately — like they always did.

The bouncer’s eyes widened. “Oh shit, Thanos? I’m a big fan, man. Head on in.”

Thanos forced a tight smile, giving the guy a small nod before slipping past him.

One of the few perks of being that guy — even if it had been months sense he's last public appearance up or not, people still recognized his face. Pretty much any club would let him waltz right in, no cover, no questions asked. It was a privilege he hadn’t always appreciated—mostly because back then, he'd been too fucked up to notice.

Now it just made his stomach twist.

The second he stepped inside, the bass hit him in the chest, rattling through his ribcage. Strobe lights cut through the haze of cigarette smoke and sweat, flashing against mirrored walls. The whole place smelled like cheap booze, stale cologne, and bodies packed too close together.

Just like he remembered—loud, bright, crowded.

Too much.

His ears were already ringing. His pulse picked up, his heart hammering faster than the beat pumping through the speakers. He could feel sweat prickling at the back of his neck under his jacket.

Breathe. You're fine. You wanted this.

He scanned the room, trying to pick Nam-Gyu out in the sea of faces. His eyes landed on the upstairs balcony—the VIP section. Nam-Gyu liked to perch up there when it was slow, leaning on the railing with that lazy, bored expression that made him look like he was too good for the whole fucking place.

He spotted him almost immediately.

Nam-Gyu was exactly where he thought he'd be—arms folded over the railing, nursing what looked like a Red Bull, gaze distant as the lights played across his sharp features.

Thanos' chest ached just looking at him.

He hadn't even seen him yet—had no idea Thanos was here, about to ruin his whole night.

He could still turn around.

He could text him later, make up some excuse—say he got caught up in something, tell him everything was fine.

Lie.

He was so fucking good at lying.

But then Nam-Gyu shifted, leaning his chin on his hand, and Thanos saw the faint crease between his brows—the one he always got when he was thinking too hard about something. The same look he'd had the day of the funeral, when he sat next to Thanos on the couch, holding his hand without saying a word.

Thanos' throat tightened.

No.

He couldn't lie to him.

Not this time.

He shoved his way through the crowd, heart pounding harder with every step.

"Oh my God, Thanos?! Guys! Guys, it's fucking Thanos!"

The voice cut through the thumping bass like nails on a chalkboard—loud, drunk, and way too enthusiastic.

If Thanos had to guess, a pack of frat boys—probably two vodka shots away from trying to rap his old lyrics at him. He didn't even bother looking. He just kept walking, shoulders hunched, head down, hoping they'd take the hint.

No such luck.

"Yo! Bro, we used to bump your shit all the time in college!" one of them shouted, stumbling half into his path. "That song with CJ? God Mode? Fucking classic, man!"

Thanos forced a tight smile, not slowing down.

"Appreciate it," he muttered, voice barely audible over the music.

Another one—taller, sloppier—clapped him on the shoulder like they were old friends. "Where you been, man? You dropping new music soon or what?"

Thanos' jaw clenched.

They probably thought they were being nice—just fans showing love. But all he could hear was the question underneath it.

Where you been?

Why'd you fall off?

What's wrong with you?

He shook the guy's hand off and kept moving, weaving through the bodies on autopilot.

They called after him, but he didn't look back.

By the time he reached the stairs to the VIP section, his skin was crawling. His head felt hot, like he was trapped under a spotlight. Every voice in the room sounded too loud, too sharp—like they were all talking about him, even when they weren't.

Breathe.

He gripped the railing tight, staring down at the scuffed leather of his boots.

One step at a time.

Just get to Nam-Gyu.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught movement—a girl perched on a barstool nursing something neon pink, the kind of drink that barely tasted like alcohol but could still knock you on your ass if you weren't careful. Her eyes lit up the second she saw him, mouth already opening before he could turn away.

Fucking hell... does everyone in this club know me?

The answer was probably yes. He'd learned early in his career that the places that played your music the most were always the ones where you'd get recognized the quickest. And clubs? Clubs loved rap music. His music.

"Thanos! Oh my god, I have the biggest crush on yoooou!"

Her voice cut through the bass-heavy music, sharp and syrupy, already fumbling with her phone. Heads started turning.

Here we go.

At first, it was just a few glances—then the whispers started.

"Yo, that's Thanos."

"No way—holy shit, it is."

"Man's a legend."

People peeled away from their conversations, phones flicking up like reflexes, wide-eyed smiles breaking across their faces. The buzz caught on quick—once one person clocked him, the whole club followed.

"Thanos! Bro, you're a fucking king!" some guy near the bar called out.

Another voice from the crowd—"You're the reason I started writing, man!"

A knot settled in Thanos's throat, equal parts flattered and anxious. It was always like this—admiration laced with the weight of expectation. They saw the music, the fame, the myth. Not the guy who'd spent the whole afternoon trying not to bleed out on his bathroom floor.

He lifted a hand in a small wave, flashing a smile that felt practiced—because it was.

"Love you guys," he called back, voice smooth and steady even if his heart was rattling against his ribs.

The girl with the pink drink grinned like he'd just given her a private show.

"Can I get a picture? Pleeeease?"

Phones were already up, cameras clicking even before he'd answered.

Breathe. Just breathe.

This wasn't new. He'd been here a thousand times before—smiling for strangers, letting them carve their little pieces out of him to take home. But tonight, it felt heavier. Like he was holding up a version of himself that didn't quite fit anymore.

He glanced up toward the balcony, scanning the crowd until—

There.

Nam-Gyu.

Leaning on the railing, cigarette dangling from his fingers, watching the floor with that half-lidded gaze that always made him look like he was either two seconds from falling asleep or two seconds from ruining someone's life.

Thanos's chest loosened just a little.

He didn't think Nam-Gyu had seen him yet. He was listening to someone beside him, head tilted, but Thanos could tell by the flick of his eyes that he was bored out of his mind.

Okay... he's here.

The noise of the club dimmed in his ears.

He ducked his head, weaving through the crowd, ignoring the calls and camera flashes. He just needed to get upstairs.

He just needed to get to him.

The petson who was talking to Nam-Gyu, a girl probably mid 30's looked passed Nam-Gyu over at him.

"Holy shit is that Thanos?!"

And just like that Nam-Gyu turned around.

The woman leaning against the railing beside Nam-Gyu—mid-30s, glossy curls framing her face, the kind of half-drunk, half-predatory smile he'd seen a million times—squinted past him, eyes narrowing through the haze of cigarette smoke and flashing lights.

"Holy shit... is that Thanos?"

Nam-Gyu's fingers twitched around the cigarette, his whole body stiffening before he even turned. For a second, Thanos saw the flicker of annoyance cross his face—like he couldn't believe someone had just interrupted his hard-earned boredom with something so ridiculous.

Then he followed her gaze.

Their eyes locked across the club—one floor apart but suddenly close enough that everything else blurred into the background.

Nam-Gyu blinked, cigarette halfway to his lips.

Thanos's breath caught.

For a split second, neither of them moved.

Then Nam-Gyu's lips parted, barely a whisper under the thump of bass.

"... What the fuck?"

He looked stunned—like he'd seen a ghost. And honestly? Thanos couldn't blame him.

He hadn't told him he was coming.

Hell, up until twenty minutes ago, he hadn't even planned on coming. But now he was here, standing in the middle of a crowd of strangers with half the room's attention on him and that stupid fake smile still plastered on his face.

Nam-Gyu's brows pulled together, eyes darting over him like he was trying to figure out if this was some kind of joke or if something was really wrong.

It was the same look he'd given him that night outside the apartment—the night Thanos had been barely holding it together and Nam-Gyu had seen right through him.

Thanos's stomach twisted.

He wanted to go to him.

He wanted to turn around and walk right the fuck back out.

Instead, he forced his legs to move, weaving through the crowd—closer, closer—until he was standing at the foot of the stairs, head tipped back to meet Nam-Gyu's gaze.

The girl next to him was still talking, oblivious.

"Oh my god, I used to listen to his mixtapes back in high school—he's like... a legend, right? Is he here for a gig or something?"

Nam-Gyu didn't answer.

He just flicked his cigarette away, crushed it under his boot, and started down the stairs.

Thanos's heart hammered harder with every step Nam-Gyu took down the stairs—slow, steady, like he was giving him time to run if he wanted to.

He didn't.

He couldn't.

He stayed rooted to the spot, fingers curling into the sleeves of his jacket, trying to keep from fidgeting under the weight of Nam-Gyu's stare.

When Nam-Gyu finally reached the bottom, they were only a few feet apart.

Too close.

Not close enough.

"Hey," Thanos croaked, his voice barely carrying over the music.

Nam-Gyu's brow twitched, but his face stayed carefully blank. His eyes flicked down, catching the bandage peeking out from under Thanos's sleeve.

Fuck.

Thanos shifted, trying to casually tug the sleeve down further, but it was too late.

Nam-Gyu's mouth pressed into a thin line. His eyes flicked back up—sharp, cutting, seeing too much like always.

"You didn't call."

It wasn't an accusation. It was... softer. Like he was trying to be careful with him.

Thanos's throat went tight. He glanced around, suddenly hyper-aware of all the eyes still on him—the whispers, the phones out, the fucking flash of cameras from the balcony.

"I... I was gonna."

Nam-Gyu's jaw clenched, but he didn't push.

Instead, he reached out—slow, deliberate—and curled his fingers around Thanos's wrist. Not hard. Just enough to guide him away from the crowd.

Thanos went without protest, letting Nam-Gyu tug him toward the narrow hallway by the bathrooms where the music dulled and the lights were dimmer.

They stopped at the end of the hall, half-hidden in the shadows.

Nam-Gyu dropped his wrist, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Okay," he said quietly, eyes locked on Thanos like they were the only two people in the whole damn club. "You wanna tell me what you're really doing here?"

Thanos's throat bobbed.

He could lie.

He could brush it off, make some bullshit excuse about missing him, about wanting to surprise him.

But the words wouldn't come.

Not with Nam-Gyu looking at him like that—like he already knew every shitty thing he'd been trying to bury all day.

"I—" Thanos's voice cracked, and he had to look away, staring at the scuffed tile floor. "I fucked up."

Nam-Gyu didn't say anything for a long second.

Then, soft as a breath—

"How bad?"

Thanos squeezed his eyes shut.

"Bad."

The word hung between them—heavy, fragile.

He braced himself for disappointment, for anger, for that crushed look he hated more than anything.

But when Nam-Gyu finally moved, it was only to step closer—so close Thanos could smell the faint trace of cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes.

"Okay," Nam-Gyu murmured. "Okay, baby."

Thanos's chest cracked open at the word—soft, warm, like a blanket wrapped around the worst parts of him.

His eyes burned.

He blinked hard, staring at the floor.

"I'm sorry—"

"I know."

"I didn't wanna—"

"I know." Nam-Gyu's fingers found his wrist again, thumb brushing lightly over the edge of the bandage. "You're here now, yeah?"

Thanos nodded, throat too tight to speak.

Nam-Gyu squeezed his hand.

"That's all that matters."

Thanos's breath caught.

He hadn't earned that kind of forgiveness—not yet.

But he let himself lean into it anyway, just for a second—let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't dragging Nam-Gyu down with him.

Not tonight.

Maybe tonight... they could hold each other up.

"I— I don't wanna be like this anymore..." Thanos's voice broke, barely audible over the muffled bass thudding through the walls. He squeezed his eyes shut, hating how weak he sounded, how small. "Fuck— maybe I should just... go to rehab or something."

The word tasted bitter on his tongue, like admitting defeat.

He expected Nam-Gyu to flinch, to sigh, maybe even agree.

But instead, there was only a gentle, steady warmth—fingers wrapping tighter around his wrist, thumb brushing soft circles against the inside of his palm.

"You don't have to figure all that out right now," Nam-Gyu murmured, voice low and steady. "One thing at a time, yeah?"

Thanos's chest ached. He felt like he couldn't get enough air, like the whole day was crashing down on him all at once.

"I just... I don't know how to do this without fucking everything up." His throat closed around the words, shame clawing up the back of his neck. "I keep trying, but... I don't know how to be—"

"You're already doing it." Nam-Gyu cut in, his voice calm but firm. "You're here, Thanos. You're trying. That's how."

Thanos shook his head, tears pricking hot behind his eyes. He hated crying—especially in front of people. But Nam-Gyu wasn't just people, was he?

"I cut myself," Thanos whispered, the confession slipping out before he could stop it. His whole body tensed, waiting for the disappointment, the anger—anything.

But Nam-Gyu didn't even flinch.

He just closed the distance between them, his hand sliding from Thanos's wrist to his shoulder, squeezing gently.

"I know," he said quietly.

That broke something in Thanos—the simple, quiet knowing.

His breath stuttered out of him in a ragged exhale, and before he could stop himself, he was folding forward, forehead pressing into Nam-Gyu's shoulder.

"I don't wanna be like this," he choked out. "I don't wanna be like this, Nam-Gyu—"

Nam-Gyu's arms wrapped around him, steady and sure.

"I know, baby." His fingers threaded through the back of Thanos's hair, grounding him. "I know."

They stood like that for a long time—hidden away in the shadows, the music and the crowd and the cameras all a distant blur.

Thanos's heart still ached, the weight of the day pressing heavy on his chest.

But for the first time in hours, he could breathe.

Maybe he wasn't fixed.

Maybe he was still broken in all the same places.

But Nam-Gyu was holding him together.

And for tonight... that was enough.

"Maybe..." Thanos's voice was barely above a whisper, muffled against Nam-Gyu's shoulder. His fingers twisted into the fabric of his jacket like it was the only thing keeping him standing.

"I should go to therapy...?"

It came out uncertain—like he wasn't really asking, just testing the words out loud. He already knew Nam-Gyu would never tell him what to do. He never pushed, never made Thanos feel like he was failing just because he was still figuring shit out. But some small, fragile part of him needed—wanted—to hear it anyway.

Needed someone to tell him it was okay to need help.

Nam-Gyu didn't answer right away. He just kept running those slow, gentle fingers through Thanos's hair, his other hand still holding tight to his wrist like he could feel the fresh ache under the bandages even without seeing it.

"You don't have to go if you're not ready," Nam-Gyu said softly. "But... if you're thinking about it? Maybe that means you're ready to try."

Thanos's heart squeezed painfully in his chest.

Try.

He didn't know why that word hit him so hard, but it did.

It didn't feel like a demand or an expectation—just an invitation. A little bit of hope tucked between the cracks of everything breaking inside him.

"I don't know where to start." His voice cracked, throat tight.

"You don't have to." Nam-Gyu's breath was warm against his hair. "You just have to show up. The rest... they'll help you figure it out."

Thanos let out a shaky breath, pressing his face harder into Nam-Gyu's shoulder.

"You really think I can do this?"

Nam-Gyu's arms tightened around him like the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I know you can."

Thanos's chest heaved, the tears he'd been swallowing down all night finally slipping out, hot and silent against Nam-Gyu's jacket.

"I don't wanna be like this anymore," he whispered again, voice breaking.

Nam-Gyu just held him tighter, not saying anything for a long moment—just letting him be, letting him feel.

Then, so quiet Thanos almost didn't hear it over the music thudding through the walls:

"Then we'll figure out how not to be... together."

Thanos's fingers curled tighter into Nam-Gyu's jacket.

Together.

Fuck.

Maybe that was the scariest part of all.

Letting someone stay.

Letting someone see all the broken, fucked-up pieces—and not run away.

But Nam-Gyu hadn't run yet.

And... maybe he never would.

"I'll try," Thanos whispered, the words shaky but real.

Nam-Gyu's hand found his, their fingers lacing together.

"That's all I ever want from you."

---

Thanos had left the club shortly after—only stopping long enough to take a few photos with fans on his way out. The flashes had been bright, the attention overwhelming, but for once, it didn't feel like the weight of the world pressing down on him.

He still felt... fragile—like one wrong move could shatter him into a thousand little pieces—but there was something new underneath all the noise.

Something lighter.

Hope.

Before he'd left, Nam-Gyu had kissed him—quick and soft, like a promise pressed against his lips.

"I'll be home in a few hours," he'd murmured, fingers brushing over Thanos's knuckles. "Get some rest... or at least try."

And maybe it was stupid how badly Thanos wanted to cling to those words—to believe them.

But he did.

So when he got home, he made himself move.

He kicked off his shoes by the door, fed Doom even though she was already half asleep on the windowsill, and took a long, hot shower—letting the water pound against his sore muscles, washing away the sweat and smoke and everything else clinging to him from the night.

By the time he stepped out, his skin was pink and his bandages were damp, but he felt... cleaner.

Lighter.

He pulled on a fresh hoodie, combed his damp hair back from his face, and sat down on the couch with his phone.

It took him three tries to actually open the search app.

Therapists near me.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, heart hammering hard against his ribs.

He didn't know what he was looking for—what the right words were, what kind of person he even needed.

But he was looking.

And for now... maybe that was enough.

Doom stretched out beside him on the couch, flicking her tail against his leg.

"Hey, girl..." Thanos reached out, running his fingers through her soft fur. "Guess we're really trying to get our shit together, huh?"

Doom blinked up at him slowly, completely unimpressed.

He snorted softly, scratching under her chin.

"Yeah... I'll believe it when I see it too."

His phone buzzed on the cushion beside him—a text from Nam-Gyu.

Nam-Gyu: I love you. I'll be home soon.

Thanos's throat closed up, heart squeezing painfully in his chest.

Together.

That's what Nam-Gyu had said.

And fuck—maybe he really meant it.

Maybe Thanos didn't have to figure all this out on his own.

He typed back slowly, fingers trembling just a little.

Thanos : I love you too. I'm trying.

He hit send before he could overthink it.

Then he leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling—Doom purring softly beside him, the list of therapists still open on his screen.

Trying.

It didn't feel like much.

But for the first time in days... it felt like enough.

Thanos smiled faintly as Doom padded across his lap, circling a few times before settling down with a soft, contented sigh. Her small body was warm against him, the steady vibration of her purring filling the quiet apartment.

He stroked down her back slowly, fingers brushing through her soft fur. It was grounding—something simple, something good. Doom didn’t care if he was a used-up rapper or a fucked-up mess still trying to piece himself back together. She just wanted him warm and breathing.

"You're the only girl who's ever really stuck around, huh?" he murmured, his voice rough but light.

Doom flicked an ear, utterly indifferent, before tucking her head under his hand. Thanos huffed out a soft laugh, scratching behind her ears.

The weight of everything still hung heavy in the room—the cuts on his arm stung under his hoodie, and the list of therapists still stared at him from his phone screen.

But right now, there was warmth. There was quiet. There was a little creature who trusted him to keep going.

He glanced at his phone again, thumb hovering over the contact list.

Maybe tomorrow he'd actually call one of those numbers.

But for tonight... this was enough.

He leaned back against the couch, eyes slipping shut as Doom's purring filled the space around him—steady and constant, like something to hold onto.

"I'm trying," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

And for once, he almost believed it.

He closed his eyes, sleep finding him faster than it had since his dumb fuck dad died—since the funeral, since everything started cracking open inside him.

The ache in his chest didn't disappear, but it dulled under the steady rhythm of Doom's purring. His breath evened out, the weight of exhaustion finally dragging him under. For the first time in what felt like forever, the silence wasn't crushing. It was... gentle.

He didn't dream—just floated in the dark, wrapped in the distant hum of the city outside and the warmth of the little life curled against him.

Maybe tomorrow he'd wake up still feeling this fragile, still fighting the same old demons.

But maybe he'd keep trying.

Maybe he'd make that call.

Maybe he'd finally believe he deserved to get better.

Doom shifted in her sleep, pressing closer to him, and Thanos's fingers twitched in her fur even as sleep tugged him deeper.

"I'm trying," he mumbled again, barely conscious.

This time... maybe trying was enough.

Chapter 17: Getting Back, Slowly

Notes:

Hiii! This is the re-load with (hopeful) a better story! I put a lot of thought in to where to take this one, and I think bringing more of the attention on to Nam-Gyu was a good choice for the fic. Special thanks to the comment that mentioned bringing up Nam-Gyu's struggle with addiction, it really helped me plan this one out better! <33

Also Thanos plot isn't over but it felt this was a good time to really crack open Nam-Gyu's plot to explore it more!

Thanos scrolled idly through Instagram as he waited for Ha-Joon to finish whatever conversation he was caught up in on the other end of the line. His thumb moved automatically, barely registering the endless parade of selfies, promo posts, and music updates filling his feed.

It had been a week since what he hoped was his last breakdown for a while. He didn’t want to jinx it — never say never, not with how his brain worked — but the last few days had been... better. Clearer. The crushing weight in his chest had eased just a little, enough to let him breathe without it feeling like a chore.

He’d been through this cycle before, ever since he was a teenager. Sink into the dark for a week, sometimes a month, then crawl back out of it like nothing happened. It always went away eventually, so he’d convinced himself it wasn’t really a problem. He wasn’t depressed. Depressed people stayed down — they didn't just snap out of it on their own.

That was what he told himself, anyway.

But when he got older... well, it was easier to cope with the comedowns when he had something to take the edge off. The highs always made the lows feel a little further away. Until they didn't.

He'd been clean for almost two months now. That was the longest he'd stayed sober in... shit, maybe years. But the past week had tested him in ways he wasn’t sure he could put into words. If Nam-Gyu hadn't been around, checking in, dragging him out of bed, pushing him to eat, to move, to talk—

Thanos shut that thought down before it could spiral too far.

He didn't like thinking about how much he'd come to lean on Nam-Gyu. It scared him, needing someone like that. It always had.

His phone buzzed in his hand, jolting him out of his head.

Finally.

"Su-Bong, you still there?" Ha-Joon's voice crackled through the speaker, sharp and businesslike as always.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Good. Because what the fuck, man?"

Thanos blinked. "...What?"

"You’ve been MIA for two months, ignoring half my calls — which, by the way, I was this close to reporting you as a missing person — and then the next time I hear your name, it’s because you're going viral for holding hands with some guy in a club?"

Thanos froze mid-scroll, a half-chewed piece of gum lodged between his molars.

"...I'm going viral?"

Across the room, Nam-Gyu glanced up from where he was flipping through one of Thanos’s old records, eyebrow raised.

"Now he gets it," Ha-Joon muttered. "How do you not know?"

Thanos popped the gum out of his mouth and flicked it toward the trash can, missing completely.

"I don't know, maybe because my dad died, I spent the last week having a mental breakdown, and I've been too busy trying to find a fucking therapist to scroll the hell app?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. When Ha-Joon spoke again, his voice was noticeably softer.

"...Shit. Su-Bong, I—"

"Don't," Thanos cut him off, not unkindly. He didn't want the pity. He couldn't handle it right now. "Just tell me what everyone's freaking out about."

Ha-Joon sighed heavily, the sound crackling through the speaker.

"It's not that bad, honestly. Just a couple photos — someone snapped you at Pentagon the other night. Holding hands, looking... close."

Thanos's stomach clenched. His eyes flicked up to Nam-Gyu again, who was very deliberately not looking at him now, flipping the vinyl sleeve in his hands.

"Close how?" Thanos asked carefully.

"Close like... someone with half a brain could figure out you're dating the guy."

Thanos's heart gave an uncomfortable jolt in his chest.

He leaned back against the wall, running a hand through his hair.

"Huh."

"You're not denying it?" Ha-Joon pressed, a little wary now.

Thanos glanced at Nam-Gyu again. He caught the younger man's gaze this time, dark eyes watching him steadily from beneath his messy fringe.

"No," Thanos said quietly. "I'm not denying it."

Another pause.

"Okay." Ha-Joon exhaled slowly. "Okay. Look... I don't care who you're seeing. I really don't. You know that. But you’ve been out of the spotlight for months, and the second you pop back up, it's in a whole new context. People are gonna talk. They already are."

Thanos's stomach twisted. He knew what Ha-Joon meant without him having to spell it out.

The music industry was a hell of a lot more progressive than it used to be, but that didn't mean there weren't still plenty of assholes out there with opinions about who a rockstar was supposed to sleep with. And the fans... well. He’d seen how ugly they could get when he dated women.

He didn't even want to think about what they'd say now.

"You think it's gonna get bad?" he asked, voice low.

"I don't know yet," Ha-Joon admitted. "Could be nothing. Could blow over in a couple days. But if it doesn't... you're gonna need to decide how you want to handle it."

Thanos chewed the inside of his cheek, feeling that familiar itch stir beneath his skin — the one that always came with public scrutiny. The urge to run. To disappear.

To numb it out.

Thanos startled, realizing he'd been muttering out loud without meaning to.

Nam-Gyu set the record down gently on the coffee table, meeting his eyes across the room.

"Breathe."

Thanos swallowed hard.

"Okay."

He didn't say anything else — just crossed the room and sat down beside him, close enough that their knees brushed.

Ha-Joon's voice crackled in his ear again.

"Look, man... if this is what you want, I'll back you up. You know I will." He hesitated. "But... you should probably warn him. About the fans. The press. All of it."

Thanos's stomach clenched harder.

He glanced at Nam-Gyu again — at the soft line of his mouth, the steady warmth in his eyes.

"You think I haven't?"

Nam-Gyu’s smile twitched wider, a little crooked, a little cocky.

"I grew up in a house full of assholes, Thanos. A couple of online weirdos aren't gonna scare me."

Thanos snorted, tension easing from his shoulders without him even realizing it.

"That supposed to impress me?"

Nam-Gyu leaned in, voice low and teasing.

"Doesn't it?"

God, it did. Way more than it should.

Thanos felt the corner of his mouth tug up despite himself. He flicked his eyes away, pretending to focus on the ceiling like that would stop the way his heart was doing weird little flips in his chest.

On the other end of the line, Ha-Joon was still talking — something about laying low, letting the rumors die down — but Thanos wasn't really listening anymore. His thumb hovered over the speaker button like maybe he should mute the call. Or hang up entirely.

Instead, before he could stop himself, before he even really thought about it, the words just tumbled out.

"Move in with me."

The room went dead quiet.

Nam-Gyu blinked, head tilting slightly like he wasn't sure he'd heard right.

Even Ha-Joon went silent on the other end of the line, the distant buzz of his office suddenly cutting off mid-sentence.

Thanos's stomach dropped.

"Fuck." He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. "I didn't—"

Nam-Gyu's voice cut him off, calm and steady.

"You serious?"

Thanos's heart was going a million miles a minute now, panic rising in his chest. He hadn't meant to say it. Not like that. Not with Ha-Joon still on the phone, not when everything between them still felt so new.

But now the words were out there, hanging heavy in the air, and he couldn't take them back.

"I—" He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, avoiding Nam-Gyu's eyes. "I don't know. Maybe. Fuck, forget I said anything."

Nam-Gyu didn't.

Instead, he just leaned back slightly, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted like he was sizing Thanos up.

"You want me to move in?"

Thanos's mouth opened, closed. He could feel his face heating up.

"I just... I don't know. You're here all the time anyway. And you hate your place. And Doom likes you." His voice was getting faster, more defensive. "And I just— I thought—"

Nam-Gyu's eyes softened.

"Su-Bong."

Thanos's breath caught.

Nobody ever called him that. Not unless they really meant it.

His throat felt tight. He glanced down at his lap, fingers twisting the sheets into messy knots.

"...Yeah," he muttered finally. "I want you to move in."

There was a long, heavy pause.

Then Nam-Gyu shifted closer, one knee pressing against Thanos's thigh.

"You really need to work on your delivery," he murmured.

Thanos's head snapped up, heart hammering in his chest.

"...Wait. That's not a no?"

Nam-Gyu's mouth curved into that slow, crooked smile again — the one that always made Thanos feel like he was standing on the edge of something dangerous and good.

"It's a maybe," he said, voice light. "Ask me again when that gum isn't on the floor and your not still on the phone with your manager."

Thanos blinked.

Ha-Joon, who had been silent this entire time, finally cleared his throat.

"Yeah, hi, still here. Really happy for you both. Can I hang up now?"

Thanos groaned, flopping back against the pillows and covering his face with one hand.

"Fuck."

Ha-Joon chuckled on the other end of the line, the kind of warm, familiar laugh that made Thanos's stomach twist — half embarrassed, half grateful.

"Oh, Su-Bong... you never change." There was a pause, then a smirk in his voice. "Except, apparently, when you do. I'll set up a press conference — something small, just to get ahead of the rumors. No labels, no statements — just you, being your usual pain-in-the-ass self. In the meantime, I'm emailing you a referral for a therapist. He's discreet, works with people in the industry all the time. Good reputation."

Thanos's throat went tight. He shifted the phone to his other ear, suddenly feeling way too seen.

"Ha-Joon—"

"And now," his manager cut him off, voice bright and final, "I'm hanging up before you try to talk yourself out of it. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

There was a click, then the line went dead.

Thanos stared at the phone in his hand, blinking at the screen like maybe if he looked hard enough, it would undo the whole conversation.

"Press conference?" Nam-Gyu asked, voice low.

Thanos sighed, tossing the phone onto the nightstand.

"Just damage control. Nothing big."

Nam-Gyu hummed, noncommittal. His fingers traced lazy circles along Thanos's thigh, warm and absentminded.

"You really gonna see that therapist?"

Thanos shifted under the blankets, uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with the lingering ache in his muscles.

"Probably." He glanced away, fingers drumming against his own stomach.

Nam-Gyu didn't push. He never did. He just sat there, steady and solid — a warm, quiet weight at Thanos's side. After a long moment, he squeezed Thanos's leg gently.

"You should."

Thanos closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

He knew that. He'd known it for a while now — ever since the night Nam-Gyu found him curled up on the couch, shaking and hollowed out, barely holding it together. But knowing it and actually doing it were two different things.

"I think I will" he muttered finally.

Nam-Gyu's fingers squeezed again.

"Good."

For a while, neither of them said anything. The room was warm, sun spilling through the blinds in thin, golden stripes. Doom snored quietly from the foot of the bed. The sheets still smelled like sweat and skin and the fading edges of last night's cologne.

Thanos's heart was still doing that weird, fluttery thing in his chest.

"About what I said earlier," he mumbled, eyes fixed on a crack in the ceiling. "You don't have to—"

"I'm not saying no," Nam-Gyu interrupted.

Thanos's head snapped toward him, startled.

Nam-Gyu's face was unreadable — calm, steady, like always — but there was something softer at the edges. He shifted closer, leaning in until their foreheads almost touched.

"I'm not saying yes, either," he added quietly. "Not yet."

Thanos's heart thudded against his ribs.

"But I'm thinking about it." Nam-Gyu's mouth curved into that slow, crooked smile again. "Guess you'll just have to keep me around long enough to convince me."

Thanos's chest squeezed so tight it hurt.

He didn't say anything — couldn't, not with his throat closing up like this — so he just leaned in and pressed his mouth to Nam-Gyu's, slow and careful, like maybe if he moved too fast, he'd break whatever fragile thing was hanging between them.

Nam-Gyu kissed him back, just as slow.

It wasn't a yes.

But it wasn't a no either.

It was insane how happy a maybe made him — like someone had flipped a switch inside his chest, filling him up with something warm and stupid and so much softer than he ever thought he'd be allowed to have.

Thanos pulled back just enough to see Nam-Gyu’s face, grinning even as his heart hammered against his ribs.

"Fine." He brushed his thumb along Nam-Gyu’s jaw, voice low and teasing. "But if you end up dumping me, I’m not sharing custody of Doom."

Nam-Gyu snorted, eyes half-lidded, lazy in that way that always made Thanos want to kiss him again.

"Please," he drawled. "Doom likes me better."

Thanos’s mouth fell open in mock outrage.

"Excuse me? That’s my cat. She literally shows up at my feet begging for food like some stray cartoon character."

Nam-Gyu's smile stretched wider, smug and infuriating.

"Yeah? And who does she sleep on every night?"

Thanos narrowed his eyes, lips twitching.

"You bribed her with tuna."

"Smart girl."

They stared at each other for a second, the playful bickering tapering off into something softer — something that made Thanos's chest ache all over again.

Fuck.

He was so gone for this guy.

His fingers traced the curve of Nam-Gyu’s shoulder, heart thudding in slow, heavy beats. The maybe hung between them like a promise — fragile, unspoken, but there.

It would've been so easy to ruin it — to push too hard, too fast, the way he always did. But for once, Thanos didn't want to wreck the good thing he had. He just wanted to keep it — whatever it was, however long Nam-Gyu was willing to give it to him.

He leaned in again, brushing his nose against Nam-Gyu's.

"You'd really think about moving in?"

Nam-Gyu's smile faded a little, something softer flickering in his eyes. He didn't answer right away, like he was turning the question over in his head — weighing it, testing how it fit.

"...Yeah," he said finally. Quiet. Honest.

"I'm thinking about it."

Thanos's heart squeezed so hard it almost hurt.

He didn't push for more. Didn't try to lock it down or wrap it up in neat little boxes the way he usually did.

Instead, he just closed his eyes, leaned his forehead against Nam-Gyu's, and let himself breathe in the maybe.

---

Nam-Gyu had left Thanos's apartment hours ago, the warmth of the morning clinging to him like a phantom touch as he stepped into the cold reality of another night at Club Pentagon.

He shoved his jacket into one of the storage lockers in the back hallway, the metal door clanging shut harder than necessary. His name was scrawled in fading marker across the top, half rubbed off from years of hands and dust.

God, he hated this place.

It was still early, the club only just beginning to stir — low music thumping through the walls, lights dimmed to that cool blue haze that made everything feel half-real. This was the only time the club ever felt halfway bearable — before the crowds, before the noise. Before he had to plaster on that fake smile and pretend he gave a shit about anyone in here.

Nam-Gyu rolled his shoulders and headed down the hall toward the VIP rooms. Technically, the bartenders were supposed to restock the bars before their shifts started — he'd shown them how to do it a dozen fucking times — but none of those lazy assholes ever did their jobs unless someone was breathing down their necks.

So, like always, it fell on him.

He pushed open the heavy door to Room 3, flicking on the lights. Shelves lined the walls, half-stocked with bottles of top-shelf liquor, mixers, and sparkling water. He started taking inventory, restocking where he could, hands moving on autopilot.

His mind drifted.

He'd been sober for—what, five months now? Give or take.

The days blurred together when you weren’t numbing yourself out of existence.

Working at clubs had been a lot more fun when he was high. Back then, the whole reason he'd taken this job was because it came with easy booze, easy drugs. All you had to do was smile pretty and make people feel important, and they'd slip you whatever they had — pills, coke, whatever designer shit rich people always seemed to have on them.

Nam-Gyu could barely remember whole stretches of those nights — the music pounding in his skull, everything warm and bright and a little too fast. The way the world had felt almost good, almost bearable — until it didn’t.

He hadn't touched anything since he'd gotten clean.

But there were still nights when the itch crawled under his skin — especially here, surrounded by everything he'd once wanted. Nights when the little voice in the back of his head whispered, just one bump, just one pill, just anyother needle— nobody would even know.

Nam-Gyu slammed a bottle of whiskey down on the shelf harder than he needed to, jaw clenched.

Fuck. He needed a smoke.

He finished restocking the room, then grabbed his lighter from his pocket and slipped out the back door into the alley behind the club. The cold night air bit through his thin shirt, but he barely felt it.

He lit up, taking a long drag, the smoke burning down deep into his lungs. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Something to take the edge off.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Thanos: How's the club life going? ;P

Nam-Gyu huffed out a laugh, flicking ash onto the pavement.

That guy was such a pain in the ass.

Nam-Gyu: Just peachy.

A few seconds passed.

Thanos: Liar.

Nam-Gyu smiled despite himself, taking another drag.

Nam-Gyu stuffed his phone back into his pocket, lifting the cigarette to his lips again. The ember flared, casting a small orange glow against the shadows of the alley.

He hadn't bothered putting his jacket back on when he came out here. His black t-shirt clung to his lean frame, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows — exposing the faint, fading track marks that traced up the inside of his arms. Most of them were old, barely visible unless you were looking close.

People always looked close.

Summer was the worst. Long sleeves got too hot, so he'd stopped trying to hide them a while ago — but that didn't stop the stares. Those quick glances from strangers that lingered just a second too long, judgment flickering across their faces before they looked away.

Like they fucking knew him. Like they knew what kind of person he was.

Nam-Gyu took another drag, jaw tight. He preferred not to think about it — not unless he wanted to end up pissed off, and whenever he got pissed off, the cravings came clawing back.

That was half the reason he'd spent his whole life putting everyone else first. If he was too busy taking care of other people, too busy cleaning up other people's messes, then he wouldn't have to deal with his own shit.

It was easier that way.

He really did want to move in with Thanos. The second those words had slipped out of Thanos's mouth, something in his chest had squeezed so tight he thought he might choke on it.

But...

Thanos didn't know what his nights were really like when he slept at his own place. How he tossed and turned for hours, unable to shut off his brain — replaying every mistake he'd ever made, every person he'd ever let down. How the cravings gnawed at the edges of his mind until he was wide-eyed at 3 AM, staring at the ceiling and thinking about how much easier it would be if he just took something — just a little something — to take the edge off.

Insomnia. That’s what the doctor had called it when they'd slapped a diagnosis on him after the overdose.

Nam-Gyu huffed out smoke through his nose, lips curling into something bitter.

Funny, how close he'd come to dying without even meaning to.

He'd been nodding off in some random guy's shitty apartment, high out of his mind — couldn't even remember what he'd taken that night. The next thing he knew, he was waking up in the hospital with an IV in his arm and a doctor asking him if he wanted to talk to someone.

He hadn't.

Nobody gave a shit back then. He'd checked himself out as soon as he could stand, gone right back to work the next day like nothing had happened.

Nobody had even noticed.

Nam-Gyu flicked ash onto the pavement, his cigarette burning low between his fingers.

Maybe Thanos would notice — if he fucked up again.

Maybe Thanos would care.

That thought scared him more than anything. Because if Thanos cared... if Thanos got hurt because of him...

He took one last drag, letting the smoke sear down into his lungs before he flicked the cigarette away, watching the ember die out against the asphalt.

He couldn't fuck this up.

Not this time.

With a heavy breath, Nam-Gyu shoved his hands into his pockets and headed back inside — back into the noise and the lights and the fake smiles.

Back to work.

Ironically enough, being at work — surrounded by the exact kind of people he used to be — only made the cravings worse.

Nam-Gyu leaned against the bar, arms crossed tight over his chest, watching some random asshole in designer clothes pop a little white pill like it was nothing. The guy barely even tried to hide it, just slipped it under his tongue with a swig of whiskey and kept talking like it was the most casual thing in the world.

Nam-Gyu's mouth went dry.

He looked away quickly, focusing on the half-empty glasses scattered across the bar top. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching for something — a cigarette, a drink, anything to take the edge off.

He hated that part of himself — the part that still wanted it, even now.

He hated how his brain could twist things around, how it could whisper to him that he deserved just a little taste. That he could handle it. That he wasn't like those other junkies — the ones who ended up passed out in bathrooms or dead in shitty apartments.

But he was. He knew that deep down, even if he didn't want to admit it.

The only difference between him and them was that he got lucky.

He got out.

Most days, he was proud of how far he'd come. Proud that he'd stayed clean for almost five months — the longest stretch of sobriety he'd managed since he was a teenager.

But the need to shoot up was still there, coiled tight under his skin, waiting for a weak moment to strike.

It always would be.

Nobody ever told you how fucking boring sobriety was. How empty everything felt without that constant high buzzing through your veins. How raw the world could feel when you couldn't numb it out anymore.

Nam-Gyu exhaled slowly through his nose, rolling his shoulders back. He could do this. He just had to keep his head down and make it through the shift. One more night.

Tomorrow he'd wake up in Thanos's bed, warm and safe with Doom curled up between them, and the cravings would fade again — at least for a little while.

He could make it to tomorrow.

He had to.

But then, like it always did when the noise settled for even a second, his mind drifted back to Ji-Ho.

Nam-Gyu took a slow drag from his cigarette, the bitter smoke burning down his throat as guilt curled heavy in his chest.

He'd been so busy — trying to catch up on the shifts he missed, trying to be there for Thanos through everything with his dad, trying to keep his own head above water — that he hadn't been checking in as much as he should. He called, sure, but quick five-minute conversations weren't the same as really being there.

Ji-Ho never complained. He never asked for anything, just acted like he was fine, like he didn't notice how much less Nam-Gyu had been around lately. But that almost made it worse — how the kid had already learned to expect so little from people.

Nam-Gyu flicked ash off the cigarette, jaw clenching.

He felt so fucking shitty about it. Ji-Ho was the only person in his whole goddamn family he still gave a fuck about, and he was barely holding onto him by a thread.

He knew it couldn't just be the two of them forever. He'd been promising himself for weeks that he'd start looking — for their sister, for their grandparents, for someone who might actually be able to take care of Ji-Ho the way he deserved.

But even three weeks later, he still didn't have a single clue where to start.

His mom wouldn't tell him shit — not that he'd expected her to. He'd tried digging around online, but what the hell was he supposed to even search for? He barely remembered his sister’s name, hadn't seen her since he was a little kid. And their grandparents — if they were even still alive — were just these hazy, half-formed figures in the back of his mind.

Part of him wondered if he was just making excuses. If maybe he was dragging his feet because once he found someone, that would be it — his last reason to hold on to Ji-Ho would be gone.

Then what?

Then he’d be really alone.

Nam-Gyu took another drag, staring out at the dark alley behind the club.

He wanted to talk to Thanos about it. He really did. But every time he opened his mouth, the words got stuck somewhere in his throat. He didn't know how to explain any of it without sounding pathetic — how lost he felt, how scared he was of fucking everything up.

He didn't want to be another burden weighing Thanos down, not when the guy was barely holding himself together half the time.

So he kept it all locked up tight inside, like he always had.

He finished the cigarette and stubbed it out on the brick wall, grinding it down until there was nothing left but ash. His break was almost up.

Time to plaster on a smile and get back to work.

Just a few more hours.

Tomorrow he'd try harder.

Now that Thanos was doing better — really, actually better — and now that Nam-Gyu was almost caught up on the shifts he'd missed, maybe tomorrow he could finally get his shit together.

Tomorrow he'd drag his ass out of bed, go to a meeting with Thanos, and he'd talk. Really talk. Not just sit there staring at the floor, nodding along like everything was fine. He'd vent about all this crap weighing him down — Ji-Ho, the insomnia, the constant itch under his skin. He’d say out loud how much he hated himself for still wanting to get high, even after everything. Even after Thanos.

Maybe then the whole mess would stop feeling like this huge, tangled knot inside his chest.

Then he'd figure out where to start with Ji-Ho. There had to be someone out there who knew something — an old neighbor, a social worker, somebody. He could ask In-Ho, or even Gyeong-Su. They had connections, the kind of people who could dig things up if you asked the right way.

He just had to ask.

No more putting it off. No more pretending he didn't have time or that it didn't matter. Ji-Ho deserved better than that.

Nam-Gyu sighed, leaning his head back against the brick wall, the cigarette smoke still clinging to his shirt.

It was funny — for so long, he'd convinced himself he was better off handling everything alone. That as long as he could just get through the day without fucking up too bad, that was enough. But lately... he didn't want to be alone anymore.

He wanted to lean on someone, even if it scared the hell out of him.

And maybe that was the whole point of all this sober bullshit — not just staying clean, but letting people in. Letting them see the weak, broken parts and not running away when they tried to help.

Thanos was trying so hard. He deserved someone who would try just as hard in return.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow he'd try harder.

Nam-Gyu pushed off the wall, flicking his lighter open and shut in his pocket as he headed back inside.

Just a few more hours.

It was going to be fine.

---

2:37 a.m.

One of the biggest downsides to working at a club was the late hours — hours that seemed to crawl by unless you were drunk or high.

Nam-Gyu wasn't either, hadn't been in months, and nights like this made him feel every goddamn second of sobriety.

He leaned against the wall just off the dance floor, arms crossed, eyes flicking over the crowd without really seeing them. The music pounded in his ears, some generic EDM track that blended into every other song they'd played that night. The bass thudded through his chest, steady and relentless — the kind of beat that would’ve made him crave a bump back in the day, just to ride the high and match the pulse.

But not tonight.

Tonight he just felt awake. Bone-tired and wired at the same time, like there was a crack running down the middle of him that he couldn't quite seal shut.

The clock above the bar glowed red — 2:38 a.m.

The club closed at four, only to reopen five hours later. He'd done plenty of open-to-close shifts before, sometimes pulling another opening shift right after if the cash was good enough. Half the time, his boss didn't even bother asking — just wrote him in and expected him to show up.

And he always did.

It was easier to let himself get used up than to fight back. Easier to stay moving, stay exhausted, stay useful, than to sit still and let his mind start picking him apart.

Nam-Gyu shifted, stretching out the ache in his back. He could already feel the hours catching up to him — the dull throb in his legs, the heavy pull behind his eyes.

Fuck, he missed drugs.

Not the whole spiraling mess of addiction — not waking up sick or lying to everyone who still gave a shit about him. He missed the relief. The way a little pill or a bump could smooth out the edges and make everything feel easier, even if just for a few hours.

But then he thought about Thanos — about how fucking proud he'd looked when Nam-Gyu told him he'd hit ninety days clean. About Ji-Ho, still trying to pull his own life together at fifteen. About how Nam-Gyu was supposed to be the one they could count on now.

The craving didn't go away, but it got quieter.

Barely.

He exhaled hard through his nose, shifting his weight against the wall. Two more hours. Then he'd lock up, go home, and probably stare at his ceiling until the sun came up again.

Funny how that worked — a club promoter's whole job was to make people happy, keep the mood up, keep the drinks flowing, the music pumping, the high rolling.

Half the time, he felt like a glorified babysitter for rich assholes trying to drown their problems in overpriced liquor. The other half, he felt invisible — just another part of the scenery, blending into the walls while everyone else had the kind of night they'd forget by morning.

Nam-Gyu's job was to smile, smooth things over, make sure the right people got into the right rooms with the right drinks. He was good at it, too — could charm his way through any conversation, flash that easy grin that made people think he gave a shit.

But he didn't. Not really.

He couldn't care less about these people's nights — whether they went home alone or with someone they'd regret, whether they blacked out or danced until sunrise. Half of them wouldn't even remember his name if they saw him on the street the next day.

Still, he played his part. Kept his head down. Kept the machine running.

It was easier that way.

Easier to go through the motions, let the hours bleed together until his shift ended and he could go back to... what?

His shitty little apartment that barely felt like home? The bed he hardly ever slept in?

He could've been high as hell right now — floating through the night, not feeling a damn thing — but that wasn't an option anymore. He'd made promises.

To himself. To Ji-Ho.

To Thanos.

And he meant to keep them.

Even if no one would notice if he slipped.

Even if he still didn't know who the fuck he was supposed to be without the drugs smoothing everything out.

He shifted against the wall again, glancing at the clock. 2:41 a.m.

The craving itched under his skin — not sharp, but steady, like something gnawing at the back of his mind.

He pulled out his pack of cigarettes, tapping one out with fingers that shook just a little.

Two more hours.

He hoped he could get through two more hours without bashing his head into the wall.

Nam-Gyu sighed, before turning his attention to the drunk idiot still swaying on the bar.

"Get the fuck down, dumbass!"

The guy blinked at him, half-dazed, half-offended, before his buddy finally grabbed him by the arm and yanked him down.

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Yeah, that's what I thought."

He leaned back against the wall, fishing out his cigarette pack again.

This job was going to kill him one way or another — either from boredom or secondhand embarrassment.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he flicked the lighter closed, pulling it out to check the screen.

Se-Mi: Sup loser, it's been a minute. Wanna hang tmr?

Nam-Gyu snorted under his breath, thumbs moving before he could think twice.

Nam-Gyu: What r u doing awake?

It had been a couple of weeks since they'd last talked — Se-Mi was one of the only people from he knew when he first went to the group meetings.

The reply came fast.

Se-Mi: Was working something, I thought you'd be awake and I was right.

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

Nam-Gyu: You're still a freak.

Se-Mi: Yeah, well you're still an asshole.

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes.

Nam-Gyu: Yeah alright let's hang tomorrow.

Se-Mi: Cool. Try not to die before then.

Nam-Gyu: No promises.

He tucked his phone back into his pocket, the smallest hint of a smile lingering on his lips. Se-Mi always had a way of making him feel a little less... heavy. Even if she was a pain in the ass half the time.

Nam-Gyu pushed off the wall, weaving through the crowd. The music thumped through the floor, vibrating in his chest. He made his way to the upper level — a quieter spot with a view of the dance floor below.

People watching had always been his favorite part of the job. Half the time, the shit people did when they thought no one was looking was better than any movie. Drunk couples making out like the world was ending, rich assholes blowing through cash like it meant nothing, some poor guy getting rejected by a girl way out of his league — the whole spectrum of human stupidity on display.

He leaned against the railing, letting his eyes roam. It was easier to feel detached from up here. Like he wasn't really part of all this bullshit — just an observer.

Nam-Gyu's fingers itched for a cigarette, but he'd already burned through half a pack on his last break. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets and tried not to think about how long two hours could stretch when you were sober and restless.

