Times are gone for honest men

by Dust_mite

Summary:

Seventeen years old and teetering on the brink of addiction, Nam-gyu finds an unhealthy kinship in Thanos, his obnoxious kind-of classmate.

Notes:

hello!!!!!
title from 'black hole sun' by soundgarden. sexy song. would recommend
anyway! uhh i hope you like <3 next chapter will have more interactions and everything but yk. gotta get the setup out of the way

Chapter 1

The evening sun has baked the rough grey concrete into an unforgivingly hot surface, burning the soles of Nam-gyu’s feet through his shoes where he's crouched on the pavement. The reddish-orange hues of the sunset are slowly fading, melting into the approaching darkness steadily as Nam-gyu waits, fidgeting with one of his rings. It's been almost thirty minutes since Su-jin left him here with nothing more than a faintly grumbled order to sit still, and he's starting to feel like he's made a mistake by showing up. He feels exposed, even with his back pressed against the wall of the squat grey building Su-jin entered, as if anyone walking past will know exactly what he's up to.

Reasonably, Nam-gyu knows this is a test. They want to see if he's willing to stick it out, or if he'll get tired of waiting around and leave so they’ll have an excuse to come after him and kick his ass. The urge to go is getting more appealing by the second, really. But he knows if he gives up now, they'll (at best) cut him out entirely, and Nam-gyu needs the money. Ignoring the constant threat of getting picked up by cops, this is a fairly sweet gig; he makes a pretty penny and, better than that, they give him just enough of a free supply to feed his quickly growing dependency. (Some time ago, he'd noticed that it was getting rarer and rarer to make it through a whole day sober. Sue him, whatever. He likes how he feels when he's high; untouchable and confident and bright when he's on uppers, pleasantly numb when he's supplied with the somewhat less frequent downers.) It was stupid of him, though, to not consider the attention that would come when he started increasing his sales.

The thing is - Nam-gyu is good at this. He's good at playing deferential, ingratiating himself to buyers and letting them have their way. People like to feel powerful, and Nam-gyu knows just how to play along, letting them set the terms and walk away feeling like they've won, while their money sits happily in Nam-gyu's pockets. He likes the money, likes the drugs, and if he ever feels brave enough to think about it, he likes feeling like he’s somebody. These people come to him for their fix. He really should've kept his head down a little more, though. Now he's rising through the ranks in a way he's not entirely sure he wants; no way out without at least one intimidation beating.

Su-jin comes back after another ten minutes, looking down at Nam-gyu with an indecipherable expression. Su-jin isn't much of a talker; he's a big guy, broad shouldered and unattractive, cauliflower-eared from years of fighting. Tattoos of seductively posing women curl around his huge, skull-crushing biceps. It's a poorly hidden secret that Su-jin is the grunt doing most of the dirty work in their neighborhood - he sports more bruises than clear skin and somehow always has blood on his knuckles. Nam-gyu is certain they've sent him for the scare-factor alone; no way in hell is he bolting if he knows exactly who'd be coming after him. Su-jin would kick his ass in seconds. Finally, Su-jin jerks his head and mutters something at Nam-gyu, starting to walk away. Nam-gyu scrambles to follow, heart in his throat.

 

The club they end up at is stiflingly hot, sweaty bodies clumped together across the poorly lit room and dancing provocatively. Nam-gyu keeps his head down, following Su-jin like a lost dog until finally, two big, meaty hands land on his shoulders. Su-jin shoves him onto a filthy couch in the corner, then reaches into his pocket and draws out several wrapped up baggies of various substances and a little handwritten note with names and prices scrawled roughly across it.

“Do your job.” Su-jin grunts at him, pushing the pills and powders into his hands, and then he's gone. For someone so big, he disappears surprisingly fast, and Nam-gyu is left alone in the club with loud music reverberating through his skull. He's already uncomfortably sweaty, pushing his damp hair behind his ears and trying to school his face into something professional. He doesn't recognise anyone here - although, even if the contents of the room were entirely friends and family, he doesn't think he'd be able to tell. It's too dimly lit to see anything more than the outlines of bodies.

The first few sales pass swiftly; uninteresting junkies looking for quick and easy fixes. Money changes hands without trouble and is then tucked into Nam-gyu's sock - he knows the consequence of losing any of it, and he isn’t keen to experience it again. He watches, eyes narrowed, as people filter past him, throwing speculative glances. It's always a good idea to keep an eye on potential customers so that if he needs to, he can approach them rather than making them take the first step. As he's staring at a small, fidgety guy, probably in his mid-twenties, someone sits down heavily beside him, jostling his shoulder.

Nam-gyu turns irritably, ready to fend off a drunk stranger's advances, and comes face to face with someone familiar. He narrows his eyes shrewdly. Greasy purple hair with prominent dark roots, brightly painted nails; Nam-gyu fumbles around in his memory for a name to stick to the face. It clicks after a moment - Choi Su-bong. He's in the same class as Nam-gyu, even though he's technically meant to be one above. If Nam-gyu remembers correctly, he had to repeat a year when he was fourteen since he only showed up to school twice. In the entire year. Nam-gyu has talked to him on maybe three occasions overall; two of which involved him asking Nam-gyu for a pen, which he then chewed on and never returned. Both times.

“I know you,” Su-bong says, practically shouting in Nam-gyu's ear. “Min-su, right?” Nam-gyu immediately scowls at him, leaning away. Min-su is a small, awkward little doormat, always hiding behind his bitchy probably-a-lesbian girlfriend. Nam-gyu can't stand him.

“Nam-gyu,” he corrects thinly. He realises his mistake a moment later - why the hell is he sharing his name? He doesn't need this guy spreading anything around. Fuck. Too late. “You're… Su-bong, right?” He asks, even though he knows he's right. He wants to level the playing field; make sure this guy knows that Nam-gyu knows him, too.

“Nope!” Su-bong says, making Nam-gyu furrow his eyebrows. He's usually good with names. “It's Thanos now!” He says, leaning in further with one arm slung over the back of the dirty couch.

“What?” Nam-gyu half-shouts back, certain he's misheard.

“Thanos!” The guy repeats. He lifts his arm from the back of the couch briefly to wiggle his vibrant fingernails at Nam-gyu. “I've got the infinity stones; see?” He grins brightly. Nam-gyu stares flatly at him.

“Okay,” he says, leaning away and deciding not to pursue that line of conversation any further. None of his business, really. “Do you need something?” He pats the pocket of his jacket unsubtly, searching for a reaction. Rumours about ‘Thanos’ have been swirling for years, and Nam-gyu is inclined to believe most of them; from the few classes they've shared, back when Nam-gyu bothered to show up to school somewhat regularly and occasionally overlapped with Thanos, it's been obvious that the guy isn't all there. He's… maybe a little interested to see how much truth there is to it all.

“What'll you give me?” Thanos asks, getting closer to Nam-gyu again.

“I have coke, ecstacy and tabs.” Nam-gyu says, listing them off on his fingers. Thanos looks considering, so Nam-gyu holds up the note labelling their prices and taps it to grab Thanos' attention. He reads it, squinting in the dim light, then frowns.

“How about I pay you some other way?” Thanos asks, batting his eyelashes at Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu feels his eyebrows raise up towards his hairline.

“...Money is fine.” He says, awkward. Thanos scowls, clearly thinking Nam-gyu is either being deliberately obtuse or just stupid. Missing his meaning would be next to impossible - it's the cheesiest porn dialogue ever, and Nam-gyu is absurdly amused by hearing it in person. He thinks it'd be easier to appreciate the humour in the situation if Thanos wasn't sizing him up, though.

“I'm saying I'll blow you.” Thanos says loudly, almost nose to nose with Nam-gyu, who scoots backwards until he's almost tipping off the couch and grimaces. There's a faint blush rising in his cheeks and he wills it to go away; hopefully, it's far too dark to notice.

“No thanks,” he says, putting one hand out to push Thanos away by his chest. It's not that he isn't attractive; Nam-gyu is secure enough in his sexuality that can admit to himself that there's… an appeal. But, firstly, he'd get his ass handed to him if he showed up without the full amount and secondly, he's mostly-probably-kind-of-straight. Right. Plus, he thinks uncharitably, Thanos looks like a biter. “My boss would kill me.” He tacks on, trying to soften the blow of rejection just enough that Thanos might still consider buying something.

“Whatever,” Thanos huffs, flopping back onto the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. “What are you even doing here? Aren't you some smart-ass nerd?” He asks. Nam-gyu blinks incredulously.

“Uh,” Nam-gyu says, confused, “no?” He's pretty sure no one has ever put him and ‘smart’ together.

“You are,” Thanos insists. “Aren't you in that special class for all the kids with bright futures?” Nam-gyu frowns, irritated again as he realises who Thanos is thinking of.

“That's Min-su.” He says, annoyed. “We shared a class for two years, man. Seriously?” Thanos raises his hands innocently.

“Okay,” he says, blatantly unapologetic. “Why did you say you were here, again?” Nam-gyu makes a conscious effort to lower his blood pressure. At this point, he would've rather been accosted by the touchy drunk he originally thought was next to him.

“Doing my job.” He says, shrugging and accidentally brushing shoulders with Thanos again. “Are you buying or not? Cash only.” Thanos rolls his eyes hard. He starts digging around in one of his pockets when suddenly, there's an ear-splitting ‘bang’ and someone starts screaming.
Nam-gyu ducks immediately, throwing himself to the ground behind the couch. It’s sticky and damp on the floor, and Nam-gyu thinks distantly that he’s probably going to contract some unheard of disease just by touching it. More people are screaming now, just about audible over the new, loud ringing in his ears as they run towards exits. Thanos is on the ground beside him, their shoulders pressed together as they huddle away. There's another loud bang. Nam-gyu flinches, trying to cover his head; as he does, Thanos grabs one of his wrists. He's mouthing something at Nam-gyu - or maybe he's speaking, Nam-gyu can't tell, and tugging at his arm. His eyes are unsettlingly wide. Glancing around, Nam-gyu quickly shuffles through his options, then makes a decision. He lets Thanos drag him up and along, matching his pace as they run, hunched over to avoid being too visible. They're going in a different direction to everyone else, weaving through the rushing crowds until finally Thanos drags him through a door hidden behind a lacy curtain.

The fresh air is a relief. They emerge outside, stumbling against the wall of a neighbouring building; they're in the small alleyway between it and the club, tucked out of view. Nam-gyu's chest is heaving as he tries to catch his breath. He feels a tap on his shoulder and turns to stare at Thanos, who looks like he's talking again. Nam-gyu gestures at his ears helplessly. Everything sounds muffled, wrapped in thick layers of cotton wool so that all he can hear is that incessant ringing. Thanos throws his hands up, looking annoyed. Suddenly, his eyes flick past him and widen; then he's bolting, arms pumping as he disappears around the corner. Nam-gyu wastes no time turning to look at whatever it was that spooked Thanos. He flees rapidly, escaping the alleyway and dashing across the road to wedge himself into a hidden corner.

