windless nights, moonlight melts

by bittersweet_serendipity

Summary:

Nam-gyu resists the urge to tell him to hurry up. The cold is unrelenting, the type that makes him want to crawl out of his own skin. The lack of clothes certainly doesn’t help with that, and while Nam-gyu can still hear the way Thanos shuffles around, there’s a primal fear within him that he’ll be left behind, tied up and defenseless.

— — —

[The games end. The odd sense of partnership that’s unfolded between Thanos and Nam-gyu does not.]

Notes:

Oh hey would you look at that, I’m finally writing the thangyu longfic I haven’t shut up abt for the past 2 months. Wonders never cease.

(Please keep in mind that tags will update as the story continues! I’ve tagged all the major warnings that’ll end up getting brought up, but I’ll be updating the tags accordingly in case I forgot anything >_O)

Chapter 1: The Fool

Cold cement against bare skin. A rapidly beating heart trapped inside a ribcage. A cloth wrapped tightly against struggling, twitching eyelids. Ragged breathing, excessive shuffling, something square and solid clenched firmly between his teeth.

These are the sensations that hit Nam-gyu all at the exact same time, unforgiving in their relentlessness. There’s no gradual awakening, no slow rise to consciousness. It all slams into him in one swift, hefty blow, an action that leaves Nam-gyu spluttering and coughing in a hasty, panicked attempt to dispel the foreign object from his mouth.

His hands are tied, as are his feet, and he’s only wearing a thin pair of boxers — he recognizes these facts quickly, and it only serves to heighten his panic. He feels the item, whatever it is, slip out of his mouth and clatter against the ground, and he heaves a breath as if it’s the last one he’ll ever take. As far as he’s aware, it very well could be.

The sound that leaves his mouth is a sickening mixture of pitiful fear and blatant confusion, a guttural, almost animalistic noise. It hardly sounds like it comes from himself at all, but he feels the way his throat constricts against the vowels, so he can’t blame the desperate, pleading noise on anyone else; an annoyance in itself.

A grunt, followed by the sound of something dragging against hardened ground. Nam-gyu stops all movement and holds his breath. He’s not alone.

“Nam-su?”

The familiarity of the voice is enough to slow the drastic racing of Nam-gyu’s thoughts, albeit only slightly. He thinks back to the games, to the results of the vote, to the numb disappointment that encased him.

“Thanos?” Nam-gyu parrots, blinking rapidly against a blackened blindfold. “Is that—? Fuck, I can’t see—“

Nam-gyu jolts against his confines, a jarring, twitchy motion that he feels he has no real control over. Distantly, he hears the sounds of cars, of crickets chirping, of a faraway voice going on and on about God being the one true savior.

His bindings seem to tighten, though he knows he must be imagining it.

“Thanos?” He tries again feebly. If that fucker left him for dead, he swears he’ll track him down and kill him, freebie drugs be damned. He shudders violently — there’s no wind blowing, but the coldness still manages to be stifling.

“Hold on,” Thanos murmurs from a place Nam-gyu can’t quite pinpoint. “I gotta…gotta get this shit off of me…”

Ah, so he’s been binded up too. That’s good, Nam-gyu thinks idly. Puts them on equal footing. Though, Thanos certainly seems to be making a hell of a lot more progress than he is.

Nam-gyu jolts again, his body wracked with another harsh shiver as he licks absently at spit coated lips. “There was…fuck, there was something in my mouth—“

“Credit card,” Thanos grunts.

…Oh.

Nam-gyu resists the urge to tell him to hurry up. The cold is unrelenting, the type that makes him want to crawl out of his own skin. The lack of clothes certainly doesn’t help with that, and while Nam-gyu can still hear the way Thanos shuffles around, there’s a primal fear within him that he’ll be left behind, tied up and defenseless.

“Thanos—“

“I know, man. Hold on.”

Nam-gyu bites his tongue. He has a feeling that rushing him will only make matters worse, so instead he stays quiet, listening attentively to the way Thanos curses under his breath, clearly struggling with something.

Seconds turn into minutes, and by the time hands begin to grasp at the cloth covering his eyes, he jumps so intensely at the touch that it causes swiftly moving fingers to withdraw instinctively.

“Fuck, man, chill out. It’s me.”

Nam-gyu doesn’t offer any sort of explanation, because he has no need to. Anyone would be jumpy in his situation. He repeats this fact in his brain like a mantra as Thanos begins to tug persistently at his blindfold again, quick and efficient.

Nam-gyu blinks upwards blearily as the cloth falls to the ground, waiting impatiently for the blurriness in his sight to ebb away. The sky above him is dark and dotted with stars. The moon is full. It’d be beautiful, under different circumstances.

It’d be beautiful, if Nam-gyu had any care for it.

“Hello? Earth to Nam-su?”

A hand waves in front of his face, and Nam-gyu turns his head slightly to see Thanos staring down at him expectantly. Thanos, who unlike him, wears a brightly colored t-shirt and loose pair of sweatpants.

Well, that’s just not fair. Why’d Thanos get clothes, but Nam-gyu didn’t? Seems like blatant favoritism.

“You’re still pretty out of it, aren’t you?” Thanos mumbles, though it seems to be more to himself than to Nam-gyu. His eyes flicker across his body, oddly attentive. “Huh…didn’t know you had so many tats.”

Nam-gyu stares up at him in a way that he can only hope conveys his steadily rising annoyance as his body quivers with another bout of shuddering. He’d tell him to quit ogling and start untying him if he wasn’t so inwardly nervous of abandonment.

His expression must get some semblance of his thoughts across, because after a few rapid blinks and a barely susceptible scowl, Thanos clears his throat and hastily steps behind him, loosening the ties around his wrists.

“Repent,” a faraway voice shouts, “repent, and be saved!”

“Can’t believe the first thing I’m hearing after all of that is some religious bullshit,” Nam-gyu complains, his words slurring. His brain feels fuzzy — what is it Thanos had said to him? That he still seems out of it? …Yeah, that sounds about right. He wonders what sort of drugs they pumped him with to knock him out for what seems to be a pretty prolonged amount of time. He wishes they would have given him more. Enough to make his brain feel disconnected from his body for just a bit longer. Hell, even enough to kill him.

Thanos makes a soft noise that Nam-gyu registers as a form of agreement, though he can’t tell for sure, nor does he particularly care. Once his wrists are untied, he presses his hands against the ground and heaves himself into a sitting position, tiny pieces of gravel digging into the meat of his palms.

“This fucking sucks,” Nam-gyu gripes hoarsely. His bones ache, and his head is enveloped with a dull, thumping pain. “Who the hell do those mask-wearing freaks think they are, shoving a card into my mouth like that?”

Thanos stares wordlessly as Nam-gyu leans forward, clumsily tugging at the restraints tied around his ankles. He makes a solid effort, but his fingers keep fumbling, and the fact that Thanos is watching him so intently, as still as a statue, is sort of freaking him out. Nam-gyu’s spent enough time with him in the past few days (Has it been days? Hours? Weeks? Nam-gyu has no idea — all sense of time has left him) to be well aware of the fact that Thanos is a man who’s always loud and always moving, constantly fidgeting with something, or tugging at another. Fingers constricting against something, fiddling with rings, tugging absentmindedly at shirtsleeves.

Right now, he sits crouched beside him, perfectly still. It’s freaking Nam-gyu out more than he’d like to admit.

It takes about fifteen seconds of silent, wordless struggling, until Thanos finally sighs in exasperation and swats Nam-gyu’s hands away, taking it upon himself to undo the binding. Thanos’ fingers are warm against the cold, clammy skin of Nam-gyu’s ankles, and it bothers him how much the skin-on-skin contact serves as a form of comfort.

“Only the lord can save you now,” the faraway voice shouts, followed by a burst of mocking laughter. Nam-gyu wishes someone would tell him to either shut up or pick up a hobby. A hobby that isn’t shouting religious slogans at people in the dead of night, that is.

No higher being is coming to save anyone. Especially not Nam-gyu. Not after everything he’s done.

“Hey,” Nam-gyu says suddenly, right as the last piece of binding falls limply to the ground. He points at a lump of clothing that’s strewn beside him, prodding at it as if it’ll jump out and attack him if he’s not too careful. “What—?”

“Oh, right,” Thanos grabs the items brazenly, no semblance of concern. “Clothes.”

“Clothes?” Nam-gyu repeats.

“They threw clothes out with us.” Thanos gestures at his own brightly colored shirt and loosely fitted pants, before tossing the bundle of clothes into Nam-gyu’s arms. “These were on the ground next to me.”

A black t-shirt and sweatpants…he’ll take what he can get. It’s better than being half nude in front of Thanos, bare and trembling. Pathetic.

“Thanks for untying me, dude,” Nam-gyu breathes out as he tugs the shirt over his head, wincing at the overpowering smell of laundry detergent. He’s not usually one to offer thanks, but he should at least attempt to keep up appearances, for this last little stretch of time they have together. Besides, he really would be screwed if it weren’t for Thanos’ help.

“No problem,” Thanos murmurs. There’s an odd cadence to his voice that makes him sound unlike himself. “It’d be pretty fucked up if I just left you here.”

Nam-gyu nods in wholehearted agreement. He makes quick work of sliding his pants on, attempting to pay no attention to how closely Thanos watches the fabric cover his skin, and then grabs the golden, shiny credit card that lays beside him, slicked with spit. Gross.

Nam-gyu slides the card in his pocket and hauls himself to his feet, dusting himself off as Thanos stands up beside him. As Nam-gyu allows himself to take in his surroundings, he breathes a sigh of relief — at the very least, he’s been dropped off in his neighborhood.

“Do you know where we are?” Thanos asks, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“Yeah, I live nearby. There’s an apartment complex a few blocks down, just over there.” Nam-gyu gestures vaguely down a nearby street, watching the way Thanos’ eyebrows furrow in confusion. “…Do you not live near here?”

“Nah, man. No clue where here even is. Not like I have anywhere to go, anyways.”

“You’re homeless?” Nam-gyu gawks, unable to withhold the shock from his voice. His expression must appear a tad too mocking, if the way Thanos’ shoulders tense is anything to go by.

“I’m not out on the fucking streets and sleeping in alleyways, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Thanos scowls. “I have connections, you know. People to stay with. I’m not some sort of—“

“I didn’t mean anything by it.” Nam-gyu holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Forget I said anything.”

Silence settles between like a thick, suffocating blanket. They glance around awkwardly, unaware of what to do or say, unable to wrap their heads around how to conduct themselves, being thrown out into normalcy after witnessing such horrors.

“Do you want to crash at my place?”

The words tumble out of Nam-gyu’s mouth before he can critically think about the extent of what he’s offering, but unfortunately for him, it’s not the sort of offer he can take back after the fact without seeming like a complete asshole. Which, normally, he has no issue with. But, Thanos doesn’t fit into the average box that Nam-gyu shoves most people he encounters in, and there’s nothing normal about anything they’ve gone through together in the past few days.

Besides…he sort of owes Thanos a few favors, after the amount of free drugs he’s gotten off of him.

“...It’s super close by. I just figured I’d offer,” Nam-gyu mumbles after another awkward lapse of silence. Thanos continues to mess with the hem of his shirt, avoiding eye contact as he does so. He’s acting so incredibly out of character that Nam-gyu has to inwardly squash the desire to grab him by the shoulders and jostle him, demanding that he act like he normally does.

Where Nam-gyu expects a swift denial and halfhearted excuse, he’s met with a questioning tilt of the head. “You’re sure?”

No, Nam-gyu most certainly is not sure. If his apartment is as he left it (which, he surely hopes it is), then it’s an absolute wreck, a hodgepodge of forgotten, expired foods and stacks of bills he’s been avoiding paying. Now isn't the time for him to be inviting people over. Especially not Thanos, the most spontaneous man Nam-gyu’s ever spent time with. Thanos, who’s acting unlike his usual self. Thanos, who doesn't even seem to have drugs on him at all anymore – what a let down.

He should say no. He really, really should.

“Yeah,” he says instead. One night won't kill him, right? “It’s not a big deal.”

Except, it sort of is a big deal, because Thanos seems like the sort of person to rifle around without permission, and the last thing Nam-gyu needs right now is to worry about whether or not he has any compromising items lying around. He tries to recall the state of his apartment in detail, but his brain still seems to be moving at a slower pace than usual, and he has difficulty remembering things in their entirety. He just keeps circling back to the games, the adrenaline, the guns, the blood, the screams.

It’s hard to imagine what sort of person he was before all of this. He’s still himself, of course, but something feels different. He has the same body with the same brain, the same heart, the same nerves nestled within his flesh. Nothing has changed. But at the same time, something has. He knows something is different, he’s just not sure what.

He’s also not sure if he necessarily cares. Nam-gyu has bigger things to worry about. More concrete, realistic, sensible things. Like whether or not he still has a job after his abrupt absence, or if anyone besides his piece of shit boss even took notice of his disappearance to begin with.

…Not tonight, though. Tonight, he just wants to sleep in his own bed, in his own shitty apartment, without giving into feelings of hopelessness or anger. He’s had enough of that in the past few hours alone to last an entire lifetime.

“Well, since you offered…” Thanos shrugs. “Lead the way, boy. I expect a five star breakfast in the morning.”

Nam-gyu laughs wryly, though he can’t actually tell if Thanos is joking or not. He pivots slowly, trudging one foot in front of another like it’s a monumental effort. Thanos follows behind him, and Nam-gyu takes solace in the fact that he’s the one leading the way for once. He’s the one in the lead, instead of trailing behind like a dog.

He’s in charge. That’s how it should be.

The distant religious ramblings fade with each heavy step, eventually trickling into nothingness, but unease stays settled in the pit of Nam-gyu’s stomach like a rock. His legs feel like jelly, and while the moonlight lit streets are free of passersby, they aren't free of fluttering insects and scuttering rodents. Nothing excessive – still, it’s enough to remind Nam-gyu of how poor the upkeep of this neighborhood is. Even when stuck in the games, he didn't necessarily miss any aspect of his daily life; the only thing he missed was not having to fear for his life every second of every minute. It was exhausting. The drugs gave him a good rush, though. In a sick, twisted sort of way, it’d actually felt sort of nice at times. A break in routine. Something different, something new. If he blocks out the bloody, gorey aspects of it all, he can almost look back on it fondly.

…No, that’s not right. It’s the pills that he feels fondness for. It’s the pills that gave him such a thrill. That’s all.

Thanos is unusually quiet. Trees stretch above them overhead, curving around houses, upwards and inwards, a carefully molded cage.

“Did they take the rest of them?” Nam-gyu asks eventually, when the silence becomes so stifling he fears he may choke if he doesn't break it. “The pills?”

“Yeah.”

Thanos’ voice is quiet. Hardened. There’s an edge to it, a sense of despondency. The games may be over, but he’s got no pills, and not nearly as much money as he wanted. Certainly not enough to pay off his staggering amount of debt. Understanding dawns on Nam-gyu in a slow, lapping wave.

It’s strange, though. Nam-gyu figured that Thanos would be the type to react with anger instead of anguish.

He shrugs it off – in the end, it has nothing to do with him. By tomorrow, Thanos will be out of his apartment and off doing…whatever it is he does in his free time. Freestyle rapping at women in an attempt to make them swoon, probably. Nam-gyu wouldn't be all that surprised if after tonight, they never see each other again at all.

Which, admittedly, is a bittersweet thought. Whatever sense of partnership that’s unfolded between them has flowered due to shared circumstances and a life or death situation. They clung to each other because they both needed to cling to something in order to live. They needed a sense of trust, no matter how flimsy and falsified it happened to be.

But now it’s all over, and there’s no more constant looming fear of death. They’ve returned to the numb monotony of daily life, and hastily formed partnerships aren't a necessity.

“This is it?” Thanos asks incredulously, once the building comes into view. “Damn, Nam-su. It looks like something out of a horror flick.”

Nam-gyu scowls – he may not hold any affection or sentimentality for the dilapidated building, and feels no need to defend it, but surely it doesn't look that bad. It’s run-down, covered in wild shrubbery, and there’s cracks that trail along the outer walls, but it's not horror-esque. It’s just old. Really, really old.

“Aren't you homeless?” Nam-gyu wants to bite back, but he keeps his mouth firmly shut. There’s no point in stirring a pot without reason.

“It’s not that bad,” Nam-gyu settles on instead, “if you ignore my shitty neighbors.”

“Classic horror movie trope,” Thanos muses.

Nam-gyu shivers – ugh, poor timing. The heightened laugh it earns him in response makes Nam-gyu glower. “It’s cold. I’m not scared of my own apartment complex, dude. I live here.”

Thanos follows behind him closely as he walks up the stairs, wooden stairs creaking beneath their bare feet. “Squeaky stairs. Horror trope number two.”

“Thanos, come on.”

“And it’s nighttime.” Thanos holds up three fingers and wags them in Nam-gyu’s face; a very distracting endeavor, considering he’s in the middle of climbing a staircase. Nam-gyu swears if he slipped and fell because of this shit, he’d sue. “That’s mark three!”

“Maybe I should pull out a comically large knife and start chasing you around,” Nam-gyu drawls, swatting Thanos’ hand out of his face as they reach the top of the stairs. “It’d fit the theme you’re going for, wouldn't it?”

“Like you could catch me,” Thanos says smugly, and Nam-gyu can’t help but be amused by how seriously he seems to be considering the make believe situation. “I’m so fast that you couldn't even begin to–”

As they pass by one of the neighboring apartments, its front door rattles with a harsh, sudden impact, followed by an obnoxious amount of barking. The sudden bang makes Thanos not only jump, but also yelp, and Nam-gyu has to forcibly bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing directly in his face.

“Their dog does that every time someone passes by. It’s annoying as hell,” Nam-gyu explains calmly. He’s never been a huge fan of animals, but he specifically dislikes dogs — especially large, loud ones that piss and slobber everywhere. His neighbor's dog just so happens to fit the description perfectly.

“If an axe murderer kills me in my sleep tonight, I’m haunting your ass,” Thanos grumbles, frowning at Nam-gyu as if he’s the one at fault for the sudden noise. “This place is fucking freaky.”

Nam-gyu knows that the complex is far from welcoming, but he’s seen much worse. He’s spent countless nights milling around in dirty alleyways and prowling around abandoned, trashed areas waiting for dealers; in comparison, this is a cakewalk.

The neighbor to his left has a dog that’s too loud, and Nam-gyu has an inkling that the neighbor to his right plans actual fucking orgys just because she gets off on the sound complaints it earns her. He can’t stand the people that surround him, but it’s doable. It’s manageable. It’s…well, it’s not like he has any other choice in the matter. This is all he can manage to afford.

“There’s no axe murderers,” Nam-gyu insists. Thanos looks entirely unconvinced.

Once they reach the door to his apartment, Nam-gyu grabs the spare key shoved haphazardly under his doormat, pushing it into the keyhole and twisting it open with a prolonged yawn — the mere thought of his bed has managed to increase his exhaustion tenfold. Nam-gyu wipes tiredly at his eyes as he stumbles his way inside the darkness of his apartment, blindly feeling his hand along the wall until he feels the familiar touch of the lightswitch.

The lighting is dim, serving as a mocking reminder of how much Nam-gyu needs to change the bulbs. His living room is just as messy as he figured it’d be; a variety of half-read books strewn on a small, rickety table, unopened mail forgotten on the couch, a waste basket filled with orange peels, barren pill bottles, and crushed cans of soda. Nam-gyu cringes as his foot clumsily collides with an empty beer bottle that lies dormant in the entryway, and he glances back at Thanos with a sense of sheepishness.

He expects some sort of mocking remark, a joke about his disorganized state of living, but Thanos seems entirely unbothered. The rapper glances around with subdued curiosity, but it’s only when he lets out a long, prolonged yawn that Nam-gyu realizes he’s likely just as tired as he is.

“You can have the couch,” Nam-gyu offers lamely.

“No bed?” Thanos frowns.

“Well…I’ll be in the bed, so no.”

Thanos looks at him for a long, drawn out moment, like he’s studying a bug under a cup. Nam-gyu shuffles his feet awkwardly – if Thanos is expecting him to offer up his bed (which, knowing his entitled ass, he probably is), he’s setting himself for disappointment. It’s a shock that Nam-gyu invited him over in the first place, and it’s not like they can share. The bed is incredibly small, and he doubts that Thanos wants to spend the entire night squished up beside him.

When Thanos realizes that Nam-gyu has no intention of budging on the matter, he sighs in exaggerated disappointment and makes his way over to the couch. He sure is picky for a guy that apparently has to resort to couch surfing each night. Nam-gyu watches in bafflement as Thanos picks up the small pile of old mail off of the cushions and tosses it haphazardly on the table, crisp envelopes thudding against leather-bound books.

“Make yourself at home,” Nam-gyu mutters, though the slightly aggrieved comment comes out so quietly that he doubts Thanos hears it at all.

Without further discussion, Thanos lets himself flop onto the couch, stretching out idly. “G’night,” he mumbles softly, before promptly curling into a ball and closing his eyes.

…Alright. That’s that, then.

Nam-gyu stands in slight stupefaction for a moment before snapping back to attention. It’s a pleasant surprise that Thanos is so sleepy, all things considered. Now Nam-gyu doesn't have to worry about him nosing around.

Not that he has anything to hide. Not necessarily.

Nam-gyu makes his way to his room in slow, languid steps. Set’s his newly acquired credit card on his bedside table, eases his aching body into cold, soft bed sheets. The dog next door has lapsed into silence now, which Nam-gyu is eternally grateful for, and there’s no egregious thumping or clanging to distract him tonight. Nights are rarely quiet for him, but tonight, it’s as if something has fallen over the complex, muffling its usual loudness.

Just for tonight, Nam-gyu is offered a brief moment of quietude.

Chapter 2: The Magician

Notes:

I forgot to mention this earlier, but chapter lengths will fluctuate! They won’t all be around 3k like this one is — I plan on having some of them be much longer! >_O

And just to be clear, I really cannot stress enough how mentally unwell these two are in this. So I am once again reminding you to please be mindful of the tags <3

Nam-gyu dreams of a flickering candle raised upward by a steady hand, an orange-colored flame lighting a darkened room.

He rouses from sleep slowly, his consciousness slipping out of dreams and into reality so sluggishly that it leaves him momentarily disoriented. As his eyes flutter open, he hears a thud from the living room, and that’s certainly enough to make him sit upright in alarm.

For a moment, he wonders if he forgot to lock his front door and one of his batshit crazy neighbors decided to ransack his apartment, enraged at Nam-gyu’s long list of complaints about them that he constantly relays to the landlord. But as he grows more alert, shaking off the tailend of his drowsiness, the events of last night begin to piece themselves back together in his brain.

Thanos.

Nam-gyu stumbles out of bed with a severe lack of grace, clutching onto his head with a wince the second he stands upright. Pain thumps in his head like a seperate heartbeat — he knows it won’t be long until the withdrawals spike in intensity, but dwelling on it won’t make more pills magically appear, so he tries to put it out of his mind.

Nam-gyu runs a hand through his hair as he makes his way out of his room, hoping he doesn’t look as disheveled as he feels. He needs a nice, long shower as soon as possible; the blood and grime from the games cling to him like a second skin.

Firstly, though, he needs to check in with Thanos. All he needs to do is trade niceties, and then send him along his way. Simple.

Nam-gyu slows to a stop as he pads into the living room, eyebrows furrowing at the sight of Thanos sitting cross-legged on his couch, a cup of something steaming clutched in his hands. A towel is hung around his neck, his hair is damp, and he’s wearing— oh, for fucks sake. He’s wearing Nam-gyu’s clothes. Those are his sweatpants hanging around Thanos’ hips. His shitty band t-shirt.

“Dude,” Nam-gyu gawks. “Did you go through my drawers?”

“Only a little.” Thanos shrugs, absurdly unbothered. “I needed to get all that blood and dirt off of me. Y’know?”

“Uh-huh,” Nam-gyu deadpans. “That’s great, man. That’s great that you went through my shit and spiked my water bill. And…made yourself tea?”

“Coffee.”

“Wonderful.”

“What are you so annoyed about?” Thanos snickers, grinning impishly. “Haven't you ever heard the saying ‘what’s yours is mine’?”

“‘What’s mine is yours’,” he corrects.

“Aw, how sweet!” Thanos places a hand over his heart, nodding in faux appreciation. “Thanks, Nam-su.”

“That’s not what I—“

“And, just so you know, you have absolutely nothing good to eat. It’s sort of sad, really,” Thanos says with a frown. “What do you feed the ladies when you bring them home, huh? Not very chivalrous, my boy…you’ve got to feed women well to make them swoon.”

Nam-gyu stares in silence. God, this guy is so fucking weird sometimes.

“Well, you’re not a woman, and I’m not trying to ‘make you swoon’, so I don’t see why it matters,” Nam-gyu says eventually, once his still-tired brain has caught up with Thanos’ bizarre quips. It’s strange, seeing Thanos so lively and freshened up after the events of last night, skin scrubbed clean and blood washed off. Nam-gyu looks down at himself with abrupt embarrassment — he must look like a complete mess in comparison.

“I left you some shampoo. You’re almost out,” Thanos says, as if he’s been living here for ages instead of happening to stay, by chance, for one singular night.

“Bro…” Nam-gyu trails off in a chiding manner, but inevitably decides against commenting on it further. Admittedly, he’s rather relieved at the fact that Thanos is acting more like his usual self than he was last night. “Yeah, okay. I should take a shower too, then.”

He pauses briefly, staring at Thanos expectantly. He waits for the inevitable, “well, looks like I should get going,” or, “wow, would you look at the time!”, but is met with nothing but a confused tilt of the head.

“What’re you doing? Waiting for permission?” Thanos makes a shooing gesture with his free hand. “Go on, boy. Wash up!”

Nam-gyu stares, dumbfounded, as Thanos sits on his couch, in his clothes, holding his mug and drinking his coffee, smiling lazily with seemingly no intent to leave.

…Huh. This is unexpected.

Though, maybe the oversight is Nam-gyu’s fault. When it comes to Thanos, it’s always most sensible to expect the unexpected. He’s like a loose canon, both with his words and his actions. It’s one of the reasons Nam-gyu latched to him in the games in the first place, though the drugs served as the main driving force. It’s sort of thrilling, never knowing what words are going to fall from his mouth next.

“Just…don’t go through any more of my stuff,” Nam-gyu insists. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Take your time, man,” Thanos says, but Nam-gyu can tell by the way his eyes flit around eagerly that he absolutely will be snooping more the second that Nam-gyu steps foot in the shower.

Well, whatever. It’s not like he’ll find anything all that interesting.

— — —

The water is hot enough to hurt.

It leaves his skin an angry shade of red, flushed and wet. Nam-gyu isn’t sure why he insists on doing this to himself, but the slight, stinging pain of it offers him a skewed sense of comfort, and as of right now, all he wants is familiarity.

As heated water pelts his skin, he wonders why he invited Thanos over to begin with. They have no need for each other anymore, and it’s not like Thanos has any real form of respect for him. It’s always been about the drugs. Nam-gyu never should’ve…

His brain trails off into static nothingness. He doesn’t want to think.

But, as always, the lapse of numbness only lasts for a few minutes at best. His thoughts always whir back to rapidity at some point, and Nam-gyu examines his bony fingers with a sense of disappointment at the nonsensicality of his own thinking patterns. It’s unfortunate that he’ll never be able to escape the confines of his own brain.

Regardless, he settles on telling himself that it doesn’t matter why he invited Thanos over. It doesn’t even matter if he overstays his welcome. None of it matters, because Nam-gyu’s still in debt. He’s been thrown back into his daily life, which just so happens to be tremendously shitty, the pain in his head doesn’t seem to be diminishing, and he’s pretty sure his abrupt absence will likely get him fired from his job. So, what the hell. Sure. Why not throw Thanos into the mix, the man he’s been clinging to for the past few days like a possessive ex. The man he’s pawed at so persistently, under the impression that they’d both either die, or escape and never speak again.

What the hell. What the hell.

Nam-gyu buries his head in his hands. His skin has adjusted to the heat of the water, and no longer hurts at all.

Nam-gyu turns the shower off in one swift, sharp movement, and attempts to ignore the harsh, thumping beat of his own heart pounding within his chest.

He can feel the blood pumping through his veins. It sickens him to his core.

— — —

Once Nam-gyu is dressed and presentable, he heads straight to his laptop. He’s sure Thanos is still in the living room, probably reading through Nam-gyu’s mail or something equally as invasive, but now that he’s worked through his early morning griping, his irritation at Thanos’ complete disregard of boundaries has dissipated.

He’s still not entirely sure why Thanos is still hanging around to begin with, but he figures he shouldn’t question it. Besides, it hasn't even been twenty-four hours since they’ve been released from that hellish kidnapping operation. Maybe it’s a good thing Thanos is here. Nam-gyu fears he’d do something drastic if left to his own devices.

Nam-gyu pulls up his emails, and while he already guessed what sort of letters would be sitting in his inbox, it doesn’t stop the dread from encasing him entirely.

He’s been fired. His boss has fired him from his long-lasting job at that shitty club all because of a few days of silence.

…A missing persons report would’ve been nicer, Nam-gyu thinks bitterly.

“Nam-su!” Thanos barges inside his room without so much as a knock. “Do you have any more soda? There’s, like, a million empty cans in your trash.”

“Didn’t you just have coffee?” Nam-gyu frowns. “It’s nine in the morning, dude.”

“I don’t think you should be giving out health advice,” Thanos snarks. His eyes flit down to the laptop situated in front of Nam-gyu, narrowing in curiosity. “What’re you doing?”