---

Ugh.

He hated how much he actually cared about this damn job. On the surface, it was a decent gig. He’d been working here for years, long enough that the regulars knew his name and the staff respected him. Hell, some even feared him. He had the inside track on everything — the good wifi password, the alcohol suppliers who gave the club the best deals, and the leverage to get rookie employees trained properly without having to waste his own time.

It should’ve been enough to make him feel proud of the work he did. But some days... it felt like a slow burn. Like every hour stretched into an eternity. The constant noise, the flashing lights, the endless sea of faces blending together in a haze of booze and desperation. Watching people pop pills, snort lines, or shoot up in the bathrooms had worn him thin over the years. It was like a constant reminder of how much easier everything could be if he just joined in, let go for once. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Sometimes he just wanted to punch something.

Nam-Gyu pushed open the door to the locker room, the flickering fluorescent lights casting an unflattering glow over the space. It smelled like stale sweat and cleaning chemicals. Not exactly a relaxing vibe. He walked toward his locker, his boots thudding softly against the worn floor.

Reaching into his pocket, he fumbled with the small key attached to his keyring and slid it into the lock. The locker creaked open, revealing his stuff — the tattered jacket he’d tossed in there hours ago, a couple of half-empty bottles of water, and his gym bag shoved into the corner.

He grabbed his jacket and threw it over his shoulder, scanning the cluttered space one last time before closing the locker with a soft click. Another shift done. Another night survived. But it wasn’t enough to shake off the weight on his shoulders.

God, he just wanted to get the hell out of here. Go home, crash for a few hours — or more likely, lie in bed staring at the ceiling — before he'd inevitably get called in to do it all over again. The whole cycle was a fucking joke. He could practically predict the text from his boss already: Hey, someone called out. Can you cover? Like he had any kind of life outside these walls.

The faint echo of footsteps broke through his thoughts, and he stiffened automatically, not in the mood for small talk.

"Oh, hey, Nam-Gyu!"

He recognized the voice before he even turned around. Eun-Kyung — one of the newer hires. Sweet girl, eager to please. A little too eager, if you asked him.

Nam-Gyu glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of her hovering by the lockers with that same bright smile she always had plastered on. Yep, definitely a kiss-ass. He wasn't sure if she was genuinely nice or just trying to get on everyone's good side. Probably both.

"Hey," he muttered, pulling his jacket on and hoping that would signal he was in no mood for conversation.

But, of course, she didn't pick up on it.

"Long night, huh?" she chirped, opening her own locker. "I heard some guy tried to climb on the bar earlier. You really told him off."

Nam-Gyu snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, well, idiots climb on shit every night. Nothing new."

Eun-Kyung laughed a little too loudly, like he'd just cracked the funniest joke in the world. Definitely trying to get on everyone's good side.

"Still, you're like... a legend around here."

Nam-Gyu froze for half a second before forcing himself to keep moving, shoving his phone into his pocket. Legend. What a fucking joke. If she knew half the shit he'd done, she wouldn't be looking at him like that.

"Yeah, sure." He slammed his locker shut, the metal door rattling. "Night, Eun-Kyung."

She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something else, but he was already walking out the door, leaving her behind with whatever brown-nosing bullshit she was about to spout.

Legend. Right. More like a cautionary tale.

Legend. Right. More like a fucking cautionary tale.

People like Thanos were legends — the kind of guys who chased their dreams, crashed, burned, and somehow still clawed their way back up. People liked stories like that. They ate that shit up. Redemption arcs. Second chances.

Nam-Gyu? He was just some ex-junkie still working at the same shitty club he'd started at five years ago, making just enough to pay rent and not much else. Not chasing anything. Not climbing back up from anything. Just... existing.

He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets as he walked down the hallway, boots echoing against the tile floor. The music still thumped faintly from the main room, muffled through the walls. His shift was technically over, but the club would keep going without him — packed with wasted people making the same mistakes he'd spent years trying to crawl out of.

Maybe that’s why he hated this job so fucking much now. He’d thought working in a place like this would help him feel like he was still part of something — still fun. But all it did was remind him how easy it would be to slip back in. How half the people here were exactly like he used to be, except they’d get to wake up tomorrow and do it all over again without it wrecking their entire life.

He couldn't even really blame them. That was the worst part.

Nam-Gyu stopped at the back door, leaning against the cold metal for a second before pushing it open and stepping out into the humid night air. The alley behind the club was quiet, the only sound the distant bass still leaking through the walls.

He lit another cigarette without thinking about it, taking a long drag. He'd quit harder shit — he figured he was allowed this one vice.

Still, the craving gnawed at the edges of his mind, sharp and familiar.

He tilted his head back against the wall, eyes slipping shut.

Maybe tomorrow Thanos would call that therapist his manger had been talking about.

Tomorrow he'd finally figure out how to help Ji-Ho.

The only problem was the same one he'd been wrestling with every night for the past few weeks — the problem he never seemed to find an answer to, no matter how many cigarettes he burned through trying to sort it out.

Should he go home?

Or should he go to Thanos's apartment — the place that felt more like home than anywhere had in years?

It should've been an easy decision. Thanos always made space for him without asking questions, like he'd known from the start that Nam-Gyu would need somewhere to land. He could already picture it — Doom winding between his legs at the door, the apartment lights low, Thanos half-asleep on the couch waiting up for him without making a big deal out of it.

But that was the problem, wasn't it?

If he went there, he'd be seen.

It was one thing to let Thanos hold him when he was worn out and soft around the edges, the worst of the day stripped away. It was another thing entirely to let him see the rest. The nights like this, when the craving burned so hot under his skin it made his teeth ache. When his whole body felt strung too tight, like the only way to loosen the knot in his chest was to press a needle into his arm until everything inside him finally went quiet.

He hated the idea of anyone seeing him like that — even Thanos. Especially Thanos.

Nam-Gyu had seen Thanos at his lowest — wasted, strung out, sobbing on the floor of a bathroom. And he'd never once thought less of him for it. He'd held him through it, stayed close without asking for anything in return.

But what if it wasn't the same the other way around? What if seeing how weak he could still be made Thanos look at him differently?

What if Thanos saw him like that... and didn't want him anymore?

Nam-Gyu's cigarette burned down to the filter between his fingers, and he flicked it to the ground, crushing it under his boot.

Maybe moving in would make things easier.

Or maybe it would just give him one more person to disappoint.

He dragged his hands through his hair, exhaling slow through his nose.

Fuck, he was so tired of himself.

But when he closed his eyes, all he could picture was Thanos's sleepy smile, the soft way he'd said "Maybe."

His feet were already moving before he'd made the conscious decision — turning toward where his car was parked.

He could hate himself at home just as easily as he could hate himself alone.

But maybe... If he went to Thanos's, he wouldn't have to be alone at all.

Notes:

I hope this chapter reads better now, and I hope ya'll have a good day! 🫶

Also I got a comment asking if they could write a fic with this au, and if anyone wants to do that PLEASE tell me cuz I'd love to read it!
(btw the answer is yes you absolutely can write stuff for this au) 😄

Chapter 18: Therapy And Milkshake's

Notes:

Hellooo! I FINALLY got my laptop back! Soooo a new chapter! Hopefully, my updates will stop being so wonky lol

Thanos listened as Deok-Su wrapped up his share, the older man’s gravelly voice filling the small room.

Deok-Su always told the best stories — the kind that could make you laugh even when they were about the saddest shit ever.

"Anyways, I don't wanna hog all the time. Who else wants to share?"

A few beats of silence passed, the usual awkward pause where everyone hoped someone else would volunteer. Thanos shifted in his seat, fingers tapping lightly on his knee.

Do I really wanna spill my whole shitty couple weeks out loud?

On one hand, no. Definitely not. Half the people here barely knew him. But on the other hand... wasn't that kinda the point? To talk about the hard shit instead of letting it eat you alive?

Next to him, Nam-Gyu sat with his legs crossed, arms resting loosely over his knees. He glanced at Thanos with that small, soft smile — the one that said you don't have to... but you can.

Fuck.

Thanos sighed, raising his hand halfway.

"Yeah, sure... I'll go."

Deok-Su gave him a nod of approval, leaning back in his chair. All the eyes in the room shifted to him.

Thanos cleared his throat.

"Sup, my name is Thanos and i'm a addict." People around the room give a quick "Hello" or "Hi"

Uh... where to begin?" He scratched the back of his neck, feeling weirdly exposed. "Well... my dad died."

A few murmurs of sympathy floated around, but Thanos quickly held up a hand.

"Don't— I mean, it's fine. He was kind of a dick." That got a couple chuckles, which made him feel a little less like crawling out of his skin. "But that's why I wasn't here the first week."

He glanced down at his hands, fingers twisting in his lap.

"Then the whole going back to my hometown to bury my dad thing... kinda sent me into this depressive spiral. The worst I'd had in a while." His voice dipped lower. "The kind where you wake up, and everything feels heavy. Like your brain’s just trying to convince you that nothing really matters."

Nam-Gyu's eyes flicked toward him, warm and steady, but Thanos kept looking down.

"I'm doing better now, though. I've got my first appointment with a therapist after this, so... that's something."

That earned a few nods around the room.

"And, uh..." He swallowed hard, voice tightening. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about relapsing these last couple weeks. Just... taking a handful of pills and letting the pain fade away."

He heard Nam-Gyu's breath hitch softly beside him — barely noticeable if you didn't know what to listen for.

"But I didn't."

Thanos glanced up, locking eyes with Nam-Gyu for half a second before looking back out at the group.

"I wanted to. God, I wanted to." His fingers drummed against his knee. "But I didn't. Because... I'm tired of waking up every day hating myself. I'm tired of running from shit. And—" He exhaled hard, forcing the lump out of his throat. "I'm tired of hurting the people who actually give a shit about me."

Nam-Gyu's hand brushed lightly against his knee — just for a second, but enough to ground him.

"So... yeah." Thanos shifted in his seat, trying to shake off the vulnerability weighing heavy on his chest. "I'm still here. And I'm trying."

Deok-Su nodded from across the room.

"That's all any of us can do, kid."

A ripple of quiet agreement went around the circle, and for the first time in a long while, Thanos felt... lighter. Not fixed. Not magically better.

But not alone either.

He sat back, shoulders loosening as the next person started sharing. Nam-Gyu's hand lingered on his knee, steady and warm. Thanos didn't look at him, but he let himself lean into the touch — just a little.

Trying.

Still here.

Thanos could feel Deok-Su's eyes flick between him and Nam-Gyu, the weight of the older man's gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. When Thanos glanced up, he caught the subtle way Deok-Su tilted his head — a silent nudge.

Alright, kid. Your turn.

Nam-Gyu, who had been leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, tried to ignore it. For a few seconds, he stared straight ahead like maybe if he just pretended hard enough, Deok-Su would move on.

He didn't.

With an exaggerated sigh, Nam-Gyu finally raised his hand, slumping forward.

"Fineee," he drawled, like the words were being dragged out of him. "I'm Nam-Gyu, and I'm an addict."

The usual chorus of greetings followed. Thanos felt Nam-Gyu glance at him out of the corner of his eye, but he kept his gaze forward — not wanting to put any extra pressure on him.

Nam-Gyu leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

"Let's see... what exciting shit can I share today?" His voice was light, almost too light. "Well, I went to a funeral. Been going non-stop for about a week now. And..." His mouth curved into a crooked grin. "I'm getting milkshakes with a friend after this."

A few people chuckled, but Thanos could hear it — the thin layer of forced cheeriness stretched over something heavier underneath. And judging by the way Deok-Su's brow lifted, he heard it too.

Nam-Gyu's smile faltered when he caught the look, his shoulders deflating just a little.

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.

"And... I’ve got plans." His voice dipped lower, more honest now. "Plans to figure out how to get my little brother out of the toxic hellhole that is my childhood home." He exhaled sharply through his nose. "But how the fuck am I supposed to do that when the stupid club I work at can't seem to run without me babysitting every asshole in the place?"

His voice started rising, words tumbling out faster now — like they'd been sitting on his chest all night, waiting to break free.

"And every night, I get to stand there and watch people do the drugs I wanna do so fucking bad because I'm an addict. And I hate them for it — these dumb, rich assholes wasting their money getting high when they don't even need it—"

Thanos flinched a little at the crack in Nam-Gyu's voice.

"—when they don't know what it's like to need it just to get through the night."

The room went still. Even Deok-Su looked a little caught off guard by the sudden outburst.

Nam-Gyu blinked, like he was realizing how loud he'd gotten. His face flushed as his eyes darted around the circle, suddenly way too aware of all the people staring at him.

He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter.

"And, uh..." He scratched the back of his neck, trying to smooth out the raw edges of his voice. "I'm... thinking about moving in with my boyfriend."

His eyes flicked toward Thanos for half a second — quick enough that most people probably wouldn't even notice — but Thanos felt it like a spark against his skin.

"So... thanks for listening, I guess."

A few murmurs of encouragement rippled around the room. Deok-Su gave a slow nod, like he'd been expecting all of that to come spilling out sooner or later.

Thanos couldn't help the small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Boyfriend.

He liked when Nam-Gyu called him that out loud.

It didn't feel like a throwaway line — not when he'd said it right at the end, like he was planting it there on purpose.

When Nam-Gyu sat back in his chair, he looked embarrassed, like he was already regretting half the shit he'd just said.

Thanos leaned in slightly, keeping his voice low.

"You better bring me a milkshake when I get home."

Nam-Gyu's mouth twitched, fighting back a grin.

"Yeah? What flavor?"

"Strawberry. With sprinkles."

Nam-Gyu snorted, but some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. His hand brushed against Thanos's knee — light, fleeting — but he didn't pull away.

Neither of them said anything else, but Thanos could feel it between them.

You're not doing this alone.

And neither am I.

---

Thanos and Nam-Gyu walked out of the NA room, the heavy door clicking shut behind them. The hall smelled like stale coffee and industrial cleaner — the usual Rec Center perfume.

Nam-Gyu's hands were stuffed deep in his jacket pockets, fingers fidgeting with the lining as they made their way down the corridor.

"You sure it's okay if I get milkshakes with Se-Mi while you're at your appointment?" he asked, voice a little too casual — like he was already bracing for Thanos to say no. "Because I can cancel. It's not a big deal, really—"

Thanos cut him off before he could spiral.

"Babe. Baby. Chill." He grinned, bumping their shoulders together. "I'll be fine. Besides, someone has to get me that milkshake you promised."

Nam-Gyu's mouth twitched, the corner of a smile breaking through despite himself.

"You want sprinkles too?"

"Obviously."

That finally pulled a full laugh out of Nam-Gyu — low and a little scratchy from years of smoking, but warm all the same.

They walked into the main room, where the old vending machines hummed along the walls and the ceiling fans creaked overhead. Se-Mi was leaning against the hall phone, scrolling through her own battered phone with a cigarette tucked behind her ear.

When she looked up and spotted them, her whole face lit up.

"Finallyyy," she drawled, putting her phone shut. "NA lasts forever."

Nam-Gyu snorted. "SHA ended fifteen minutes ago."

Se-Mi rolled her eyes, pushing off the wall.

"Yeah, well, I'm a woman of patience."

Nam-Gyu grinned wider. "Sorry, next time I'll just get up and leave mid-meeting. Real polite-like."

Thanos chuckled under his breath, watching them fall into their easy rhythm. He liked Se-Mi — she'd been one of the first people to really welcome him into the group, no judgment, no bullshit.

Her eyes flicked toward him, head tilting slightly.

"You coming, Thanos?"

Thanos shook his head.

"Sadly, I have a hot date with a therapist."

Se-Mi's grin turned sharp.

"Ah, the classic 'unpack your childhood trauma' special. Have fun with that."

Thanos snorted.

"Oh, I plan to."

Nam-Gyu was still smiling, but Thanos could feel the way his fingers were subtly brushing against the back of his arm — a silent little check-in.

Are you really okay?

Thanos leaned in just enough that their arms pressed together, his voice low.

"I'm fine, babe. Go hang out with your friend. I'll see you at home."

Nam-Gyu's shoulders relaxed a little, the tension easing out of him bit by bit.

Home.

Neither of them had officially called Thanos's place home out loud yet, but... they both felt it.

Se-Mi made a mock-gagging noise.

"Jesus Christ, you two are so gross."

Nam-Gyu shot her a lazy grin.

"Jealous?"

"Extremely."

Thanos smirked, stepping back and heading for the exit.

"I'll see you later, Nam-Gyu."

Nam-Gyu's gaze followed him, something soft flickering in his dark eyes.

"Yeah. See you later."

It was simple — no doubt, no second-guessing — just a promise tucked into those three little words.

And for once, neither of them felt the need to question whether the other one really meant it.

Thanos pushed open the heavy glass door, the cool March wind cutting sharp against his face as he stepped onto the cracked sidewalk. The city was quieter at this hour — not quite dead, but winding down, the distant hum of traffic filling the morning air.

He tugged his jacket tighter around himself, pulling his vape from his pocket. The familiar weight of it settled between his fingers as he took a long drag, the sweet, artificial taste of blueberry filling his lungs. He exhaled slowly, watching the thin cloud of smoke curl into the cold night air.

His driver was waiting at the curb, leaning against the black sedan with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. Thanos flicked his gaze toward him, giving a small nod before starting down the sidewalk.

Each step echoed in the quiet, his mind still half caught in the meeting room behind him — Nam-Gyu's sudden outburst, the raw edge in his voice when he'd finally let some of that buried frustration crack through.

It was strange, seeing Nam-Gyu angry like that — not the sharp, defensive snark he usually wielded like a shield, but something messier.

More honest.

And maybe Thanos should have felt worried by how much Nam-Gyu was struggling, but all he could think was how fucking proud he was of him — for showing up, for not numbing out, for choosing to feel even when it hurt like hell.

He took another slow pull from his vape, letting the nicotine settle in his chest as he reached the car.

The driver straightened, opening the back door without a word.

Thanos slid inside, the leather seats cold against his back. He leaned his head against the window, watching the lights blur past as the car pulled away from the curb.

He had therapy and Nam-Gyu would be off getting milkshakes with Se-Mi. And they'd both go home to each other at the end of the day.

It was a small thing — just another ordinary day — but for the first time in a long time, it felt like something solid to hold on to.

He closed his eyes, letting the soft hum of the engine lull him into something that almost felt like peace.

---

The sun was still climbing, casting long shadows across the sidewalk as Thanos stepped out of the car. The morning air was crisp, cutting through his hoodie, but he liked it—liked how it cleared the fuzziness from his head.

"Would you like me to wait here, sir?" the driver asked politely.

Thanos glanced at the therapy office ahead. The building was sleek, all glass and steel, a little too polished for his taste—but Ha-Joon had insisted this place was the best.

He took another quick hit from his vape before tucking it away. "Nah, do whatever you need. Just be back by three."

The driver gave a small nod. "Very well, sir."

Thanos shut the door, watching the car pull away before turning to face the office. His stomach twisted. This was something he'd been avoiding for years—hell, maybe his whole life.

But Nam-Gyu believed in him. And for once... maybe he wanted to believe in himself too.

He adjusted the strap of his bag and headed inside.

The big glass door swung open with a faint hiss as Thanos pulled it, stepping into the waiting room. The place was... nice. Too nice, if he was being honest. The kind of place that smelled faintly like lavender and something clean, like they were trying to convince you everything would be fine the second you walked in.

Sleek black leather chairs were arranged in neat little clusters around the room. A few people were scattered across them—some reading magazines, others scrolling through their phones, heads down like they wanted to disappear. Along the walls hung abstract paintings in soft, neutral colors. Expensive-looking, but not exactly memorable.

What caught Thanos's eye most was the massive fish tank built into the wall. A little underwater world tucked away behind glass, full of bright, darting fish and lazy sea creatures drifting through the bubbles. He lingered for a second, watching a tiny orange fish weave through coral.

Lucky little bastard. No meetings. No relapses. Just swimming in circles all day without a single care.

Shaking himself out of it, Thanos scanned the room until he spotted the reception desk near the door. He made his way over, feeling weirdly self-conscious—like everyone in the room could see straight through him.

As soon as he reached the counter, resting his hands on the smooth surface, he realized he had no fucking clue what he was supposed to say.

The guy behind the desk didn't seem to notice Thanos's hesitation. He was typing away at a big computer, but as soon as he looked up, his face lit up with an easy smile.

"Hello, sir! Here for an appointment?"

His voice was bright—like one of those people who probably woke up every morning genuinely excited to face the day. The kind of person Thanos usually avoided on principle.

Still... there was something about him that didn't feel fake. Just genuinely nice.

"Uh... yeah," Thanos muttered, glancing down at the little nameplate on the desk. Woo-Seok.

"Perfect!" Woo-Seok's fingers flew across the keyboard. "First and last name, please?"

Thanos shifted his weight from foot to foot. God, why did this feel like such a big fucking deal?

"Choi Su-Bong."

The name tasted weird in his mouth. He hadn't said it out loud to anyone outside his family in... years.

Woo-Seok's eyes flicked to the screen, then back to him. "Mhm, yup! Got you right here. First-time client—welcome!"

Thanos blinked. That was... weirdly nice.

Woo-Seok clicked a few more times, and a printer whirred to life behind the desk. He grabbed the freshly printed forms, clipped them to a clipboard, and slid it across the counter along with a pen.

"If you could fill these out—basic info, medical history, all that fun stuff—and bring them back when you're done, I'll get you checked in. And if you have any questions, feel free to ask!"

The smile never left his face, like this was the best part of his day.

Thanos nodded slowly, taking the clipboard. "Uh... thanks."

Woo-Seok's grin widened, and for some reason, it made Thanos feel a little less like he wanted to bolt out the door.

He walked over to one of the chairs, sinking down into the cold leather. The material stuck to his arms where his sleeves were pushed up, but it felt kind of nice against his skin—grounding, in a way.

He stared down at the paperwork, pen poised over the first line.

Name:
Date of Birth:
Reason for Seeking Therapy:

Thanos tapped the pen against the page, heart thudding a little harder in his chest.

What was he even supposed to write there? Trying not to ruin my life again?
My dad just died, and I don't really give a shit, but somehow that's worse?
I want to be better, but I don't know if I deserve to be?

He glanced around the waiting room again, eyes landing on the fish tank. That little orange fish was still swimming in lazy circles, blissfully unaware of everything outside its glass prison.

Thanos let out a slow breath and started writing.

Name: Choi Su-Bong
Date of Birth: 6/24/97
Reason for Seeking Therapy: Depression

Thanos wrote the word without thinking too hard about it—muscle memory from every intake form he'd filled out in psych wards and clinics over the years.

Depression.

It was what every doctor told him he had. A catch-all term for the numbness that sat heavy in his chest most days—the weight pressing him down into whatever shitty mattress he was sleeping on at the time.

He stared at the word for a long moment, tapping the pen against the clipboard.

It was the safe answer. The easy one.

But if this was going to actually help—if he was going to give this a real shot—he couldn't half-ass it. Not this time.

His eyes flicked back toward the reception desk. Woo-Seok was typing away, smiling at whoever he was helping next, like this whole place wasn't full of people barely holding themselves together.

Thanos shifted in his seat, rolling the pen between his fingers.

Fuck it.

He pressed the tip back to the paper, heart thudding harder as he added another line underneath.

Reason for Seeking Therapy: Depression, self-harm, addiction

The words stared back at him, sharp and exposed in black ink.

He hated seeing them all laid out like that—like writing them down made them more real.

But they were real, weren't they? Had been for a long time.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight, and forced his hand to keep moving.

How long have you experienced these symptoms?
Most of my life.

What are your goals for therapy?
To not hate myself.
To stay clean.
To figure out how to live without feeling like I'm always one bad day away from falling apart.

His handwriting got smaller the further down the page he went, like he could shrink the weight of what he was confessing if he just wrote small enough.

By the time he finished, his chest felt tight, palms damp against the clipboard. He glanced around the room again—half-expecting someone to be watching him, reading over his shoulder.

But no one was paying him any mind. They were all wrapped up in their own shit, just like him.

He let out a slow breath and stood, walking the clipboard back to the front desk.

Woo-Seok glanced up as he approached, that same warm smile on his face.

"All done?"

Thanos nodded, sliding the forms across the counter.

"Perfect. Have a seat, and I'll let your therapist know you're here."

Thanos mumbled a quiet thanks and went back to his chair, sinking down into the leather with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Now all he had to do was wait.

And not run out the door.

Only about ten minutes passed—though it felt like barely a blink—when a calm voice called out his name.

"Choi Su-Bong?"

Thanos's head snapped up, heart giving a quick, stupid jolt in his chest.

By the door stood an older man, maybe mid-fifties, he had all black hair, neatly combed back, and sharp features that made him look younger than he probably was. His dark brown eyes were steady but not cold — the kind of gaze that made you feel like he'd seen and heard more than his fair share, but he wasn't judging. The kind of guy who probably had a whole library of sad stories filed away behind those tired eyes.

Thanos didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

He shifted in his seat, forcing himself to stand even though every instinct screamed at him to stay planted right where he was.

"Uh... yeah." His voice came out rough, like he'd forgotten how to use it.

The man nodded once, patient and steady. He wasn't smiling exactly, but there was something... open about him. No judgment. Just waiting.

"Are you ready?"

The question was simple enough, but it made something flicker hot and uncomfortable in Thanos's chest.

Was he ready?

Fuck no.

He wanted to bolt out the door, hit his vape, and never come back.

But Nam-Gyu's voice echoed in his head from that morning—soft and sure in the way he always was when he really meant something.

"You'll feel better after. I know you will."

Thanos swallowed hard, fingers curling into fists at his sides before he forced them to relax.

"As I'll ever be, I guess."

The older man's mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close enough.

"I'm Doctor Kim. Come on back."

Thanos followed him down a narrow hallway, every step feeling heavier than the last. The whole building smelled like lavender air freshener and clean paper—a little too nice, like they were trying too hard to cover up the fact that everyone walking through these halls was carrying something broken inside them.

They stopped at a small office near the end of the hall. Dr. Kim pushed the door open, gesturing for Thanos to step inside first.

It was cozy—way cozier than Thanos expected. Warm lighting, a couple of armchairs instead of the stiff-ass therapy couches he'd seen in movies. There were bookshelves lining one wall, half of them crammed with psychology textbooks, the other half with fiction novels. A little table in the corner held a tea set and a bowl of individually wrapped candies.

"Take a seat, wherever you're comfortable."

Thanos hovered by the door for a second too long before finally sinking into one of the armchairs, the leather soft and worn beneath his fingers.

Dr. Kim settled into the chair across from him, crossing one leg over the other and folding his hands in his lap.

"First sessions are always a little awkward," he said, voice low and even. "So let's keep it simple. What made you decide to come here today?"

Thanos's heart thudded harder.

He could lie. He'd done it plenty of times before—told doctors what he thought they wanted to hear just to get through the hour and get the hell out.

But something about the steady way Dr. Kim was watching him made him feel... exposed.

Like the guy would know if he tried to bullshit his way through this.

So Thanos shifted in his seat, eyes fixed on the coffee table between them, and forced the truth out through clenched teeth.

"It was hard to decide." He cleared his throat. "My manager... my boyfriend... pretty much everyone in my life argee it was would help."

Dr. Kim didn't react—didn't scribble anything down or press him to keep talking. Just nodded slowly, like he'd heard that answer a million times before.

"And what do you think?"

Thanos's mouth pulled tight.

"I think... I don't wanna be here."

Another small nod.

"But you came anyway."

Thanos's jaw clenched.

"Yeah."

Dr. Jang leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest.

"That says something, you know."

Thanos snorted, the sound bitter.

"Says what? That I'm a sucker for guilt trips?"

A hint of a smile flickered across Dr. Kim's face.

"That you're tired of feeling like this."

Thanos's stomach twisted, nails digging into the arms of the chair.

He didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

The silence stretched between them—heavy, but not suffocating.

For the first time in a long time, Thanos let it settle.

"I just wanna feel... normal again."

The words slipped out before Thanos could stop them, quieter than he'd meant, like he was afraid saying them out loud would make them sound pathetic. He shifted in the chair, eyes fixed on the floor, where the soft carpet muffled the tap of his foot bouncing against the ground.

"I don't even know what normal is supposed to feel like anymore." His voice cracked a little at the edges, frustration creeping in. "It's been so fucking long since I went a day without feeling like... like I'm either gonna fall apart or crawl out of my own skin."

Dr. Kim didn't say anything right away, just nodded slowly, like he was giving the words space to settle.

"That's a hard place to be," he said after a moment, voice steady. "But the fact that you're here, talking about it — that's something. It means you're already trying to find your way back."

Thanos let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping a little.

"Yeah... I just..." He glanced at his hands in his lap, his three headed demon dog tattoo staring back at him. His throat tightened. "I don't wanna be this person forever."

Dr. Kim's gaze softened.

"You won't be."

The silence hung in the air, heavy but not suffocating. Thanos's fingers curled around the edges of the jacket he was wearing, knuckles pressing white againt the soft material.

Dr. Kim's voice cut through the stillness, calm and even.

"If it's okay, I'll ask you some more questions about what you listed on the sheet." He shifted slightly in his chair, notepad balanced on his knee. "The first to note is depression... Have you been diagnosed by another doctor before?"

Thanos blinked at the question, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek.

"Yeah." His voice was hoarse. "A couple years ago. After I... overdosed." The word felt heavy on his tongue, but he didn't flinch when he said it. Progress, maybe. "They told me I had major depressive disorder."

Dr. Kim nodded, jotting something down without breaking eye contact for too long.

"Are you currently on any medication for it?"

Thanos shook his head.

"No... I was on something for a while, but I stopped taking it." He shifted in his seat, eyes flicking toward the window. "I didn't like the way it made me feel... numb, I guess."

Dr. Kim's pen paused.

"That's not uncommon." His voice was gentle, no judgment in it. "A lot of people feel that way. But there are different options — not every medication works the same way."

Thanos let out a slow breath through his nose, his chest rising and falling like it was taking all his energy just to keep breathing.

"I don't know if I want to try again."

Dr. Kim nodded, like he understood.

"That's your choice, Su-Bong. I'm not here to push you into anything you're not ready for." He leaned forward just slightly, hands folded in his lap. "But I do think it might be worth exploring — not just medication, but other ways to manage the depression. Therapy, mindfulness techniques... even just talking like this."

Thanos swallowed hard, his throat clicking.

"Okay... I guess that's why I'm here, right?"

Dr. Kim's mouth curved into a small, patient smile.

"Exactly."

Dr. Kim's eyes flicked down to the papers resting on his clipboard, his pen tapping lightly against the edge in a steady rhythm. He gave Thanos a moment to breathe before speaking again, his voice measured and gentle.

"Another thing you noted... self-harm." He glanced back up, his dark eyes steady but kind. "If you're comfortable sharing about it today, could you tell me in what ways you self-harm? How frequently would you say it happens? And finally... do you feel that you may be a danger to yourself or others?"

The questions were asked without judgment, just clinical curiosity wrapped in a layer of understanding. But they still made Thanos's chest tighten, like they'd reached into the deepest part of him — the part he tried to ignore.

He shifted in his seat, his nails digging into the fabric of his jeans where his hands rested on his thighs.

"I, uh..." His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "I don't... cut or anything. Not a lot." He glanced down at his own arms, bare under the sleeves of his hoodie, faint white scars barely visible along the inside of his wrists. "I did when I was a teenager... and... a couple weeks ago."

He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, like saying it out loud made it more real. His throat felt tight, like he was choking on the shame.

Dr. Kim nodded, his expression not changing. He jotted something down without looking away too long, giving Thanos space to gather his thoughts.

"I guess... now it's more like... I hurt myself in other ways." Thanos's voice dropped lower, like he didn't really want to hear himself say it out loud. "I drink too much. I take too many pills, even when I know I shouldn't. I've overdosed... twice." His breath caught, fingers twitching against his thigh. "And sometimes... I just don't care what happens to me."

His heart thudded painfully in his chest at the admission.

"It's not like I want to die or anything," he added quickly, like he was trying to convince both Dr. Kim and himself. "I just... I don't know. When I'm really low, it feels like... if I disappeared, it wouldn't matter."

Dr. Kim's pen stilled against the paper.

"Thank you for sharing that, Su-Bong." His voice was steady, but softer now. "I know that wasn't easy to say out loud."

Thanos's throat felt tight, like he might choke if he tried to speak. He nodded instead, eyes fixed on the floor.

"You mentioned you don't want to die," Dr. Kim continued carefully. "That's important. But those feelings of not caring... those can be just as dangerous if they go unchecked."

Thanos's breath came out shakier now.

"I know."

Dr. Kim leaned forward slightly, his posture open and calm.

"Would you say those feelings happen often? Or only during certain times?"

Thanos swallowed hard, his hands curling into fists against his thighs.

"More often lately," he admitted. "Since... since my dad died." His voice cracked on the last word, surprising him. He hadn't realized how much those words still hurt to say.

Dr. Kim's eyes stayed steady on him, his expression softening just slightly.

"I'm really sorry for your loss."

Thanos's jaw clenched, and he blinked rapidly at the floor.

"Yeah... thanks."

Dr. Kim gave him a moment before continuing, his voice low and careful.

"And what about right now?" he asked gently. "Do you feel like you might hurt yourself? Or that you're in immediate danger?"

Thanos's breath hitched.

"...No." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Not right now."

"Okay." Dr. Kim's pen scratched lightly against the paper, writing something down. "That's good to hear." He looked back up, his eyes calm but serious. "But if that changes — whether it's tonight, tomorrow, or any time — I need you to promise me you'll reach out. To me, to someone. You don't have to go through those moments alone."

Thanos's chest felt tight, his throat closing up around the knot forming there.

He didn't know why, but those simple words—You don't have to go through those moments alone—hit harder than anything else he'd heard in a long time.

"I... okay." His voice shook. "I promise."

Dr. Kim's eyes warmed, just a little.

"Good."

Dr. Kim's smile softened, a quiet warmth behind it that made the tension in Thanos's chest ease just a little. He flipped to a fresh page on his clipboard, his pen poised lightly between his fingers.

"Now, on a lighter note..." he began, his voice gentler than before, like he was giving Thanos room to breathe. "You mentioned earlier that your friends and loved ones encouraged you to seek therapy — that they were part of the reason you're here today." He paused, glancing up. "Would you like to share a bit about some of those relationships?"

Thanos's fingers twitched against his knee, his nails picking at a loose thread in his jeans. He hadn't expected that question, but... maybe he should have.

His first instinct was to brush it off — say something short and half-assed just to fill the silence. But something about the way Dr. Kim was looking at him, patient and steady, made him think... maybe this was part of the whole being honest thing.

He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat.

"Uh... well." He glanced down at his hands, flexing them once before letting them rest on his thighs again. "I don't... I don't really have a lot of people." The words felt heavier than he'd expected. "Not anymore, anyway."

Dr. Kim didn't press, just waited quietly.

"But... I have my sister. Kyung-Hu." Thanos's lips twitched faintly at her name, the smallest hint of fondness slipping through the cracks. "She's... she's always been there. Even when I didn't deserve it."

The words tasted bitter and sweet at the same time — an ache in his chest that never really went away.

"And she's got a little two boys, my nephews." His voice softened without meaning to. "He's three. He's... everything."

Dr. Kim's smile warmed, just a little.

"It sounds like you care about them a lot."

Thanos's throat worked around a lump he hadn't noticed forming.

"Yeah."

A beat of quiet passed, the fish tank bubbling faintly behind them.

"...There's someone else too." Thanos's voice came out quieter now, almost like he was testing the words out loud for the first time. His fingers twisted harder in the fabric of his jeans.

Dr. Kim didn't push — just waited, his eyes steady.

Thanos swallowed hard.

"My boyfriend." The word still felt a little weird on his tongue — too soft, too vulnerable — but it was the truth. And if he was really going to try this therapy thing... he figured he'd better start getting used to saying it.

"His name's Nam-Gyu."

Dr. Kim's expression didn't shift — no surprise, no judgment — just quiet curiosity.

"How long have you two been together?"

"Not long." Thanos's lips twitched, the ghost of a smile flickering there before it faded. "Couple weeks... officially, anyway."

"And how would you describe your relationship?"

Thanos let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sigh.

"I don't know... kinda fucked up?" He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down at his hands again. "We're both addicts... met at a meeting." His throat worked. "He's younger than me by a year. He's been through... a lot of shit."

Dr. Kim nodded slowly, listening without interrupting.

"But he's..." Thanos's voice trailed off, something tender flickering in his chest. He shook his head a little, like he couldn't quite find the right words. "He's the best thing that's happened to me in... I don't even know how long."

The admission sat heavy in the air between them, raw and unpolished.

Dr. Kim's pen scratched faintly against the paper, but his gaze stayed fixed on Thanos, steady and warm.

"It sounds like he means a lot to you."

Thanos's throat tightened.

"Yeah."

There was a long pause, the weight of everything he'd just said settling deep in his chest.

"...I'm scared I'm gonna fuck it up." The words tumbled out before he could stop them, quieter than before — like they'd been buried under his skin for weeks, maybe longer. "I've never... had something like this. Someone like him." He swallowed hard. "I don't know how to be... good for someone."

Dr. Kim's gaze softened, something gentle flickering behind his eyes.

"Su-Bong..." His voice was low, careful. "You're here. You're trying." He let the silence stretch for a second before adding, "That says more about who you are — and what kind of partner you want to be — than any mistake you've ever made."

Thanos's chest ached, like something was cracking open inside him.

He blinked hard at the floor, his throat tight.

"I just... I don't wanna ruin him."

Dr. Kim was quiet for a moment, his pen resting still against the clipboard.

"Have you ever considered," he said softly, "that maybe he's just as scared of ruining you?"

Thanos's breath caught.

He hadn't.

Not once.

And now that the thought was there, lodged in his chest like a splinter... he didn't know what to do with it.

Dr. Kim let the silence stretch, giving him space to sit with it.

"You don't have to be perfect to deserve love, Su-Bong." His voice was steady but warm, like he really meant it. "You just have to show up. Again and again, even when it's hard."

Thanos's throat felt tight enough to choke him.

"...I'm trying."

"I know." Dr. Kim's smile was small but genuine. "That's why you're here."

Thanos's eyes stung, and he glanced away quickly, swallowing hard.

He didn't know if he'd ever believe he deserved someone like Nam-Gyu.

But... he could try to be the kind of man who wanted to deserve him.

And for now, that was enough.

Thanos's fingers clenched around the fabric of his jeans, his heart thudding heavy in his chest. The words swirled in his head, thick and tangled — too raw, too vulnerable. He'd already spilled so much more than he'd planned to in this session, but there was one more thing clawing at the back of his throat.

He hesitated, his pulse drumming loud in his ears.

Would it sound stupid? Needy? Weak?

But then he thought about Nam-Gyu — about the way he'd looked at him last night, soft and steady, like Thanos was something worth holding onto. About the whispered "I'm not going anywhere" pressed into his skin. About the countless times he'd said I love you without a hint of doubt in his voice — like it was the easiest truth in the world.

Thanos took a shaky breath, his fingers loosening just slightly.

"...He’s promised me," he started, his voice rough around the edges, like the words were catching on something deep in his chest. "He’s promised me — over and over — that no matter what... he loves me." His throat worked. "Even when I don't get it... even when I don't know why the hell he would... he just says it like it's obvious."

His heart clenched painfully.

"And I want to believe him." The admission came out barely above a whisper, like it hurt to say out loud. "I really, really want to."

Dr. Kim's gaze stayed steady, patient. He didn't jump in or try to fill the silence — just let Thanos sit in it, sorting through the mess of everything he'd been holding back.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is..." Thanos's fingers flexed against his thighs, his nails digging into the fabric again. "I want you to help me — help me remember that he loves me. On the days I can't hear him... or the days I don't think I deserve it." His voice cracked slightly, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. "I know that probably sounds pathetic, but—"

"It doesn't." Dr. Kim cut in softly, his voice calm but certain.

Thanos's head snapped up, surprised.

"It doesn't sound pathetic at all," Dr. Kim continued, leaning forward just a little. "It sounds... human."

Thanos's throat closed up, his chest squeezing tight.

"You've spent a long time convincing yourself that you're unlovable, Su-Bong." Dr. Kim's voice was steady but gentle, like he was treading carefully through the wreckage. "Undoing that kind of belief doesn't happen overnight. It takes time. It takes patience." He tilted his head slightly. "And it takes allowing yourself to lean on the people who love you — even when you don't understand why they do."

Thanos blinked hard, his vision blurring at the edges.

"You've already made the hardest step by letting him love you in the first place." Dr. Kim's smile was small but warm. "Now the next step is learning to believe him."

The tight knot in Thanos's chest loosened — just a little.

He swiped at his eyes roughly, trying to play it off like nothing.

"...Yeah." His voice was hoarse. "I guess."

Dr. Kim's smile flickered a little wider but didn't push.

They sat in silence for a moment, the faint hum of a heater fulled the space between them.

Thanos's heart still ached — still tangled up in all the years of self-hatred and doubt that clung to his bones — but...

Maybe this was the first time in a long time that he'd actually let himself hope that he could get better.

Not just for Nam-Gyu.

But for himself too.

Thanos let those words sink in for a minute.

Dr. Kim leaned back in his chair a bit.

"Friendships are important, would you like to sure any you may have?" The question wasn’t pushing just a offer, and Thanos took it.

He shifted in his chair, his thumb rubbing absently over the side of his index finger. He hadn't really thought about it before — not in any way that felt real. The fact that he had... people now. People who weren't just some old party crowd or business contacts. People who actually gave a shit.

"Yeah, uh... Nam-Gyu's friends." He glanced down at his hands, his voice quieter. "They're kind of... my friends now too, I guess."

He felt weird saying it out loud — like he'd jinx it somehow.

Thanos's fingers drummed lightly against his knee as he thought it over. It felt strange talking about this — about them.

He shifted in his seat. "They're... good people. Better than I probably deserve."

Dr. Kim didn't say anything, just listened, giving him space.

"Se-Mi — she's the oldest out of all of us, but she doesn't act like it. She's... chill. The kind of person who can just sit in silence with you without making it awkward." Thanos's mouth twitched. "She gives Nam-Gyu shit all the time, but it's like... out of love, you know?"

Dr. Kim nodded, his eyes warm.

"Gyeong-Su... he's laid back. The kind of guy who makes everything seem less... heavy. He's always cracking jokes, even when he's having a bad day." Thanos paused, his fingers stilling. "I like having him around. He reminds me not everything has to be so fucking serious all the time."

A small smile flickered across his face before fading.

"Min-Su... he's quiet. Doesn't talk much unless someone talks to him first. But he's nice — like, really nice. The kind of guy who'd give you the shirt off his back without making a big deal out of it."

Thanos's voice softened without him even realizing.

"And Mi-Na... she's probably the sweetest person I've ever met, well she can be an asshole but its kinda hiw you tell she cares about you." He glanced down at his hands, a little self-conscious. "She always makes sure everyone feels included... even me."

He let out a breath, shoulders sagging a little.

"I didn't think I'd ever have friends again — not after everything I've done. But they don't... they don't treat me like I'm broken." His throat felt tight. "They just treat me like... me."

Dr. Kim leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady.

"Because that's what you are — you. Not your past. Not your mistakes. Just Su-Bong."

Thanos's chest ached at how simple that sounded — how hard it was to believe.

"But what if I mess it all up?" The question slipped out before he could stop it, his voice quiet and raw.

Dr. Kim's expression didn't change.

"Then they'll still be there." He paused, letting that sink in. "And so will I."

Thanos blinked, his heart stumbling in his chest.

No one had ever said that to him before — not like that.

He swallowed hard, nodding slowly.

"Okay..." His voice was barely above a whisper.

Maybe this was a good step to take.

Dr. Kim glanced down at the papers one last time, his voice calm but steady.

"Alright, to finish up today's session, I'd like to ask you about your addictions."

Thanos blinked, caught a little off guard by the shift.

Finish up? Already?

He glanced at the clock on the wall behind Dr. Kim, half-expecting the hands to have barely moved — but no. It was well past eleven.

"...Wait, we're done?" He shifted in his seat. "I thought this was gonna take... I don't know, longer?"

Dr. Kim's mouth curved into that patient smile again, like he'd heard this a thousand times before.

"It's been about an hour and a half." He set the clipboard down on the desk between them. "For a first session, that's more than enough. Therapy isn't about draining everything out of you all at once, Su-Bong. It's about opening the door — a little at a time — until you're ready to step through."

Thanos sat back, letting that sink in. He hadn't realized how much he'd talked — how easily the words had come once he started.

"Huh." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Guess I... kinda lost track of time."

Dr. Kim's smile widened just a fraction.

"That's usually a good sign."

Thanos's mouth twitched, but the weight of the final question still hung in the air.

His addictions.

The whole reason he was here in the first place.

He glanced down at his hands, fingers twisting in his lap.

"I, uh... it's mostly hallucinogens. Stuff to... make me feel good." His voice wavered a little. "Happy shit, you know? Things that made everything feel lighter... better."

Dr. Kim didn't interrupt, just listening.

"I thought... I thought I could handle it." Thanos's voice dropped lower. "It felt like I was just... taking the edge off. But then I needed more. And more."

His chest felt tight, shame curling hot in his stomach.

"I didn't even realize how deep I was in until I couldn't... stop."

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

"It got bad. Real bad."

He didn't go into details — couldn't. Not yet.

But Dr. Kim didn't push.

"How long have you been sober?"

"Almost two months." The words felt heavier out loud, like they carried more weight than he'd ever given them.

Dr. Kim's smile was soft, but there was pride in it too — a kind of quiet encouragement that made something ache deep in Thanos's chest.

"That's something to be proud of, Su-Bong."

Thanos's throat felt tight again, but he just nodded.

"It's fucking hard though." He exhaled shakily. "Every goddamn day."

Dr. Kim leaned forward slightly, his eyes steady.

"It is." His voice was warm but firm. "But you're still here."

Thanos's breath caught — because for the first time in a long time... he realized he was.

Still here.

Still trying.

He blinked hard, nodding once.

"...Yeah."

Dr. Kim sat back, letting the silence settle between them for a moment before speaking again.

"Alright. I think that's a good place to end for today."

Thanos nodded slowly, feeling... lighter, somehow.

Not fixed. Not even close.

But better.

Dr. Kim stood, his movements steady and unrushed.

"Let me show you the way back, and I'll have Woo-Seok set up your next appointment at the front desk."

Thanos followed him out of the office, the hallway quieter than when he'd first arrived. The air felt a little lighter in his lungs—like he'd let something out, even if there was still so much left to say.

"Su-Bong," Dr. Kim said as they walked, his voice gentle but certain. "You did well today. Coming here, talking about these things... it's not easy. But you're not alone in this."

Thanos swallowed, the words lodging somewhere deep in his chest.

"Thanks, doc."

They reached the waiting area, and Dr. Kim gave him a small nod before turning back down the hall. Thanos made his way to the front desk, where Woo-Seok's bright smile greeted him.

"All set?" the receptionist asked, already clicking away at his keyboard.

"Yeah... I think so."

"Great! Let's get your next session scheduled. How does next Thursday sound?"

Thanos glanced at the clock on the wall, then at the front door. Nam-Gyu was probably halfway through his milkshake by now.

"Yeah, Thursday's good."

One step at a time.

---

"I'll see you later, Nam-Gyu."

Nam-Gyu's eyes followed Thanos as he stepped toward the door, the morning sunlight catching in the messy strands of his hair.

There was something in the way Thanos said it—soft, steady—like he really believed he'd be okay. Nam-Gyu wanted to believe it too.

"Yeah." His voice came out quieter than he meant. "See you later."

The glass door swung shut behind Thanos, the faint jingle of the bell above it lingering in the air. Nam-Gyu's chest squeezed. He stayed staring at the door for a few more seconds, like if he just looked hard enough, maybe he could still see him.

Se-Mi's voice broke through the quiet.

"He'll be fine, Nam-Gyu."

Nam-Gyu blinked, snapping out of it. He glanced over to see her watching him, arms crossed and one brow raised like she was reading his mind.

"I know." His voice was sharp, automatic—defensive in a way that didn't fool either of them.

Se-Mi just huffed out a breath, pushing off the wall.

"C'mon, lover boy. Let's get those milkshakes before you give yourself a panic attack."

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but followed her out into the crisp morning air. The walk to the diner was only a few blocks, the streets still quiet with the lull between rush hours.

Se-Mi kept the conversation light—chattering about some new show she'd been watching, gossip from the meetings—giving him space without making it obvious. He appreciated that about her. She never pushed too hard, but she always knew when to pull him out of his own head.

By the time they slid into a booth at the diner, Nam-Gyu's shoulders had loosened a little.

A waitress with tired eyes and a notepad tucked behind her ear came by to take their order.

"Two vanilla milkshakes," Se-Mi said without even looking at the menu. Then she tilted her head at Nam-Gyu. "Unless you're feeling fancy today?"

He snorted.