 

Nam-gyu doesn't dare going home until he's certain that no one's followed him; he assumes it was some sort of police raid gone wrong, so he’s extra careful about staying low. Even then, the urge to go home isn't particularly strong, so he slopes about a kids’ park in the dark for a while - long enough that he's able to regain some of his hearing. The ringing hasn't quite stopped yet, but it's faded. Sat on a rusty swing set, he taps out a quick message to one of the burner numbers he'd been given to contact about ‘business,’ updating whoever's on the other end about the events of the night. He sits there for a while, aimless and desperately ignoring the part of him that wants to make use of the drugs burning a hole in his pocket, before tiredness starts to get the better of him.

He trudges home, slinking through the neighborhood silently; it's late enough that the streetlights have gone out, so he navigates by muscle memory and the weak light of his phone torch. A few homes still have lights on as he walks down his street - mostly, though, everyone's asleep. There's no hint of the moon tonight, clouds suffocating any inkling that tries to peek through. Finally, he reaches his house. It's one of the many small, nondescript homes on the street, built on a slant and sharing walls on both sides with other identical houses. His parents were lucky to even afford it, and it's still too small for the three of them; three of the four rooms in the house are less than five square metres, with the only exception being the kitchen-living room combination that still struggles to host all of them without elbows bumping.

Nam-gyu hoists himself up onto the ledge of one of the lower windows, then jumps and catches the lip of the window to his bedroom. He hauls himself up, arms shaking from the strain, then jams his fingers into the opening he left earlier and pulls the casement open, sliding through into his bedroom. Much like the outside of the house, there's nothing particularly special about his room. The painted grey walls are chipped and flaking, the bed (a single mattress on the floor, springs poking through on one edge,) wedged into the corner is unmade and clothes are strewn around messily. Nam-gyu tugs his jacket off and tosses it into a corner, then flops face first onto his mattress and kicks his shoes off. Outside, he can hear the very beginnings of birds chirping. He's asleep within minutes.

 

It's around two in the afternoon when he next wakes up, neck aching and head pounding. Normally, he'd sleep for longer, but there's the irritating, repetitive sound of something hard thwacking against the glass of his window. He drags himself out of bed, blinking away the sleep in his eyes and pauses. It takes him a few moments to catch up as he tries to process why on earth Thanos is standing in front of his house, throwing twigs and tiny pebbles at his window. When Thanos sees his face, he grins immediately and waves. Nam-gyu shoves his window open and sticks his head out.

“Why the fuck are you here?” He asks, annoyed.

“You're difficult to track down, you know that?” Thanos calls up to him, voice obnoxiously loud as he ignores Nam-gyu’s question. Nam-gyu puts his head in his hands, elbows resting on the windowsill - he doesn't need his parents getting on his case for this.

“Stay there. I'll be down in a minute.” Nam-gyu snaps, slamming his window shut and grabbing his jacket from the top of the pile of clothes in the corner. He yanks his shoes on, then pauses to look at himself in the mirror, pressing down his flyaways and then tucking his hair behind his ears. There are dark rings under his eyes and his hair is limp and greasy. He's not certain when he last washed it. It's been about a year since he last had it cut; a DIY job that had ended up uneven and ugly enough to discourage him from ever trying that again, so it's long enough now that it tickles the back of his neck and gets in his way if he doesn't push it back.

He's quiet as he makes his way down the narrow stairs. His mother is in front of the television, cigarette in hand. She glances at him briefly but otherwise doesn't acknowledge him, so he mimics her silence and leaves.
Thanos is sat on the pavement, looking bored and digging the toe of his bright green shoe into a pothole, dislodging tiny pieces of concrete. Nam-gyu zips his jacket up, leaving the hem of his t-shirt hanging out, and jams his hands in his pockets.

“Why are you here?” He asks again, frowning unpleasantly. Thanos whips his head around and gets to his feet, smiling slyly. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled handful of won and waving them at Nam-gyu.

“I have money now!” Thanos says cheerfully. “Also, I had to make sure the cops didn't get you. Couldn't have you getting caught and ratting on me after I went to all that effort to help you, right?” He smiles. Nam-gyu briefly recalls the ‘effort’ he put in; directing him to an exit and then making a break for it the moment he could. He snorts.

“Okay.” Nam-gyu says, unimpressed. “So you're… looking to buy?” He asks, voice low and intentionally vague in his phrasing, just in case. Thanos nods.

“You know, it took me forever to find you, Nam-su. No one knows who you are!”

“Maybe,” he says through gritted teeth, “it's because my name is Nam-gyu.” Thanos takes a minute, pondering this.

“Maybe.” He says eventually. “Anyway - are you holding?” He asks. Nam-gyu eyes him for a moment, considering lying; for some unnameable reason, Thanos is grating on him more than his obnoxious customers usually do. The impulse to withhold from Thanos is strong, but… the impulse to make money is stronger. He inclines his head.

“Let's go somewhere more private.” Nam-gyu says quietly. Thanos shoves his money back into his pocket and swings a careless arm around Nam-gyu's shoulders. He leads the way easily, taking them through winding streets in a direction that Nam-gyu knows vaguely, but has never had much reason to go. The houses get a little bigger than the ones on Nam-gyu’s street but stay at a similar level of shabbiness; potholes in the middle of the road and cracked grey stucco walls that are, much like the houses on his street, shared with their neighbours. Thanos talks the entire time, voice filling the empty space that would surely develop between them otherwise. He doesn't leave much room for Nam-gyu to respond other than an occasional ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to questions that he poses, rapid fire and nonsensical.

When Thanos starts trailing him up the pathway to one of the houses, Nam-gyu pauses, digging his heels in.

“Where are we going?” He asks suspiciously.

“My place.” Thanos says, relaxed and easy. “It's a little crowded, but no one gives a shit what I do. They probably won't even notice you're here.” He says, soothing. Nam-gyu fidgets with one of his rings, gnawing on his lower lip while he deliberates. Thanos stares at him expectantly, then beams when Nam-gyu finally nods. He takes Nam-gyu by the elbow and half drags him into the house.

The first thing Nam-gyu notices is the noise. It's loud in here, a million voices overlapping. There are, at a first glance, at least six people jammed into the living room. The television is blaring. A young man, maybe a few years older than Nam-gyu if he had to guess, is sat on the floor in front of the couch with a controller in his hand, swearing loudly at the television where he's shooting at, and missing badly, groups of heavily armed enemies. Sitting on the couch, a pretty girl who looks an awful lot like Thanos is scrolling on her phone uninterestedly, feet kicked up. In the small kitchen, separated from the living room by a half-wall, an older woman is shouting at two similarly aged men who are glaring back at her. A final woman, slightly younger, is propped against the far wall and watching them with her arms crossed.

Nam-gyu immediately looks to Thanos for guidance, feeling out of his depth. His house feels crowded enough with just three people; it isn’t all that much bigger here, but people are taking up every visible space. Thanos just tightens his grip on Nam-gyu's elbow and steers him past the couch and towards a set of stairs against the back wall of the living room. Looking up from his game for a few brief seconds, the guy on the floor smirks and whistles at Thanos.

“That your new girlfriend?” He asks, gesturing at Nam-gyu. Embarrassment shoots through him, his cheeks lighting up as he ducks his head to try and hide. Thanos says nothing in his defense, just laughs loudly and continues to propel Nam-gyu forward. Upstairs, there are somehow even more people. Through one cracked door, he sees two small girls playing a game with brightly coloured plastic pieces. Thanos shoves him past, through the next door. There's a kid sat on the lower bunk of one of the two bunk beds in the room, maybe twelve years old. He's reading something. Nam-gyu doesn't get to see what, because Thanos has let go of his arm and is reaching forward to grab the kid by the collar of his shirt.

“Scram.” He says, hauling him upright and giving him a shove towards the door. Nam-gyu steps out of his way awkwardly. The kid scowls, staring angrily at Nam-gyu like it's his fault, then grabs his book and stomps out of the room without protest. Thanos locks the door behind him and climbs up onto the top bunk, gesturing for Nam-gyu to follow. He sits awkwardly on the edge of the bed, not sure how to proceed. When he’d suggested they go somewhere private, he wasn’t exactly expecting Thanos to take him home.

“So,” Thanos says, drumming his heels. “What have you got?”

“Same as yesterday.” Nam-gyu replies, stilted, feeling in his jacket pockets to take out the little price note and the baggies. Thanos reads it again, then sighs.

“How about this; you give me a discount, and I'll share with you.” He proposes, leaning towards Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu blinks at him.

“I'd still have to make up the money somehow.” He points out. “I'd basically be paying for it myself. I could just do that and get high alone.” He says, eyebrows furrowed.

“Sure,” Thanos allows, “but you'd miss out on my company.” He grins cheesily. This really shouldn't be a particularly compelling argument, but… Nam-gyu is admittedly somewhat lonely; he's also unwillingly sober, which influences him more than he'd like to acknowledge. He twists one of his rings around his fingers, then sighs. A hit is a hit.

“What are we having?” He asks, resigned. Thanos whoops loudly and he taps the bag with the little white pills, labelled with a simple ‘E’. He fishes in his pocket for the money he stuffed away earlier, then counts out and thrusts the raggedy handful of won at Nam-gyu, who checks it quickly, professional in his observation. He nods, sliding the money into the top of his left sock, then reaches into the bag and tips out two little pills. He offers his open palm to Thanos, who grabs one without hesitation and swallows it fast. Nam-gyu watches him for a moment, then tucks away all of the spare pills and powders into his jacket pocket again and downs his own pill. Thanos is laying back now, legs dangling over the side of the bed as he waits for the effects to kick in, so Nam-gyu copies him.

“How many people live here?” Nam-gyu asks curiously after a moment, listening to the sounds of shouting and laughter and video game gunfire filtering through the thin walls. Thanos shrugs.

“Like… twelve?” He says, sounding unsure. “Depends on the day.” Nam-gyu nods passively. The silence stretches again.

“What about that girl downstairs? Is she your sister? The pretty one.” He clarifies. “She looks like you.” Thanos snorts.

“That's Ji-won. She's my cousin.” Thanos rolls onto his side, staring at Nam-gyu. “You interested? She has a boyfriend, but I could probably put in a good word for you.” He says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“...No. Just curious.” Nam-gyu shrugs. This time, when the silence returns, he doesn't break it. He can feel the warm edges of the ecstasy kicking in, relaxing his nerves about being in a near-stranger’s home. He likes the way things feel on ecstasy; everything becomes easier, less performative. It loosens his inhibitions, allowing him to fucking relax, and, more than that, it lets him feel softly connected to everyone around him. Nam-gyu wonders, faintly, how it'll affect Thanos, who already talks a lot and doesn't seem particularly interested in hiding his personality. They sit quietly, until Nam-gyu feels his heart starting to race. He turns to look at Thanos and finds him already staring with wide dilated eyes.

“Wanna hear me rap?” He asks, thin slivers of blue in his eyes just barely visible past the huge pupils. Nam-gyu nods silently, heart thrumming. Thanos jumps off the bed, clears his throat, and lifts an imaginary microphone.