“Checking emails,” Nam-gyu sighs, shutting his laptop closed as he leans back in his chair. “Club Pentagon fired me.”

“Damn, seriously?” Thanos winces. “Guess it makes sense, though. They’ve always been pretty strict with their employees, huh?”

Strict is an understatement, but the verbal harassment from higher-ups served as a manageable trade off for the high-quality drugs the line of work helped him get his hands on. Despite the poor treatment, he’s been such a good employee, always attentive, always on time.

Years of hard work discarded after one singular slip-up. A slip-up that Nam-gyu never really had much control over to begin with.

“What about you?” Nam-gyu redirects, running a hand through dampened hair. “What are you going to do now, I mean?”

Thanos takes a seat on the edge of Nam-gyu’s bed, pulling his legs up in a criss-cross position. His expression morphs back to how he presented himself last night, a subdued sense of detachment and muffled frustration. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Nam-gyu parrots. “Not at all?”

“Do you have any masterful plans?” Thanos fires back with a scowl. “Those fuckers left us with nothing. I’ve got no drugs, no job, and the amount of money they left me with means fucking nothing to me with the amount of debt I’m dealing with.” Thanos makes a noise of aggravation, fidgeting with the rings around his fingers. His eyes shine with suppressed helplessness, and as his hands absentmindedly tug at the collar of his shirt, Nam-gyu can’t help but assume that his fingers are moving on autopilot, searching for a chain necklace that he no longer has.

“I’ve never been one for religion,” Thanos starts, his voice dropping to an almost mellow cadence. He sounds unlike himself, and it nearly causes Nam-gyu to verbally announce his discomfort. “But right before I was given that card, I was planning to kill myself. No point in living in a world that has nothing to offer me, right?” Thanos stares at him with an air of seriousness – it feels like something in the air has shifted. Even if Nam-gyu wanted to break eye contact, to stop the conversation in its tracks, he doesn't think his body would allow him to. “I was given a chance, and now it’s been wasted by a bunch of mindless freaks who didn't understand the offer they were given. It’s over.”

Nam-gyu thinks back to the beginning of the games, when the guards showcased imagery of desperate, gaunt faces on a large screen, the harsh sounds of an open palm slamming against a baffled face. He thinks back to when Thanos had appeared on screen, pupils blown wide, fingers twitching against a vape pen, to the way Thanos had reacted to seeing himself displayed so plainly, ducking his head downwards with poorly hidden shame.

To Nam-gyu, Thanos is like an art display he can't quite wrap his head around. He doesn't understand the layers, the complexities to him, and every time he catches a change in the lilt of his tone or a seemingly uncharacteristic comment, it sends a thrill through him. The same animalistic pleasure of a cat seeing a cornered mouse squirm in fear.

Nam-gyu knows it’s strange, but he can’t help but want to unravel Thanos entirely, to see every strange, uncanny quirk that resides within him.

(Not that it means anything. It’s only morbid curiosity, that’s all.)

“You’re going to kill yourself?” Nam-gyu questions plainly. “After all of that?”

“It’s not like there’s much else to do,” Thanos drawls. He speaks as if the conversation is casual. As if he isn’t admitting to craving death.

It’s not like Nam-gyu’s never considered it before. There’s been plenty of times where he’s mulled over the thought of dumping an entire bottle of pills down his throat or shoving a knife into his esophagus. Tying a rope around his neck, putting a gun against his temple, tossing himself off of a building and having the crack of his bones hitting the ground being the last thing he hears; he’s thought about it all rather excessively, actually, but he’s never attempted to follow through with it.

Now, things have shifted. His situation is starkly similar to Thanos’ — no job, barely any money to fall back on, no drugs. It’s over, Thanos had said. He’s right, Nam-gyu realizes. Whatever mundane normalcy that Nam-gyu was used to before going through the games has ended, replaced with something worse than what it started as.

“Maybe I’ll kill myself too,” Nam-gyu muses, his tone light and uncaring, unfitting for the admission, “if all else fails. I’ve considered it for a while now.”

Thanos stares at him in surprise. Nam-gyu assumes he was expecting poorly formulated comfort, or possibly complete dismissal. What he wasn't expecting, clearly, was apt agreement. But he gathers himself quickly, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

“If we could’ve stayed just a few more rounds,” Thanos grits out, “I know we could’ve made it out with more.”

Nam-gyu nods in agreement, but inwardly, he’s not so sure. The games only seemed to be increasing in intensity, and while Nam-gyu knows he would’ve continued to participate, it wouldn’t have been out of self-assuredness, but blind hope. Dying would’ve been preferable than being released without the highest possible prize.

“That little shit Min-su screwed us all over by switching his vote,” Nam-gyu gripes. “And that fucker Myung-gi.”

Thanos’ face darkens, lips twitching into a scowl. “MG Coin…that bastard ruined our lives. We should’ve killed him in there while we had the chance.”

Nam-gyu assumes that the most well-adjusted reaction would be to balk at the confession. They aren’t in a life or death situation anymore, and therefore shouldn’t talk or consider the aspect of killing another. That’s the sort of mindset that most people would adapt, isn’t it?

Nam-gyu doesn’t care if it’s a sign of his crumbling, fracturing mental state or not. He wants Myung-gi dead more than anything, and the thought of tearing his flesh clean from his bones fills him with a sick sort of delight.

“We still could,” Nam-gyu offers quietly. It’s a bad idea. An illogical one.

“Could what?” Thanos glances at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Kill him?”

“If we tracked him down. He’d deserve it, don’t you think?” Nam-gyu questions, watches the consideration that flickers past Thanos’ features. “Think of it this way — we wouldn’t be sitting here contemplating suicide if it weren’t for our debt, right? It’s his fault for scamming people with that shitty web-coin. Why should he get to live after destroying our lives?”

It’s a drastic conclusion to come too, and Nam-gyu knows it. The situation backfired and landed Myung-gi in staggering debt himself; Nam-gyu knows that he’s suffering the consequences along with the rest of them, and as much as he hates scammers, accidental or otherwise, wishing death on them seems unsettlingly severe. Logically, sensibly, he knows all of this.

But there’s something about the way Myung-gi had looked at him, back in the games. So defiant, with such an extreme lack of care for the situation he’d thrown them into.

“Purchasing the coin was your own decision,” he’d said with a pompous air of undeniable arrogance, as if he hadn’t been making and publishing countless videos about how it was the opportunity of a lifetime. His smarmy glares, his absolute bafflement at any sort of backlash he received.

“I need him dead,” Nam-gyu murmurs, and it’s only once he hears the words leave his own mouth that he realizes the extent of his madness. Why exactly is it that he wants Myung-gi to die so badly, anyways? To prove a point? To make himself feel bigger, stronger, more important than he actually is?

A bird caws outside as golden sunlight streams through half-open blinds. Thanos stares at him with an unreadable expression, and Nam-gyu knows he should backtrack. He should insist that he was kidding, or chalk it all up to instability after seeing so much blood and gore. He should say something, anything, to make himself appear more sane than he actually is.

Instead, he sits in silence, staring vacantly at the flickering sunlight that illuminates the dust particles in the air.

“Okay,” Thanos settles on eventually. “Let’s do it, then.”

“Kill him?” Nam-gyu clarifies, though it’s already clear what he meant. “You’re serious?”

“Aren't you?” Thanos asks. Nam-gyu sees his own hysteric irrationality mirrored back at him, and it leaves him stunned. “Wouldn't you rather kill him instead of yourself?”

Nam-gyu nods slowly, carefully, as if afraid the entire conversation may derail itself completely if he makes any sort of wrong move. “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

“There’s no guarantee we’ll be able to find him again,” Thanos continues on. “That sleazy little freak has a knack for weaseling his way out of situations. But, if we do end up finding him, let's kill him. Okay, Nam-su?”

It’s spoken so indifferently that one would assume they just agreed over what restaurant to eat at for lunch, or which movie to watch at a theater. Instead, Thanos holds out a steady hand, waiting for agreement over a possible murder attempt.

There’s no hesitation in Nam-gyu’s movement as he leans forward and clasps their hands together. The handshake is firm, warm, and solid. Nam-gyu wonders if these same hands will soon be wrapped around Myung-gi’s throat, a brutal aid in a mutual killing.

It’s disturbing how greatly Nam-gyu wishes for it.

Notes:

Bonding over strangely intense homicidal tendencies…they are sooooo unwell

Chapter 3: The High Priestess

Notes:

If you catch the tarot references throughout this story I will kiss you on the forehead btw

Nam-gyu digs his fingers into the flesh of a pomegranate, tearing it open and picking apart its insides.

What exactly are two people supposed to talk about after sharing that they both want to kill a man? This is the question that tumbles through Nam-gyu’s brain repeatedly as he chews idly on pomegranate seeds, the reddish juice staining his fingertips. The sticky liquid that seeps from the fruit reminds him of the blood that he’d seen pour from a corpse's skull — he averts his eyes from the fruit and grabs blindly at seeds to avoid the imagery, shoving morsels past his lips before he manages to lose his appetite completely.

Thanos stands beside him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, reaching over every so often to grab a handful of seeds. It’s almost noon now, and Thanos has still made no move to leave; all they’ve managed to do so far today is discuss killing someone, drink coffee, mill around without purpose, and eat a pomegranate. It all feels rather dismal.

Nam-gyu squishes a seed between his teeth, feels it burst in his mouth, and wishes desperately that it was a bitter, disgusting pill instead of a sweetened piece of fruit.

Briefly, he’s overtaken by a sense of distrust, complete paranoia that Thanos is lying to him about his lack of drugs. It’s entirely possible that he has a secret stash somewhere, and thinks it’s funny to lie straight to his face. Looking down on him, taking pleasure in watching him hit rock bottom.

Their fingers clunk together as they reach for seeds at the same time. The sharpened suspension fades as quickly as it came, leaving him confused as to where the sudden doubt came from in the first place.

“I’ve been thinking, Nam-su.”

“Nam-gyu.”

Thanos waves his hand dismissively. “Right, right. Nam-gyu.”

“You’ve been thinking?” Nam-gyu reiterates, crushing a seed between his fingers. He lost his appetite a few minutes ago, when he began to think about how the soft sound of chewing sounded akin to the crunching break of a vertebrae. “About what?”

“About what you said earlier,” Thanos admits. The fruit has stained his lips a soft shade of purplish red, and Nam-gyu is troubled by how insistently his eyes are drawn to them. He decides that his safest bet is to avoid looking at Thanos altogether, so he keeps his eyes trained on the marble countertop instead.

“I’m the one who said it, but you agreed pretty readily, don’t you think?” Nam-gyu muses.

“Never said I didn’t.”

“What’re you thinking, then?” Nam-gyu asks lightly. “Planning on tracking him down?”

“No,” Thanos says, and Nam-gyu risks a glance towards him despite himself. His eyes shift right in time to catch Thanos’ tongue dart out and lap at the pad of his thumb, pink tongue pressed against a reddened finger.

Nam-gyu turns his head sharply, returning his gaze back to the surface of the counter, where it should’ve stayed to begin with. “No?”

“I think if we happen to come across him, it’ll be like…divine intervention,” Thanos explains sagely. “Like, fate, you know? If we see him, we kill him, if we don’t, then we don’t.”

“That seems awfully wishy-washy.” Nam-gyu frowns. It’s becoming increasingly clear that Thanos isn’t taking their murder plans as seriously as he is, and there’s a part of him that feels disappointed in the rationality of his words.

“I’ve already tried to track him down in the past,” Thanos murmurs, “but the fucker has managed to wipe himself off the face of the internet. I don’t want to spend any more time on him than necessary.”

Nam-gyu nods slowly. The aftertaste of the pomegranate feels sour in his mouth — he runs his tongue across his teeth in careful consideration of Thanos’ words. More accurately, Thanos’ backtracking on what Nam-gyu figured was an immediate plan to kill Myung-gi.

…Perhaps he’s the one in the wrong here, being so gung-ho about the act of murder. Maybe there’s something truly, unequivocally wrong with him.

It’s not that he wants to kill for the sake of it. He just needs someone to blame. He needs someone to face the consequences for the shitty cards he’s been dealt. Anyone, absolutely anybody except himself.

“The chances of running into him at random are low as hell,” Nam-gyu sighs, “but I guess that’s the gamble of it all.”

“I’ve always loved a good gamble!” Thanos says cheerily. “Look, don’t overthink it too much, okay? It just gives us the possibility of something to look forward to.”

“So, the only thing we have to keep us going is the fabricated idea of killing someone,” Nam-gyu drawls. “Seems sort of…unhinged.”

“Man, who gives a fuck?” Thanos whines. “Everyone in that shithole was unhinged. Might as well keep the ball rolling.”

Nam-gyu drags his fingernails across the pads of his fingers, watching the juice coagulate, pooling under the beds of his nails. Every word out of Thanos’ mouth has the same cadence of lightheartedness, as if it’s all some sort of inside joke, a daring little plan between just the two of them. As if it’s normal, as if it’s not something to feel concerned over.

Nam-gyu feels like he’s losing his mind. He wonders if Thanos is already accustomed to the feeling, and therefore remains unaffected by it.

“Are you staying the night again?” Nam-gyu asks, eyes lingering on the stovetop clock. He phrases it in a manner that leaves a wide, blatant opportunity for Thanos to take hold of, and he does so intentionally. For whatever reason, a part of him wants Thanos to stay — if he were in his kitchen alone right now, eating a pomegranate without Thanos’ commentary and quips, he fears that his mind would wander somewhere grim. Without a distraction, he’s sure he’d continue to think about reddened blood spilt on cement floors and battered bodies lowered into neatly stacked caskets.

“Might as well.” Thanos shrugs. “Your couch is pretty comfortable.”

The reddened stickiness of Nam-gyu’s fingers grows abruptly uncomfortable, and he abandons the fruit on the counter to make his way towards the sink. He can feel Thanos’ eyes trail him as he does so, and he hopes that his actions don’t appear as uncannily robotic as they feel.

“I’ll have to start looking for another job,” Nam-gyu speaks over the rush of sink water. “What about you? You’re not going to toss yourself off of any bridges, are you?”

It’s a poorly timed joke, Nam-gyu is sure, and he even makes a point to wince the second the words leave his mouth. But instead of making any show of offense, Thanos snickers into the palm of his hand.

“Nah, man. I’ve got to hold out in case we get the opportunity to kill that fucker!” Thanos pumps his hand in the air, overly enthusiastic about the prospect of killing someone. “You better do the same, got it?”

“Sure.” Nam-gyu dries his hands, and while his skin is now clean, he still feels the phantom sensation of something sticky underneath his fingernails. Fruit juice or blood — he can’t discern which one his brain is attempting to fabricate. “But, like, are you just going to stay on my couch for the rest of the foreseeable future, or…?”

Thanos mulls it over for a few moments, lips pursing in consideration. “I guess.”

“You— wait, what?” Nam-gyu blinks in surprise, turning to meet Thanos’ amused gaze. He hadn’t meant it to sound like such an open invitation; a mistake he seems to be making repeatedly. “You’re serious?”

“Not forever.” Thanos crosses his arms. “But, at least until I pick up some sort of job and have enough money to get my own place.”

“That’ll take a while.”

“So what? You’ll get to have a famous rapper sleeping on your couch. You’re welcome for the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, my boy.” Thanos grins wolfishly. “You can brag about it to the ladies at the club. Maybe even bring a few back to us every now and then, yeah? Now that would be fun.”

“Brag about it to the ladies at the club that I don’t work at anymore?” Nam-gyu scoffs. “Yeah, I’ll get on that. I’m sure that’ll go great.”

“You’re such a downer sometimes, Nam-su,” Thanos complains, jutting his bottom lip out dramatically. Ironic, coming from a man who’s emotions ricochet from melancholy to excitable quick enough to make Nam-gyu’s head spin. “Live a little, man! Think of all the opportunities we’ll get by living together.”

Nam-gyu leans his back against the counter, looking at Thanos with a sense of curiosity. He makes a conscious effort not to look at his lips — it really shouldn’t take this much effort, should it? Shame swirls in the pit of his stomach, a carefully planted seed blooming into something that he’s sure will consume him whole if given the time to do so.

In any other circumstance, the thought of having to share his living space with another would only serve as an annoyance. It shouldn’t be any different with Thanos; if anything, his concern should be greater. Thanos is loud and unpredictable, and Nam-gyu doubts he’ll be contributing anything towards his rent anytime soon.

But, despite it all, Nam-gyu likes spending time with Thanos. He enjoys his oddities, takes a sadistic sort of pleasure in his rapidly changing moods. And when he says things that the average person would balk at, Nam-gyu often finds himself nodding along in agreement. It’s freeing in a manner that Nam-gyu himself can’t quite grasp.

“As long as you're fine with sleeping on the couch,” Nam-gyu says, and the decision is solidified before he can talk himself out of it.

— — —

The only missed calls on Nam-gyu’s phone are from his boss, followed by harshly worded threats before the inevitable ‘you’re fired’ e-mail. Nobody else seemed to take note of his absence, and Nam-gyu thinks that out of everything that’s occurred, including his own fractured, violent thoughts, this is what unsettles him the most.

Thanos leaves in the evening to collect his things from the house of the guy he was staying with before the games. “I swear if that jackass threw my shit away all because I disappeared for a few days, I’ll deck him,” is the only substantial thing that Thanos has to say about the situation before leaving in a hurry. Nam-gyu lets him borrow his car and pays it no mind.

Instead of job-hunting, or cleaning, or doing any other number of things that are deemed as useful, Nam-gyu sits on his couch and picks persistently at the cuticles around his fingernails. His hands tremble as he digs nail into sensitive flesh — a bad habit, one that he’s been unable to break since childhood.

Without drugs to distract him, and no goal that seems worth his time, Nam-gyu’s body grows just as restless as his brain. It’s only when blood starts to prick at the corner of his thumb that he forces his hands into his lap, sharply turning his gaze elsewhere in a poor attempt at distraction.

He’s sure that if he begged hard enough, he could likely weasel his way back into work at Club Pentagon, but the thought of pleading makes him sick, and he knows how cruelly the higher-ups would treat him because of it. Even if he did get his job back, the blunder would impact him harshly, and he’s sure they’d never give him any special access to drugs as a form of reward again. And, really, that’s the only reason he stayed to begin with.

Nam-gyu grabs a bandaid from the small medical box in his bathroom, wrapping it around his thumb and feeling the familiar stick of adhesive against skin. Then, as if on autopilot, he heads back to the living room, striding his way over to the small wood panel of flooring that sticks just slightly upward, tucked away in the corner. It’s only noticeable if someone knows to look for it.

It's the sort of space in a home that seems like it’d be used to store something particularly suspicious or highly illegal. Drugs, firearms, some sort of embarrassing sex toy. It makes Nam-gyu feel slightly silly for what he’s actually using the makeshift hiding spot for. He certainly wishes it was for drugs.

He grabs the booklet, checking it over carefully to make sure it hasn’t been looked through by any other meddling hands. He shifts through pages quickly, glancing over lines rapidly; he’s behaving far too cagey over something so simple, but if Thanos were to find this, if anyone were, he fears that the hit his ego would take would likely be enough to bury him six feet under.

It’s odd, feeling so ashamed of something so ordinary. Each time he sees it, he’s reminded of his mothers mocking words and disappointed tone, of disapproving fingers wagged in the face of an unknowing child.

There are some things in this world that Nam-gyu simply isn’t supposed to partake in. It’s childish. It’s unimportant. It’s useless. It’s a piece of himself infused in a small booklet, and one day, when he finally gathers up the nerve, he’ll dispose of it the way he should have the second he laid his hands on it.

The doorknob clicks open. He forgot to lock the door.

“Nam-su!” Thanos’ voice rings out, and ice cold panic grips onto him, a type of fear that’s unwarranted given the situation; it’s a small book of shitty poetry, not a fucking bomb.

Still, he doesn’t need Thanos knowing about his humiliating excuse of a part-time hobby. He drops the book as if it’s seared his palms raw, heaves himself upright, and slams his foot down against loose floorboard. Hard.

Thanos steps out of the entryway the second Nam-gyu’s foot makes contact with the flooring, which is exceptionally awkward — Nam-gyu doesn’t think he could make himself appear more suspicious if he tried. He stands rigidly, staring over at him like a deer caught in a pair of headlights, and Thanos looks right back at him with raised eyebrows, gaze darting down towards his feet. Shit. Nam-gyu shuffles, feels the panel shift under his feet. Surely it’s not obvious that the panel can be lifted up, right…?

“What’re you doing?” Thanos asks slowly. There’s a backpack hanging off his shoulder and a phone held loosely in his hands.

“Uh,” Nam-gyu blunders. “I was just…”

“You were just…?” Thanos waves a hand expectantly, motioning at him to finish with an air of impatience. “Do you usually stand in the corner of rooms looking like a frightened animal, or is that reserved just for me?”

“I’m not—“ Nam-gyu nearly chokes on his own words, lips twitching downwards in frustration. “I’m not frightened. I was just cleaning. I was startled that I forgot to lock the door.”

“Uh-huh. Right.” Thanos pulls a face, though Nam-gyu can’t tell if it’s one of outright annoyance or confused amusement. Whichever it is, it’s clear he doesn’t believe him. “You’re lucky I’m not an axe murderer.”

“What’s it with you and axe murdering?” Nam-gyu mumbles under his breath, taking a tentative step off of the loose floorboard. It stays in place, only lifting up the slightest amount. Good — surely Thanos won’t notice something so miniscule.

Thanos tosses his backpack onto the couch and shoves his phone into his back pocket, letting out a long, drawn-out sigh. “I couldn’t find my cherry flavored vape.”

“Wow. Devastating.”

“For real.” Thanos nods solemnly, the sarcasm flying directly over his head. “Do you have any?”

“Any vapes? Nah, bro. Only regular cigarettes. I don’t like the flavored shit.”

“Boring,” Thanos complains, frowning at him in an almost accusatory manner. “Man, we’ve got to figure out a way to make some cash…”

Nam-gyu steps towards him, trying to appear as inconspicuous as he can as the flooring squeaks under his feet. He wants to mention that if Thanos started taking their murder plans seriously, they could probably score some funds by selling Myung-gi’s body parts on the black market, but the mere thought itself is so morbidly grotesque, so morally unforgivable, that Nam-gyu nearly gags at his own train of thinking.

“You look like you’re going to be sick,” Thanos says as he takes a seat on the couch, unaware of the wretchedness of Nam-gyu’s inner thoughts. “Are the woes of unemployment starting to hit you, my boy?”

Nam-gyu can't even begin to wrap his head around Thanos’ fluctuating mental state. To see the shift in the utter defeat he portrayed last night to the easygoing attitude he showcases now is almost unnerving, and while a part of Nam-gyu envies the rapidity in the way his outlook changes, he can’t help but wonder if his mentality will end up taking an abrupt turn for the worse again.

“Woes of unemployment…yeah, that sounds about right.”

“You know, I think I’ll just try to release another song again. Get people hooked on my charming good looks and try to rake in some quick cash,” Thanos explains breezily, as if it’s something that’ll take him barely any effort at all. As if composing and releasing an entire song is child's play.

Nam-gyu may not be as avid of a fan as he originally portrayed himself to be, but he’s heard a majority of Thanos’ songs before, and he’d be lying if he said the man wasn't talented. He’s got a good voice, a nice deep timbre that makes ladies swoon, and he knows how to entertain a crowd. Nam-gyu still remembers the exhilaration of seeing him perform at Club Pentagon, of the way he effortlessly managed to rile the crowd into excitement.

Disregarding the handful of times where Thanos forgot his own lyrics on stage, he’s a pretty phenomenal performer. If he really works for it, Nam-gyu is sure he’ll be able to push his way back into the spotlight.

How long will he be able to stay in the spotlight without crashing down again? That’s the real question.

Vaguely, Nam-gyu recalls a few small scandals involving Thanos during the height of his fame. Something about stealing from a convenience store and sleeping with a married woman. He can still remember the trending video of Thanos vehemently speaking into a microphone, “It’s not like I knew she was married! I thought the ring was for looks, bro!”

Thanos attracts drama like a magnet. Nam-gyu can only hope he doesn't get caught up in any sort of crossfire.

Notes:

Nam-gyu quoted poetry in the show one singular time and I ran with it sooo hard lmfao. (At least, I think it was poetry? If I remember correctly? Regardless, it’s still a hc I enjoy lots ^_^)

Chapter 4: The Empress

Notes:

I had a dream that Nam-gyu delivered me a pizza a few days ago 😭 absolutely absurd

Nam-gyu wakes up to the sight of Thanos staring down at him, and it startles him so intensely that he nearly yells.

“You drool in your sleep, bro.”

“Wh—?” Nam-gyu shuffles himself into a seated position, rapidly blinking the blurriness from his eyes. “What the hell are you—?”

“Nam-su, my boy, you have to go to the grocery store. We don’t have shit for breakfast.”

Nam-gyu stares up at Thanos, who looks down at him expectantly. Purple hair tousled, voice heavy with sleep, shirtless, standing over his bed with a tired sense of expectancy.

Nam-gyu really, really hopes that his face isn’t as red as it feels.

“It’s six in the morning,” Nam-gyu complains, sparing a quick glance at his bedside clock. “You’re waking me up at six in the morning because there’s no breakfast? For real?”

“Your cabinets are literally bare,” Thanos complains. “We’ll starve to death, man, and that’s such a boring way to die.”

“Why don’t you go to the store, then?” Nam-gyu mumbles, shuffling back into his covers. “I’m pretty sure you can manage that by yourself, dude. I believe in you.”

“Nam, come on,” Thanos complains, voice pitching into a whine. Nam-gyu almost laughs at the sheer ridiculousness of it all, turning his back to his roommate with a yawn.

“Nam? That’s a new one,” he murmurs. “It’s Nam-gyu.”

“Okay, Nam-gyu. Come to the grocery store with me.”

“You’re only saying that because you want me to pay,” Nam-gyu grumbles.

“…Well, yeah.”

A muffled sigh. “At least you're honest.”

“C’mon, bro,” Thanos pesters, shaking his shoulder roughly. Nam-gyu turns his head, squinting up at him.

“…Put a shirt on. I’ll get ready in a minute.”

Thanos grins victoriously, and then levels him with a serious stare. “Nam-gyu.”

“…What?”

He taps a finger to his chin, amusement flickering past his faux thoughtfulness. “You’ve got dried drool right here, my boy.”

Nam-gyu hurls a pillow at him hard enough to make him yelp.

— — —

The morning breeze is cold, but the sun is warm.

The neighborhood Nam-gyu lives in is far from well-kept, and the crime-rate is high, so it’s not often that he walks around by himself. He opts to drive most places, including the nearest grocery store, despite it only being a ten minute walk from his apartment.

This morning, however, Thanos seemed restless. Pacing around as he waited for Nam-gyu to get ready, fiddling excessively with the bracelets around his wrists. If Nam-gyu had to guess, he’d say the lack of drugs is making him jittery. So, he tried to recall advice that he’s been given in the past by people with fake smiles and condescending advice, individuals in uniform attempting to convince him to ease off on his drug intake. Completing a job, checking him off like a box on a list. “Go on a walk, get some fresh air, eat healthy, exercise!”

Might as well at least attempt a ten minute walk to try and calm Thanos’ nerves. Nam-gyu doubts it’ll do much of anything, and he knows that neither of them have breached the worst of their withdrawal symptoms yet, but Thanos seemed to like the idea.

“Dude, did you hear all that noise last night?” Thanos asks, walking beside him closely. Nam-gyu fights the urge to lean towards him, to throw an arm around his shoulder or link their arms together. Nam-gyu’s always been a touchy individual, but he finds it increasingly difficult not to throw himself around Thanos at the most mundane of times. There’s no reason for him to hang off of his shoulder as they walk side-by-side. It’s not like they're dating. Nam-gyu wouldn’t want to send anyone the wrong idea.

“What noise?” Nam-gyu asks. “It’s always pretty loud, so I’ve gotten sorta used to it. I usually sleep through it.”

“Dude, your neighbors be fucking like crazy.”

“Jesus!” Nam-gyu muffles his laugh with the palm of his hand. “The girl nextdoor is a fucking sex-addict, man. It’s insane. I think she might kill me if I send in another noise complaint.”

“The girl on the right? Isn’t that the one that has the cross hung on their door? And the doormat with the bible quotes?”

“That’s the one, yeah.”

“…Huh.”

“She’s a nutcase, dude. Threw a beer bottle at my door once because she caught me smoking a cigarette on the premises.”

“Fuck, man. You’ve got to move somewhere better.”

“You too.” Nam-gyu nudges him with his elbow. “We’re a package deal now.”

It comes out far cornier than intended, and Nam-gyu braces himself for a form of ridicule. Instead, Thanos throws his arm around his shoulders and jostles him, smiling widely. “Hell yeah, boy! If we pool our money, I’m sure we’ll be able to find some place better.”

Damn, this guy sure does move fast. Nam-gyu never said anything about sharing their funds — though, now that he thinks about it, it’s not that bad of an idea…

When Thanos removes his arm, Nam-gyu has to forcibly stop himself from chasing after the warmth. They pass by a stand filled with newspapers situated outside a rundown liquor store, and Nam-gyu takes note of the headlines that speak of a spike in missing persons cases in the area. He wonders how many of the missing people listed in the papers took part in the games, and have already been killed.

He wonders if anyone will ever find their bodies. It feels almost otherworldly to think of how easily he could’ve ended up in their positions, dead and bloodied and entirely forgotten.