"I'm not five."

"You sure about that?"

He flipped her off half-heartedly, and she grinned.

They fell into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, the low hum of the diner filling the space between them. Nam-Gyu traced patterns into the cracked plastic tabletop with his fingertip, his mind drifting back to Thanos.

It felt... weird, not having him here. They'd only known each other for a few weeks, but somehow he'd gotten used to having Thanos at his side. The warmth of him. The solidness.

He'd always hated how easily he got attached to people—how quick he was to carve out little spaces for them in his life, only to end up empty-handed when they left.

But Thanos wasn't leaving.

He had to remind himself of that—over and over, like a mantra.

"You don't have to pretend you're not worried, you know."

Se-Mi's voice cut through his thoughts, soft but pointed.

Nam-Gyu glanced up, caught off guard.

"I'm not—"

"Bullshit."

He scowled, sinking lower into the booth.

"It's not like I'm scared he's gonna—"

"I know." Se-Mi leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "But he's still him, right? Same guy who's been showing up to meetings every day. Same guy who's been taking care of you when you're running yourself into the ground."

Nam-Gyu's chest ached at that.

"He's not gonna break just because you're not there to hold him together."

The words stung more than they should have, only because they were true.

He hated how badly he wanted to be that person for Thanos—his steady place, his safety net. But Se-Mi was right. Thanos wasn't some fragile thing that needed saving.

He was trying.

He was fighting.

Nam-Gyu just had to trust him.

The waitress set down their milkshakes with a clatter, and Se-Mi snatched hers up, taking a long sip before popping the straw out of her mouth.

"Besides," she added casually, "it's kind of hot that he's in therapy."

Nam-Gyu snorted mid-sip, nearly choking on his milkshake.

"Se-Mi, what the fuck?"

She just grinned, unapologetic.

"I'm just saying. Emotionally intelligent men? Very sexy."

Nam-Gyu's laugh came out half-caught between disbelief and something warmer—something lighter.

"Bitch, shut your lesbian ass up!" Nam-Gyu snorted, barely holding back a grin.

Se-Mi's laughter bubbled out, loud and shameless. "Okay, homo loser."

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, fighting the smile tugging at his lips as he unwrapped his straw and stabbed it into his milkshake. The cold sweetness hit his tongue as he took a long sip, letting the conversation settle into something easier.

For a second, it was just... nice. Sitting in a half-empty diner with a friend, the faint crackle of an old jukebox playing some forgotten pop song in the background.

But Se-Mi wasn't one to let things stay surface-level for too long.

"Anyway," she said, propping her chin on her hand. "Without sharing all of Thanos's personal family shit... how was the whole funeral thing?"

Her voice was softer now—still teasing, but careful. Like she knew the weight of the question.

Nam-Gyu's fingers curled around his glass, tracing condensation rings onto the table.

He didn't know how to answer that without opening up something raw.

"It was... hard." His voice came out quieter than he'd meant.

Se-Mi didn't push, just nodded like she'd been expecting that.

Nam-Gyu's eyes stayed fixed on his milkshake, watching the pale swirl of melting vanilla at the edges.

"I didn't know what to say half the time. I just... tried to be there." He swallowed, the memory sticking in his throat. "He cried. I don't think he wanted me to see, but he did."

Se-Mi's gaze softened, but she stayed quiet—letting him take his time.

"I kept thinking about what he said to me that night." Nam-Gyu's thumb tapped against the glass, nervous energy leaking out. "About how he didn't even know if his dad loved him anymore."

His chest clenched.

"I wanted to tell him he was wrong, that of course his dad loved him, but... how the fuck would I know?"

Se-Mi's expression flickered—something understanding passing behind her eyes.

"Yeah," she murmured. "I get that."

Nam-Gyu finally looked up at her, the knot in his chest tightening.

"I don't want to fuck this up." The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Se-Mi's brows lifted slightly.

"This? You mean... him?"

Nam-Gyu nodded, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

"I'm not exactly the best person to have in your corner, y'know? My life’s a fucking mess, and I'm... I'm selfish sometimes, and—"

"Okay, first of all, shut the fuck up." Se-Mi cut him off, pointing her straw at him like a weapon.

Nam-Gyu blinked.

"You think he's perfect?" she asked, arching a brow. "You think he's not sitting in that therapist's office right now thinking the exact same shit about himself?"

Nam-Gyu opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Exactly." Se-Mi leaned back, taking a long sip of her milkshake. "You two are both walking disasters. It's kind of gross, actually."

Nam-Gyu's laugh cracked out of him before he could stop it—small and breathless, but real.

Se-Mi grinned, triumphant.

"Look, I'm not saying you're not a mess, because you definitely are." She popped her straw out of her mouth. "But you're his mess. And from what I've seen? That dumbass is yours too."

Nam-Gyu's chest ached in a way that scared him a little.

Because she was right.

He hadn't even realized it until she said it out loud—but Thanos was his now.

And maybe he was Thanos's too.

The thought settled in his ribs, warm and terrifying all at once.

"...Fuck you," Nam-Gyu muttered, taking another long sip of his milkshake to hide the way his ears were turning pink.

Se-Mi just smirked.

"Love you too, homo loser."

Nam-Gyu just shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Yeah, alright. Your insults remind me of middle school." He took another long sip of his milkshake, the cold sweetness doing little to hide the warmth creeping into his chest from Se-Mi's words.

Se-Mi rolled her eyes dramatically. "Please, I was a menace in middle school. These are the upgraded, emotionally supportive, hot girl version of insults."

Nam-Gyu snorted into his straw.

There was a beat of comfortable silence between them, the low hum of diner chatter filling the gaps.

Nam-Gyu tapped his fingers against the glass absentmindedly before glancing up.

"But... how have you been though?" His voice softened, guilt threading into the edges. "I feel bad—me and Thanos haven't really been around much the last two weeks."

Se-Mi's face flickered with surprise, like she hadn't expected him to ask.

"I'm fine," she said quickly, brushing it off with a wave of her hand.

Nam-Gyu just raised a brow.

Se-Mi sighed, leaning back in the booth.

"I mean, yeah, it's been kinda weird without you two around. Gyeong-Su's been all wrapped up in his whole... Dae-Ho situationship or whatever the fuck that is." She made a vague, dismissive gesture. "Min-Su's still Min-Su—sweet, quiet, probably secretly plotting world domination."

Nam-Gyu chuckled, but he caught the way her gaze dropped to her milkshake, fingers tapping against the glass.

"And you?" he pressed gently.

Se-Mi's mouth twitched, like she was debating brushing him off again—but then she sighed, shoulders slumping a little.

"I've been... okay, I guess." Her voice was quieter now, more honest. "Work's been shit, my mom's been on my ass about stupid stuff, and—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "It's nothing serious. Just... life, y'know?"

Nam-Gyu's heart squeezed a little.

He knew that tone too well—the same one he'd used a hundred times to downplay his own shit.

"You should've called me, Se-Mi." His voice was soft but steady. "Just 'cause I've been caught up with Thanos doesn't mean I don't give a fuck about you."

Se-Mi's eyes flicked up, something small and vulnerable flashing across her face before she quickly masked it with a smirk.

"I figured you were too busy playing house with your boyfriend." She dragged out the last word teasingly, but there wasn't any real bite behind it.

Nam-Gyu's face heated, but he didn't let her dodge that easily.

"Still could've called."

Se-Mi held his gaze for a second longer before finally cracking, her smirk softening into something more genuine.

"Yeah... I know."

They both went quiet for a moment, the weight between them settling into something familiar and easy.

Nam-Gyu reached out without really thinking, nudging her milkshake with his knuckles.

"Next time, just call me, okay?"

Se-Mi's eyes flicked up, her smirk tugging back into place.

"Only if you promise not to make me third wheel your disgusting gay love story."

Nam-Gyu snorted, shaking his head.

"Yeah, yeah."

Se-Mi's laughter filled the booth again, bright and sharp—and for a moment, it felt like they were both just two fucked up kids trying their best to hold each other together.

Se-Mi's laughter slowly faded, leaving behind a softer kind of quiet between them.

Her fingers traced lazy circles against the condensation on her glass, eyes flicking down before she spoke again.

"For real though... don't worry, Nam-Gyu." Her voice was steady, but there was that familiar warmth underneath—comfort wrapped in sarcasm, just how she always gave it. "We're all here for each other, you know that. Mi-Na helped me deal... she's good at that shit."

Nam-Gyu's heart squeezed at the mention of Mi-Na.

Yeah, that sounded like her.

Mi-Na, was nicer then she put off, patient smiles—always knowing exactly when to crack a joke or just sit in silence with you. She was the glue that kept their messy little group from completely falling apart.

"Yeah," Nam-Gyu murmured, swirling his straw through the melted ice cream at the bottom of his glass. "She’s the best."

Se-Mi's lips twitched, like she wanted to tease him for going all soft, but she held back.

Instead, she leaned her chin on her palm, watching him with that sharp, perceptive gaze he sometimes forgot she had.

"And you're doing the best you can too, y'know."

Nam-Gyu's eyes flicked up, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

Se-Mi just shrugged, casual as ever.

"I see you, Nam-Gyu. Working your ass off, trying to get your shit together, trying to help your brother... trying to be there for Thanos." Her voice stayed light, but there was no bullshit in her eyes. "You're doing good."

Nam-Gyu's throat tightened.

He looked away quickly, like the half-melted milkshake in front of him was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Compliments always felt weird—like they were meant for someone else, someone better.

"I'm just trying," he muttered, voice low.

Se-Mi's smile softened, just a little.

"Yeah, well... trying counts for a lot."

They fell into silence again, but this time it felt easier—like something small but important had settled between them.

Nam-Gyu took another long sip of his milkshake, letting the sugary sweetness linger on his tongue.

Maybe he wasn't fucking everything up.

He glanced up at Se-Mi, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small, crooked smile.

"Okay... but if you ever tell anyone I got all emotional over a milkshake, I will deny it to my grave."

Se-Mi snorted, leaning back in the booth.

"Please. Your secret's safe with me, dude."

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, but the smile stuck.

"You wanna hear some real gossip?"

Se-Mi's eyes lit up instantly, leaning in like he was about to spill government secrets.

"Of course."

Nam-Gyu glanced around the diner out of pure habit, even though no one was paying attention to them. He lowered his voice anyway, letting the words tumble out before he could talk himself out of saying them.

"Thanos asked me to move in with him."

Se-Mi's brows shot up so fast they nearly disappeared into her hairline.

"Shut the fuck up."

Nam-Gyu's smile tugged wider, half amused, half nervous.

"Before you say anything, I know it's too soon—which is why I told him I'd think about it." His fingers traced absent circles on the side of his cup. "I'd be lying if I said the idea of two ex-addicts sharing a space together didn't scare the shit out of me."

Se-Mi didn't interrupt, which was rare enough on its own. She just stayed leaned in, listening with that sharp attention that reminded him she wasn't just chill—she was actually really fucking smart when she wanted to be.

Nam-Gyu sighed, staring down into the melted swirl of his milkshake.

"But... it'd be nice, you know?" His voice softened, like he was letting himself feel the weight of what he was admitting out loud for the first time. "Waking up next to him every morning, not having to say goodbye at night... having someone to come home to."

He paused, a small smile breaking through.

"And let's be real—Doom, that crazy-ass cat, grew on me."

Se-Mi snorted, leaning back in the booth.

"You mean you grew on her. That little demon owns both your asses now."

Nam-Gyu chuckled, shaking his head.

"You're not wrong."

Se-Mi tapped her nails against her cup, watching him for a long moment before she spoke again.

"Okay, yeah... it's kinda fast."

Nam-Gyu's stomach twisted, bracing for the lecture he already knew he deserved.

"But," Se-Mi continued, "if anyone could make that shit work... it'd be you two."

Nam-Gyu's eyes snapped up, surprised by the sudden sincerity in her voice.

"You really think so?"

Se-Mi rolled her eyes like the answer was obvious.

"Nam-Gyu, I've seen Thanos look at you. That man is gone for you. And you're just as bad." She smirked. "Honestly, it's disgusting."

Nam-Gyu bit back a smile, warmth blooming under his ribs despite himself.

"I don't know... I just don't wanna fuck this up."

Se-Mi's expression softened, the teasing falling away.

"You won't."

Nam-Gyu blinked, caught off guard by how certain she sounded.

"You don't know that."

"I do, actually." Se-Mi leaned forward again, resting her elbows on the table. "You're not the same guy you were a few months ago, Nam-Gyu. None of us are. And maybe sharing a space with another addict is risky... but you guys aren't in this alone. You got me, Mi-Na, Gyeong-Su, Min-Su—hell, even Thanos's crusty ass manger seems to be on board based on what he said in the group chat."

Nam-Gyu's laugh caught him by surprise, bubbling out before he could stop it.

"He's not crusty, Thanos said he's nice."

Se-Mi grinned, triumphant.

"Exactly. You're part of something now. And if you need us to pull your heads out of each other's asses every once in a while—we got you."

Nam-Gyu stared at her, heart feeling too full in his chest.

He didn't say anything right away—just took another long sip of his milkshake, letting the sugar coat his tongue and the warmth of her words settle somewhere deep inside him.

"Thanks, Se-Mi."

She smirked, like she hadn't just said something that made him want to cry a little bit.

"Anytime, nerd."

Nam-Gyu snorted, shaking his head.

"God, I hate you."

"Liar."

He grinned, despite himself—because yeah... she was right.

Se-Mi slammed her fists onto the table—not hard enough to shake the whole diner, but loud enough that the older lady sitting a few tables away shot them a disapproving glance over her coffee cup.

Nam-Gyu snorted, hiding his grin behind another sip of his milkshake.

Se-Mi either didn't notice or didn't care. She leaned in, dark eyes blazing like she was building up to her final argument in court.

"Plus! Think about it." She counted on her fingers as she went, voice low but intense. "His dad dies out of nowhere—biggest fucking emotional gut punch of his life—and who does he ask to go with him for moral support? You. And whose arms did he cry into when it all got too much? Yours."

Nam-Gyu's stomach twisted at the memory, his grip tightening around his cup.

Se-Mi didn't let him linger on it for long.

"Andddd who did he drag his sorry ass around a whole-ass nightclub looking for—where, might I add, enough people recognized him for rumors to start flying and articles to start popping up about where the hell he's been these past few months?"

Nam-Gyu blinked, caught off guard.

"...Me?"

Se-Mi snapped her fingers, pointing at him like he finally cracked the case.

"Exactly! Because even though you guys haven't been together that long, you love each other."

Nam-Gyu's breath caught in his throat.

The way she said it—so matter-of-fact, like it was the most obvious thing in the world—made something ache deep inside him.

He didn't answer right away, just let her words settle in the space between them, sweet and terrifying all at once.

He did love Thanos. He'd known it for a while now, he's said it so many times out loud now. Maybe the whole moving in thing scared him because deep down he already knew if he said yes—if he took that step—it would be him giving everything he had left to this relationship.

No safety nets. No backup plans.

Just him and Thanos trying to make something whole out of the broken pieces they carried around.

"Alright..." Nam-Gyu finally broke the silence, narrowing his eyes at her. "What are you hiding?"

Se-Mi's eyebrows shot up.

"Huh?"

"That was way too nice." Nam-Gyu leaned forward, smirking a little. "You've been talking about me this whole time—which means there's something you're trying not to talk about."

Se-Mi's mouth opened, then shut just as fast.

Busted.

Nam-Gyu's grin widened, eyes gleaming.

"Ohhh... Come on, spill. Who's got your chill ass all flustered?"

Se-Mi's face scrunched like she was trying to fight off a smile, but it was already too late. The pink tint creeping up her ears gave her away.

"Shut up."

Nam-Gyu's jaw dropped, leaning across the table.

"No way. Is it someone from group? Gyeong-Su? Min-Su? Wait—" His eyes went wide. "Holy shit, is it Mi-Na?"

Se-Mi's head shot up so fast he thought she might give herself whiplash.

"Absolutely not."

Nam-Gyu cackled, loud enough to earn them another glare from the coffee lady.

Se-Mi's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"You know what? I take it back. Move in with Thanos. You two deserve each other."

Nam-Gyu just grinned wider, riding the high of finally having something to hold over her head.

"Nice try, but you're not getting out of this." He wiggled his straw at her. "I'm gonna find out."

Se-Mi shook her head, but there was a smile tugging at her lips too.

"You're the worst."

"And you're deflecting."

Se-Mi rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath as she took another long sip of her milkshake.

"Fucking stupid loser."

Nam-Gyu just grinned into his cup.

Yeah... they were definitely friends.

---

Thanos walked down the familiar hallway of his apartment complex, fingers digging into his jacket pocket until they closed around his keyring. His footsteps echoed softly against the worn floors, the faint buzz of fluorescent lights filling the quiet space.

When he reached his door, he slid the key into the lock, twisting it with a satisfying click. He pushed the door open, stepping inside and shutting it behind him with a gentle thud.

The place smelled like home—faint traces of coffee and laundry detergent lingering in the air.

He barely had time to kick off one sneaker before a blur of black and white fur darted across the floor, claws lightly catching on the fabric of his jeans.

"Ah—! Hey, you little devil!" Thanos barked out a laugh, bending down to scoop Doom into his arms before she could latch on any harder.

The cat squirmed for a second before settling against his chest, letting out a soft, rumbling purr.

"Did you miss me, princess?" Thanos cooed, scratching under her chin with one finger.

Doom's half-lidded eyes and the way she tilted her head into his touch told him everything he needed to know.

A small smile tugged at his lips—one of those quiet, tired smiles that felt more like him than anything had in a long time.

"Yeah... I missed you too."

Thanos carried Doom further into the apartment, her small body warm against his chest. He didn't bother setting her down, letting her little paws rest lazily over his shoulder like she was some spoiled princess—which, honestly, she kinda was.

"Sorry, girly," he muttered, voice low and soft as if they were sharing some big secret. "Your owner's got a fucked-up head and had to spend the morning spilling his guts at therapy..."

Doom let out a tiny, squeaky meow—like she actually gave a shit.

Thanos's smile twitched wider.

"But on the bright side..." he continued, scratching under her chin again until her purring kicked up. "Nam-Gyu's bringing me a milkshake... which means," he drew the words out, lips brushing against the top of her little head, "extra warm bed tonight."

Doom blinked at him like she couldn't give less of a fuck—as long as there was food and a warm place to sleep, Thanos's whole mental breakdown journey didn't exactly affect her little royal schedule.

He finally set her down on the couch, watching as she stretched luxuriously before curling into a tight little ball on the cushions.

Lucky bitch.

Thanos stood there for a second, rubbing a hand through his hair.

Therapy was... a lot. Good, probably. But still a lot.

He glanced at his phone on the table—no messages yet, but Nam-Gyu had promised milkshakes, and Nam-Gyu never broke a promise.

Thanos let out a long breath, shaking off the weight still clinging to his shoulders.

One hour at a time.

One day at a time.

He could do this.

He had to.

Notes:

There will be Nam-Gyu family stuff in the next chapter. The Thanos thing ended up being longer than I thought, plus some fun Thanos gang stuff is to come! :D

Chapter 19: Nightmares

Notes:

Hope ya'll like the Nam-Gyu angst! Also, again, the Thanos plot isn't over, but Nam-Gyu is gonna be the main focus!

Nam-Gyu and Se-Mi finally stepped out of the diner after spending another hour talking about nothing and everything, the kind of conversation that drifted effortlessly between deep shit and absolute nonsense.

The early spring wind greeted them the moment they stepped outside, cool but not freezing, carrying that fresh scent of the changing season. Nam-Gyu instinctively pulled his jacket tighter around himself, though the chill wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

He glanced down at the promised strawberry milkshake in his hand, condensation already forming on the cup.

Behind him, Se-Mi stretched her arms above her head, inhaling deeply. “Nothing like that early spring wind,” she mused, her voice light.

“Yeah, it’s getting nicer out,” Nam-Gyu agreed, shifting the cup from one hand to the other. “Though, I kinda like the cold.”

Se-Mi shot him a knowing look. “Of course, you do. You seem like the type to brood in a dramatic coat while it snows.”

Nam-Gyu scoffed but didn’t deny it.

Her gaze flickered to the milkshake in his hand, a smirk creeping onto her face. “Thanos would pick the sweetest possible milkshake flavor.”

Nam-Gyu snorted, shaking his head. “Are you kidding? If they had a sugar-coma special, he’d order three.”

Se-Mi laughed. “Yeah, well, that just means you’ll have to deal with him bouncing off the walls later.”

Nam-Gyu hummed, a little smile playing at his lips as he imagined Thanos drinking half the milkshake in one go, getting a brain freeze, and then complaining about it dramatically.

Honestly? He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Nam-Gyu smirked, lifting the milkshake slightly as if to toast to his own victory. “Yeah, but it’s worth it. He’s happy, and I get strawberry-flavored kisses out of it. So really, it’s a win-win situation.”

Se-Mi groaned, rolling her eyes. “Disgusting. Absolutely vile.”

Nam-Gyu only grinned wider. “Oh, don’t act like you’re not jealous.”

She snorted. “Please, if I wanted a man’s lips on mine, I’d have one by now.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled, taking a sip of the milkshake. “Fair enough.”

The two of them fell into an easy silence as they walked, the city buzzing softly around them. The air had that crisp, early spring chill, but Nam-Gyu barely noticed. His thoughts had already drifted ahead—to Thanos, to his stupid sweet tooth, to the way his eyes always lit up at the smallest things.

Yeah. Definitely worth it.

“Oh! Speaking of spring,” Se-Mi said, her tone shifting like she’d just remembered something important. “The farmer’s market opens in a few days. Gyeong-Su has been raving about it nonstop—seriously, I think he’s been counting down the days like it’s a damn holiday. He really wants all of us to go when it opens.”

Nam-Gyu raised a brow, sipping his milkshake. “Since when was Gyeong-Su a farmer’s market enthusiast?”

Se-Mi shrugged. “Beats me, but he’s been talking about it like it’s the event of the century. Something about ‘fresh produce’ and ‘supporting local businesses’—I kinda tuned him out after the fifth time he brought it up.” She glanced at Nam-Gyu. “We’ve all been giving you and Thanos a little space, but he’s dying for a group outing.”

Nam-Gyu hummed, considering it. It had been a while since he’d done something with all of them together, and honestly? A morning spent wandering through a farmer’s market, eating overpriced pastries and watching Gyeong-Su geek out over vegetables, didn’t sound too bad.

“I’ll ask Thanos if he’s up for it,” Nam-Gyu said. “But knowing him, if there’s food involved, he’ll probably say yes.”

Se-Mi snorted. “Good point. If we dangle the promise of pastries in front of him, he’s as good as locked in.”

Nam-Gyu laughed along, the warmth of it lingering in his chest. God, his boyfriend was adorable.

They walked side by side, the city buzzing quietly around them, until Se-Mi suddenly stopped at a street corner, dramatically placing a hand over her heart.

“Well, my dear companion, this is where our journey together ends,” she announced, her voice heavy with mock gravity. “Until fate deems it necessary for our paths to cross once more.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, though there was no real annoyance behind it—just amusement.

“But how shall I complete my quest without thou assistance?” he asked, voice dripping with exaggerated seriousness.

Se-Mi snorted, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Pfft, you really are a nerd.”

“Hey! Just because I know fantasy doesn’t mean I’m a nerd,” Nam-Gyu shot back, feigning offense as he sipped his milkshake.

“Mm-hmm,” Se-Mi hummed knowingly. “And what’s your boyfriend’s favorite video game again?”

Nam-Gyu sighed dramatically. “Okay, fair, but in my defense, I had to learn that lore to be a good boyfriend.”

Se-Mi smirked. “Sure, babe. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Nam-Gyu just shook his head, grinning. “Get home safe, loser.”

“You too, homo.” Se-Mi shot him a lazy salute before turning onto her street.

Nam-Gyu watched her go for a moment before continuing his walk, the cold air biting at his cheeks. The milkshake in his hand was still cold, but he knew it’d be worth it once he got to Thanos’s place.

Yeah, he thought to himself with a small smile. Definitely worth it.

---

Nam-Gyu pushed open the door after using the key Thanos had given him, the familiar scent of home—Thanos’s cologne, a faint trace of coffee, and Doom’s cat food—welcoming him inside.

“Babe?” he called out, stepping in and setting the milkshake down on the table so he could slip off his shoes.

From the living room came Thanos’s voice, excitement practically dripping from every syllable. “Did you bring the milkshake?”

Nam-Gyu bit back a laugh, already picturing the way his boyfriend’s eyes were probably wide with anticipation. He decided to tease him a little.

“Maybeee,” he drawled.

There was the sound of quick footsteps, and within seconds, Thanos appeared in the doorway, Doom trotting right beside him like a tiny, fluffy shadow.

Nam-Gyu grabbed the milkshake from the table, lifting it toward him. “Extra sprinkles.”

Thanos’s eyes practically sparkled as he reached for it. “You’re the best,” he muttered before immediately taking a long sip, like he’d been deprived of sugar for weeks instead of just a few hours.

Meanwhile, Doom curled around Nam-Gyu’s legs, her soft fur brushing against his jeans as she rubbed up against him in greeting. “Hey, Doomly,” he murmured, reaching down to run a hand along her back. She purred instantly, arching into his touch.

Thanos let out a low, satisfied groan after swallowing a big sip. “Mmm. I love you so much.”

Nam-Gyu glanced up, only to find Thanos looking directly at him—not the milkshake, not Doom, but him.

Warmth spread through Nam-Gyu’s chest, and he huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. You love the milkshake.”

Thanos licked a drop of whipped cream off his lip before stepping closer. “No, dumbass,” he said, voice softer now. “I mean you.”

Nam-Gyu swallowed, his fingers stilling in Doom’s fur.

A beat passed before he sighed dramatically. “God, you get one milkshake and turn into a sap.”

Thanos rolled his eyes but was smiling as he leaned in, pressing a quick, chilled kiss to Nam-Gyu’s lips.

“Strawberry-flavored,” Nam-Gyu mumbled, grinning against his mouth.

“Told you it’d be worth it,” Thanos murmured, stealing another sip of his shake before pulling him in again.

Thanos turned on his heel, already heading back into the living room, and made a lazy hand motion for Nam-Gyu to follow. “How was Se-Mi?” he called over his shoulder.

Nam-Gyu did as beckoned, trailing after him. “She’s good, just the usual boring life stuff. Although… I think something’s going on between her and Mi-Na.”

Thanos dropped onto the couch, resuming what was probably his previous spot before he’d gotten up for the milkshake. He propped his feet up on the coffee table, taking another sip of his drink before casually throwing out, “What, that they made out?”

Nam-Gyu blinked, nearly tripping over Doom as she wove between his legs. “Wait, what? How the hell do you know that?”

Thanos shrugged, completely unbothered. “Mi-Na texted me about it.”

Nam-Gyu narrowed his eyes. “And when were you planning to tell me?”

Thanos laughed, shaking his head. “Damn, look at you, desperate for gossip.”

“I am desperate for gossip! And this is prime information, you asshole.”

Thanos snickered, licking a bit of whipped cream off his lip before lounging further into the cushions. “You’re so slow. You still act like they’re not your friends, but you and Se-Mi are literally besties.”

Nam-Gyu scoffed. “I’m not besties with her.”

“You literally went out for milkshakes alone together.”

“That doesn’t make us besties. We just—hang out.”

Thanos shot him a knowing look over the rim of his milkshake. “Uh-huh.”

Nam-Gyu sat down beside him, grumbling as he pulled a throw pillow into his lap. “Anyway, you and Mi-Na are the real bffs. Since when do you get tea from her?”

Thanos smirked, resting his head back against the couch. “I like her style of being a bitch, but also a badass bitch at the same time.”

Nam-Gyu let out an exaggerated gasp. “So you admit it! You do have friends.”

Thanos groaned, covering his face with his free hand. “Ugh. Don’t make this a thing.”

“Oh, I am making it a thing. This is a historical moment.”

“God, shut up.”

“Never.”

Thanos sighed dramatically before taking another sip of his milkshake, muttering, “I should’ve gotten chocolate instead.”

Nam-Gyu nudged him with his elbow. “Yeah, well, too bad. Now, tell me everything Mi-Na told you, word for word. I deserve to know, since apparently, my bestie and my friend are making out without telling me.”

Thanos choked on his drink, laughing. “Oh my god, bestie?”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “I mean, if she and Mi-Na get together, she’s basically my in-law.”

Thanos shook his head, smiling. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet, here I am, sitting on your couch, drinking your milkshake.”

Thanos rolled his eyes, but the small smile lingering on his lips made Nam-Gyu’s chest feel a little lighter.

A comfortable silence settled between them, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. Nam-Gyu leaned back into the couch, shifting until his head rested in Thanos’s lap. He tilted his gaze up, studying Thanos’s face in the dim light of the apartment.

“Wanna talk about how therapy was?” His voice was soft, not pressing—just an open offer.

Thanos glanced down at him, his expression unreadable at first. Then, after a beat, he shrugged. “Ehh, I’ve talked a lot today… Maybe later, though. But I will say it was kinda nice. Oh, and my next appointment is on Thursday.”

Nam-Gyu hummed in approval. “Yeah, that’s fair. And I’m glad it wasn’t totally awful.”

Thanos let out a small chuckle before absentmindedly threading his fingers through Nam-Gyu’s hair, the touch gentle and slow. “Sap,” he teased.

Nam-Gyu just closed his eyes, sinking into the warmth of the moment.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The quiet stretched between them, unhurried and easy, until Thanos eventually broke it.

“Not to ruin the moment,” he started, his tone careful, “but I was thinking about your whole family situation.”

Nam-Gyu cracked one eye open, wary but listening. “Yeah?”

“Well, you said your dad left, right? And nobody has any clue where he went.” Thanos hesitated, his fingers stilling briefly in Nam-Gyu’s hair before he continued, “I was just thinking… You’ve mentioned he was a real asshole. Like, real asshole. And it just kinda hit me—have you ever checked arrest records? Y’know, in case he got put away for something?”

Nam-Gyu blinked. That… wasn’t something he’d ever considered.

Thanos took another sip of his milkshake before adding, “And, like, if he did get arrested, maybe there’d be a record of his family somewhere? Maybe he met your grandparents before, and there’s at least something on where they live…” He trailed off, then sighed. “Sorry, I was watching crime documentaries before you got here, and my brain’s still in detective mode.”

Nam-Gyu let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You and your damn true crime obsession.”

Thanos smirked. “Hey, you say that now, but if this idea actually leads somewhere, you’re gonna have to admit I’m a genius.”

Nam-Gyu exhaled, staring up at the ceiling as he mulled it over. “It’s not the worst idea…”

“So, you’re saying it’s a good idea?”

“I’m saying I’ll think about it, Sherlock.”

Thanos snorted, his fingers moving again, combing lazily through Nam-Gyu’s hair. “Fair enough. No pressure. Just figured I’d bring it up.”

Nam-Gyu nodded slightly, closing his eyes again. Maybe it was something worth looking into. Maybe.

Thanos hesitated for a moment before speaking again, his voice softer this time.

“…Sorry, this is probably annoying you, but I was also thinking—if you ever wanted to, you could check if your brother—Hak-Kun, right?—has a record. Or maybe a service record? That’s usually where a lot of runaway kids end up.” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe that’s not even relevant, but… since he was older than you, there’s a chance he met your grandparents. Or even your sister.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Nam-Gyu didn’t respond right away, and Thanos felt his stomach twist. Shit. Had he overstepped?

“I’m sorry,” he rushed to say. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I just—” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve done so much for me, and I just thought—never mind. Let’s drop it. What are you thinking for lunch? Or did you already eat earlier—?”

“Thanos.”

The sound of his name stopped him mid-ramble.

Nam-Gyu opened his eyes, their dark depths filled with something softer than Thanos had expected. His voice was gentle when he spoke again.

“Shhh, it’s okay, honey.”

He reached up, brushing the back of his hand against Thanos’s cheek in a slow, reassuring motion. Thanos melted into the touch instinctively, but Nam-Gyu’s expression had turned distant, his eyes clouded with memory.

“…Hak-Kun was my favorite person,” Nam-Gyu admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “For years. And even though I understand why he left now, it hurt so much when I was younger. I was all alone, confused… just thinking he left because he got tired of me.”

Thanos felt something in his chest tighten as Nam-Gyu’s breath wavered, his eyes glossing over with unshed tears.

“It’s stupid,” Nam-Gyu continued, voice thick with emotion. “I spent so long trying to hold my family together. I used to take the blame for things I didn’t do, just so they’d be mad at me instead of each other. And after all that—after everything—he still left. I know it wasn’t about me, but back then… it felt like it was. And the worst part?” He let out a shaky breath. “I can’t even be mad at him. I like to think that if I were in his shoes, I would’ve left too. But I didn’t. I stayed. I wasn’t strong enough—”

Before Nam-Gyu could finish, Thanos reached up and gently removed his glasses, setting them aside.

“Nam-Gyu, no.” His voice was firm, but warm. “Just because he had a reason to leave doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be upset about it.”

Nam-Gyu swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as a single tear slipped down his cheek. Thanos reached out, catching it with his thumb before it could fall any further.

“You weren’t weak for staying,” Thanos murmured. “You were strong for surviving it.”

Nam-Gyu let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he leaned into Thanos’s touch. It was such a simple thing—Thanos wiping away his tears—but it made something deep inside him ache.

He didn’t know what to say to that.

Because a part of him still didn’t believe it.

A part of him still felt like the weak, desperate kid who just wanted his family to love him, who thought that if he tried hard enough, if he gave enough, they wouldn’t leave him behind.

But they had.

And no matter how much time passed, no matter how much he tried to tell himself that it wasn’t his fault, that old wound still bled.

Thanos seemed to sense the storm inside him because he didn’t let go. His hand stayed on Nam-Gyu’s cheek, his thumb absently stroking over his skin in a slow, grounding motion. His other hand found Nam-Gyu’s, fingers threading together with a gentle squeeze.

“I mean it,” Thanos murmured. “You didn’t stay because you were weak. You stayed because you cared. Because you loved them.” His eyes softened. “And that’s not a bad thing, baby.”

Nam-Gyu huffed a quiet laugh, though it was brittle. “Tell that to my inner child.”

Thanos smirked a little at that, tilting his head. “Oh? Should I give him a pep talk?” He put on a dramatic voice, squeezing Nam-Gyu’s hand. “Listen up, little Nam-Gyu. You were a badass and you didn’t even know it. The fact that you’re here, sitting on this couch, letting yourself be loved? That’s proof that you won.”

Nam-Gyu snorted, the wetness in his eyes still there, but at least his smile wasn’t forced this time. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

Nam-Gyu exhaled through his nose, his fingers tightening around Thanos’s. He let his head fall back against Thanos’s lap again, closing his eyes. “Yeah… I do.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet settled between them, but it wasn’t heavy anymore. It was warm.

Then Thanos let out a sigh, leaning back against the couch. “Damn, that was a lot of feelings. I think we deserve a reward.”

Nam-Gyu cracked one eye open. “…Like what?”

Thanos smirked. “We order a stupid amount of food, pig the fuck out, and then take a nap. Maybe put on a shitty movie in the background. You down?”

Nam-Gyu exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “You had me at ‘stupid amount of food.’”

Thanos grinned, reaching for his phone. “Knew it. Alright, babe—let’s eat our feelings.”

Nam-Gyu let out a soft sigh, absentmindedly watching as Thanos scrolled through his phone, presumably ordering their food. Doom’s jingling toy echoed softly across the apartment, filling the quiet space with a comforting, familiar sound.

But Nam-Gyu’s mind wasn’t in the present. It was lingering in the past, circling around a memory he hadn’t thought about in years.

Hak-Kun always liked order. Maybe that’s why he left. Maybe that’s why, out of all of them, he was the one who never let drugs consume him the way the rest of their family had. The worst Hak-Kun ever did was weed—maybe acid, once or twice—but even then, it was different. Controlled. He always had a strong sense of right and wrong, even when the world around him didn’t.

And their father…

There was no doubt in Nam-Gyu’s mind that the man was either dead or in prison by now. It was almost sad, in a pathetic kind of way. The last time Nam-Gyu had really thought about his father was when Do-Yun had told him that story.

A memory flickered to life in his mind.

---

"Do you wanna know something Dad told me?"

Nam-Gyu, no older than seven at the time, turned his wide eyes toward Do-Yun, who sat across from him at the rickety kitchen table, a bowl of cheap, soggy cereal in front of him. Do-Yun must’ve been thirteen then—back when he still had hope, back when he still wanted to get out of that house.

Before their dad left without a word.

Before whatever was left of Do-Yun broke completely.

"Yeah?" Nam-Gyu asked, curious.

Do-Yun stared at his spoon for a moment before finally speaking. "He told me that when he met Mom, he was in high school. He was a good student, too—got A’s and shit. Then, one night, his friend talked him into going to a party. That’s the night he met Mom."

Nam-Gyu frowned, tilting his head. "Really?"

"Yup." Do-Yun’s expression was unreadable. "A week later, she was at his parents’ door holding a pregnancy test."

Nam-Gyu’s eyes widened. "Oh, you—!"

Do-Yun let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Nah, man. That would’ve made me, like, twenty-something. That was Mi-Cha."

Their sister. The one Nam-Gyu had never met.

"Ohhh." Nam-Gyu’s gaze dropped to his cereal, stirring it idly with his spoon. "Why’d he tell you this?"

For a long moment, Do-Yun didn’t answer. He just stared ahead at the wall, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he spoke.

"He was telling me about the day his life was ruined forever."

---

Nam-Gyu exhaled sharply through his nose, dragging himself back to the present. He clenched his jaw, his fingers curling slightly against his lap.

Their dad was a piece of shit. That was never up for debate.

But their mom…

She was the one who truly ruined everything.

And maybe—maybe there was a reason she was the way she was. Maybe there was something in her past that turned her into the person she became. But she never cared enough to explain. Never cared enough to try.

So why should Nam-Gyu care now?

"Alright, food is ordered," Thanos announced, breaking through Nam-Gyu’s thoughts.

Nam-Gyu looked up just as Thanos tossed his phone onto the couch beside him, stretching his arms over his head with a satisfied groan.

"Delivery guy says it’ll be here in, like, forty minutes," Thanos added. "Which means we have time to be lazy as hell until then."

Nam-Gyu hummed in response, his mind still half-stuck in the past.

Thanos must’ve noticed something in his expression because his teasing smirk faded slightly. He shifted, his knee brushing against Nam-Gyu’s. "You okay?"

Nam-Gyu blinked, hesitating for a moment before sighing.

"Yeah," he said, voice softer. "Just… thinking about some old shit."

Thanos didn’t push. He just nodded, reaching out to ruffle Nam-Gyu’s hair. "Well, if you wanna talk about it, you know I’m here."

Nam-Gyu glanced up at him, something warm settling in his chest.

"...Yeah," he murmured. "I know."

Nam-Gyu stared into Thanos’s eyes, letting the warmth of his gaze settle over him like a blanket. The deep brown filled his vision, grounding him in the present even as his mind drifted back into the past.

"Did I ever tell you the story of the first time I got high?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

Thanos didn’t say anything. He just rested his hand back in Nam-Gyu’s hair, his fingers resuming their slow, absentminded movements, as if wordlessly encouraging him to continue.

Nam-Gyu exhaled, steadying himself.

"I was only thirteen," he began. "Hak-Kun was gone. Dad was gone. Do-Yun was… well, barely there. Ji-Ho must've been one? Maybe younger. I don’t really remember. But what I do remember is feeling so hopeless. So exhausted."

His gaze dropped slightly, unfocused, as he continued.

"I just wanted to sleep," he admitted. "But it never came. No matter how much I tossed and turned, no matter how many hours I spent staring at the ceiling, I could never just… shut my brain off. So one night, after hours of lying awake, I got up and went to my mom’s room."

Nam-Gyu paused, clearing his throat before pushing forward.

"I knew she wasn’t home. She was probably off on some corner somewhere, doing whatever she needed to do to get her next hit. And I knew exactly where she kept her stash. The bedside drawer."

His fingers curled slightly against Thanos’s thigh.

"I opened it," he murmured. "And there they were—a bag of little white pills. At the time, I didn’t know what they were. I didn’t know what they’d do to me. I just knew I was desperate. Desperate to sleep. Desperate to stop feeling so… hollow."

His voice grew even quieter.

"So I opened the bag, took a couple, and swallowed them dry."

A heavy silence hung between them for a moment, the weight of his words settling into the space they shared.

Nam-Gyu swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "I remember praying they’d work. That they’d finally make me fall asleep."

He let out a humorless chuckle. "And, well… they did. But not in the way I expected."

Thanos stayed quiet, his fingers still threading through Nam-Gyu’s hair, gentle and grounding. His touch was steady, a silent reminder that Nam-Gyu was here, in the present, not back in that dark place.

Nam-Gyu swallowed, shifting slightly, his head still resting in Thanos’s lap.

"I don’t remember much after that," he admitted. "Just that, at some point, I started feeling weird—like my body wasn’t mine anymore. Like I was floating, but sinking at the same time. My limbs felt heavy, my head light, and everything around me blurred at the edges."

He exhaled, a humorless smile tugging at his lips.

"And then I woke up on the floor of my mom’s bedroom, feeling like absolute shit." His voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "I don’t know how long I was out. Maybe a few hours, maybe the whole night. But the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Do-Yun standing in the doorway, just staring at me."

Nam-Gyu let out a slow breath, his expression unreadable.

"He didn’t say anything at first," he continued. "Just looked at me, like he was trying to decide if I was still alive. And when I finally sat up, head pounding, stomach twisting, you know what he said?"

Thanos stayed quiet, waiting.

Nam-Gyu’s jaw tensed slightly, the words coming out in a near whisper.

"'Mom’s gonna kill you if she finds out you took her shit.'"

A dry, humorless chuckle escaped him. "Not 'Are you okay?' Not 'What the hell were you thinking?' Just that."

Thanos frowned, his fingers pausing in Nam-Gyu’s hair for a second before resuming their slow, soothing movement.

Nam-Gyu sighed. "I think that was the moment I realized just how fucked everything was. I was thirteen, had just overdosed for the first time, and my biggest concern wasn’t even that I could’ve died. It was that if my mom found out, she’d beat the shit out of me for wasting her stash."

He shook his head slightly. "And the worst part? That wasn’t even the last time."

His voice was softer now, tinged with something almost like resignation.

"It got easier after that," he admitted. "When you realize no one’s looking out for you, that no one’s gonna save you, it stops feeling so scary. And the next time you feel like shit, the next time you just wanna disappear for a while, you already know where to go. What to take."

Thanos’s hand moved from his hair to his cheek, thumb brushing lightly against his skin, as if grounding him, pulling him back.

Nam-Gyu blinked up at him, startled for a moment by the tenderness in his touch.

"You’re here now," Thanos said simply, voice firm but quiet. "You made it out."

Nam-Gyu let out a slow breath, his chest loosening just a bit.

"Yeah," he murmured, closing his eyes again.

It was strange, really—thinking about it now. Because even when he had left that house, when he had packed up what little he owned and moved into his own shitty apartment, he hadn’t actually left anything behind. Not really. The drugs didn’t stop. If anything, they got worse.

Coke. LSD. Ecstasy. And then, finally, the one that sank its claws into him and refused to let go—heroin.

At first, it had just been a way to take the edge off, to quiet the noise in his head. But then, days started blurring together. Weeks slipped through his fingers. His body stopped feeling like his own, and the world only made sense when he was high.

And it wasn’t until five months ago, standing in the dim light of his bathroom, that it hit him. He had looked into the cracked mirror above the sink, expecting to see his own reflection staring back.

But the face in the glass? The sunken eyes, the hollow cheeks, the skin that had lost its color?

It wasn’t him.

It wasn’t anyone.

It was just another addict. Just another junkie waiting for his next hit.

And for the first time in years, a thought pushed through the haze, cold and sharp as a needle—

Who the fuck am I?

His job? He only kept it because it gave him easy access to dealers.
His apartment? It was cheap, close to work, and just good enough to keep him off the streets.
His friends? They were either selling to him, using with him, or pretending to care long enough to get something out of him.

Nothing about him was real. Nothing about him was his.

And the worst part?

He didn’t even know his own favorite color.

The thought had clung to him, gnawed at him, until he couldn’t take it anymore.

So he walked out of the bathroom, shoved on his shoes, and got in his car. He didn’t know where he was going. Didn’t care. He just drove—mind blank, chest tight, hands gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

It wasn’t until he saw the sign that he stopped.

It was old, faded, probably ignored by a hundred people that passed it every day. But something about it made him pull over.

"Are you struggling with addiction or trauma?"

The words stared back at him, bold against the weathered white background.

"Please know that there are people out there who want to help."

And beneath the message, in smaller print, an address.

He hadn’t recognized it at first. Hadn’t known what he was driving toward.

But when he arrived, sitting in his car outside the rec center, staring at the building like it might swallow him whole—

Something in his chest shifted.

For the first time in years, he felt something close to hope.

And it was so hard to believe that had only been five months ago.

Because in some ways, it felt like just days had passed—like he could still smell the stale air of his old apartment, still feel the weight of exhaustion pressing into his bones. But in other ways, it felt like a lifetime ago, like he was an entirely different person now.

He felt alive in a way he hadn’t in years.

If someone had told him at that first meeting that in just five months, he’d have real, supportive friends, five months of sobriety under his belt, and a boyfriend—a boyfriend who, for some goddamn reason, had taken an interest in him—he would’ve laughed in their face and told them to fuck off.

But here he was.

Thanos glanced down at Nam-Gyu, still stretched out on his lap, looking up at him with those warm brown eyes. He huffed out a small laugh. "Man, the first time I got high was way less interesting."

Nam-Gyu let out a quiet chuckle. "Yeah? Wanna share with the class?"

Thanos smirked, idly running his fingers through Nam-Gyu’s hair again. "Well, I was seventeen, on the road doing music and shit. One of my future bandmates—we had just met, actually, but that’s beside the point—he had acid and asked if I wanted some, and I was like, ‘Sure, why not?’"

Nam-Gyu snorted. "Wow, solid decision-making skills."

Thanos ignored him. "And boom—ten-ish minutes later, I’m tripping balls. Like, full-on ‘the walls are breathing, and I think the moon is talking to me’ type of shit."

Nam-Gyu laughed, shaking his head. "That explains so much about you."

"Hey," Thanos defended, grinning. "I turned out mostly fine."

Nam-Gyu hummed, unconvinced. "Debatable."

Thanos nudged him lightly with his elbow. "Asshole."

Nam-Gyu just smiled, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on Thanos’s knee.

And Thanos—who once thought he’d never have anything real, never have anything worth keeping—felt his chest tighten in the best possible way.

Nam-Gyu snorted. "Wow, what a story. No tragic backstory? No deep emotional turmoil? Just some guy handing you acid and you going 'sure'?"

Thanos chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, pretty much. Just vibes. I mean, it was my first time—I had no idea what I was doing. One second, I was chilling in the back of a van, and the next, I was staring at my hands for an hour, convinced they weren’t mine. I kept asking everyone if my fingers looked weird, and I swear to God, one of the guys told me they were melting, just to fuck with me."

Nam-Gyu smirked. "Classic."

"Right? But I didn’t even freak out, I just accepted it, like 'oh, okay, guess I don’t have hands anymore.'" Thanos let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "That was before everything got… complicated. Before I started using just to keep going. At first, it was fun, you know? You’re a musician, you party, you drink, you take whatever’s offered. It wasn’t that deep."

Nam-Gyu listened quietly, eyes half-lidded as he watched Thanos speak. There was something about the way Thanos talked about his past now—less bitterness, more acceptance. Like he was still carrying it, but it wasn’t weighing him down the same way it used to.

Thanos exhaled, his fingers still absentmindedly carding through Nam-Gyu’s hair. "But then suddenly, it was. And by the time I realized I had a problem, I was in too deep to care. It’s kind of fucked up, but sometimes I think about how many people would’ve cared if I just… never woke up one day. And for a long time, I thought the answer was no one."

Nam-Gyu’s fingers twitched against Thanos’s knee. He didn’t speak right away, just let the weight of the words settle between them. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was steady, like something solid to lean on. "But you moved on," Nam-Gyu finally said, voice quiet but firm.

"Yeah." Thanos exhaled, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips. "Barely." He paused, glancing down at Nam-Gyu with a small smirk, like he was shaking himself out of the moment. "And you know, if someone had told seventeen-year-old me that one day, I'd be sitting on my couch, sober, talking about my tragic downfall with a cute guy lying in my lap… I would've laughed in their face."

Nam-Gyu smirked back, reaching up to tap his fingers against Thanos’s chin. "Guess life has a funny way of surprising you."

Thanos caught Nam-Gyu's hand before he could pull away, turning it over in his own before bringing it up to his lips. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to Nam-Gyu’s knuckles, his thumb tracing small circles along the back of his hand. "Yeah," he murmured. His voice was softer now, quieter, like he was letting himself settle into the moment. "And for once, I think I actually like the surprise."