Nam-gyu has no idea how long they talk for; Thanos performs for him, first, loud and unembarrassed and ridiculous, lighting up at every piece of encouragement, then returns to the bed once he runs out of material. They talk and talk and talk; school, family, drugs - whatever topics come to mind. Nam-gyu finds himself leaning against Thanos, slinging a casual arm around him to keep himself up. He likes this. They click strangely easily - encouraged by ecstasy, sure, but there's an underlying familiarity that makes his chest flutter shamefully. Propped against Thanos, watching him ramble about a club he performed in once, Nam-gyu finds himself thinking mildly about being kissed a year ago by Yun-seo, his ex-dealer who'd disappeared shortly after to avoid conscription. Yun-seo was older, nineteen and long-haired with a braying laugh that always irritated Nam-gyu, but he hadn't minded the kiss.
Yun-seo wouldn't have been his first choice, (or second, or third, or… the list might go on for a while,) but something had clicked in Nam-gyu when they kissed, and refused to switch back off again. He's still mostly straight, he thinks, but… with some wiggle room for experimentation. Nothing wrong with that, right?

His eyes land back on Thanos, still talking. He furrows his brow, trying to figure out how he ended up on that train of thought; Nam-gyu shakes his head roughly, dismissing the peculiar memories.

Chapter 2

Notes:

just a teensy little disclaimer for anyone who doesnt know: please never ever do tattoos like this. ever. follow a guide and get proper resources
and then another little disclaimer for anyone who knows anything about tattooing: suspend your disbelief please
anyway :) thank you to everyone for reading and commenting!!!!

Four days later, Nam-gyu finds out what happened at the club. It's been radio silence since the incident; no new messages, no one tracking him down to give him an update. There's been a subtle thread of tension in everything he does as a result, looking over his shoulder constantly for some materialisation of his fears. He doesn't know if they're lying low to avoid more trouble, or if they're specifically icing him out for some unrealised transgression. Either way, the paranoia has him itching to know what happened, so when he finally gets a message, relief floods through him. It's shockingly underwhelming, too. Police raid gone wrong after someone got grabby; no big players were arrested, but they need to stay down for some time, just in case. 

It's not a dismissal or a threat, so Nam-gyu should feel… lucky, probably. And he does, in a way - he's glad that he's managed to avoid prison or a beatdown. But he also knows what this means in terms of supply; he's going to have to limit himself. Luck, for Nam-gyu, always comes with enough downsides that it’s a real stretch to call it a good thing. Sucking his teeth, Nam-gyu sets his phone down. Wedged underneath the top corner of his mattress, right where it meets the wall, is a small blue lockbox. Nam-gyu shuffles his mattress to the side and grabs it, sitting back on his haunches and opening it to stare consideringly at the contents. He can't afford to take any more of his selling stash, not unless he wants to spend all of his carefully saved money, so the contents of this box are all he has for the next while. 

Inside, there isn't all that much. He curses himself quietly for his lack of restraint. He has a sealed, half full baggie of weed, two tabs, and an empty wrapper that might've once had coke in it. Shit. Nam-gyu feels his hands shake lightly as he closes the box again, wedging it back underneath the mattress with a small thump. Maybe it's a sign that he needs to back off a little, let himself fall out of this pattern that's developed uncomfortably fast - but even the idea of returning to prolonged sobriety has him itching, desperate for a hit. He twists one of his rings around anxiously, thinking. If it gets really bad, he can resort to extra trashy shit likes glue or industrial cleaners; he doesn't like the painful pseudo-hangover they leave him with, but fuck if it isn't better than nothing. Hopefully this period of quiet won't last long. Nam-gyu doesn't want to admit his dependency to himself yet, but it's a topic that's getting harder to ignore. 

He lays in his room for a while longer, alternating between staring aimlessly at his ceiling and tracing meaningless designs on his arm with a half dead pen that he'd found under his mattress when he was looking for the lockbox, swirls and symbols and concentric circles that waver in his shaky hands, until his phone pings again. Nam-gyu sits up and reaches for it, flinging the pen lazily into one messy corner. 

 

+82 19 3826 0230:

r u free

 

Nam-gyu still isn't certain how Thanos got his phone number; he thinks it might have been when Thanos took it from him without asking, claiming he needed to search something up and then refusing to offer any details. He takes his own petty revenge by refusing to add Thanos to his contacts, but that just makes it more bizarre when he gets, out of nowhere, links to Thanos' shitty soundcloud beats that he only pretends to listen to. He considers the message. Being around Thanos creates a vacuum; they've hung out twice again since that first time, getting high and chattering mindlessly. Each time, Nam-gyu finds himself getting trapped in Thanos’ orbit. It's too easy to give in to whatever he wants - Thanos acts like it's only natural for him to get anything he pleases the moment the whim hits him, and there's something addictive about that casual, baseless confidence. Nam-gyu finds himself wanting something that he doesn't know if he's capable of voicing. 

 

                                                            You:

                                                         Sure

+82 19 3826 0230:

come over

 

                                                          You:

                I don't have anything right now 

 

+82 19 3826 0230:  

ok 

come ovr anyway

i need help 

 

Nam-gyu squints at that, immediately apprehensive. There's something worrying about the lack of elaboration; unfortunately, he's already mentally committed - it’s better than spending the rest of the evening sitting in his room and doing nothing other than laying in bed, trying to distract himself from his dwindling supply. He shrugs on his jacket, tucks his phone into his pocket and steps out. His mother is downstairs again, as usual. She works as a cleaner in the local hotel; she likes to remind Nam-gyu that she dropped out of school when she found out she was pregnant, and that before that, she dreamt of becoming a nurse. She always says it with a wistful look on her face, quickly soured when she remembers where she is. Her high school days are long gone, and with them, any semblance of hopeful ideation she might’ve had. Some days, Nam-gyu feels the resentment in their home is so thick he could choke on it. 

“Nam-gyu,” she calls after him as he walks past. She's smoking again, the ashtray in front of her almost overflowing. (While the resentment isn't quite tangible enough to choke on, the cigarette smog certainly is; it pervades through every room in the house.) Nam-gyu pauses and looks at her awkwardly. She stares at him, mouth puckered as if she's been sucking on a lemon.

(Generally, his parents are more than content to pretend he doesn't exist; his father spends more time out of the house than in it, claiming he's doing important things at work when both Nam-gyu and his mother know that he spends most of his time lurking in bars and drinking away any spare money they have, then coming home late and pretending to be asleep when anyone gets near him. He's a mechanic, and a shoddy one at that; Nam-gyu has overheard him on the phone, fighting with customers about the quality of his work, refusing to acknowledge that he might be the root of the problem. His conversations with Nam-gyu are stilted at best and screamed at worst. Nam-gyu can't remember the last time they spoke more than three words to each other. Similarly, his mother tends to only notice him when he's done something that affects her - she's ignorant to the way he disappears for hours at a time, how he hasn't been to school in months, where he gets his mysterious supplies of money from. It's not that Nam-gyu wants her attention, really. It's never about anything pleasant. Sometimes, though, when he's so lonely that it's suffocating, he wonders what it might be like to have someone in his corner by virtue of blood.) He wonders what it is that he's done this time to draw her scrutiny. 

“Yes?” He asks, tone overly polite to mask the irritation he feels. She takes a long drag from her cigarette, staring at him. 

“I can hear you when you move your bed. Keep it down.” She says, finally. Nam-gyu's eye twitches. There's silence for a moment, the tension between them stagnating, and then he nods. 

“Sorry.” He says flatly, then leaves. 

Thanos is waiting on the front step of his house when Nam-gyu arrives, still in a bad mood. Thanos seems oblivious to this, breaking into a wide grin once he sees Nam-gyu. 

“You took ages!” Thanos says, standing up and hooking an arm over Nam-gyu's shoulders to drag him inside. It's been roughly fifteen minutes since Thanos first texted him, but Nam-gyu decides not to mention this. He lets Thanos pull him into the house, which is no less busy today; the pretty cousin is gone, but there are a few new faces milling around. Nam-gyu has started to understand over the past few days why Thanos has no concept of volume control - in a place like this, his blaring voice is only reasonable in order to be heard. As Thanos pulls him towards the stairs, a voice calls out from the kitchen. 

“Su-bong!” A woman says, poking her head around the half wall. “Are you going to introduce us to your friend?” She's pretty, with round cheeks, a slightly jutting lower lip and wrinkles around her mouth that speak to a cheery demeanour. The resemblance between her and Thanos is unsettling; Thanos is almost her double. The similarities he’d noticed between Thanos and his cousin are nothing compared to this. Nam-gyu thinks that it's impossible for her to be anything other than his mother; he wonders if Thanos' father's genes tried at all, or if Thanos’ mother just cloned herself and called it a day. 

“That's not my name,” Thanos sing-songs, then tugs Nam-gyu along behind him, not bothering with greetings. His mother just laughs fondly and waves a hand at him, rolling her eyes. Nam-gyu feels something bitter and jealous curdle inside him. There's a vicious, hard to control anger that comes with the realisation that Thanos' mother cares - more than that, she actually seems to like him, based on the way she let his blatant disrespect slide. Nam-gyu's mask must slip for a second, because Thanos flicks him between the eyebrows, looking amused. 

“Chill out.” He says flippantly. “She won't actually care that I didn't introduce you.” Nam-gyu bites down angrily on his feelings, smoothing his face out again and nodding, placid. 

Instead of shepherding Nam-gyu to his bedroom, Thanos pauses outside of a closed door and pounds on it with his fist. 

“Hurry up!” He calls, leaning against the door. 

“Fuck off!” A voice inside shouts back. Thanos is unimpressed by this; he pounds on the door again, face creased in irritation, then places his hands on either side of the door to steady himself and starts headbutting it. 

“Open the door!” He whines, his voice accompanied by the dull rhythmic thud of his head smacking against it. Nam-gyu covers his mouth, hand tucked into his sleeve, trying not to laugh - his anger melts away to be picked over later when he’s alone and resentful, replaced by absurd entertainment. Thanos is entirely shameless, continuing to harass whatever poor soul is still in the bathroom until finally, the door bangs open and Thanos’ furious pretty cousin stands there, make-up half done. Thanos wastes no time, shouldering his way into the bathroom. 

“Su-bong!” She complains, furious. Thanos turns around and puts his hands on her shoulders, pushing her fully out of the bathroom and grabbing Nam-gyu by the shirt to reel him in. The bathroom is small enough that there really isn't enough space for her to try and get back in unless she wants Thanos and Nam-gyu to be breathing down her neck, or if someone sits in the bathtub that’s pressed against the back wall. 

“My name is Thanos !” He says petulantly, gathering up the make-up utensils and products strewn across the counter to shove them into her arms where she's standing in the door frame, then slams the door shut, locking it.

Nam-gyu hears an angry exclamation outside the door, then the sound of someone storming away. He can't help but laugh. 

“What was that about?” He asks, eyes crinkling delightedly as he grins. Thanos smiles wildly back at him, then turns away to rummage through a cupboard. After thirty seconds he emerges, triumphantly holding a box of hair dye. 