During the first game, Nam-gyu had been in such a frenzied hurry that he nearly slammed the heel of his foot directly into the skull of a young woman, shot dead before him. He wonders if he’d find her listed as missing in the paper, if he looked hard enough. Is anyone looking hard enough? Is anyone looking at all?

The stand next to the newspapers holds fliers that detail a nearby restaurant that now has a breakfast menu. The lady posing for the advertisement smiles widely while pointing to a plate of syrup covered pancakes — fifty percent off for the next month. Get them while you can!

The fliers are exceptionally lower in stock than the newspaper. It looks like most people are more enthralled by the prospect of a cheap breakfast than a string of missing people, abducted off of the streets and never seen again.

The eyes of the model on the advertisement seem to follow him as he walks, and Nam-gyu shudders at the thought of being so easily ignored by the general public. What’s worse is the fact that he knows he’s turning a blind eye just the same, and in the end, he doubts he’ll feel any substantial guilt for it at all.

“Fuck, hold on,” Nam-gyu halts to a stop, fumbling his hands into his pockets. “I need a cig.”

“I need a vape,” Thanos complains, watching as Nam-gyu withdraws a slightly crumpled box of smokes from his back pocket, plucking a cigarette from its confines and placing an end in his mouth. “The fruity ones are the best. I can’t believe you smoke regular old cigs, Nam-su. It’s so bland.”

“I don’t need the smoke to taste good, dude,” Nam-gyu mumbles, keeping his teeth tightly clenched around the nub. “That’s not why I take ‘em.”

“Ah, right. You like the way they make your head feel, huh?” Thanos taps his fingers against his temple as Nam-gyu pulls out a lighter. Nam-gyu nods before cupping his hands around the cig, lighting it up with trembling fingers. It takes longer than it should, but he gets it after five fumbled attempts and an impatient sigh from Thanos.

He sucks in a puff of smoke in a long, sharp inhale, breathing out in relief. How something so awful for his health is able to offer him such a brief moment of relaxation is beyond him, but he doesn’t spare time thinking about the details.

Besides, in comparison to the drugs he’s consumed in the past few years alone, a cigarette here and there is nothing. His health has been in jeopardy for far longer than he likes to admit.

“Let me have a hit,” Thanos orders.

Nam-gyu turns his head to blow smoke in the other direction. “Really? Even after it’s already been in my mouth?”

“Dude, this isn’t preschool,” Thanos gripes, making a grabbing motion with his hand. “I don’t care that it touched your mouth for a few seconds.”

Last time Nam-gyu checked, preschoolers aren’t the only people on the planet that are concerned about the spread of germs, but he keeps the quip to himself and hands the cig over. “I thought you only liked vapes?”

“Vapes are superior, but I’ll settle for a cigarette if there’s nothing else available.” Thanos shrugs. He places the cig in his mouth, inhales slowly, and lets his eyes flutter closed as he exhales. For whatever reason, the scene seems to play out in Nam-gyu’s brain in slow motion, like some sort of movie shot, and the sight of Thanos’ lips wrapping around something that’s dampened with his own spit makes his stomach lurch in a manner he knows all too well.

All relaxation is seeped from Nam-gyu in a matter of seconds. By the time Thanos hands him back the cig, the twitchiness of his fingers have increased tenfold.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a regular smoke. Still not as good as the flavored shit, but it’s good. I mean, imagine if the smoke you were inhaling right now were strawberry or grape flavored, Nam-su. Like, really imagine it—“

As Thanos rambles on about a variety of different vape flavors that he insists Nam-gyu should try, Nam-gyu stares down at the cigarette in his hands and wishes it were a syringe he could plunge into his flesh instead of a measly smoking device. He swallows thickly and places the cylinder back in his mouth, trying to pay no mind to the warmth that Thanos’ mouth has left behind on it.

“I think I tried an apple flavored one once,” Nam-gyu mumbles after Thanos finishes his spiel. He keeps the cigarette held loosely between his lips, savoring the taste more than he usually does. “It tasted horrific.”

“Apple? Gross, man. Pick up a blue raspberry one, or some shit.”

“Wait, no, not apple…maybe it was kiwi?”

It’s at this moment that Nam-gyu realizes they’ve stopped walking entirely, standing idly in the middle of the sidewalk as they discuss the many, many different flavors of vapes. Nam-gyu snaps back to attention, exhaling smoke without removing the cig from his mouth. He gestures for Thanos to follow as he starts to walk again, and by the time they reach the store, the cigarette has already been snuffed and discarded far quicker than it ought to be.

— — —

Nam-gyu has always had a particularly strong distaste for grocery stores.

The lights are always too bright, the music they play often has the same bland, irritating tune to it, and almost every grocery store he traverses into seems to have the same stench of oversaturated cleaning supplies, the type of chemical smell that makes him wonder what exactly the employees could possibly be so insistent about cleaning so diligently.

A bell chimes as they walk in, and Nam-gyu spares a quick glance and nod as a worker greets them with the same fake, over-enthusiastic smile that he sees so often in the customer service industry. Not that he blames them — he’s delivered the same expression to his bosses more times than he can count.

Ex-bosses, that is. It still doesn’t quite feel real that the place he’s worked at for years has dropped him like he meant nothing at all.

“What are you wanting for breakfast, anyways?” Nam-gyu murmurs, squinting against the harsh overhead lighting. “Sweet or savory?”

“Hmm…let’s get eggs and bacon. Oh, and you should also make some pancakes. And we need cereal, obviously. And, we might as well get orange juice while we’re here. Or soda. Ah, fuck it, let’s get both.”

“Woah, hold on!” Nam-gyu speaks through a bout of startled laughter. “We’re buying for two people, not a family of seven.”

“Okay, dramatic ass,” Thanos scoffs. “I didn’t list that much.”

“Also, what was that about me cooking? I don’t cook.”

“You don’t cook?” Thanos reiterates in disbelief. “Nam-su, I don’t cook.”

“If I don’t cook, and you don’t cook, then who the hell is cooking?” Nam-gyu raises an eyebrow. “Are we gonna clasp our hands together and hope that the food magically prepares itself?”

“Man, I don’t fucking know!” Thanos groans in annoyance, and Nam-gyu doesn’t miss the look of poorly veiled irritation that the cashier shoots in their direction due to the noise. “I usually just eat microwaveable shit.”

“Yeah, well, me too.”

Thanos pinches the bridge of his nose. “Nam-su.”

“What! You’re acting like I claimed to be a master chef.”

“Okay, you know what? I’m sure we can handle it. It’ll be fine,” Thanos insists with a sudden bout of determination. “We can manage some eggs and bacon. It can’t be that hard. Last time I tried I burnt everything, but it was still edible.”

“That’s…” Nam-gyu trails off with a wince. “Thanos, please don’t burn down my kitchen.”

“I won’t. But if the complex burns down, we can blame it on one of your neighbors.”

“Thanos.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Lighten up, boy!” Thanos claps a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly. “C’mon, let’s pick up the pace. I’m hungry as hell.”

Nam-gyu trails along as Thanos strides up and down each aisle, picking out a variety of different snacks and meals, and frowning each time Nam-gyu has to put one back on the shelf, reminding him of their limited money supply. Once they reach the checkout, they’ve managed to secure a carton of eggs, a packet of bacon, two boxes of overly sugary cereal, and a small container of milk.

The worker is a different person than the one who greeted them at the entrance — a young woman with doe eyes and well-manicured nails scans their items with shaky hands. She seems sort of nervous, for whatever reason, and Nam-gyu fights the urge to tell her to hurry up.

“Excuse me,” the worker speaks up timidly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she places their eggs in a paper bag. “Are you…are the rapper? Thanos?”

Oh, right. He’d forgotten, momentarily, that just because Thanos’ career has been diminished for the time being, doesn’t change the fact that he’s well-known, with a plethora of loyal fans under his wing. Thanos perks immediately at the attention, leaning forward with a charming smirk. “You a fan, señorita?”

The woman visibly swoons, teetering forward eagerly, and Nam-gyu can’t help but sigh at the blatant display of flirtation. The noise goes entirely unnoticed as the woman begins to ramble on about how many albums of his that she owns, and how much she loves his singing voice.

“I’m honored to have such a pretty lady as a fan,” Thanos says smoothly, and Nam-gyu’s impatience spikes to an almost egregious level.

“Can you sign my arm?” The woman asks excitedly.

“Can you scan our groceries?” Nam-gyu counters impatiently before Thanos can agree. He ignores the look of dismay it earns him from his roommate in response.

The worker looks at him in surprise, as if just now registering the fact that he was standing there at all. She frowns at him a little, apparently thrown off by his interruption. “Who—?”

“You’ll have to excuse my boy Nam-su,” Thanos says with a wink. “He gets bitey when I don’t give him enough attention.”

“I get bitey when our items aren’t getting scanned,” Nam-gyu corrects bitterly.

The worker’s eyes dart between them in blatant confusion, until her eyes widen and her mouth drops into an ‘o’ shape. Abruptly, some sort of realization seems to dawn on her; her cartoonish expressiveness makes that much clear.

“Oh,” she says, drawing out the word as her cheeks turn a dusty shade of pink. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, um, interrupt you two. How unprofessional of me!” The last bit of her sentence comes out quiet and muffled, as she’s clearly talking more to herself than the two men in front of her. “I’ve really got to stop assuming things…”

“Unprofessional? No, señorita, you aren’t interrupting anything—“ Thanos attempts, making a clear attempt to try and reel her back in. But the worker has regained formality, diligently scanning their items with practiced grace.

“Can I at least get your number before I go, pretty lady?” Thanos leans forward, shifting his fingers into a heart sign. The entire situation is making Nam-gyu more irritated by the second, and apparently it must be pretty evident, if the way the worker glances at him nervously is anything to go by.

“Oh, that’s alright,” she laughs awkwardly. Her eyes dart back over to Nam-gyu, lingering on him as if she knows something he doesn’t. Then she turns back towards an increasingly confused Thanos, pastes a smile onto her face, and waves. “Have a nice day!”

Nam-gyu doesn’t think he’s ever seen Thanos appear so baffled in his life. He blinks a few times, appalled at the aspect of being rejected, and then straightens himself. “Oh. Okay.”

Nam-gyu can’t help it — he presses a sweater-clad palm to his mouth to muffle it, but he simply can’t stop himself from laughing at Thanos’ expression of complete bewilderment. Nam-gyu ducks his head as he grabs their bags of groceries, one in each hand, but he catches a glimpse of Thanos’ affronted glare as he does so, and he knows he’ll be getting an earful the second they step away from the cashier.

As expected, right as they step away from the woman and head for the exit, Thanos is on his heels, voice dropping as he leans over to murmur, “what are you laughing at, you son of a—“

“I’m sorry, bro, it caught me off guard,” Nam-gyu speaks through giggles. “She was throwing herself at you, and then all of a sudden it’s like she regained consciousness or something. It was funny. C’mon, you can admit it was sort of funny, right?”

“It’s because you freaked her out!” Thanos exclaims, pushing the exit doors open with a grunt of frustration. “You started rushing her, dude! You looked like you were gonna jump across the counter and strangle her, for fucks sake—“

“I did not!”

“You did,” Thanos insists, slowing to a stop once they step outside. Nam-gyu levels Thanos with his best attempt at an apologetic stare, taking note of the way his hair curls upwards in little tufts of purple, like two horns on each side of his head. It’s sort of cute.

“Sorry, man.”

Thanos frowns, shaking his head in disapproval. “That was some serious cockblocking—“

“Halt!”

Much to his chagrin, the sudden acclamation causes Nam-gyu to jolt in surprise, whirling around so quickly that he nearly drops the grocery bags in surprise. Along the side of the building, a small table and chair is situated. In the cheaply made, dark red plastic chair, sits a woman that looks familiar. Her hair is pulled into a slick ponytail, and her hands are folded neatly in front of her. She sits with perfect, straightened posture, head held high in a manner of regality, as if she’s an empress looking down upon peasants.

Behind him, he feels Thanos place a steadying hand on his shoulder, fingers digging against him in an almost possessive manner. “Who the hell is she?”

“You insolent fool,” the woman scoffs, “Have you already forgotten? I am Seon-nyeo, shaman of the sea!”

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Nam-gyu gripes, turning his head to share his disgruntlement with Thanos. “It’s that crazy bitch from the games. The one who kept talking in riddles.”

A look of remembrance dawns across Thanos’ features. “Oh, shit. I thought she died during Mingle.”

“Nah, dude. She lived and then started trying to hex that one group, remember?”

“Right, right–”

“Ahem.” Seon-nyeo clears her throat, and with a prolonged roll of his eyes, Nam-gyu turns to face her again, giving her his attention. Thanos sidles up beside him, propping his elbow on Nam-gyu’s shoulder as he peers curiously at the woman before them.

“You were one of the O voters, right? At least you did something right,” Thanos snorts. Nam-gyu grins impishly, nodding along in apt agreement.

“I did many things right, heathen,” Seon-nyeo scoffs. Her gaze shifts over to Nam-gyu, piercing and strangely intrusive. She raises one of her bracelet-clad arms, pointing a finger at him as her lips curl into a sinister, widely stretched smile. “You.”

“...What about me?” Nam-gyu frowns, discomforted by how inhuman her grin appears. It’s as if her skin is stretching too tightly against her features, like her flesh doesn't quite fit around her body; a skeleton shoved inside a vessel that wasn't designed to fit it.

“Even back in that hellish entrapment, I could sense it from you,” she murmurs, closing her eyes and swaying slightly, “a fate held in standstill, a plethora of branching choices and opportunities, your own self hiding from a truth that you’re already aware of.”

“Listen, lady, we don’t have time to listen to you spout a bunch of nonsense–” Nam-gyu starts, but he cuts off his own taunts as her eyes fly back open, staring straight at him. It feels as if she can see right through him and peer into the confines of his own brain, and while Nam-gyu knows such a thing is impossible, he’s struck with a sudden bout of paranoia. He wishes he could hide himself away from her, ensuring she can’t see any part of himself that he’s unwilling to share.

“The cards are all laid out for you,” she says, her tone dropping into a different cadence, a voice that sounds slightly unlike herself, “but the steps are yours to take.”

There’s a long stretch of silence as neither of them break eye contact, one staring with omnience, and the other in disoriented confusion. And then she blinks, appearing as if coming out of a daze, or just waking up. Seon-nyeo leers at him, holding up a hand and waving him off dismissively. “That’s all. Now, shoo.”

Nam-gyu’s eyes burn from holding her glare for so long, and as he looks towards Thanos, he expects him to start making fun of her for her nonsensicality, to crack a mocking joke at her expense. Instead, he sees the same discomforted befuddlement mirrored on his face, and it’s so strikingly similar to how he feels inwardly that it’s almost eerie.

As they start to walk away from her Thanos attempts to offer what Nam-gyu assumes is intended to be a form of comfort. “I don’t know what she was talking about, but she’s clearly out of her damn mind. Don’t worry about it, bro.”

“Of course not,” Nam-gyu mutters, because there’s no point in fretting over the ramblings of a stranger.

Even still, the words stay firmly situated within his mind, and the imagery of Seon-nyeo’s glassy eyes and grease-slicked hair stay stuck within his memory like a grainy piece of film.

Notes:

Grocery store worker fumbled the chance to get a famous rappers number bc she clocked that his buddy has the hots for him lmfaoo

Chapter 5: The Emperor

Notes:

I have a thangyu ita bag I bring everywhere and it makes me so joyful

Nam-gyu has dealt with withdrawals before. The headaches, the shaking, the paranoia. He’s accustomed to each symptom, even the most unsavory ones, and another bout of his body turning against him is nothing new.

Nam-gyu lays curled on his bed in a shaky, trembling ball, his head pounding and stomach churning. He’s used to this, but it doesn’t make the pain any more bearable.

He could practically feel the symptoms crash into him one by one on the way back from the grocery store, bags weighing heavily in his hands. So much for breakfast — the second they arrived back at the apartment, he’d offered Thanos a mumbled apology, complained of nausea, and immediately stumbled his way into his room without further comment.

Maybe that freakish shaman lady really did put a hex on him.

He dips in and out of sleep, dreaming of empty thrones, Seon-nyeo’s words echoing in his head like a carefully spoken curse.

The dog next door yowls, and each bark feels like a nail being embedded directly into his head, piercing through flesh and membrane. He covers his ears and curls into himself tighter, as if trying to make himself as small as possible. Folding in on himself, shaky, sweaty limbs pressing tightly against each other.

He can hear Thanos bumbling around in the kitchen, and similarly to the barking of his neighbor's dog, the noises only serve to worsen the pain in his head. Nam-gyu wonders how Thanos is able to make himself food right now — shouldn’t he be going through withdrawals just the same as he is? How come it’s hitting Nam-gyu so much harder, so much quicker?

Nam-gyu curses a God he doesn’t believe in for putting him through this, in the same manner that he prays for it to stop. Softly spoken thoughts in disbelief, admonishment, increasing disappointment. Whenever he thinks of the fabrication of a higher power, it always ends in the same string of words.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

The dog continues to bark. The fan overhead whirs with a continuous, repetitive sound. His breathing leaves his chest in sharp, unstable huffs. Each noise reverberates in his head, echos and ricochets. A cause of aching, consistent pain.

Nam-gyu moves his tongue across the roof of his mouth and wishes that a bitter pill was pressed against his taste buds, slowly dissolving and granting him sanctity. A small moment of relief before another inevitable downfall, each comedown harsher than the last.

He’s not sure how long he lays stagnantly, a shivering heap of poorly strung together, half-awake thoughts, but by the time he regains himself enough to prop himself upwards, the ache in his head slowly subsiding, creeping away along with the swirling unease in his stomach, his bedside clock reads 4:00 PM.

The receding symptoms leave a dull emptiness in their wake. Nam-gyu knows the effects will find their way back eventually (though he hopes they’ll do so with less intensity), filling the crevices they’ve left him with. Pain or numbness — he should make an effort to differentiate which one he prefers.

He holds a hand to his head, hauling himself to his feet. The nonsensicality of his thoughts continue to linger.

…Well, at the very least, it seems like Thanos didn’t burn his entire apartment down while he was sleeping. That’s a good thing, he supposes.

(Burning alive seems like it’d be unpleasant. When Nam-gyu dies, he wants it to be quick. More than anything, he needs someone to watch it happen. If the imagery of his death is ingrained in someone else's brain, maybe then it’ll mean something.)

Nam-gyu pads his way out of his room, slow and quiet. The pain in his head still permeates, and while it’s not as bad as it was earlier, he still makes an effort to keep all sounds that he himself can control to a minimum.

As he usually is, Thanos is splayed out on the couch, and he’s once again opted to be shirtless, which seems to be his most frequent state of being while inside the apartment. Thanos is so incessantly cocky that Nam-gyu figures he must get a kick out of constantly showing off his physique. Not that Nam-gyu can necessarily blame him — he has a nice body. Really nice. From a logical, analytical standpoint, of course.

(If he throws words like ‘logical’ and ‘analytical’ into the mix, it negates the fact that in the end, it’s really just his own personal opinion. That’s how these sorts of things work, right? If he lies to himself over and over again, he’s sure it’ll have to stick in his head as truth eventually)

It takes a moment for it to register in Nam-gyu’s brain that Thanos is fast asleep. He lays stomach down on the couch, head resting on his crossed arms, eyes closed as he inhales in long, slow breaths. There’s a bottle of painkillers on the end table, next to a half empty glass of water. Despite being asleep, every so often some part of Thanos’ face twitches in discomfort, small winces of pain.

Looks like Nam-gyu’s not the only one suffering. It gives him a sick satisfaction, knowing he’s not the only one being affected by the lack of tiny colorful pills.

Given the position, Thanos’ back tattoo is on full display, each thick black line laying uncovered, untouched. Nam-gyu watches the way his body moves with each breath, the barely noticeable shift of his muscles. Nam-gyu’s hand quivers at his side as he wonders how it’d feel to trail his fingertips over each tattooed line. Would Thanos squirm under featherlight touch, or is he used to girls pawing at him, swooning over the marks on his skin?

Nam-gyu clenches his fists, nails digging into the meat of his palms as he averts his eyes so sharply that from an outsider’s perspective, it must look like he’s been slapped by a phantom hand. He all but stumbles his way into the kitchen, desperate to get away from the cause of his own wandering thoughts.

He’s not supposed to think about things like that. It’s not right.

His stomach pangs, but Nam-gyu is unable to discern if it’s from hunger, sickness, or a bodily reaction to his own self-disgust. Guilt, loathing, and shame compact into one concrete emotion, weighing heavily on Nam-gyu’s unsteady shoulders.

Rain patters softly outside, a gentle lull. Nam-gyu grabs a box of chocolate-flavored cereal, a bowl, and some milk. It doesn’t sound even remotely appetizing, but it’s the easiest thing that he can think to make at the moment. He wishes he would’ve grabbed something more snackish at the store earlier. Crackers, ice cream, chips — some type of comfort food.

Instead, he’s stuck with cereal. He pours the milk, sticks a spoon in the bowl, and forces himself to eat, dragging spoonfuls of milk doused, artificially flavored chocolate flakes to his mouth with an almost laughable lack of enthusiasm.

…It tastes fucking awful, admittedly. He’d only gotten it because Thanos insisted. Does he seriously like this stuff?

Despite the lackluster taste, it’s still food, and his stomach seems thankful for it. At the very least, he doesn’t keel over and throw it all up instantly, which is a good sign in itself.

The rain picks up in intensity, and with it so does the lasting ache in Nam-gyu’s skull. He places his bowl in the sink and leaves the kitchen with newfound drowsiness — not that he has any reason to be tired, considering he’s spent almost the entire day either asleep, or in a half-asleep state of wavering consciousness. Even still, exhaustion grips onto him with permanence.

As he steps back into the living room, he falters at the sight of Thanos sitting upright, a hand clutching persistently at his head.

“Nam-su?” Thanos looks up, peering at him. “…I feel like shit.”

Nam-gyu hums in agreement, nodding slightly. “I’d feel a lot better if we had some more of those pills.”

“I can’t summon them out of thin fucking air, man,” Thanos grunts in frustration. “My dealer cut me off right before the games. That was my last dosage, boy. Not that I’d be able to afford them even if I wasn’t cut off.”

Nam-gyu smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt, swaying idly in place. He feels sort of dizzy, but that’s nothing he’s not used to. Though, he does hope he doesn’t look as disheveled as he feels. “Get tied up in drama?”

Thanos glances at him, giving him a slow once over. His eyes trail over him methodically. “Huh?”

“Drama with your dealer, I mean.”

“I guess.” Thanos shrugs stiffly. His movements are tense, and his expression seems stuck in a permanent grimace. “Long story.”

“Mm.”

“…Dude, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m fine,” Nam-gyu mumbles. “I’m used to…I mean, I’ve been through this before.”

“Withdrawals?”

Nam-gyu stumbles, making a small noise of irritation. Of course he means withdrawals; what else could he possibly be talking about? “Yeah, dude.”

“You’re, like…tilting.” Thanos squints. “Sit down, bro.”

“Hyung, I’m fine.”

“Just sit,” Thanos insists, making a show of shuffling over and leaving a large chunk of the couch free, patting his hand on the cushion as if calling over a pet.

That’s fitting for their dynamic, isn’t it? A pet and their master. Nam-gyu likes the feeling of being under Thanos’ thumb more than he likes to admit, but it’d be nice if he could be the one tugging Thanos by a leash every once and a while. A nice, necessary change in pace.

Nam-gyu stumbles again, more noticeably this time. Fuck, he really is out of it.

With a few unsteady strides, Nam-gyu lowers himself onto the couch, shaky and unstable. He feels an odd disconnect from his body, as if his own movements are delayed.

“I told you, dude,” Thanos murmurs. “Those pills are fucking crazy.”

The last two words are spoken in English, and therefore fly directly over Nam-gyu’s head. Still, the general message comes across just fine, a thinly veiled ‘I warned you’.

“I’ll be fine,” Nam-gyu says again, voice quieter this time. His body sags against the cushions, thankful for being given relief from the effort of standing upright. “…What about you?”

“My head is fucking killing me,” Thanos gripes. “Feels like someone just split my skull open.”

Nam-gyu nods slowly, the action taking far too much effort. He watches as Thanos holds up a hand, displaying the tremor that shakes his fingers. Almost instinctively, Nam-gyu holds up his own sweater-clad hand in comparison, watching the way it twitches, a constant motion.

“We’re matching,” Nam-gyu murmurs.

Thanos snickers softly, a noise so unlike his usual loud, crass laugh, that it causes Nam-gyu to glance over in surprise. “Yeah, matching drug addicts.”

Nam-gyu let’s his arm fall back onto his lap, closing his eyes and letting his head tilt backwards. “It’s only four.”

“In the morning?”

“Evening.”

“Shit, I wouldn’t even know. I was tripping out earlier,” Thanos sighs. “It made me lose track of time. I think you were sleeping.”

“Tripping out?”

“Yeah. Hallucinating shit. For a while there it felt like there were bugs all over me. Like, crawling under my skin.”

“Urgh,” Nam-gyu makes a sound of disgust. “Seriously? Jesus, dude. You should’ve woke me up.”

“Nah. It’s not like you could’ve really done anything. Besides, I checked on you after I tried to make myself breakfast, and you were curled up in a ball on your bed. You looked like you were in a pretty bad state, so I figured I should just leave you alone.”

“…How’d breakfast go?”

“I didn’t burn the whole building down, so I’d say it went pretty good.”

Nam-gyu stifles a laugh. “And what about the state of the food?”

“The eggs had shells in them and the bacon turned into a hunk of charcoal.” Thanos shakes his head in disappointment. “I had to resort to cereal. Very upsetting.”

“I can imagine,” Nam-gyu jests. Now that he’s sitting, the bout of dizziness starts to fade away, but his body still feels heavy, as if gravity is pulling him down harsher than it should be. “I’ll give it a shot once I feel better.”

“You gonna put on a chef’s apron and cook me up something nice?” Thanos drawls, leaning towards him and letting their shoulders rest against each other. “What a doting little roommate you are.”

“Dude, come on,” Nam-gyu huffs a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “Don’t be weird.”

“Nothing weird about cooking.”

It’s not the words that Nam-gyu was referring to, but the cadence of Thanos’ tone. Too slow, too deep, too much, like he’s putting the moves on some girl at a club. His bare skin feels warm through the sleeve of Nam-gyu’s sweater, and he’s overcome with a ravenous need to feel more of him.

(Which, logistically, must be because of how cold he is. It’s natural for a body to desire warmth when shivering. It’s normal. Logistically, logistically, logistically– he needs to think logistically. If he doesn’t, the carefully crafted brick wall he’s built around his thoughts will crumble in seconds.)

Nam-gyu shifts away, laughing somewhat shrilly. “Yeah, yeah. Nothing weird about cooking.”

“Mhm. That’s what I said,” Thanos snorts. He retreats out of his space, and Nam-gyu misses it just as much as he’s thankful for it. “Damn, boy. You really are out of it.”

“Aren’t you?” Nam-gyu counters. “…I wish we would’ve gotten better food at the store.”

“I want fancy restaurant food,” Thanos muses, “like sushi. The elaborate kind, you know? I dated this girl a few years ago whose parents ran a sushi shop, and I swear I ate so much food from there that if I could remateralize it from my stomach and sell it, I’d probably be a fucking millionaire.”

“…What?” Nam-guu says, because his brain is moving in slow motion, and all of a sudden Thanos is talking about rematerializing sushi he ate years ago. Even if he wasn’t so out of it, what sort of response is someone supposed to muster up at that?

“Nevermind.” Thanos waves a dismissive hand, and thank god for that, because Nam-gyu doesn’t want to spend any more time piecing together such a long string of words. He’s so, so tired. “I'm just hungry.”

“I want a banana smoothie,” Nam-gyu laments. “We should’ve bought fruit.”

“Fruit goes bad so quick, though.”

“That’s why you eat them quickly.”

“I guess. Kind of messed up that a food item is putting me under a time limit, though.”

Nam-gyu starts to set up some sort of elaborate defense in the name of fruit, but cuts himself off as his neighbor's dog starts yowling again. Long, drawn out howls followed by short, loud barks.

“I’m issuing another noise complaint tomorrow,” Nam-gyu decides, screwing his eyes shut as the noise continues. “I can’t fucking stand it.”

As if somehow made aware of Nam-gyu’s harshly worded complaint, the dog suddenly seizes all noise. For a moment, the only sound is the heavy pattering of rain droplets on windows and plaster.

“Doesn’t seem like the noise complaints are working, dude.”

Nam-gyu sighs heavily. “I know.”

There’s a prickling sensation throughout his arms, like tiny thorns digging inside his flesh. Is this some sort of variant to what Thanos was experiencing earlier, the feeling of bugs crawling underneath his skin?

“I did a quick search online,” Thanos says suddenly, rubbing the palm of his hand against his forehead, wincing, “about MG Coin. I didn’t find anything specific, but there’s this one account left running that shows some pictures of him. Some friend of his, y’know? And, check this — he works at that seedy bar a few blocks down. Says so right on his page.”

“So, you found an account that belongs to someone that knows him?” Nam-gyu questions. “Hey, that’s a pretty good lead. We can pin him up and ask him if he knows where Myung-gi is.”

“Pin him up,” Thanos repeats with a laugh. “You sound like some thug from a crime movie.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Nam-gyu scoffs. “What happened to leaving it all to fate, anyways? To random chance? To ‘not wanting to waste time on him’?”