Nam-Gyu swallowed, something warm blooming in his chest. He curled his fingers around Thanos’s hand, holding onto him like he never wanted to let go.

---

After about half an hour of waiting, the food Thanos ordered finally arrived. The scent of black bean noodles filled the apartment as they settled on the couch, opening their takeout containers. Doom, ever the opportunist, circled their legs before curling up nearby, seemingly uninterested but keeping a watchful eye just in case they dropped something.

They ate together, falling into easy conversation, their laughter mixing with the background noise of some dumb movie Thanos had put on. Neither of them was really paying attention to it, too caught up in their own little world. Thanos made a joke about the terrible CGI, and Nam-Gyu countered with an even worse impression of one of the actors. Thanos nearly choked on his noodles from laughing too hard, and Nam-Gyu had to slap his back while muttering, "Dramatic ass."

By the time they finished eating, the warmth of a full meal and the comfort of each other’s presence had settled over them. Nam-Gyu stretched, letting out a small yawn, and Thanos smirked, nudging him with his elbow. "Told you we needed that nap."

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. "Alright, alright. Let’s nap, old man."

Thanos scoffed, standing up and offering a hand. "First of all, rude. Second of all, you’re coming with me, so joke's on you."

Nam-Gyu took his hand, letting Thanos pull him up. They made their way to the bedroom, Doom trotting behind them like she was making sure they actually went to sleep. As soon as they hit the bed, Nam-Gyu sighed in contentment, already feeling his body relax against the mattress.

Thanos pulled the covers over them, shifting until they were comfortably tangled together. Nam-Gyu nestled against him, head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"Comfy?" Thanos murmured, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along Nam-Gyu’s back.

Nam-Gyu hummed, already halfway to sleep. "Mhm. You’re warm."

Thanos chuckled, pressing a slow kiss to the top of his head. "Good. Now sleep, nerd."

Nam-Gyu didn’t argue this time. With Thanos’s heartbeat beneath his ear and the steady rise and fall of his breathing, he let himself drift off, safe and warm in the arms of the person he loved.

---

It was the summer of 2008. The days were long, stretching lazily under the golden sun, and the evenings carried the kind of warmth that felt like a soft blanket draped over the world. Nam-Gyu was ten at the time, still small enough to fit into the crooks of his older brothers' arms but old enough to run around barefoot without a second thought. Do-Yun was nineteen, already starting to drift into something colder, more distant. Hak-Kun was fourteen, still full of life, still trying to prove himself. Ji-Ho was still two years away, just an unspoken possibility in the fabric of their future. Even Dad was still around back then.

That evening, Nam-Gyu was in the backyard, lying in the overgrown grass that brushed against his arms, itching slightly but not enough to make him want to move. He was staring up at the towering trees, watching birds flutter from branch to branch, their dark silhouettes darting against the soft hues of the sunset. The sky was a blend of orange and pink, bleeding into blue as the day slowly gave way to night.

Behind him, on the porch, Do-Yun and Hak-Kun were bickering over who could do more push-ups. They weren’t serious about it—just boys filling the quiet with their voices, laughing and nudging each other between boasts. Their dad was sitting nearby, perched on the old wooden steps, a beer in hand, taking one of his rare days off. He wasn’t much for conversation, but he was there, and at the time, that had been enough.

It was one of Nam-Gyu’s favorite memories of childhood. Not because it was particularly special, but because of the peace. The way the birds chirped as they returned to their nests, the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze, the low hum of voices blending into the evening. It was a time before everything cracked open.

Footsteps rustled through the grass, drawing closer. Then a shadow fell over Nam-Gyu.

"Hey, kiddo, what’re you doin’?"

Nam-Gyu turned his head to see his dad standing over him, his beer dangling lazily from his fingers. There weren’t many things Nam-Gyu liked remembering about his dad, but one thing he held onto was that—for a while, at least—he had tried. Not always, not enough, but sometimes. And in this memory, that was all that mattered.

"I'm looking at birds! Or... trying to. Everything is blurry."

His dad hummed, then sighed as he dropped down onto the grass beside him, setting his beer down with a dull clink. "Man, sorry, buddy. Guess my bad eyesight is catching up to one of you kids."

It was rare to see him in a good mood, rare to hear him make a joke that wasn’t laced with exhaustion or frustration. But this time, it was just... nice. Easy.

Nam-Gyu groaned dramatically. "Aw, man, I’m gonna look like an old man."

His dad chuckled, the sound rough but genuine. "Just like me."

Nam-Gyu laughed, rolling onto his side so he could see his dad better, though his features were still slightly out of focus. He didn’t know then what the future would bring, didn’t know how everything would eventually fall apart. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. It was warm. It was peaceful. It was enough.

But then, in the distance, a loud bang rang out. The sharp, unmistakable sound of the front door slamming against the frame.

Mom was home.

The shift was instant. One second, his dad had been sitting next to him, relaxed in the quiet evening, and the next, his entire demeanor hardened. His jaw locked, fingers twitching where they rested on his knee. His once-easy presence turned rigid, cold, simmering with something that hadn't been there before.

Nam-Gyu barely had time to process it before another sound followed—a crash, something glass shattering inside the house. His stomach twisted. He didn't even have to see it to know she was already knocking things over, already stumbling through the house in that familiar, erratic way.

And then, her voice.

"Boys!!"

The sound cut through the evening, piercing and slurred, spilling out of the open windows and drowning the backyard in its weight. It echoed, bouncing off the trees, making the peace from just moments ago feel like nothing more than a fragile dream.

Nam-Gyu flinched. So did Hak-Kun.

Do-Yun just sighed heavily from the porch, his face turned away, but his shoulders were tight.

Their dad took a slow sip of his beer, eyes fixed straight ahead. He didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge the chaos spilling from inside the house, but Nam-Gyu saw the way his fingers clenched tighter around the can. Not from concern. Not from fear. But from a growing frustration, barely contained beneath the surface.

His parents never loved each other. That much was obvious. Not once had Nam-Gyu ever seen them share a moment of warmth, of care, of anything resembling what love was supposed to be. All they ever did was tolerate each other until they couldn’t anymore. And then they fought.

Nam-Gyu swallowed hard. He didn’t want to go inside. He wanted to stay here, in the grass, with the birds still flying high above, in the last remnants of peace before the inevitable. But he already knew that if they didn’t come fast enough, she’d just get louder.

Hak-Kun was the first to move, standing up from the porch and dusting off his pants, face carefully blank. Do-Yun followed, slower, as if he could pretend for just a few seconds longer that this wasn’t his life.

Nam-Gyu hesitated.

His dad didn’t look at him, didn’t say anything to any of them. He just took another sip of his beer and stared into the distance.

Another crash sounded.

Nam-Gyu took a deep breath and pushed himself up, his heart sinking. Then, with heavy steps, he followed his brothers inside.

His dad stayed in the backyard, unmoving, still nursing his beer as if the chaos inside wasn’t his problem.

Nam-Gyu hesitated on the porch for a moment, gripping the doorframe, letting the evening breeze brush against his skin one last time before he stepped forward. It would have been so easy to stay out there, to pretend he hadn’t heard her, to sit in the overgrown grass and keep watching the birds. But he couldn’t.

So, with a quiet breath, he slid the back door open and walked inside.

The shift was immediate.

The backyard had been warm, bathed in golden light, filled with the soft sounds of birds and rustling leaves. But inside, the air was heavy, thick with the smell of cigarette smoke and stale alcohol. The kitchen was dimly lit, and right in the middle of it, their mother stood, swaying slightly, a nearly empty bottle of soju in one hand, the other braced on the counter like she needed help standing.

The mess around her told Nam-Gyu everything he needed to know.

A plate lay shattered across the tile floor, bits of food smeared in streaks from the impact. One of the dining chairs had been knocked over, the sharp scrape against the floor still fresh in the air. The cabinets were open, some of the contents pulled out and tossed onto the counter haphazardly, as if she’d been searching for something.

She turned at the sound of the door sliding shut, eyes bleary but sharp as they landed on them.

“There you are,” she slurred, waving a hand vaguely in their direction. “Took you long enough.”

Hak-Kun and Do-Yun stood on either side of Nam-Gyu, silent, unmoving. They’d done this before. They knew better than to speak first.

Nam-Gyu's stomach twisted.

She scoffed at their silence and took a step forward, wincing slightly as if the movement itself was exhausting. "What, none of you can say hello to your mother? Ungrateful little shits."

Nam-Gyu swallowed, eyes flickering to his brothers.

Do-Yun’s face was blank, completely unreadable. He had perfected that look over the years, the one that made it seem like nothing could touch him, like none of this could reach inside and shake him. But Nam-Gyu knew better. He’d seen the way Do-Yun clenched his jaw when she got like this. He’d seen the way his hands curled into fists when she got worse.

Hak-Kun, on the other hand, looked tired. Just... tired. His shoulders were slumped, his expression dull. He wasn't tense, wasn't angry, wasn't bracing himself for whatever came next. He was just done.

Nam-Gyu wished he could be like that.

Their mother sneered, taking another swig straight from the bottle before dropping it onto the counter with a clatter. "You boys think you're better than me?" she spat suddenly, her voice raising without warning. "Walking in here like you're so fucking good, like you don't live under my roof, like you don’t eat my food. Do you even know how hard I work for you?"

The words were familiar, ones she had hurled at them countless times before. They weren’t meant to be answered. She didn’t want a response—she wanted a fight.

Do-Yun turned away, staring at the wall, clearly refusing to engage.

That only pissed her off more.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" she snapped, stepping forward so fast Nam-Gyu flinched, even though she wasn’t reaching for him.

Do-Yun didn’t move, didn’t react, didn’t even blink.

She scoffed again, then turned her gaze to Nam-Gyu instead, narrowing her eyes.

"And you," she spat, eyes scanning him like she was seeing him for the first time. "You're getting fat."

The words shouldn’t have hurt. They really shouldn’t have.

But they did.

Because she knew exactly where to aim. She always did.

Nam-Gyu dropped his gaze to the floor, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He was small for his age, always had been, but she liked to act like he was something disgusting, like he was a burden, like his very existence was a weight pressing down on her life.

She was still staring at him, waiting for a reaction, waiting for him to crack.

Hak-Kun took a step forward. "Mom, just—"

She whirled on him before he could finish.

"Don't start with me," she snapped, pointing a finger at his chest. "I don’t need you ganging up on me, thinking you’re all high and mighty just because you’re getting older. You're still a goddamn child."

Hak-Kun clenched his jaw, but he said nothing.

Nam-Gyu hated this.

The tension was suffocating, pressing against his ribs, making his skin crawl. He wanted to disappear, to shrink into himself until he was too small for her to notice, too small for her words to reach.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy.

And then, as if she had already forgotten what she was mad about, their mother sighed heavily and staggered toward the fridge, muttering something under her breath. She ripped the door open and grabbed another bottle, barely taking a breath before twisting the cap off and taking a long, slow drink.

Do-Yun turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen without a word.

Hak-Kun followed a second later.

Nam-Gyu lingered.

He didn't know why. Maybe he was waiting for her to say something else. Maybe he was hoping she’d suddenly turn around and apologize, tell him she didn’t mean it, tell him she was just tired, just stressed, just anything other than cruel.

But she didn’t.

She just kept drinking, eyes glazed, already drifting somewhere else.

Nam-Gyu turned and walked out of the kitchen, back through the sliding door, stepping onto the porch with unsteady legs.

The night air was cold against his skin.

His dad was still sitting exactly where he had been before, staring into the darkness, beer still in hand. He didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge Nam-Gyu at all.

Nam-Gyu sat down beside him anyway.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the distant hum of cicadas, the rustling of leaves in the wind.

Then, finally, his dad let out a slow, heavy sigh.

"Your mom’s a real piece of work," he muttered.

Nam-Gyu didn’t respond. He just pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them.

His dad took another sip of his beer. "You get used to it," he added after a moment.

Nam-Gyu wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be comforting.

But it wasn’t.

Nam-Gyu looked up at his father, the words settling heavily between them. He didn't know what to say. What was there to say? He was only ten, still trying to understand the world, still hoping that maybe—just maybe—things would get better.

His dad finished what was left of his beer in one long gulp before turning to him fully. His eyes, dark and tired, locked onto Nam-Gyu’s with an intensity that made his chest tighten.

"Listen to me, kid," his dad said, his voice rough, weighed down by something deeper than just exhaustion. "Always remember this—don’t trust someone just because of what they show on the outside. People will smile, they'll make you feel safe, make you think they care, but as soon as they reveal they’re a snake, the fangs have already sunk in too deep."

Nam-Gyu swallowed, the words pressing against his ribs like a warning, like something he wasn't sure he was ready to understand yet.

His dad turned back toward the sky, eyes unfocused, lost in some distant thought. "Don’t do what I did. Don’t sit there and let it bite you. Fight back."

The cicadas buzzed in the silence that followed.

Nam-Gyu wasn’t sure what to say. His fingers curled into the fabric of his shorts, pressing into the skin of his thighs. He thought about the way his dad had just sat there when Mom had stormed in. About how he had let her throw things, let her scream, let her tear into them with words that would never fully fade.

Was that what he meant? That he had let himself get bitten? That he had let her venom settle into his blood?

His dad let out a slow, heavy breath. "And for the love of god, don’t end up like your mother."

The words hit harder than Nam-Gyu expected.

Because deep down, he had always feared that was exactly what would happen.

He didn’t answer, didn’t move, didn’t even blink. He just sat there, staring at the ground, listening to his dad breathe beside him, the night air cool against his skin.

And even though they were sitting side by side, even though they were having a conversation, Nam-Gyu had never felt more alone.

"I'll see what I can do about getting you glasses."

That was the last thing his dad had said. A small, fleeting promise—one of the only ones he’d ever made.

---

Nam-Gyu woke up with tears slipping down his face, his chest heavy with something he couldn't quite name. The weight of old memories pressed into him like hands gripping his shoulders, holding him down, pulling him back into a past he’d spent years trying to outrun.

Thanos was still asleep, his breath warm against Nam-Gyu’s skin, his face tucked into the curve of Nam-Gyu’s neck like he belonged there. His arms were loosely draped around Nam-Gyu’s waist, their legs tangled beneath the blankets. It was grounding, the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the quiet sound of his breathing.

Nam-Gyu let his eyes close again, but the images from his dream still burned behind his eyelids—his dad, staring off into the distance with that tired, hollow look in his eyes; Do-Yun, barely more than a ghost haunting the family that had never really felt like a family; Hak-Kun, already halfway out the door, already choosing to leave.

It had been so long since he had that dream. Not since before he started using, before the numbness had settled into his bones like a second skin. For a while, he thought he had forgotten. That maybe, if he ran far enough, did enough, changed enough, those memories would loosen their grip on him.

But they hadn't.

And now, here he was, lying in a warm bed, next to someone who cared about him, in a life he was still struggling to believe was real—while the ghosts of his past still whispered to him in his sleep.

He hoped his dad wasn’t dead.

More than anything, he wanted to know where he went when he left.

He wanted to know if that venom ever stopped hurting.

He hated his dad—hated what he had done, hated the way he had just walked out, hated the way his absence had been both a relief and a wound that never really healed.

But Nam-Gyu also knew pain when he saw it.

And his dad had been drowning in it.

He knew what his mom had driven him to—the drinking, the drugs, the cheating, the stealing. He knew the weight of staying in a house where love was a lie, where survival meant closing yourself off, where being a father was something you endured instead of something you cherished.

A part of him wanted to know if his dad had ever felt happiness again. If he had ever escaped, truly escaped.

Because if his dad could, maybe—just maybe—so could Nam-Gyu.

A quiet murmur pulled him from his thoughts, the warm body beside him shifting slightly. Thanos made a sleepy sound, his arms tightening just a little before relaxing again.

Nam-Gyu let out a slow breath.

Maybe it was enough, for now, to just exist in this moment. To be here, wrapped up in someone who had seen all of his cracks and had stayed anyway.

Maybe it was okay to let the past sleep for just a little longer.

Notes:

I feel like Thanos would get high and watch true crime stuff, obviously in this au though he watch's them sober 😂

Also In case you're wondering, here are the age differences in the present time for Nam-Gyu's family :]

Do-Yun: 36, with a 9-year age gap with Nam-Gyu
Hak-Kun: 31, with a 4-year age gap with Nam-Gyu
Ji-Ho: 15, with a 12-year age gap with Nam-Gyu
Mi-Cha: 40, with a 13-year age gap with Nam-Gyu

Chapter 20: Insomnia

Notes:

Sorry this chapter took so long. I kept not liking it and re-wrote it like four times. 😂

Four days.

Four fucking days since that dream. Four fucking days of no sleep.

The first night had been bad. The second was worse. By the third, he was so restless, so strung out, that he left Thanos’s apartment in the middle of the night just so he wouldn’t have to pretend he was fine. It wasn’t that he wanted to leave. But lying there, listening to Thanos’s soft, even breathing while his own mind refused to quiet down, made something in him itch. The walls started closing in, and the moment he knew he wouldn’t be able to fake normal in the morning, he slipped out the door and walked. Just walked. For hours.

Now, on the fourth night, he was running on fumes.

Nam-Gyu groaned, pressing his forehead against the bar, the cool surface doing little to ease the pounding in his head. The club had closed for the night, the music and the crowd long gone, leaving only the hum of the cleaning crew and the occasional murmur of other staff who didn’t seem to have anywhere else to be. He should go home—back to Thanos’s—but the thought of being in that apartment, feeling Thanos’s concern, seeing those worried eyes on him, made his stomach twist.

He had submitted the request to see the arrest records for his dad and the service records for Hak-Kun. The lady on the phone told him it could take up to ten business days. Ten. Fucking. Days. That was almost two weeks of waiting, of sitting in his own head with nothing but questions and no goddamn answers. The waiting was eating at him, wearing him down in a way that felt unbearable.

And the worst part? It was affecting everything.

Nam-Gyu knew he was being distant with Thanos. He could feel it. Knew that the short responses, the avoidance, the cold shoulder—it was all unfair. Thanos hadn’t done anything wrong. But Nam-Gyu was tired. Tired, and pissed off, and stretched so thin that everything and everyone was grating on his last fucking nerve.

He hated it.

Hated how the exhaustion made him feel raw and volatile, how the stress sat heavy in his chest, turning every interaction into something he had to force himself through. He hated the way Thanos looked at him—like he wanted to help, but didn’t know how. Like he could see straight through Nam-Gyu’s bullshit and was just waiting for him to say something.

But what was he supposed to say? That he felt like a live wire about to snap? That every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the past clawing its way back into his head? That he was afraid of what he might find once those records came in?

Yeah. No. He wasn’t going to do that.

A sigh pulled from his chest, heavy and frustrated, as he lifted his head and ran a hand through his hair. His body ached—probably from lack of sleep—and even though the exhaustion pressed down on him, it never took him under. He was stuck in this loop of running on empty but never fully shutting down.

His fingers drummed against the bar absently. He needed a fucking break. Or at least something to shake him out of his head before he completely lost it.

"Hey, dude, what are you still doing here?"

Nam-Gyu barely turned his head, recognizing the voice before he even saw the figure leaning lazily against the bar. Jax.

"Living in my own personal hell, drowning in stress, and slowly dying because I've slept maybe six hours in the last four days." Nam-Gyu’s voice was flat, his fingers still drumming against the bar. "How about you?"

Jax snorted, rubbing a hand over his face. His pupils were blown wide, and there was a manic edge to his grin that told Nam-Gyu everything before the words even left his mouth. "Took some molly during my shift, and I’m still feeling it pretty hard." He stretched his arms over his head, groaning. "Fucking great time, honestly. You want some?"

Nam-Gyu let out a slow breath, staring at him. For a moment, a brief, fleeting moment, the offer curled around his mind like a whisper. It would be easy—so fucking easy—to say yes. To take it and let his body ride the high, let his brain stop fucking thinking for a few hours.

But even as the temptation sat heavy in his chest, he didn’t move.

He had already made that mistake once.

"Yeah, no," Nam-Gyu said, shaking his head and finally sitting up straight. "I'm good."

Jax blinked at him, surprised. "Seriously?"

Nam-Gyu scoffed, rubbing at his eyes. "Yeah, seriously." His voice was dry, a little irritated. "I’m already running on nothing. Last thing I need is to fry whatever's left of my brain."

Jax hummed, tilting his head. "Since when did you start giving a shit about that?"

Since Thanos, Nam-Gyu thought, but didn’t say it. Instead, he just shrugged. "Since I got tired of waking up feeling worse than when I went to bed."

Jax whistled lowly. "Damn. Look at you, making responsible choices and shit."

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat to it. "Fuck off."

Jax grinned. "Fair, fair." He pushed off the bar, stretching again before cracking his neck. "Anyway, if you change your mind…" He gave Nam-Gyu a lazy, knowing smirk before sauntering off, disappearing into the back hallways of the club.

Nam-Gyu exhaled slowly, his body still tense.

He wasn't going to fall back into that. He wasn't.

But god, some nights made it harder than others.

Nam-Gyu walked off, heading toward the backroom, his steps heavy against the sticky club floor. He barely had the energy to be annoyed by it. Maybe the slightly less disgusting floor back there would make him feel even a fraction better—not likely, but he had to try something.

He pushed open the door to the shitty little break room, the dim, flickering overhead light casting everything in a washed-out yellow. The room wasn’t much: just a table, some beat-up chairs, and a microwave that looked like it had survived multiple health code violations. The walls were stained from years of god-knows-what, and the vending machine in the corner hummed too loud, almost drowning out the distant bass from the club speakers.

Nam-Gyu plopped down into one of the chairs, letting his head fall back against the wall with a quiet thunk. He sat there in silence for a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling, counting the stains on the tiles, breathing through the exhaustion that felt like it had settled into his bones.

He didn’t want to check his phone.

Didn’t want to see the time. Didn’t want to see messages from anyone that wasn’t Thanos.

But the restless itch in his hands won out, so he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and tapping the screen.

1 Missed Call

3 Unread Messages

His chest tightened, a sharp pang of guilt settling in his gut. He should’ve answered. He could've answered.

His thumb hovered over the notifications before finally opening them.

Thanos: Hey Nam-Gyu, look at Doom sitting in this box

There was an attached image. He clicked on it without thinking.

The picture was slightly blurry, like Thanos had been laughing when he took it. Doom was curled up inside a shallow cardboard box, way too small for her, her little legs awkwardly tucked under her body as she glared at the camera. There was an indignant air about her, like she had been caught in the act and was personally offended by it.

Nam-Gyu exhaled through his nose. Fucking cute.

He swiped to the next message.

Thanos: R u coming over for 2night? Call me back if u get the chance

He hadn’t.

He hadn’t called. Hadn’t even texted. Hadn’t told Thanos that he was staying at the club after closing, sitting in the backroom, feeling like he was falling apart piece by piece.

He swallowed thickly and read the last message.

Thanos: Going 2 bed. Love u <3

Nam-Gyu shut his eyes, his grip on the phone tightening.

Thanos didn’t have to say anything else. Didn’t push for an answer. Didn’t call him again or blow up his phone with messages asking why he was ignoring him. He just told him he was going to bed. Told him he loved him.

Even though Nam-Gyu was being an asshole.

Even though Nam-Gyu hadn’t given him anything back in days.

Fuck.

Nam-Gyu opened up their chat, his fingers hesitating over the keyboard. What was he even supposed to say?

"Sorry, I’m a fucking mess"?

"Sorry, I don’t know how to deal with my own bullshit, so I’m shutting you out like an idiot"?

"Sorry, I love you too."

He sat there, staring at the screen, his heart pounding. Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, he typed:

Nam-Gyu: I’m sorry. I love you too. I’ll be there soon.

And for the first time in days, his chest felt just a little lighter.

No answer came. Not that he really expected one. Thanos was probably fast asleep, Doom curled up by his legs, purring like a little engine, perfectly content in the warmth of their bed. The thought should have been comforting—it was comforting, in a way. But it also made Nam-Gyu hesitate, made doubt creep up his spine like a slow-moving poison.

Why should he go over there just to disrupt that peace? Just to bring his restlessness, his bitterness, his bullshit into the space where Thanos was finally getting some well-deserved sleep?

He shut his eyes and exhaled sharply, tilting his head back against the chair.

What the fuck am I doing?

He was tired. So fucking tired. And not just in the way that made his body ache and his eyes burn. No, this exhaustion ran deeper—it lived in his chest, in his head, in the space between his ribs where doubt curled in on itself like a viper, ready to strike at the first sign of weakness.

Thanos had done nothing but be patient with him. Nothing but love him. He deserved better than the cold shoulder, the avoidance, the shitty half-hearted texts that Nam-Gyu barely had the energy to send. He deserved so much better than this.

And yet, Nam-Gyu couldn't shake the feeling that showing up at his door now—after four days of being an insufferable, irritable mess—would just be another mistake.

What if he’s finally sick of it?

What if I go there and I ruin everything?

What if he’s been waiting for me to push him away just one too many times?

Nam-Gyu scrubbed a hand over his face, groaning under his breath. His fingers curled around his phone, still resting in his lap, the message he'd sent staring back at him in the dim light of the breakroom.

"I’m sorry. I love you too. I’ll be there soon."

His own words mocked him. Would he really? Or was he just lying to himself?

He could just stay here. He could finish his shift, sit in the back until he felt like going home—or not. He could wander the city until the sun came up, avoid the problem like he always did, let the days stretch longer and longer until Thanos had to be the one to ask if something was wrong.

But that wasn’t fair.

Not to Thanos. And not to himself.

Nam-Gyu forced himself to his feet, shoving his phone into his pocket.

He still wasn’t sure if he was making the right choice. If he would even be wanted there.

But he owed it to Thanos—to both of them—to try.

---

By the time Nam-Gyu got to Thanos’s apartment, it was sometime past six. The sky was shifting from deep navy to the soft hues of early morning, a faint glow creeping over the horizon. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional sound of distant traffic and the hum of the city waking up.

Nam-Gyu let himself in with the key Thanos had given him weeks ago, but even as he stepped inside, he hesitated, the weight of his exhaustion pressing down on him like a heavy, suffocating blanket.

The apartment was dark, save for the faint glow of the kitchen light Thanos always left on overnight. It cast long, soft shadows against the walls, familiar shapes that should have been comforting—but Nam-Gyu just felt tired.

What the hell am I even doing?

For a moment, he just stood there, letting the quiet settle around him. This space—this home—had become something of a sanctuary over the past few months. The place he came to escape the mess of his own head, the place where warmth and safety wrapped around him in the form of a man who had somehow made room for him, despite all the bullshit.

And here he was, bringing more bullshit.

Nam-Gyu sighed, running a hand through his hair as he moved further inside, his footsteps quiet against the floor. He wandered for a bit, letting his eyes drift over the small, familiar details of the apartment. The mug Thanos had left on the counter, still half-full of whatever he had been drinking before bed. The pile of laundry on the chair by the window, waiting to be folded. Doom’s little nest of blankets on the couch, her small body curled up tight, tail flicking slightly even in sleep.

It all felt so lived in. So effortlessly his.

And Nam-Gyu had spent the last few days treating it like an afterthought.

Eventually, he found himself in the bedroom doorway, eyes falling on the figure in the bed. Thanos was curled up beneath a tangle of blankets, his dark hair a messy halo against the pillows. He was completely buried, only a tuft of black and purple sticking out from under the covers.

Nam-Gyu couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. Idiot.

For a long moment, he just stood there, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of Thanos’s breathing. The peacefulness of it. The contrast to his own constant, restless state.

Then, finally, he moved.

Nam-Gyu stepped closer, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed. He hesitated again—do I deserve this?—before slowly reaching out, fingers brushing lightly against Thanos’s cheek. His skin was warm beneath his touch, and Nam-Gyu felt something inside him loosen, just a little.

Thanos stirred at the contact, a low, sleepy sound escaping him as he shifted beneath the covers. His face scrunched up slightly before his eyes fluttered open just the slightest bit, heavy with sleep.

“Mhmm… hey…” His voice was rough, thick with drowsiness, barely more than a mumble. He blinked sluggishly, gaze struggling to focus on Nam-Gyu in the dim light.

Nam-Gyu swallowed past the tightness in his throat. “Hey,” he murmured back.

Thanos blinked again, then shifted, freeing an arm from the blankets to reach for him. His fingers found Nam-Gyu’s wrist, a loose, sleepy grip as he pulled him just a little closer.

“You came…”

There was no accusation in the words. No where have you been? or why didn’t you call?—just a simple acknowledgment, soft and relieved, like some part of him had always known Nam-Gyu would.

Nam-Gyu let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Yeah,” he said, voice quieter than he meant it to be. “I’m here.”

Thanos shifted under the covers, moving with the slow, drowsy effort of someone still caught between sleep and wakefulness. He wriggled around for a moment, then lifted the blankets just enough to make space, patting the empty spot beside him.

“Lay down…” he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

Nam-Gyu let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “In the same clothes I wore in a dirty club?” He gestured vaguely at himself, the scent of cigarettes, alcohol, and sweat still clinging to his skin like a second layer. His shirt was stiff with the grime of the night, and even he could smell the way the club lingered on him.

Thanos cracked one eye open, gaze lazy and half-lidded. “Don’t care,” he murmured. “Want you here.”

Nam-Gyu felt his chest tighten—not in a bad way, not like the past few nights where everything had felt too much. This was different. Warmer.

Still, he huffed, trying to keep things light. “I’d probably ruin your sheets.”

Thanos just gave a sleepy hum, completely unbothered. “Wash ‘em.” He tugged at Nam-Gyu’s wrist, his grip weak but insistent, like even in his sleep-heavy state, he refused to let Nam-Gyu talk himself out of this. “C’mon.”

Nam-Gyu hesitated. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the weight of the last few days, the exhaustion sitting heavy in his bones. Maybe it was guilt—because Thanos had been patient, and Nam-Gyu had done nothing but pull away, sink deeper into his own mess. Maybe it was just the overwhelming warmth of being wanted, so simply, so easily, when Nam-Gyu himself felt anything but easy.

But then Thanos yawned, his hand sliding down from Nam-Gyu’s wrist to loosely wrap around his fingers, and it felt… stupid to stand there, stuck in his own head, when all he wanted was right in front of him.

Nam-Gyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine, fine,” he muttered, toeing off his shoes. “But if you complain about the smell in the morning, I’m not taking responsibility.”

Thanos hummed again, already half-asleep. “Just shut up and get in.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled softly but did as he was told, slipping under the blankets. The warmth hit him immediately, surrounding him in a way that made his exhaustion all the more obvious. The moment he settled, Thanos shifted, pressing in close, his head resting against Nam-Gyu’s shoulder, his arm lazily draped over his stomach.

Nam-Gyu exhaled slowly, letting himself relax into the touch.

For the first time in days, the restless energy in his body eased just a little.

And for the first time in days, he thought maybe—just maybe—he’d get some sleep.

---

The night their dad left, none of them had any idea it would be the last time they'd see him. No warnings, no final words—just one moment there, the next, gone.

Nam-Gyu was twelve at the time, sitting at the worn-down kitchen table, picking at the peeling wood while the storm brewed around him. His mom had just made the announcement, voice filled with an unusual sort of giddiness, like she expected them to share in her excitement.

Ji-Ho was coming. Another baby. Another person to be trapped in this house.

"What the fuck do you mean?" Hak-Kun’s voice was sharp, his anger filling every inch of the small space. "You want another kid to grow up and hate you?!"

The happiness on their mother’s face twisted, warping into something dark and dangerous in a matter of seconds. Her expression contorted as she stomped across the room, her body tense with rage. "You ungrateful little shit!"

Nam-Gyu froze, his stomach knotting with dread. He'd seen this play out too many times before. He knew where it was headed. The words, the anger, the threats—it always ended the same way.

So he did what he always did. He tried to make it stop.

"Mom, please—he didn’t mean it—” He rushed out, voice shaking, his hands gripping the edge of the table. But before he could say anything else, Hak-Kun shot him a sharp look, cutting him off.

"Nam-Gyu, don’t." His voice was firm, but it wavered at the edges. Then he turned back to their mother, his expression hardening. "If you bring another fucking kid into this house, I’m done."

The room went silent.

Then came the slap.

Loud. Violent. The crack of it echoed through the house, bouncing off the walls, sinking into Nam-Gyu’s bones.

Hak-Kun staggered slightly, his head snapping to the side from the force of it. A red mark was already blooming across his cheek. But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. Just stood there, his face unreadable.

Nam-Gyu’s breath hitched. He hated when she went this far.

Their father was still there. He was in the next room, pretending he couldn’t hear any of it. Pretending that if he ignored it long enough, it would go away.

But it didn’t. It never did.

And by morning, their dad was gone.

And two months later, after Hak-Kun turned sixteen, he’d be gone too.

Nam-Gyu didn’t know it at the time, but that night was the beginning of the end—the last time they’d all be under the same roof together.

Hak-Kun stood there for a moment, his jaw clenched, his cheek burning from their mother’s slap. He didn’t look at her, didn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing if it hurt. Instead, he turned away, his gaze landing on Nam-Gyu.

Without a word, he grabbed Nam-Gyu’s wrist and pulled him down the hallway, leading him away from the kitchen, away from their mother. Nam-Gyu stumbled slightly at the sudden motion but didn’t resist. He knew where they were going.

Hak-Kun’s room. It didn’t matter how old they were—whenever their mom got like this, Hak-Kun always made Nam-Gyu sleep in his room, away from her. It was safer that way.

Halfway down the dimly lit hallway, Hak-Kun finally spoke, his voice low and firm. "You need to stop doing that."

Nam-Gyu frowned. "Doing what?"

"Throwing yourself in front of her like that." Hak-Kun tightened his grip slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to make a point. "You want her to hit you instead?"

They reached his room, and Hak-Kun pushed the door open, guiding Nam-Gyu inside before shutting it behind them.

Nam-Gyu shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his brother’s eyes. "Uh—no. But if it means she won’t hit you or Do-Yun, then I can take it—"

"That’s not how this works, Nam-Gyu." Hak-Kun cut him off, exasperation creeping into his voice. "You think she’s gonna stop if you put yourself in the way? You think she won’t just hit both of us?"

Nam-Gyu swallowed, shifting on his feet. "I don’t know. I just—" He hesitated, voice quieter now. "I just don’t want to sit there and do nothing."

Hak-Kun sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before letting it drop to his side. His expression softened slightly, but the exhaustion in his eyes was heavy.

"I get it," he said, quieter now. "I do. But you can’t fix this. You can’t fix her."

Nam-Gyu didn’t reply. He just sat down on the edge of Hak-Kun’s bed, staring at the floor.

Hak-Kun sat beside him, and for a while, neither of them spoke.

At some point, Nam-Gyu felt Hak-Kun’s hand rest on the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, the same way Dad used to do when they were little.

"Just… don’t turn out like her," Hak-Kun murmured, barely above a whisper. "Promise me that."

Nam-Gyu didn’t answer right away. His throat felt tight.

But after a long moment, he nodded. "Okay."

---

The memory still clung to him, heavy and suffocating, like a weight pressing against his ribs. It hurt in a way that never really dulled, only settled into something more familiar. He hated that, too.

But at least he’d managed a few hours of sleep. Maybe three, judging by the way the sun was now fully up, streaming through the curtains in soft golden streaks. It wasn’t enough. Not even close. But it was more than he’d gotten in the last few nights combined.

Beside him, Thanos was sitting up against the headboard, scrolling absently through his phone. His free hand rested on Nam-Gyu’s shoulder, fingers idly tracing light, thoughtless patterns against the fabric of his shirt. His lips moved silently to a song playing in his head, his brows scrunching slightly at whatever he was reading.

Nam-Gyu stared at him for a long moment, taking in the easy rise and fall of his chest, the relaxed way he held himself. He looked so well-rested. Peaceful. Like sleep wasn’t some cruel, unattainable thing but something that came naturally.

Nam-Gyu hated it.

And more than that, he hated himself for feeling jealous.

It wasn’t fair—to Thanos, to himself. Thanos had his own shit, his own demons, and Nam-Gyu knew that. Knew that sleep hadn’t always been easy for him either, that he’d spent years chasing it through substances, losing entire nights to reckless distractions and self-destruction.

But now… now, Thanos could just sleep. He could close his eyes, drift off, and wake up looking like this—soft, warm, untouched by the exhaustion that clung to Nam-Gyu like a second skin.

And Nam-Gyu? He was stuck. Trapped in the same cycle of restless nights and heavy memories, of dragging himself through the days like a fucking ghost of a person.

He shifted slightly, trying to push the bitterness down, but Thanos noticed immediately.

“You’re awake.” His voice was still rough with sleep, low and warm. He set his phone down, tilting his head to get a better look at Nam-Gyu. “How long?”

Nam-Gyu shrugged. “Dunno. Not long.”

Thanos frowned, eyes scanning over him in that quiet, observant way he always did when he knew Nam-Gyu wasn’t telling the full truth. But he didn’t push. Instead, he reached out, brushing his fingers lightly over Nam-Gyu’s temple, his touch grounding.

“Sleep okay?”

Nam-Gyu huffed a laugh, dry and humorless. “Sure. Best three hours of my life.”

Thanos didn’t laugh. Instead, he sighed, shifting so he could lean down, pressing his forehead lightly against Nam-Gyu’s. His hand slipped to the back of Nam-Gyu’s neck, thumb brushing the skin there.

Nam-Gyu exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment. He still felt like shit, still felt heavy and restless and off. But this? This made it a little easier to breathe.

---

Nam-Gyu was still groggy from the few hours of sleep he’d managed to get when Thanos’s voice broke through the quiet hum of the apartment. They were sitting at the small kitchen table, Thanos nursing a cup of coffee while Nam-Gyu lazily poked at a plate of toast he wasn’t entirely sure he had the energy to eat.

“Have you heard from that place about the records yet?” Thanos asked, curiosity lacing his voice.

Nam-Gyu blinked, his fingers tightening slightly around the edge of his plate. The question pulled him back to reality, to the lingering weight in his chest that he’d been trying to ignore ever since he’d put in the request. He exhaled slowly, rubbing at his temple with his free hand.

“Not yet,” he muttered. “They said it could take up to ten business days, so… who knows when I’ll actually get them.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Government speed.”

Thanos hummed in acknowledgment, setting his mug down with a soft clink. “You gonna call and check?”

Nam-Gyu frowned, leaning back in his chair. He had thought about it—more than once. Every time he pulled out his phone, his finger hovered over the number, debating whether he should call and demand an update. But the idea of actually hearing something—of getting an answer, good or bad—made his stomach twist in a way he wasn’t ready for.

“Maybe,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “It’s just… I don’t know, man.” He let out a breathy, humorless chuckle. “What if I actually get what I’m looking for and it’s worse than I thought?”

Thanos studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he reached across the table and nudged Nam-Gyu’s knee with his foot.

“Then you deal with it,” he said simply.

Nam-Gyu looked up at him, caught off guard by the easy certainty in Thanos’s voice.

“I mean,” Thanos continued, shrugging, “yeah, it might suck. But it’s been eating at you for days, and I doubt ignoring it is gonna make it any better.” He took another sip of his coffee before adding, “You always do this, y’know? Overthink shit until you’re spiraling.”

Nam-Gyu scowled. “I do not spiral.”

Thanos raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You left in the middle of the night to avoid me and spent four days running on, like, an hour of sleep. That’s textbook spiraling.”

Nam-Gyu opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again, sighing. “Okay, fine, maybe a little.”

Thanos smirked. “More than a little.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. Thanos always had this way of cutting through his bullshit without making him feel like an idiot for it.

“…I’ll call later,” Nam-Gyu said after a moment.

Thanos nodded, satisfied. “Good.” Then he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he grinned. “Now eat your damn toast before I do it for you.”

Nam-Gyu huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t.”

Thanos reached out and stole a piece right off his plate, popping it into his mouth without hesitation.

Nam-Gyu gaped at him. “You absolute menace.”

Thanos just winked. “Told you.”

The warmth of the morning had started to settle into the apartment, the light from the window casting a soft glow over the table where they sat. The quiet clinking of Thanos’s spoon against his coffee mug was the only sound filling the room, his voice drifting through the air as he talked about some random thing that had happened while he was out the other day.

Nam-Gyu should have been listening. He should have been focusing on the way Thanos's eyes crinkled just slightly at the edges when he got lost in a story, or the way his fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on the table between sentences.

But he couldn’t. His thoughts were too loud, drowning out everything else.

Even with the sweetness of the moment, even with Thanos sitting right there in front of him, that nagging voice in the back of his head wouldn’t shut up.

It always happened when the insomnia got bad—like a fucking switch flipped inside him, making him paranoid, anxious, and bitter over things that didn’t even make sense. He could feel it now, crawling under his skin, twisting everything in his head into something ugly.

So Thanos knew I'd been avoiding him? Why didn’t he say anything?

The thought sat heavy in his chest.

Why wouldn’t he say something?

Hehe, why the hell would he? He’s just going to leave like everyone else.

The thought hit him harder than he expected.

And suddenly, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut anymore.

"Then when I was waiting—" Thanos’s voice cut off as Nam-Gyu suddenly spoke over him, the words sharp and edged in something bitter.

"Why didn't you ask me why I left?"

The second the words left his mouth, Nam-Gyu regretted them. They came out harsher than he intended, more accusatory, but it was too late to take them back now.

Thanos blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. His eyebrows shot up for a split second before his expression smoothed over into something unreadable. It was the same expression he always wore in stressful situations, like he was bracing himself.

“What?”

Nam-Gyu exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table. His heart was racing, but he wasn’t even sure why.

"Did you not care?" he demanded, his voice rising slightly. "Or were you just happy I was gone?!"

He knew it wasn’t true. He fucking knew it wasn’t true. But exhaustion was eating at him from the inside out, making everything feel bigger, worse, heavier. His rationality had left the building days ago.

Thanos's expression flickered for a second, something barely there before it disappeared behind that frustratingly blank mask.

“Are you serious right now?”

Nam-Gyu clenched his jaw, staring him down. “Yeah. I am.”

Thanos stared right back at him, studying him, but Nam-Gyu had no idea what he was looking for.

Then Thanos scoffed, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Jesus, Nam-Gyu.” His voice was low, controlled, but there was something underneath it, something simmering. “I didn’t ask because I knew you’d tell me when you were ready. I didn’t ask because I trust you.”

Nam-Gyu’s breath caught in his throat.

“I didn’t ask,” Thanos continued, voice steady but firm, “because I knew something was wrong, and I wasn’t gonna push you when you clearly weren’t ready to talk about it.”

Nam-Gyu swallowed, his grip on the table loosening just slightly.

Thanos exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “And for the record? No, I wasn’t happy you were gone. I fucking missed you. But I also wasn’t gonna sit here and make you feel guilty about needing space.”

Guilt curled in Nam-Gyu’s stomach like a slow-burning fire.

“Jesus,” Thanos muttered again, shaking his head. “You really think I don’t care?”

Nam-Gyu opened his mouth, then closed it again.

The answer was no. No, he didn’t think that. Not really. But fuck, was it hard to convince himself of that when his brain was on a sleep-deprived warpath.

He exhaled, dropping his head into his hands. “I don’t know, man,” he muttered, voice muffled against his palms.

Thanos was silent for a beat. Then, softer, “Yeah, you do.”

Nam-Gyu lifted his head slightly, just enough to peek at him through tired eyes. Thanos was still watching him, but his expression had shifted—less frustrated, more… understanding.

The tension in the air was still thick, but not as suffocating as before.

Nam-Gyu swallowed around the lump in his throat. “...Sorry,” he muttered.

Thanos sighed, shaking his head. “I get it,” he said simply. Then, after a pause, “But, dude, you gotta let me in. You’re running yourself into the ground.”

Nam-Gyu let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Thanos rolled his eyes, but there was the faintest hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, yeah, you’re hilarious.”

Nam-Gyu let his shoulders slump, finally allowing himself to lean forward on the table. He was still tired. Still strung out. But the weight in his chest wasn’t quite as suffocating as before.

And that? That was something.

But that voice still echoed in the back of his mind, quiet but insistent.

Is this even worth it?

It wasn’t a new thought, and that was the worst part. It was a thought he’d been carrying around for years, weighing him down like an anchor he could never quite cut loose.

Thanos let out a slow sigh, taking a sip of his coffee before setting the mug down with a soft clink against the table. “...You don’t have to talk to me, Nam-Gyu.” His voice was calm but firm, careful but not tiptoeing. “But talk to Deok-Su or something, because I’m worried, man. And maybe—” he hesitated for a second, choosing his words, “—maybe you should see a doctor about this sleep problem you’ve developed.”

Nam-Gyu’s head snapped up so fast his neck ached. “It’s not new,” he said sharply, his voice cutting through the morning stillness like a knife.

Thanos blinked at him, clearly thrown off by the sudden intensity.

Nam-Gyu exhaled harshly, jaw tight, hands clenched into fists in his lap. “I have insomnia, Thanos,” he bit out. “I’ve had it for as long as I can fucking remember. The only reason it wasn’t this bad before is because I was masking it with drugs for the past seven years.” The words were spilling out now, faster, sharper, louder. “And now that I actually have real shit to deal with, of course it’s fucking with me.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and it pissed him off even more.

Thanos didn’t say anything, just sat there, watching him. Not judging, not scolding—just watching. And for some reason, that made Nam-Gyu even angrier.

His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling too fast, but before he could say anything else, the weight of exhaustion crashed over him all at once. He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled deeply, and let his head drop back down into his hands.

A few beats of silence passed.

"...Sorry," he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t mean to yell at you."

His throat felt tight, his chest heavy. He felt like shit.

Fuck, you’re such a shitty boyfriend.

He braced himself for an argument, for Thanos to snap back, to call him out for being an asshole. Maybe that would be better. Maybe he deserved that.

But it didn’t come.

Instead, Thanos let out a long, slow exhale, the kind that said he was frustrated but holding it back. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than Nam-Gyu expected.

"Yeah. I know you didn’t.”

That was it. No anger. No judgment. Just a quiet, steady understanding.

Nam-Gyu’s shoulders slumped.

After another stretch of silence, Thanos spoke again, voice a little lighter. “Okay, well. Since we’re being honest here, I gotta say—you look like absolute shit, babe.”

Nam-Gyu let out a short, tired laugh. “Yeah, no shit.”

Thanos snorted, shaking his head. “You need sleep.”

Nam-Gyu dragged his hands down his face, groaning. “Wow, you cracked the case, detective.”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “Come here.”

Nam-Gyu hesitated.

Thanos didn’t push, didn’t demand. He just opened his arms slightly, waiting, an open invitation.

Nam-Gyu gave in. He scooted closer, letting Thanos pull him in, his body warm and steady against him. The exhaustion settled a little easier in his bones like this, a little less suffocating.

“You’re not a shitty boyfriend,” Thanos murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Nam-Gyu squeezed his eyes shut.

Yeah? Well, I don’t believe you.

But for now, he didn’t say anything. He just let himself breathe.

"...Yeah, okay." Nam-Gyu exhaled, the words leaving his mouth before he had a chance to second-guess them. He rubbed a hand over his face, fingers pressing hard into his temples like he could physically push away the tension. "I’ll talk to someone."

It felt like a concession, like giving up a small battle he hadn’t even realized he was fighting. He wasn’t convinced it would help—not really. But maybe, just maybe, if he talked to someone else first, if he laid it all out in front of someone who wasn’t Thanos, it would be easier to explain later.

Easier to tell Thanos why he’d been acting like this.

Easier to make him understand without all the frustration and exhaustion twisting everything into a fight.

Thanos studied him for a moment, eyes flickering with something unreadable, before he nodded. "Good." His hand moved, a small, absentminded gesture, brushing lightly against Nam-Gyu’s knee. It was nothing big, nothing dramatic—just a quiet acknowledgment, a silent reassurance. "I think that’d be good for you."

Nam-Gyu huffed a small, humorless laugh, dropping his head back against the couch. "We’ll see."

Thanos didn’t push. He didn’t need to.

For a moment, they just sat there, the air between them a little less heavy than before. The tension hadn’t disappeared, but it had loosened its grip just enough for Nam-Gyu to breathe a little easier.

"So…" Thanos shifted, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Who are you thinking of talking to? Deok-Su?"

Nam-Gyu shrugged. "Maybe. I don’t know. He’s easy to talk to, I guess." Deok-Su had a way of making things feel less suffocating, like whatever you were dealing with wasn’t some insurmountable thing but just another part of life that you could get through. "Or maybe Se-Mi. She gets it, too."

Thanos nodded like that made sense. "What about a therapist?"

Nam-Gyu tensed slightly, though he wasn’t sure why.

"Too much?" Thanos asked, his tone careful but not hesitant.

Nam-Gyu sighed, rubbing at his temples again. "I don’t know. Maybe. It’s just—" He hesitated, trying to find the right words. "It feels like a lot."