“See this?” Thanos asks, leaning forward to expose the top of his head and tapping at the visible dark roots. “We need to fix it.”

“We?” Nam-gyu repeats, unsure, watching Thanos fish around again until he pulls out a bottle of peroxide. 

“I can't do it myself.” Thanos explains, fiddling with bottles and finally grabbing a little plastic bowl and a brush. He sets everything on the countertop. 

“What makes you think I can help?” Nam-gyu demands. Thanos just smiles at him, sly and cat-like. 

“I'll teach you, Nam-su.” He says, starting to pour the peroxide into the little dish. His tongue sticks out of the corner of his mouth as he works, and Nam-gyu is briefly, humiliatingly mesmerised. He watches Thanos add water and mix it around, and then he's shoving the bowl towards Nam-gyu. He opens the hair dye box and pulls out the pair of black gloves, waving them in Nam-gyu’s face.

“I really don't think this is a good idea,” Nam-gyu begins carefully. Thanos sighs and turns to look at him, plaintive. 

“Do you want me to look awful for the rest of my life?” He asks exaggeratedly, lower lip jutting out. 

“You live with a million other people. Why can't any of them help you?” Nam-gyu shoots back, ignoring how ridiculous Thanos is being. Thanos scowls. 

“They'd make fun of me.” He grumbles. 

“ I might make fun of you.” Nam-gyu points out. 

“Sure,” Thanos says easily, “but I'd kick your ass.” Nam-gyu scowls and takes the gloves. There’s an embarrassing part of him that jumps gleefully at the idea of being the first option for this type of thing.  

He ends up perched on the lid of the toilet, Thanos sat on the floor, bracketed by his legs. Thanos has dampened his hair slightly, so now all that waits is for Nam-gyu to start. 

“Just apply it all-over.” Thanos says impatiently, craning his head to stare at Nam-gyu. Fuck it, Nam-gyu thinks, pulling his jacket off to keep it safe and reaching for the bleach. 

Overall, it's less intimidating than he expected. Thanos generously tries to keep his head still while Nam-gyu applies the peroxide in small brushes, trying to keep his layers as even as possible. It would almost be therapeutic if not for the way Nam-gyu is acutely aware of how Thanos’ hair feels, how his shoulders bump against the inside of Nam-gyu's knees when he moves; his mouth is dry. 

“Okay.” He says, ten minutes later. “I think it's done. What next?” 

“Now we wait.” Thanos says, planting his hands on Nam-gyu's legs to haul himself to his feet. Nam-gyu feels his nerves fizzle where Thanos touches him. As he turns, he notices the designs on Nam-gyu's bare arms. “Did you do these?” He asks, intrigued, tapping at one. Nam-gyu pushes his hand away, embarrassed. 

“I was just bored.” He says, feeling his face heat slightly. 

“You could do tattoos, man.” Thanos says earnestly. “Shit - you should tattoo me! My dad learned stick ‘n pokes in prison, so I can totally teach you how.” He says, grinning. He reaches for his trouser leg, yanking it up and overbalancing slightly. Nam-gyu puts his hands out to steady him, ducking away from his swaying, bleach-covered head to avoid getting stained. 

“Look.” Thanos says, pointing to an ugly, crooked and faded smiley face on the skin of his calf. “I did that one ages ago. I bet you could do better.” He says, halfway to batting his eyelashes at Nam-gyu. 

“Shit, alright.” Nam-gyu shrugs, secretly pleased. “Not my problem if you get an infection though.” Thanos beams. 

They sit and wait in the bathroom together for the next half an hour, Thanos refusing to let them leave in case someone else takes over and Thanos ends up frying all his hair off with bleach because they can't access the shower. There's something liminal about it all; Nam-gyu can hear birds chirping, can see sunlight streaming through the grimy window, but nothing feels real outside of this room, filled with Thanos alternately rambling and rapping without warning. Normally he’d blame being high for these sorts of thoughts, but he’s unpleasantly sober right now, which makes it all a little stranger. When Thanos’ phone timer goes off, he ceases mid-beat and smacks it to turn it off. Nam-gyu watches a sliver of glass hit the floor - the phone screen is so cracked that it makes no real difference, circuitry already exposed in a way that’s certainly not safe.

“I just need you to rinse it off now.” Thanos says, contorting himself so he's sitting cross legged, back to the bath and head angled over the lip of the tub. Nam-gyu switches on the showerhead and leans forward, placing one hand gently underneath Thanos' head to support him where he's tilted backwards, then starts rinsing. The light filters through an evidently handmade sun catcher hanging from the window, casting dappled light on Thanos’ face. His eyes are closed. Trusting. Nam-gyu tracks the rivulets of water that run down his face, dripping off in a frothy white stream to swirl away down the plughole. Thanos’ hair is a pale orange now, and as he sits up, flicking droplets everywhere, it sticks to his face and makes him look younger; softer. Nam-gyu’s hand twitches with the urge to push it off his face. 

The next step is the dye itself. It's a pungent purple mixture that makes Nam-gyu wrinkle his nose, trying to breathe through his mouth to avoid smelling the awful fumes. The process is much the same as the bleaching; he applies the colour in broad strokes, going from section to section with an intent concentration. He's almost done when Thanos twitches, jerking forward to look at something on the floor and making Nam-gyu paint a long stripe of purple down his neck. 

“Hey!” Nam-gyu snaps, cuffing the back of Thanos’ head with his gloved hand and sending a smattering of purple dye across the floor. 

“Sorry.” Thanos says, sheepishly. “I saw a spider.“ He points to a tiny black and white spider that’s been sitting unmoving in the corner for the entire time they’ve been in the bathroom. 

“Stay still.” Nam-gyu huffs, leaning over to the sink to rinse the dye off of one of his gloves, then scrubbing at the new patch of colour on Thanos’ neck. His skin is hot, even through the glove, and Nam-gyu revels in the feeling. He slows where he's wiping away dye, hand resting gently on the back of Thanos' neck for just a second, indulgent, before he catches himself. His face hardens and he shakes his head, scowling and scrubbing harder. 

By the time Nam-gyu has washed the dye from Thanos' hair and they're finally able to leave the bathroom, something has solidified itself in his mind. He's not - it's not that he hasn't had thoughts about this type of thing, but he's not like that. Whatever he's thinking about Thanos needs to be put down, fast, or reconverted into something much more platonic. 

Thanos' room is thankfully empty, so Nam-gyu doesn't unintentionally create any more enemies in his family when Thanos drags him in and pushes him lightly towards the bed. His hair is still damp, any traces of his roots covered under purple layers. Nam-gyu feels strangely proud of it. He climbs up to sit on Thanos' bed, dangling his legs off the side and watching as Thanos potters around, rummaging through drawers with a single-minded focus. Nam-gyu watches him scrabble around at the back of a drawer, pulling up a false panel to reveal a collection of two shittily rolled joints. Thanos plucks one from the drawer and replaces the small panel, then saunters over to Nam-gyu and hands it to him.

“Hold this. I'll be a minute.” Thanos says, then disappears through the door. Nam-gyu hears the sound of his thundering footsteps, then a brief shouting match and a few moments of clattering. He sits and observes Thanos' room while he waits; it's a clashing mess of books, posters, mismatched shoes and tacky jewellery.  Clothes are flung over most of the available surfaces and Nam-gyu amuses himself by trying to figure out what belongs to Thanos. He's pieced together by now that Thanos shares the room with two of his cousins, so it's a fun guessing game - it’s unlikely, he thinks, that any of the books belong to Thanos. He figures that most of the weird, flashy junk is his though. 

Thanos doesn't take long, getting back and flicking the lock shut as Nam-gyu starts debating whether the strange silver cross necklace hanging off of the bedpost is a religious thing or an aesthetic thing. 

“Move up.” Thanos commands, hoisting himself onto the bed with one hand and dropping his strange collection of items in between them. Nam-gyu cranes his head to look, confused. Thanos’ haul contains a sewing needle, a small shot glass, a pen, and a half empty bottle of vodka. The shitty, cheap kind that could probably be used as paint thinner in a pinch. 

“The hell is this?” Nam-gyu asks, bemused. Thanos reaches out and takes the forgotten joint from his hand, wiggling his fingers. 

“For tattoos.” He says casually. “Light me up.” He holds the tip of the joint out, waiting. Nam-gyu stares. 

“I don't have a lighter.” He says awkwardly. Thanos frowns. 

“I thought you smoked.”

“Why?” 

“You always smell like cigarettes.” Thanos says slowly, like he’s stating the obvious. Nam-gyu feels shame prickle up the back of his neck, cheeks flushing. 

“Parents.” He says flatly. Thanos doesn't ask him to elaborate, just heaves a long-suffering sigh and hops off of the bed again, flipping clothes off of surfaces until he's able to find a lighter stashed underneath what looks to be either an unwashed moth-eaten hoodie, or possibly the skin of a long dead animal. He lights the joint himself, pausing to deliberate and then shoving open a small window, then climbs back up next to Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu watches the bright red glow as Thanos inhales, anticipation swirling in his chest. He shuffles closer to Thanos unsubtly, unaffected by the flash of irritation across Thanos’ face. He takes his time with a long final drag, taunting, then reluctantly passes it over. Nam-gyu takes it from him eagerly, savouring the soft bliss that spreads through him as he inhales. 

Thanos has busied himself with prepping his DIY tattoo station, dipping the needle into the shot glass that he's filled with vodka. 

“What's that for?” Nam-gyu asks, curious, smoke billowing from his mouth. 

“Safety first, Nam-su. Gotta disinfect it.” 

“Nam-gyu.” He corrects. Thanos rolls his eyes. He shakes off the stray droplets of alcohol from the needle and passes it over to Nam-gyu. Thanos contemplates what's left in the shot glass, then stares at Nam-gyu and grins, menacing. 

“Open up.” He says, threading one hand through Nam-gyu's hair to tug his head back and using the other to press the shot glass against his lips. Nam-gyu opens his mouth to protest instinctively and Thanos takes advantage, pouring the shot straight into his mouth. Nam-gyu swallows to avoid choking, spluttering against the taste; ash scatters from the joint while he coughs, wrenching his head free from Thanos' hold. It burns bitterly on the way down, settling in Nam-gyu's stomach heavily. 

“Fuck you.” He says hoarsely, wiping his mouth and glaring. Thanos is watching him with an odd, speculative gleam in his eye that makes Nam-gyu uncomfortable, so he shoves him and scowls. 

“It's bad to be wasteful.” Thanos says cheerfully, turning away again to start dismantling the pen he brought with him. He comes across a dilemma quickly as he reaches the ink chamber, staring at it and, Nam-gyu assumes, trying to figure out how to access the ink. Nam-gyu watches, pettily refusing to offer any advice as he takes another drag from the spliff - he almost chokes again when Thanos shrugs and bites down on the plastic tube savagely. When he removes the pen from his mouth, ink now exposed and ready for use, he smiles at Nam-gyu and - Nam-gyu can't hold back the laugh. Dark blooms of ink spread across his lower lip and the white of his teeth, giving the impression of a gap-toothed smile. 