“You just seemed so dedicated to the idea of killing him. Guess some of your bloodlust rubbed off on me.” Thanos shrugs. “And I started thinking…if I kill him, can we just qualify that as me paying rent?”

“...Huh?”

“I’ll kill him for you instead of paying rent,” Thanos reiterates. “Like how some people do favors for others instead of shelling over cash.”

“Why should you get to kill him?” Nam-gyu frowns. “We’re supposed to kill him together.”

‘We’re supposed to,’ he says, though he’s not sure when such a thought solidified itself in his brain as truth. The thought of either of them killing Myung-gi separately seems fundamentally wrong; too real, too raw, too personal. If they work together, they can shoulder the weight of it all. They can each wrap a hand around his neck in perfect unison, squeezing until blood vessels pop. They can both hold onto the handle of a knife with a shared grip before plunging it into a beating heart. One can hold the gun while the other pulls the trigger. Nam-gyu doesn't care how the killing occurs — what matters is that it unfolds as a mutual, shared act of equal responsibility.

“I mean…” Thanos thinks it over, pulling a face of contemplation. “I guess.”

“You guess?” Nam-gyu gawks. “You do realize that you just offered yourself up as an assassin to me, right?”

Thanos grins wolfishly. “Does that mean you accept?”

“No, dude. It’s a joint effort, not some sort of business plan.”

A crime of passion, a crime of meaning. It has to mean something, or it’s all for nothing.

“I wasn't even planning on making you pay rent, anyways,” Nam-gyu says flippantly. “Not until you get on your feet, that is.”

“Yeah?” Thanos looks at him with a hint of disbelief. “You know, even if we do interrogate his little buddy, I doubt it’ll get us anywhere. Don’t get your hopes up too high, boy.”

It’s abnormal, sitting beside Thanos and planning a hypothetical murder like this. Hoping for bloodshed, praying to take life from another. Then again, when have his prayers ever been answered?

Thanos leans forward suddenly, resting his elbows on his shoulders and heaving a deep breath. “Fuck, I feel nauseous.”

Discussing murder plans tends to have that effect on people, Nam-gyu assumes. In Thanos’ case, however, it’s surely due to withdrawals. Nam-gyu shifts absentmindedly as his own sight shutters slightly, flickering every so often like a faltering television screen. He palms at the back of his neck, unnerved by the amount of perspiration that covers his fingertips when he pulls it back.

“Are you gonna throw up?” Nam-gyu asks. “Please don’t, man. If I have to ask the crazy lady next door to borrow her carpet cleaner again, I know she’ll flip out on me.”

“As if I can control it,” Thanos chokes out. “Tell your shitty neighbor to shove her carpet cleaner right up her ass.”

…Somehow, Nam-gyu doubts that’d go over well.

“Do you need a bowl to throw up in, or something?” Nam-gyu asks hastily, the mere thought of having to clean throw up off of his couch making him antsy. “More water, maybe?”

“It’s passing,” Thanos says through grit teeth. “It’s passing, just give me a sec.”

Nam-gyu wonders if he should offer some form of comfort. Would it be awkward to give him a pat on the back? He looks down at his sweaty, shaky hand, and then back to Thanos’ hunched over figure, but before he can settle on a course of action, Thanos is easing himself back upwards, leaning back into the couch cushions with uneven breaths.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Thanos murmurs. “I’m alright. Just tired.”

Tired — the word is weighted with something more complex, more raw. But if Nam-gyu looks into it too hard, if he questions it, if he prods through the walls Thanos has put up, it could very well end up in disaster for both of them.

So instead, Nam-gyu says, “I should go back to bed.” And when Thanos nods in acknowledgment and Nam-gyu stumbles to his feet, neither of them bother to convince the other to stay. They’ve both been through this before, and they’ve always been through it alone. There’s a twisted, sickening type of comfort in isolation.

If seclusion ends up being the thing that kills him, so be it.

Notes:

“Fellas, is it gay to watch your roommate while he sleeps and fantasize abt the way his skin would feel beneath my fingertips?” <- average Nam-gyu question. Yes, buddy. Yes it is.

Chapter 6: The Hierophant

Notes:

Okayyy my dearest readers! I’m once again pointing insistently at the tags and reminding you that this fic does in fact have sexual content in it. There will be eventual sex (that’ll happen way down the line, though), and there will be blatant descriptions of masturbation/sexual acts in general. Just reminding you! I don’t wanna catch anyone off guard if they missed the tags on accident haha

In all technicality, Nam-gyu isn’t supposed to smoke on the premises.

Not that he cares, of course. Why should he? Plenty of the tenants smoke, and as long as he stays outside in the parking lot as he does it, he’s not sure why anyone would make a fuss over it.

Sometimes when the lady next door catches him with a cigarette in hand, she’ll turn her nose up at him and tell him he’s going straight to hell for poisoning his lungs. She tends to threaten people with the aspect of hell quite often, without any care for her blatant hypocrisy. Nam-gyu used to tell her off for it, calling her a plethora of cruel names in response to her ramblings, but it only ever escalated things into blowout arguments. He’s learned over time that it’s better for him if he ignores it — as much as he hates her, if the landlord latches onto a reason to evict him and actually does so, it’d completely ruin him. He has nowhere else to go.

He hates the apartment complex, and the measly little roaches parading around as humans that live within its flimsy walls. He hates that he can’t smoke without feeling on edge. He hates religious fanatics and loud dogs. He hates a lot of things, including the sound of his own beating heart. But as of right now, the thing he hates most of all is his lack of pills.

For what it’s worth, Nam-gyu does feel better in comparison to how awful he felt the day prior. There’s still a dull ache in his head, and the shaking hasn’t gone away, but he’s well enough to stand outside in the chilly air and smoke a cig. That in itself is an accomplishment.

Thanos seems a bit better off as well, though he’s still much more subdued than he usually is. He keeps on mumbling about needing to think of lyrics for a new song, complaining about how his lack of drugs is ‘diminishing his creative vision’. His lack of patience is evident, and it’s clear that the longer Thanos’ symptoms stick to him, the higher his irritation grows.

Nam-gyu sucks in a gust of smoke and exhales it slowly. The midday air still smells faintly of rainwater from last night, but the scent is hard to pinpoint through the stagnant stench of smoke. The repetitive inhale and exhale of soot doesn’t offer him any real reprieve, but the familiarity of it is appreciated nonetheless. A fabricated source of stability.

A jittery sense of panic clings to him — a type of paranoia that he knows would be satiated by swallowing down a few pills. A hazy sense of unease consumes him as he leans idly against his car, glancing around slowly, drinking in his surroundings with a lack of interest. He swears he sees someone peeking behind the curtains of one of the apartment windows, but when he looks at the pane of glass directly, the blinds are closed shut, still and unmoving.

There’s something about the apartment complex that reeks of regret. People that live inside its walls all do so out of lack of resources to move somewhere better, and while Nam-gyu isn’t even remotely close with any of the tenants, he knows that they all share the same sense of dissatisfaction with where they’ve landed. They look towards others with deep-rooted jealousy, reaching with outstretched fingers for something that can only be obtained by an already closed fist.

Surviving and living are two very different things. Nam-gyu doesn’t think he’s ever truly lived at all.

He watches as a bird picks a worm from the dirt, flying away with a pink tendril trapped within its beak. The muffled whir of cicadas drone on in the distance, and as Nam-gyu takes another slow inhale of smoke, he finds himself wishing for a lack of consciousness.

What good is consciousness, anyways, if this is where it’s led him? Milling around a dirty, trash littered parking lot, gulping down lungfuls of soot in a poor attempt to ease his mind. No job, barely any money, and a brain that forces him to remember things that are better left forgotten. Memories of blood and guts and colorfully painted fingernails pressing bitter pills against his tongue.

There are few things Nam-gyu hates more in life than sobriety. Being forced to deal with his own thoughts and feelings on the regular, instead of his frenzied, heightened perception of life when drugs pump through his system. He knows the withdrawals are never worth it, but he keeps returning to them just the same. He always needs one more second, just one more brief fleeting moment of feeling like someone that isn’t himself.

The sky above is a murky shade of grey, tiny slivers of sunlight shining between clumps of darkened clouds. Nam-gyu had a particularly troubling dream last night, of a slick mouth against his neck and warm, firm hands kneading against his thighs. Nam-gyu has obviously had his fair share of wet dreams, but the hands had felt larger than usual, more insistent, and it bothered Nam-gyu how incredibly nice it had felt.

Every girl he’s ever slept with has had soft palms and even softer lips, usually with some sort of floral or fruity scent clinging to their skin. In the dream, the familiar smells that Nam-gyu is accustomed to were replaced with something sharper, more musky and less identifiable.

Women have never gripped onto him with intensity, they’ve never taken much charge at all — that role has always been assigned to him. He’s always been the one to grip and feel and lead the way, not the other way around. The sudden switch in his dream makes him wonder why his brain latched onto such a fantasy to begin with.

Another inhale of smoke, followed by an unsteady exhale. A random wet dream about an imaginary person whose face he can’t recall doesn’t mean anything. It’s just his brain's way of formulating something new due to how pent up he’s getting.

Nam-gyu doesn’t mind having Thanos stay with him (in fact, he much prefers it to living alone), but it’s admittedly been tough to adjust to the fact that he hardly has the apartment to himself. When he woke up this morning, hard and rutting slowly, mindlessly against his sheets, he had to grab a shirt from his dresser and stuff his mouth with a portion of it to muffle his shallow breaths and hushed moans as he hastily got himself off.

(Leaving his door unlocked gave him an exhilarating buzz of excitement, knowing he could be walked in on at any moment. He doesn’t think he’s orgasmed so quickly in months, spilling across his palm with a broken, pathetic sound that displayed an almost desperate type of want. Want for what, exactly? That’s what Nam-gyu can’t quite pinpoint.)

The point is that he has to make an effort to be quiet about it, to be mindful. It’s not something he’s all that used to, but Nam-gyu thinks that now more than ever, he needs a break in routine to keep himself on his toes. If he falls back into mundanity, he thinks his fragile state of mind might morph into something truly incomprehensible, hauntingly shameful.

Everything seems incomprehensible these days, entirely unreal. Trying to return to normalcy after going through the games seems like an impossible task; to him, the word normalcy is now a word without meaning.

There was one point during the second game where Nam-gyu watched another player sit amongst his teammates and pray, hands clasped together and eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Nam-gyu’s head had already been starting to grow fuzzy at this point, the first of Thanos’ pills starting to fizzle into his system, so he’d paid it little mind at the time.

Now, however, the imagery sticks with him. The imagery of a man, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, pleading desperately to a higher power to spare him from death.

And yet, with all that begging, he’d ended up being one of the many that weren’t able to reach the finish line on time, shot dead and left gurgling up blood surrounded by his fellow competitors. What sort of God would lay out such a fate for a being of His own creation? A cruel death, the stench of fear and panic and unspoken regrets stronger than the smells of blood and rot will ever manage to be. Shells of people laid out in blood in front of a crowd, empty husks placed into ribbon-tied boxes.

Wouldn't the average person assume that a God would feel nothing but adoration for His own creations? If able to mold a living being, why not handle them softly? Why not place them upon the world with a gentle caress and soft words of comfort, instead of throwing them into life defenseless and covered in blood, small and trembling and screaming?

The world is a place that chews relentlessly upon each human it sees. It swallows harshly against rotten and fresh fruit alike, without remorse, and feeds on the broken, jagged complexity of human life. That’s exactly how Nam-gyu landed himself in this situation — dire circumstances. That’s why he happened to be cherry picked by some sort of murderous group (cult, maybe?) of sadistic assholes who must think it’s funny to watch poor people scramble for money, putting their own lives at stake for the chance of something better.

Nam-gyu would’ve stayed in that hellhole, if he’d been able. He would’ve voted O every single time, kept himself entrapped in the hopes of earning more money, and he’s sure Thanos would’ve done the same. He would’ve died in those games, and he would’ve done so willingly. He’d die a thousand times over if it meant he’d get a fresh start, a way to come back from such a heinous crypto scam, and all the shady drug deals he spent too much cash on. Anything to wipe the slate clean again.

But life can never truly restart. It begins, it continues, it ends, and all forms of regret become meaningless. No amount of praying saved that man from a grisly death, and no amount of praying will save Nam-gyu from the aspect of living itself.

Why create a body so flimsy, anyways? Nam-gyu ponders the fragility of his nerves, veins, and flesh as he taints his lungs further, sapping brief moments of his lifetime with each prolonged inhale of smoke. It gives him a sense of satisfaction, a sense of control. He’s the one holding the cigarette, he’s the one willingly breathing in toxins.

It’s all in his hands, on his own time. As it should be.

Each bad decision is still a decision made of his own volition, and he continues to convince himself that that in itself makes it all perfectly alright.

(Deep down, though, he knows that the sensibility of such a thought process is close to none. Nobody is above making bad decisions, and no matter how insistently he lies to himself, reality itself will not bend to his own resentful whims.)

Even after seeing so much death firsthand, Nam-gyu chases after it. Every time the face of Myung-gi materializes in his mind, he’s overcome with the extreme, palpable want to kill him. And while Thanos seems to feel similarly, Nam-gyu fears he may not be as serious about it as he is. His opinion on the matter seems to fluctuate by the hour. From “I don’t want to think about him, so why bother searching for him?”, back to “I need to find him and beat him to a pulp.”

But beating someone and killing them are two very different things, and while Thanos has confidently spoken about killing Myung-gi with or without Nam-gyu by his side, he can’t be sure how earnest the man is about the matter. It’s always so hard to tell, when it comes to Thanos.

The two of them already have blood on their hands. Thanos, pushing people over in Red Light, Green Light and kicking Gyeong-su to his death. Nam-gyu, yanking people out of the way to assure his own safety in Mingle.

His and Thanos’ safety, actually. They never once left each other's sides. They’d clung to each other so persistently, never letting each other wander fully out of sight. Nam-gyu wishes he could cling to him like that again, but without the constant, looming threat of death, he has no excuses to fall back on if questioned.

Would Thanos question him, though? He never questioned him back in the games. He welcomed the touches, the closeness with a fluid ease, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Both of their emotions had gone haywire during the games, the mixture of drug induced intoxication, heightened fear of a grisly death, and pitiful hopefulness for a better life mixing together to create a feeling so unique that it’d nearly made them both unrecognizable, for a brief moment in time. Things are so fundamentally different for the both of them now, not only in terms of their lives and mindsets, but also in terms of their own partnership together.

Smoke curls upwards in vapors, slowly fading to nothingness. Nam-gyu inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales, and considers the possibility that he might be losing his mind.

It’s not necessarily uncommon for people to have mental breakdowns after being put through traumatic experiences, right? For people's perception of reality to shatter like a broken mirror.

Nam-gyu shouldn’t be so hooked on the idea of killing a man, and the thought of Thanos being by his side as he does so shouldn't excite him. How can he think of such violent acts of cruelty all while becoming queasy and nauseous at the mere sight of blood?

(Blood never used to bother him all that much. Now, each time he picks at the skin around his fingernails until crimson starts to bead at the wound, his stomach churns with a heavy, unshakable sickness; yet another reminder of the vulnerability of his own mind.)

Nam-gyu let’s his cigarette fall to the ground, crushes it under his shoe. He’s smoked out here so many times now that the way the sole of his shoe crunches against asphalt as he crushes the remainder of the cig feels so strikingly familiar, it’s as if he’s heard it since birth.

His mother used to smoke outside of the church that she used to drag him to back when he was younger. She would stand outside, her hands just as shaky as his are now, and watch the smoke flutter up into the sky. As a kid, Nam-gyu hated the smell almost as much as he hated the judgemental glares of their fellow church-goers. He used to swear never to smoke, promising vehemently that he’d never drink or do drugs or do anything his mother always did herself.

Nam-gyu looks skyward, eyes unblinking. If he were to come into contact with his younger self, he thinks he’d want to kill him too, for the pure fact of being a hypocritical liar. Which, of course, is completely nonsensical. A child can’t tell the future, and he was only saying what he figured his mother wanted to hear.

He wishes he could stop thinking about the act of murder. The violence of his own thoughts sickens him to his core.

“I wouldn’t be dealing with any of this if I didn’t have to think,” Nam-gyu thinks bitterly, “and if I had any pills, I wouldn’t have to think at all.”

Right now, he’s sure that Thanos is tucked away in their now shared apartment, likely suffering from yet another migraine or bout of stomach pain, or maybe attempting to think up some good lyrics or a catchy sounding tune. Nam-gyu likes living with Thanos, but he wonders if the sentiment is shared to the same extent. Does Thanos actually enjoy the friendship that’s unfolded between them, or is he settling for whoever’s willing to give him a couch to sleep on, waiting and biding his time for a chance to leave him alone again?

The question rings tirelessly within him, and the only way to satiate it would be to ask Thanos outright. He’ll never bring himself to question him, though, because it’d be a blatant display of harrowing insecurity, like a kid nervously asking a fellow student, “do you like me?” on the playground.

It’s not Nam-gyu’s fault that Thanos is so hard to read, with his fluctuating moods and emotions. His insistence on calling him the wrong name. His charming nature backed up with blatantly self-serving tendencies. The way he speaks of death so flippantly, such disregard for his own life despite the confident persona he displays. Nam-gyu pays close attention to the smallest of changes in Thanos’ disposition, each barely noticeable movement a betrayal of Thanos’ true nature.

Nam-gyu wants to unravel him whole. He needs to pick him apart piece by piece until he finds out what makes him tick.

He heads back towards his apartment, walking up rickety stairs, unflinching as his neighbor's dog begins to bark as he passes. The smell of smoke still lingers as he reaches his front door, hand lingering on the rusted metal doorknob. He turns, glancing at the apartment door beside his — the doormat with religious slogans and the brightly polished cross.

The quotes are smeared with dirt, which is no surprise at all. It’s a doormat, for fucks sake. The entire setup seems eerily out of touch; wiping dirty shoes on supposed words of worship, all while looking straight ahead at the pretty cross hung at eye-level on the door, like a moth drawn to a burning flame. Blinded by something unreachable.

Nam-gyu thinks that if God molded him, he should’ve known he’d grow to hate him.

Notes:

Spent ten dollars on a sandwich yesterday and the ten dollars actually left my bank account…sighhhh so sad truly

Anyways ik there’s no actual Thanos & Nam-gyu interactions in this chapter but the next chapter will certainly make up for that !!! :)

Chapter 7: The Lovers

Notes:

I juuuust caught a typo in the first chapter so I’m once again here to mention that I do not have a beta reader. Therefore, if you spot a typo feel free to pull up to my house with a pie and sling it directly at my face while playing clown music loudly in the background.

“How’d your smoke break go, Nam-su?” Thanos asks as Nam-gyu steps foot into the living room, his brain still lingering on thoughts he wishes would dissipate.

“It’s Nam-gyu.”

“Uh-huh.” Thanos waves his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. Same thing.”

It’s really not, but Nam-gyu keeps his mouth shut. The relentlessness of his own thoughts have left him in yet another bout of exhaustion. It’s starting to feel like his fatigue will never fully go away.

So, instead of answering, Nam-gyu lets out a soft, quiet sigh of disregard, and walks towards the couch with heavy limbs. “Feeling better?”

“Sort of. Not well enough to think of any good lines,” Thanos sighs in aggravation. “This shit used to be so easy when I was drugged up out of my mind.”

“Yikes,” Nam-gyu murmurs, shrugging off the glare it earns him in response as he takes a seat next to him. “I’m sure you’ll think of some lyrics eventually.”

“I’d rather just get my hands on some heavy drugs,” Thanos deadpans. “I’ve hit up, like, five of my past dealers. None of the little shits are responding.”

“Most dealers aren’t fond of free handouts,” Nam-gyu laughs humorlessly. “If I still had my job, I’d be able to…”

He cuts himself off with a noise of irritation. There’s no use thinking of ‘what ifs’ — if he starts considering all of the expensive, hard-hitting drugs he could be getting his hands on at the club if he still worked there, he’ll spiral into misery.

“You seem stressed, boy.” Thanos flicks Nam-gyu’s forehead with a sharp laugh. “All shaky and nervous.”

Nam-gyu frowns; he’s unaccustomed to having his emotions pointed out so bluntly. He usually prides himself on his ability to mask his expressions — what is it about Thanos that makes everything so different?

“I’m fine.”

Thanos makes a noise of disbelief. “Is it because of what that shaman lady said?”

“What shaman lady?” Nam-gyu says quickly, reflexively, before immediately backtracking. “Oh, right. Yeah, no. I couldn’t give less of shit about that freakshow.”

“Lots of animosity in your voice for someone who doesn’t give a shit,” Thanos snorts. He lets his arm rest on the back of the couch, hand curling around Nam-gyu’s shoulder, and the action should seem too touchy, but they spent the entirety of the games hanging off of each other, so it only feels natural.

Nam-gyu fiddles restlessly with his hands, digging his nails into the meat of his palm as he leans against Thanos’ touch. “She was probably high.”

“Nah.” Thanos shakes his head. “If I thought she was high I would’ve asked her to share some of her stash.”

“As if she’d fork over anything. That woman is clearly out of her mind,” Nam-gyu scoffs. “Talking in fucking riddles and pretending it means something.”

“What is it she said, again?” Thanos taps a finger to his chin in a grand show of recollection. “Something about you hiding from a truth that you’re already aware of?”

Nam-gyu shifts uncomfortably. He wants nothing more than the conversation to switch to something different — thinking of the shaman unsettles him. Her briskly spoken words and wide, knowing eyes made her seem almost omnipresent. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”

Thanos’ fingers trail idly against Nam-gyu’s shoulder, and he comes to the abrupt realization that he smells exactly like the expensive strawberry body wash that he specifically hid in a bottom cabinet to make sure Thanos didn’t use it all up.

…That nosy fucker used his expensive shower supplies instead of the cheap, off-brand ones that were clearly laid out for him.

Though, he supposes it’s sort of nice that Thanos smells exactly like him. He’s also wearing one of Nam-gyu’s shirts, he notices, despite the fact that he brought a plethora of clothes back with him from the house of whoever he was staying with prior.

Nam-gyu could make a fuss about it, if he wanted to. But he won’t, because he likes the way his clothes hug onto Thanos’ body.

…In a perfectly natural, friendly way. Obviously.

“Are you?” Thanos tilts his head.

“Am I what?” Nam-gyu asks, tiptoeing around a question he already knows the answer to.

“Hiding from some sort of truth?”

There’s an odd sense of seriousness to him, some sort of dual meaning lurking behind his eyes. Nam-gyu holds his stare as if he were created for the sole purpose of doing so, well-aware of their proximity. Is he hiding from something, or is something hiding from him? Does it matter either way?

Nam-gyu feels the way Thanos’ fingers graze against his shoulder, a deliberate purposefulness to the movement, and for a brief moment, he considers how easy it’d be for the man beside him to wrap his hands around his throat and squeeze the air out of his lungs. It’s a bizarre train of thought, and he trusts that Thanos would never do such a thing without reason; despite this, an illogical part of his brain wishes he would. Dying at the hands of Thanos, having his face be the last thing he sees, his skin be the last thing he touches, his voice the last thing he hears — for an inexplicable reason, Nam-gyu finds himself craving it, for just a split second.

Sensibility returns. Nam-gyu blinks and turns away, his eyes burning from being held open for so long.

“I’m not hiding anything.”

The layered amounts of hypocrisy that incase his own words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Each lie he speaks is another thread weaving itself in the shape of a noose.

In an instant, whatever trance they’ve worked themselves into dissipates. Thanos pulls back the arm wrapped around Nam-gyu’s shoulders, examining his chipped nail polish with a barely susceptible frown. “If you say so.”

Nam-gyu feels like he’s failed some type of test, or taken a drastic misstep. The cut off interaction leaves him with a heavy sensation of loneliness, and while it seems the conversation has ended, Nam-gyu can’t help but feel desperate to somehow continue it.

“Do you want to share another cigarette?”

The question itself is absurd — not only did Nam-gyu just smoke one himself, but he has quite a few on hand. It would've been more rational for him to offer Thanos one instead of insisting they share, swapping one cigarette between themselves like a couple of stingy first-time smokers.

Thanos looks at him quizzically. “Didn’t you just smoke one?”

A car horn blares outside, the screeching noise akin to a mocking laugh. Nam-gyu bites the inside of his cheek and hopes his embarrassment isn't evident. “Well, yeah. I could have another, though.”

Thanos sighs, the sound long and drawn out. “I wish you had some vapes, dude.”

“I know. You’ve mentioned that, like, fifty times.”

“Yeah, and I’ll keep mentioning it until I get my hands on one,” Thanos gripes. “I dreamt about a lemonade vape last night. Did I tell you that already?”

He most certainly did — it was the first words out of his mouth when Nam-gyu came out of his room this morning. Nam-gyu doesnt bother giving him a solid answer, because if he spends any more time talking about flavored chemical air, his brain might actually turn to mush and leak out of his fucking ears. “Hyung, do you want a cigarette or not?”

“Sure.” Thanos nods. “But, I’m not going outside to smoke it.”

“We aren't allowed to smoke in here,” Nam-gyu says, but pauses at the look of blatant disbelief it earns him in response. He bristles instinctively — it’s not like he’s trying to sound like a devout rule-follower, it’s just that the landlord has gone on and on about cigarette smoke damaging the wallpaper. If he has to deal with the wrath of his landlord and his neighbors, he might as well pack his bags and call it a day.

“Dude, who gives a fuck?” Thanos curses. “C’mon, my boy. We can smoke right here on the couch, it’s fine.”

“Fine, fine, but let me at least open a window,” Nam-gyu grumbles, standing to his feet with a huff. Thanos laughs lightly, and Nam-gyu can feel his eyes trailing him as he strides towards the nearest window, heaving it upwards. He winces at the amount of dust the action brings flying into the air.

“Shit, when was the last time you opened that thing?”

“I don’t usually have a reason to,” Nam-gyu defends, making a halfhearted attempt to wave the dust away from him, holding back a cough. “Besides, this place is ancient. Dust appears if you even look at something the wrong way.”

“Right,” Thanos snickers. “Might want to invest in a duster, bro.”

“Or you could buy a duster. It’s your apartment too.”

There’s a momentary stillness that follows his words, a shared moment of surprise. Not that there's anything to be surprised about — they’ve already solidified their roommate status to each other, and while Nam-gyu can’t be sure how long Thanos plans on staying, he does officially live with him now. The apartment is no longer Nam-gyu’s, but a communal area that belongs to the both of them.

Both of them are clearly aware of this fact, but saying it aloud so plainly makes it feel more permanent. Nam-gyu overcomes his momentary stupefaction with a clear of his throat, pulling the packet of cigarettes out of his pocket as he takes a seat beside Thanos once again.

“Next time we go out we should grab some booze,” Thanos drawls, watching closely as Nam-gyu places the cigarette between his lips and tugs a lighter out of his pocket. He figures they’ll swap between each puff like they did earlier — this is a common thing for two guys to do together, right? “It’s so fucking boring in here.”

“Unemployment tends to be pretty boring, yeah,” Nam-gyu mumbles around the cylinder, though he thinks employment is leagues worse than boredom. The boredom wouldn’t feel so awful if he didn’t have such horrific imagery playing in his mind at nearly every minute of the day. Bloodied bodies and splattered flesh are the only memories his brain likes to recall these days.

He cups his hands and flicks the lighter. Once, twice, thrice. By the fourth time, the pad of his thumb starts to sting, and he lets out a grunt of frustration.

“You suck at this, Nam-su,” Thanos murmurs, fingers easily plucking the lighter from his hands. “Come on, you’re taking forever.”

With a noise of exasperation, Nam-gyu moves to take the cigarette out of his mouth and hand it over, assuming that’s why Thanos grabbed the lighter in the first place; but as he reaches upwards, Thanos swats his hand away with a disapproving scowl.

“Hold still.”

Nam-gyu can’t physically hold still even if he wanted to. Some part of his body always seems insistent on shaking or twitching, a vessel acting out against the core that controls it. Regardless, he makes a solid effort to keep himself steady, despite his overall confusion. The cigarette hangs loosely between his lips, unlit and rigid.

Much to Nam-gyu’s chagrin, it takes exactly one swift flick of Thanos’ thumb to make the flame burst its way out of the lighter. Then, so quickly that he can hardly muster up any type of solidified reaction to it, Thanos grabs onto Nam-gyu’s chin, tilts his head, and brings the lighter towards the cigarette in an attempt to light it.

“Hold still,” Thanos says again, quieter this time. His fingers feel warm against Nam-gyu’s skin, firmly holding him in place as the flame flutters against the cigarette. That’s what he should be paying attention to — the lighter, the spark of fire, the cig, anything except the sudden proximity. About the way Thanos sticks the tip of his tongue out in concentration, eyebrows furrowed as the flame flickers in the reflection of his pupils.

The cigarette lights, and Thanos withdraws, his fingers falling from their place situated against Nam-gyu’s chin. He takes a breath, startled at the realization that he was holding it to begin with, and splutters at the sudden inhale of smoke.

“Damn, boy!” Thanos barks a laugh. “You act like you’ve never smoked before!”

Nam-gyu recovers from his momentary coughing fit quickly, embarrassment evident. “Come on, dude. I just inhaled too quick!”

“Didn’t know you were such an amateur,” Thanos jests. Nam-gyu begrudgingly sucks in another bout of smoke, blowing it out directly in Thanos’ direction. “Hey!”

“Whoops,” Nam-gyu deadpans.

Thanos waves the smoke from his face with a cough, leering at him disapprovingly. “Do you think the smoke is gonna make your fire alarm go off?”