"Yeah." Thanos shifted closer, not crowding him, but just close enough that Nam-Gyu could feel his warmth. "I get that."

And the thing was—he did. Nam-Gyu knew Thanos wasn’t just saying that. He’d seen the way Thanos had been handling his own shit, the way he was easing into therapy himself. It wasn’t easy for either of them.

"You don’t have to rush it," Thanos added. "Just… don’t keep everything bottled up, okay? You don’t have to figure it all out on your own."

Nam-Gyu stared at him for a moment before letting out a slow breath.

"...Yeah. Okay."

He didn’t know if it would actually help, but for now, saying he’d try was enough.

Thanos let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head before adding, "Hey, if you see Deok-Su, you should ask him if melatonin is okay to take if you’re sober."

Nam-Gyu shot him a tired look. "Melatonin?"

"Yeah." Thanos took another sip of his coffee, settling deeper into the sit he took by the table. "You know, those little gummies or pills or whatever that help you sleep? I’ve heard they work for some people. Might be worth a shot."

Nam-Gyu scoffed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Doubt it’d do anything for me."

"Maybe, maybe not." Thanos stretched out his legs, nudging Nam-Gyu lightly with his knee. "But it’s legal, not habit-forming, and doesn’t involve you staring at the ceiling for twelve hours straight while you slowly lose your mind."

Nam-Gyu exhaled sharply through his nose. "Yeah, well, I think I’m past the ‘slowly’ part."

Thanos frowned, a flicker of concern passing over his face. "I know you’re used to dealing with this shit on your own, but maybe it doesn’t have to be this hard. Just—ask Deok-Su, see what he says. Worst case, he tells you no and you move on."

Nam-Gyu hesitated. It wasn’t that he thought Deok-Su would judge him—Deok-Su had always been easygoing, always had a way of making things feel less overwhelming—but admitting he needed something to help him sleep felt too close to admitting he was struggling.

Still, Thanos had a point. He was barely functioning at this rate, snapping at Thanos for no reason, spiraling into paranoia, and running himself into the ground. If something as simple as melatonin could help, even just a little, wasn’t it worth a shot?

"...Fine," Nam-Gyu muttered, slouching deeper into the couch. "I’ll ask."

Thanos’s lips curled into a small, satisfied smile. "Good. Because if you keep this up, you’re gonna start hallucinating, and I do not have the patience to deal with you seeing shadow people in the corners of my apartment."

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes. "Asshole."

Thanos grinned. "Yeah, yeah. But I’m your asshole, and I’d rather you sleep before you start thinking Doom is talking to you or something."

Nam-Gyu snorted despite himself, and for the first time in days, some of the weight pressing down on his chest eased just a little.

Thanos smirked, shaking his head as he took another sip of coffee. "Plus, if you do start seeing shadow people, then in true horror movie fashion, I won’t believe you. I’ll be the dumbass boyfriend who writes it off as sleep deprivation—until one day, boom, I wake up to some freaky-ass dude standing at the foot of the bed."

Nam-Gyu arched a brow. "That’s oddly specific."

Thanos pointed at him with his mug. "Because it always happens like that. First, you say you’re seeing things. Then I brush it off, tell you to get some rest. Next thing I know, you’re getting dragged under the bed by some faceless nightmare demon, and I still don’t believe it because, ‘Oh, it’s just his imagination.’"

Nam-Gyu exhaled a tired laugh. "So you're saying I’d be the final guy?"

"Exactly," Thanos said, nodding. "Because I’ll be the one who bites it first, probably after some slow, dramatic turn where I finally see the thing in the mirror behind me. And you? You’ll be the one covered in blood, barely escaping, and then the credits roll."

Nam-Gyu shook his head, but the amusement in his eyes softened some of the exhaustion weighing on his face. "Sounds like a shitty ending."

Thanos hummed, tilting his head as if considering it. "Yeah… But maybe if you actually slept, we wouldn’t have to find out."

Nam-Gyu groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "And there it is."

Thanos grinned. "Look, I like living, so I’d appreciate it if my boyfriend didn’t start slipping into horror-movie territory. You sleep, we both survive. Simple."

Nam-Gyu huffed, but the warmth in his chest lingered longer than he wanted to admit. He was exhausted, restless, and still drowning in stress, but somehow, Thanos always found a way to make things feel just a little less heavy.

"And the boyfriend always dies first," Thanos lamented dramatically, pressing a hand to his forehead like some tragic lead in a theater play. "It’s my destiny, Nam-Gyu. I was doomed the second I fell in love. The second I started caring. The moment I let you in, my fate was sealed."

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, but a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. "Damn. Guess I should start looking for a new boyfriend now, huh?"

Thanos gasped, clutching his chest. "Heartless. Absolutely heartless. I’m over here making peace with my inevitable demise, and you’re already moving on? Cold. Ice cold, Nam-Gyu."

Nam-Gyu snorted, leaning back against the counter. "What can I say? Gotta keep my options open."

Thanos narrowed his eyes. "Oh yeah? Well, joke’s on you because if I do die first, I’m haunting the shit out of you."

"Oh no," Nam-Gyu deadpanned. "How ever will I go on with my boyfriend still nagging me from beyond the grave?"

"First of all," Thanos said, holding up a finger, "I don’t nag. I provide valuable life advice that you stubbornly ignore. And second, you will be haunted. Annoyingly haunted. Objects moving just slightly out of place, doors creaking open in the middle of the night, whispers right as you’re about to fall asleep. And—and—I’ll knock over your drinks at the worst possible times. Coffee? Spilled. Water? Gone. Expensive smoothie? On the floor, baby."

Nam-Gyu shook his head, the exhaustion still pulling at him, but the weight in his chest felt a little lighter. "You’re an idiot."

Thanos grinned. "And yet, you love me."

Nam-Gyu exhaled slowly, rubbing at his temple. "Yeah… I do."

Thanos softened at that, the playfulness in his expression shifting into something a little more real. He reached over, giving Nam-Gyu's wrist a gentle squeeze. "Then let me stick around, yeah? Horror movie rules don’t apply if we don’t let them."

Nam-Gyu didn’t respond right away, but he nodded, pressing his fingers lightly over Thanos’s in return. Maybe things were a mess right now, maybe sleep was still out of reach, but at least… at least he had this.

Notes:

Note that this isn't going back on character development. Insomnia affects your moods; some get more depressed, while others are more impulsive and quick to anger! Plus paranoia.

(I've done lots research plus it runs in my family so i've talked to some people to get the most accurate idea of how it affects the mind along with body!)

Also, I know this chapter is a little dry, but I didn't want to do a big time jump between the first nightmare and now and plus getting stuff like arrest records sent to you takes time. Soooo, take this as a setup chapter to the events to come.

Chapter 21: Prison Time

Notes:

The song is "Pure Love" by Hayley Williams! Super special thanks, gray_scale_725, for the recommendation! Loved the song, and I was trying to find a good song for that part of the story! 🫰💕💕💕

Nam-Gyu sat in his car in front of one of Korea’s correctional institutions, the engine idling softly as he took a slow drag from his cigarette. The sky overhead was overcast, a dull gray stretching endlessly above him, and it matched the weight pressing down on his chest.

The records had arrived yesterday. He had spent hours just staring at them, reading the same lines over and over again until the words lost meaning. His father had been tried and sentenced six years ago for aggravated vehicular hijacking while under the influence.

Six years.

Nam-Gyu had no idea what he had expected to find, but somehow, it still didn’t sit right in his chest. He hadn't seen the man in over a decade, hadn't heard from him, hadn't even known if he was alive, and now here he was—sitting outside a prison, wondering if this was a mistake.

Was this going to give him closure? Or was he just digging up more shit to carry around?

He took another long drag, holding the smoke in his lungs before exhaling slowly, watching it swirl and fade against the windshield. The building loomed ahead, gray and lifeless, like something out of a movie. It was cold, impersonal. A place where people were put away and forgotten.

Maybe that’s what should’ve happened. Maybe he should’ve just left it at that.

But he was here now.

And if he didn’t go in, if he didn’t get whatever answers he was looking for, he knew it would eat at him.

With a sigh, Nam-Gyu put out his cigarette, flicking the butt into the ashtray. He let his head rest against the back of the seat for a moment, eyes closed, trying to steel himself for what was coming next.

Then, with one last deep breath, he turned off the engine, stepped out of the car, and walked toward the entrance.

He remembered what Thanos had said to him earlier that day as he pushed the heavy glass door open, stepping into the sterile, impersonal waiting room. The air smelled like disinfectant and cheap coffee, and the hum of a vending machine filled the silence. A few other people were scattered around—some sitting stiffly in chairs, eyes fixed on the floor, while others whispered in hushed tones. The walls were a dull beige, the kind that made time feel slower, heavier.

"If it gets to be too much, don’t forget you can leave anytime you want, babe."

Thanos had said it so casually, but there had been something in his voice—something solid and certain, like he knew Nam-Gyu was going to hit a breaking point before this was over.

And he wasn’t wrong.

Nam-Gyu exhaled slowly, walking up to the check-in desk. A tired-looking woman barely glanced up from her computer screen. “Name and ID?” she asked, voice flat with routine exhaustion.

He handed over his ID, his fingers only slightly shaking. “Nam-Gyu. I’m here to see...” He hesitated, the word catching in his throat. “I’m here to see Roh Cheol-Soo.”

The woman typed something into the system, then slid a clipboard toward him. “Fill this out.”

Nam-Gyu took the clipboard and sat down, tapping the pen against the plastic as he stared at the form. The words blurred together for a second before he forced himself to focus.

Emergency contact?
He left it blank. He wasn’t about to put Thanos’s name down for this shit.

As he filled out the rest, his mind kept circling back to what Thanos had said.

If his dad was going to be a dick—if he was going to sit there and refuse to answer the questions Nam-Gyu needed to save Ji-Ho—then he’d walk out of here and never look back.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t come here for closure. He hadn’t come here for himself.

He had come here for Ji-Ho.

And if his father didn’t give him anything useful, then that man would go back to being as dead to him as he’d been for the past sixteen years.

Nam-Gyu exhaled sharply, forcing himself to move. His hands felt stiff as he grasped the pen in his hand and bent over the visitor request form, filling it out with the neat, controlled handwriting he had perfected over the years. He double-checked every letter, every number, making sure there were no mistakes—because if there were, he didn’t want to have to do this again.

He could feel the woman at the desk watching him, her nails clicking against the keyboard as she typed. The room smelled like old paper and stale coffee, the kind of artificial warmth that made his skin itch. When he was done, he slid the form across the counter, meeting her gaze with a tight-lipped expression.

She barely glanced at the paper before typing something into her computer, the glow of the monitor reflecting in her tired eyes. With a sigh, she reached for a sheet of stickers, peeled one off, and slapped it onto the desk in front of him.

"Visitor." The word stood out in bold black letters on the cheap plastic badge.

"Go down that hall," she said in a monotone voice, jerking her thumb toward a set of heavy metal doors. "The guard standing by will direct you. Sit at one of the phones. A guard inside will bring the inmate to you."

Nam-Gyu nodded, pressing the sticker against his chest without looking at it. His stomach twisted as he turned away from the desk, walking toward the hallway she had pointed to. His boots made dull thuds against the tile floor, and the air seemed to get heavier with every step he took.

The guard by the door gave him a brief once-over, then wordlessly pulled a keycard from his belt and swiped it through the lock. A loud buzz filled the space, and the door clicked open.

Nam-Gyu stepped through.

The visitation room was colder than he expected. Rows of scratched plastic dividers separated the metal stools from the thick glass windows. The phones attached to the wall hung limply on their cords, waiting to be picked up. The room smelled like industrial-strength cleaner and something metallic—something stale and lifeless.

He let out a slow breath through his nose and walked toward one of the empty seats. He sat down, his fingers gripping the edge of the counter in front of him as his knee bounced anxiously.

Now all that was left was to wait.

Wait for Roh Cheol-Soo to walk through that door.

Wait to see if the man who had abandoned him all those years ago had anything left to say.

Only about five or six minutes passed before another loud buzz echoed through the room.

Nam-Gyu’s grip on the phone tightened for no reason. A part of him hoped it was just another prisoner coming to see someone else. After all, he wasn’t alone in the visitation room. The quiet murmur of other conversations filled the space, but more than that, he could hear soft crying somewhere behind him—a sound that only made the weight in his chest feel heavier.

The room smelled like cleaning solution, metal, and something else—something that reminded him of old sweat and stale regret.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw a figure approaching the divider in front of him.

Nam-Gyu didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

The man on the other side sat down, moving like someone much older than he was. And for a moment, Nam-Gyu couldn’t reconcile the image in front of him with the one burned into his childhood memories.

His father looked different.

The first thing Nam-Gyu noticed was the gray streaking through his once-black hair. It wasn’t just at his temples—it was everywhere, dull and uneven, like the years had bled the life out of it. His face was more lined than he remembered, his skin slightly sunken around his cheekbones. He was thinner than Nam-Gyu expected, the orange jumpsuit hanging looser on his frame.

He looked... worn out.

Not smaller, exactly. But like time had pressed in on him, squeezing out whatever was left of the man he had once been.

Nam-Gyu swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

His father lifted the phone on his side, holding it to his ear, waiting.

Nam-Gyu let out a shaky sigh, forcing himself to do the same. The plastic felt cold against his fingers.

For a while, they didn’t say anything.

Silence stretched between them, thick and unbearable.

Then finally, his father spoke, his voice quieter than Nam-Gyu remembered.

"...When they told me the name of the person here to see me, I didn't believe it. Not until I sat down."

Nam-Gyu studied him, trying to pick apart his expression.

His father’s dark eyes flicked over his face like he was searching for something—like he was trying to make sense of the grown man sitting across from him.

Nam-Gyu didn’t know what he had expected from this meeting.

He didn’t know if he wanted an apology, or answers, or if he just wanted to look his father in the eye and remind himself why he had never needed him.

But now that he was here, now that he was staring at this man who had been a ghost for most of his life, all he felt was exhaustion.

Not anger.

Not sadness.

Just tired.

He wet his lips, shifting in his seat. The chair creaked beneath him.

“I didn’t come here for you,” Nam-Gyu finally said, his voice steady but empty. “I came here for Ji-Ho.”

A flicker of something—recognition, maybe—passed over his father’s face. But it was gone just as quickly.

His father leaned back slightly, adjusting his grip on the phone. “Ji-Ho…” he repeated, like he was rolling the name around in his head, like it was some distant memory he had to drag to the surface.

Nam-Gyu’s jaw tightened. He hated that. Hated that Ji-Ho’s name wasn’t something that came naturally to this man.

“Hak-Kun always said you would end up in here,” Nam-Gyu continued, not giving him time to process. “But it's still weird to see you here.”

His father exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. “Hak-Kun?” He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “I’m surprised he said anything. That kid never wanted to talk to me.”

Nam-Gyu felt something sharp coil in his chest. “Can you blame him?”

His father didn’t answer right away. He just studied Nam-Gyu again, like he was weighing his next words carefully.

Then, with a tired shrug, he said, “No.”

Nam-Gyu wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. Excuses? Deflections? Some bullshit about how it wasn’t his fault?

But that simple, resigned answer threw him off.

He gripped the phone a little tighter. “I want to know about Mom's parents and Mi-Cha,” he said, getting straight to the point. “Who they were. Where they are. Anything you can tell me.”

His father tilted his head slightly, his lips pressing together like he was considering whether or not to answer.

And Nam-Gyu suddenly had the sinking feeling that whatever his father was about to say next…

He wasn’t going to like it.

"Mi-Cha..." His father exhaled her name like it was a ghost from another life, one he had tried to forget but never could. A small, wistful smile tugged at his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I remember it like it was yesterday."

Nam-Gyu’s grip tightened around the phone. He had never met Mi-Cha, never even seen a picture of her. She was just a name, a concept, a piece of his family that had been erased before he was even born. And yet, the way his father spoke her name made something tighten in his chest.

"I was scared," his father admitted, voice distant. "I never wanted kids that young. I was barely an adult myself. I had no money, no stability, no real plan for the future. But then she was born, and for one stupid moment, I thought—maybe—everything was going to be okay." He tilted his head back slightly, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as if searching for something long lost. "I was wrong."

Nam-Gyu remained silent, watching the way his father’s fingers twitched against the phone cord, how his expression darkened as memories pulled him under.

"It only took two months," his father finally continued, voice turning bitter. "Two months for your mother’s parents to decide she was unfit to be a mother. But at that point, it didn’t matter—we were already married. They made sure of that before Mi-Cha was even born. A shotgun wedding, rushed and quiet. They didn’t give a damn about me, but they weren’t about to let their daughter have a child out of wedlock." He scoffed under his breath. "Like that piece of paper was gonna fix anything."

Nam-Gyu clenched his jaw. He wasn’t surprised. His mother’s parents had never been part of his life. He barely knew anything about them, but he knew enough. Controlling. Manipulative. The kind of people who would rather erase problems than fix them.

"They decided it was best if they raised her themselves," his father said, his voice quieter now. "She was still small—only a few months old—so it was easy. Easier than trying to force your mother to be someone she wasn’t capable of being." He exhaled through his nose, like he was trying to push out some lingering regret. "They didn’t fight us on it. Not really. They didn’t want me raising her either, but they knew I was too young and too reckless to put up much of a fight."

Nam-Gyu swallowed hard. "So, what happened to her? Did she stay with them? Did she—?"

His father shook his head. "I don’t know."

Nam-Gyu’s blood ran cold. "What do you mean, you don’t know?"

His father let out a humorless chuckle. "I mean exactly that, Nam-Gyu. I don’t know. After they took her, they cut us off completely. No contact. No updates. It was like she never existed. I don’t know if they moved. I don’t know if they changed their names. I don’t know if she even knows we exist." His jaw tightened. "For all I know, they told her we were dead."

Nam-Gyu felt something sharp coil in his stomach. He had been expecting some kind of answer—some missing piece of his family’s history. But this? This was worse.

"So you just gave up?" he bit out.

His father’s gaze snapped back to him, and for the first time in their conversation, something angry flickered in his expression. "What the hell was I supposed to do, Nam-Gyu? I was eighteen, broke, and married to a woman who didn’t even want the child we still had to raise. I had no power, no resources, no way to fight them. If I had tried, they would’ve buried me in legal bullshit so deep I never would’ve crawled out." He let out a sharp breath. "So, yeah. I gave up. And maybe that makes me a coward, but it was the only thing I could do."

Nam-Gyu's nails dug into his palm. He hated how much sense that made. Hated that, in some twisted way, his father had been just as much a victim in this as Mi-Cha.

"So, what then?" Nam-Gyu pressed, voice tight. "You lose your first kid, and then four years later, you just start over? Pretend none of it happened?"

His father let out a slow breath. "By the time your mother was pregnant with Do-Yun, things were… different." His voice was careful now, like he was stepping over broken glass. "I was still young, but I wasn’t a kid anymore. I was already working, already trying to be more stable. And your mother… well, she had changed too."

Nam-Gyu almost laughed at that. His mother had changed? Into what? A worse version of herself?

"Her parents weren’t around to take Do-Yun away, were they?" Nam-Gyu muttered.

His father’s silence was answer enough.

And suddenly, Nam-Gyu felt sick. Because now, it made sense. Everything made sense. Mi-Cha had been taken before their mother had the chance to ruin her. But Do-Yun, Hak-Kun, Nam-Gyu, Ji-Ho…

They weren’t so lucky.

They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, the weight of everything that had been said settling between them like thick, suffocating smoke.

Nam-Gyu could hear the quiet hum of the prison around them—the occasional murmur of other conversations, the shuffling of guards, the distant clang of metal doors. It all blurred together, background noise to the storm still raging inside him.

Then, finally, his father broke the silence. His voice was rough, hesitant. "The day I left..." He paused, rubbing a hand over his face like he was bracing himself for something painful. "It was the night your mother told me about Ji-Ho."

Nam-Gyu's fingers twitched around the receiver. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t that.

His father exhaled slowly. "I couldn’t take it anymore. Another kid? Another kid who would grow up and remember what a shitty dad I was? Another kid who would look at me the way you and your brothers did?" He shook his head, his grip tightening on the phone. "I know it was terrible of me, Nam-Gyu. I know. But I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't stay and pretend like I was ever gonna be the kind of father any of you deserved."

Nam-Gyu's jaw clenched. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to tell his father to go to hell, to say that leaving had been the worst thing he could’ve done. But deep down, some bitter part of him knew that wasn’t true. Staying wouldn’t have made him a better father. It would’ve just meant they had one more adult in the house to disappoint them.

His father cleared his throat, as if trying to push past the weight of his own words. "So... what’s he like?"

Nam-Gyu blinked. "What?"

"Ji-Ho." His father looked at him now, really looked at him, like he was trying to piece together the image of a son he had never met. "What’s he like? And your brothers, too. How are they?"

Nam-Gyu let out a slow breath, leaning back slightly. For a moment, he considered lying, keeping Ji-Ho and the others locked away from this man, refusing to give him even a glimpse into their lives.

But then he thought about Ji-Ho, about the way he smiled when he was being a little shit, about the way he clung to the idea of family despite everything.

And maybe, just maybe, Ji-Ho deserved to be spoken about. Even to someone like this.

"Ji-Ho’s... he's too damn good for this family," Nam-Gyu said honestly. "He's smart. Smarter than me. Stubborn, too. He doesn’t take shit from anyone, but he still cares more than he should." He let out a humorless chuckle. "He's fifteen now. He acts like he doesn’t need anyone, but I can tell he still wants to believe in people. I don’t know how he does it."

His father listened in silence, his expression unreadable.

"And Do-Yun?" his father asked after a beat.

Nam-Gyu snorted, shaking his head. "Same as he’s always been. He thinks he’s better than everyone else. Acts like he doesn’t care, but deep down, he does. He just refuses to show it in any way that isn’t aggressive bullshit."

His father hummed, like that didn’t surprise him. "And Hak-Kun?"

Nam-Gyu hesitated for a moment, his fingers tightening around the phone. "I don't know," he admitted, the words bitter on his tongue. "He left two months after you did. I haven't seen or heard from him since."

Something flickered across his father’s face—recognition, maybe, or something else Nam-Gyu couldn’t quite place.

"You don’t know where he is?"

Nam-Gyu shook his head. "No one does."

His father was quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slow nod, he said, "Maybe that’s for the best."

Nam-Gyu stiffened. "What the hell does that mean?"

His father didn’t answer. He just looked at Nam-Gyu with that same distant expression, like he knew something but wasn’t going to say it. Like he was holding onto something Nam-Gyu would never get the chance to understand.

And Nam-Gyu hated that.

More than anything, he hated that.

"You don’t get to be cryptic," he said, his voice sharper than before. "Not after everything. You don’t get to sit there and act like you know something I don’t when you were the one who left."

His father just sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "You're right," he murmured. "I don’t."

Nam-Gyu wasn’t sure if he believed that. But right now, it didn’t matter.

Because Hak-Kun was gone. And no amount of questioning his father was going to change that.

His father looked into his eyes, the weight of something unreadable settling in the lines of his face. "I'm sorry I keep making your life harder, Nam-Gyu."

Nam-Gyu barely had time to react before his dad kept going, his voice quieter now, almost like he was speaking more to himself than to Nam-Gyu. "You were this bright, happy kid, and I could never guess why." He let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head. "There was even this one time after me and your mother had a screaming match—you tried to make us feel better by showing us you could do a handstand."

That made Nam-Gyu angry.

He could feel it rise in his chest like a tidal wave, crushing the air from his lungs, making his hands tremble around the phone. He clenched his jaw, gripping it so tightly his teeth ached.

"I wasn't happy," he spat, his voice shaking with something raw, something years in the making. "I was fucking scared."

His father blinked at him, startled by the sudden shift, but Nam-Gyu wasn’t done.

"I was scared Mom was going to hit me. Scared you’d just sit there and do nothing. Scared Do-Yun would take something that wouldn’t let him wake up. Scared Hak-Kun was going to die protecting me from her." His voice cracked, and he hated it. Hated that his body was betraying him, that his throat was tight, that he could feel tears burning at the corners of his eyes. "I spent my entire childhood being afraid, and you were either making it worse or pretending it wasn’t happening."

A choked sob forced its way out of him, and he wiped at his face furiously, like he could erase the evidence of it before his father could see. But it was too late. His dad was looking at him now with something close to guilt, like he finally saw it—saw the weight of everything Nam-Gyu had been carrying all these years.

And Nam-Gyu hated that too.

Because it was too late.

It had always been too late.

"And you know what the worst thing was?" he continued, his voice low and shaking. "You didn’t even leave a fucking note." He let out a breathless, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "One day, you were there, and the next, you weren’t. No warning. No explanation. Just gone."

His father opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but Nam-Gyu didn’t give him the chance.

"I will never forgive you for that," he said, the words coming out like an oath, like something permanent. "So if you think you can just say ‘sorry’ after fifteen years, then you can go fuck yourself. Because I will never get to know what it’s like to be a happy child again."

The room felt smaller. The air felt heavier.

Nam-Gyu sucked in a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, but it didn’t work. His hands were still trembling, his chest still tight, his body still filled with something close to rage but tainted with something uglier, something deeper.

"You know how fucked up I am?" he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less sharp. "I developed insomnia when I was twelve. I had my first overdose before I even turned sixteen. And that was just the start." He let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. "I spent years burying myself in drugs, letting them swallow me whole, and you know what? It worked. For a while. It made everything quiet. It made everything go away."

His father’s face had gone pale, his fingers curling around the receiver like he was holding onto it for dear life. But he didn’t interrupt.

He just sat there, listening.

"But I’m not blaming you for all of that," Nam-Gyu continued, his voice steadier now. "No, that would be too easy. Letting you take all the blame for the shit I did? That would let me off the hook, and I know better than that now. I made those choices. I fucked up my own life." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "That’s how I know I’m better than you. Because even though I hate her just as much as you do, you keep acting like Mom was the reason for everything that went wrong in your life."

His father flinched, just slightly, but Nam-Gyu caught it.

"She was a monster, yeah," Nam-Gyu said, his voice quieter now, more measured. "She ruined us. She hurt us. But you didn’t do shit to stop it. And when it got too hard, you ran. You left us with her. You left me with her. And now you’re sitting here acting like you’re sorry, but you haven’t even asked what happened to the rest of us after you left. You haven’t even asked if we made it out okay."

His father opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Nam-Gyu let out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah," he muttered. "That’s what I thought."

For the first time since he had walked into that prison, his father looked small. Like a man who had finally been forced to sit with the weight of everything he had done. And Nam-Gyu?

Nam-Gyu just felt exhausted.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "I didn’t come here to make you feel bad," he admitted. "I came here because I needed answers. I came here because Ji-Ho deserves better than this family’s bullshit secrets. So if you actually want to make up for anything, you can start by giving me what I need."

His father swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. He hesitated for only a second before nodding.

"Okay," he murmured. "What do you want to know?"

Nam-Gyu leaned forward slightly, gripping the receiver just a little tighter.

"Tell me about Mom’s parents," he said. "Tell me about Mi-Cha."

His father sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like the weight of the conversation was finally starting to settle on him. “Well, like I said before, I don’t know where they are now. But when I met them, they lived in Gwangju, so if Mi-Cha is still connected to them in any way, she might be somewhere around there. That being said, your mother’s parents probably aren’t going to be much help.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the metal table on his side of the glass. His fingers curled slightly against the surface, like he was gathering his thoughts, trying to piece together something useful from the fragments of a life he’d abandoned.

“But I owe you something that might actually help,” he continued, his voice quieter now, more deliberate. “My parents never had much, but they had love—for all their kids, even me.” He let out a breathy, almost disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “My mother… your grandmother… she’s a real saint. She even comes here to visit sometimes, if you can believe that.”

Nam-Gyu stiffened slightly. His grandmother? He’d never even thought about his father’s side of the family. His entire life, they had been this nonexistent force, ghosts in a history he had never been given access to.

“She’s asked about you kids,” his father admitted, his expression darkening slightly. “But I never had anything to tell her.” He shook his head, exhaling sharply. “Her name is Roh Na-Rae. If you really want answers, if you really want to know about the past, she might be your best shot. Since you have the same last name, the person at the front desk should be able to give you her contact information.”

Nam-Gyu swallowed, trying to process everything at once. It was too much. He hadn’t expected this. He had come here for pieces of a puzzle, expecting frustration, expecting dead ends, but instead, his father had handed him a name—a real, tangible connection to something he had never even considered searching for.

And he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Right before Nam-Gyu could say anything, his father spoke again, his voice rougher this time, like he was about to admit something he had been holding in for years.

“And I don’t know what happened,” he said carefully. “And this isn’t some kind of excuse, but I did leave a note.”

Nam-Gyu blinked.

His fingers tightened around the phone. “What?”

His father exhaled slowly, his eyes flickering downward for a moment before meeting Nam-Gyu’s again. “I left a note,” he repeated. “I put it in the drawer of my nightstand before I walked out that door. I—I don’t know if your mother ever found it, or if she threw it away before anyone else could see it, but I didn’t just leave without a word.” He shook his head. “I know that doesn’t change anything. I know it doesn’t make it better. But I needed you to know.”

Nam-Gyu felt like the air had been knocked out of him.

For fifteen years, he had told himself that his father hadn’t cared enough to say goodbye. That he had just walked out the door without a single thought for the family he was leaving behind.

But now… now there was a new possibility, one that made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

Had his mother found it first? Had she read it, crumpled it up, and tossed it before any of them could see? Had she deliberately let them believe that their father had just vanished without a single thought for them?

Would that really be so surprising?

Nam-Gyu clenched his jaw, a bitter taste rising in the back of his throat.

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Note or not, you still left. And you left us with her.”

His father didn’t argue.

He didn’t make excuses.

He just nodded. “I know.”

The quiet between them stretched out, thick and suffocating.

Nam-Gyu exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. His head was spinning, his emotions tangled into a mess he couldn’t even begin to unravel right now. He didn’t know what to think about the things his father had just told him, but he knew one thing for certain.

He had a name now. A lead.

And if his grandmother was still alive—if she had even a fraction of the answers he was looking for—then he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity.

He was going to find her.

And maybe, just maybe, he was finally going to get the truth.

Nam-Gyu met his father’s gaze, searching for something—regret, sincerity, anything that would make this moment feel less hollow. He wasn’t sure if he found it.

Still, he exhaled, steadying himself as he tightened his grip on the receiver. His voice was quieter this time, but there was no hesitation when he spoke.

"Thank you," he said, and for once, he meant it. Not for the apologies, not for the years of silence, but for giving him something real to chase after. "Maybe if this leads somewhere—if I actually find something—I’ll think about visiting you again." He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "But don’t hold your breath."

His father didn’t look surprised. If anything, there was an understanding in his tired eyes, like he already knew that this was the best Nam-Gyu could give him.

"I wouldn’t expect you to," his father admitted, his voice low, almost resigned. "But I meant what I said—I am sorry."

Nam-Gyu’s chest tightened. He didn’t want to hear that.

"Yeah," he muttered, pushing up from his chair. "See you around, I guess."

And with that, he placed the phone back on the receiver, turned on his heel, and walked away without looking back.

He walked back out the same heavy door he had entered through, and the loud buzz that followed seemed to echo in his chest. It felt different now—less like a warning, more like a release.

The waiting room still held the weight of quiet grief and restless anticipation, but somehow, it didn’t suffocate him the way it had before. Or maybe it wasn’t the room that had changed. Maybe it was just him.

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders back as he made his way toward the front desk. This was it—the only real lead he had, and he wasn’t going to let it slip away.

"Hi," Nam-Gyu started, leaning slightly against the counter. "Uh, my grandma asked me to check if the right number is still on file." The lie slipped easily from his lips. He didn’t know if he actually needed an excuse, but he wasn’t about to take any chances.

The woman at the desk barely looked up, her fingers clicking against the keyboard as she pulled up the information. "Roh Na-Rae?"

Nam-Gyu felt something in his chest tighten. That name wasn’t familiar to him. It should have been.

"Uh, yeah," he answered, keeping his voice even.

She clicked around for a moment longer, then turned the monitor slightly, scanning the screen. "The number on file is..." She rattled off the digits, pausing only to glance back at him. "That the one?"

Nam-Gyu quickly pulled out his phone, typing the number into his notes so he wouldn’t forget. His fingers felt a little unsteady, but he ignored it.

"Yeah, that’s it. Thanks."

The woman nodded, already turning her attention back to her computer. "You're welcome. Have a good day."

Nam-Gyu gave her a polite nod, shoving his phone back into his pocket as he headed toward the exit. "You too."

And with that, he stepped out into the real world, the cold air hitting his face like a reminder—he wasn’t done yet.

The fresh afternoon spring wind curled around him, carrying the scent of damp earth and faint traces of blooming flowers. The sun was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds, casting the world in muted grays and soft silvers, but the air was still warm enough to be pleasant. It was the kind of weather that made everything feel just a little quieter, a little slower—like the world itself was taking a breath.

Nam-Gyu inhaled deeply, letting the cool air fill his lungs before exhaling just as slowly. He wasn’t sure if it actually helped, but something about it felt grounding, like he was tethering himself back to reality after everything that had just happened.

Without thinking, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes. He tapped one out, rolling it between his fingers for a moment before placing it between his lips. The familiar motion, the small ritual of it, helped settle his nerves.

He flicked his lighter open, shielding the flame with his hand as he lit the cigarette. The first drag burned slightly in his throat, but he welcomed it, letting the smoke curl from his lips into the chilly air.

Leaning against the side of his car, he closed his eyes for a second, just listening to the sounds around him—the distant hum of traffic, the rustling of trees, the faintest echo of conversation from people passing by. It was normal. Routine.

And right now, after everything, he needed normal. 

After a while, Nam-Gyu pulled out his phone, staring at the screen for a moment before unlocking it. He scrolled through his contacts, his thumb hovering over Thanos for just a second before pressing the call button. The name still felt strange in his mind sometimes—not because it wasn’t fitting, but because he knew him as something more. Su-Bong.

He held the phone up to his ear, listening to the steady rings, waiting to see if he’d pick up.

Thanos had told him to call after everything, just to check in and let him know how it went. And honestly? Nam-Gyu could really use that. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk about what had just happened—not yet, not while the weight of it was still sitting heavy in his chest—but he just needed to hear his voice. Needed something solid, something familiar.

The ringing stopped, followed by a click.

“Hey, babe, settle an argument for me—” Thanos’s voice came through, casual and light, like he hadn’t just been waiting for this call all day. “My manager wants me to dye my hair blue again for the ‘coming back after leaving for three months to get sober’ album, but I’m saying purple is the way to go—” There was a brief pause, and then suddenly, a sharp inhale. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry—how’d the dad thing go?”

Nam-Gyu let out a surprised laugh, shaking his head. Of course, he forgot for a second. It was just so him—jumping straight into something ridiculous before realizing what was actually happening.

“You’re fine, baby,” he reassured, a small smile playing on his lips. His shoulders, tense from the past hour, relaxed just a little. “And for the record, I think any hair color makes you look hot.”

Thanos made a smug noise. “Damn right.”

It was a good distraction—talking about something as simple as hair dye instead of all the heavy shit he’d just been dealing with. Even if only for a moment, it gave him something else to focus on.

“But…” Nam-Gyu hesitated for just a second before continuing. “As for the dad thing… I’ll talk about it at the meeting. That is, if you still want to go?”

“Of course I still want to go,” Thanos said, no hesitation. “I mean, I was hoping you’d say you wanted to go straight home so I could cuddle you and tell you how pretty you are, but hey, we can do both.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, but his smile didn’t fade. “God, you’re so annoying.”

“Yeah, yeah. Where am I picking you up?”

Nam-Gyu glanced around the mostly empty parking lot, the correctional facility looming behind him. He could still feel the cold weight of it in his bones, but it wasn’t suffocating anymore.

“I’ll just drive to your place,” he said. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

“Okay, but drive safe,” Thanos said, his voice softer now. More serious. “And text me when you’re close so I can run downstairs and act like I haven’t been waiting at the door for you like some tragic housewife.”

Nam-Gyu snorted. “God forbid you wait inside.”

“Exactly.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds—just the quiet sound of their breathing over the phone. And even though they weren’t saying anything, Nam-Gyu felt lighter than he had all day.

“…See you soon?” he murmured.

“See you soon,” Thanos echoed, and Nam-Gyu could hear the warmth in his voice.

The call ended, and Nam-Gyu took a deep breath before finally getting into his car.

---

Nam-Gyu kept his eyes on the road, his fingers gripping the steering wheel as he listened to Thanos talk. The familiar sound of his voice filled the car, his words tumbling out fast, almost like he was thinking out loud rather than actually looking for an answer.

“And it’s like—I’m only three months sober. Is now really the time to come back and start talking about it?” Thanos said, running a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than usual. “I mean, I know I still have to do that press conference about dating you and stuff—which, by the way, I think is next week. Next week, Nam-Gyu. I have a press conference where I have to go, ‘Yes, I, Thanos, have been off the grid because I am dating this beautiful, sexy, amazing man and also trying to get my shit together.’”

Nam-Gyu snorted. “You’re so full of shit.”

Thanos gasped dramatically. “How dare you—” But then he stopped himself, shaking his head. “Not the point. The point is—what if I come out and say I’ve been away getting clean and, y’know, ‘trying to better myself’—” He made air quotes with his fingers, a bitter edge creeping into his voice.

“And then I slip up?” he continued, his knee bouncing slightly, a nervous habit Nam-Gyu had started to notice. “What if I take a handful of pills? Then what? Do I hide it from the public? It’s not exactly easy to hide shit like that, and if I relapse—” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “My manager will definitely send me to rehab. And that’s even harder to hide. I had a friend, back when I was younger, who tried to do that—keep his rehab stint a secret. But his fans found out, and the haters wouldn’t let him live it down. They bullied him out of Korea.”

His voice got quieter at the end, his usual bravado slipping just enough for Nam-Gyu to see the cracks underneath.

Nam-Gyu didn’t answer right away. He just let the silence settle between them for a moment, giving Thanos space to process his own words. He got it. The fear of slipping up. The fear of disappointing people. It was a weight that never really left, no matter how much time passed.

Thanos sighed, leaning his head back against the seat. “Anyway, I know you said you’d talk about the whole dad thing when we get to the meeting, but…” He turned his head slightly, glancing at Nam-Gyu. “Is there anything you don’t wanna say in front of everyone?”

That was… new.

Thanos had always been good at talking—sometimes too good. But lately, Nam-Gyu had started noticing little changes. He listened more. He didn’t bulldoze conversations the way he used to. He actually thought about what other people needed from him, instead of just assuming.

Maybe it was therapy. Maybe it was sobriety. Maybe it was just him.

Nam-Gyu tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, mulling it over.

“…I don’t know,” he admitted, voice quieter than before. “I think I just… need to say it. Put it out there. Otherwise, it’s just gonna sit in my head, rotting.”

Thanos hummed in understanding. “I get that.”

Nam-Gyu glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “And what about you? Are you gonna be honest today, or are you just gonna make jokes until someone calls you out?”

Thanos grinned, but there was something a little tired behind it. “Depends. Are you gonna call me out?”

Nam-Gyu smirked. “Absolutely.”

Thanos groaned, letting his head fall against the headrest again. “Ugh. You are a menace.”

Nam-Gyu just laughed, shaking his head as he made a turn down the familiar street.

A few more minutes, and they’d be at the meeting. And maybe—just maybe—it would help.

The moment the first few notes of the song filled the car, Thanos gasped dramatically, his hands flying to the volume knob.

"Ohhhh, I love this song!" he declared, cranking the music up loud enough to make the speakers vibrate.

Nam-Gyu barely had time to react before the bass flooded his ears, the sound wrapping around him like a familiar hug. His mind instantly recognized the song, and before he could stop himself, the lyrics slipped from his lips.

"The opposite—"

"The opposite of love is fear."

Thanos’s eyes lit up in recognition, and he immediately joined in, his voice carrying the next line with a kind of raw joy that Nam-Gyu wasn’t used to seeing from him.

"I'm still trying to get, hmmm, used to how the former feels."

Nam-Gyu laughed, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. He picked up where Thanos left off, his voice blending smoothly with the music.

"'Cause it feels so new, you think you know me, wait 'til I open up to you."

Thanos leaned in closer, grinning as they both sang the next part together, their voices melting into the song like they’d rehearsed it a thousand times before.

"If I want pure love, must stop acting so tough!"

Thanos lowered his voice slightly, taking over the background vocals.

"I give a little, you give a little, we get a little, sentimental."

Nam-Gyu couldn’t help but grin, shaking his head as Thanos started full-on jamming in the passenger seat, his hands drumming against his knees, his head bobbing to the beat.

They both came back in strong, their voices carrying over the music.

"If I want your love, ooh, got to open up!"

This time, Nam-Gyu sang the lower part, his voice steady despite his wide smile.

"I give a little, you give a little, we get a little, sentimental."

Nam-Gyu took a small pause, letting Thanos take over for the next part on his own. He didn’t stop smiling, though, his eyes flicking toward Thanos for just a second as he tried to keep his attention on the road.

Thanos was so into it, his whole face lighting up as he belted out the lyrics.

"A deeper way, a deeper way to understand, to understand the line between, who you are and who I am, baby—"

He nodded his head along to the beat, completely in his element, like he was performing at a concert rather than sitting in Nam-Gyu’s car.

"'Cause to let you in!"

Nam-Gyu tuned back in for the lower part, steadying his voice against Thanos’s.

"I want your love, I want your love now,"

Thanos’s expression turned just a little softer, but the happiness never left his face as he finished the verse.

"It's true compromise, I want your love."

Then, he pointed dramatically at Nam-Gyu, as if passing the baton.

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes playfully but picked up the next part without hesitation.

"If I want pure love, must stop acting so tough, I give a little, you give a little, we get a little, sentimental. If I want your love, ooh, got to open up, I give a little, you give a little, we get a little, experimental! Not just the friction of our skin, I want your love now."

Thanos pumped his fists in the air, hyping it up as he took over again, his energy infectious.

"Well, I guess, I guess, I guess, I guess, I could, I guess I could, I guess, guess I oughta clean up these bloody fists if it's alright, and yes, I guess, I guess, I guess, it's for the best, it's for the best, guess you really got to call your own bluff if you want pure love, if I want pure love!"

Nam-Gyu’s face hurt from how wide he was smiling.

His morning had been absolute hell, and yet, somehow, this moment—this ridiculous, beautiful moment—had completely turned his entire mood around.

Thanos was dancing in the passenger seat now, completely uninhibited, moving his shoulders and nodding his head in time with the beat. His hair flopped around from the wind blowing in the open widow, but he didn’t care. He looked free.

Nam-Gyu took over again, his voice strong as he carried the next part, watching as Thanos continued vibing beside him.

"Mmh, ohh-ooh, ohh."

His hands stayed steady on the wheel as he sang, but his heart felt light.

"If I want pure love, must stop acting so tough! I give a little, you give a little, we get a little, sentimental."

Nam-Gyu had never really thought this would be Thanos’s style, considering the kind of music he wrote, but damn, was he glad it was. Because this? This moment, after the absolute shitstorm of a morning he’d had, was like stepping into another reality entirely.

A reality where things didn’t have to be so heavy.

"If I want your love, ooh, got to open up!"

Thanos tuned back in, their voices rising together, filling the car with something that felt bigger than just music.

"I give a little, you give a little, we get a little, sentimental."

Nam-Gyu finally hit a red light, and for the first time, he turned to look at Thanos fully.

His boyfriend’s face was flushed, his chest rising and falling from singing so hard. He was still grinning, still glowing in that way he did when he was truly, genuinely happy.

They both sang the final part together, eyes locked, laughing through the last lyrics.

"And if I want your love, if I want your love, I want your love, I want your love, ay, I want your love, I want your love now, I want your love, I want your love, I give a little, you give a little, I want your love, we give a little, sentimental!"

The song faded out, but the energy still crackled between them, electric and alive.

Thanos let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Holy shit, that was fun.”

Nam-Gyu just shook his head, grinning as he turned back to face the road. The light turned green, and he pressed on the gas, carrying them forward.

For the first time that day, he actually felt good.

---

Thanos burst through the doors of the NA meeting house, his energy practically crackling off him as he strode inside. The familiar scent of old coffee and cheap air freshener filled the space, mingling with the quiet hum of conversation.

The meeting hadn’t started yet; people were still setting up chairs, chatting in small groups, catching up with familiar faces. The atmosphere was warm, comfortable in a way that was different from most places Thanos had been lately.

Across the room, Deok-Su caught sight of them, immediately smirking like he already knew something was up.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled as he picked up a few extra chairs, shifting them into place. “You two are in a real good mood today.” His eyes flicked between Thanos and Nam-Gyu, his smirk deepening. “What, somebody propose or somethin’?”

Thanos, who had been riding the high of their impromptu car concert all the way here, suddenly felt his face heat up. He scowled—mostly for show—and waved Deok-Su off.

“Pfft—no, obviously not.” He huffed, but he was still grinning. “But you do have something for me.”

He waggled his eyebrows, clearly enjoying himself, even as his cheeks stayed stubbornly pink.

Deok-Su let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he lowered himself into one of the folding chairs. “Damn, you’re acting like it’s a prize or somethin’.”

“It is a prize,” Thanos shot back. “I worked hard for this.”

Nam-Gyu, standing beside him with his arms crossed, gave him an amused side-eye. “You did almost cry over an energy drink in week two.”

Thanos gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. “How dare you bring that up at my moment of victory?”

Deok-Su outright laughed now, leaning back in his chair. “Alright, alright, you’ll get your 90-day chip once the meeting starts.”

Thanos clapped his hands together. “Hell yes.”

“Try not to vibrate out of your seat before then.”

“No promises.”

Nam-Gyu just shook his head with a smile, watching as Thanos practically bounced in place, still high on excitement.

For all his grumbling, Deok-Su was clearly happy for him. And as the room started to settle, chairs filling up, conversation shifting to something quieter, Thanos let out a small breath, his fingers itching to hold that chip in his palm.

It wasn’t everything. It wasn’t some magical fix for the rest of his life.

But it was something.

And damn, if that didn’t feel good.

Thanos turned his head, glancing at Nam-Gyu beside him as the low murmur of conversation filled the meeting space. His fingers drummed against his thigh, restless energy still buzzing through him from their drive over.

"Ready to spill your guts out?" he asked, flashing a teasing grin.

As soon as the words left his mouth, though, he hesitated. Shit. That sounded kind of rude, didn’t it? He hadn't meant it like that. He scrambled to correct himself.

"Uh— I mean, ready to share?" He winced slightly, hoping Nam-Gyu wouldn’t take it the wrong way.

But instead of looking annoyed, Nam-Gyu turned to him and let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Babe, I can tell when you're joking." His voice was warm, and the tension in Thanos's shoulders eased.

"Yeah, well, you never know," Thanos mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Meetings are kinda serious and all."

Nam-Gyu exhaled slowly, his fingers lightly tracing over the seam of his jeans. "Not gonna lie, it's stressing me out a bit," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "But I need to talk about it. If I don’t, I know I won’t be able to sleep again."

That last part made Thanos frown. He knew Nam-Gyu had been struggling with sleep for a while now, but hearing him say it so plainly made something in his chest tighten.

"Wait—has the gummy not been helping?" Thanos asked, brows furrowing. "Because I swear I remember that guy at the pharmacy saying something about… uh, Zolpifem? No, Zolpidem?" He snapped his fingers, trying to recall. "Something like that—"

He cut himself off when Nam-Gyu gave him a look that was somewhere between amused and exasperated.

Thanos groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Okay, whatever, I was half-asleep when he was explaining it, but I was paying attention—"

Nam-Gyu let out a small chuckle, shaking his head again. "No, no, the melatonin’s been working okay," he assured him. "I mean, I still don’t get, like, a full eight hours or anything, but it’s been helping."

Thanos didn’t look convinced. "Then why are you still running on fumes?"

Nam-Gyu sighed, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake off the weight pressing down on him. "Because I know myself. The more stress I pile on, the more I start overthinking, and then boom, the gummies might as well be sugar pills." He rubbed his temple. "And if I let it get bad enough, I’ll just be lying in bed staring at the ceiling for hours. So, yeah, I need to talk about it. Otherwise, I’m gonna be running on empty, and I really don’t wanna start relying on this stuff more than I already have."

Thanos bit his lip, nodding along as he listened.

He hated the idea of Nam-Gyu struggling alone in the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling while his thoughts spiraled out of control. The fact that he was even saying all this aloud was proof enough that it had been weighing on him.

"Yeah," Thanos murmured after a beat. "I get it."

And he did. Maybe a little too well.

He reached over, squeezing Nam-Gyu’s knee lightly before withdrawing his hand. "We’re here now. You don’t gotta figure it all out alone."

Nam-Gyu looked at him for a long moment, then gave him a small, grateful smile. "Yeah," he echoed, voice softer. "Thanks, babe."

Thanos leaned back in his chair, letting out an exaggerated breath. "Man, between you, my manager, and my therapist, I’m starting to feel like I should start charging people for emotional labor."