“You look so stupid.” Nam-gyu says, almost giggling - like he's a five year old girl, or something. He can blame it on the weed if he's pressed. Thanos shuts his mouth with a clack, pouting. 

“Remember what I said about kicking your ass.” He warns, shielding the lower half of his face as he glares at Nam-gyu. He takes the joint back and puffs moodily before stubbing it out on the outside of the vodka bottle, then setting it on the bed where it's probably still a fire hazard. He sets the exposed ink capsule in front of Nam-gyu and rolls up his sleeve. “This shit is pretty easy.” Thanos says airily, moving on fast. “Dip the needle in the ink, then poke it about this deep.” He holds his thumb and forefinger a space apart, and Nam-gyu squints, trying to apply it to the needle. “Each time you do it, you'll make a dot. Okay?” He asks. 

“Okay.” Nam-gyu says, uncertain. “What do you want me to do?” Thanos considers for a second, drumming his fingers on the sheets while he thinks. 

“Something cool. Like, one of those demons with the big crazy horns.” Thanos decides, using his fingers to mime horns beside his head and pulling a face. Nam-gyu thinks it might be sensible to trace it out first, figure out what Thanos means, but he can tell already that he's getting impatient.  

“You can't get mad if you don't like it, alright?” Nam-gyu says cautiously, dipping the needle into the ink. 

“Sure.” Thanos grins, inky teeth and all. “Do it here.” He points at the outside of his exposed bicep. Nam-gyu gnaws on his lip for a moment, then leans in and pokes the needle into Thanos' skin. 

 

Turns out, Thanos is a massive fucking baby . 

“Nam-su,” he whines, five minutes in, flinching away when Nam-gyu tries to jab him again. “You’re doing it too hard.”

“I'm doing what you told me. And it's Nam-gyu.” He says, poking the needle in slightly harder to punctuate his point. Thanos yelps, leaning even further away to cup his arm and look mournfully at Nam-gyu. “You asked me to do this.” Nam-gyu says, exasperated. Thanos pouts.

“I didn’t think you’d be so mean about it.” He complains, sniffling dramatically. 

“Just take deep breaths or something, I don’t know.” Nam-gyu offers, spreading his hands helplessly. Thanos huffs a sigh, looking away; his eye catches on the bottle of vodka shoved aside next to the joint, and he lights up, grabbing the bottle. 

“I know what'll help.” Thanos says wisely, unscrewing the cap and lifting it to his lips. He takes a long glug; enough that Nam-gyu winces, feeling the phantom burn in his mouth from the even smaller amount Thanos had forced on him. Nam-gyu watches his throat work as he swallows, then finally sets the bottle down and coughs, not covering his mouth. He smacks his lips loudly and wipes away a stray droplet that rolls down his chin, then shuffles closer to Nam-gyu again, rolling his sleeve back up and beaming. 

“You need help.” Nam-gyu mutters, getting back to work. 

The rest goes much more smoothly. They pause a few more times for Nam-gyu to wipe away the trace amounts of blood beading on Thanos’ arm, or when Thanos makes a particularly unhappy noise; at one point, when Nam-gyu is beginning to detail the curling horns, Thanos makes a noise that's hard to define as anything other than a whimper. Nam-gyu feels heat pool in his gut rapidly. 

“Pass me the bottle.” He demands hurriedly, hoping his flush can be attributed to the weed or the small amount of vodka he's already had. The first swig burns no less than the shot did, but it goes down easier, the taste less noticeable where it's overlayed by notes of his own embarrassment. 

 

When the tattoo is finally finished, two and a half hours later, Nam-gyu feels suitably relaxed. The high has long since faded, but there's a pleasurable buzz from the alcohol. Nam-gyu wipes away the last smears of blood from Thanos’ arm, then leans back to critically observe it. It's a little lopsided, one of the horns longer than the other, but for something entirely unplanned it's - it's not too bad. Especially considering that he's been operating under the influence of multiple substances. 

“Done.” Nam-gyu says, interrupting Thanos' humming. He immediately perks up, twisting to see it. 

“Shit,” Thanos whistles, angling his arm awkwardly to look. “That's sick as fuck.” He prods it lightly, face an open display of admiration. Nam-gyu watches his expressions intently, lapping up every hint of appreciation. Thanos stares at it for a few minutes longer, then turns to look at Nam-gyu again. “Now I do you.” He says, reaching for the needle. Nam-gyu immediately draws back. 

“What? No.” He laughs, holding the needle away. 

“Don't be a pussy.” Thanos says, shoving into Nam-gyu's space. “Just drink some more. It doesn't even hurt.”

“If it doesn't hurt, why were you whining like a bitch?” Nam-gyu asks, shoving Thanos away. 

“Hey!” Thanos snaps, launching himself at Nam-gyu. They flail for a few seconds, coming dangerously close to tipping off the bunk, before Thanos traps him in a headlock. “Firstly,” he says, tapping Nam-gyu on the nose, “I did not whine. Secondly, it'll be cool. Ladies love tattoos.” He eyes Nam-gyu for a second, then adds, meanly, “Guys too.” Nam-gyu punches him in the kidney - hard. Thanos releases him, groaning in pain, and Nam-gyu sits up. He smooths his hair behind his ears and scowls. 

“Fuck you.” Nam-gyu says. “But fine. Something small.” He insists. Thanos stops where he's massaging his side, looking like a kicked dog, to pump a triumphant fist in the air.

“What do you want?” He asks eagerly, snatching the needle from Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu shrugs. 

“I don't know. Something lucky.” He says carelessly, offering his arm to Thanos. 

Thanos’ grip on his elbow is blisteringly hot. Nam-gyu barely feels each prick of the needle, fixated on Thanos’ scalding touch. He's decided that the tattoo needs to be a surprise, so he's curled over Nam-gyu's arm, diligently jabbing away while Nam-gyu sips from the vodka bottle, grimacing at every few painful pokes and the taste of the booze. Thanos ends up taking much less time than Nam-gyu. Thirty minutes later, give or take, he wipes away the few traces of blood with a flourish and presents his handiwork to Nam-gyu. It's a small, single lined horseshoe, drooping on one side. There's something oddly endearing about it.

“Do you like it?” Thanos asks, setting the needle down and peering at Nam-gyu, then leaning in to get another look at the tattoo. He's close to Nam-gyu, hair tickling the side of his face. He looks up again, expectant, eyes big and hopeful. 

“Yeah.” Nam-gyu says faintly, then leans in. 

Thanos' lips are warm, chapped and unresponsive against his. Nam-gyu's heart is playing a staccato rhythm, beating against his chest like it's trying to break free from his ribcage. He pulls back after a second, eyes flicking up and down Thanos’ face - he looks surprised, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. There's a tense moment where Nam-gyu thinks this could really go either way, bracing himself for the potential hit, and then Thanos’ hands are cupping his face and Nam-gyu is toppling backwards, Thanos slotting himself between his legs. He tastes like vodka and ink and the remnants of weed and, when he bites Nam-gyu’s lip, blood. His hands start wandering, and Nam-gyu makes a downright filthy noise, unintentional and unexpected; Thanos pulls away, pupils dilated and lips flushed, and presses a finger gently to Nam-gyu's lips. 

“Quiet.” He mouths, resting his weight on Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu nods, thoughts swirling, and slides his hands under Thanos' shirt. 

Thanos relights the joint, afterwards, curled casually beside Nam-gyu in the bed that's too small for both of them. He shares it easily this time, tucking the cigarette into the corner of Nam-gyu's mouth for him. 

“You weren't a virgin or anything, right?” Thanos asks casually. Nam-gyu snorts, smoke streaming from his nostrils. 

“No.” 

(He remembers his first time with an uncomfortable clarity; she’d been desperate and inexperienced, and he’d been. Well. Inexperienced too, certainly, but he wouldn’t have minded missing out on it. Once it was over with, they’d never spoken again.)

“Great.” Thanos says, stretching. “That would make this more awkward; you should probably go. My cousins might get home soon.” Nam-gyu sighs, taking a final hit from the joint before passing it back. Thanos sits up, reaching out and grabbing Nam-gyu's t-shirt. Nam-gyu puts his hand out for it expectantly, only half paying attention while he searches for the rest of his things; he only just notices when Thanos uses the shirt to wipe himself off. 

“Hey!” He exclaims, turning to punch Thanos on his newly tattooed arm. He snatches the shirt from him, grimacing. “You're so fucking gross, dude.” He snaps, scrubbing the new stain against Thanos' bedsheets in an attempt to wipe it off. 

“My bad.” Thanos says unapologetically, tugging his own shirt on and wincing slightly when he moves his arm. There’s the beginnings of a bruise blooming under the reddened skin. 

They get dressed in silence, the soft rustle of fabric the only noise. When Nam-gyu is fully clothed again, he turns to Thanos, opening and shutting his mouth haltingly. 

“I’m not…” He begins, stilted.

“We don't have to talk about it.” Thanos interrupts. “Sometimes friends just help each other out. Right?” Nam-gyu nods, relieved. 

“Right.” He says, zipping his jacket all the way up. “See you around, then.”

“See you.” 

Chapter 3

Notes:

final chapter yay
took forever to write because i was sick and also uninspired but. i healed
anyway next on the agenda is a lottielee yj fic because they make me weep and sob etc
hope you enjoy :) tysm to everoyne who commented

They don't talk about it.

 

A day passes, silent on both sides, and then Thanos sends him another shitty soundcloud beat that Nam-gyu lies about liking. After that, things return to whatever kind of ‘normal’ they'd been existing on before; teetering on the brink of… something, but neither of them willing to tip the scale and see what it might be. 

On a nondescript Tuesday evening, Nam-gyu is, as usual, lying in his room unmoving. He's indulged in one of his few remaining tabs and is watching the soft swirl of shadows dancing along his chipped grey walls when he hears footsteps approaching in the hallway, light and quick. His mother pokes her head into the room a moment later, eyes landing on him where he's laid on his mattress, arms folded over his stomach. 

She doesn’t bother with pleasantries. “Have you been going to school?” She asks, lips pursed disapprovingly. Nam-gyu shrugs, still staring at the movement on the walls. 

“Sure,” he says, noncommittal, taking a second to focus on getting the word out. He sleeps until noon almost every day, he's out in the small hours of the night getting himself involved in things that would have his grandmother turning in her grave, and he hasn't even referenced school once over the past few months in any of the miniscule conversations they’ve had - but yeah. Sure. He's been going. 

“You know,” she says after a brief pause, regarding him icily, “when I was your age, I would've done anything to finish my education. You're lucky to have the opportunity.” There’s a bitter, barely masked resentment in her voice, born from years of having nothing but regret to cling to. Nam-gyu finally looks up at her, face flat. The swirling whirlpool of rage that he does his best to suffocate is growing harder to suppress, clawing its way along the inside of his chest, desperate to be released. He knows it's the drugs, but the way shadows play up and down her face hypnotically, highlighting the cruel press of her mouth and the heavy arch of her brow feels like it's taunting him. 