“You’re the one who wanted to smoke in here in the first place,” Nam-gyu tuts. “But, no. I don’t even have one.”

“You don’t have a fire alarm?” Thanos gawks. “Isn’t that illegal?”

Nam-gyu shrugs. “Is it?”

“I mean, you’d assume there’d be some sort of safety law regarding that shit. Especially in an apartment complex.”

“Since when do you care about safety?” Nam-gyu takes the cig out of his mouth, gesturing at it with a tilt of his head. “Though, I guess burning to death would be less than ideal.”

Thanos takes the cigarette, their fingers lingering against each other for a fleeting moment. “Yeah, way less than ideal.”

Thanos places the cigarette in his mouth, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. Just as he did before, Nam-gyu watches with a careful attentiveness, eyes lingering for too long on his lips, and his thoughts laying stagnant on the prospect of how much of their spit will be transferring into each other's mouths.

Guilt and shame compact into one, gnawing at him relentlessly.

Thanos’ shoulders sag as he lets his head fall against the back of the couch, blowing a stream of smoke into the air. “When should we go talk to MG Coin’s little buddy?”

Nam-gyu nearly forgot about him to begin with — with the shaman lady, withdrawals, and sudden bout of religious monologues, Nam-gyu feels like his head has been all over the place. For as much as thinks about killing Myung-gi, it’d momentarily slipped his mind that they have an actual lead.

“We should probably wait until we’re both feeling a bit better, yeah?” Nam-gyu suggests. “I still don’t feel all that great.”

“I’m sure the tobacco is really helping us along well,” Thanos quips, grinning against the cigarette, teeth digging into the paper wrapping.

“Of course,” Nam-gyu says sarcastically. “The soot and grime entering our lungs will cure us, for sure.”

With a snicker, Thanos hands the cig back over. Nam-gyu clamps his own teeth along the indent of Thanos’, satisfied with the warmth left behind. Smoke curls upwards, pooling along the ceiling before dissipating; he can’t believe he’s going to have the entire apartment smell like smoke all because Thanos didn’t feel like heaving himself off of the couch and going outside.

“Do you do that on purpose?” Nam-gyu asks after blowing out another puff of smoke, pointing at Thanos’ hair.

The rapper looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Do what? Dye my hair?”

“No, style it.”

“Style it?”

“Yeah, dude.” Nam-gyu holds his fingers up above his own head, mimicking two little horns on each side of his head. “It always looks like you’ve got horns. You know, because of the way the tufts of hair stick up?”

Nam-gyu takes the cig out of his mouth to hand it over, watching the way Thanos swipes his tongue out to dampen his lips before placing it back in his mouth.

“Not on purpose, no. It just sort of does that on its own.” Thanos grins. “You like?”

“It definitely fits your persona.” Nam-gyu is almost entirely positive that Thanos is lying to save face — there’s absolutely no way his hair tufts up that perfectly on purpose. The slight look of sheepishness, as if he’s been caught doing something silly, only convinces Nam-gyu further. “How’d you think of it, anyways? Your alias?”

“You’re asking how I became the legend Thanos? That’s a long story, my boy.” Thanos stretches idly, expression drifting between discomfort and consideration. “…It doesn’t really matter.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone call you by your actual name,” Nam-gyu muses. “Well, besides the guards at the…”

He trails off awkwardly. The games have become a topic that they both refuse to delve into heavily. Even passing comments strike Nam-gyu as unnerving, as if he’s bringing up something he shouldn’t.

“Su-bong isn’t my name anymore,” Thanos replies, his voice clipped. “The old me is dead and buried.”

It occurs to Nam-gyu that what he’s doing right can only really be described as prying, and he inwardly chides himself for his blatant questioning and lack of graceful wording. “…Well, I think the name Thanos suits you. You've got a nice style going on for you.”

The words come out awkward and clunky, dripping with self doubt. To be fair, Nam-gyu isn’t used to complimenting people — especially not famous ex-rappers. He half expects some form of ridicule, a harsh laugh in the face of his sudden sincerity.

Instead, Thanos looks over at him with a muted sense of thankfulness. His smile is soft instead of sharp, and Nam-gyu feels like he’s been offered a blessing just by being able to see it. How many other people has Thanos smiled at like that? Nam-gyu, for one, didn’t even know it was possible for someone like Thanos to make an expression so gentle.

Admittedly, the moment passes quickly. Thanos straightens his posture, taking the cig from his mouth as he blows out another puff of smoke. “Shotgun?”

“...No?” Nam-gyu frowns. “Why the hell would I have a shotgun?”

“What? No, dude,” Thanos makes a quiet noise of amused disbelief. “I meant we should shotgun the smoke together. I’m bored out of my fucking mind.”

“Shotgunning cigarette smoke? What's the point in that?” Nam-gyu laughs, just high enough to be considered shrill. It takes an extreme amount of concentration to not visibly cringe at the shocked nervousness of his own voice, like he’s some sort of hapless virgin who can’t fathom the thought of blowing smoke into another's mouth.

Which, to be completely clear, Nam-gyu isn't new to. He’s smoked weed with a wide variety of pretty women before, usually while working at the Club, and he can recall a handful of times where the interaction led to the girl taking a hit from a joint and leaning in close, blowing smoke into his mouth with lidded eyes or a catty smile.

He’s never done it with cigarette smoke, though. Seems sort of pointless, really. And, more importantly, Thanos isn't a pretty girl. That changes the situation rather drastically, doesn't it?

Thanos shrugs. “Dunno. I used to do it all the time with my buddies when we’d smoke weed together. I hear it gets you higher quicker. What, have you never done it?”

He sounds incredulous, like he can’t wrap his mind around the thought of Nam-gyu not being experienced in any and every drug taking method known to mankind. “I’ve done it a few times with girls at the club, yeah. Only with weed, though.” Nam-gyu nods toward the cigarette held loosely in Thanos’ hands with an air of disappointment. He wishes it were a joint that could offer him a pleasant high instead of a regular cigarette that only offers the slightest possible buzz. “This isn’t weed.”

“No shit.”

“Right, so…why shotgun if we’re not doing it to get high?”

“Because I’m fucking bored. I just said that, Nam-su.”

Nam-gyu wants to ask how blowing smoke into another man's mouth could possibly cure his boredom, but his head starts nodding along in agreement before he can stop himself. He momentarily wonders if his brain is diseased for accepting such an offer so readily, to be so excited at the prospect of having their mouths so close together.

But, no. Of course not. This is just a casual activity between two unemployed men who’d rather make up shit to do instead of look for jobs. Going back into the working world means accepting the fact that they’ve truly been placed back into their previous reality, hurled back into their lives of working for low pay and striving to clear unclearable debt. It’s a fact that neither of them want to face. As morbid as it sounds, Nam-gyu often catches himself hoping for a masked guard to steal him away again, to be given another shot at getting the money that he so rightfully deserves. The money that they should have been given regardless.

So, sure. Why not let Thanos swap lungfuls of smoke with him? He’ll do anything to take his mind off the shambles his life has fallen into, even if the distraction ends up filling him with shame.

“Yeah?” Thanos smiles devilishly. “You want to?

Nam-gyu shrugs, his greatest attempt at nonchalance. “Sure, man. Knock yourself out.”

Thanos places the cig back in his mouth and leans forward, eyes narrowed like a cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse. Nam-gyu swallows thickly, and wonders how harshly this will all end up biting him in the ass.

“Open your mouth,” Thanos orders, and Nam-gyu nearly shudders. He lets his mouth fall open on command, and ponders how he’s been trained into such obedience under such a short amount of time. Nam-gyu thinks it has something to do with the way Thanos looks at him, eyes wide and expectant, like he knows without a doubt that Nam-gyu will follow along with whatever order he’s given. In any other circumstance, it’d be demeaning.

Nam-gyu hates being looked down on, but if Thanos is the one metaphorically hovering over him from above, his hatred morphs into something different. Something he shouldn’t acknowledge outright.

Thanos keeps his eyes on Nam-gyu’s open mouth as he takes a deep, slow inhale. He holds the smoke in his mouth as he plucks the cigarette from between his lips with one hand, using his other hand to grip at the nape of Nam-gyu’s neck, warm fingers splaying against untouched skin. It’d be so easy for him to card his hand through his hair and tug. The mere thought makes Nam-gyu’s breath falter, though he knows he shouldn’t be thinking of such things to begin with.

Thanos leans forward, and pulls Nam-gyu along with him. He tilts his head, positions himself with a tactfulness that seems a bit overboard for something so supposedly casual, opens his mouth, and blows.

Back in the games, Se-mi made a multitude of comments about how insistently Nam-gyu and Thanos tend to invade each other's space. “You’re always all up on each other,” she’d said plainly. “Always so touchy.”

At the time, Nam-gyu had considered killing her. In the games, his mind always seemed to jump to murder — now, he thinks she may have had a solid point, though he’d never admit it out loud.

Because, they are always in each other's space. But even while taking that into consideration, this is something else entirely, a leap into uncharted territory. They’ve been close, sure, but never this close. Never close enough to pinpoint the curvature and marks on Thanos’ skin, to taste his breath on his tongue, to feel the grip of his hand against his neck, thumb circling slowly against his skin.

It’s a lot to process all at once, especially considering the fact that Nam-gyu is still dealing with the aching traces of a headache. All he knows for certain is that right now, the smell of strawberries is stronger than ever, possibly even stronger than the smell of smoke — how much of his expensive shampoo and conditioner did this fucker use?

A vast majority of the smoke billows from the corners of his mouth, because obviously their mouths aren't entirely connected, but Nam-gyu makes a solid effort to swallow up as much of the smoke as he can. It’s a wonder he doesnt start coughing; not due to inexperience, but due to the fact that the feeling of smoke torrenting down his throat at a pace he himself isn't controlling tends to have that effect.

He doesn’t cough (thank fucking god), but he does decide to brace one of his hands on Thanos’ knee – at least, he aims for the knee. The entire action itself is nothing but an instinctual attempt to steady himself, reaching out to whatevers closest. The issue, however, is that due to the already close proximity and the fact that they’ve both decided to leave their eyes wide open and engage in some sort of staring contest, Nam-gyu’s brain is jumbled, along with his perception.

It’s due to all of this occurring at once that causes Nam-gyu’s fumbling hand to land directly on Thanos’ thigh.

The action startles Nam-gyu himself, so it’s no wonder it causes Thanos to jolt in surprise as well. He jerks forward the slightest amount, and that small bit of distance causes their lips to brush together.

It’s not a kiss. Not even close — it’s a blunder. And, really, the lip graze is so monumentally quick and chaste that if Nam-gyu weren't paying such absurdly close attention to Thanos’ every movement, he likely wouldn't have noticed it at all.

It’s possibly the lightest graze of lips that could ever occur. Still, they both lurch backwards in unison.

…Which is fine, in theory. But, Thanos keeps his palm pressed against the back of Nam-gyu’s neck, and Nam-gyu’s hand remains glued to Thanos’ thigh, while his other hand grips so hard onto the back of the couch that his knuckles have turned a startling shade of white.

Thanos wears an expression that Nam-gyu can’t exactly pinpoint. Like a deer caught in headlights, except slightly more…feral? Wolfish? Somewhat akin to someone getting caught indulging in something they shouldn't be.

Nam-gyu doesn't have the time to decipher it. He yanks his hand away with a start, and Thanos follows suit rapidly.

“Damn,” Nam-gyu laughs sharply, voice cracking ever-so-slightly as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I haven't done that in a while.”

Nam-gyu lets Thanos finish off the cigarette in silence. He puts on the first mindless reality show that pops up on his television screen and keeps his eyes trained ahead, but he can feel the way Thanos glances at him from time to time, and the smell of smoke is stifling.

Something inside of him shifts, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. If he refuses to acknowledge it for long enough, he hopes it’ll go away entirely.

Notes:

mf’s will have their lips brush as they blow smoke into each other's mouths and say it’s just a friendly guy thing. Riiight riiight okay…suuureeee.

Also I fear it may be obvious that I have never shotgunned smoke nor have I ever touched a cigarette in my life actually. lmfao. Hopefully my inexperience isn't glaringly obvious ^_^;

Chapter 8: The Chariot

Notes:

I’ve bought an açaí bowl each day for the past five days now and I’m starting to think the workers are sprinkling crack on them when I’m not looking or something bc this shit is actually addicting.

The real issue isn’t that it occured — it’s that Nam-gyu can’t stop thinking about it.

It’s been days since it’s happened, and the event still manages to repeat relentlessly in his mind. The proximity, the smell of smoke, the feeling of Thanos’ hand placed firmly on the nape of his neck, squeezing ever-so-slightly.

The weather today is warm, the sun shining brightly through windows with half-drawn curtains. Nam-gyu’s just gotten back from another trip to the grocery store; a solo trip, this time, as Thanos is out fraternizing with old connections, desperately grasping at straws as he attempts to weasel his way back into the music industry.

It’s the first time in a while that he’s had the apartment to himself. He considers fishing out his hidden notebook and trying to jot down some lyrics on Thanos’ behalf — but, even if he did come up with something half decent, he doesn’t think he’d ever have the nerve to actually present it to someone like Thanos, whose standards are clearly through the roof.

Besides, just because he indulges in poetry every once and a while doesn’t make him some sort of expert, nor does it mean he’d be able to think up lyrics for a rap off the top of his head.

He grabs himself a muffin from the kitchen with a growing sense of all-consuming boredom, feeling nothing but despondency at his day to day life. The stovetop clock reads 11:08 AM, the muffin tastes stale despite the fact that he just bought it, and the apartment still faintly smells of cigarette smoke. Unimportant observations float through his brain in an endless cacophony, pinpoints of information settling within his brain for mere seconds before dissipating.

He should take this opportunity of solitude to send out more job applications — he’s already sent out a few, but the applications were admittedly half-assed, because he has no real desire to work. The only jobs that appear to be available to him are customer service jobs, and the thought of being a cashier at a clothing store or working in fast food makes him want to bash his head into a wall.

…Dramatic, yes, but Nam-gyu is so accustomed to working at the club that trying anything different seems almost sacrilegious.

He’s dragging his feet on the inevitable, and he’s well aware of it. His inaction remains steadfast.

So instead of job hunting, or cleaning, or doing any other number of useful things, Nam-gyu mills around aimlessly, as he’s been doing ever since being released from entrapment, and stews in the contents of his own mind.

A bird caws outside, loud and overbearing. Nam-gyu considers asking Thanos to take a trip with him down to the bar that MG Coin’s buddy works at when he gets back; it’s not like he has anything better to do, and the possibility of getting some insight on Myung-gi’s whereabouts gives him an abnormal rush of adrenaline, similar to the type of buzz he gets after chugging an energy drink.

He had a dream last night about holding Myung-gi’s head under water until his lungs burst, and when he awoke he felt disturbed and unlike himself, as if someone other than him had climbed inside his body and manually pried open his eyes. He’s been dreaming a lot lately, and most of the vibrant imagery is either homicidal or nonsensical. Visions of starry skies and golden chariots fading into yet another scenario of Nam-gyu killing Myung-gi, or being killed by him in turn.

Despite himself, he’s starting to wonder if the shaman lady really did put a curse on him.

More often than not, he wakes up gasping for breath, clawing at his neck as if attempting to rip invisible hands off of his seizing throat. It only ever lasts a few short, fleeting seconds, but the fear he feels in these short lived moments are enough to leave him staggering. He hates displaying fear even more than he hates feeling it firsthand, even if the only person around to witness his heightened panic is himself.

It makes him feel childish, experiencing such extreme bouts of paranoia for no concrete reason. Except, no…that’s not quite right, is it? There is a reason. A viable one. What he went through isn’t normal. It’s not sane, it can’t be described out of existence or molded into something it isn't. It happened, it’s over, and now Nam-gyu’s brain has to deal with the aftershocks of it all, the guilty conscious and festering hatred for not obtaining what he so intensely desired.

No matter how often bloody memories repeat in his mind, it doesn't ever make him more accustomed to remembering them. In comparison to who Nam-gyu was before the games, it feels like there's very little of himself left. He’s been worn down to the worst possible aspects of himself, the parts that he’s worked so hard to keep under the wraps over the years, and now he’s stuck writing quickly scrawled poems that don’t make sense and sleeping through a majority of his days, lending his apartment to a man who likely is only using him for a couch to sleep on.

He can’t stand looking in the mirror. Seeing his own exhaustion reflected back at him makes him ill.

Nam-gyu figures that he has to be torn apart completely and born anew to solve his compounding issues. It’s not like he has the money to spare on therapy, and even if he did, there’s no way in hell he’d go through with it. What would he even say if he did? Nobody will believe the truth of what’s occurred to him, and the second he speaks of violence they’d likely ship him off to an institute.

Nam-gyu learned at a very young age that life is abysmally unfair. Teeth digging into a throat will always be described as something it’s not, and acts of love often fizzle into something hateful and hostile. He lacks the patience to put positive spins on situations where there are none, and is far too tired to attempt improving his dismal mindset.

When he was on drugs, popping two or three pills at a time, he never had to worry about thinking about much of anything. He could float through hours feeling like someone else entirely, and while he often felt happy during the periods of time he was under the influence, it only made coming down from it excessively worse. Not to mention the god-awful side effects.

Maybe while Thanos is out chatting with his old buddies in the music industry, he’ll be able to charm his way into some free, or at the very least heavily discounted drugs. The feeble hope that the idea offers him makes his stomach churn.

He wonders how many other people Thanos has gripped onto, breathed smoke into. Nam-gyu sets his half-eaten muffin down with a sigh, and tries not to give it any more thought.

– – –

Thanos arrives back at the apartment right as the clock hits 5:30 PM. He’s far from pleased.

“Those fuckers have turned into a bunch of self-righteous snobs,” Thanos complains the second he strides through the door. “They act like a few scandals means I’ll never be able to make it in the industry again!”

“Didn't you sleep with a married woman?” Nam-gyu asks as Thanos takes a seat next to him on the couch. He recalls the image of a tall, slender woman with sleek black hair that was shown on the news, a large diamond ring showcased on her finger.

“On accident,” Thanos gripes. “I mean, sleeping with her wasn't an accident, obviously. But, I didn't know she was married. She told me she wasn't!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, dude! I’m not usually a homewrecker, you know?”

“Usually, huh?”

“Nam-su,” Thanos looks at him with a scowl.

Nam-gyu bites the inside of his cheek, glancing at Thanos with a faux look of confusion. He has no want to talk about one of Thanos’ one million past flings — he heard enough of that back in the games, when Thanos would yammer on about how many women he’s been with whenever they ran out of other topics to discuss.

When he thinks back to pictures of the married woman, he does remember her being rather pretty. Long hair, doe eyes, plush lips. He wonders how Thanos treated her in bed. He seems like the type who’d be pretty rough if his partner allowed it. The type of guy to leave lasting teeth marks and reddened handprints.

Nam-gyu physically shakes his head at the train of thought — what the hell is he thinking about that for? The outward display of frantic desperation as he inwardly tries to clear his thoughts earns him a look of blatant confusion.

“What the hell are you doing?” Thanos asks bluntly, voice laced with genuine bewilderment.

“…I’ve been thinking,” Nam-gyu redirects quickly, straightening his posture and looking over at Thanos with an air of seriousness. “About that guy you found on social media. The one with the connection to Myung-gi?”

Confusion morphs into acute consideration. “Ah, right. The bartender.”

“Why don’t we go pay him a visit tomorrow? See if we can get any information out of him.”

“Sure thing, boy. It’s not like we have any other shit to do.” Thanos shrugs. “We should have a few drinks while we’re there. Maybe we’ll be able to pick up some ladies.”

The thought of flirting with women should exhilarate him, but all it does is leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Nam-gyu nods along despite it, though the thought of having to witness Thanos throw pickup lines at girls makes him squeamish. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Try not to get too excited,” Thanos says sarcastically. “What, you don’t want to get with some pretty girls?”

It almost seems like an accusation — or, maybe Nam-gyu’s brain is immediately compacting it into one. Regardless of the intention, the words make Nam-gyu bristle. “Of course I do.”

A few days ago, they sat on this exact couch as Nam-gyu let him breathe smoke into his mouth, and now Thanos is talking about scoring with random women at a bar. It really shouldn’t bother him, but for whatever reason, it makes Nam-gyu’s skin itch with a stinging, searing irritation.

“Yeah?” Thanos tilts his head curiously. “What’s your type?”

“My type of woman?”

“Mhm.”

There’s a type of smugness to Thanos’ tone that catches Nam-gyu off guard, like he knows something he doesn’t.

His ideal type of woman…when he tries to think of someone, some type of fantasy dream-girl, he comes up with nothing. A complete blank slate. He’s slept with a decent amount of women, but he’s never been in a serious relationship; now that he really thinks about it, he’s never even considered the thought of himself in a serious relationship.

“I don’t know,” he settles on after a long lapse of silence. “I don’t really have a concrete type.”

“Boring,” Thanos groans. “Super boring, bro. Ridiculously boring.”

“What about you, then?” Nam-gyu fires back. “What’s your type?”

“Hmm…” Thanos taps a finger to his chin. “Dark hair, fierce personality…”

“That’s it?” Nam-gyu raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“A nice sized ass is always appreciated.” Thanos nods sagely, as if departing a piece of ancient wisdom. “I love a good ass.”

“…Okay, dude.”

“What? You’re the one who asked.”

“Because you asked first!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Thanos waves his hand dismissively. “I guess scoring with women isn’t going to be our main goal tomorrow, anyways.”

Nam-gyu isn’t sure why it took an entire derailed conversation for Thanos to come to that conclusion, but he’ll take what he can get. “If we do end up finding out where he’s at, how exactly are we…”

…going to kill him? The words echo in his mind, but become lodged in his throat when he tries to speak them aloud. He tries to convince himself that what they're doing is unavoidable, a payment of karma that they simply must bring forth. But no amount of fancy wording diminishes the reality that this is a choice. Planning to kill another, no matter the reasoning, is still a decision. Nobody is puppeteering them, no matter how much Nam-gyu wishes that were the case.

“You’re keen on planning this all out, aren’t you?” Thanos asks.

“Well, acts of murder usually have a plan to them, don’t they?” Nam-gyu snipes. “We should at least choose a method.”

“Why don't we just do whatever comes naturally?” Thanos says, which is such a bafflingly obtuse thing to say about killing someone that Nam-gyu nearly laughs in his face.

“Huh?” Nam-gyu balks.

“It’ll be two against one. What’s there to worry about?”

Nam-gyu frowns. “It was two against one when we fought with that old guy back in the games. He started choking you out, dude.”

“Well…” Thanos scowls with evident embarrassment, cheeks flushing. “That was different. I was caught off guard. And he kicked you down almost instantly, so it was basically one on one from the beginning.”

“Hey—!”

“We’ll be more prepared this time,” Thanos continues. “We’ll bring knives, or some shit.”

Nam-gyu supposes that he is jumping the gun a bit. There’s a very high chance that the bar encounter won't give them any real information to go off of, and even if they do learn of Myung-gi’s whereabouts, he’s likely already gone into hiding. The grimy fucker probably ditched his pregnant girlfriend and booked a flight to the farthest possible location.

…Or, maybe he took her with him. Nam-gyu doesn’t know, and he really doesn’t care. Despite how often he used to watch MG Coin’s channel, he doesn’t know much about the man as a person. All he knows is that the tone he uses is always far too smarmy, and Nam-gyu won’t be satisfied until he’s dead and buried.

(His death will change nothing. Nam-gyu knows this, and he knows that feeling the blood covering his hands will only make him feel monstrous. His guilt will compound, multiply in its intensity, and likely kill him before he reaches any sort of peaceful conclusion within himself.

He knows this. Still, he can’t help but hold out hope for some form of an answer to appear in the bloodied, decomposed shell of Myung-gi’s body. If he dies, perhaps then Nam-gyu’s life can restart, born anew from the blood of another.

There’s nothing left for him but this.)

“What happened to your fingers?”

It takes Nam-gyu a moment to tear himself from his own thoughts and realize he’s being spoken to. He glances down at his shaky fingers, twitching with a hidden desire to tear into something beating and alive. A multitude of his fingers have band-aids wrapped around them, stopping the small spurts of blood that leaks from his torn-into cuticles.

“Nothing.”

“It sure looks like something,” Thanos snorts, grabbing onto his hand and pulling it closer for inspection. “Why so many?”

“I just got some cuts on my fingers,” Nam-gyu says, lightly tugging his hand out of Thanos’ grip. “It’s nothing.”

“But–”

“So, did seriously none of your meetups go well today?” Nam-gyu circles back to the very beginning of their conversation, redirecting yet again — something he’s been finding himself doing very often lately. “Like, not even a little bit?”

“They were all so fucking annoying,” Thanos curses, “I was asking this one guy to hook me up with his producer…not literally–”

“Yeah, I gathered that.”

“And he told me no because he thinks I forget my lines too often,” Thanos scoffs. “I only forgot, like, once!”

Seven times, actually. Nam-gyu remembers watching a video compilation of his mishaps and laughing his ass off over it.

“Right,” he says, nodding in false agreement. “That’s rough, man.”

Thanos sucks his teeth, aggravation evident. “‘Rough’ is an understatement. They think that just because they have girls hanging off their shoulders and feeding them praise every five seconds means nothing can touch them. I bet they’ll be broke and stranded within the year.”

Thanos’ face flushes with frustration, leg bouncing restlessly as he chews persistently on his bottom lip. Nam-gyu’s not used to offering comfort, but he might as well at least attempt to bring his mood up.

“I was gonna try making sandwiches for dinner. Do you want me to make you one?”

Thanos glances at him dubiously. “What type?”

Nam-gyu winces. A few days ago, he tried to make a grilled cheese sandwich and burnt it so badly that it practically turned into a lump of coal. “Not a grilled one, that’s for damn sure.”

“Then, yeah. Sure. And a homemade strawberry lemonade on the side?”

“You know damn well we don’t have the supplies for that,” Nam-gyu snickers.

“Well, you could always take a trip to the store.”

“Thanos.”

“I’m kidding, Nam-su.” Thanos grins. “I’m kidding!”

– – –

Nam-gyu can’t sleep.

He stares blankly at his ceiling, illuminated by the soft glow of his bedside lamp. There’s a buzz that runs through him like an electric current at the thought of tomorrow, leaving him awake and fidgety. Usually when he can’t sleep, he scrawls his thoughts down listlessly until he grows tired enough to doze off, but doing that would require him traversing into the living room and prying open a piece of floorboard to obtain his notebook, and he’s almost entirely positive that the sound would wake Thanos up.

Damn…why’d he have to choose such a dramatic hiding spot for a fucking notebook?

Nam-gyu heaves a sigh of defeat and reaches toward his lamp, figuring that his only option left is to try and force himself to go to sleep, lying stagnantly in darkness until unconsciousness inevitably consumes him.

His hand stills mid-action as the sound of distant murmuring breaches his ears. He listens closer, assuming it must be coming from one of the neighboring apartments. But as he listens closer, he realizes it’s coming directly from the living room.

Nam-gyu sits up, straining to hear the sound clearer. It’s Thanos’ voice, obviously. It’s not like anyone else could be talking indistinguishably in his living room. He must be on the phone — who could he possibly be calling at eleven o’clock at night?

He stands to his feet slowly, creeping towards his closed door carefully. Nam-gyu doesn’t consider himself someone to spy or purposely listen in on others' conversations…but is it really spying if the conversation is being held in his own apartment?

Well, yes. Sort of. Kind of? Oh, whatever. He doesn’t give a damn.

Nam-gyu presses his ear against the door and tries to convince himself that eavesdropping is super common, actually, and this is totally fine. Definitely normal.

“I know, I know…it’s late, so I figured you wouldn’t pick up…I’ll try to call more…”

Nam-gyu frowns. Really frowns, the type of visceral upsetment that affects every possible part of his expression. Does Thanos have some sort of fling he doesn’t know about? Not that Thanos isn’t allowed to have a girlfriend, or anything. Doesn’t matter to him, obviously.

“Mom, I told you I’m fine. I’m staying with a friend of mine, okay?”

Oh. It’s his mother. Yeah, that makes more sense. Nam-gyu’s jealousy quells in an instant, leaving him to wonder why it plagued him in the first place.

Now that he thinks about it, he does remember Thanos bringing up his mom during the games, mentioning wanting to take the opportunity to get as much funds as he could to make his mother proud. The comment surprised Nam-gyu at the time, as he didn’t expect someone like Thanos to say something that, in a general sense, is pretty sweet. A person wanting to make their mother proud, that is.

Nam-gyu wonders if his own parents, who he hasn’t talked to in months, are proud of him.

He really, really doubts it.

“Yeah, I know…I’m not…can you stop bringing that up?” Thanos’ voice hitches into agitation, slight frustration. “I'm a grown ass man, okay? I'm not some kid. I know what I’m doing.”

A long stretch of silence. A heavy sigh.

“I'm not trying to worry you. I already told you, the guy I’m staying with is a friend.”

Another pause. “No, he’s not like the other people I’ve stayed with. I like him.”

It’s such a simplistic thing to say. I like him. Straight to the point, blunt and earnest. He says it plainly, as if the fact is obvious. As if Nam-gyu doesn’t frequently question the validity of their friendship, and if Thanos truly sees him as an equal.

Nam-gyu hauls himself away from the door, red in the face. He’s not sure why the words affect him so much — perhaps it’s the fact that they're being spoken to another, likely under the impression that Nam-gyu is already fast asleep and not hearing a word of it. That means it must be truthful, right? There’d be no purpose in lying about something so trivial.