Nam-Gyu snorted. "You literally just got your 90-day chip. Maybe pace yourself?"

Thanos smirked, nudging him with his shoulder. "Fair point."

The meeting was about to start, and as the voices around them lowered, Thanos threw one last glance at Nam-Gyu, giving his knee another quick tap before shifting forward in his seat.

Whatever Nam-Gyu needed to say tonight, Thanos would be right there beside him, ready to listen.

Chapter 22: The Start Of New Beginnings

Notes:

Thanossss plot :]

Thanos sat in the same waiting room he'd been coming to for the past two weeks. The place smelled faintly of coffee and lavender candles, which somehow made him feel both calm and like he wanted to run out the door at the same time.

Therapy was... weird.

Kind of like the NA meetings, except instead of sharing with a room full of strangers who were just as messed up as he was, here it was just one guy. One guy who asked him uncomfortable questions and didn’t let him deflect with sarcasm or jokes.

Dr. Kim would probably say something like, "Why do you feel people are judging you, Su-Bong?"

And Thanos would have to resist the urge to roll his eyes and be like, Bro... I'm famous. When more than a hundred people know your name and half of them think you ruined their favorite song by existing, someone’s always judging you.

But whatever. He was here. And he was trying.

Nam-Gyu would be proud.

Thanos glanced down at his phone, unlocking it to check the time. His lockscreen lit up — a picture Nam-Gyu had secretly taken of him and Doom, curled up on the couch after one of their late-night movie marathons. Thanos looked half-dead, Doom looked annoyed, and Nam-Gyu thought it was the cutest thing ever.

It was embarrassing how much he loved that picture.

God, he missed him.

Nam-Gyu was at work right now, bartending at that shitty club Thanos used to get blackout drunk in. Sometimes Thanos worried about him being there — surrounded by temptation, sleazy guys hitting on him, and memories he couldn’t drown anymore. But Nam-Gyu was stronger than people gave him credit for. And honestly, Thanos admired the hell out of that.

"Mr. Choi?"

Thanos blinked up, meeting Dr. Kim’s calm gaze as he stood in the doorway.

"Sup, Doc," Thanos muttered, pushing himself up and slipping his phone into his jacket pocket.

Dr. Kim smiled warmly, leading him down the hallway to his office.

The room was simple — soft lighting, a worn-out couch that Thanos always felt awkward sitting on, and that little shelf of plants that he suspected Dr. Kim kept alive purely to make the room feel less depressing.

Thanos sat down, slouching a little as Dr. Kim grabbed a notepad and flipped through some pages.

"How’s your week been, Su-Bong?"

Thanos let out a long breath. "Stressful."

Dr. Kim sat up a bit. "In what way?"

Thanos ran a hand through his messy hair. "Well, it started when my boyfriend went to see his dad in jail."

Dr. Kim raised a brow, already scribbling something down. "Ah, yes. You mentioned that last session. How did it go?"

Thanos let out a breathy laugh. "I think I handled it better than I would’ve two months ago. And he handled himself pretty well too, considering he was face-to-face with the guy who left him. Oh, and I, uh... actually used those 'supportive questions' you suggested."

Dr. Kim's lips curved into a slight smile. "I'm glad to hear that. And how did Nam-Gyu respond?"

Thanos smiled, leaning back on the couch.

---

That night, after the meeting, Thanos opened the door to his apartment, letting Nam-Gyu step in first with the bags of food they’d grabbed from the convenience store.

"So... your dad gave you the phone number to a grandmother you've never met before." Thanos followed him into the kitchen. "Do you think..."

He paused, remembering what Dr. Kim had told him about not pushing.

"Do you think... she could be helpful?"

Nam-Gyu glanced over his shoulder, laughing softly. "Therapy words?"

"Yeah, shut up." Thanos grinned as he watched Nam-Gyu start unpacking the groceries, Doom sitting on the floor like a little gremlin, waiting for scraps to fall.

"Honestly?" Nam-Gyu set a pack of ramen on the counter. "I don't know. But... I'll call her tomorrow and see."

Thanos nodded, stepping closer to lean against the counter beside him. "If you want me there when you call, I can be. Or... I can just sit here and silently panic while you talk."

A small smile tugged at Nam-Gyu's lips as he reached out, fingers brushing against Thanos's hand. "I’d like that."

---

"So... yeah. That happened."

Dr. Kim studied him for a moment. "It sounds like you handled that situation with a lot of care. I'm proud of you for that."

Thanos rolled his eyes. "I mean, I didn't say the wrong thing... for once. But it still feels like... I’m just waiting to screw something up."

"Why do you think that is?"

A heavy breath escaped him as he slouched lower on the couch. "Because... this isn’t who I am. I’m not the guy who says the right thing. I’m the guy who screws up. Who ruins things. Who breaks people."

He hesitated, voice quieter now. "I don’t know how to be... this."

"This?"

"Someone who... loves someone and doesn’t destroy them in the process."

The room settled into silence.

"Do you think that's what you're doing to Nam-Gyu?"

Thanos clenched his jaw, eyes burning.

"No," he admitted, barely above a whisper. "But I’m scared that one day... I will."

Dr. Kim nodded, as if he'd heard these words a hundred times before.

"And yet... you’re here. You’re showing up. You’re trying. That’s not something people who destroy others do, Su-Bong."

The knot in Thanos's chest loosened, just slightly.

"Maybe."

"Definitely."

Dr. Kim tapped his pen against the notepad. "Would you like to continue?"

"Yeah." Thanos let out a slow breath, leaning back against the couch.

"Not much happened the rest of that night," he started, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. "We made dinner, watched some movie neither of us really paid attention to, and passed out."

A beat of hesitation.

"The weird shit started the next morning."

---

The sun filtered through the thin curtains of Thanos's bedroom, casting soft streaks of light across the floor. The cool morning breeze drifted in through the cracked window, carrying the faint sounds of the city waking up.

It was perfect. Too perfect. The kind of perfect that makes you want to stay in bed forever, tangled up in warm sheets and someone you love.

Which was exactly why Thanos did not want Nam-Gyu getting up right now.

"Why can't you just stay in bed with meee," he whined dramatically, face half-buried in the pillow as he watched Nam-Gyu move around the room, pulling on clothes and searching for socks.

A snort came from across the room. "I would if I could, babe, but I gotta get this call over with before work."

The teasing tone was there, but Thanos heard it — that tightness beneath the surface. The nervous energy Nam-Gyu was always good at hiding from everyone else. Everyone except him.

Groaning, Thanos flopped onto his back. "I could call her for you. I'll do my sweet 'Hi, I'm Nam-Gyu's hot boyfriend' voice. She'll love it."

A soft laugh echoed as Nam-Gyu shook his head. "You’re ridiculous."

"Yeah, but I’m your ridiculous."

An eye roll, but there was that smile. The one Thanos would do anything to pull out of him.

The mattress dipped as Nam-Gyu climbed back into bed, sitting cross-legged beside him. The phone rested in his hand, the number his dad had given him staring up from the screen — unfamiliar, untouched. His thumb hovered over the call button.

Thanos shifted closer, resting his hand over Nam-Gyu's where it trembled slightly against the sheets. His thumb traced the faint scar on Nam-Gyu's knuckles — a scar he’d never asked about, and Nam-Gyu had never offered to explain.

"You got this," Thanos whispered, leaning in to press a slow kiss to Nam-Gyu's cheek.

A slow inhale. Nam-Gyu closed his eyes, breathing in the warmth between them. Grounding himself in the quiet safety of this moment.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I got this."

The call button lit up as Nam-Gyu pressed it and brought the phone to his ear.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Thanos felt the tension build in Nam-Gyu’s body, the way his breathing subtly shifted. He squeezed his hand, a silent reminder that he was here. That he wasn’t doing this alone.

On the fourth ring, a woman’s voice answered. Soft. Tired.

"...Hello?"

Nam-Gyu froze, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His eyes flicked toward Thanos, searching.

A small nod. You’re okay. Keep going.

"Um... Hi. This is... Roh Nam-Gyu," his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I think I’m your grandson."

A beat of silence. Then... a sharp inhale.

"Oh," the woman breathed, her voice trembling. "Oh my God."

Nam-Gyu’s face crumbled — not in fear, not in pain — but in something that looked a lot like relief.

"Hi, Halmeoni," he whispered, voice breaking.

Thanos felt his own chest tighten at the sound of it.

---

 

"She cried," Thanos mumbled, voice quieter now as he spoke to Dr. Kim. "And then Nam-Gyu cried. And then, obviously, I cried, because I’m embarrassing."

A soft smile formed on Dr. Kim's face. "I don't think that's embarrassing at all."

A breathy laugh escaped him. "Yeah, well... It was weird. Good weird. She said she’s been looking for him for years. That she had no idea he even existed until a few years ago."

His gaze dropped to his hands. "I think... for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel like a mistake."

The room settled into a gentle silence before the therapist spoke again. "And how did that make you feel?"

"I don’t know," Thanos admitted, his chest tightening. "Proud of him, I guess. But also... jealous."

Fingers twisted anxiously in the sleeve of his hoodie as the words slipped out. "Like... what if he doesn’t need me anymore now that he’s found her? What if... I’m just something he needed to get through the lonely part?"

Dr. Kim let the fear hang between them for a moment.

"Do you think he only loves you because he’s lonely, Su-Bong?"

The sound of his real name made him flinch. No one ever called him that except for Kyung-Hu... and Nam-Gyu sometimes. And here, in this room, when he couldn't hide behind the persona he'd spent years building.

"I... I don’t know," his voice wavered.

"I’ve never really... done this before. I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like."

"But you're doing it," the older man replied gently. "You're showing up. You're choosing to stay."

That awful, vulnerable feeling crawled up his throat again.

"I’m scared."

"That's okay. Fear is human. But love... real love... isn’t built on never being afraid. It’s built on being afraid and choosing to stay anyway."

Something cracked deep in his chest at that.

His head dropped forward, elbows resting on his knees as he tried to find the words that felt like they were choking him.

"It's just... I know I shouldn't be scared. He’s told me a hundred times how much he loves me. He says it all the time, in those little ways that aren't even words, you know?"

The therapist nodded patiently, allowing him to keep going.

"When he waits for me after meetings... when he orders that gross chamomile tea I like just 'cause he knows it helps with my anxiety... when he holds my hand under the table when I'm too nervous to share."

A shaky laugh slipped out, but it sounded more like he was trying not to cry.

"I know he loves me."

His voice softened, barely above a whisper now.

"But... there's still this part of me that just... can't believe it. Like... what if one day, he just wakes up and stops? What if he realizes I'm not enough, or that I'm too much, or..."

He trailed off, but the weight of it settled heavily between them.

"Like my dad."

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

And that’s when it hit him.

His breath caught in his throat as the realization crashed over him.

"Oh my God."

The blood drained from his face as he looked up.

"That's what this is, isn't it? I... I keep thinking he's gonna leave because... that's what my dad did. He loved me — or at least I thought he did. But when I started... you know, going punk, dyeing my hair, and... liking guys and shit... he just... stopped."

The burning behind his eyes intensified, but he forced it down.

"He looked at me like I was something broken. Like I was something he couldn't fix. And eventually... he just gave up on me. Walked out. Left me to figure it out on my own."

Dr. Kim didn't rush to fill the silence. He let him sit in it, let him actually feel it.

"And I guess... I’ve been waiting for Nam-Gyu to do the same thing. To wake up one day and decide... I’m too much of a mess. That loving me is too hard."

The air felt thick, heavy with something raw and real that Thanos hadn’t let himself touch in years.

"But... he hasn't, has he?"

A tear slipped down his cheek as he shook his head.

"No. He... hasn't."

"Su-Bong," Dr. Kim spoke softly. "You've been holding onto this fear for a long time. That the people you love will eventually decide you’re not worth staying for. That you’ll be too broken, too difficult, too... unlovable."

His gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet the other man's eyes.

"But Nam-Gyu isn’t your father. And the love you’ve built with him... it’s not conditional. It’s not something that can be taken away when you stop being what someone else wants you to be."

Another tear slipped free before he could catch it.

"I... I don’t know how to believe that."

"You don't have to believe it all at once. But you can start by accepting the fact that he’s here. He’s choosing you. Not because he has to. Not because he pities you. But because he loves you."

Thanos's face crumbled as the first sob tore from his chest. He buried his face in his hands, shoulders trembling as he finally let himself break.

He hadn’t cried like this since he was a kid.

Since the night his dad called him a "waste of space" and told him he’d never be enough. Since the night he packed a bag and left that house for good, hoping that maybe, somewhere out there, he could become something worth loving.

And now here he was — almost a decade later — crying in a therapist's office because, for the first time in his life...

He was starting to believe he already was.

"Fuck," he sniffled, dragging the sleeve of his hoodie across his face. "I hate crying. Ruins my eyeliner."

Dr. Kim smiled softly and handed him the box of tissues.

"Take all the time you need."

God, this guy was good.

Thanos wiped at his face, only to smudge the eyeliner worse. Great. Now he looked even more pathetic.

Forcing himself to breathe, he tried to ground himself. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slowly.

It helped. A little.

"Right... uh..." His voice wavered as he tried to gather his thoughts. "They’re meeting on Saturday. His grandma. And it was... weird."

"Weird how?"

"I mean... he just acted totally fine after. Like the call never even happened."

His gaze dropped to the crumpled tissue in his hands.

"We made breakfast. He cleaned up. I put on some stupid movie I don't even remember the name of and then went off to work. And I kept waiting for him to... I don't know. Break down? Freak out? Something. But he didn't."

The lump in his throat returned.

"And I thought... maybe he's just really good at hiding it. Or maybe... he didn’t care as much as I thought he did."

"Or..." Dr. Kim spoke carefully, "maybe that's what you're afraid of."

Thanos froze.

"You've spent so much of your life believing that the people you love will eventually leave. So when someone finally stays... your brain doesn't know how to handle it."

Tears welled in his eyes again.

"Fuck... that makes so much sense it’s actually pissing me off."

A quiet chuckle filled the space between them.

"But... he was acting weird. I know him. He’s not fine. He just... pretends he is because he doesn’t want to make it harder for other people."

"And what do you think he needed from you in that moment?"

Thanos blinked, eyes burning.

"I... I don't know."

"Maybe... the same thing you're afraid to ask for."

His stomach twisted.

Because... fuck.

Nam-Gyu was scared too.

---

Thanos had been watching him quietly from the couch, eyes flicking between the TV and the way Nam-Gyu moved around the kitchen, rinsing off the dishes from breakfast.

The apartment felt too quiet. The kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful — the kind that settled between two people when there was too much left unsaid.

"Hey," Thanos called softly.

Nam-Gyu glanced over, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Hmm?"

"I... I know you're pretending you're fine."

The words hung in the air, heavier than Thanos meant them to be.

Nam-Gyu's hands stilled for a beat before he turned back to the sink, avoiding eye contact.

"I'm not pretending," came the quiet response, barely above the hum of the fridge.

Thanos sighed, shifting to sit up straighter.

"You wouldn’t have stared at your phone for ten minutes before calling her if it didn’t mean anything."

Nam-Gyu flinched, subtle but noticeable.

"It's not that deep," he muttered, walking over to the fridge and pulling it open like it could somehow shield him from this conversation. "It's just... a number. Doesn't change anything."

Thanos stood, closing the space between them.

"I know what it's like to act fine because it's easier than admitting you're scared."

Nam-Gyu's grip tightened around the fridge handle. He didn't say anything, just stared blankly at the half-empty shelves inside.

"I’m not trying to push you," Thanos added, quieter now. "I just... I need you to know that you don’t have to do this alone."

Nam-Gyu let out a slow breath, eyes falling shut for half a second before turning to face him.

"I just... I don’t want to get into it, okay?" His voice cracked slightly at the end. "It’s family shit. It's... whatever."

But it wasn’t whatever. Thanos could feel it in the way Nam-Gyu's shoulders tensed, in the way his eyes wouldn’t meet his.

Without thinking, Thanos reached out, fingers brushing against Nam-Gyu's hand before gently lacing them together. He traced his thumb over the scar on his knuckles, the one he knew Nam-Gyu hated.

"You don’t have to talk about it," Thanos murmured. "But... I’m here. Even if it’s messy. Even if it hurts. I’m here."

Nam-Gyu’s eyes flicked to his, guarded and uncertain, like he wanted to believe him but didn’t quite know how.

A beat passed.

Then, a small, tired smile tugged at the corner of Nam-Gyu’s mouth.

"I know."

It wasn’t much.

But for Nam-Gyu, letting someone stay — letting someone see the cracks and not turning away — was already everything.

"...I have to get to work."

Thanos nodded, letting his hand slip away as Nam-Gyu reached for his jacket.

"Okay," Thanos breathed.

He didn’t push. Didn’t try to make him stay.

But as Nam-Gyu slipped out the door, Thanos found himself hoping that Nam-Gyu would come back.

---

Back in Dr. Kim’s office, Thanos dragged his hands down his face, already exhausted just thinking about it.

"I guess... I don’t really know how to help him. He’s so used to dealing with shit on his own. He just... shuts down when it comes to family stuff."

Dr. Kim nodded, listening patiently. "Sometimes, the best way to help someone who’s afraid of vulnerability is simply to stay. Keep showing up. And let them come to you when they’re ready."

A quiet laugh slipped out, dry and tired.

"Yeah... I can do that."

Thanos glanced at the clock.

"After I fix my eyeliner, though. Can’t have my boyfriend thinking he’s dating a raccoon."

Dr. Kim chuckled softly. "Baby steps, Su-Bong."

With a shaky laugh, Thanos dug into the pocket of his oversized hoodie, pulling out a pocket mirror and a worn-down eyeliner pencil. Flipping the mirror open, he squinted at the smudged mess under his eyes, wiping away the streaks of black before tracing the pencil along his lower lash line with practiced ease.

"You know... I used to do this every morning before shows," he murmured, carefully filling in the small wing just enough to make his eyes pop. "Back when I was in a band. Even after we broke up, I just... kept doing it. Guess it kinda stuck."

It was muscle memory now. A part of him that never really left.

Snapping the mirror shut, he leaned back in the chair, head resting against the worn leather as the weight in his chest pressed a little heavier.

"Anyway... after breakfast, he went to work," Thanos sighed. "Which, honestly, scares the hell out of me."

Dr. Kim raised a brow. "Because he works at a club?"

"Yeah. I mean... he can handle himself. Probably better than I ever could. But... I know that world. I lived in it. The drugs. The creeps. The guys who get way too handsy. It’s... ugly."

His voice softened, something more fragile slipping through.

"I just... I don't want him to go through that."

The room settled into a quiet understanding before Dr. Kim spoke again.

"So... you're afraid something will happen to him?"

"Not really. I mean... Nam-Gyu’s tough as hell. And he’s smart. I know he can handle himself. It’s more like... I hate that he even has to."

Fingers traced absentmindedly over the eyeliner pencil still resting in his hand.

"I know he loves me. He’s shown me that over and over again. I’m not scared he’s gonna leave. It’s just... I’ve lost so many people in my life, you know? People who swore they’d stay. People who... who saw me as something broken and got tired of trying to fix me."

A faint, almost self-deprecating smile crossed his lips.

"But Nam-Gyu... he’s different. He doesn’t try to fix me. He just... stays."

His throat tightened as the words sat heavy in the air.

"And... I guess I’m still learning how to let someone stay. How to believe I’m allowed to have something good like this."

Tears burned at the edges of his eyes, and he wiped at them quickly. "God, this is embarrassing."

"It’s not. It’s real."

Silence lingered for a moment before Thanos spoke again, voice quieter now.

"And I know he avoids talking about his family. I get that. I do it too. But... I just wish he'd let me be there for him. Like... really be there."

Dr. Kim tapped his pen lightly against the notepad. "Have you told him that?"

"...Not really."

"Why not?"

A small laugh slipped out. "Because I’m an idiot?"

"Or... maybe you're just scared of being seen the way he already sees you."

Brows furrowed slightly. "...And how’s that?"

"As someone worth loving."

The words hit something raw and tender, twisting deep in his chest.

Because... yeah.

Nam-Gyu did love him.

And maybe... maybe that wasn’t a mistake.

Dr. Kim glanced at the clock. "We still have about half an hour left. Is there anything else you'd like to share?"

Fingers tapped restlessly against his knee as he thought for a moment.

"Nah... nothing big right now. You got anything to ask me?"

Dr. Kim flipped through his notes before meeting his eyes again, tone soft but intentional.

"In our first session, we went over the basics. Last time, we talked about some of your triggers. And today, we've been focusing on the emotions and stress that come with watching someone you love struggle."

A quiet heaviness settled over Thanos as the conversation shifted.

"And because of your history... this is something I’ll need to check in on from time to time."

The pause lingered.

"Have you been having thoughts about harming yourself lately?"

The air seemed to thicken, the room pressing in around him.

A forced laugh slipped out, weak and uncomfortable.

"Man... you don’t hold back, huh?"

"I’m not here to make you comfortable, Su-Bong. I’m here to help you stay alive."

That one landed deep.

Thanos swallowed hard, eyes flickering to the crack in the tile floor as something sharp twisted in his chest.

"I mean... yeah," he admitted quietly. "I think about it sometimes. Not like... every day. And I haven't actually done anything in weeks. But... when shit gets heavy, that... thought still creeps in. Like this little voice in my head telling me it'd be easier to just... disappear."

His voice cracked slightly as he tried to hold it together.

"But I don’t want that. Not anymore. I’ve got people now that actually care. And... I’m trying. I just... I don’t know how to stop feeling like this."

Dr. Kim nodded, calm and steady.

"I’m really glad you're being honest with me. And I want you to know... that thought? It doesn’t mean you’re weak. It’s something a lot of people who've been through trauma experience. Your brain learned that pain was the only way to cope. But you're here now, doing the work to unlearn that."

Thanos wiped at his eyes again, trying to keep his breathing steady.

"I just feel like... I’m so scared I’m gonna mess this up. And when I get in my head like that, it’s like... I can’t breathe. I keep thinking... what if I’m too much? What if I drag everyone down with me?"

Dr. Kim tilted his head slightly.

"Do you think Nam-Gyu would be here if he didn’t want to be?"

"I... I guess not."

"Exactly. He sees you. The real you. Not the broken version your mind keeps trying to convince you that you are."

The words sat heavy in his chest, but for once... they didn’t feel impossible to believe.

"I want to believe that," Thanos whispered.

"Then let’s work on that," Dr. Kim offered gently. "We can’t silence those thoughts overnight. But we can make them quieter. And eventually... they won’t control you anymore."

A shaky laugh slipped out as Thanos leaned back against the couch, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie.

"Shit... this is exhausting."

"Healing usually is."

He let himself breathe, eyes drifting toward the window as the weight in his chest loosened — just enough to make it through another day.

Maybe this wasn’t gonna be easy.

But for the first time in a long time...

It felt possible.

---

When Thanos finally stepped out of Dr. Kim’s office that afternoon, his eyes were red and puffy, his eyeliner completely wrecked. He looked like shit.

But for once... he felt lighter.

The session had dredged up things he hadn’t let himself feel in years. His dad. The self-hatred. The fear of losing Nam-Gyu. But saying it out loud didn’t make him feel pathetic.

It made him feel... real.

Alive.

The cool afternoon air hit his face as he pulled his hood up and dug his phone out of his pocket.

Nam-Gyu's name was already pinned at the top of his messages. Of course it was.

---

Thanos: therapy sucked. cried like a loser.
Thanos: u wanna get bulgogi or smth

---

He hesitated, thumb hovering over the send button.

Nam-Gyu didn’t need to hear this shit. He was probably busy anyway. Thanos almost deleted the message, but... his thumb slipped.

Message sent.

"Fuck," he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I’m so fucking needy."

The reply came faster than expected.

---

Nam-Gyu: shit, that sucks. i'm sorry.
Nam-Gyu: sounds fun tho. left work early anyway.

---

Thanos blinked.

Nam-Gyu? Leaving work early? That never happened.

---

Thanos: wait, fr? why’d u leave?

---

The typing bubble popped up... then disappeared. Then popped up again.

---

Nam-Gyu: idk... just felt like it.

---

Bullshit.

He could tell.

But he didn’t push.

Because he knew what that felt like — wanting to crawl out of your own skin but not having the words to explain why.

Instead, he just smiled and typed back.

---

Thanos: cool. meet u at the usual spot. u better let me pay this time.
Nam-Gyu: lmfao keep dreaming, babe.

---

A soft laugh slipped past his lips as he pocketed his phone and headed toward his driver’s car.

Nam-Gyu wasn’t okay.

He’d known that from the moment he saw the way he smiled like nothing hurt, even when Thanos could see the weight in his eyes.

But Nam-Gyu had shown up for him. Every damn time.

And now...

Thanos was going to show up for him too.

Even if Nam-Gyu didn’t want to talk about it.
Even if they just sat in that tiny restaurant, eating greasy bulgogi and roasting the shitty K-dramas playing on the TV in the corner.
Even if they didn’t say a single word about what was actually breaking them apart from the inside.

That was enough.

Because Thanos wasn’t losing him.

Not this time.

---

Every shift at this fucking club had been getting worse since Nam-Gyu got sober.

It wasn’t the work itself — restocking the bar, handling drunk assholes, breaking up the occasional fight. He could do that shit in his sleep by now.

But being here... sober?

It was hell.

The music was too loud. The lights were too bright. The smell of alcohol and sweat and cigarette smoke clung to the walls, and every corner of this place reminded him of how easy it used to be to slip into that world and forget everything that hurt.

Now? There was no escape. No distraction. Just him and the endless weight of... everything.

"Bro, you look like you're about to kill someone."

Jax snorted from where he was slouched against the bar, shoveling greasy fries into his mouth.

Nam-Gyu didn’t look up as he refilled the liquor shelves, moving with the kind of practiced speed that only came from years of doing this shit.

"Do you ever actually work? Or is that my job too?"

"Touchy today," Jax muttered, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Nam-Gyu sighed through his nose, ignoring him. He didn’t actually hate Jax. On most days, the guy was tolerable.

Jax was just a lot funnier when you were as high as he was.

And Nam-Gyu...

Nam-Gyu hadn’t touched a pill, a joint, or a drop of alcohol in almost six months now.

Not since Thanos.

And fuck, everything felt ten times heavier without it.

What made tonight worse was that his asshole boss was here.

Mr. Kang, or as Nam-Gyu liked to call him, "the human equivalent of a migraine," was currently lurking somewhere upstairs, pretending to "observe club activity," which really just meant, "standing around like a creep and making sure all the idiots I hired are doing their job for the shitty pay I give them."

It was enough to make Nam-Gyu want to walk out and never come back.

But he couldn’t.

Because he needed the money.
Because Ji-Ho still had school.
Because rent wasn’t gonna pay itself.

And because...

Thanos.

Thanos, who was probably sitting in some stuffy therapist's office right now, spilling his heart out to a stranger.
Thanos, who made Nam-Gyu feel things he’d spent years trying to numb.
Thanos, who looked at him like he was worth something. Like he wasn't completely fucking broken.

And that terrified him more than anything.

Because what if... what if Thanos figured it out?
What if he realized Nam-Gyu didn’t know how to talk about things like family, or pain, or why he worked himself to death just to avoid thinking about all the shit he never dealt with?
What if Thanos woke up one day and realized Nam-Gyu wasn't strong — he was just really, really good at pretending to be?

"Hey," Jax's voice cut through the spiral. "You good, man?"

Nam-Gyu blinked, realizing he’d been gripping the bottle in his hand so hard his knuckles had gone white.

"...Yeah. I'm fine."

Jax gave him a look. The kind that said he didn’t believe him but also didn’t care enough to ask.

"Cool." Jax went back to his fries.

Nam-Gyu turned back to the shelves and kept working.

He just needed to get through this shift. Then he’d meet Thanos for dinner.

And maybe, just maybe...

He’d actually let himself enjoy it.

"Hey, Nam-Gyu. A word?"

The sound of Mr. Kang's voice cut through the thumping bass, making every muscle in Nam-Gyu’s body tense up.

"Shit—!"

Startled, his grip slipped, and the bottle of soju crashed to the floor, shattering into a hundred tiny pieces across the sticky club floor.

"Fuck, you can't just sneak up on people like that in a fucking club!"

Mr. Kang, as usual, didn’t react. The man was about as emotionally expressive as a brick wall.

He just stood there with that blank, soulless look on his face, waiting.

Waiting for Nam-Gyu to follow him like some obedient little employee.

Nam-Gyu clenched his jaw, biting back the urge to tell him to fuck off.

"Jax. Clean this up."

"You're the one who broke it."

"Jax."

"Alright, alright, chill." Jax waved him off and grabbed the broom.

Nam-Gyu stepped over the broken glass and followed Mr. Kang through the dimly lit back hall of the club, past the storage rooms and manager's office.

The further they walked, the heavier Nam-Gyu's chest felt.

He already knew how this conversation was gonna go.

Mr. Kang wasn’t the type to "check in" or "see how you're holding up."

No. When Mr. Kang called you out, it meant one of two things:

You either fucked up...

Or he was about to pile even more bullshit onto your already overflowing plate.

The door to the office clicked shut behind them.

Nam-Gyu stood there, arms crossed, already on the defensive.

"What?"

"You've been... distracted lately."

A humorless laugh slipped out before he could stop it.

"Right. Sorry if I'm not my usual charming self while working for shit pay in a club full of drug dealers and perverts."

"Watch your tone."

Nam-Gyu bit his tongue, jaw clenched.

"You think I don't notice when one of my employees starts slipping? You're late to shifts. Snapping at customers. Walking around like you're ready to put someone through a wall."

"I'm still doing my job."

"And what happens when you're not? What happens when one of those creeps you keep glaring at decides to start something, huh? What happens when you finally lose your shit and put some guy in the hospital? You think I'm gonna cover your ass?"

Nam-Gyu's breath hitched.

He wasn’t wrong.

The anger, the fear, the self-loathing — it was all right there beneath the surface, and this place only made it worse.

"I hired you because you know this world. But if you're gonna let whatever personal shit you've got going on fuck with my business... you're out."

Nam-Gyu’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

"I get it."

Mr. Kang stared him down for another agonizing second before brushing past him and opening the door.

Nam-Gyu turned to leave, already trying to push the conversation out of his head.

But as he stepped through the doorway — halfway out — he felt it.

A hand.

Where it definitely shouldn't be.

A sharp slap against the curve of his ass.

Nam-Gyu froze.

"Play nice, Roh."

Mr. Kang's low, smug voice echoed behind him.

His breath hitched.

No.

No fucking way.

He turned slowly, vision blurring with rage as he met Mr. Kang's eyes.

"Did you just slap my ass?"

"Relax," Mr. Kang smirked. "Don't act like you haven’t worked in worse places."

The next thing Nam-Gyu knew, Mr. Kang was slammed against the wall, Nam-Gyu’s forearm pressed hard against his chest, cutting off his next breath.

"You think because I'm a fuck-up, you can do whatever you want to me?" Nam-Gyu's voice shook with fury. "You think no one's gonna believe me because I used to shoot up in the bathroom stalls? Because I used to do whatever it took for a new fix? Huh?"

Panic flickered in Mr. Kang's eyes.

"I don't care what this job pays. I don't care what bullshit power trip you're on. You touch me again... I'll fucking kill you."

Mr. Kang’s mouth opened, but no words came out.

Nam-Gyu let go.

"I quit."

And as he walked out of that office, fists trembling and chest burning, he felt something strange.

Relief.

Because for once...

He actually fought back.

---

As Nam-Gyu stepped back out into the dimly lit club, the bass rattling the walls, everything felt... different. Like the air itself was lighter now that he wasn't trapped in this shithole.

He weaved past the drunk regulars and the bartenders already pouring shots for the early crowd, heading for the back room to grab his stuff — probably for the last time.

Jax was leaning against the bar, flirting with Eun-Kyung, who worked the floor on weekends. He spotted Nam-Gyu passing by and called out.

"Yo, dude, where you going?"

Nam-Gyu slowed to a stop, turning around.

"He slapped my ass, so I quit."

The words came out blunt and loud enough to turn a few heads. But Nam-Gyu didn’t give a fuck. Not anymore.

Jax blinked. "...Wait. Kang? That greasy old bastard?"

"Yeah."

Jax exchanged a look with Eun-Kyung.

"...Shit."

Eun-Kyung let out a quiet breath. Not shocked. Not surprised. Just... tired.

They’d all been here before.

Nam-Gyu felt that heavy silence settle between them — that unspoken understanding that this place had been chewing them up for months. The shitty hours. The worse pay. The things they'd just... learned to put up with.

Until now.

Jax glanced back at the bar, at the drunk customers already spilling drinks on the counter. Then at Eun-Kyung, still clutching her tray like she was chained to this place. And finally, back at Nam-Gyu — who, for the first time in months, looked free.

"...Man, fuck this job."

He hopped over the bar, grabbing a bottle of vodka off the top shelf.

Eun-Kyung's eyes widened. "Wait... are you serious?"

"Deadass. You think I’m about to keep working for some pervy old bastard when the guy I like here just quit? Fuck that."

Her hesitation lasted about half a second before she set down her tray and followed.

One of the other bartenders ripped the tip jar off the counter, shoving the cash into his pocket.

Nam-Gyu raised a brow. "...Wait. Are we robbing the place now?"

Jax grinned. "It’s called emotional compensation, bro."

Eun-Kyung smirked, tucking a bottle of soju into her purse.

Nam-Gyu shook his head, but couldn't stop the grin pulling at his lips.

He really just started a workers' uprising.

Mr. Kang was about to shit himself.

"Alright, fine. But we are not getting arrested for this. I got a boyfriend now."

Jax snorted. "Yeah, we know. You’re soft as shit now, bro."

Nam-Gyu flipped him off on his way to grab his stuff.

By the time they stormed out of the club together, Nam-Gyu was already lighting a cigarette, Jax was swinging a bottle of Jack around like an idiot, and Eun-Kyung was laughing for the first time in weeks.

They didn’t look like a bunch of underpaid club workers who just quit their jobs.

They looked like people who finally decided to stop taking shit from the world.

Nam-Gyu pulled out his phone and checked his notifications.

---

Thanos: Therapy sucked. Cried like a loser.
Thanos: U wanna get some bulgogi or smth?

---

A quiet laugh slipped out through his nose.

Of course, he did.

For a moment, Nam-Gyu hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to tell him everything — about Kang, about quitting, about how he was pretty sure he just started a strike and accidentally robbed the place on the way out.

But...
What if Thanos thought he was pathetic for putting up with that shit for so long? What if he saw him the way everyone else did — some angry, self-destructive dropout with too much baggage and not enough self-respect to walk away sooner?

His chest tightened.

Instead, he typed something safer.

---

Nam-Gyu: Shit, that sucks. I'm sorry.
Nam-Gyu: Sounds fun tho. I left work early anyway.

---

Total lie. Whatever.

"Are we actually getting food or just committing minor crimes for the rest of the night?" Jax asked, already halfway through his stolen bottle.

"Food. I gotta meet my boyfriend."

Jax groaned. "God, you’re so whipped."

"Die."

Nam-Gyu flicked his cigarette at him and kept walking toward his car.

His phone buzzed again.

---

Thanos: Wait, fr? Why’d you leave?

---

Nam-Gyu hesitated. The typing bubble popped up. Then disappeared. Then popped up again.

---

Nam-Gyu: Idk... just felt like it.

---

Bullshit. Thanos was gonna see right through that. He always did.

Nam-Gyu braced himself for the inevitable questions. For the soft, patient way Thanos always looked at him when he was trying to get him to open up.

But...

---

Thanos: Cool. I'll meet you at the usual spot.
Thanos: U better let me pay this time.

---

Nam-Gyu blinked.

...He let it go?

That weird warmth spread through his chest again — unfamiliar, terrifying, and kind of addicting.

---

Nam-Gyu: Lmfao keep dreaming, babe.

---

"Yo, is that him?" Eun-Kyung peeked over his shoulder.

"Shut up."

Jax grinned. "Bro’s in love."

Nam-Gyu ignored them, heading for his car.

"HEY, TELL YOUR BOYFRIEND I SAID HI—"

"FUCK OFF, JAX."

Nam-Gyu was still grinning when he drove off to meet Thanos.

---

Thanos pushed open the door to the small bulgogi place he and Nam-Gyu liked. The warm scent of sizzling meat and garlic hit him instantly, wrapping around him like a familiar hug. The restaurant was cozy, with dim lighting and wooden tables worn down over the years, but in a way that felt lived-in, not run-down.

A few families sat scattered around the space, quiet laughter and conversation filling the air. The owner, an older man who'd been running the place since before Thanos even debuted, gave him a nod from behind the counter. No one here treated him like “Thanos the rapper.” Just Su-Bong. Just some guy who came here way too often with his weird, pretty boyfriend.

He spotted Nam-Gyu at their usual table near the window, hoodie pulled up and sleeves shoved to his elbows as he lazily scrolled through his phone. Something in Thanos’s chest loosened at the sight of him. Even after the emotional mess he'd been in during therapy, seeing Nam-Gyu made everything feel... manageable.

"Hey."

Nam-Gyu glanced up, eyes softening in that way that only ever happened around Thanos. "Hey."

"You order yet?"

"Was waiting for your broke ass."

Thanos rolled his eyes. "I’m literally rich."

"Then you’re rich and a loser."

A laugh slipped out of him, the tension in his body easing as Nam-Gyu called over the waitress.

They ordered their usual — a shared platter of bulgogi, kimchi stew, and enough side dishes to fill the entire table. As they waited for the food, Nam-Gyu fiddled with the paper napkin in front of him, avoiding eye contact.

Thanos rested his chin on his hand, watching him. "So... you gonna tell me why you really left work early?"

"I already told you. Just... felt like it."

He didn’t push. He knew Nam-Gyu well enough to know that forcing him to talk would only make him shut down more.

"Alright. But if your boss tries to call you back in, tell him to eat my entire ass."

Nam-Gyu snorted, finally cracking a small smile. "You're disgusting."

"You love it."

"I do."

Thanos’s heart skipped a beat. He reached across the table, nudging Nam-Gyu’s hand with his own. There was a hesitation, but only for half a second before Nam-Gyu let their fingers tangle together.

The waitress arrived with their food, and they both pulled back, pretending they hadn’t just been gross and soft in public. But Thanos couldn’t stop smiling.

"So, um..." Thanos poked at a piece of pork belly with his chopsticks. "I need to talk to you about something."

Nam-Gyu glanced up, chopsticks hovering mid-air. "Yeah?"

"I was talking to my therapist. About... you. And the other day. When you called your grandma. And how you're meeting her this weekend."

Nam-Gyu's expression flickered, but he didn’t say anything.

"I didn’t tell him the personal stuff, obviously. But... I guess that's kind of the point."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... you don’t tell me stuff. Not really. Not when it comes to the things that actually hurt."

Nam-Gyu’s lips parted, like he wanted to argue, but Thanos kept going.

"I get it. I do. I spent years doing the same thing. Burying everything. Pretending I was fine when I wasn’t. But when my dad died, and I was at my lowest... you saw the worst parts of me. And you stayed."

Thanos swallowed hard, feeling that familiar knot form in his throat.

"And that... that saved me. Just knowing that someone could see all the ugly shit in me and still... love me. It gave me something to hold on to."

Nam-Gyu’s eyes softened, but he stayed quiet.

"I just... I want to be that for you. Whatever it is you're carrying. I want to know it. I want to help you hold it. Even if it's heavy. Even if you're scared I’ll look at you differently. I won’t."

A heavy silence settled between them. The only sound was the soft hum of conversation from the other tables and the occasional sizzle from the grill.

Nam-Gyu’s eyes slowly glossed over, breath hitching as he blinked a few times. "Fuck, babe..."

"I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to—"

"Don't. Don’t apologize."

Nam-Gyu looked away, breathing through his nose, clearly trying not to cry in the middle of the restaurant.

Thanos waited, giving him space.

After a moment, Nam-Gyu spoke again, quieter this time.

"It's not that I don’t want to tell you. It's just... I’ve spent so long pretending everything was fine. With my family. With... everyone. Even when it wasn’t. And with you... I don’t want to ruin this. I don’t want you to look at me and... feel sorry for me."

Thanos’s heart cracked right down the middle.

"I wouldn’t. I never would."

Nam-Gyu’s eyes flicked back to him, vulnerable in a way that made Thanos’s chest ache.

"I’m scared," Nam-Gyu whispered. "Of what it'll feel like... if I let all of it out."

Thanos reached across the table, brushing his fingers against Nam-Gyu’s wrist before taking his hand in his own.

"Then let me be scared with you. You don’t have to do it alone anymore."

Nam-Gyu’s grip tightened, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The world faded. Just them, in this tiny restaurant with greasy tables and cheap side dishes and something fragile between them that felt terrifying and safe all at once.

Nam-Gyu sniffed, letting out a shaky laugh. "God, you’re so annoying."

"Yeah, but you love me."

"I do."

Thanos’s heart stumbled.

"I love you too."

They let go when the waitress returned with the rest of their food, but Thanos barely tasted anything after that.

"Alright," Nam-Gyu mumbled through a mouthful of rice. "You want the truth?"

Thanos raised a brow. "Always."

"I left work early because... my boss slapped my ass."

Silence.

Then Thanos slammed both fists on the table, the sound echoing through the small restaurant and making a few people turn and stare.

"Motherfucker."

Nam-Gyu grinned. "Before you go commit actual homicide... I quit."

Thanos blinked. "...What?"

"I quit. Told him if I ever hear him pulling that shit with anyone else, I'd bury him. Then I walked out."

Shock flickered across Thanos’s face. "You... actually quit?"

"I really fucking quit."

It hit him then — the reality of walking away from that place. From the drugs. From the people who treated him like shit.

He hadn’t just quit a job. He quit the version of himself that thought he couldn’t do better.

"Holy shit," Nam-Gyu mumbled. "What did I just do?"

"You saved yourself," Thanos said softly.

Nam-Gyu’s eyes stung. He looked away, blinking rapidly. "Thanks for being proud of me."

"Always."

A beat of quiet.

"...And now feels like a great time to circle back to the 'moving in with me' thing."

Nam-Gyu groaned. "Are you seriously bringing that up right now?"

"You said you’d think about it."

"I just quit my job, bro."

"Are you freaking out?"

Nam-Gyu blinked.

"...No."

"Maybe that’s because you’re finally allowed to want something good."

Nam-Gyu let out a breath. "Alright. I’ll move in."

Thanos’s face lit up. "Wait... seriously?"

"I swear to God, if you get weird about it, I’m leaving."

"I’m already weird about it."

Nam-Gyu shook his head, smiling despite himself.

For the first time in forever...

The idea of staying didn’t feel so terrifying.

And maybe...

Maybe this was something he was allowed to keep.

Notes:

Yes, Jax and Thanos will meet, and yes, they will be friends.

Also, I thought the line where Thanos says, "I’m literally rich." would be funny because, ya know, canon.

(And the eyeliner was inspired by a picture I saw of T.o.p)

Chapter 23: Broken Family

Notes:

Sorry, this chapter took so long, it's been a busy last couple of days lol.

Anyway I edited the last chapter a bit to fix the way the dialogue read! Nothing changed plot-wise, so if you've already read it, don't worry. Oh, and I think I finally figured out how many chapters this fic will be! I've set it to 30 but it could go over just a bit.

Nam-Gyu paced around the kitchen while Thanos crouched on the floor, refilling Doom's bowl with wet food. She purred softly, weaving between Thanos's legs before settling to eat.

"Uhh, babe?" Nam-Gyu's voice cut through the quiet hum of the apartment.

Thanos glanced up, still in his sleepwear, hair a mess from the night before. He raised a brow. "Yes?"

Nam-Gyu hesitated. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his oversized sweater. "You good?"

The question was light, teasing almost, but they both knew what Nam-Gyu was really asking. Thanos was supposed to be at a press event today, officially announcing that he was "off the market." Meanwhile, Nam-Gyu... was about to meet a grandmother he never even knew existed.

Thanos let out a soft sigh and set the empty can of cat food on the counter. "You're the one pacing like you're about to meet God, and you're asking if I'm good?"

Nam-Gyu snorted. "Just living life. Freeloading in your apartment. Thriving."

Thanos rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

He stood up, crossing the space between them with that effortless grace Nam-Gyu secretly found unfairly attractive. Thanos reached out, resting a warm hand against Nam-Gyu's cheek. His thumb brushed lightly over his skin, grounding him.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" Thanos said softly.

Nam-Gyu's chest tightened at that. The intimacy of it. The safety. He leaned into the touch, his own hand coming up to rest over Thanos's.

"I know..." he murmured.

They stood there for a moment, the quiet between them heavy but familiar.

"I can skip the press thing," Thanos offered. "Come with you. Meet her together."

Nam-Gyu shook his head quickly. "No, no. You've already put that off for too long. Go... tell your fans you're officially taken and sober or whatever." He forced a smile and slipped Thanos's hand off his face before stepping back.

Thanos gave a soft laugh, but his eyes lingered on Nam-Gyu.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay." Thanos hesitated for a beat before leaning in, pressing a quick kiss to Nam-Gyu's temple. "I'll be back before dinner."

Nam-Gyu nodded.

As Thanos moved to grab his phone and disappear into the bedroom, Nam-Gyu stayed rooted in the kitchen, Doom now circling his feet. His heart felt heavy.

He hadn't even known his grandmother was alive until two weeks ago. What was he supposed to say to her? What if she was just like the rest of his family? Cold. Distant. Another person who'd look at him and see disappointment.

The sound of Thanos moving around in the other room faded into the background as Nam-Gyu stared blankly at the floor.

"I can do this," he whispered to himself.

He wasn't the same scared kid who ran from his family.

He had Thanos now. He had a home that felt safe. And for once...

He didn't have to do this alone.

Nam-Gyu sighed and leaned against the wall by the big window in the living room— a living room that, strangely enough, he could now call his own.

It had only been two days since he moved in with Thanos, but the weight that had sat on his chest for years felt a little lighter. No more awkwardly wondering if he was overstaying his welcome, no more sleeping on strangers' couches or working doubles just to avoid going home.

This... this was safe. And for once, he could breathe.

Outside the window, the city was alive with its usual morning rush. Cars honked, people rushed to work or school, and the world kept moving like it always did. Nam-Gyu let himself get lost in the view, watching the world carry on without him.

The moment of peace was cut short when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Nam-Gyu pulled it out, checking the caller ID: Ji-Ho.

Shit. Is he okay?

Without hesitation, he answered and pressed the phone to his ear.

"Hey, Nam-Gyu—"

"Are you okay? Shouldn't you be at school?" The words tumbled out faster than he meant to, panic already setting in.

There was a brief pause on the other end before Ji-Ho responded, sounding unimpressed.

"...You done? Or should I wait for you to have a full breakdown first?"

Nam-Gyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just tell me what's wrong, Ji-Ho."

"Nothing! I just... I finished my test early, and they let us leave when we're done. The bus won't come for hours, and I don't wanna walk. Can you come get me? Maybe we could hang out or something after."

Nam-Gyu glanced at the time on his phone. School only started an hour ago.

"Didn't you literally just get there? If you're lying to get out of class, I'm gonna be seriously disappointed."

Ji-Ho groaned, "Bro, I'm not lying! I swear it was just easy stuff. Come on, please? We could do something fun after!"

Nam-Gyu couldn't help the small smile that crept onto his face. Even if Ji-Ho was exaggerating about how 'easy' the test was, he couldn’t really say no.

"I can come get you... but I'm meeting someone today. Our grandma. On Dad's side."

The line went quiet.

Nam-Gyu shifted uncomfortably, already regretting bringing it up. He hated talking about their dad with Ji-Ho. The guy was a ghost to him, disappearing before Ji-Ho was even born. And as much as Nam-Gyu hated to admit it, part of him still carried the guilt their mom shoved onto him for being the reason he left.

"...Can I come too?" Ji-Ho's voice was smaller now, uncertain.

Nam-Gyu blinked in surprise.

"If you want," he said softly. "She sounded nice on the phone, so... I don't think she'd mind."

There was a beat of silence before Ji-Ho spoke again, quieter this time.

"Cool. I'll be waiting out front."

Nam-Gyu hung up and let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

Maybe this was a good thing.

If Ji-Ho and their grandma got along, maybe... maybe it could be the way out for Ji-Ho. A chance to feel like he belonged somewhere.

Nam-Gyu pocketed his phone and turned toward the kitchen, where he could hear Thanos humming, trying to pick out something to wear. The thought of Thanos, still half dressed well, digging through his closet, hair a mess from bed, made something warm bloom in Nam-Gyu's chest.

He could get used to this.

"I'm heading out, Thanos!" Nam-Gyu called over his shoulder as he grabbed his keys from the counter.

Thanos, still crouched near Doom’s food bowl, hummed in acknowledgment. "Text me when your press thing is done!" Nam-Gyu added, slipping on his shoes.