“I told you I've been going.” He bites out, aggression creeping into his voice. She stands in his doorway for a second longer, expression imperceptible. Nam-gyu watches her hatefully. He can see himself in the curve of her nose, the arch of her cheekbones, the soft sweep of her hair. It makes him sick. On his worst days, when hatred bubbles so aggressively in his blood that he can't think about anything else, he imagines how it'd feel to kill her; to look into the face that's a reflection of his own and watch as the life drains from her. He’d make it personal, he thinks. Make sure that he was the last thing she ever saw. It's a vicious, cruel thought that he only allows when he’s drowning in loathing, but it at least gives him something. 

“Go to school tomorrow.” She says finally, watching him. Nam-gyu wonders if she knows how he feels - if something in her understands the urge. She shuts the door behind her, leaving Nam-gyu alone again, anger so intense that he can almost feel it fogging his vision. He reaches for his phone out of habit; it's strange how quickly he's become used to seeking out Thanos' company. 

 

                                                          You:

                                           Are you busy

 

He hits send hesitantly, managing to be mildly nervous despite his anger, chewing on the edge of his thumbnail while he waits. The bright glare of his screen is distracting against the darkness of his room, and he's mesmerised for a moment, absorbed in the patterns; when he remembers what he was originally doing, Thanos has already replied. 

 

+82 19 3826 0230:

no 

do u want to come with me

im going 2 a club 2 pick smth up

hello???

 

                                                          You:

                                                        Sorry

                                                         Sure

 

+82 19 3826 0230:

ill be over in 5 

 

Nam-gyu switches his phone off, shutting his eyes for a moment. He tries to reach for a soft calmness, buried deep inside him, in the hopes that he’ll be able to still salvage his night. He loses track of time fast; it feels like only ten seconds before there's the sound of something pinging off his window, and Nam-gyu drags himself up, wiping his eyes blearily. Thanos is outside, looking impatient. Nam-gyu doesn't waste much more time, propping his window open and shimmying out carefully, making sure to leave a gap he can pry back open later. He drops down in front of Thanos, dusting his hands off. The cold air is slightly sobering, especially compared to the staleness of his room. 

“Where are we going?” He asks in lieu of a greeting. 

“Some club. I have a guy who owes me; he's giving me a discount on something special.” Thanos says, tapping the side of his nose unsubtly. “We could get a drink, or something.” 

“If they won't ID us, sure.” Nam-gyu shrugs. 

“They won't.” Thanos assures. “What's up with you coming out of the window?” He asks, starting to walk. Nam-gyu scowls, matching his pace. 

“I have to go to school tomorrow. My darling mother wants me to keep up my education. She might notice me leaving through the front door at this hour.” He half spits, face contorted angrily at the unfairness of it all. 

“Oh.” Thanos says, considering. He swings a friendly arm around Nam-gyu's shoulder. “I can come with you, if you want.” He offers. 

“Where?” Nam-gyu asks, wrinkling his nose. 

“School.” Thanos says, rolling his eyes. Nam-gyu pauses, slanting a sideways look at him. 

“Why?” He asks, suspicious. 

“Nothing else to do.” Thanos shrugs. When Nam-gyu keeps staring at him, Thanos scratches his head with a free hand. “Fine.” He sighs. “My dad's going to be home tomorrow, too. That's usually a sign for me to screw off somewhere.” 

“Right,” Nam-gyu says slowly. “Okay. We can walk together, then.” Thanos nods eagerly, patting Nam-gyu on the back. 

 

 

The club is quite different from the last one Nam-gyu ended up at, with neon lights advertising it out front on the main street, and much more room inside the building, so that any bodies tightly packed together are that way by choice rather than by necessity. Thanos drags him to a booth in the corner, bullying him into a seat and shuffling in on the same side swiftly afterwards. They sit, shoulders pressed together easily. The music is loud enough that it's difficult to talk over, but not so loud that it hurts. Nam-gyu's vision is pulsing faintly, but he suspects the high is starting to wear off by now; this must be the dregs catching up to him. Even so, he jumps wildly when Thanos pokes him in the shoulder, looking irritated. 

“Are you high? I was talking to you.” Thanos demands, leaning into his space to stare suspiciously at his eyes. He's sure his dilated pupils say more than enough, so he ducks his head away, trying to shield himself. 

“I took something a few hours ago.” Nam-gyu says sheepishly when Thanos doesn’t let up, reaching into his space to twist his face around. Thanos lets go of his face and  punches him in the arm, huffing. 

“Asshole.” He grumbles. “You could've shared.” 

“I didn't think we'd be meeting up.” Nam-gyu offers deferentially, nudging their shoulders together again in an attempt to appear sorry. He isn't really - he wouldn't have shared with Thanos anyway, considering the state of his stash, but bruising his ego isn't the best way to start the night. 

“Whatever.” Thanos says, still moody, but not moving his shoulder away from Nam-gyu. That's forgiveness enough, Nam-gyu thinks. “Anyway; I was saying - when he gets here, just be cool. Let me do the talking, alright?” Nam-gyu nods slowly. 

“Who?” He asks a second later. Thanos throws his hands up, exasperated.  

“Seriously, man?” He asks, jabbing Nam-gyu hard in the side of the head. “The guy I'm buying from. You're a terrible listener.” Thanos says, scowling. “Just - don't do anything stupid.” Nam-gyu snorts, rolling his eyes. 

“I'll try my best.” He says dryly, setting his head down on the table. Thanos is either ignorant to or deciding not to acknowledge his sarcasm; it’s hard to tell with him sometimes. He disappears for a minute while Nam-gyu scratches at a suspiciously sticky section of the table, enraptured, before returning with two bottles of soju. He slides one across to Nam-gyu. 

“You're buying the next ones.” Thanos says, taking a swig. Nam-gyu shrugs. He didn’t bring any money with him, so he’ll just have to hope they aren’t staying long. 

“When’s your guy getting here?” He asks, blowing boredly on the rim of his bottle. Thanos checks his cracked phone, scrolling briefly. 

“Soon.” He says authoritatively. Nam-gyu sighs and sets his head back on the table. The acid is fading, and he can feel the bone-deep fatigue that always comes afterwards setting in. He doesn't want to go home, but he doesn't want to be here, either. Ideally, he'd have some sort of space disconnected from it all where he could just - exist. He doesn’t mind being with Thanos, though. Loud and inconsiderate as he may be, Nam-gyu enjoys the company.

They kill about twenty minutes, sipping on their drinks silently. Thanos is focused heavily on the door, tapping his fingers and watching everyone who walks through, eagle-eyed. Nam-gyu can feel his eyelids drooping as time passes, stifling his yawns and propping himself up on one hand in an attempt to stay awake. He finds himself staring at Thanos' side profile, mentally tracing the shape of his nose and the pout of his lips; embarrassingly, he finds himself so distracted by this that he doesn't notice the person sliding into the seat across from them until he starts speaking. Nam-gyu looks up, then blinks a few times, trying to process. 

“Su-jin?” He blurts out, eyebrows furrowed. Su-jin stares back at him awkwardly, eyes wide and somewhat reminiscent of a deer in headlights. It's a strangely out of place look on his huge, thuggish face, and somehow makes Nam-gyu feel even more caught off guard. “I thought business was pausing.” Nam-gyu says, leaning forward. In the corner of his vision, he sees Thanos flick a curious glance between the two of them. 

“Ah,” Su-jin says, stilted. He scratches his bald head; it looks like there's a reason he isn't often chosen for diplomacy. “Well. We couldn't be sure if the police saw you or not, so it seemed better to cut our losses. We don't need to be linked to anything, you understand?” He offers, seeming somewhat earnest. Nam-gyu clenches a fist under the table, earlier fatigue washed away in a torrent of anger. They cut him out and didn't even fucking tell him about it. It feels like a new low for Nam-gyu, being let down by a group of criminals for something that wasn’t even his fault to begin with. In the hazy, stinging anger of his mind's eye, he sees himself leaping across the table and shaking Su-jin by the collar of his ugly fucking shirt until his teeth rattle from his head; he pictures himself beating him to a bloody pulp, knuckles splitting and fists aching. In reality, he stays sensibly in his seat. He jams his clenched fist under his leg and plasters a fake smile on his face. 

“No problem.” He says, voice devoid of emotion. “I get it.” Thanos is still looking at him strangely, and if he doesn't stop, Nam-gyu is going to snap. Nam-gyu kicks him under the table - probably a little harder than necessary. Thanos clears his throat and turns to look at Su-jin, steepling his fingers together. 

“About that discount,” he begins. Nam-gyu doesn't hear the rest. Blood is rushing in his ears, poisonous and angry and humiliated . Everything blurs around him, Su-jin and Thanos talking in hushed tones and gesturing vaguely about whatever it is they're trading. Nam-gyu can't take it. He stands, abruptly, and leaves without a word. 

The club bathroom is, quite frankly, disgusting. Nam-gyu stares at himself in the mirror, hair falling untucked. Something about Su-jin’s awkward, well-intentioned honesty smarts worse than being cut off cruelly; he would've at least preferred the dignity of a beatdown. He was only just starting. Sure, he didn't really want to move any further up the druggie ladder, but that doesn't mean he didn't still want the job - he feels even more humiliated for fucking believing that they weren't cutting him out. That tiny spark of hope he'd been cradling, thinking he'd get back with the gang and everything would be ok again, is brutally stamped out. Nam-gyu puts his head in his hands, taking a deep breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of the horseshoe tattoo, stark against his skin and taunting him. Lucky, right?

Thanos appears five minutes later, body language aggressive and face twisted angrily. “I told you not to say anything.” He snaps, stepping up to Nam-gyu to shove him. “He fucking left. Said that we'd have to figure it out some other time.” Nam-gyu twitches, curling his hand into a fist. Thanos watches him, frown deepening. “Seriously? Staying quiet now? ” He mocks meanly, leaning forward to flick Nam-gyu in the forehead. Nam-gyu turns to look at him, mouth pressed into a thin line. In the mirror, he notices himself fleetingly - his mother’s face reflects back at him. Something self-destructive and heavy settles in his stomach. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Nam-gyu says, right as Thanos opens his mouth to start talking again. Thanos’ cheeks, already flushed a light red from the alcohol, get even darker as indignation takes hold. 

“What did you say?” He asks, stepping forward, posturing aggressively. He's looking down at Nam-gyu, lower lip jutting and jaw clenched. Nam-gyu straightens up, staring back. 

“I told you,” he says, slow and mean, “to shut the fuck up.” 

Thanos swings first. Nam-gyu is slow and muddled by rage, and he's never been that good at fighting anyway; he takes the hit straight to the face, cracking against his cheekbone with a sick crunching noise. He stumbles back briefly, then, fuelled by booze, humiliation and a sadistic urge to make Thanos bleed, he launches himself forward. 

They hit the ground in a jumble of bony limbs, kicking and punching and yanking hair impolitely. There's nothing graceful about it; two teenagers brawling on the floor of a filthy club bathroom, using each other as an outlet for their slimy, trapped feelings. Thanos manages to straddle Nam-gyu, leaning in to headbutt him, but Nam-gyu reacts fast, catching Thanos on the nose with the blunt weight of his silver ring and feeling the hot spatter of blood across his face as a result. Thanos reels back with a wounded cry, then retaliates by backhanding Nam-gyu across the face, splitting his lip easily. He stops clutching at his nose for a moment, wriggling around and catching Nam-gyu by the arm, twisting it painfully. 