The phone call continues, but Nam-gyu doesn’t bother listening to any more of it. He clicks his lamp off, crawls into bed, and lets the words replay in his head like a mantra. Why’d he ever doubt them to begin with?

His face burns, warm to the touch.

Notes:

I crave pathetic, pining, down-bad Thanos. I need it like I need air. And ykw the same applies to Nam-gyu as well

Chapter 9: Strength

Notes:

Got so off track in this chapter I had to add cannibalistic thoughts and blood / pain kink to the tags oh my god 😭 To make things abundantly clear — No, they will not actually cannibalize each other, it's all completely metaphorical. Freak levels are simply unmatched for these two 🤷‍♂️

Aaanyways in general I would recommend giving the tags a quick once-over again if you haven't done so yet because they have been updated quite a bit!

(Side note: I chose the name for the bartender at random.)

Despite how close by the bar is, Nam-gyu’s never visited it before.

It’s sort of…shabby, for a lack of better words. The edges of the windows are caked in grime, and the potted plants on display outside are brittle and dead. The building is small, and the entrance door has a doorknob in the shape of a lion's head, its golden metal rusting and browned.

Despite its subpar appearance, there seems to be a decent amount of people inside, from what Nam-gyu can see by peeking through the windows. There’s no way of knowing when Myung-gi’s buddy will be working, so Thanos and Nam-gyu have decided they’ll simply ask whichever bartender is on their shift about what time he’ll come in. According to his account, his name is Do-hyun, and in each photo he’s in he has the same gummy smile and lidded eyes. He’s a tall man with a muscular build; a standard looking guy overall, but he’ll be easy to spot with photo reference.

“Do you see any ladies?” Thanos asks, peering over Nam-gyu’s shoulder as he looks through the window. His breath warms the side of Nam-gyu’s neck. “It’s pretty early in the day…do girls like going out for drinks in the morning, or the evening?”

“I’m not an internet search browser, dude,” Nam-gyu murmurs, shuffling away from Thanos and making an abrupt turn for the door. “We aren't even here for that.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Thanos shrugs. Nam-gyu wishes he’d take this a bit more seriously. “Let’s at least order some drinks.”

“I’ll be paying, I assume?” Nam-gyu drawls, settling his hand on the jagged design of the doorknob.

“Of course.” Thanos nods, words momentarily switching to English before slipping back to Korean. “You’re like my sugar daddy.”

“I’m– what?” Nam-gyu pauses, whirling around with an expression of such flustered bafflement that it must look comical, if Thanos’ immediate bout of snickering is anything to go by. “That’s– you– hyung, that doesn't even make any sense.”

“Don’t pop a blood vessel, boy,” Thanos laughs into the palm of his hand, eyes crinkling with humor. “I’m only kidding.”

“Full of jokes today, aren't you?” Nam-gyu mumbles, hand twisting against metal as he heaves the door open. “I don’t think you’ll score any chicks if you go around saying stuff like that, you know?”

“I can score chicks with my eyes closed and my arms tied around my back,” Thanos scoffs, following closely behind as they enter the establishment. Nam-gyu huffs a laugh at the brazen comment, but really, he doesn’t doubt it.

The inside of the building is dim, tables and chairs carefully placed in the mid-sized area. One of the walls features a large mural of a lion with its teeth bared, eyes wild and fierce. There’s a stagnant smell of stale beer and cherries as soft jazz plays over old, slightly staticy speakers, barely audible over the sound of clinking glasses and chattering customers.

Behind the bar stands a woman with long, straightened hair, face adorned with heavy makeup. She serves a drink to a patron who’s already red-faced and drunk, mumbling incoherently into the crook of his arm as he leans against the bar counter.

“I don’t see him,” Thanos gripes, swiveling his head around as he takes in their surroundings. “Damn…guess we’ll have to ask the lady.”

“Figures,” Nam-gyu sighs, and when he glances over at Thanos, he sees an expression of complete determination written across his features.

He cracks his knuckles, flashing a toothy smile. “Watch this, Nam-su. I’m gonna ask her when Do-hyu’s shift is, and then I’m gonna charm our way into some free drinks.”

“Do-hyun, Thanos, it’s Do-hyun–”

His correction falls on deaf ears as Thanos confidently strides towards the bar, self-assured in every sense of the word. Nam-gyu knew from the beginning that this was unavoidable, but he still can’t help but sigh as he trails along behind him.

“Señorita!” Thanos calls out, waving the bartender over. “Me and my buddy have a question for you.”

“Welcome in,” she says politely, though there's a slight weariness to her tone. “What can I do for you?”

“Do you happen to work with a man called Do-hyu?”

“Do-hyun,” Nam-gyu pipes up. “We’d like to talk to him. Will he be working a shift here anytime soon?”

“Oh! Are you friends of his?”

“Of course,” Thanos says in English. He must think he’s being suave, but the only thing it earns him in response is a blank stare. “...Yes.”

“He’ll be here in about…” She turns to look at the clock behind her. “Ten minutes, give or take.”

“Shit, really?” Thanos perks up, and Nam-gyu raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“Mhm. Would you like to order anything while you wait?”

Thanos glances at Nam-gyu with the cocky words “watch and learn” going unspoken, before turning his attention back to the bartender. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing working at a bar like this?”

“Umm…are pretty girls not allowed to work at bars, or something?” She frowns. “Look, I can’t hand out freebies or anything, if that’s what you’re aiming for…”

“Someone like Thanos doesn’t need freebies,” Nam-gyu cuts in, resting his hand on his shoulder. “Don’t you recognize him? He’s a famous rapper.”

Thanos nods sharply, jutting his chin out proudly. “That’s right! Haven’t you heard of me?”

“I don’t think so.” She shrugs. Her eyes dart over to another patron across the bar who seems to be beckoning her over, and she sways on her feet impatiently. “Are you going to order?”

Nam-gyu pats Thanos’ shoulder, ushering him into a humble defeat. He squints at the menu overhead, eyes narrowing in contemplation. “I’ll take whatever your weekly special is.”

“I’ll have the same. I look forward to your masterful drink-making skills.” In one last feeble attempt at flirtation, Thanos offers the bartender a wink and presses his fingers together in the form of a heart.

She barely pays the action any mind at all. “I’ll have those done for you in just a moment.”

Without further comment, she rushes over to another demanding patron. Thanos makes a noise of disappointment as she strays away, drumming his fingers on the table with a frown. “For the record, Nam-su, women are usually tripping over their feet to get with me.”

Nam-gyu isn't sure what point Thanos is trying to make, but he nods along regardless, letting his hand drop from his shoulder. “Of course.”

Thanos heaves a long, drawn out sigh before looking at him expectantly. “What’s the weekly special, anyways?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why the hell did you order it, then?” Thanos scoffs.

“You ordered the same exact thing, dude,” Nam-gyu snorts. “It’s not my fault the menu text is too damn tiny to read.”

Thanos turns to stare at the menu, eyebrows furrowing. “...Dude, the weekly special is just some cheap brand of soju poured in a glass.”

“At least it’s cheap,” Nam-gyu mutters.

“Can you really not read that? You need glasses, my boy.”

“I’ve already got prescribed glasses,” he admits, “I just don’t wear them. It makes me look like a dork.”

“You actually have glasses? For real?” Thanos gawks at him. “Holy shit, I bet they make you look like such a nerd!”

“Fuck off,” Nam-gyu stifles a laugh. “My eyesight isn't that bad. I don’t really need them.”

“I’d say you do, if you can’t even read a fucking menu,” Thanos jests. “You have to show me what they look like later, dude.”

“I don’t even know where they are,” Nam-gyu lies, embarrassed at the mere thought of Thanos seeing him wear such a thing. He should’ve thrown away the damn glasses ages ago, considering he never bothers to use them.

“You’re such a liar,” Thanos snickers.

Their drinks are slid in front of them before Nam-gyu can defend himself further. He hands over his credit card and waits for it to be returned as Thanos sips his drink, glancing around the bar impatiently.

“We arrived almost right on time. That’s pretty lucky, huh?” Nam-gyu comments idly once the bartender is back out of ear shot. “This place seems pretty boring, though.”

“Boring as fuck,” Thanos agrees. “I miss the club. You should try to get your job back so you can hook me up with some free shit.”

“If the fuckers at Club Pentagon found out I was giving out drugs and booze for free, I think they’d actually kill me,” Nam-gyu says, and while it comes out as a joke, he knows that they very likely would. “They’d probably cut me up and serve me as a side dish, or some shit.”

“Damn,” Thanos winces, then pulls a face of contemplation. “...I wonder if you’d taste good. If I cannibalized you, or whatever.”

“Huh?” Nam-gyu lets out a startled laugh. “You say some real freaky shit sometimes, dude.”

“Just wondering.” Thanos shrugs, smiling at him from across the ridge of his glass, as if it’s a totally normal thing to ponder. Nam-gyu swallows a mouthful of his own chilled drink, and ignores the feeling that coils throughout him. “I bet you’d taste good. Like, something greasy. Some sort of fried food.”

I bet you’d taste good. Who the hell says something like that in a literal sense? It should be off-putting, but it only causes Nam-gyu to follow along the train of thought, considering what Thanos would taste like if he bit into him, teeth digging into firm flesh. Realistically, it'd taste awful, as blood always tends to. But in a fantastical sense, Nam-gyu thinks Thanos would have a stinging, intense taste to him. A sensation that lingers on the tongue, sharp and poignant.

“Greasy?” Nam-gyu repeats, somewhat shrilly. “That sounds like a thinly veiled insult.”

“Nah, greasy food is the best type of food to dig into,” Thanos says casually. He licks his lips, and the action makes Nam-gyu lightheaded. He assumes this is all one giant joke to Thanos, and that he’s likely not really thinking about something so strange at all. Still, the thought of Thanos considering, even if for just a moment, what it’d feel like to sink his teeth into him…it makes Nam-gyu’s head spin more than he’d like to admit.

“You better not try to, like…eat me in my sleep, or something,” Nam-gyu jokes.

“I won’t.”

But, god, Nam-gyu wishes he would. He imagines how thrilling it’d be to wake up to Thanos on top of him, warm hands wrapped around his throat, or clutching a knife. How meaningful, to die by the hand of someone like Thanos. Wild, messy, uncoordinated, unpredictable. Cutting him up only to stitch him back together again. Carving lines into skin, picking bones from flesh.

Nam-gyu nails dig into the wooden countertop of the bar, knuckles whitening. His body thrums with warmth, as if the fibers of his being have been seared, burnt into nothingness.

There’s something truly, unequivocally wrong with him.

Unspoken words curl in his throat. He wants to say something, but he himself isn’t sure of the things he wishes to say. His body feels warm, almost sickeningly so. Is it shame that stirs within him? Guilt? Desire? He’s unable to pinpoint his own emotions, and silence stretches between them as Nam-gyu’s body once again revolts against him, refusing to let him speak his mind.

A bell rings distantly, followed by the creaking sound of a door swinging open and closing back shut again. Nam-gyu barely registers it, but Thanos shifts his gaze towards something behind Nam-gyu’s shoulder — the entry door, he assumes.

“Would you look at that,” Thanos drawls. “Our guy came early.”

Nam-gyu wishes he hadn’t. Maybe then, he would’ve been able to gather his thoughts more, to delve into the scattered remains of his tarnished mind.

The moment ends. Nam-gyu heaves himself out of whatever momentary trance he’d worked himself into — his fingernails leave crescent shaped marks on the countertop, and he quickly moves his hands into his lap as he turns to look at their target.

Calling him a target really does make this all seem rather sinister, doesn’t it? But, despite the wording, all they’re aiming for today is information. It’s not like they're going to kill him.

They’ll save that act for Myung-gi himself, if they ever manage to get to him.

Thanos and Nam-gyu watch, eyes wide and probing, as Do-hyun makes his way behind the counter. Seeing him up close makes Nam-gyu realize how heavily edited his photos online are — it’s clearly the same man from the pictures, but his face is clad with wrinkles and freckles, while his photos online show him with a clear, waxy complexion. A fake complexion. Figures that Myung-gi would surround himself with liars. People always seek out those they share similar traits with.

“Excuse me! Do-hyun?” Nam-gyu calls out politely, waving him down before he can reach his co-worker. Fake smiles and false pleasantries is something he’s used to, and while he dislikes anyone who chooses to spend time with people like Myung-gi, he figures the only way he’ll get any real information is if he plays nice.

Nam-gyu is good at playing nice if it benefits him. He knows how to aim for what he wants, and he almost always hits his target.

Do-hyun turns, seemingly startled at having a stranger know his name. An abysmally standard reaction.

“Hello there,” he responds slowly, as if picking his words carefully. “Do I know you?”

“Not necessarily, no,” Nam-gyu says, “I’m a friend of a friend. Myung-gi — you know him, right? Lee Myung-gi?”

His eyes dart between Thanos and Nam-gyu in quick, sharp movements as recognition flickers across his features. “…Yeah, of course. We went to school together.”

“See, we’ve been trying to get a hold of him for a while now, but he’s gone completely radio silent,” Nam-gyu continues. Beside him, Thanos nods in rapt agreement. “Do you know where he is, by chance?”

“I don’t, actually. I haven’t been able to get a hold of him myself. I considered making a missing persons report, but I figured that might be overbearing. You said your friends of his, yeah? Well, then I’m sure you know about the drama he’s caught up in, so…”

“What drama?” Nam-gyu asks sweetly, just for the hell of it. Just to make the man before him explain in detail that his dear friend is a crypto scammer who’s being hunted down by those he screwed over.

“You—?” The man falters, thrumming with nervous energy. Was he a part of the scam too, Nam-gyu wonders? “Sorry, forget I said anything. It’s not important.”

“Seems sort of important,” Thanos jumps in, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. “Are you sure you don’t know where he is? Not at all? Because, really, you probably should file a missing persons report if none of us can find him.”

“It’s the sensible thing to do,” Nam-gyu tacks on. “For the sake of his safety.”

“…Right.” Do-hyun spares a glance across the bar at his busy co-worker, a glaringly obvious sign that he’s looking for a way to exit the conversation, and failing to find one. “How exactly do you two know him, again?”

“We met him at the club,” Thanos says after a brief pause.

“The club?” Do-hyun repeats dubiously. His eyes stay glued on Thanos, expression shuttering into something uncannily knowing. “You’re Thanos, aren’t you?”

“Of course!” Thanos grins. “Are you a fan?”

Nam-gyu resists the urge to kick him right in the shin — now of all times is not the time for him to start bragging about his identity. In fact, in this situation, it’s the exact opposite of what he should be doing. Now that he really stops to think about it, they probably should’ve come up with fake identities all together, for the sake of covering up their footsteps. Though, if they do end up killing Myung-gi and getting caught for it, Nam-gyu’s sure that they’d both likely kill themselves before the authorities are able to ship them off to jail.

What a grisly line of thinking. Perhaps the thought of being caught in the act simply didn’t register in his brain as a possibility beforehand. Lying his way out of things is one of Nam-gyu’s most noteworthy skills, after all.

“A fan…you could say that, yeah.”

Do-hyun fidgets with the silver bracelet wrapped around his wrist. There’s a shiny cross pendant that hangs from it, and he rubs it between his thumb and forefinger as if offering a silent prayer to something that watches over him. “You know what? I think I just remembered something.”

Nam-gyu watches as Thanos’ lips twitch into a frown, and feels his own expression fall just as quickly. The man has a strange glint in his eyes, one that wasn’t there seconds prior, and the abrupt recollection seems far from natural.

“But, it’s not something we should discuss out here,” Do-hyun continues, still fidgeting with the cross on his bracelet, yanking absentmindedly at silver and chain. “Follow me, okay? We can talk about it more behind the building.”

Nam-gyu laughs sharply at the poor attempt at persuasion. What the fuck is with this guy, trying to lure them into some back alley in exchange for information that he should be able to give out freely, out in the open?

“Why not out here?” Thanos scowls. “Are you hiding him in one of the fucking liquor cabinets, or something?”

Do-hyun laughs sharply. “No, no. I just…it’s sensitive information.”

“Do you know where Myung-gi is, or not? Pick a state of mind and stick with it,” Nam-gyu snipes, all semblance of a nice persona dropped entirely.

Do-hyun blunders, but only for a moment. “I have an idea of where he might be.”

“Spit it out then,” Nam-gyu insists. “Do you seriously think anyone in this shitty bar cares about where that crypto-obsessed little freak is?”

Thanos elbows Nam-gyu in the ribs, muttering something about being too hostile. The action is ignored entirely, as are the words of warning — Nam-gyu leans forward, head held upwards in defiance. He’s so close to getting a sliver of information, and while he knows that the likelihood of it being fake is high, he can’t bring himself to care. He needs something, anything to cling onto.

“Friends of Myung-gi, huh?” Do-hyun scoffs in disbelief. “Yeah, sure. …Look, I’m going out back to smoke a cig before I start my shift, okay? You can either talk to me out there or scurry your way out of the establishment. The choice is yours — doesn’t matter to me.”

Without waiting for a reply, he makes his way through the bar. Nam-gyu watches, still and hawklike, as Do-hyun walks his way out of the back exit door.

“What a freak,” Thanos snorts the second the door clinks shut. “The only reason he’d try to lure us out into an alley would be if he had a bone to pick.”

“But, if he knows where Myung-gi is—“

“If he knew where he was, he would’ve said so at the beginning, when he actually thought we were friends of his. Why would he be willing to hand out information after you blew our cover?”

“Me?” Nam-gyu gawks. “You didn’t even bother giving yourself a cover to begin with! You should’ve— I don't know, given him a fake name, or something!”

Thanos makes a noise of dismissal. “Whatever, man. If you want to go prancing around an alleyway with someone who clearly has nothing to offer us, be my guest.”

Realistically, Nam-gyu knows that Thanos makes a good point. Following a suspicious stranger into an alleyway in the hopes of maybe, possibly getting information, isn’t a very sensible decision to make. But Nam-gyu feels an oppressive, all-consuming need to prove himself. He’s also just the slightest bit tipsy, and the tone of disregard that envelops Thanos’ voice only furthers Nam-gyu’s irritation. He hates being treated as less than what he is; if push comes to shove, he’s fully capable of taking on one man. After everything they’ve been through, Nam-gyu assumed Thanos would already see that.

“I didn’t come here to watch you flirt with women and drink booze all day,” he drops his voice, leaning forward with furrowed brows. “I came here so I can track that fucker down and kill him. Have I not made that clear enough?”

There’s a reason Nam-gyu usually sticks to drugs instead of booze. Pills and injections make his brain feel fuzzy, either slowing his thoughts to a warped lull or heightening his mood to frenzied excitement depending on the type, while alcohol, even in small amounts, always tends to loosen his lips. He becomes more snappish, more aggressive, even towards those he usually wouldn’t be.

“Nam-su—“ Thanos starts, a lilting, authoritative cadence to his voice.

“Nam-gyu,” he corrects, standing up from his seat and making a beeline for the back door, the one that he’s sure that only employees are supposed to use, not customers. Not that he cares in the slightest.

“Nam—! Oh, for fucks sake…”

Thanos’ mumbled curses fade from earshot as Nam-gyu strides across the establishment, hands clenched tightly at his sides. He can tell by the lack of pattering footsteps behind him that Thanos isn't following along. That’s fine. Nam-gyu can handle this part by himself.

He steps outside with heavy, purposeful steps. If he can't manage this, he’ll never manage to kill a man. In a sense, he’s really only doing this to prove to himself (and to Thanos) that he’s capable of doing so. If he can make it through death games without being slaughtered, he can handle this. If he can continue to live after being splattered with the blood of strangers, he can handle the act of killing Myung-gi.

(He can handle it, can’t he? He wishes someone could relieve him of his own buried doubt. Does he really want this, or is he doing this all out of what he thinks others would assume he’d want?)

Do-hyun stands idly against the concrete wall, staring upwards, the cross on his bracelet still firmly clenched between his fingers, as if he’s afraid it’ll disappear if he lets go of it.

There’s not a cigarette in sight. When the man turns to look at him, a sardonic grin gracing his features, Nam-gyu begins to realize the error of his ways.

“Where’s your friend?” Do-hyun asks.

“Does it matter?”

“I don’t know. Does it?” He cocks his head. “Thanos, that bastard…I don’t know him personally, but he’s in leagues of unpaid debt with one of my dealers. Did you know that?”

Nam-gyu swallows thickly. “Why would I? I don’t keep tabs on him.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Tell me where Myung-gi is,” Nam-gyu says firmly. He wishes desperately that he had some form of defense, a knife to pull out or a glass to break against someone's skull. Something to make himself appear bigger. And if that fails, he needs the next best thing — to be paired with someone more intimidating than he manages to make himself appear.

But Nam-gyu has no weapon, and as of right now, he’s alone. He straightens his posture, keeps his stare level. He can handle this. He’s entirely capable.

“He’s gone, I assume.” Do-hyun shrugs. “Fled away with some of his crypto friends. Honestly, I’m more of his acquaintance than an actual friend.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Nam-gyu scoffs, irritation increasing tenfold. “What a waste of my goddamn time.”

“I only called you two out here because I wanted to beat the shit out of that purple haired fucker.” Do-hyun sneers. “I should’ve figured that he’d send his side piece of the week out to deal with it instead of coming out himself. Pretty fucking humiliating on your part, don’t you think?”

Nam-gyu jolts as if he’s been shot. He thinks that, for a moment, his body forgets to breathe at all.

“What’s that face for? You are one of his bitches, right?” Do-hyun snorts, cruelty gleaming inside beady, judgemental eyes. “What, did you think I wouldn't call it like I see it?”

“I’m not like that,” Nam-gyu goes to say, but the words lay stagnant in his throat. Like a pet that’s been kicked by its owner, Nam-gyu is struck with a hopeless sense of shock. His fingers twitch at his sides, grasping at air for something to cling onto. Something to plunge into the man in front of him, as violence is the only response that ever seems to get him anywhere at all.

Words abandon him. There’s nothing he can do but crane his head downwards, the weight of his sins washing over him in an unforgiving wave, freezing cold and searingly hot all at once. Do-hyun heaves himself off of the wall and makes his way back towards the door in languid movements.

“Good luck with your little search,” he says, but his words drip with harrowing sarcasm, and Nam-gyu stays rooted in place even as the door clinks shut, leaving him entirely alone.

“I’m not like that,” he murmurs the words to himself, now that he’s without an audience. But words without truth hold no meaning, even if spoken to oneself.

He stares vacantly, at nothing in particular. The gravel ground, his scuffed shoes, his shaky hands. His chest feels hollow as he trudges his way towards the wall of the building, leaning his back against it and crossing his arms tightly against himself, as if trying to constrict his guts from spilling across the pavement, despite the fact that he’s physically intact.

The door swings back open. Nam-gyu knows who it is without looking up, and keeps his gaze held downward. He knows his face must look sickeningly pale, and he doesn't dare speak, as he’s horrified at the thought of his voice sounding meek. Nam-gyu is far from meek. He’s so much more than what he is.

“What’re you doing?” Thanos grunts. Nam-gyu watches as his shoes come into view, white fabric with muddy soles.

Nam-gyu doesn't respond. What is he supposed to say? That he made a commotion about wanting to get information, and ended up with nothing but a shattered ego? He shrugs sharply, and leaves it like that.

But he can’t sulk forever, and all he wants is to be back at their apartment, closed away in his room. He lifts his head with a weary sigh, forcing words out before he can convince himself against it. “We should head back to–”

Nam-gyu cuts himself off with a garbled, wheezing gasp, a hand flying upwards to cover his mouth in surprise. Blood trickles down Thanos’ chin in slowly oozing torrents of red, beading from a split in his bottom lip. He holds one of his hands cupped under his chin, stopping droplets of blood from tarnishing his shirt, and despite the literal fucking blood wound, he seems rather unbothered.

“You’re bleeding!” Nam-gyu chokes out, admonishing the snicker it earns him in response.

“Really? I hadn't noticed.”

“Thanos, what the hell–”

“He tried to punch me first. I just fought back.” Thanos shrugs. “He was talking shit. He deserved it.”

“The bartender punched you?” Nam-gyu balks. He glances at the nearby exit door. “Uh, should we be getting out of here before they–?

“Yeah.” Thanos nods sharply, and Nam-gyu grabs onto Thanos’ wrist, the one that isn’t doused with droplets of fallen blood, and tugs him persistently down the alleyway.

“I can’t believe he fucking hit you,” Nam-gyu seethes, “and gave us absolutely no leads!”

“I’m a bit more upset about the punching part,” Thanos grumbles, letting Nam-gyu tug him down twisting streets without complaint, “but for the record, he looked way worse than me.”

Nam-gyu sort of doubts that, but he decides against saying so aloud. Once he’s satisfied with the distance they’ve placed between themselves and the bar, Nam-gyu grinds to a halt, immediately beginning to stifle through his pockets.

“Okay, hold on,” Nam-gyu says quickly, off-put by the level of worry in his own voice. There’s a decent amount of blood, but the split in Thanos’ lip looks like it’ll be able to heal without any need for stitches, and it’s overall a pretty standard injury. His panic doesn't match the situation at hand. “I think I have some napkins…”

“It’s not a big deal,” Thanos says lightly, though he looks a little queasy himself. It hits Nam-gyu that this is the first time he’s seen a substantial quantity of blood since the games, where he saw splattered innards so frequently. This is massively different then the pinpricks of crimson that peak from the cuts around his fingers. This is blood pooling in the palm of a hand and dripping down a chin, sticky and fresh. This is blood from someone other than himself.

Nam-gyu’s fingers finally grasp upon a flimsy bundle of napkins that he snagged from a fast food joint a few days prior. He’s sure it’d be more efficient to simply hand the napkins over, but Nam-gyu moves on autopilot; he puts his free hand against Thanos’ jaw, tilting his head for easy leverage, and uses his other hand to press the bundle of napkins to the bleeding lip. He eases his pressure as Thanos hisses in pain, grimacing with discomfort, but doesn’t pull away entirely. Blood stains his fingers, dripping onto pale skin and staining it red.

It’s sickening. If it were anyone else under any other circumstance, Nam-gyu would likely fall ill and have to remove himself from the situation entirely. But this isn’t just any form of inner fluid — it’s blood from Thanos, liquid of his own body spilling across Nam-gyu’s fingers. Panic shifts to something different. Something warmer. He shudders and presses closer.

The action isn’t necessarily purposeful, but before he can think to stop himself, Nam-gyu is teetering forward. He can’t discern what the action is supposed to bring forth, but it causes Thanos to shuffle backwards, his back thunking against the wall of a nearby building. His eyes are blown wide, pupils dilating as blood soaks through white flimsy fabric, crimson overtaking grainy white.

“You’re getting blood on your hands,” Thanos murmurs, his voice lowered to a whisper. They’ve both mutually stepped over an invisible line, traversing into uncharted territory. They move slowly, rigidly. They keep their breaths quiet and voices low. If they don’t, everything could fall to pieces in an instant. Blood continues to pour.

“Not like that’s anything new,” Nam-gyu counters. Cicadas whir in the distance, a constant, droning buzz. The sun feels warm against his skin, but not as warm as the blood that drips down his fingers in a slow, steady torrent. The napkins start to crumble under the wetness, but Nam-gyu keeps his hand firmly in place.

Thanos reaches his clean hand up, grabbing persistently at the wrist of the hand that presses the napkins to his lip. For a moment, Nam-gyu assumes he’s moving to tug the napkins away from his wound, but instead, Thanos presses Nam-gyu’s hand more persistently against his mouth. He winces despite his own actions, breath stuttering in pain. Still, he presses harder, applying more pressure.

“Does it hurt?” Nam-gyu asks, his voice coming out softer than it should. Thanos nods, making a quiet little “mhm” sound, but there’s a pleasure to his expression that makes Nam-gyu’s hair stand on end. Thanos is enjoying this. And in turn, Nam-gyu’s certainly enjoying seeing him in such a state of disarray.

“I’m not like that,” Nam-gyu had said to himself in an empty alleyway. Now, he stands in a completely different alleyway, nearly pinning a man to a wall and letting him press his hand against a bleeding wound, making keening noises of pain mixed with pleasure as he does so. This is wrong.

It feels euphoric, though Nam-gyu knows that it shouldn’t.

A side piece, Do-hyun had called him. He’d looked at him as if he were some sort of pest, a dog on a leash. Nam-gyu’s hand trembles as he pulls away — is it cowardice or self preservation? In this instance, is there really a difference?

Nam-gyu takes a step backward, shaking his hand from Thanos’ grip and letting the blood-soaked napkins fall to the ground with an ungraceful splat. Thanos stays frozen in place, licking blood from his lips as he stares at him with wide eyes. His face is flushed. It’s a nice look on him, even with the blood that crusts along his chin.

Nam-gyu looks down at his blood covered fingers, and hates the fact that he wishes he hadn’t pulled away. He needs more, craves it desperately despite the shame that grips onto him so persistently.

He barely processes what he’s doing as the action unfolds. Thanos makes a choked sound of shock. The cicadas seem to fall quiet, as if holding their breath as they watch a theater performance reach its climax. Without hesitation, Nam-gyu brings a blood coated finger to his mouth and licks.

He’s not even entirely sure why he does it. His brain must still be fixated on the odd conversation they had earlier about what they’d taste like if they were eaten, stuck on a nonsensical conversation that wasn’t supposed to mean anything at all, chalked up as some sort of weird joke. But now Nam-gyu has Thanos’ blood covering his hands, warm and fresh, and if there’s any chance for him to discern what he tastes like, this is it.