"Love you!" Thanos shouted just before the door shut behind him.

Nam-Gyu stood there for a moment, his back against the apartment door, the echo of Thanos’s words settling in his chest.

Even though they had already said it before, "I love you" still had a way of catching him off guard. Maybe because, he actually believed it when Thanos said it to him.

Shaking off the warmth creeping up his face, Nam-Gyu pushed himself forward and made his way down the corridor toward the elevator.

First, pick up Ji-Ho. Then, drive to the address his grandma gave him.

It still felt weird calling her that. Grandma.

A part of him felt like he shouldn’t. He had no memories of her, no childhood stories about visits to her house or birthday cards in the mail. Until a few days ago, she had been nothing more than a complete stranger.

And yet… she had reached out.

Nam-Gyu wasn’t sure what he had expected when she picked up the call, but he definitely hadn’t expected her to sound so gentle. She didn’t sound like she blamed him for anything. She didn’t sound like she hated him, like his mother did.

She had just sounded… kind.

It was almost disorienting.

But for once, he wanted to believe that maybe—just maybe—he still had some kind of family out there.

---

The drive to Ji-Ho’s school wasn’t long—about twenty minutes, give or take, depending on traffic.

Nam-Gyu drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, his head nodding slightly as he hummed along to a song playing through the speakers.

It was from a playlist Thanos had practically forced him to listen to, claiming it was a “life-changing masterpiece” or something dramatic like that. Nam-Gyu had rolled his eyes at the time, but truthfully? It wasn’t bad. He’d never admit that to Thanos, though—his ego was big enough already.

A red light brought him to a stop, and he glanced around, watching as morning life unfolded around him. Parents hurried their kids into school buildings, some half-dressed in work attire, coffee cups clutched in hand. Teenagers strolled down sidewalks, some in groups, others with their headphones in, looking like they wanted to be anywhere but school.

Nam-Gyu sighed and leaned back into his seat. At least Ji-Ho didn’t seem to hate school.

When the light turned green, he pressed on the gas, pushing forward through the familiar streets.

Ji-Ho’s school was coming into view now, students scattered near the entrance, some waiting for their rides, others lingering around like they had nowhere else to be.

Nam-Gyu pulled up near the front and pulled out his phone, firing off a quick text:

[I’m outside.]

A few seconds later, he saw Ji-Ho push through the school doors, scanning the area before his eyes landed on Nam-Gyu’s car. A grin spread across his face, and he jogged over, slipping into the passenger seat with a dramatic sigh.

“God, finally,” Ji-Ho groaned, tossing his backpack onto the floor. “I thought I was gonna rot in there.”

Nam-Gyu snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Your suffering is over, kid. Buckle up.”

As Ji-Ho clicked his seatbelt into place, Nam-Gyu put the car in drive, pulling away from the school.

“Alright,” he said, casting a quick glance at his little brother. “You ready for this?”

Ji-Ho hesitated for a second before shrugging. “I guess. She nice?”

Nam-Gyu tapped his fingers against the wheel. “She sounded nice.”

Ji-Ho didn’t say anything right away, and Nam-Gyu didn’t push.

They had both spent their lives learning to expect the worst from family.

But… Hopefully, this time would be different.

Nam-Gyu was just about to drive past a Bibimbap place when Ji-Ho suddenly sat up straighter, his eyes lighting up as he pointed excitedly at the restaurant.

“Ohhh, wait! Let’s go there—I didn’t eat breakfast.” His voice was almost whiny with urgency, and Nam-Gyu barely had time to process before he was already slowing down to turn into the small parking lot.

“What? Why?” Nam-Gyu shot him a concerned glance as he pulled into a space, his mind instantly running through a dozen worst-case scenarios.

Ji-Ho hesitated, then shrugged as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “I wanted to get to school early to finish my test early… so I could leave early.” His voice was quieter now, like he wasn’t sure if Nam-Gyu would be annoyed or impressed. Then, as if realizing he still needed to sell his case, Ji-Ho turned in his seat, clasping his hands together in exaggerated pleading. “Sooo, please! I’m starving!”

Nam-Gyu sighed, shaking his head as he put the car in park. “Yeah, okay. You’re lucky I missed breakfast too.”

Ji-Ho cheered under his breath, already reaching for the door handle.

They stepped out into the crisp late-morning air, the smell of sizzling meat and freshly cooked rice already drifting from the restaurant’s entrance. The sign above the door was a little worn, but the place looked clean, and Nam-Gyu had always trusted hole-in-the-wall spots more than big chains anyway.

As they walked inside, the warmth of the restaurant immediately wrapped around them, the comforting scent of gochujang, sesame oil, and sizzling vegetables filling the air. A middle-aged woman behind the counter greeted them with a polite smile before motioning for them to take a seat wherever they liked.

They slid into a booth near the window, Ji-Ho immediately grabbing a menu while Nam-Gyu leaned back against the seat, stretching his arms above his head.

“You seriously skipped breakfast?” Nam-Gyu asked, watching as Ji-Ho skimmed the menu like he was studying for an exam.

“Yeah,” Ji-Ho admitted, not looking up. “Didn’t want to waste time this morning. Plus, school breakfast sucks.”

Nam-Gyu huffed. “Could’ve at least packed something.”

Ji-Ho finally glanced up, smirking. “Like what? You know mom barely keeps food around, plus do you even keep any in yours either?”

Nam-Gyu made a face, grabbing a menu just to avoid the argument. “First of all, rude. Second, fair.”

Ji-Ho snickered before looking back down at the menu. “Anyway, let’s just order. I’m getting extra beef.”

Nam-Gyu hummed in agreement, scanning the options before waving down the woman at the counter.

Once they placed their orders, Ji-Ho sat back, drumming his fingers on the table. “So… Grandma, huh?”

Nam-Gyu exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Grandma.”

“You nervous?”

“A little,” Nam-Gyu admitted, tapping a finger against the menu. “Not sure what to expect.”

Ji-Ho shrugged. “At least she’s alive.”

Nam-Gyu’s gaze flickered to him, reading between the lines.

At least she stuck around.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, but when the food arrived, Ji-Ho’s entire mood shifted, eyes widening at the steaming bowl placed in front of him.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Ji-Ho grinned, grabbing his chopsticks immediately. “This looks amazing.”

Nam-Gyu chuckled, shaking off the heaviness from earlier. “Better be. You dragged us in here.”

Ji-Ho took his first bite, letting out a satisfied hum. “Worth it.”

Nam-Gyu smiled, finally digging into his own bowl.

They could deal with the whole ‘meeting Grandma’ thing after. For now, breakfast came first.

Between chews, Ji-Ho made conversation, completely unbothered as he scooped another bite of rice into his mouth.

“So—how’s dating a famous guy going?” he asked, the words slightly muffled as he chewed.

Nam-Gyu barely processed the question at first, too busy reaching for a napkin and holding it out to him. “Boy, you’re fifteen, chew with your mouth closed—” He stopped mid-scold, his brain catching up. “Wait, what did you just ask me?” His voice came out sharper than he intended, panic creeping in.

Ji-Ho grinned, clearly enjoying his reaction. “Dude, I go on the internet. When my brother starts trending for dating a rapper, I notice.”

Nam-Gyu blinked, trying to process the words. Trending?

“What do you mean trending?” he demanded, leaning in closer, his voice dropping like he was afraid someone might overhear them.

Ji-Ho gave him an unimpressed look, like he couldn’t believe Nam-Gyu was this out of the loop. “Yeah... How do you not know? It’s when you were at your job, and you were holding hands—seriously, you didn’t know?” Ji-Ho looked baffled, shaking his head. “I mean, I get that it was a few weeks ago now, but people are still talking about it.”

Nam-Gyu leaned back in his seat, staring blankly at his little brother.

He knew Thanos had mentioned he was trending, but he thought he’d meant himself, not that they were trending.

Nam-Gyu swallowed, his appetite suddenly fading. “Wait, wait, wait.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “So, people—like, actual people, not just fans of Thanos—are talking about me?”

Ji-Ho snorted, clearly amused. “Uh, yeah. Some people were freaking out about it—like, ‘who’s this guy?’ ‘how long have they been dating?’” Ji-Ho waved his chopsticks in the air dramatically. “Some were weird about it, but most people were cool. It was mostly just a bunch of speculation.”

Nam-Gyu groaned. “God…” He dropped his head back against the booth. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

Ji-Ho snickered, taking another bite. “Well, that’s what happens when you date someone famous.”

Nam-Gyu sat up again, exhaling through his nose. “Yeah, but I thought it was more like… I don’t know, just his business, not mine.”

Ji-Ho shrugged. “Welcome to dating a celebrity.” He took another bite of food before smirking. “So? What’s it like? Any rich boyfriend perks?”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes. “I’m not dating him for money.”

Ji-Ho grinned. “Duh, but like… does he buy you cool stuff?”

Nam-Gyu sighed, picking at his food. “No, but he does feed me.”

“Nice.” Ji-Ho nodded approvingly.

Nam-Gyu shook his head, still feeling overwhelmed. “I can’t believe people were talking about it.”

Ji-Ho snickered. “Bro, people still are.”

Nam-Gyu groaned again, dropping his head onto the table.

Ji-Ho patted his arm sympathetically. “Hey, at least you’re famous now.”

Nam-Gyu lifted his head just enough to glare at him. “I don’t want to be famous.”

Ji-Ho just grinned, stuffing another bite of food into his mouth. “Too late.”

Nam-Gyu sighed, rubbing his eyes, exhaustion creeping in despite the fact that it was barely past noon.

A part of him had known dating Thanos would lead to something like this. He wasn’t naïve—Thanos was a public figure, someone whose every move could turn into a headline overnight. When they’d made things official, Nam-Gyu had told himself he could handle it. Hell, he’d told Thanos he could handle it.

He just hoped he was right.

His fingers drummed against the table as he sat back, exhaling slowly. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of being with Thanos—far from it. But it was weird knowing strangers had opinions about him, about them. People he didn’t even know, dissecting their relationship like it was some drama to be analyzed.

He could already picture the comments—some positive, sure, but others…

Nam-Gyu shook his head. Nope. Not going there.

Instead, he reached for his drink and took a slow sip before setting it down with finality. “Yeah, well, finish your food so we can get this show on the road.”

Ji-Ho snorted. “Bro, what?”

Nam-Gyu blinked, replaying the words in his head. Damn. He's been spending too much time with Deok-Su.

Ji-Ho smirked. “That was so something a cartoon character would say.”

“Shut up.” Nam-Gyu flicked a stray grain of rice off the table.

“Next thing you know, you’ll be throwing punches and talking in third person.”

“Ji-Ho, I swear—”

Ji-Ho laughed, stuffing the last bite of food into his mouth before dramatically pushing his plate away. “Alright, alright, I’m done. We can go meet the mysterious grandma now.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but stood up anyway, grabbing his phone and wallet before pulling out some cash for the bill.

As they stepped outside, the sun was warmer than he expected, the sky clear and bright. Nam-Gyu took a deep breath, trying to shake the lingering unease from their earlier conversation.

Ji-Ho stretched beside him, looking up at him with that easy grin. “So… do I gotta be, like, polite or whatever? What’s the deal with this grandma?”

Nam-Gyu shrugged, leading the way to his car. “I don’t know, man. I’ve never met her either.”

Ji-Ho frowned. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah.” Nam-Gyu unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat, waiting for Ji-Ho to buckle in before starting the engine. “She... reached out to me a few days ago. Said she wanted to meet.”

Ji-Ho hesitated before asking, “Did she, like… ever try before? When we were kids?”

Nam-Gyu tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he thought about it. “I don’t think so. Or if she did, no one told me.”

Ji-Ho was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “That’s kinda messed up.”

Nam-Gyu huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. But, I mean, she’s reaching out now.” He glanced at Ji-Ho. “Figured it wouldn’t hurt to see what she’s like.”

Ji-Ho nodded slowly. “Yeah. I guess.”

As Nam-Gyu pulled onto the road, he glanced at his brother again. “You sure you wanna come? You don’t have to.”

Ji-Ho shrugged. “I wanna see what she’s like too.”

He didn’t like lying to Ji-Ho about how he’d found their grandmother, but Nam-Gyu had spent years carefully avoiding anything related to their dad when talking to him.

It wasn’t that he wanted to keep secrets—it was just easier.

Ji-Ho had never met their father, and as far as Nam-Gyu was concerned, that was for the best. The man had been nothing but a ghost in their lives, an absence more than a presence, a wound that never fully healed. And their mother? She’d made sure Ji-Ho grew up believing their father had abandoned them because of him.

Nam-Gyu hated that.

He hated that Ji-Ho carried that weight without even knowing the truth.

So when Ji-Ho asked how he’d gotten their grandmother’s number, Nam-Gyu had shrugged and said, She reached out to me.

A half-truth.

The reality was that he’d gotten the number from their father—his father. A man he hadn’t seen in years. A man he hadn’t even planned to visit, but somehow ended up doing just that.

That visit had been nothing short of fucking bizarre.

The cold, gray walls of the prison. The awkward silence between them. The way their father had looked at him, like he was seeing someone he used to know rather than his own son.

And then, out of nowhere, the man had given him the knowledge of a grandmother.

No explanation. No heartfelt reasoning. Just a piece of paper slid across the table, as if it was nothing.

And now, here he was, about to meet a woman he’d never known existed.

Ji-Ho had no idea about any of this, and Nam-Gyu planned to keep it that way. At least for now.

Because Ji-Ho didn’t need to know that their father—locked up and irrelevant as he was—still had the power to slip into their lives like an unwanted shadow.

---

The drive took just over twenty minutes, but to Nam-Gyu, it felt both too fast and agonizingly slow at the same time. Every minute that passed brought him closer to something unknown—something he wasn’t sure he was ready for. Ji-Ho sat beside him, unusually quiet, scrolling through his phone but not really looking at anything. The weight of what they were about to do hung heavy between them, unspoken but undeniable.

As they got closer, Nam-Gyu found himself gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, his knuckles turning white. He forced himself to take a slow breath, glancing briefly at the GPS before turning onto a quieter, older-looking street. It wasn’t like the busy city blocks he was used to. The buildings here were smaller, the streets lined with trees that still held traces of winter’s chill. The houses, though modest, looked well-kept, each with its own small garden or set of potted plants by the entrance.

It was strange to think that somewhere among them was the home of a woman who had been a complete stranger to him until now. A woman who, apparently, had been alive all this time while he’d spent years believing he had no one.

Nam-Gyu stole a glance at Ji-Ho, who had finally looked up from his phone. His younger brother’s face was unreadable as he stared out the window, taking in the unfamiliar neighborhood.

“Looks kinda old,” Ji-Ho mumbled, shifting in his seat.

Nam-Gyu hummed in agreement, though his focus remained on the road. He slowed the car as the GPS announced their destination, pulling up in front of a house with a pale blue exterior and a dark wooden door. It was small but welcoming, the kind of house that felt lived-in, like it had stories to tell. A wind chime dangled from the porch, swaying gently in the breeze.

Nam-Gyu parked the car but didn’t move to get out right away. His heart was beating too fast, his hands still gripping the wheel.

Ji-Ho let out a small sigh and nudged him with his elbow. “You good?”

Nam-Gyu swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah… just—”

“I know,” Ji-Ho said before he could finish. He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t need to.

They sat there for a moment, neither of them moving, both of them caught between the past they had been trying to escape and the uncertain future waiting just beyond that wooden door.

Then, finally, Nam-Gyu exhaled and unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Alright,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “Let’s do this.”

Ji-Ho followed his lead, and together, they stepped out of the car, making their way toward the house where a grandmother they had never met was waiting.

Nam-Gyu took a slow breath, steadying himself before raising his fist to the door. His knuckles hovered for a moment, hesitating, but before he could overthink it, he knocked. The sound was firm but not too loud, his pulse thrumming in his ears as he waited.

It only took a few seconds—just long enough for doubt to creep in—before the door creaked open. An elderly woman stood there, peering at them with wide, searching eyes. Her presence was quiet yet overwhelming, the kind of warmth that made Nam-Gyu feel both welcome and incredibly unprepared for whatever was about to happen.

The moment she truly saw him, her expression crumpled. Tears welled up in her eyes almost instantly, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. Her trembling hand reached toward his face, stopping just shy of touching his cheek, as if she wasn’t sure she was allowed to. Then, slowly, she pulled it back, pressing it over her heart instead.

“I…” Her voice wavered, thick with emotion. “I’m sorry—it’s just so good to finally meet you.”

She smiled through the tears, and it was the kind of smile that made Nam-Gyu’s throat tighten—the kind that made you want to step forward and let yourself be held, even when you weren’t sure if you could.

“Oh… it’s okay,” he murmured, struggling to find words. He wanted to say more, to say something that mattered, but everything in his head felt too small, too incomplete for this moment.

Beside him, Ji-Ho fidgeted slightly, his gaze flickering between Nam-Gyu and the woman standing in front of them. His voice, when he finally spoke, was small and uncertain.

“Wow, you… uh, kinda look like her.”

Nam-Gyu glanced at him, brow furrowing slightly, before realization hit. Him. Ji-Ho was talking about him.

Ji-Ho looked away almost immediately, his attention shifting to the tree in the yard, as if he couldn’t bear to meet either of their eyes after saying it.

The elderly woman followed his gaze toward him, her expression softening even further.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry—I haven’t even asked your name.”

Before Ji-Ho could answer, Nam-Gyu did it for him.

“This is my little brother, Ji-Ho.”

Na-Rae’s eyes shone with something indescribable as she looked at Ji-Ho. She gave him the same warm, gentle smile she had given Nam-Gyu, as if she had already been carrying them in her heart long before this moment.

“Well, Ji-Ho,” she said kindly, “it’s so wonderful to meet you, too.”

Ji-Ho shifted on his feet, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Yeah… you too,” he mumbled, still avoiding eye contact.

Na-Rae took a small breath, wiping at her eyes before stepping back and opening the door wider.

“Come in,” she said, her voice thick with emotion but steady. “Please, both of you. It’s been far too long already.”

Nam-Gyu swallowed hard and glanced at Ji-Ho before stepping forward. Whatever this was—whatever it would become—it had already started.

As Nam-Gyu and Ji-Ho walked through the house, they passed walls lined with old family photos, each one a frozen moment in time. Some were faded, their edges curling slightly with age, but the emotions captured within them still felt vivid. Nam-Gyu caught glimpses of familiar features—strong jawlines, tired eyes, warm smiles. Then, unexpectedly, he saw a photograph of their father.

He slowed to a stop, drawn to a particular frame. It held an image of a much younger version of their father, standing beside two other boys and an adult man. The setting looked rustic, a lake in the background shimmering under the sunlight. His father looked carefree, younger than Nam-Gyu had ever seen him, his arms slung over the shoulders of the other boys.

Ji-Ho, noticing Nam-Gyu’s sudden stop, turned to see what had caught his attention. His gaze landed on the same picture, his head tilting slightly as he studied it. A moment later, Na-Rae noticed their pause and turned to see what they were looking at.

Her expression softened, a distant, almost wistful look in her eyes. “That was the summer all the boys went to the lake,” she said, her voice warm but laced with nostalgia. “Their father—your grandfather—used to love fishing when he was younger. He’d take them out as often as he could.”

Nam-Gyu glanced at her, catching the way her lips pressed into a sad smile as she recalled the memory.

“Oh,” he started, hesitating for a moment. “Is he, um… not around anymore?”

Before he could finish the thought, Ji-Ho spoke up, his curiosity pushing past any hesitation.

“Which one is Dad?” he asked, stepping closer to the picture and squinting at the faces. Then he turned his head to Na-Rae, waiting for an answer.

She blinked in surprise before letting out a small, breathy laugh. “You can’t tell?”

Ji-Ho didn’t respond, just kept staring at the picture, his brows furrowing slightly.

Nam-Gyu exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s never, uh… met him before.”

Realization dawned on Na-Rae’s face, her lips parting slightly as she placed a hand over her mouth. She let out a quiet, understanding “Oh,” her expression briefly clouding before she composed herself.

“I see,” she murmured, her gaze softening as she turned back to the picture. After a moment, she reached out and pointed to the boy standing in the middle.

“That’s him right there,” she said gently. “Your father.”

Ji-Ho stared at the image for a long moment, as if trying to memorize every detail. Nam-Gyu glanced at him, wondering what was going through his little brother’s head.

“And to answer your question, Nam-Gyu,” Na-Rae added, turning to him, “your grandfather is still here. He’s just resting right now, so you’ll have to meet him later.”

Nam-Gyu nodded slowly, unsure how he felt about that. This was already a lot to process, and meeting another relative—one who had likely been just as absent—felt like adding another weight to his already heavy thoughts.

Still, there was something grounding about standing here, looking at this photo, realizing how much history they had been unknowingly connected to. Ji-Ho, usually restless and impatient, remained quiet, his eyes still fixed on the image of their father.

For the first time in a long while, the past didn’t feel so far away.

Na-Rae lingered for a moment, her fingers brushing over the edges of the framed photograph before exhaling softly. With one last glance, she placed it back in its spot and turned, motioning for them to follow as she walked down the hallway.

“Just this way, boys,” she said, her voice warm and inviting. “I have some tea brewing, and we can sit down and get to know each other a bit more.” Just saying it seemed to lift her spirits, her smile growing a little brighter.

Ji-Ho hesitated, his gaze flickering between Na-Rae and the photographs on the table. There was something about them that seemed to hold his attention in a way nothing else had. He turned to Nam-Gyu, then back to Na-Rae, his voice quiet but certain.

“Actually… if it’s okay, can I stay and look at more of these photos first? I’ll join you guys later.”

Nam-Gyu shifted his gaze to Na-Rae, silently asking for her permission. She followed Ji-Ho’s line of sight, her expression softening with understanding before she nodded.

“Of course, dear. Take your time,” she assured him. “There are also some photo albums over on that bookshelf if you’d like to look through them.” She gestured toward a large bookshelf lining the wall, its shelves filled with neatly arranged albums and framed pictures.

Photo albums?

Nam-Gyu couldn’t remember ever having photo albums of his childhood. If there were any pictures of him growing up, they were probably just the ones from school—the kind handed out in stiff little envelopes, quickly forgotten in drawers or lost over time. The thought unsettled him for reasons he couldn’t quite put into words.

Ji-Ho followed her gesture, his eyes landing on the bookshelf. After a brief pause, he nodded. “Okay. Thank you, ma’am.”

Na-Rae smiled, warm and patient, before continuing down the hall.

Nam-Gyu lingered for a moment, watching his little brother as he carefully picked up a nearby frame, his fingers tracing its edges. There was something almost reverent in the way he looked at it, like he was searching for pieces of something he had never gotten to see before.

Nam-Gyu placed a hand lightly on Ji-Ho’s shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Ji-Ho gave a small nod, still focused on the photo in his hands.

With that, Nam-Gyu turned and followed Na-Rae, his thoughts trailing behind him like echoes of a past he wasn’t sure how to fit into yet.

They stepped into a spacious yet cozy living room, the scent of something faintly floral lingering in the air. The walls were adorned with old paintings—landscapes, portraits, and still-life pieces that seemed to hold years of history. A large, well-worn leather couch sat in the center of the room, flanked by two homemade-looking side tables, their surfaces carefully polished. A matching coffee table rested in front of the couch, and on the opposite side of the room sat two big leather armchairs, their cushions slightly indented from years of use.

It was warm. Lived-in. Comforting.

And it made Nam-Gyu fucking furious.

Because this—this quiet, homely space—was here. It had existed all this time while he had been locked in a dark closet, tears streaming down his face, gasping between muffled sobs, his small body trembling with fear. It had existed while his mother had pressed his arm against the hot metal of the stove, holding him there as he screamed, punishing him for daring to try and take her phone.

He had been seven.

Nam-Gyu exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face as if he could shove the memories away with it. He willed himself to focus, to stay present.

Na-Rae’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, gentle but firm. “Please, have a seat wherever you like.”

Nam-Gyu glanced around before choosing one of the armchairs, lowering himself onto the cool leather. He rested his arms on the armrests, fingers lightly tracing the texture as if grounding himself. Na-Rae settled onto the couch across from him, watching him with a quiet, patient warmth.

For the first time since arriving, Nam-Gyu really took her in.

She had long, gray hair tied up in a neat bun, a simple white long-sleeved shirt draped over her frame, partially hidden beneath a knitted shawl embroidered with delicate flowers. Gold-framed glasses rested on her face, adding to the softness in her features. She had an air of gentleness about her, something inviting—something that made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t ready to examine.

“The tea will be ready soon,” Na-Rae said, folding her hands in her lap. “Until then, please, I’d love to know everything about you. How old are you? What’s your favorite color? And that tattoo on your arm—what does it mean?”

Her excitement was palpable, like she had been waiting her entire life for this moment. And in a way, she probably had.

Nam-Gyu cleared his throat. “Uh… well, I’m twenty-seven. Lately, I’ve been really into purple, I guess. And this…” He shifted his arm slightly, glancing down at the inked design on his upper arm. A woman’s head, tilted slightly, framed by curling snakes that wove around her in intricate patterns. “I designed this tattoo myself.”

Na-Rae’s eyes lit up with wonder. “Designed? Oh! Do you have an art career? You clearly do beautiful work!”

Nam-Gyu blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. He used to draw all the time—sketching on napkins, in notebooks, on whatever he could find. But then… life happened. Drugs. Club work. Survival. Art had fallen to the back burner, buried beneath everything else.

“I used to,” he admitted after a pause. “Not so much anymore. I worked at a club for a while, but now… I’m just trying to figure out what I want to do.”

Na-Rae leaned forward slightly, her expression kind but insistent. “Well, are you still interested in art? I’m sure you’d do amazing if you pursued it.”

Nam-Gyu hesitated. The idea of picking up a pencil again, of creating something that was his—it was tempting. But it also felt… complicated.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “Maybe.”

Na-Rae simply smiled, as if she already knew the answer he wasn’t ready to say out loud.

“Well, if you do get back into it, I’d love to see some of your work.” Na-Rae’s smile was warm, reassuring, the kind that made something in Nam-Gyu’s chest tighten unexpectedly.

He shifted in his seat, exhaling slowly. “Can I… ask questions too?” He wished his nerves would settle so he could just talk like a normal person, but his throat still felt tight, his words coming out more hesitant than he liked.

Na-Rae’s face lit up a little more at that, as if she had been waiting for him to ask. “Of course, anything you want.”

Nam-Gyu had a lot of questions.

Why didn’t you ever reach out?
Did you know Dad left?
Did you ever try to find us? And if you did… did you give up?

But the words tangled in his throat, too heavy, too much. Instead, he settled on something simpler. “Did you know about us?”

He was surprised his voice didn’t waver.

Na-Rae leaned back, closing her eyes for a moment, as if gathering herself before answering. When she opened them again, her expression was distant, lost in memories.

“Years ago, your father was off at college,” she began, her voice quiet but steady. “Everything was going so well for him. He had a scholarship, was the head of the college football team… he had a future ahead of him.” The small smile she had carried earlier faded, replaced by something sad, something worn with age.

“Then, one day, he came home and told us he was getting married. That he was going to be a father.”

Her hands rested in her lap, fingers loosely curled as she let out a slow breath. “I wish I could tell you we handled it better. But we were… shocked. Devastated. He had been on this path, this bright, promising road, and then—just like that—it was all turned upside down by someone we had never met. It felt like a waste.”

She closed her eyes briefly, her shoulders tensing before she spoke again. “Not that children aren’t miracles. No, you kids… you were a gift. A blessing.” Her eyes softened, but the sorrow in them was still evident. “If only things had been different.”

Nam-Gyu remained silent, his fingers curling slightly against the armrest of the chair.

Na-Rae’s gaze met his again, the corners of her mouth tilting downward. “After we reacted negatively, your father never spoke to us again. The last thing he sent was a single photograph—your sister, Mi-Cha, on the day she was born. And then… nothing.”

She swallowed, her voice turning more fragile. “Your mother never reached out. We never knew where you were or how you were doing. For years, it was silence.” She hesitated before adding, “We didn’t find out about you kids until your father was arrested.”

Nam-Gyu’s breath hitched.

Na-Rae’s hands gripped the fabric of her skirt slightly. “By the time we learned the truth, all of you had either grown up or left home. We didn’t know where to look, how to find you.” She blinked, her expression shifting slightly. “And I didn’t know about Ji-Ho until today.”

Nam-Gyu’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t sure how to feel—wasn’t sure if he was relieved to hear this or if it only made things worse.

Because now, there was something he couldn’t stop thinking about.

She would have taken them in.

If she had known. If she had found them earlier. Would they have had a chance at a better life?

Nam-Gyu let the silence settle between them, thick and heavy, like the weight in his chest. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to react to any of this. But before he could dwell too much, a sharp whistling sound echoed from a nearby room.

“That’s the tea. I’ll be right back, honey.”

Na-Rae stood up with ease, brushing off her shirt before heading toward the sound.

Honey.

His mom had never called him anything like that. Not once.

His throat tightened, and he curled his fingers into his palms.

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath. He felt like crying, but no. He wasn’t going to do that.

He let out a shaky exhale, only now realizing how long he had been holding his breath. Needing a distraction, he pulled out his phone.

It was a little past noon now, and the clouds outside had thickened, a dull gray blanketing the sky. Looked like it might rain soon.

No messages from Thanos yet.

He was probably still caught up with press stuff, and Nam-Gyu didn’t want to bother him. But God, he wished he could hear his voice right now. Not the smooth, controlled one he used for the public—the one that sounded effortless but was really just another performance. No, he wanted the voice Thanos used when he was messing around with Mi-Na, laughing and teasing. Or the quiet, affectionate one he used when he tried to “kiss all the freckles on his face,” despite Nam-Gyu insisting, over and over, that he didn’t have any.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely noticed Na-Rae returning, a tray in her hands with two cups of steaming tea.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I brought honey, milk, and some plain old sugar,” she said, setting the tray down on the coffee table.

“Thanks.” Nam-Gyu reached over, grabbing one of the cups and taking a tentative sip.

He had always been more of a coffee person. But Thanos liked to drink tea whenever his anxiety got bad, and somehow, over time, Nam-Gyu had started drinking it too.

Na-Rae settled back onto the couch, cradling her own cup. Her expression softened, but there was something hesitant in her eyes. “Would you mind telling me a bit about Ji-Ho? He can’t be older than sixteen.”

The worry in her voice made Nam-Gyu hesitate. He had spent so long shoving these things down, burying them so deep he hoped they would never surface again. But here, in this strangely homely space, with a woman who should have been a stranger but didn’t quite feel like one… He found himself answering.

“Well,” he exhaled slowly, steadying himself. “That’s kinda why I reached out to you.”

Na-Rae didn’t say anything, only waited.

Nam-Gyu tightened his grip around the cup, feeling the warmth seep into his fingers. “Our mother—our mother,” he corrected himself, “to put it simply, never loved any of us.”

The words came out bitter, heavy. He stared into his tea, watching the way the brown liquid swirled when he tilted the cup slightly.

“Hell, I don’t even think she loved Dad,” he muttered, letting the thought settle between them.

Na-Rae remained quiet, listening.

Nam-Gyu took another deep breath, then continued. “She’d yell at us, hit us, ignore us for hours—sometimes days. Sometimes months.” His voice was steady, but there was something sharp underneath it, something raw. “There was even this one time she ditched me and a three-year-old Ji-Ho on somewhere in town because the guy she was with didn’t want to get high around kids.”

Na-Rae sucked in a breath, eyes widening.

“It was the dead of winter,” Nam-Gyu went on, the memory clawing its way back to the surface. “Ji-Ho got a cough. A bad one. It took me six hours to get him to a hospital, and no one stopped to help. The doctor said if it had been any longer…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “He would have died.”

Na-Rae covered her mouth with her hand, eyes glossy with unshed tears.

Nam-Gyu exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “And the worst part? When I saw her again two days later, the first thing she said to me was, ‘Oh your back.'”

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “That’s when I knew—I was going to die if I stayed with her. But I stayed anyway. Until I was eighteen. Only for Ji-Ho.”

He finally looked up, meeting Na-Rae’s gaze. There was no pity in her eyes, only something deep and aching, something that made his chest feel unbearably tight.

“I never wanted him to feel the way I did that day,” he finished quietly.

For the first time since he walked into this house, Na-Rae reached across the table, hesitating for only a second before placing a hand over his. Warm. Steady.

“You did everything you could,” she said softly.

Nam-Gyu didn’t respond.

He wasn’t sure if he believed that.

Na-Rae didn’t say anything right away, didn’t rush to fill the silence or offer empty reassurances. She just sat there, watching him with careful eyes, her hand still resting over his. It was warm—warmer than he expected—and steady, grounding in a way that almost made him fall apart completely.

Nam-Gyu sucked in a breath, then let it out slow, his fingers tightening around the ceramic cup. The heat seeped through his skin, but he barely registered it. His chest felt tight, his throat clogged with something heavy and miserable.

“Thanks…” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. He cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together. “But I just—” He let out a sharp breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I just want to get Ji-Ho out of that house before it ruins him like it did me. Like it did all my other siblings. Fuck, even Dad.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to look at her again. Na-Rae’s eyes were steady, full of something he didn’t recognize—something too soft, too understanding. It made his stomach twist.

“If I’m being honest, I don’t even really know what I’m asking you,” he admitted, his voice cracking at the edges. “I just—I can’t let her ruin him like she ruined everything else.”

The words came out rushed, unsteady. The rawest truth he had ever spoken aloud.

Tears welled up in his eyes before he could stop them. He clenched his jaw, blinking rapidly, hating the way his throat burned, hating the way his body betrayed him like this. He hadn’t cried in front of anyone in years. He had forced himself not to, because no one had ever given a shit before.

But Na-Rae wasn’t looking at him like he was pathetic. She wasn’t turning away, wasn’t shifting in discomfort or telling him to suck it up. She was just there. Present. Listening.

Nam-Gyu looked away, pressing his lips together tightly. He took another breath, but it shuddered on the way out.

“I tried to hold on,” he muttered. “Tried to do everything right. I knew—I knew she didn’t love us. But I thought maybe if I just—if I was better, if I didn’t cause trouble, if I kept my head down long enough, maybe she’d at least care.”

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Stupid, right?”

Na-Rae’s brows pinched together. “No,” she said softly. “Not stupid.”

He ignored the way his chest tightened at that and kept going, kept unraveling because now that he had started, he didn’t know how to stop.

“I held on as long as I could. I stayed because I had to. Because Ji-Ho needed me. But even then, I knew—” His breath hitched, and he swallowed hard, blinking up at the ceiling. “I knew she was never going to change. I knew she was going to keep taking and taking and taking until there was nothing left of me. And I was right.”

He exhaled sharply, his shoulders shaking. “I barely made it out. I barely made it at all. And now, Ji-Ho’s still there. Still trapped in that house with her, and I—” His voice cracked, and he shut his eyes for a moment. “I can’t let her do to him what she did to me. I won’t.”

His grip tightened around his cup, the ceramic warm against his fingers. “I just—I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix this.”

The words came out desperate, raw. And for once in his life, he wasn’t saying them into empty space.

Na-Rae reached for him again, this time fully clasping his hand in hers. She squeezed, firm and steady, pulling him back from the edge of whatever abyss he was spiraling toward.

“We’ll figure something out,” she said, her voice calm, unwavering. “You’re not alone in this, Nam-Gyu.”

Nam-Gyu clenched his jaw, trying to will the stinging in his eyes away.

He had never been able to trust those words before. But for the first time, he wanted to.

Na-Rae’s voice was firm but gentle, unwavering in a way that made Nam-Gyu's chest ache.

"I'm here," she said, her hand still wrapped around his, grounding him. "I let your dad walk out that door, and I didn’t see him again until it was too late. I can’t change that. But I can do something now. And I will."

Her grip tightened, just slightly, as if to reassure him, as if to make sure he believed her.

"I’m going to do everything I can to help you and Ji-Ho," she promised, her voice steady.

Nam-Gyu swallowed hard, trying to keep his emotions in check. He wanted to believe her. God, he wanted to believe her so badly it hurt.

A small, warm smile curved her lips again, softening her expression. "So dry those tears and finish your tea. You’ve already been through enough—I won’t let you carry this alone anymore."

She leaned back, reaching for her own cup, taking a slow sip before continuing, almost casually—almost like she was talking about the weather.

"I was a county court judge for over twenty years," she said, her tone light but carrying weight. "I think I can handle this."

Nam-Gyu blinked. He stared at her, processing her words, the sheer confidence in them, the sheer certainty in her voice.

"You—" He paused, then shook his head. "You were a judge?"

She let out a quiet chuckle, nodding. "Retired now, but yes."

Nam-Gyu exhaled sharply, almost laughing, but it came out a little breathless, a little disbelieving.

"You could’ve led with that," he muttered, wiping his sleeve across his eyes before reaching for his tea.

"And miss the dramatic reveal?" Na-Rae teased lightly, but her gaze remained soft, warm. "Where’s the fun in that?"

Nam-Gyu shook his head, huffing a quiet laugh, but his grip on the cup tightened. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know what he felt.

For so long, it had been just him against the weight of everything. No one had ever offered him help like this before. No one had ever been here like this before.

It felt foreign. Unfamiliar. But also… maybe, just maybe, a little bit like hope.

Notes:

Hiii! I hope this chapter was good! I give myself a bit of burnout trying to finish it 😂

Anyways! Have a lovely day or night you wonderful readers <3

Chapter 24: The Day Before The Storm

Notes:

Hiii everyone! Sorry, updates have been so slow these last few weeks; life's been busy as hell lol. But good news! I got my cast off a few days ago. :D

Though it's still technically broken, it's gonna take 6 more weeks, but it's a lot better now

(Also I got really invested in A Killer Paradox lolll)

Nam-Gyu sighed as he pushed the apartment door open, stepping inside and closing it behind him. The familiar warmth of home settled around him, but the weight of the day still pressed heavy on his shoulders.

He had spent a little over two hours at Na-Rae’s house, talking through everything—his past, his mother, Ji-Ho, and what came next. Then he’d dropped Ji-Ho off at a friend’s place; they’d planned a small celebration for finishing their exams, something he didn’t want to take away from his little brother, even with everything else going on. Ji-Ho had been excited, practically bouncing out of the car. Nam-Gyu had lingered for a moment after watching him go inside, then finally turned back toward home.

Now, standing in the quiet entryway, something felt off.

After a few seconds, he noticed Doom hadn't come running up to him for pets, which usually meant one thing.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, shifting his bag on his shoulder. "Babe?" he called, loud enough that only someone inside the apartment would hear.

A beat passed before a muffled voice answered from across the way.

"Bedroom."

Nam-Gyu smiled to himself, already feeling some of the tension from earlier ease out of his chest. Leaning off the doorframe, he kicked off his shoes and padded toward the bedroom, the dim lighting already visible through the slight crack in the door.

Pushing it open, he found Thanos sprawled out on the bed, looking completely exhausted. Doom was curled up by his legs, her tail flicking lazily against the comforter in contentment. Thanos had his phone in hand, blue-light glasses perched on his nose, his purple hair a mess—clearly still in whatever outfit he’d thrown on this morning after Nam-Gyu left.

Thanos looked up as soon as he heard the door open, setting his phone down on his stomach. His tired eyes softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"How was it?" he asked, voice quiet but warm.

Nam-Gyu stepped further inside, leaning against the dresser. "Emotionally challenging." He let out a small huff, rubbing the back of his neck before tilting his head at Thanos. "But what about you? You look completely worn out."

Thanos groaned dramatically, throwing himself backward against the bed with a huff. "Ugggh, interviews suckkk."

Nam-Gyu chuckled, stepping closer to sit on the edge of the bed. "Wanna talk about it?"

Thanos peeked at him from the pillow, lips quirking. "Mmm… nah. Today’s about you." He reached out, patting the empty space beside him. "Now come here and tell me all about your day."

Nam-Gyu scooted up, laying down next to him. The moment he settled, Thanos shifted, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him in so that Nam-Gyu’s head rested just beneath his chin.

A deep, contented sigh left Thanos as he pressed his nose into Nam-Gyu’s hair.

Nam-Gyu let himself relax, enjoying the warmth, the quiet.

"First of all," he murmured, "we’ll circle back to you after."

Thanos chuckled, but didn’t argue.

"But yeah," Nam-Gyu continued after pausing, "it was actually kinda nice to meet someone I’m related to who isn’t a massive asshole. And get this—she was a judge for like twenty years. So for the first time in forever, it actually feels like I can really help Ji-Ho."

Thanos hummed approvingly, his hand resting on the nape of Nam-Gyu’s neck, fingers gently scratching at his skin. "That’s fucking awesome, Nam-Su," he mumbled, voice slightly muffled against Nam-Gyu’s hair. Then, with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times, he pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead.

He closed his eyes, melting into the touch. And ignoring the "Nam-Su"

Thanos had gotten so much better at initiating affection in the past couple of weeks, and Nam-Gyu loved every second of it.

"Now," He murmured, voice softer, "tell me how your interview went."

Thanos groaned dramatically, dragging a hand through his messy hair. "I guess it was going okay until they started grilling me about really personal shit—which, yeah, I knew they were gonna do it, but still."

Nam-Gyu lifted his head slightly to glance at him. "Like what?"

Thanos scrunched his nose. "Relationships. Not that I don’t like talking about our friends. And especially not you. I mean, I could go on for hours about how cute your freckles are, or how your hair fluffs up when it dries—"

Nam-Gyu decided to shut him up with a kiss.

Thanos let out a surprised noise before immediately kissing back, his hand tightening on his waist.

When he pulled away, there was a teasing glint in his eyes. "Yes, I love you to the moon and back too. But you were saying?"

Thanos cleared his throat, his ears tinged pink. "Right. Where was I? Oh, yeah—so, they were asking all these dumb questions—"

Nam-Gyu listened as Thanos went on, talking animatedly about the rest of the interview. He had always liked that about him—how he could talk for hours, filling the silence with stories and humor. It worked out that Thanos loved to talk, he had never really liked talking about himself; it made him feel too exposed. But with Thanos, conversation never felt like something he had to force.

He just… existed, and Thanos filled in the spaces.

"And then finally," He groaned, "the whole thing was over. And now here I am, with a hot dude in my arms." Thanos grinned, looking down at Nam-Gyu. "You should meet him—he’s great."

Nam-Gyu snorted, shoving him lightly. "Wow, is he single? Because I was just looking for a new boyfriend. The one I have makes these stupid yet adorable jokes."

Thanos gasped, pressing a hand to his chest like he was personally offended. "And to think I was just about to ask you a very important question."

Nam-Gyu arched a brow, playing along. "Oh yeah? And what would that be?"

Thanos suddenly sat up, grabbing both of Nam-Gyu’s hands and slotting them between his own.

Nam-Gyu blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift.

What the hell was he doing?

Thanos took a deep breath, his face serious. "Nam-Gyu, I know we’ve only been dating for about two, three months…" He paused for dramatic effect, squeezing Nam-Gyu’s hands.

His brain short-circuited.

No way. No fucking way.

Was Thanos about to—?

Holy fuck, he’s proposing.

Nam-Gyu felt his heart rate skyrocket, panic clawing at his throat. Marriage? Now? He loved Thanos to pieces, but that was not a step they were ready for.

But he didn’t stop him.

Thanos cleared his throat. "Would you do me the honor of—"

Nam-Gyu’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

He grinned at him. "—linking our Spotify accounts?"

Nam-Gyu could feel his brain as it screeched to a halt.

"...Huh?"

Thanos burst into laughter, nearly doubling over at Nam-Gyu’s completely dumbfounded expression. "Dude, I’m not that stupid! Proposing is, like, a big fucking deal! If I was gonna do it, it would be way cooler than just sitting in bed."

Nam-Gyu groaned, shoving him away. "Fuck off, asshole. You fake propose to me after the day I’ve had?"

Thanos smirked. "So… is that a yes to Spotify?"

Nam-Gyu sighed. "Yes, I’ll link Spotify accounts with you."

"Yay!" Thanos threw his hands in the air.

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, but his lips betrayed him with a soft smile. "You're such a dork," he muttered, shaking his head.

Thanos smirked, leaning back on his hands with an exaggerated look of confidence. "And yet, here you are, hopelessly in love with me. Kind of embarrassing for you, babe."

Nam-Gyu huffed, reaching over to flick Thanos’s forehead, earning a dramatic gasp in response. "Shut up," he said, though his tone was far from serious.

Thanos recovered quickly, sticking his tongue out like a brat. "That only proves my point, baby."

The nickname did exactly what Nam-Gyu intended—it made Thanos's smug expression falter for half a second as a faint blush crept up his ears.

Nam-Gyu grinned. "See? Still works."

Thanos scoffed, but his lips twitched like he was fighting back a smile. "Yeah, yeah, whatever—just kiss me already."

Nam-Gyu hummed, pretending to consider it. He let the silence stretch for a moment, watching Thanos grow impatient. Then, with a teasing glint in his eyes, he finally leaned in, pressing their lips together.

Thanos melted into the kiss immediately, one hand slipping to Nam-Gyu’s waist, the other tangling in the fabric of his hoodie as he deepened it. Nam-Gyu could feel the warmth radiating off him, the familiar scent of Thanos’s cologne mixed with something softer—home.

When they finally pulled apart, Thanos sighed dramatically. "Mmm, yeah, that’s the good stuff. Almost makes up for the emotional trauma you just put me through."

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes. "Emotional trauma? You’re the one who fake-proposed."

"Yeah, but did you see your face?" Thanos grinned, resting their foreheads together. "Priceless."

Nam-Gyu groaned, but he didn’t pull away. "You're lucky I love you."

Thanos hummed in agreement, running a hand lazily up and down Nam-Gyu’s spine. "I really am."

And just like that, the world outside their little bubble faded away.

---

The rest of their night was simple, comfortably domestic in a way Nam-Gyu was still getting used to—but one he found himself craving more and more.

They ate dinner, something quick but satisfying, curled up on the couch with their plates balanced on their laps. Thanos grumbled about interviews again while Nam-Gyu listened, chiming in with sarcastic comments here and there just to make him laugh. Doom had claimed her usual spot on the back of the couch, lazily flicking her tail as she watched them.

Afterward, Thanos went through his nightly skincare routine, which now included Nam-Gyu. Ever since he moved in, Thanos had insisted it was good for him, despite Nam-Gyu’s initial complaints. But at this point, it had become part of their nightly ritual—Thanos patting serums and creams onto his face while Nam-Gyu sat still, pretending to be annoyed when, in reality, he secretly liked how gentle Thanos was with him.

Now, Nam-Gyu was waiting in bed while Thanos changed. He watched from his spot under the covers, head resting against the pillow, as Thanos rummaged through his messy closet, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"I swear you didn't have this many steps before I officially moved in," Nam-Gyu teased, tilting his head.

Thanos turned around, pulling his shirt off in one smooth motion. "Please don’t act like you don’t enjoy the view." He smirked, stretching his arms over his head before tossing the shirt aside. "And, in my defense, most of the nights you stayed over before? We had sex. I was too tired afterward to do anything else."

Nam-Gyu let out a laugh. "Alright, fine, the view is nice," he admitted, letting his eyes drift over Thanos’s body.

Which was true. Thanos had a nice body—toned but not overly defined, his skin soft and warm under Nam-Gyu’s touch. His tattoo stretched across his back, the deep black ink a stark contrast against his skin. It was an expensive tattoo, something he had gotten in the thick of his career, when money wasn't a problem you could get some insane tattoos.

Still digging around in his closet, Thanos let out another huff before suddenly shutting the doors. "Fuck it, sleeping shirtless it is." He turned back around, rubbing the back of his neck. "I seriously need to go through that shit, though. I feel bad that none of your clothes are in there." His voice softened at the end, an apologetic look crossing his face.

Nam-Gyu just gestured for him to come over. "It’s okay, Su."

Thanos responded the only way he knew how—by practically collapsing onto Nam-Gyu, pressing his face into his neck. The weight of him was familiar, grounding.

Nam-Gyu let out a small chuckle as he ran his hands down Thanos’s back, tracing the lines of his tattoo with his fingertips. Thanos made a quiet, content noise in response, too comfortable to move.

After a moment, Nam-Gyu spoke again, his voice quieter now. "Did I ever tell you I did most of my own tattoos?"

Thanos turned his head slightly, just enough so his lips weren’t pressed into Nam-Gyu’s skin anymore. "No shit? That’s fucking cool. Which ones?"

Nam-Gyu lifted a hand, pointing first to the woman with snakes on his arm. "This one," he murmured before moving to another. A horseshoe with stars along the top, a lucky number seven inked into the center. "And a few others."

Thanos hummed, running his fingers lightly over the number seven. "Did you do them yourself or just draw them?"

Nam-Gyu huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Did them myself. Well, mostly. There was this guy, Jax, who worked at the club. He had a tattoo gun, so one night after work, I went over to his place, got tipsy, and tattooed myself for the first time." He smirked at the memory, his voice filled with something close to pride.