“Stop it.” Thanos spits, blood staining his teeth. “You gave me a fucking nosebleed.” He accuses, petulant and childlike. Nam-gyu's chest is heaving as he tries to pull away from Thanos; he's stopped by Thanos’ grip tightening painfully. 

“Fine!” Nam-gyu yelps, sagging in an attempt to loosen the pressure on his arm. Thanos is one twist away from dislocating his shoulder, he thinks, and his tolerance for pain doesn't quite extend that far. Nam-gyu rests his head against the floor and immediately regrets it, his hair sticking to something he doesn't want to think about. Thanos lets go of his arm the second Nam-gyu shows signs of retreat, still perched on top of him and wiping blood away with the back of his hand. He prods tentatively at his nose. It isn't particularly swollen or crooked, so Nam-gyu assumes he's just being dramatic; it seems unlikely that he broke it, considering he didn’t even hit Thanos all that hard. Nam-gyu flicks his tongue out to wipe blood from his lips, wrinkling his nose at the metallic tang. Thanos’ attention flicks to him quickly - he seems to notice the provocative position they're in, and something changes in his face, micro-expressions flitting across quickly as he wars with something internal. After a confusing moment, Thanos stands and dusts himself off, then leans down and offers Nam-gyu a hand to clasp, pulling him up. 

“Let's go.” He says decisively, tugging Nam-gyu along by his sleeve. Nam-gyu feels disoriented by the sudden change of pace, adrenaline still coursing through him. 

“Where?” He asks, bemused. Thanos doesn't answer, so Nam-gyu reluctantly lets Thanos tow him out of the bathroom, ignoring the strange looks they get; he supposes they probably are quite the sight, bloody and bruised. The cool air is a pleasant contrast to the muggy atmosphere of the club, raising gooseflesh on his arms. Thanos doesn't seem inclined to tell Nam-gyu where they're going, and Nam-gyu doesn't want to press; he feels he's tried his luck enough for the night, and even though he’s still pissed, he’s sensible enough to not keep picking a fight he can’t win. They take a winding path through the streets until they end up at some park - Nam-gyu doesn't recognise it, but that doesn't mean much. He's not one for exploration, typically. 

Thanos drags him through the gate. It only takes a few seconds before, disoriented, Nam-gyu is shoved up against the wall of some indistinguishable structure - a slide, maybe? A climbing frame? His head thuds against a plastic beam with a dull ‘thunk’. Thanos is in his space, breathing directly in his face. His breath smells like soju and blood. Nam-gyu expects an interrogation about what happened in the club, but Thanos seems to be following a different line of thinking. 

“You owe me.” Thanos says, planting one hand on Nam-gyu's chest. “You almost broke my nose, and you ruined my deal.” Even in the dark, Nam-gyu can see his eyes glinting. “How are you going to make it up to me?” He asks. Nam-gyu blinks, then laughs. 

“What kind of line is that?” He asks, grinning despite his split lip. It stings where the skin stretches, reopening. Thanos pouts. He wraps his free hand around the back of Nam-gyu's neck, tugging him in closer. 

“Friends help each other out.” He says, voice low, knocking their foreheads together gently. “Are we friends, Nam-su?” Nam-gyu doesn't bother correcting him; it only adds on to all the other things that have built up throughout the day, a roiling storm of acidic resentment and misery. It's enough to tip him just over the edge of self-destructive. He drops his hands to settle on Thanos' hips, toying with the fabric of his shirt. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, “we're friends.”

Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, Nam-gyu finds himself thinking. They'd each gone their separate ways after the tryst in the park, and now, lying in bed contemplatively, staring unseeing at his ceiling in the dark, Nam-gyu thinks that he can't allow it to happen again. Three times is a pattern, and that's something he can't afford. He touches his fingers lightly to the new bruises in the shape of teeth on his neck. Where does deniability reach its limit? He shuts his eyes. 

 

Morning comes quickly. Nam-gyu estimates that he's slept about three hours when he's woken by loud knocking and his mother’s grating voice snapping at him to get up. Dragging himself from his warm (if not-quite comfortable) bed is a chore. He hasn't been awake this early in months; the light of sunrise casts an orange glow through his room, illuminating motes of dust floating softly through the air. He gets changed, searching through piles of clothes to dig out his crumpled brown uniform and battered schoolbag, buried deep under everything else. Once he's dressed, he combs his fingers through his still sticky hair and looks at himself in the mirror. His lower lip is slightly swollen, there's a dark bruise blooming on his cheek, and lurid red marks are scattered noticeably along his neck. He looks like a delinquent. Tugging his collar up uselessly, he leaves his room. 

When he gets downstairs, his mother is already asleep again, sprawled on the couch with an unlit cigarette tucked between her fingers. He steps past her to get to the kitchen, shooting a sour look at her, then stops in his tracks. His father is sitting at the table, coffee in one hand and phone in the other. He looks up when Nam-gyu walks in and immediately frowns. 

“What happened to your face?” He asks, putting his phone down on the table. 

“Nothing.” Nam-gyu says, rifling through the cupboards for something easy to grab. It pisses him off, just a little, that his father has the audacity to act as if he cares.

“I see. Did this same ‘nothing’ happen to your neck, as well?” He asks, something sharp in his voice. The disapproval is blatant. Had Nam-gyu been a few years younger, a little more desperate for his father’s esteem, he'd be mortified. As it stands, his face heats slightly, but he stays silent, still searching through the mostly empty cupboards. Even in the days when he'd tried to impress his father, he'd always fallen short one way or another. There’s something inherently unimpressive about him to his father, and he's learned since his aching early teens that silence is the best tool available to him. 

“You know,” his father says carefully, still watching him, “you could have a future, if you tried.” Nam-gyu bites down on his lower lip angrily, facing away. The painful string is grounding, reminding him to keep his mouth shut. His father, undeterred by Nam-gyu’s lack of response, continues. “I don't want you to end up like me.” Taking a breath, he says, “Whoever she is, she isn't worth it; this kind of thing doesn't last at your age. Especially if you're getting into fights over her.” At that, finally, Nam-gyu snorts. 

“Don't worry. You're not going to be a grandfather anytime soon.” He says wryly, cutting through to the heart of the message. 

“I was telling my parents the same thing at your age. Look how that went.” His father mutters, but he doesn't persist. Nam-gyu is distantly aware of the fact that his father hasn’t spoken to his parents since Nam-gyu was a baby - something about their irreparable differences, he’s heard, which he assumes is just code for knocking a girl up at seventeen and fucking up his life in the process. He lifts his phone again, blocking Nam-gyu back out. Nam-gyu finally snags a lone cereal bar, tucking it into his pocket. He leaves quietly. 

 

Faintly, he remembers Thanos’ offer to join him at schoo l; he wonders if that's still happening, especially after the events of last night. Nam-gyu takes his phone out and sits down on the pavement for a minute, fidgeting as he tries to figure out whether or not he should message. He doesn't want to come across as needy. He fiddles with his phone for a few minutes, gnawing on his lower lip, until he hears footsteps approaching and his head shoots up. 

“What's up?” Thanos greets, hands jammed in his uniform pockets. His is just as wrinkled as Nam-gyu's, and he's missing a tie. He's sporting less visible bruises than Nam-gyu, although his nose is a little redder than usual and there’s the edge of a hickey peeking from his shirt collar. For some reason his schoolbag looks to be full - Nam-gyu wouldn't put money on Thanos actually having books in there. 

“What's in the bag?” Nam-gyu asks, taking Thanos’ newly proffered hand to pull himself up. Thanos grins at him and shakes his head. 

“Don't worry.” He says easily, which is… by far the most concerning thing he could say. Something must show on Nam-gyu's face, because Thanos rolls his eyes and shoves his shoulder lightly. “It's nothing illegal, man.” He snorts. Nam-gyu nods slowly, only slightly assured. They start walking, meandering lazily in the general direction of the school. It’s easier the second time around to return to acting like nothing has happened between them.

Arriving to their first class, they both get some pretty strange looks. Despite the way it makes Nam-gyu duck his head and shuffle to the empty seats at the back of the class, he thinks this is largely a reasonable reaction. No one has seen either of them at school for months, and then they suddenly show up together, suspiciously bruised and seemingly friends. Nam-gyu would be staring, too. 

Things pass in a boringly normal manner. Their teachers seem mostly happy to ignore them, other than a few dirty looks, so they kill time in various non-educational ways, tuning out the drone of useless information. Nam-gyu doodles, boredly scribbling cruel caricatures of their classmates and passing them to Thanos, who writes little comments underneath each one and kicks Nam-gyu in the shin in warning when their teacher gets too close. It's a solid system to stave off boredom. Thanos fidgets endlessly throughout, confidently ignorant to the dirty looks he gets; he has a habit of sprawling out in his seat, too, long legs taking up Nam-gyu's space carelessly and knocking their ankles together every time he moves. 

Three mind numbing classes later, they're finally released for lunch. Thanos stretches widely, chewing on the end of a pen he borrowed from Nam-gyu. (That makes three times. He's going to have to start charging.) Nam-gyu watches as people slowly filter out of the classroom, chattering in groups with their friends. He's just observing, nothing particularly special, until he notices something odd. Jun-hee, a small, perpetually sad looking girl with highlights in her hair and a piercing that Nam-gyu remembers all the girls tittering about, is walking strangely. He narrows his eyes. One of her hands is placed on top of her belly absently, and over her school uniform is a hoodie much baggier than it needs to be, swamping her. That's a new development. Nam-gyu is very happy to not be involved in anything revolving around girls in general, but even he recognises those signs for what they are. Nam-gyu wonders if she's still dating Myung-gi, or if there's someone else involved - is any of it public knowledge?

As Nam-gyu opens his mouth to say something to Thanos, he feels a hand on his shoulder, tugging at him. 

“Hurry up.” Thanos whines, standing beside him impatiently. Nam-gyu shakes his head distractedly, ending his observations and getting up. 

“Where to?” He asks, shouldering his bag. Back when he'd attended school regularly, he'd generally find himself sloping around the courtyard during lunch until it was time to return to class. He's not used to having someone to hang about with during his free time. 

“I'm hungry.” Thanos declares, looking at Nam-gyu hopefully. “Do you have money?” Nam-gyu shakes his head. 

“Nope.” Belatedly, he remembers the cereal bar he'd swiped this morning, and fishes through his pockets until he finds it again. He holds it out in Thanos’ direction. “I'll share.” He offers, aware of the fact it isn’t much. Thanos sighs loudly, then nods. 