It’s bitter. Tangy. Metallic. Nam-gyu savors it like it’s the last thing he’ll ever taste, letting his tongue drag up the length of his finger like he’s licking a lollipop. Obscene.

Thanos murmurs Nam-gyu’s name without purpose, appearing dazed. He breathes heavily, raggedly, blinking in rapid disbelief.

“You don’t taste greasy,” Nam-gyu says, as if referencing their earlier conversation will ease the tension that’s unfolded between them. “You taste bitter.”

Thanos swallows, his throat bobbing as he takes a sudden step forward. “Let me try.”

It makes no sense. It might actually really, truly be the most senseless chain of events that Nam-gyu has ever witnessed, because this is the blood that pours directly from Thanos’ lip that they’re discussing, and Thanos has already tasted it each time that he’s licked his own lips. Despite this, he grabs onto Nam-gyu’s blood stained hand and brings his fingers to his mouth. Nam-gyu watches, wide-eyed, as Thanos takes his index and pointer finger and slides them in his mouth.

Blood covered lips close around blood covered skin, illogicality dismissed entirely.

Thanos sucks against Nam-gyu’s fingers as if he’s giving his hand a fucking blowjob, closing his eyes as works his tongue between his digits. Nam-gyu breathes out a sound that he refuses to classify as a moan, though he’s sure it must sound like one, and curls his fingers against the warmth of Thanos’ mouth. The texture of his tongue against his fingers makes him shudder, and when Thanos goes as far as to bob his head a few times, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks against his skin, Nam-gyu nearly stumbles.

Thanos pulls back, blood and saliva trailing against his fingers. “You’re right. It’s bitter.”

The quietude that follows is deafening. They’ve crossed not just one line today, but several.

They walk back to the apartment in silence, and refuse to look at each other at all. Saliva and blood chill against his skin as time passes, and Nam-gyu finds himself hoping that the liquids ingrain on his skin forever.

Notes:

This is actually so funny to me because everything that happens in the last half of this chapter wasn’t even originally planned out in my little storyline draft. I just started writing and randomly decided they needed to get all up on each other right that instant LMAOO

I hope you guys like this chapter bc I think it’s my favorite one so far hehehe….had lots of fun writing it ^_^ (also, happy pride month! I love you all so so much and your presence in the world is such a gift. Don’t let anyone ever convince you otherwise <3)

Chapter 10: The Hermit

Notes:

Reallyyyyy putting that internalized homophobia tag to use here

The taste of blood lingers, a phantom taste that permeates Nam-gyu’s mouth.

It’s been four days since the incident, and Thanos’ lip seems to be healing up well. At least, that’s what Nam-gyu has gathered from the mere glimpses he’s gotten of it over the past few days. He can hardly bring himself to glance in Thanos’ direction.

When they’d first gotten back from the apartment, still enveloped in quietude, Thanos had made his way to the bathroom to clean himself up, and Nam-gyu had closed himself off in his bedroom. Instead of washing the blood and spit off of his hands in the kitchen sink like a sensible person, he’d shoved his dirtied fingers in his mouth hard enough to gag on them, and palmed himself through his pants with his free hand until he came.

He’d been appalled at himself once he came down from the momentary high of release, and he’s still appalled by it now, as he sits restlessly on his bed, laptop situated on his lap as he sends out what feels like the hundredth job application.

It’s difficult to muster up any form of defense for himself after doing something so indecent. He’d let Thanos suck against his fingers in a desolate alleyway, and then shoved those same fingers down his own throat the second he got home in order to get himself off, drunk on the taste of another man's saliva and blood.

Guilt envelops him. He can’t look at Thanos without being doused in shame, and despite their close living quarters, he manages to avoid him skillfully. Their fragile partnership has entered uncharted territory, and seclusion is the only thing that Nam-gyu can think to rely on.

Thanos seems rather intent on avoidance as well, if his suddenly frequent trips out of the apartment are anything to go by. He claims he’s going out to schmooze with more old colleagues, who seem to be endless in supply. He’s dead-set on the notion that eventually someone will want to work with him again, and while Nam-gyu thinks it’s quickly starting to appear like a pipe dream, he keeps his thoughts to himself.

Besides, it doesn’t really matter to him what Thanos spends his free time doing. If anything, it’s better for him to be away and out of the apartment as much as possible. Nam-gyu has doomed them both with the stunt he pulled, curling his fingers inside a warm, slick mouth, and now he has to pay the price for it.

…Not to say that Thanos didn’t have a part to play in the situation himself. Still, Nam-gyu feels that the brunt of the blame is to be placed on his shoulders for being the first to take action, lapping at blood like a man starved.

But, it’s not like it meant anything. They were both tipsy, and Nam-gyu assumes that Thanos is likely just as pent up as he is. It was a burst of sexual energy that happened to erupt in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Over and over, Nam-gyu repeats a plethora of excuses in his head. The relationship that consists between him and Thanos was already murky and questionable beforehand, and the incident has only exacerbated the matter — Nam-gyu wrenches his hand out of muddied water before allowing his fingers the possibility of grasping upon what's buried within sand.

It’s abnormal for him to be left stricken by an accident, something that never should’ve happened at all. But the noises Thanos had made as he urged Nam-gyu to press harder on a bloodied wound stick in his brain, and his expression of pained pleasure is unforgettable.

This would all be so much easier if Thanos was a girl, Nam-gyu thinks, and that in itself is an inward admission of something far deeper.

Nam-gyu swipes away his own thoughts before he can focus on them too intently — it doesn’t matter. Nothing has mattered since being let out of those games without the amount of money he deserved, and nothing ever will matter again. Everything will forever trickle back to that awful, treacherous missed opportunity, and every single thought that causes him discomfort will always be blamed upon it, even if it seems entirely unrelated.

Thanos is an objectively good looking man, and feeling his tongue wrapping around his fingers, bobbing his head along them in a slow, steady motion, had felt objectively nice. The sound of spit and blood squelching underneath fingernails had been objectively pleasant, as had the sound of his heavy, labored breathing. It’s all objective, and Nam-gyu’s sure that somewhere in the recesses of his brain, he must've been picturing a woman instead of Thanos. That’s the only possible explanation.

Nam-gyu likes women. He’s slept with women, kissed women, held them as they've quivered against him. It’s what he’s used to. He has no qualms with it.

It's what he’s supposed to like.

…Though, he doesn’t seem to like it as much as he should. He’s not like Thanos, for instance, who flirts with every woman he lays his eyes on. He doesn’t actively seek out women to sleep with. He simply goes along with it if it’s initiated.

How long has it been since he’s last kissed a girl? Felt glossed lips press against his own? Months, at least. Uneasiness flickers throughout him — is that abnormal?

Even after four full days, he can’t stop thinking about the taste of Thanos’ blood, and Nam-gyu knows he’ll continue to think and think and think until his brain leaks out of his fucking ears, unless he proves to himself that the entire situation was a fluke. He needs proof, tangible evidence.

He doesn’t need Thanos’ mouth on his skin or his sultry, muffled noises. He needs a woman, just like he’s always been told and taught and oh-so-carefully instructed. He can’t afford to step out of line.

His phone trembles in his palm as he pulls up the contact of an old fling from months ago, a woman he met back when he worked at the club. Stern expression, sharp nails, lacy clothing. What else is there for him to do?

This is all there is. This is all there ever will be.

— — —

The woman's apartment is cold, ridgid, and entirely unwelcoming.

Despite being the one who contacted her in the first place, Nam-gyu feels uneasy as he lingers in her living room, hands shoved in his pockets as he glances around awkwardly. He wishes desperately that he would’ve brought a pack of smokes with him.

The sound of the woman bustling around in her bathroom overlaps with the jarring noises of traffic outside. He can’t recall her name, which adds yet another layer of slight embarrassment to the whole situation; to be fair, Nam-gyu wasn’t expecting her to respond to his bluntly worded hook-up plea so quickly, if at all. He’d fired out the text with an inner desire to prove something to himself, but now that he’s here, he only feels a poorly veiled sense of regret.

Which in itself only solidifies the exact admission that he’s avoiding so intensely. It’s almost horrific, how intensely his own plans tend to backfire on him.

The bathroom door creaks open. The girl whose name he can’t remember walks out with a bathrobe tied around her figure, a small smile gracing her lips. “Thanks for letting me get ready. Well, and for texting me in the first place.” She steps towards him, bare feet against carpet flooring. Nam-gyu stares blankly at a portrait hung on the wall behind her, right over the slope of her shoulder.

“I haven’t seen you at the club lately.”

“I don’t work there anymore.”

“You got fired?”

Nam-gyu visibly grimaces, lips twitching into a scowl. “Does it matter?”

She laughs lightly, and while he doubts it's meant to be mocking, it registers in his brain as such regardless. “Sorry. Touchy subject?”

Her hands travel upwards, landing softly on his shoulders. He lets his hands rest on her hips as she leans forward and presses featherlight kisses to his neck. The pressure is nice, but only serves as a numb reminder that somehow, Thanos sucking against his fingers managed to turn him on more than a skimpily dressed girl kissing his neck.

…Fuck. The only thing this is proving is the one thing that Nam-gyu wants so desperately to disprove.

“You don’t seem very into this,” the woman admits with an airy, slightly disappointed sigh as she pulls back. Nam-gyu winces — this entire interaction is quickly beginning to feel as painful as a shot in the stomach.

“You’re really tense. Did you change your mind?” She asks blandly. “Wait…oh god, you don’t have a girlfriend already, do you? Look, I’m not some sort of homewrecker–”

“No,” Nam-gyu cuts in sharply. “No, that’s not…”

The woman in front of him is pretty and graceful, with soft curves and nicely curled hair. She’s beautiful, and if he wanted, he’s sure he could have her hands gripping upon his bare body in a matter of minutes if he initiated it. Yet, as she presents herself to him, he feels nothing.

“I just remembered that I’ve…” Nam-gyu grasps for an excuse, mouth opening and closing repeatedly, struck into silence.

“Something’s come up?” She supplies for him, stepping back and crossing her arms tightly across her chest. She inhales sharply and makes a shooing motion with her hand. “It’s fine. You don’t need to explain anything. Go on.”

“I’m not–” He starts to say, one final attempt and producing a lie into truth.

“I said you don’t need to explain.”

The interaction is severed in half before it can truly begin, and while Nam-gyu assumes he should be disappointed, he instead feels thankful for being given an out. He leaves quickly, wordlessly, and refuses to so much as look in the girls direction as he leaves.

— — —

He can’t bring himself to go back to his apartment yet. Daytime is only just now beginning to drift into evening, slow and dragging in its descent, and Nam-gyu worries that what’s left of his composure will shatter completely if Thanos is there when he gets back. He’s in no place to indulge in meaningless small talk as they both dance around the oddities that have managed to plague their fragile sense of friendship.

It’s too much all at once. Not only is Nam-gyu gripped by the harrowing questioning of his own sexuality, he’s haunted by an ever-growing sense of hopelessness for the general state of his livelihood. There’s a phantom gun being held against his head, waiting for the chance to fire. Nam-gyu wants the trigger to be pulled so desperately that it hurts, tearing him apart more than any bullet could ever manage to. But no matter how much he pleads, the gun refuses to fire.

If there is some form of a God, then he must be personally smiting him.

He strides past rundown restaurants and flashy shops, walking without destination. His brain whirs with the same lamentations it always does, and Nam-gyu finds himself growing tired of the blaring chorus of his own frenzied thoughts.

He passes by a stray cat curled on the hood of a car, and wonders what it must be like to live a life without social expectations. To live without the insistence of fitting inside a box, of being normal, despite the structure of normalcy being abnormal in itself.

To live a life that’s not his. In the end, that’s really all that Nam-gyu wants. An unobtainable longing that wraps itself around his heart, eating him alive and killing him slowly. An already rotting corpse, a piece of roadkill abandoned on the side of the road; Nam-gyu finds difficulty in relating to anything that lives and breathes.

A flock of crows fly overhead, cawing obnoxiously. His thoughts spiral into something openly awful, spreading through his skull like mold. As he goes to pass a small, boxy convenience store, he finds himself stumbling his way inside instead. He needs something to tear himself from the confines of his own brain; what he really, truly wants is drugs. But he won’t be finding any of that at a cheap convenience store, so he’ll have to settle for shitty iced coffee instead.

He plucks a sealed glass bottle of chilled, vanilla flavored coffee from one of the freezers lined up in the back of the store and makes his way to the checkout counter without fanfare. The cashier rings up the item without paying him much mind, and Nam-gyu pays as swiftly as he can, making an effort to leave the store as rapidly as possible, the fluorescent lights overhead making his eyes twitch.

The sky grows darker overhead as Nam-gyu makes his way back to his apartment, popping open the lid of his beverage and taking slow, languid sips. He’s beginning to regret the fact that he decided to walk to the girls house instead of drive — it’s not an incredibly long walk, but the cold air paired with chilled coffee is causing an icy sting to crawl its way under his skin.

Why’d he choose to walk in the first place, anyways? Drawing out the inevitable? The inevitable that he personally initiated?

Nam-gyu takes a large gulp of his coffee and fights the urge to gag.

He thinks back to what the shaman lady had said to him, voice low and menacing. “Hiding from a truth that you’re already aware of,” “The cards are all laid out for you, but the steps are yours to take.” …What a load of useless bullshit.

If he had played his so-called cards right, he’d be laying in bed with a woman atop him right now, fingers splayed along a bare, curving spine. The same fingers that have felt Thanos’ blood and curved along the top of his mouth, dragging against his tongue. He regrets not pushing his fingers in hard enough to make him gag, tips of his fingers jabbing against a pink, wet uvula. He’d pulled away due to his own self imposed rules and restrictions, but what would've happened if he pushed just a bit further?

Nam-gyu shoves the thought away before it can unfold into anything more graphically explicit than it already is. He shouldn't be thinking of men in such a manner. Especially not Thanos. If the ‘cards laid out to him’ are a reference to his flickering memories forming into unholy desires, then Nam-gyu can only hope for each card to be disposed of entirely.

He takes one final swig of his coffee, letting the empty glass bottle hang loosely in his fingertips. He keeps his head low as he passes a motel, the distant sound of chatter worming its way into his brain.

“I know, okay? I get it. But, really, how many times do I have to apologize? I’m telling you, I really had no way to get into contact with anyone for those few days.”

Nam-gyu slows to a stop. Realization dawns on him in a slow, steady descent.

“I’m not–! Listen, I’m in just as much deep shit as you are here, okay? Please, just…try to understand my situation…”

Nam-gyu turns rigidly, eyes scanning the small parking lot of the motel. Stars have begun to appear in the quickly dimming sky, street lights flickering to light as shadows fall across the streets.

The voice is painfully, agonizingly familiar.

Across the parking lot, pacing anxiously by a small, dingy black car with a phone pressed against his ear, is Myung-gi. Real, tangible, breathing and alive.

Something animalistic bites into him, metaphorical teeth burrowing into a shaking figure. This isn’t right. It isn’t supposed to happen like this.

Nam-gyu is alone. Completely alone, without weaponry, and he knows that if he turns and leaves while he still hasn’t been noticed, he’ll never be able to sink his claws into Myung-gi again. He’s not sure why, but he knows this as an irrefutable fact.

Nam-gyu has a choice to make, and he has to make it fast.

It’d be easier if Thanos were here, as he ought to be. They’re supposed to kill him together. The blood is supposed to dye their hands equally. A mutual killing, a joint operation. But now, not only is Nam-gyu by himself, he’s also caught off guard — after his snappish encounter with the bartender, he’d fully assumed Myung-gi had fled to an unobtainable, far away location.

And yet, he’s here. Pacing in the parking lot of a dismal hotel, dragging a hand through his hair with an air of anxiousness. Nam-gyu is alone, but so is Myung-gi.

He needs more time to think. He needs more time to plan. He needs more time, but time has left him completely, and each second that ticks by is a second that slips helplessly through his fingers.

Myung-gi has been handed to him on a silver platter, a final meal for a dying man. The act of killing him will either rejuvenate or poison him, and there’s no way of knowing until the blood has been spilled.

Thanos should be here — a crucial actor missing in the final scene of a play. His absence leaves a dull ache in the depth of Nam-gyu’s heart, and as he takes a slow, careful step forward, he wonders what Thanos’ reaction will be if he finds out his designated second-in-command killed the man that made their lives hell. Will there be jealousy that mingles with morbid cheer? A fear of being overtaken, watching a sidekick rise above him?

Myung-gi continues to ramble on into the speaker of his phone, shapeless, unintelligible words that are unable to break past the frenzied flurry of Nam-gyu’s own thoughts. His fingers tighten against the glass bottle as he quickens his pace, a concrete resolution flowering within his mind, rooting itself into his being.

Tonight, he’ll either kill or be killed. A fitting end or a bloodied, reborn beginning.

There’s nothing left for him but this.

Notes:

Why am I always putting Nam-gyu through the most hellish mental breakdowns ever in a majority of my fics oh my god 😭sorry king ily

Also guyssss I’m so excited for the next chapter!!! Picture me rubbing my hands together like a gleeful mischievous little fly bc that’s exactly what i'm doing rn

Chapter 11: Wheel of Fortune

Notes:

Hmm I wonder how much of this I can get written before s3 comes out…

The sky overhead is a pastel shade of darkened blue, stars peeking out from behind clouds. It’s calm, peaceful, and entirely unfitting for the act that Nam-gyu is about to commit.

He approaches in quick, heavy-trodden strides. Myung-gi, despite the horrors of what he’s gone through, remains blissfully unaware of his surroundings as he continues to speak into his phone, his voice rushed and quiet. His tone drips with a pathetic amount of desperation — whatever it is he’s pleading for, it’s clear he’s not getting his way.

The fastened thumping of Nam-gyu’s own beating heart echoes in his eardrums, as does his labored, heavy breathing. A motel parking lot isn't the most undercover place to kill someone, but it’ll have to do. It’s not like he has any other options laid out for him; besides, there doesn't seem to be anyone else around as far as he can tell. Even the parking lot itself is empty, besides the car that Myung-gi has situated himself next to. And, now that Nam-gyu really examines the building, it looks like the motel itself might be abandoned.

Whatever — in the end, it doesn't matter if anyones watching or not. It doesn't even matter if he’s caught. What matters is making sure blood is spilled, a humble offering to his own fragile psyche.

Considering the fact that the parking lot is nearly completely clear, it doesn't take long for Myung-gi to take notice of his fast-paced approach. Nam-gyu watches, morbidly amused, as Myungi-gi slows his incessant pacing, expression shifting from confusion to alarm in a matter of seconds. Good. Nam-gyu is glad to see he’s made a lasting impression.

Nam-gyu slows to a stop a few feet away from him, being sure to leave an ample amount of space between them. He doesn't want to close in on him entirely. Not yet.

Myung-gi mumbles a promise of calling back later before shoving his phone in his pocket, eyeing him cautiously. “...It’s you. Nam-gyu, right?”

Nam-gyu’s lips twitch upward into a mocking grin, sarcasm encasing his words. “Well, would you look at that? The illustrious MG Coin has enough brain cells to remember my name. I didn't think you had it in you.”

Myung-gi’s momentary panic fades into something more dull, a muffled display of annoyance. The change in expression causes Nam-gyu’s own mood to sour, and as he thinks over every plausible scenario of how he can bring about the act of killing the man in front of him, he finds himself wondering how someone like Myung-gi can remember his name, but Thanos can’t.

“Your rapper friend isn't with you, and we aren't stuck in those games anymore. You can drop whatever act you have going on, okay?” Myung-gi mumbles, looking at him wearily. He leans against the side of his car, and by the way his eyes keep flickering between Nam-gyu and his car door, it’s clear he’s keeping an escape route situated in his mind.

How obtusely selfish, to assume that Nam-gyu’s hatred is falsified. He sneers, his disgust on full display. “This isn’t a fucking act.”

Myung-gi’s attitude stays unchanged, breathing a heavy exhale of dismay. As if he can’t believe the thought of someone being so upset with him, despite everything he’s done.

Labeling something an accident, even if it truthfully is, does not change the life altering effects of the action. Just as Myung-gi remains unbothered, Nam-gyu remains unforgiving.

“What do you want?” Myung-gi sighs, his tone growing snappish. “To berate me more? To throw a few punches?”

“I want to kill you,” Nam-gyu opens his mouth to say, but hesitates before the words are uttered. Conflict swirls throughout him — is this really what he wants? What will become of him if the only emotion he feels after the act is regret?

“You don’t know?” Myung-gi cuts in before Nam-gyu can force himself to respond. Despite the tension in his shoulders, he examines him with an air of nonchalance. “Hey, did your buddy set you up to this?”

“No,” Nam-gyu grits out, ashamed at the shakiness of his own voice.

“I guess I should've figured he’d dump you the second we got out,” Myung-gi scoffs. “That self-serving asshole only cares about himself. Hanging around people like that’ll get you nowhere.”

Myung-gi speaks as if he’s offering him a wise, lifelong lesson, offering sympathy to a poor, abandoned animal. Nam-gyu swears he feels his eye twitch. “Are you giving me advice, you useless little shit?”

“I was just–”

“I wasn't dumped anywhere.”

“Is that right?” Myung-gi fixes him with a pitying look of disbelief. “Has he tried to reach out to you even once since we’ve gotten out?”

Myung-gi appears steadfast in the belief that Thanos would abandon Nam-gyu without a second thought, and the assuredness of his words makes apprehension crawl underneath his skin. In a hasty attempt at defense, words tumble out of Nam-gyu’s mouth before he can consider the implications.

“We live together.”

For the first time since the very beginning of their encounter, Myung-gi’s composure falters. His eyebrows raise, mouth forming into the round shape of an ‘o’. Nam-gyu drags a free hand through his hair, frustrated at his own clumsy wording. Why is he trying to defend himself to a man he’s about to kill?

“Oh. Well…” Myung-gi glances upward, as if praying for something to magically pluck him up and remove him from the interaction. “That’s nice for you two…I guess. Look, I’m not sure what you’re hoping to get out of this, but I’m in a bit of a rush—“

“A rush to what?” Nam-gyu interrupts. “To abandon your pregnant girlfriend for the umpteenth time? How chivalrous of you.”

“You—!” Myung-gi’s face flushes with anger, his posture straightening. “You don’t know anything about Jun-hee. About what I’m going through— what we’re going through.”

“Oh, did I hit a nerve?” Nam-gyu mocks. “You get more and more pathetic each time I see you. You’re such a fucking joke.”

“I get it, okay?” Myung-gi throws his hands up in exasperation. “You hate me. You’re upset about the crypto scam, and you place all the blame on me despite the fact that I got scammed out of money as well. It’s shitty. The whole situation is shitty, and I get it. But, what happens now? What could possibly fix any of this?”

“What happens now?” Nam-gyu echos. His hand tightens against the glass bottle in his hand. “What do you think?”

“I think…” Myungi-gi’s eyes dart down to the bottle, understanding dawning on him slowly. “I think you're looking for a solution in the wrong place.”

“MG Coin,” Nam-gyu drawls, the title slipping out of his mouth like something rotten and decayed. “You already know what needs to happen, don’t you? You understand what I have to do?”

Myung-gi shifts a hand behind him, resting his palm on the handle of his car door. He wears each rapidly changing emotion so clearly on his face — chagrin, panic, discontent, disgust, aggravation, pity. Myung-gi always manages to appear so baffled each time he lands himself in a dangerous situation like this, eyes wide and mouth open in an irritated type of shock. Incapable of wrapping his head around the fact that something like this could ever happen to someone like him.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Myung-gi insists, holding his head up high. An attempt at regality, composure. But no amount of perceived self-confidence can change the shakiness of his voice. “Nothing needs to happen.”

”Do you know how often I’ve thought about killing you in the past few weeks?” Nam-gyu asks abruptly, relishing the way he can physically see the blood drain from Myung-gi’s face, leaving him pale and gaunt. “All of that thinking, all for me to stumble upon you all alone in the parking lot of some motel— abandoned motel, is it? Not that it matters. This is a wonderful opportunity for me.”

“You’re insane.” Myung-gi clicks his car door open, but his back is still pressed against the vehicle, and his eyes pass nervously between the escape that resides behind him and Nam-gyu, cautiously waiting for his assailant to make the first move. “You’ve…you’ve seriously lost your mind. The police will—“

“I don’t give a fuck about the police,” Nam-gyu curses. “When have those pigs ever done their jobs correctly? Do you really think they’ll care if someone like you turns up dead? They sure didn’t care when you went missing, did they?”

“…Are you really going to try and kill me with nothing but a bottle?” Myung-gi shakes his head in disbelief. “Was all the death we saw in the games not enough for you? We clawed our way out of hell, and you’re throwing yourself right back into violence. For what? For one brief moment of revenge?”

“The seconds that trudge on after I kill you,” Nam-gyu says, “will be the most meaningful seconds of my life.”

There’s a brief lapse of silence as the two men glare at each other, each one waiting for the other to act first. One stands in fear, the other in self-assuredness. Neither can tell which is which.

They wait with bated breath for a long, drawn out amount of time. But they can’t wait forever, and eventually, something has to break.

It takes exactly eleven seconds for blood to be drawn.

One. Myung-gi fumbles his car door open, though he has to twist his arm awkwardly to do so, and he makes a concentrated effort to scramble his way into the safe confines of his car. But Nam-gyu moves quickly, and his movements are as swift as they are brutal.

Two. Nam-gyu raises the glass bottle with an unwavering malicious intent. He takes note of his target, and keeps his hand steady. For the first time in years, his hands don’t shake.

Three. With one harsh swing of his arm, Nam-gyu strikes. The bottle shatters against Myung-gi’s skull, shards of glass hurtling in all manner of directions. Nam-gyu is left with the broken neck of the bottle, jagged and sharp, and he watches with wide, unblinking eyes as Myung-gi falls to the ground, palms and knees harshly thudding against concrete.

Four. Brief hesitation. Somehow, Nam-gyu wasn't expecting to realistically get this far. Rationally speaking, he never really thought he’d find himself in this position to begin with. It always seemed like such a far-fetched fantasy, despite how desperately he wished for it, and Thanos’ absence only makes it all the more surreal. Nam-gyu stands over a dazed victim, and slowly raises the sharpened piece of glass that still resides in his hand. This is the part where he pierces into a beating heart. This is the part that matters.

Five. Even a singular second spent in doubt is a moment wasted, a moment tarnished, a moment made purposeless. Instead of heaving himself off of the ground, Myung-gi kicks harshly at Nam-gyu’s feet. The sole of his foot connects sharply against Nam-gyu’s ankle, and he stumbles toward the ground before he has the time to catch his balance. It always comes back to time. There’s always so little of it.

Six. Nam-gyu’s fall isn't nearly as painful as Myung-gi’s, and he recovers from the shock with startling agility. He manages to scramble himself upwards before Myung-gi can, and hurls himself on top of him in a frenzied attempt to keep him down and stay in control.

Seven. Hands wrap firmly against a seizing throat. Myung-gi grabs blindly at his face, shoving at his shoulders, grabbing mindlessly at anything solid. It’s to no avail. Nam-gyu tightens his grip and distantly wonders if stabbing him would make this all go quicker. Where did the sharpened piece of bottle go? He can’t recall, and is far too focused on Myung-gi’s enraged, fearful, reddening face to care.

(How embarrassing, to make it out of a death game only to die regardless a few weeks later. He ought to feel ashamed of himself.)

Eight. Fingers loosen. Uncertainty grips onto him, tighter than a physical pair of hands choking an esophagus. Why is he doing this? What will he gain?

Nine. Doubt from a believer is never forgotten, nor is it ever forgiven. Myung-gi takes advantage of his momentary indecision, and slams his fist directly into the center of Nam-gyu’s chest.

Ten. Nam-gyu rears backwards, but the action only allows Myung-gi the necessary space to raise his knees and kick his feet outward, effectively knocking Nam-gyu off of him.

Eleven. Nam-gyu hits the ground with a yelp, pain blooming in his chest, thorny and persistent. His shoulder aches from where it slammed into the concrete, and as he attempts to push himself back upwards, his hand lands clumsily on a broken piece of glass – more specifically, the sharpened, jagged end of the broken bottle neck. Glass pierces the palm of his hand, and blood begins to pour.

Eleven seconds for blood to pour, and not only is it his own blood, it’s caused by his own lack of grace.

He hears Myung-gi let out a panicked wheeze, and watches as he drags himself to his feet, clutching at his head as he fumbles his way into his car. Nam-gyu takes note of the slightest bit of red that drips onto Myung-gi’s fingers — the bottle crashing against the crown of his head must've made him bleed. Despite his imminent failure in killing him, Nam-gyu is glad that at the very least, he managed something.

Nam-gyu wraps his arm around his stuttering, aching chest as he slowly stands to his feet, watching helplessly as Myung-gi starts his car and drives full speed out of the parking lot. In the cold, windless air of the encroaching night, the warm feeling of blood dripping against his skin is the only form of comfort he has.

Nam-gyu takes a deep, heaving breath. His chest throbs, his knees ache, his bloodied palm stings. Blood drips onto the ground, a constant pitter patter of his own inner fluids.

He may not have been able to kill Myung-gi, to tear him to pieces like he’d wanted so badly to, but he did make him bleed. That should be enough, right? That should be able to make him feel like a man reborn, shouldn't it?

Nam-gyu feels nothing, and even if Myung-gi’s corpse were splayed out in front of him, he doubts that the hollow numbness that confines him would change.