Thanos let out a small, sleepy laugh. "That’s so on brand for you."

"Yeah? That’s when I got the smiley face with X’s for eyes. It’s on my upper thigh."

Without hesitation, Thanos pushed up the leg of Nam-Gyu’s shorts, fingertips brushing over the tattoo. "Ohhh, I like this one..." His voice was getting drowsy, softer.

Nam-Gyu smiled, letting his hands drift lazily up and down Thanos’s back. The warmth of his skin, the slow rise and fall of his breathing, the way he was completely relaxed against him—it was moments like this that made it easier to push away the worst parts of the day.

"You’re cute," Nam-Gyu mumbled, well Thanos tucked his head back against his neck with a sigh. Nam-Gyu’s fingers stilled for just a second before resuming their slow movements. 

He thought about what Na-Rae had said earlier. "Do you think I could tattoo full-time? Like Se-Mi?" His voice was a little hesitant now, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask the question.

"Fuck yeah," Thanos said easily. "Hell, the first one you draw—" Thanos paused as he let out a long yawn. "Ahhnn... Sorry... I'll get it on me..."

Nam-Gyu chuckled. "That yawn was adorable."

Thanos made a small grumbling sound but didn’t deny it. His body was getting heavier, his breathing slowing as sleep started pulling him under.

Nam-Gyu reached for the sheets, pulling them over both of them, tucking them in comfortably.

"Really?" he asked again, even though he already knew Thanos wasn’t awake enough to answer properly.

He got a quiet, barely-there "Mmm" in response.

Nam-Gyu smiled to himself, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Thanos’s head before settling in.

"Alright, Su-Bong," he murmured. "I’ll talk about it more tomorrow... Love you."

Thanos didn’t answer—not in words, at least. But the way he nestled even closer, fingers curled loosely in Nam-Gyu’s shirt, was enough.

And just like that, Nam-Gyu let himself relax, warmth wrapped around him as he drifted into sleep.

Sleep came easier when he was with Thanos.

It had taken time to realize it—he had never been great at sleeping, too used to restless nights, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him, the occasional nightmares slipping in when he did manage to doze off. But now, things were different.

Since moving in, the nightmares had slowed down, their sharp edges dulled by the warmth of another person beside him. It was easier to drift off with the steady rise and fall of Nam-Gyu’s breath next to him, easier to wake up without feeling like something was missing.

And mornings like these, slow and unhurried, made it even better.

---

Sleep came easier when he was with Nam-Gyu.

It had taken time to realize it—he had never been great at sleeping, too used to restless nights, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him, the occasional nightmares slipping in when he did manage to doze off. But now, things were different.

Since Nam-Gyu moved in, the nightmares had slowed down, their sharp edges dulled by the warmth of another person beside him. It was easier to drift off with the steady rise and fall of Nam-Gyu’s breath next to him, easier to wake up without feeling like something was missing.

And mornings like these, slow and unhurried, made it even better.

Or at least, they were slow and unhurried—until Nam-Gyu decided they were not spending all morning in bed.

"Come on, we gotta go," Nam-Gyu murmured, nudging him.

Thanos groaned, burying his face in the pillow. "But our bed is so cozyyy," he whined dramatically, his voice muffled against the fabric.

Nam-Gyu laughed softly as he stood by the bed, already dressed, rolling his eyes as he reached down to scratch behind Doom’s ears. The cat purred contentedly, stretching out across the covers like she had no intention of getting up either.

"Meetings help me get stuff off my chest," Nam-Gyu said as he straightened, reaching for his jacket. "If you want, you don’t have to go with me this time."

It wasn’t meant to be a guilt trip, but Thanos felt it like one anyway.

He lifted his head just enough to give Nam-Gyu an affronted look. "No, no, I’m going," he said quickly, forcing himself to sit up. "I’m just cold. Sorry."

Nam-Gyu’s gaze softened. Before he could say anything, Thanos leaned in, cupping his cheek and pressing a warm, lingering kiss to his lips.

Nam-Gyu let out a quiet hum of surprise but melted into it, fingers grazing lightly over Thanos’s wrist. When they parted, Thanos gave him a small, lopsided grin.

"Besides," he added, stretching as he slid off the bed, "waffles."

That got a snort out of Nam-Gyu.

"Of course, that’s your real reason."

It kind of was. After most of their morning meetings, they and a few others from the group—Se-Mi, Gyeong-Su, and sometimes a few others—would head to a diner nearby. It was small, a little run-down, but it had good food, cheap coffee, and the kind of warmth that made it easy to linger in.

It was also where he and Nam-Gyu had breakfast together for the first time.

Thanos liked that place.

Nam-Gyu shook his head in amusement, giving Doom one last absent-minded pat before stepping toward the door. "No need to apologize, Su."

Thanos felt a pleasant warmth creep up his neck.

He liked it when Nam-Gyu called him Su.

Before the other could notice the blush creeping onto his cheeks, Thanos turned away, grabbing his jacket and opening the front door.

"Come on," he said, "if we’re late, Deok-Su’s gonna give me that look I hate."

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, smiling. "You know he’s just messing with you, right?"

"Joking or not, it’s like I’m back in high school and some teacher is glaring at me for being late all over again," Thanos muttered as he locked the door behind them.

Nam-Gyu laughed, already heading down the hallway toward the elevator.

By the time Thanos caught up, he reached out, lacing their fingers together as they walked.

It had taken a while for him to get used to the whole hand-holding in public thing. Not because he didn’t want to—just… old habits. Caution. But lately, Nam-Gyu had been dragging him outside more, insisting on walking everywhere now that the weather was nice again.

Oddly enough, Thanos didn’t mind as much anymore.

He squeezed Nam-Gyu’s hand, feeling the warmth of his palm against his own, steady and grounding.

Mornings sucked but being with someone he cared for so much, made them feel better.

Once they stepped outside, the crisp morning air greeted them, a stark contrast to the warmth of the apartment. The city was already alive—cars rolling by, distant chatter from people heading to work, the occasional bark of a dog from somewhere down the street. It smelled like fresh bread from a bakery nearby, mixed with the faint scent of morning dew clinging to the pavement.

Thanos stretched his arms over his head, letting out a contented sigh before reaching for Nam-Gyu’s hand again, intertwining their fingers. As they walked toward the community center, he started lazily swinging their hands back and forth, just enough to be playful.

Nam-Gyu gave him a side glance, clearly amused but pretending not to be.

"So," Thanos started, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone, "what tattoo would you give me?"

Nam-Gyu blinked, surprised by the sudden question, before his expression smoothed out. He looked ahead again, his gaze flickering over the street as if considering his words carefully.

"Depends," he said after a beat. "Do you actually want one, or are you just being nice?"

Despite the casual smile on his face, there was something in his tone—cautious, a little unsure. Like he wasn’t fully convinced Thanos was serious.

Thanos scoffed, tugging lightly on Nam-Gyu’s hand to make him look at him. "Hell yeah I’m for real! I’ve seen some of your doodles, and they’re amazing. I can’t imagine what you’d come up with if you actually took your time with it."

He had meant for it to sound reassuring, but it might’ve come off as just loud enthusiasm.

Still, Nam-Gyu laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and Thanos caught the soft blush dusting his cheeks. The sight made his chest feel lighter.

"Well," Nam-Gyu mused, tilting his head slightly, "I’d have to think about it… Maybe a cat or something."

Thanos smirked. "A cat? How original."

Nam-Gyu nudged him with his elbow. "Shut up, you like cats."

"I love Doom. There’s a difference."

Nam-Gyu hummed, pretending to consider this. "Mhm. So if I designed something, you'd really let me tattoo it on you?"

Thanos squeezed his hand. "No doubt."

Nam-Gyu didn’t say anything for a moment, lips pressing together in thought, before he gave a small nod. "I’ll think about it later—Oh!" He suddenly perked up, like he had just remembered something. "I might have to skip waffles today. I need to go to the post office to change my address. Realized the other day I haven’t gotten my mail in, like, a week."

Thanos wrinkled his nose. "Ew. You actually care about mail?"

Nam-Gyu shot him a flat look. "Yes, because I don’t want my bills and important documents getting lost, you idiot."

Thanos grinned, nudging him lightly. "You say that like I don’t just ignore my mail on purpose."

"That’s why you have overdue notices."

Thanos snorted. "That’s why I have a manager."

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, but there was fondness in it. "Must be nice," he muttered, shaking his head.

Thanos just grinned, leaning in a little as they walked. He liked this—the easy banter, the way Nam-Gyu was so effortlessly himself now, more comfortable than when they had first met. It made him want to keep moments like this going, to keep finding new things to talk about just to hear Nam-Gyu laugh again.

"Alright, alright," Thanos relented, swinging their hands again. "We’ll stop by the post office. Then waffles."

Nam-Gyu arched a brow. "I literally just said I wasn’t going to breakfast—"

Thanos grinned wider, unfazed. "Yeah, yeah, but I know you, baby—you’re weak for diner coffee and good company. You’ll cave."

Nam-Gyu groaned but didn’t let go of his hand. "You’re the worst."

"And yet," Thanos teased, pressing a quick kiss to Nam-Gyu’s temple before he could dodge it, "here you are."

Nam-Gyu huffed but didn’t argue.

And sure enough, Thanos knew he’d be sitting across from him at the diner later, complaining about how he wasn’t supposed to be there—but drinking the coffee anyway.

"I'm just saying, you can go without me so you don't have to wait—"

"Nope." Thanos popped the ‘P’ dramatically. "Wouldn’t be the same without you, Nam."

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes, but there was a trace of a smile playing on his lips. "It might take a while, though…" He let his voice take on a teasing lilt, as if daring Thanos to reconsider.

Thanos, of course, was unfazed.

They were nearing a crosswalk, and as they approached, Thanos reached out and smacked the button with a little more force than necessary. The street before them hummed with early-morning traffic—cars crawling forward, a motorbike weaving through the lanes with an impatient growl, the occasional honk cutting through the crisp air. A group of students in uniforms stood a few feet away, waiting for the light to change, their voices blending into an indistinct buzz of conversation.

"I have games on my phone for a reason," Thanos declared, stretching his arms above his head with an exaggerated groan. "I’ll be fineeeee." He dragged out the last syllable, grinning when Nam-Gyu gave him a side glance.

Nam-Gyu chuckled, shaking his head, and turned his attention to the pedestrian signal. The little red figure still stood firm, but the countdown had begun—ten seconds flashing in orange.

"Okay, okay," Nam-Gyu relented, tucking his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "But when you start complaining that you’re hungry, I legally have to tell you I told you so."

Thanos scoffed. "Pfft. Legally? Under what law?"

"My law."

"That’s some dictatorship bullshit, babe."

Nam-Gyu shrugged. "And yet, you’ll still sit through it."

Thanos let out a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to his chest like he was deeply burdened. "I suffer because I love you."

"Uh-huh." Nam-Gyu barely fought back a smile.

Before Thanos could push the teasing further, the countdown hit zero. The light changed, the red figure disappearing and replaced by the walking signal. The students next to them surged forward, their chatter rising as they crossed the street.

"Come on, before someone runs us over," Nam-Gyu said, nudging Thanos lightly before stepping onto the crosswalk.

"That’d be an interesting way to go." Thanos followed beside him, hands slipping into the pockets of his jacket. "Death by impatient morning driver. My manager would probably make it a PR stunt."

Nam-Gyu shook his head. "No one’s running you over, Su-Bong."

Thanos side-eyed him at the sound of his real name but didn’t complain. Instead, he fell in step beside Nam-Gyu, their pace matching effortlessly as they moved through the city. The air still held onto the cool remnants of the night, but the sun was steadily climbing, painting the tops of buildings in soft gold.

They passed by a bakery, the scent of fresh bread and sweet pastries curling into the air, mixing with the faint aroma of coffee from a small shop a few doors down. A stray cat lounged lazily near a row of bicycles, its fur ruffled from the morning breeze. Thanos glanced at it briefly, and Nam-Gyu caught the way his expression softened just a little.

"You so wanna take that cat home," Nam-Gyu accused, smirking.

Thanos scoffed, but his gaze lingered on the cat. "Doom would kill me."

"Yeah, but you’d die doing what you love—stealing stray animals."

"I don’t steal them," Thanos huffed. "I adopt them."

"Right, right," Nam-Gyu drawled. "And how many animals have you accidentally adopted before?"

Thanos didn’t answer immediately, which told Nam-Gyu everything.

"See?" Nam-Gyu nudged him. "I rest my case."

Thanos shook his head, but there was laughter hidden behind his sigh. "Focus, dumbass. We’re almost there."

Nam-Gyu grinned, bumping their shoulders together as they walked. The city carried on around them—buses stopping to let people in, early workers rushing into buildings, a street musician setting up with an old guitar near the subway entrance.

The morning unfolded around them, the city gradually stirring to life. The distant hum of traffic mixed with the rhythmic clicking of a cyclist’s gears as they sped past. The scent of fresh bread and coffee still lingered in the air, carried by a crisp breeze that ruffled Thanos’s hair. He barely noticed the chill anymore, too preoccupied with the warmth of Nam-Gyu beside him and the easy rhythm of their steps.

But before they reached the community center, there was one important thing Thanos needed to settle.

"Okay, but real talk," he started, tilting his head toward Nam-Gyu with a dramatic level of seriousness. "Cats or dogs?"

Nam-Gyu glanced at him briefly before looking back to the path ahead, his expression unreadable at first. "Well… as much as I love Doom—and you—"

Thanos narrowed his eyes at the pause. "Go on."

"I’ve always liked dogs more, but—"

Thanos let out a scandalized gasp, stopping in his tracks like Nam-Gyu had just declared something utterly blasphemous. "How could you!" he exclaimed, placing a hand over his heart as if personally betrayed. "After everything we’ve been through?"

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the amused smile creeping onto his lips. "Oh, come on."

"I trusted you," Thanos continued, feigning deep emotional distress as he staggered a few steps behind Nam-Gyu like a wounded soldier. "I let you sleep next to my cat, in my bed, under my roof—"

"Our roof," Nam-Gyu corrected, amusement thick in his tone.

"Don’t try to sweet-talk me now, traitor."

Nam-Gyu chuckled, reaching out to grab Thanos’s sleeve, giving it a light tug to pull him forward. "You didn’t let me finish, dumbass."

Thanos pursed his lips but allowed himself to be reeled back in, still keeping up the act of wounded pride. "Fine. Continue. Not that it’ll save you from my heartbreak."

Nam-Gyu gave him a knowing look, shaking his head. "Anyway. I like dogs more, sure, but cats are easier to take care of, and I do love Doom."

Thanos squinted at him suspiciously. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Like, really really?"

"Yes, really really."

Thanos let the silence stretch for a moment, his sharp gaze still scrutinizing Nam-Gyu as if looking for any sign of deception. Then, with a loud and dramatic sigh, he tossed his head back. "Ugh, fine. I guess I can forgive you."

Nam-Gyu smirked. "Oh, thank God. I was really worried there."

"You should be," Thanos said, bumping their shoulders together. "This is serious business."

They crossed another street, the community center finally coming into view. The old brick building wasn’t anything fancy, but it had become a place of comfort for them both. Outside, a few familiar faces lingered, sipping coffee from paper cups or smoking quietly near the entrance. Se-Mi was among them, wrapped in a thick hoodie, chatting with another girl Thanos recognized but couldn’t remember the name of.

He did remember she was one of the girls that showed up with Jun-Hee at the dinner party a few weeks ago.

"Okay," Thanos said, stretching his arms above his head before shaking off the lingering chill from the walk. "But, just so we’re clear—if Doom starts ignoring you because of this dog confession, that’s your fault."

Nam-Gyu scoffed. "Doom ignores me anyway."

"Yeah, but now it’ll be on purpose."

Nam-Gyu laughed, reaching for the door handle. "Come on, idiot. Let’s go before Deok-Su gives you that look again."

Thanos groaned but followed after him, the warmth of the community center wrapping around them as they stepped inside, their morning debate left behind but not forgotten.

---

Deok-Su did, in fact, give him that chilling look—the kind that made Thanos feel like he was back in high school, getting silently scolded by a teacher for slacking off. But luckily, the meeting was starting, so it didn’t last long.

Now, Thanos sat next to Nam-Gyu, listening to Mi-Nyeo as she spoke, her frustration palpable.

"And this asshole won't leave! I told the piece of shit I didn't want to buy a vacuum seven times—seven! But nooo, he just keeps standing there, smiling like a creep! Ugh, you know what, it's stupid, but talking about this is just pissing me off more." She exhaled sharply, crossing her arms. "Grateful to be sober, and thanks for listening to me."

There was a chuckle from across the room, and Thanos glanced up just in time to see Deok-Su shaking his head with a knowing smirk. There’s definitely something going on with those two, Thanos thought, watching the way Mi-Nyeo shot Deok-Su a playful glare.

Deok-Su, still grinning, leaned back in his chair and clapped his hands once. "Alright, who wants to share next?"

Beside him, Thanos felt Nam-Gyu shift slightly. A small, barely-there movement—fingers twitching against the fabric of his jeans, a brief intake of breath.

Then, Nam-Gyu raised his hand.

Deok-Su nodded, signaling for him to go ahead.

Nam-Gyu exhaled slowly before speaking. "I'm Nam-Gyu, and I'm an addict." His hands rubbed up and down his thighs, a nervous habit Thanos had seen before, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he listened, waiting.

"And… yesterday was kind of crazy," Nam-Gyu admitted. His voice was steady, but there was something underneath it—something uncertain yet hopeful. "I met a grandma I had no idea existed, and we had a really good talk. For the first time in months, I feel like I'm really getting somewhere." He paused, exhaling through his nose.

Thanos watched him closely, noticing the way his shoulders tensed, then relaxed.

"We talked about a couple of things," Nam-Gyu continued. "One of them was my art… which I haven’t thought about in years."

A ripple of quiet interest passed through the group. Even Mi-Nyeo, who had been stewing in her vacuum-salesman rage, tilted her head slightly in curiosity.

Nam-Gyu hesitated, rubbing at his jeans again, before letting out a soft chuckle. "It’s weird. I used to draw all the time when I was a kid. It was like my own little world, and for a while, it was the only thing that ever really felt mine." He swallowed. "But somewhere along the way, I stopped. I don’t know when, exactly. I think… I think maybe I was scared."

A few people nodded, understanding flickering in their eyes.

"I was scared that if I tried again, I wouldn’t be good enough," Nam-Gyu admitted. "That I’d look at my work and see nothing but mistakes. I was scared that whatever spark I used to have was just… gone."

His fingers curled into his jeans, gripping the fabric as he exhaled slowly. "But yesterday, my grandma told me something. She said, ‘I’d love to see some of your work.’"

Silence settled over the room, soft but weighty.

Nam-Gyu glanced down, a small smile tugging at his lips. "It felt weird to hear someone older then he say that," he admitted. "But… I think I want to try again. And I think that’s a start."

Thanos felt warmth spread through his chest, a quiet kind of pride.

"Thanks for listening," Nam-Gyu finished, and Deok-Su gave him a nod of approval.

There was a beat of silence before someone spoke up.

"What kind of art?" Mi-Nyeo asked, leaning forward slightly.

Nam-Gyu blinked. "Uh, mostly sketching. A little painting, but I was never great at that."

"That’s awesome," she said, nodding. "You should show us sometime."

Nam-Gyu laughed under his breath. "Maybe. If I don’t hate everything I draw."

Mi-Nyeo snorted. "Relatable."

Thanos nudged Nam-Gyu gently with his knee, offering a small grin. Nam-Gyu looked back at him, and for a moment, they didn’t need to say anything. It was just there—the quiet understanding, the shared space, the unspoken I’m proud of you.

The meeting continued, voices weaving together as others shared their thoughts and struggles. But for Thanos, the highlight of the morning had already happened.

Nam-Gyu was thinking about art again. And maybe, just maybe, he’d start believing in himself the way Thanos already did.

Across the way, Deok-Su nodded, a small but approving smile on his face. "Thanks for sharing, Nam-Gyu."

He let the words settle for a beat before scanning the room. "Anyone else?"

Thanos sat there, debating with himself. He hadn’t really planned on speaking today, but something about the warmth of Nam-Gyu beside him, the openness of the group, made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he should say something.

So, after a moment, he exhaled through his nose and raised his hand.

"Yeah, sup, Thanos. I'm an addict."

A few scattered voices murmured back the customary greeting.

"But that's nothing new," Thanos added with a smirk.

A soft ripple of laughter passed through the group. Even Deok-Su, though he shook his head, couldn’t quite hide his amused smile.

Thanos drummed his fingers against his knee before speaking again. "Let’s see… I had to do this thing for the press yesterday, which was boring as hell. But on some better news, I think the therapy I've been doing is actually helping me."

He shrugged, feeling a little awkward admitting it out loud. "I know that probably sounds fucking stupid when I’ve only had, like, five sessions, but… I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like I’m starting to get things now. Like there’s all this shit I buried so deep that I forgot it was even there, and now it’s all coming up."

Thanos let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. "And I think my dad was a big part of it."

The room was quiet, not the heavy kind of silence but the sort that meant people were really listening.

"I guess I was more upset about losing him than I thought I was," Thanos admitted, voice quieter now. "I never got to say goodbye. Never got to tell him off. And now I never will."

He swallowed, blinking a few times as the words settled over him.

"Finding that out was hard. But accepting it?" He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "That’s gonna suck ass."

Another soft chuckle from the group, though it was gentler this time. More understanding than amused.

Thanos inhaled, then forced a grin. "Well, that's all for now. Thanks, and take it away, Deok-Su!" He gestured dramatically, trying to lighten the mood.

Deok-Su huffed out a breath, tilting his head slightly. "Nice deflection," he muttered, but his tone was far from harsh.

Beside him, Nam-Gyu reached over, his hand resting atop Thanos’s own. A quiet, grounding touch. No words, just warmth.

Thanos liked Nam-Gyu’s hands—not just in a hot way, though, yeah, that too. But mostly in a way that felt safe.

They were slightly rough from the bar work he did, and his knuckles carried the history of old fights—small scars, faded over time, but still there. Proof that Nam-Gyu had fought, had survived, just like him.

And the way Nam-Gyu held his hand, the way his fingers curled gently around his own, it made Thanos feel less like he was floating and more like he was here. Present. Okay.

Without thinking, Thanos lifted their joined hands and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to Nam-Gyu’s knuckles.

Nam-Gyu glanced over at him, something soft and unreadable in his eyes. A moment passed between them—silent, full, enough.

Thanos didn’t need to say anything.

Nam-Gyu already knew.

Deok-Su’s voice carried through the room, steady and strong.

"If it’s alright with everyone else, I could take the last share for today?"

He let the question hang, his gaze sweeping across the group, giving anyone else a chance to speak first. He always did that—waited, made sure no one else needed the space more than he did. It was one of those things about Deok-Su that people probably didn’t always notice, but Thanos did. Even if he’d never say it outright, Deok-Su took care of everyone else before himself.

A few beats passed in silence. No one else raised their hand.

"Alright," Deok-Su nodded. "So, as a lot of you may know, I’m Deok-Su, and I’m an addict."

Thanos had noticed over the weeks that Deok-Su always introduced himself the same way, like he was reintroducing himself every time. It was a reminder, maybe, or a way of keeping himself grounded. But it also felt like a sad truth—there were a lot of people coming and going in this room. A lot of faces that didn’t stick around.

"And in about a week," Deok-Su continued, "I’ll be clean for twelve years."

Thanos blinked. Twelve years?

Shit. That was insane.

He wasn’t the only one impressed—around the room, there were murmurs of quiet congratulations, a few small nods of respect. Twelve years was a long time. A milestone most of them couldn’t even imagine reaching yet.

Deok-Su exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "It’s still hard to believe it’s been that long already. And if I’m being honest? I don’t even remember most of my first meeting."

A few knowing chuckles rippled through the room.

"I wish I could sit here and tell everyone that once you get that much time under your belt, the cravings stop. That the want just… disappears. That eventually, you feel normal again."

His voice was steady, but there was something heavy in the way he said it, something real.

"But sadly, that’s not how this works."

The warmth from before faded into something quieter, something heavier.

"Sometimes, after a long fucking day, I want to just numb the pain," Deok-Su admitted, voice dropping slightly. "Not even because anything major happened—sometimes it’s just stress. Sometimes it’s boredom. And sometimes it’s for no goddamn reason at all."

The room stayed still.

"But I don’t. And I haven’t."

He let that sit for a second.

"And a big part of that is because of everyone here," he continued, looking around the room. "Because after all these years, I’ve learned that—much like myself—if you’re here, it’s because you need someone to be there."

There was no hesitation in his voice. No doubt. Just something steady, something solid.

"And I’m not going to fall apart on you."

Thanos watched him, his fingers tightening slightly around Nam-Gyu’s hand.

Deok-Su looked intimidating—he always had. He had the kind of face that made people hesitate before speaking to him, the build of someone who could throw a punch and make it hurt. If Thanos didn’t know any better, he’d think Deok-Su was some kind of gang leader.

And maybe, at some point, he had been.

Maybe that was why Thanos had always assumed nothing could shake him. Deok-Su just had that presence—the kind that made him seem unbreakable. Like not even addiction could stop him.

So it was weird, hearing him talk about how he struggled.

But at the same time, it was… nice. Comforting.

Because if someone like him still had bad days—if even he still got cravings, still had to fight for his sobriety—then maybe the rest of them weren’t as fucked up as they thought.

Maybe struggling didn’t mean they were failing.

Maybe it just meant they were human.

Thanos swallowed, staring down at their joined hands.

It felt like there was hope.

Deok-Su let out a breath, rolling his shoulders back as he glanced around the room. His gaze lingered for a second—maybe just checking in, making sure his words had landed where they needed to.

"I won’t talk everyone’s ears off," he said, his usual gruffness returning, though there was still a trace of something softer underneath. "Thanks for listening. And if anyone needs to talk, I’ll be here helping clean up."

With that, he stood, smoothing his hands over the front of his worn-out hoodie. Then, like he always did, he bowed—a small, respectful dip of his head that had become a habit over the years.

Thanos had noticed it the first time he saw Deok-Su share. It wasn’t some grand, formal gesture—just a quick acknowledgment, like he was paying his respects to the space, to the people in it, to the stories they shared.

And then, as if he hadn’t just laid his soul bare, Deok-Su turned and walked over to the refreshments table, reaching for the coffee pot.

The scent of bitter, burnt coffee filled the air as he poured himself a cup, steam curling into the dim lighting of the room. He took a sip, winced, and muttered something under his breath before setting the cup down and rolling up his sleeves, already preparing to start tidying up.

Around the room, the energy shifted. Conversations picked up in hushed tones, chairs scraped against the floor as people started moving around, stretching, gathering their things. The weight of the meeting still hung in the air, but it wasn’t suffocating. If anything, it felt a little lighter—like the kind of silence that came after something real had been said.

Thanos exhaled slowly, squeezing Nam-Gyu’s hand once before finally letting go.

"Think he’ll ever admit he’s the dad of this whole group?" Thanos murmured, watching as Deok-Su methodically wiped down the table, pausing only to shake his head at Mi-Nyeo, who had already started bugging him about something.

Nam-Gyu snorted, his voice low but amused. "Not in a million years."

Thanos grinned. "Figured."

Still, as he watched Deok-Su sip his coffee and pretend like he wasn’t the one holding half the people in this room together, he felt a quiet kind of gratitude settle in his chest.

Maybe none of them were perfect. Maybe they’d never be.

But at least they had each other.

---

The walk to the post office was short, just a handful of blocks, but the morning sun had already begun its slow climb, casting soft golden light against the pavement. The streets hummed with the usual buzz of a weekday—people walking around enjoying the weather, the occasional bicycle weaving through traffic, a mother ushering a child forward by the hand as they neared a crosswalk.

Now inside, Nam-Gyu stood at the front desk, fingers tapping idly against the edge of the counter while the employee behind it typed away at his computer. The air smelled faintly of paper, ink, and something metallic, like coins left too long in a pocket. It was a quiet space, aside from the occasional murmur of conversation or the sound of someone rifling through a package.

A few feet away, Thanos lingered by a display, eyes scanning the wall of stamps with open curiosity. He was lost in thought, probably debating which ones to buy, because of course he’d find something to get excited about at a post office.

Nam-Gyu’s lips quirked, but before he could say anything, the worker cleared his throat, drawing his attention back.

"Okay, so I'll go ahead and change the old address out for the new one you've given me," the man said, glancing at his screen one more time.

"That's great, thank you," Nam-Gyu responded.

A few more clicks, then the worker hesitated. His brow furrowed slightly before he looked up again.

"It says we have a letter for you that failed delivery. We can resend it to the new address, or you can pick it up now."

Nam-Gyu blinked. A letter?

He shifted slightly. "Why is it here and not with any of my other mail?"

The employee turned back to his screen, clicking through whatever system they used before answering.

"It didn’t have a return address, and it was labeled important," he explained, then met Nam-Gyu’s gaze. "Want to take it now?"

Nam-Gyu hesitated, then nodded. "Uh, yeah. I’ll just take it now, then."

The man nodded and stood up, disappearing through a door into the back room.

Nam-Gyu exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. The air-conditioning felt cold against the back of his sweat-dampened skin, but he ignored it.

Before he could overthink it, Thanos spoke up.

"Oh my god, Nam-Gyu, they have cat stamps!"

Nam-Gyu turned, amused by the excitement in his voice. "What kind of cats?"

Thanos peeled his gaze away from the display long enough to flash a grin. "Cute ones. I'm buying them," he announced with a firm nod, already making his way toward the counter.

Nam-Gyu chuckled. "You're in a big cat mood today."

Thanos leaned against the counter beside him. "Blame Min-Su. He keeps sending me pictures of cats; I think he's trying to get me to adopt another one..." He trailed off, squinting like he was considering it.

Nam-Gyu laughed, shaking his head. "How about you think about it some more later so you don’t impulsively get another cat?"

Thanos sighed dramatically. "Mhmm, yeah, you’re right. Plus, I don’t live alone anymore. A new pet is now a two-way conversation. As Dr. Kim would say," he added, pointing at himself proudly.

Nam-Gyu smiled at that, about to tell him he was proud of him, but the worker returned before he could.

"Here you go, sir." The young man slid a white envelope across the counter. "You should be all set. Have a good day."

Nam-Gyu barely heard him.

His fingers closed around the envelope, but he could already feel the unease twisting in his gut. There was something about this—something heavy in the way it sat in his hands.

He nodded absently, stepping aside. "Go ahead and get your stamps," he told Thanos. "I'm gonna open this."

Thanos smiled, but Nam-Gyu had already tuned out, fingers carefully tearing open the top of the envelope.

He pulled out the folded sheet of paper inside, smoothing it out with his thumbs.

At first, the words were just shapes on the page. Then they began to register, line by line, sinking deep into his bones.

---

Dear Nam-Gyu,

I might be the last person you want to hear from, but I heard from a buddy of mine that you talked to Dad. From there, I found your address. Maybe I should have just talked to you face to face, but I didn’t want to force that onto you.

I understand if you don’t want to see me or are angry; I deserve it. But I’d like to see you and talk. I’m not sure when this letter will get to you, so here’s my number.

(xxx) xxx-xxxx

If I don’t hear from you, I’ll know my answer.

Thank you.

Sincerely, your brother Hak-Kun.

---

Nam-Gyu's vision blurred for a second, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

His fingers clenched around the edges of the paper.

A ghost from the past—someone he hadn’t thought he’d ever hear from again, not after everything.

His chest felt too tight, breath coming in shallow gasps as his mind scrambled to make sense of it. Why now? Why after all this time?

Everything felt distant, numb. The sounds of the post office faded into static. He was lightheaded.

His ears were ringing. His throat dry.

"Fuck—"

His legs gave out before he could stop himself. He barely registered the cold wall against his back as he slid down to the floor, the letter slipping from his hands.

Somewhere nearby, Thanos’s voice cut through the haze, sharp with concern.

"Nam-Gyu?"

Footsteps, hurried. The scent of Thanos’s cologne, familiar and grounding.

A warm hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, hey, what’s wrong?"

Nam-Gyu couldn’t answer. His breath was caught in his chest, like he was trapped underwater.

But then there was pressure—a steady weight. Thanos crouching in front of him, grabbing his hand, squeezing.

It gave him something to latch onto.

Nam-Gyu sucked in a sharp breath, eyes darting to Thanos’s face.

Thanos looked alarmed, eyes scanning him like he was trying to figure out what had just happened. Then his gaze flicked to the letter lying on the floor.

Wordlessly, he reached for it.

Nam-Gyu’s throat worked, but his voice was hoarse when he spoke.

"Don’t—" He swallowed. "Not yet."

Thanos hesitated, but nodded. He didn’t ask any questions—at least not yet.

Instead, he shifted, settling beside Nam-Gyu against the wall. His shoulder pressed against his.

A quiet show of support.

Nam-Gyu closed his eyes, trying to steady himself.

He didn’t know what to do.

Didn’t know if he should respond.

Didn’t even know how he felt.

But right now, Thanos was here. Warm, solid, real.

And maybe, for the moment, that was enough.

Notes:

I like to think Thanos was told to go into face care when he was in a boy band, and it just stuck lol.

If I'm being real with my self, this chapter could have started at the meeting part but I wanted to write a little bit about them living together.

Chapter 25: Filling The Time

Notes:

Hiii! its been a minute huh? Well anyways I wrote this chapter out. I can't promise that updates will be long and fast. But I will try my best!
Also sorry if the seasons changed I forgot what season I was writing before TwT

And i'm sorry if the quality isn't the best, I just really wanted to get this out ♡

Thanos sighed, his breath fogging faintly against the cool glass as he leaned a shoulder against the big window. The city stretched out beneath him, glittering in its early-night form—neon lights flickering on storefronts, the steady glow of streetlamps, cars streaming by like veins full of red and white light. It should’ve been calming, the kind of view people paid good money for. But tonight, all it did was remind him how small and powerless he felt.

The last few days had been… weird. Not in a way he could neatly label, either. Just off. Uneasy. Like the air between him and Nam-Gyu had shifted slightly, weighted down with something unsaid.

It had started at the post office, just a week ago.

One second, everything had been fine—normal even. They were joking about stamps, Thanos was ready to impulse-buy cat ones, and Nam-Gyu had been smiling. And then, in the blink of an eye, everything had unraveled.

Nam-Gyu had opened that letter, gone pale, and then collapsed against the wall like the weight of it had knocked him down. Thanos still remembered the sound—the envelope slipping from Nam-Gyu’s fingers and hitting the tile floor with the softest pap, followed by Nam-Gyu’s ragged breath.

Thanos hadn’t even thought. He’d just crouched, slid his arms under him, and lifted him up, ignoring the way Nam-Gyu felt limp and heavy in his arms. By the time he got him outside and into the cab, Nam-Gyu hadn’t said a single word.

And since then? Radio silence.

Nam-Gyu hadn’t told him what was in the letter. Hadn’t even hinted. That first night, he’d sat outside for an hour, chain-smoking in the cold until his fingers went numb. Then he’d come back in, smelled like smoke and winter air, and simply asked what they should do for dinner. Like nothing had happened.

And Thanos hadn’t pushed.

Maybe he should have. Maybe he shouldn’t have. He didn’t fucking know.

All he knew was that something in Nam-Gyu’s eyes had been different since that day. Harder. Distant, sometimes, like his head was somewhere far away and Thanos couldn’t follow.

Thanos pressed his forehead lightly against the windowpane, closing his eyes against the chill of the glass. Doom was curled up on the couch behind him, a little purring ball of warmth. The apartment was quiet, too quiet.

He wanted to ask. To demand answers. To shake Nam-Gyu until he finally told him what was eating him alive.

But at the same time, he didn’t want to be another person who pushed. Another person who cornered him.

So instead, Thanos stood there, looking out at a city full of strangers, and wondered how the hell he was supposed to be someone’s safe place when he didn’t even know what storm they were running from.

Meanwhile, Nam-Gyu was busy. Or at least that’s what Thanos told himself. Busy with his grandma, busy with Ji-Ho, busy with… well, anything and everything that wasn’t him. And maybe Thanos was being unfair, maybe he was overthinking it, but it had started to feel like the only time he really saw Nam-Gyu anymore was when they collapsed into bed at the end of the day—two exhausted bodies clinging to the comfort of sleep more than to each other.

And Nam-Gyu wasn’t just busy. He was distracting himself. Thanos could tell. It was the kind of “I’ll do anything except sit still” kind of busy. A kind of busy that meant he didn’t want to stop long enough for his thoughts to catch up to him. First, it was lunches with Na-Rae, then endless check-ins on Ji-Ho, making sure the kid was okay at his friend’s place. And then, as if his plate wasn’t full enough, Nam-Gyu had gone and picked up part-time hours at the tattoo shop where Se-Mi worked.

Thanos had to admit, it was kind of hot, imagining Nam-Gyu in that space, sketching designs, his hair falling into his eyes while he drew. But at the same time? It made Thanos ache. Because all that time Nam-Gyu spent there was more time not here. Not with him.

If anyone could understand being busy, it was Thanos. Shit, he’d built his entire adult life on being booked and pulled in seventeen different directions at once. Tours, rehearsals, interviews, photo shoots, club appearances, brand deals—it was endless. Back then, he thought that was normal. He thought it was just how life worked.

And then, suddenly, it wasn’t.

When his manager finally shoved him into NA and told him to get his shit together, Thanos had been left with days where he only had one thing to do. One. Some days, nothing at all. And it had been fucking terrifying. Like standing on the edge of a cliff with nothing below him, no net, no distraction to keep him from falling into his own head.

So yeah, Thanos knew what being busy really meant. It meant running. It meant hiding. It meant pretending.

And he hated that he could see those same cracks forming in Nam-Gyu now—the avoidance, the way his boyfriend kept dodging any conversation that drifted too close to the letter.

Thanos let out a heavy breath and dragged a hand through his hair. Doom meowed softly from the couch like she could feel the heaviness pressing down on him.

“Yeah, I know, Doomie,” Thanos muttered, his voice low, tired. “I miss him too.”

As Doom stretched her little paws and curled tighter into the blanket, a soft rumbling purr escaped her chest. Thanos couldn’t help but smile at the sound. It was grounding in its own small way, a reminder that not everything in the world was tangled and complicated. Doom wanted food, warmth, and scratches. Simple.

Nam-Gyu, though—that was different.

Thanos knew his boyfriend wasn’t avoiding him, not really. It wasn’t that Nam-Gyu didn’t want to be around him. No, the silence that had been hanging between them these past days wasn’t cold or resentful. It was heavier than that. He knew Nam-Gyu didn’t want to talk about the letter. How could he? Thanos had watched with his own eyes the way Nam-Gyu crumbled in that post office, shaking on the tile floor like the world had cracked open beneath him. That image was burned into Thanos’s mind, and every time he thought about pressing the subject, he saw Nam-Gyu’s pale face, his trembling hands.

So maybe Nam-Gyu figured Thanos was just… waiting. That he was biding his time until the silence became unbearable and the question finally tumbled out of his mouth: What did that letter say?

Thanos should have asked back then—outside, on the cold curb, when Nam-Gyu sat alone with smoke curling up into the winter air. He should have slid down beside him, should have put a hand on his back, should have said, Tell me. Whatever it is, I can take it. But he hadn’t. He thought Nam-Gyu needed space. He thought he was doing the right thing by giving it to him.

Now, staring back at it, maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe this silence wasn’t space at all—it was distance. And maybe it was his fault.

“Fuck,” Thanos muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face as he stepped away from the window. The city lights blurred at the edges of his vision, his reflection ghosting faintly in the glass.

He was spiraling again.

And worse? He knew it. He could hear that voice in the back of his head, the one that told him he was screwing it up, that he was already failing at being the kind of boyfriend Nam-Gyu needed. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to breathe. In. Out. The way Dr. Kim had taught him.

But still, that creeping thought lingered. If I’d just tried harder, maybe things would be better right now.

Thanos pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, trying to shove the thoughts back down where they belonged. But his mind kept clawing at him, dragging him toward that familiar pit. You should’ve asked. You should’ve tried harder. You should’ve—

His breath hitched, shoulders tightening. Doom shifted on the couch at the sound, her purr faltering before it started up again, steady and oblivious.

Then, through the static of his own head, another voice cut in.

Nam-Gyu’s.

“You don’t have to fix everything. Just being here is enough.”

He’d said it weeks ago, curled up beside Thanos after another long night. Thanos remembered the exact tone of his voice—quiet, a little tired, but steady, as if he’d thought about it before speaking. He remembered the weight of Nam-Gyu’s head on his shoulder, the brush of his hair against Thanos’s jaw.

Just being here is enough.

The words repeated, echoing against the noise in his skull until, finally, something inside him loosened. His lungs filled a little deeper. His chest didn’t feel quite so heavy.

Maybe he didn’t have to push. Maybe he didn’t have to demand answers or dig into wounds Nam-Gyu wasn’t ready to show him yet. Maybe all he had to do was be here—warm tea waiting, a light left on, a place beside him on the couch.

Thanos dropped his hand, blinking back the sting in his eyes, and let out a shaky laugh. Doom blinked up at him sleepily, as if unimpressed by his dramatics.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it,” he muttered to her, his voice hoarse but calmer now. “Just… be here.”

He crossed the room to pour the tea, the rosemary-scented steam curling up in soft ribbons. It wasn’t much. But it was something.

And maybe—for now—that really was enough.

At least for now. "How about we make some tea, girl?"

Doom Meowed, which brought a smile to his face.

---

The door clicked open a little after nine, the faint draft of cold air slipping into the apartment before Nam-Gyu stepped inside. He looked exhausted in that way Thanos was starting to recognize more easily now—shoulders slightly slouched, his scarf half-untied like he’d stopped caring halfway through pulling it off.

“Hey,” Thanos said from the kitchen, where he was setting two mugs down on the counter. His tone was light, easy, like it was any other night. “I made tea. It’s still hot.”

Nam-Gyu blinked over at him, clearly not expecting that as the first thing he’d hear. For a second, Thanos thought he might brush past it, but instead Nam-Gyu’s mouth twitched into the barest smile. “You and your tea.”

“Doom says it makes me classy,” Thanos replied, motioning toward the cat curled up in her usual spot on the couch. Doom flicked an ear like she was tired of being used as an excuse.

Nam-Gyu let out a soft laugh—the kind that barely had the strength behind it, but it was there all the same. He shrugged out of his coat and joined Thanos in the kitchen, sliding onto one of the stools at the counter. His hands wrapped around the mug immediately, soaking in the warmth.

For a while, that was it. The apartment was filled with the small sounds of the city outside, Doom’s faint purring, and the occasional clink of ceramic against the countertop. Thanos didn’t push, didn’t ask. He just leaned against the counter, sipping his own tea, letting the silence settle into something comfortable instead of suffocating.

It wasn’t until Nam-Gyu’s shoulders eased a little and some of the tension left his face that Thanos finally spoke again. “Long day?”

Nam-Gyu nodded, staring down into the steam of his mug. “Yeah. Busy.” His voice was quiet, but not closed off.

Thanos hummed in understanding. “Yeah. I figured. You’ve been… well, all over the place lately.” He made sure his tone wasn’t accusing—just an observation, laid out in the open.

Nam-Gyu’s fingers tightened on the mug. For a second, Thanos thought he might retreat, but instead he just sighed. “Yeah. I know.”

Thanos didn’t push. He let the words sit between them, just being there—like Nam-Gyu had told him before.

“I just want you to know…” Thanos’s voice came out softer than he intended, almost caught in his throat. His eyes stayed fixed on the warm mug cradled in his hands, steam curling into his face. “I’m here for you, Nam-Gyu. Always.”

Across the counter, Nam-Gyu’s expression didn’t shift much at first—calm, unreadable in that practiced way he sometimes had. But the longer he sat there, shoulders hunched slightly forward, the more his gaze softened.

“I know…” Nam-Gyu finally said, his voice steady but carrying a faint edge of tiredness. Then, as if deciding to redirect the air in the room, he added gently, “Thank you. Maybe we could get dinner out tomorrow? It’s been a while.” He lifted his head, meeting Thanos’s eyes, and offered a small smile—fragile, but real.

Thanos’s chest tightened. He knew what Nam-Gyu was doing. He was trying to make him feel better, to ease the sadness written all over his face. Even now—when Nam-Gyu was clearly carrying so much of his own weight—he was reaching for him.

Fuck, I don’t deserve this guy.

Thanos forced a grin, leaning back against the counter like he wasn’t falling apart inside. “Nahhh,” he drawled, stretching the word out into something lazy and playful. “We can order in. You’ve been busy a lot—I’m cashing in my stay-at-home coupon. We can just chill all day, eat greasy food, annoy Doom. You know, quality time.” He nudged Nam-Gyu’s foot lightly under the counter, a teasing attempt at lightness.

Nam-Gyu huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “You and your coupons. I don’t remember signing that deal.”

“Too late,” Thanos smirked. “Fine print. Binding contract.”

Nam-Gyu rolled his eyes but there was warmth in it this time, a little less weight pressing down on him. And for Thanos, that was enough—just to see him ease, even for a moment.

It was nice—joking around with Nam-Gyu, hearing that laugh, watching some of the heaviness leave his face for even a second. Those moments meant more to Thanos than he ever let on. But underneath the teasing and the smiles, he couldn’t look past the knot twisting in his chest, the deep feelings weighing him down.

He hated admitting it, even to himself, but the stress of all this—the silence, the distance, the letter Nam-Gyu wouldn’t talk about—had been bleeding into him more than he realized. His sleep was thinner. His thoughts looped back on themselves too easily. And sometimes, when the apartment grew quiet, he could almost feel himself teetering near old habits, like a ghost tugging him back toward the edge.

No. Not happening.

Thanos let out a long breath, forcing his shoulders to ease. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t backslide. Not now. Not after how far he’d come, not when Nam-Gyu needed him steady.

I’ll be sure to bring it up with Dr. Kim, he told himself firmly. Therapy wasn’t a magic fix, but it was a lifeline. If he started to spiral, he had to put it on the table—no matter how stupid or vulnerable it made him feel.

Because if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that slipping back into old patterns would break everything he’d been fighting to build. And Thanos wasn’t about to let that happen.

Nam-Gyu broke him out of his spiraling thoughts by speaking again, his voice cutting through the quiet like a light flicking on.

“All right then—tomorrow we’ll do what we do best. Sleep in till noon and eat a fuck load of waffles.”

Thanos blinked, the corner of his mouth twitching up before he even realized it. Nam-Gyu’s grin was easy and unguarded, the kind of smile that stretched all the way to his eyes. The kind of smile that made the rest of the room disappear.

Thanos wasn’t sure if it was the tea warming his hands or that smile heating up his face. Probably both. Either way, the warmth pooled in his chest, curling up against the cold edges of his doubt.

God, he doesn’t even know…

Without overthinking it, Thanos shifted his mug to one hand and reached out with the other, resting it lightly on top of Nam-Gyu’s, where it sat on the table. His thumb brushed against Nam-Gyu’s knuckles, steady and careful, but full of everything he couldn’t quite put into words yet.

Nam-Gyu glanced down at their hands, then back up at him, his smile softer now—quieter, but no less magical. And for the first time in days, Thanos felt the heaviness in his chest loosen, just a little, like a knot finally loosening after being tugged too tight for too long.

Without breaking eye contact, Nam-Gyu shifted his fingers, turning his hand so their palms aligned. Then he squeezed gently, grounding them both in that small but steady touch. His chipped black nail polish, worn down at the edges from hours at the tattoo shop and restless nights, pressed against Thanos’s own freshly painted nails—bright streaks of chaotic color, uneven but vibrant, the kind of thing he did when he couldn’t sit still but wanted to make himself smile anyway.

The contrast was perfect, the two of them written out in the smallest details of their hands: Nam-Gyu’s skin rougher, scattered with old scars on his knuckles, his grip firm but careful; Thanos’s softer, the pads of his fingers still stained faintly with traces of polish, his nails like splashes of candy-colored rebellion. Both were imperfect in different ways, but together, they looked like they belonged.

Thanos couldn’t help but study it—the way Nam-Gyu’s thumb brushed over the back of his hand absentmindedly, the way his boyfriend’s fingers curved just right to fit against his own. It was such a simple thing, but Thanos had never been good at simple. Simple was foreign. Simple was dangerous. Yet here he was, and it felt like safety.

A thought whispered in the back of his mind: maybe this is what balance looks like. One hand steady, the other restless; one scarred, the other messy; two broken things that, when pressed together, didn’t feel so broken anymore.

He swallowed hard, blinking against the burn in his eyes, and squeezed back.

Notes:

Ik this is a lot of Thanos stuff, but I don't really remember what my whole plan was, so i'm rewriting some stuff, Nam-Gyu things coming!

Notes:

AHHH, Thank you for reading my AU fic! 😄
I finally updated the summary to make it flow better. When I first wrote it, it was just a rough draft, but I kept forgetting to go back and fix I lol.