“Alright. Come on.” He takes Nam-gyu by the wrist and tugs him along. Thanos drags him, oddly enough, to the second floor bathrooms; a group of younger kids look up, startled when they walk in - Thanos jerks his head towards the doors, scowling, and they scatter, slinking past and glaring. Thanos’ expression drops right after and he turns to grin at Nam-gyu, hopping up onto a sink. He pats the one beside him, so Nam-gyu follows suit, reaching into his pocket for the cereal bar. He splits it in half as evenly as he can and offers a section to Thanos. They eat in companionable silence, swinging their legs above the tile counter. 

“We could just stay here for the rest of the day.” Thanos offers, speaking through a full mouth. “More fun than going back to class.” Nam-gyu nods absently. 

“More fun than class.” He repeats. Bizarrely, he feels kind of lost. Being back in school and realising he has no idea what's going on has reconfigured something for him, mentally. He can hear his father's voice ringing in his ears, telling him that he could have a future - it's strange. “What do you plan on doing? In the future, I mean?” Nam-gyu asks, suddenly. Thanos looks at him, tilting his head curiously. 

“Why?” He asks, instead of answering. Nam-gyu shrugs. 

“Just curious, I guess.” 

“I thought it was obvious. I'm going to rap, man.” Thanos says. 

“Right.” Nam-gyu says, nodding. “What if that doesn't work out, though?”

“Why wouldn't it?” Thanos asks, confused. “You've heard my stuff. I'm going to be one of the greats, dude.” Nam-gyu envies his confidence. Thanos isn't someone who wastes time thinking about failure. Nam-gyu doesn't have anything he can rely on, though. No misguided rap career, no secret hidden talents or quiet genius - he's nothing particularly unique. There's a softly bubbling hunger for something more , buried beneath jaded layers that have built up over the years, but he doesn't think he knows how to excavate it anymore. Something in him has been undeniably warped. 

Thanos, for once, seems to notice his mood. He looks at Nam-gyu strangely and reaches over to prod him in the shoulder. “You good?” He asks. 

“Yeah, man. I'm fine. Just thinking.” Nam-gyu says, unconvincing. Thanos shrugs, looking away. As he does, the bathroom door swings open, and two guys that Nam-gyu recognises walk in. Myung-gi something-or-other, and one of his uninteresting friends that Nam-gyu only recognises by proximity. Nam-gyu looks at Thanos, expecting him to do something to scare them off, and notices how his lip has curled angrily, his expression poisonous. 

“Myung-gi.” He greets, acidic, hopping off the sink to step up to him. Myung-gi immediately looks uncomfortable, glancing to his friend for support. 

“Su-bong,” he starts, backing away slightly. Thanos shoots out a hand and catches him by the tie, reeling him forward. Myung-gi’s friend startles. 

“Thanos.” He corrects. Myung-gi doesn't laugh, so Nam-gyu assumes he was already aware of the stupid name. 

“Right.” Myung-gi manages, swallowing heavily. He opens his mouth to talk again, but Thanos beats him to it. 

“How's your dad?” Thanos asks dangerously, and Myung-gi manages to look even more pathetic. His unmemorable friend looks at Nam-gyu, confused, and Nam-gyu shakes his head in return. He has no idea what's happening. 

“Thanos,” Myung-gi tries again, clutching at Thanos’ wrist. “I - You know that I don't have anything to do with my dad's business, right?” He asks helplessly.

“Sure,” Thanos says, “but that isn't stopping you from benefiting from daddy's money, is it?” He sneers, tugging pointedly on a strand of Myung-gi’s perfectly styled hair. “I bet you didn't even care about the shit he was doing until it came back to bite you. How does it feel being related to scum like that? Taking advantage of normal people? I should beat your fucking ass, you know.” At this, Myung-gi's face hardens. 

“If you don't let go of me, I’m going to - I have proof that you've done drugs,” he says, voice lowering to a hiss on the last two words. “I'll take it to the police. I'll tell them you assaulted me and that you're a druggie and they'll believe me.” Myung-gi’s face is flushed with self-righteous anger. Nam-gyu is entirely lost; he has no idea what they're talking about, but something about Myung-gi pisses him off beyond just the threat of police involvement. He stands up, brushing invisible dirt from his uniform trousers. Thanos' fist is still clenched around Myung-gi's tie, but he’s clearly trying to formulate a plan. 

“Hey,” Nam-gyu says, putting a hand up in front of his mouth like a shield and stage-whispering conspiratorially. “Did you know that Myung-gi has a bitch?” Thanos’ eyes flick to the side, watching Nam-gyu curiously. 

“You have time to fool around with some girl?” Thanos asks him, something mildly teasing in his voice. 

“You know,” Nam-gyu continues, “I was watching her carefully. She was walking a little funny, and her belly looked-” He breaks off, shoving his hands into his pockets to mime a swollen belly. Myung-gi’s attention is immediately locked onto Nam-gyu. He lunges at him, jerking against Thanos’ hold; he doesn't make it far, but Nam-gyu subtly steps back, anyway. It's proof that he's right, anyway. 

“You leave her out of this,” Myung-gi says, tightly wound and furious. There's a new, gleeful smile spreading across Thanos' face as he pieces it together. Nam-gyu feels absurdly proud of himself for causing it. 

“Do you think his dad knows?” Nam-gyu presses, watching Myung-gi pale and look to his friend for support helplessly.

“I'll tell you what - you keep your mouth shut, and we'll be fine. But,” Thanos says, waggling a finger, “you say a single word about this to anyone and I'll rat you out to your father faster than you can blink. And then, once everyone knows, I'll ask your girlfriend out and treat her better than you ever have.” He leans in, mouth practically pressed against Myung-gi's ear. Nam-gyu watches, shit-eating grin fixed firmly in place. “She'll love it.” Thanos whispers. 

Myung-gi looks like he's on the verge of popping a vein. His fists clench and unclench desperately as he wars with himself, before he finally forces himself to take a breath. 

“Fine.” He says, making a solid attempt at speaking evenly. “I’ll stay quiet if you do. Are we done here?” His voice is still thick with anger, but Nam-gyu gets the feeling he's planning on sticking to his word. He taps Thanos on the shoulder lightly and motions towards the door of the bathroom. Thanos takes one more long, mean look at Myung-gi, before letting him go and wiping his hand dramatically, getting rid of imaginary germs. 

“Let's go.” He says, beckoning for Nam-gyu to follow. Nam-gyu waves goodbye as they leave, grinning at Myung-gi. 

“Where are we going?” He asks, catching back up to Thanos outside of the bathroom. 

“Shit, I don't know.” Thanos says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck it. Let's just get out of here. Can we go to yours?” He asks, looking at Nam-gyu with tired, pleading eyes.

“Sure. My parents are probably working.” Nam-gyu shrugs, trapped by Thanos’ gaze. He's done enough to make his mother believe he's been to school; he doesn't care about sticking it out any longer. 

The walk back to Nam-gyu's house is tense, Thanos moodily kicking pebbles and not saying much. Nam-gyu fidgets with his rings, waiting for his usual chatter to kick in, but nothing happens. He clears his throat. 

“So… what's the deal with you and Myung-gi?” He asks, watching Thanos’ frown deepen. 

“His bitch of a father runs the gambling place in town.” Thanos says at once, as if he’d been waiting for the question. He kicks a pebble particularly aggressively. “He testified against my dad after… an incident.” He waves a hand vaguely. “Even though he was perfectly happy to take his money, you know? He went to prison for two years, that time. Which - sure, it wasn't even all that long compared to before, but it would've been like, a month, if Myung-gi's dad had just shut the fuck up and kept to his own business.” Nam-gyu blinks awkwardly at him, startled by the sudden dump of information. 

“Right.” He says. Thanos sighs, looking at Nam-gyu sideways for a reaction; he doesn’t seem particularly upset with whatever he sees, in that he doesn’t openly get any angrier, but he doesn’t look much happier either, scuffing his shoes against the road moodily. They don't speak again until they reach Nam-gyu's house. 

Once they arrive, Nam-gyu puts a finger to his lips, motioning for Thanos to stay quiet. He steps into the house, swivelling his head around to check and see if either of his parents are home; there are no lit cigarettes by the couch and no one is snoring, so Nam-gyu assumes the coast is clear. He waves Thanos in. 

“I can see why you smell like smoke all the time.” Thanos says absently, wrinkling his nose. Nam-gyu hunches his shoulders and mutters something impolite under his breath, before clearing his throat and leading the way to his bedroom. He hadn't bothered to clean before Thanos arrived, and he certainly isn't going to now. 

“Ignore the junk.” He mutters, kicking his shoes off and flopping down on the mattress, face first. He can hear Thanos copying him, and then a second weight hits the mattress. Nam-gyu rolls over to look at him. 

“Can I stay here tonight?” Thanos asks, practically nose-to-nose with Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu is starting to get used to the sudden tone switches that seem to possess Thanos so easily, but it’s still a little jarring. 

“What?” Nam-gyu asks, distracted by the delicate sweep of Thanos’ eyelashes. “Why?” Thanos looks, for the first time that Nam-gyu's ever seen, slightly uncomfortable. 

“I don't want to see my dad.” He says, awkwardly avoiding Nam-gyu's gaze. “He’s not.. There’s nothing wrong with him, you know. He’s… old fashioned. I just,” he falters. Nam-gyu watches, confused, as Thanos tries to figure out what to say. He’s missing something, but he thinks he gets it all the same. Parents suck. “He'll only be back for a few days. Can I just stay tonight? Please?” Thanos asks, fidgeting with the corner of Nam-gyu's blanket. Nam-gyu doesn't like hearing him say please; there's something distinctly un-Thanos-like about his nervous request. Nam-gyu moistens his lips and nods. 

“Yeah. You can stay.” He says, unthinking. “You have to be quiet, though. My parents will kill me otherwise.” Thanos’ head shoots up and he nods eagerly, looking at Nam-gyu with something unpleasantly affectionate in his eyes. 

“Thanks,” he says, grinning. “I didn't have a backup plan if you said no, you know. I only brought enough to stay inside a house. No food or anything.” Thanos says, as if this is somehow amusing. 

“What the hell do you have in your bag, then?” Nam-gyu asks, rolling his eyes. “Spare clothes?”

“Yeah, man. But hey, it all worked out, right?” He flicks Nam-gyu's shoulder lightly, then rolls over, swinging a leg over his lap to straddle him. “We don't have to be quiet yet, right?” Thanos asks, leaning over Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu swallows heavily, resisting the urge to settle his hands on Thanos' waist.  

“I don't think this is a good idea.” He says falteringly. “Last night, we were both drunk, and… I'm not gay.” Nam-gyu manages, sounding slightly strangled. 

“Okay.” Thanos says, shrugging. “Me neither. I don’t like you because you’re a guy. I just like you.” Nam-gyu's mouth is dry, staring up at him. Thanos says it like it’s that easy; it's a strangely effective move. Nam-gyu's heart is thudding in his chest, he's certain that he's blushing, and there's something rushing through him that he thinks might be embarrassingly close to adoration. 

“Okay.” Nam-gyu mimics, staring at Thanos. “Yeah. Okay.” Thanos leans forward, arms steadily planted on either side of Nam-gyu. When they kiss, sober for the first time, Nam-gyu thinks that just maybe, he’s ok with this developing pattern.