Nam-gyu stares down at his blood covered palm, face void of any concrete emotion. It was supposed to be so much more meaningful than this.

His body thrums with the aftershocks of frenzied exhilaration, his inhales sharp and painful. He closes his eyes, unable to stand the droplets of blood that stain the fabric of his shoes. His hands shake, returning to a steady tremor. He’s the exact same person he was before. He’s the exact same person he’ll ever manage to be.

He makes his way back to his apartment in silence. His brain slows to a steady, thoughtless state, the misfortune of failure subduing him entirely. There is no rebirth, and there is no miraculous, otherworldly epiphany that occurred when he tried to strangle Myung-gi alive.

Instead, there’s pain. Dull aches that gnaw away at his bones and nerves. Blood against clammy skin. A deep-rooted, unshakable despondency.

What will he say to Thanos, once he sees him? How is he supposed to explain his humiliating defeat, displaying a sliced open hand and bruised skin like a meek, wounded animal? Nam-gyu can’t afford to appear less-than, especially not in the eyes of someone like Thanos. Bold, confident, assertive.

Nam-gyu needs to upkeep his falsified image of empowerment. It doesn't matter how much of it is a lie and how much of it is truth; no matter which way the wheel spins, Nam-gyu is fundamentally better than almost every measly person he interacts with. This is the belief he has to cling to so strongly, because without it, there’s hardly anything left to him at all.

He blinks back to attention as he closes the apartment door shut behind him. He hardly recalls twisting the doorknob and opening the door to begin with.

Blood drips onto carpeted flooring. Nam-gyu leans his back against the entry door as he cradles his wounded hand, licking persistently at chapped lips. The wound isn't awful, but it’s deep enough to leave a lasting impression, and the blood doesn't seem to be letting up at all. He should wrap it before it gets infected. …At least, that’s what he assumes he should do. He doesn't exactly have extensive knowledge on wound treatment.

Nam-gyu takes note of the muffled, persistent pitter-pattering sound of the shower running. Thanos must be back and busy using all of his strawberry scented soaps again — that means the bathroom is out of commission. The very same bathroom that holds the only medical kit they own. Shit.

Nam-gyu winces as blood trails down his arm; for now, the kitchen sink will have to suffice. If he gets any more pinpricks of crimson on the carpet, his landlord might kill him.

The wound stings as he runs it under water, clear liquid turning a pinkish hue as it swirls down the sink drain. The ache in his chest grows more persistent, and Nam-gyu can practically visualize the bruises beginning to blossom. One short-lived fight, and it feels like his body has been worn down to the bone, fragile and ready to break.

The distant drum of the shower keeps him grounded. Once it halts, he knows he’ll have to either face Thanos directly and honestly, or attempt to lie his way out of explaining his loss. The truth is, Nam-gyu would’ve much rather died tonight at the hands of Myung-gi than to have lost and lived. Death would be so much more freeing than defeat.

Water thrums. Blood oozes. The sounds conjoin and coagulate in the fractures of Nam-gyu’s shattered mind as he leans over the kitchen sink, crimson dripping against a steel drain. He flexes his hand, cringes in discomfort, and quickly moves to dry watery blood from his skin.

An actual bandage would sure as hell be a lot more effective than a flimsy paper towel, but the shower is still running, and Nam-gyu adamantly refuses to barge in unannounced. He presses a bundle of napkins to his wound and hurriedly makes his way to his room.

Nam-gyu sits on the edge of his bed and watches as red seeps into white, listening to the gentle lull of the shower. If he’s stealthy enough, maybe he can sneak his way into the bathroom when Thanos leaves. He’ll grab the medical kit, and scurry his way back to his room before his roommate takes any sort of notice.

It’s a flimsy, pathetic attempt at avoidance. But as Nam-gyu hears the showerhead click off, he realizes that he can't find it in himself to care.

He waits patiently, attentively listening for the telltale creak that signals the opening and shutting of the bathroom door. Footsteps thud softly against carpeted flooring, slowly making their way to the living room. Nam-gyu waits a few seconds, feels the napkin start to stick uncomfortably against his skin. Then, with his free hand, he slowly cracks his door open.

The way he moves is catlike, impressively agile considering the battering he just received. He slinks into the bathroom and opens up the cabinet under the sink with practiced ease. The room is pleasantly steamy, the mirror fogged in its entirety, blocking Nam-gyu from getting a look at himself; a blessing in disguise. He gives a sorrowful glance towards his half empty container of strawberry scented hair conditioner that sits precariously perched on the side of the bathtub, then returns back to the task at hand.

Thorny pain prickles throughout him as he grabs hold of the medical kit, clicking it open with trembling fingers. Bandage wrap, antibiotic ointment, hand wipes…alright, good. He can handle this. In fact, it’s far better for him to deal with this by himself. It’s what he’s most accustomed to.

He closes the medical kit back up and hoists it under his arm. Now all he has to do is make his way back to his room and close himself away for the rest of the night, away from looks of pity and words of disappointment. It’s not like Thanos will care enough to check up on him, he’s sure. They’ve been avoiding each other rather avidly for the past few days, after all. This is only a continuation of what’s already happening between them.

He pokes his head out of the bathroom and quickly scans his surroundings. All clear — Thanos must be lazing about in the living room. Finally, a stroke of good luck after such an astoundingly shitty night–

Nam-gyu’s ankle clangs brusquely against the side of the door as he steps out into the hallway. Which, in any other circumstance, wouldn't be anything to make a fuss over. But Nam-gyu’s ankle still aches from the kick it sustained from Myung-gi, and the additional pain of his clumsy footing causes him to not only drop the medical kit, but to outwardly yelp in pain.

The medical kit hits the floor with a thud, and Nam-gyu watches in astonishment as the latch rips open due to the impact, its contents clattering across the ground.

“Son of a fucking bitch–” Nam-gyu curses under his breath, dipping down to grasp at his ankle, pain thrumming through the area in waves. “Fucking piece of shit door…”

Not the most eloquent string of words he’s ever uttered, but he thinks it’s pretty damn warranted, all things considered. Nam-gyu crouches in front of a spilled box of medical supplies, one hand bloodied, paper towels suctioned to drying, sticky blood, and the other hand sorely rubbing his ankle; which, now that he actually looks at it, has a hefty, bright red bruise.

He keeps his head down as footsteps approach. Somehow, he can feel the words before he hears them.

“Nam-su?”

It takes eleven seconds for Nam-gyu to gather the resolve to tilt his head upwards. “Why can you never remember my name?”, he wants to ask. “Why are you here, living with me? What do I have to offer you? What do you want from me? Why aren't you leaving?”

But, Nam-gyu says nothing. He sighs, a long, drawn out noise of defeat — failure of a completely different caliber. He heaves himself to his feet, shifting his weight off of his hurt ankle, and feels his bloodied hand twitch, seizing slightly, as if it’s not a part of himself at all.

Thanos looks at him not with shame or irritation, but with bafflement, mouth ajar in surprise. His hair is still damp from the shower, and he wears a loose tank top that clings to wet skin, paired with a pair of Nam-gyu’s sweatpants. Why the hell does this guy keep raiding his closet when he has perfectly fine clothes of his own?

“I tried my best,” Nam-gyu says lightly, watching Thanos’ eyes flit across him, taking in the sight of his condition, noting each aspect of disarray. “I really did try. I could have killed him, if the circumstances were different.”

Confusion morphs into understanding. There’s no need for clarification. They’re both well aware of who they speak of.

“Jesus Christ, Nam-su,” Thanos murmurs, a mixture of awe and incredulity. He steps forward, taking Nam-gyu’s wrists into his palms, examining his hands with a frown. “You should’ve waited for me.”

“There wasn't any time,” Nam-gyu gripes in frustration, tugging his hands out of the grip of colorfully painted nails. “I just–”

“Go sit down,” Thanos says abruptly, gesturing towards Nam-gyu’s room. “I’ll gather all the medical shit.”

“I’m not some sort of kid.” Nam-gyu scowls. “I don’t need help wrapping a wound.”

“Nam-su–”

“Nam-gyu.”

“Go sit, dude,” Thanos insists, tone clipped, and Nam-gyu knows he could deny him if he wanted to. He could snatch the medical supplies up himself and enclose himself in his room, alone as he ought to be. He could refuse all help, because since when does Thanos offer help, anyways?

There’s a great number of things he could do, things he could say. Things to bolster himself, to make himself seem strong and unbothered.

Instead, he mumbles a soft, quiet, “okay,” and limps his way to his bedroom.

Notes:

I don’t usually find myself writing fight scenes very often, so this was a really fun writing exercise for me! ^_^

Chapter 12: Justice

Notes:

heyyy guys there’s more choking in this chapter so I added it to the tags (which I should of done last chapter but I forgot. whoops.)

Also. We’re officially at the halfway point of the fic! 🎉I have to restrain myself from getting super sappy in every single authors note but I realllyyyyyy do appreciate the support and I always want to offer my thanks to all of my readers and everyone who comments…ily all <3

Something is wrong about the situation currently unfolding, but Nam-gyu can’t pinpoint what.

It’s like hearing an orchestra play a song, but having one violinist just slightly out of tune. An off-putting discordance to an otherwise digestible melody.

Maybe it’s the steadiness of Thanos’ hands against Nam-gyu’s quivering ones. He handles him with a fluid ease, firm and steady in his movements as he wraps the wound. Nam-gyu doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so focused.

Maybe it’s the closeness in which they sit, shoulders and thighs pressed against each other as they sit side by side, perched on the edge of Nam-gyu’s bed. Even in the dimness of the room, Nam-gyu can make out each contour of Thanos’ face, the way his tongue pokes out of his mouth as he concentrates on the task at hand.

Maybe it’s the silence that stretches between them, heavy as a weight. Unspoken words remain trapped in the recesses of their minds — what’s there to say that hasn’t already been displayed by the gentle wrapping of a bloodied wound?

The quietude is stifling. Nam-gyu breaks it out of pure reflex alone. “I can do this myself.”

Thanos laughs under his breath, an exasperated noise of disagreement. The last time they found themselves in a position where one of them was bleeding, it ended with mouths wrapped around fingers and unnecessary closeness — a part of Nam-gyu doubts his own self-restraint. How many minutes will pass until he begs for Thanos’ mouth to cover his wound instead of bandage wrap?

“I’m serious,” Nam-gyu continues. He feels the need to derail the entire interaction before he falls deeper into his own conflicting desires. “Hyung, there’s no need for you to–”

“I know, dude. It’s not a big deal.”

In the grand scheme of things, Nam-gyu supposes he’s right. It’s not like what he’s doing right now is overly difficult or complicated. It’s a very simple endeavor, actually.

Nam-gyu stares at the man beside him with unblinking eyes. He can’t even begin to understand him.

“You’re staring,” Thanos comments idly, finishing his wrapping job and letting Nam-gyu’s hand out of his grasp, moving as if he’s letting go of some sort of prized artifact. In any other situation, the words would make Nam-gyu jolt and turn his gaze away immediately, denial on the tip of his tongue. But tonight is different, in a countless number of ways, and there’s something illogical that thrums in the air around them. Something is wrong. With him, with Thanos, with the world itself.

So, Nam-gyu continues to stare. Thanos holds his gaze — he could leave, if he wanted to. Nam-gyu’s hand is fully bandaged, which means Thanos’ self-imposed job is finished. There’s no reason for him to continue sitting by him, staring back at him, unbothered by their closeness.

“How’d he get away?” Thanos asks, and the question serves as the final breaking point for Nam-gyu to tear his eyes away with a noise of discomfort. He stares at his hands that lay twitching in his lap, one bandaged and one bare.

He doesn’t want to explain his defeat. He doesn’t want to explain that he’d been so close to killing him, only to falter at the last second. If he’d squeezed just a bit harder, everything would be different…except, would things really change so drastically? Or would they just be skewed into a slightly altered version of his current state of disarray?

“It doesn't matter.”

“Yeah the hell it does, man,” Thanos presses on, giving him a long, slow once-over. “Did he get you anywhere else? How’d he slice your palm like that, anyways?”

Nam-gyu visibly cringes. “...I accidentally cut my hand on a piece of shattered glass.”

“Glass?”

“I hit him over the head with a glass bottle.”

“Damn, boy!” Thanos looks at him appraisingly, shockingly impressed despite Nam-gyu’s humiliating failure. “I bet the fucker didn’t even see it coming, huh?”

“There’s nothing to be happy about,” Nam-gyu deadpans. “I didn't kill him.”

Thanos tilts his head in consideration. “Well, yeah…but, you scared the shit out of him, right? I wish I could have seen it, Nam-su…I bet that dumbass had that same dopey expression he had back when we jumped him in the games.”

“It felt good to strangle him,” Nam-gyu says without shame, despite the morbidity of his admission. “If I’d squeezed a bit harder, I could’ve broken his windpipe. I was so close…Thanos, I was so fucking close to killing him.”

The average person would likely start packing their bags without hesitation if they heard their roommate speak so brazenly about a murder attempt, but instead of reacting with warranted uneasiness, Thanos nods in grim understanding. “What stopped you?”

The question insinuates that Thanos automatically assumed his defeat was brought about by his own self-restriction, and while the accusation holds truth, it still makes Nam-gyu bristle. “He managed to push me off. That’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah,” Nam-gyu says, surprised by the sharpness of his own voice. “That’s all.”

Thanos looks at him like he knows he’s lying, completely aware that he’s leaving out details. The sureness of his gaze only serves to heighten Nam-gyu’s misaimed aggravation. He finds himself speaking before his own brain registers the words in his thoughts. “What are you doing here?”

Thanos waits silently for him to continue. Nam-gyu heaves a sigh and plunges himself into a hole dug by his own hands. “Not literally. Generally.”

“What am I generally doing here?” Thanos repeats, scoffing a laugh. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”

Nam-gyu wipes tiredly at his face. His brain feels foggy, and he’s somehow managed to enter a state of exhaustion mixed with leftover exhilaration buzzing through his system. It leaves him feeling off-balance, both physically and emotionally. “Why are you staying with me?”

“Because you offered.”

“But why’d you accept?”

“Because I don’t want to be homeless?” Thanos’ voice lilts upward in exasperation, confused at the random bout of questioning. “What does this have to do with—?”

“Why are you here?” Nam-gyu repeats, though he knows his words are nonsensical, unable to get across his actual thoughts. He digs his palms into his eyes, ignoring the way the pressure makes the cut sting. “I don’t understand you, and I don’t understand how I managed to fuck up a such perfect opportunity. Fuck, I should’ve torn his throat open.”

“Nam-su…” Thanos says, and there it is. The concern. The type of tone someone takes with a cornered, frightened animal that’s preparing to fight back. What a hypocrite, to act concerned as if he wasn’t in on all of this since the beginning, as if he wouldn’t do the exact same thing if placed in Nam-gyu’s shoes.

“It’s Nam-gyu. Why don’t you ever remember?” Nam-gyu removes his hands from his face, blinking blurriness from his eyes. “Myung-gi remembered it just fine.”

The barriers that Nam-gyu usually puts up when interacting with others have dropped in entirety, crumbled to dust, and in their absence it offers the raw, unfiltered truth of himself. He’s insecure — embarrassingly, pathetically, revoltingly insecure. He’s sickened by his own state of being.

“Nam-gyu,” Thanos corrects, but Nam-gyu shakes his head in frustration. It’s too late for correction.

“I can’t stand it,” Nam-gyu grits out, “when you call me the wrong name.”

“Okay, dude, damn.” Thanos holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Jesus…with the way you’re acting, I’m starting to think you’re going to try and kill me next.”

Silence.

“…This is where you’re supposed to reassure me that you’re not,” Thanos drawls.

“Really?” Nam-gyu deadpans, “I never would’ve guessed.”

“Look, Nam-gyu,” Thanos starts, laying heavy emphasis on his name. “doesn’t it seem like you’re taking your anger out on the wrong person here?”

It most certainly does. Thanos has treated him kindly tonight, holding his hand carefully as he tended his wound. To repay the sudden nicety with sharp words and rising irritation is a bad move on Nam-gyu’s part, but he’s not used to being touched in any manner that’s described as gentle, and receiving it from someone like Thanos only makes it all the more uncanny. He’s a stray dog cowering under the hand of a person who only wants to pet him, and if his only options are to cower or to bite, he already knows full well which action he’ll pick.

Because despite the niceties, Nam-gyu knows that Thanos thinks he’s better than him. He thinks he’s better than everyone, and while it’s one of the brazen qualities that Nam-gyu likes the most about him, it also fills him to the brim with complete inadequacy.

“I don’t understand you.”

“You keep saying that.” Thanos breathes a huff of frustration. “But you’re not explaining what you don’t understand.”

“If I could explain it, then I’d be able to understand it, and I wouldn’t have said anything to begin with.”

“Holy fuck, dude,” Thanos laughs in disbelief. “Are you trying to deliver me riddles right now, or some shit?”

Nam-gyu’s eyes linger on the way Thanos’ throat bobs, a steady swallow. Would his neck feel differently under his fingers in comparison to Myung-gi’s?

His fingers twitch. This isn’t a good scenario to spend time thinking about. Especially not right now, when something feels so blasphemously wrong.

But by the time he realizes this, his hand has already started to move.

His unmarred palm moves slowly, reaching towards Thanos’ throat with outstretched fingers. He doesn’t squeeze, or choke, or do anything particularly violent. Instead, he lets his fingers press lightly against his pulse point, feeling his breath hitch under his skin. Then he shifts his hand fully to the side of his neck, palm laying flat against warmed skin.

“What’re you doing?” Thanos asks softly. His voice is low and breathy, thick with a plethora of questions that go unasked.

Choking Myung-gi made Nam-gyu feel nothing. But with Thanos, maybe things could be different. Things are always so new when it comes to him.

Nam-gyu isn’t in his right mind, and a part of himself is well aware of it. A failed murder attempt tends to leave people a bit frazzled, he assumes. He should’ve seen this coming. He should fight harder to regain control of himself.

He should. But he doesn’t want to.

He knows that what happens next is something that, come morning, he’ll regret in its entirety. It’ll be yet another repeat of his slip-up in the alleyway, another blunder to leave him ashamed. All of these thoughts slice through his brain at once, but he dismisses them just as quickly. He’s far too focused laying a hand on Thanos’ chest and pushing him backwards onto the bed.

For a man who claims to be straight so avidly, one would naturally assume that he wouldn't be so eager to climb on top of another man. For once, Nam-gyu can’t be bothered with the insinuations of it all — Thanos lets himself be pushed back onto the bed easily, and watches with wide eyes and an agape mouth as Nam-gyu works his way on top of him.

…He’s straddling him, for a lack of a better word. Nam-gyu tries not to pay it too much mind as he wraps his hands around Thanos’ throat.

It’s important to note, of course, that Nam-gyu has no intention of killing his own roommate. The way he squeezes his hands against his windpipe is barely enough to make him splutter, and certainly not intense enough to actually stop him from breathing. He’s more so stimulating what it’d be like to choke him, as opposed to actually doing so.

It’s also important to note that, while Nam-gyu is aware of this all within his own mind, he’s clambered on top of Thanos without any explanation whatsoever. As far as Thanos is aware, he really could be aiming to kill him. If he had any sense of survival instinct, he’d be attempting to shove him off right now.

Instead, Thanos settles his hands on Nam-gyu’s hips without hesitation, and stares. He says nothing as he looks up at him, asking for no explanation.

He’s so strange. Though, Nam-gyu supposes he’s not one to talk.

Nam-gyu tries not to focus on the warm hands shifting upwards to grip at his waist, instead focusing on the way he can feel Thanos swallow beneath his fingers. His face is flushed a pleasant shade of red, and Nam-gyu tightens his fingers ever so slightly, watching the way Thanos’ eyelids flutter as he blinks up at him. He makes no move to retaliate; if anything, he leans into the firm pressing of fingers. Nam-gyu takes note of the fact that the cut on his lip is almost fully healed — if he tried hard enough, he’s sure he could tear it back open.

The contact makes the cut on Nam-gyu’s hand sting, but the pain only adds to the thrill of the situation. “You think you’re so much better than me. I can tell.”

“Nam…” Thanos pauses, licking his lips. “su.”

It’s so purposely incorrect that Nam-gyu can’t help but dig his thumbs down harder. Instead of floundering, Thanos grins, as if the harsher press of fingers is a gift instead of a punishment. He appears almost drunkenly giddy at the situation, hands gripping harsher at Nam-gyu’s hips. The pressure makes him shift his weight on top of him — damn, this might be the most compromising position he’s ever placed himself in. One wrong move, one single roll of his hips, and the entire situation could plunge into something sinfully explicit.

And while Nam-gyu knows he shouldn’t be indulging himself like this, it feels nice to loom over Thanos, watching him splutter underneath his hands. He knows, deep down, that the reason it’s so enjoyable is because Thanos tilts his head back for easier access, hands holding him in place on top of him, thumbs rubbing circles against his sides like he’s attempting to soothe something wild and untamed. Feeling the solid weight of Thanos’ fingers pressed against him feels better than the mouth of any girl he’s ever kissed, and the truth of this realization settles within him like a heavy weight.

Nam-gyu loosens his grasp on Thanos’ neck and watches him take a deep, wheezing breath. “Say my name right.”

“It’s Nam-gyu,” Thanos relents, face flushed. “I know your name is Nam-gyu, my boy. I just like to rile you up.”

“Why?”

Thanos looks up at him in a manner that almost seems reverent. Nam-gyu must be imagining things. “Does it matter?”

Nam-gyu makes a noise of mild irritation. It does matter, but he won’t push for answers. “...You don’t seem very bothered by this.”

“By what?”

Nam-gyu scoffs incredulously, hands constricting against his throat again. “By this.”

“I don’t mind it,” Thanos chokes out once Nam-gyu slackens his grip.

“You don’t mind being choked?” Nam-gyu asks dubiously.

“Not if it’s you.”

A feeling that Nam-gyu refuses to acknowledge blossoms within him, curving tendrils around his ribcage. Thorny, persistent. He wishes hopelessly to feel more of it.

But he can’t. His hands withdraw, and as they do, Thanos lets his own palms drop from Nam-gyu’s sides. He grieves the loss of contact the second it leaves, and a part of him wants to plead Thanos for more. He can’t even bring himself to care if the touch is gentle or fierce — a soft caress or a stinging slap. He wants to feel all of it all at once, a continuous string of unrelenting grazes. A tongue working against skin, bloody or otherwise. Fingers pressing persistently into his mouth, pulling fistfuls of his hair, palming persistently against his body.

It dawns on Nam-gyu that the feeling of wrongness isn't actually wrong at all; it’s the feeling of himself, raw and unfiltered. It’s always there, lurking under falsities, and for whatever reason, it’s made a startling outward appearance tonight.

He needs to control himself.

Nam-gyu heaves himself off of Thanos without a word. The wound on his hand aches, thrumming painfully after being put under such sudden pressure, but the sting is nothing in comparison to his rapidly beating heart and frantic, senseless thoughts. Solemnly, he wonders if his mind will ever truly know peace.

As Thanos props himself back into a sitting position, Nam-gyu curls in on himself, holding his legs tightly against his chest. His body still aches from the fight, and his eyes droop with fatigue. He feels as if he should say something, a flimsy apology. But, what is there to really say? “Hey, sorry for climbing on top of you and choking you at random. My bad!”

…No, he’s definitely not saying that.

“I need to go to sleep,” Nam-gyu mumbles instead, because the only thing left for him to do is push the situation onto his future self. He’d pressed against Thanos in hopes of feeling something, and while it did make him feel, it wasn't exactly the emotion he was hoping for. Getting hot and bothered due to being on top of another man only solidifies a great number of things that he’s attempted to push away for so long. The feelings he harbors for Thanos are hardly something he can fully deny anymore, and all he can rely on now is ignoring them completely. He can’t afford to slip-up. He can’t afford to give in to what he really wants.

This is yet another stunt that needs to go unspoken and disregarded, just like their last incident. If they can tiptoe around bringing up Thanos bobbing his head against Nam-gyu’s fingers as he laps up his own blood, surely they can avoid this.

Thanos murmurs something in English, rubbing gingerly against his throat. Nam-gyu glances at him wearily. “Huh? I can’t– I mean, I don’t know what you’re saying when you–”

“Nevermind,” Thanos says quickly, his cheeks reddening. Such a pretty shade of pink. Nam-gyu wishes he could bite him.

…Oh, for fucks sake. It’s sort of hard to interpret that in any way that isn’t gay.

“Sorry for choking you,” Nam-gyu blurts out as Thanos stands to his feet. He visibly cringes at his own words, but Thanos only smiles in response, eyes crinkling with amusement.

“It’s okay.”

“Not really. It was pretty weird.”

Thanos shrugs. “Nothing wrong with weird.”

“...I guess.”

“Sorry about your foiled murder attempt, Nam-gyu,” Thanos says, his name rolling off of his tongue like velvet. Nam-gyu nearly whines at the mere sound of it – wow! Holy shit, he really needs to go to sleep. Like, right this instant. Immediately.

“It’s okay,” Nam-gyu says, and as Thanos turns to walk towards the door, he finds himself continuing to speak. “You don’t have to-”

He cuts himself off, jaw clicking shut so fiercely that he can hear the grating clink of his teeth slamming together. Thanos pauses, turning back to look at him. “I don’t have to what?”

Leave. He was going to say, for whatever reason, that Thanos didn't have to leave.

“Nevermind,” He mumbles, feeling a wave of deja vu.

“What?” Thanos presses, staring at him expectantly. “What is it?”

Nam-gyu clears his throat. Maybe it’ll be less awkward if he approaches this from an angle. “Does it hurt your back to sleep on the couch all the time?”

“Not really.”

A long lapse of silence. Nam-gyu watches with growing embarrassment as understanding dawns across Thanos’ features. “Oh! Actually, you know, it kind of does hurt. …Damn, if only I had a big ass bed to sleep on and cuddle into and–”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Nam-gyu groans, covering his face in mortification. “Just get into bed, man.”

“You don’t mind?”

Nam-gyu lays down with a yawn, body still tingling with warmth, trapped invigoration unable to be let out. “I wouldn’t be offering if I did.”

He’s still wearing the same clothes he went out in (not counting his shoes, which lay strewn haphazardly near the doorway), but he doesn't have the energy to change into pajamas. He shuffles over to one side of the bed, leaving ample room for Thanos to clamber in next to him. Considering all that's happened tonight, this is a severely bad idea – Nam-gyu’s not sure why he offered to begin with.

(Is it really so awful to crave the warmth and comfort of another?

…Of course it is. He’s not built to sustain such things. He’s not allowed to partake in it.)

Nam-gyu turns his back to him as Thanos lays down beside him. He’s baffled that Thanos agreed to begin with, after all that’s happened.

“I wonder if I’ll wake up to you choking me again,” Thanos muses quietly.

Nam-gyu makes a noise of chagrin. “I said sorry…”

He hears a light laugh, followed by the rustling of bed sheets as he pulls the blanket over himself. “I’m just kidding.”

If Nam-gyu were brave enough to act on what he really wants, he’d turn around and sling his arm around Thanos, pull him closer and bask himself in the warmth of another. He may not want to acknowledge how much he desires it, but it doesn’t change the fact that the want settles deeply within him.

But it’s nights like these that heighten his inner fear of something watching him, judgemental and hateful. So instead, he screws his eyes shut and mumbles a hasty goodnight. At the very least, he knows it won’t take long for him to fall asleep tonight; his body is far too worn down to reject it.

Minutes pass, and Nam-gyu lets the quiet sound of Thanos’ steady breathing lull him to sleep. As he drifts into unconsciousness, he hears a quiet, barely audible confession.

“I don’t think I’m better than you.”

The last thing he wonders before sleep consumes him, is why Thanos would only admit such a thing under the guise that Nam-gyu is asleep.

Notes:

“STRADDLE HIM NAM-GYU CHOKE HIM CHOKE HIM” I begin to cheer with joy and merriment. Wait what

(Unhinged Nam-gyu and down bad Thanos is my fav combo of all time <3)

Chapter 13: The Hanged Man

Notes:

This a pretty sweet and fluffy chapter which is sorta funny considering the fact that just a few chapters ago Nam-gyu was trying to kill a guy

Nam-gyu wakes up to his face smushed into the crook of a neck, and a hand resting snugly against the small of his back.

It takes a few moments for him to register exactly what’s going on; he’s not all that accustomed to people sleeping in his bed, after all. For the first few seconds that he spends stirring to consciousness, he presses further into the solid warmth, letting out a soft noise of contentment as he nuzzles against skin, inhaling slowly. The scent of strawberries and musk, sharp and lingering.

It’s only when Thanos’ voice rings out, husky and thick with fatigue, that Nam-gyu realizes the predicament he’s in.

“G’morning,” Thanos mumbles, followed by a prolonged yawn. Nam-gyu freezes, body tensing — somehow, he managed to practically throw himself across Thanos during some point of the night. Not only are their legs tangled together, but Nam-gyu’s arm is slung securely across Thanos’ torso, clinging to his side. One of Thanos’ arms wraps around Nam-gyu’s back, a steady hand positioned against the bottom of his spine.

Thanos’ hand trails upwards, tracing along the bumps of his backbone. Nam-gyu shudders and presses himself closer, face burrowing further into the curvature of Thanos’ neck.

This isn’t a normal, friendly activity. Sleeping in the same bed is perfectly fine, even cuddling is acceptable. But dipping fingertips under the hem of a shirt and trailing touches along the knobs of his spine? Dear god. Nam-gyu thinks he might fucking faint.

“How’d you sleep?” Thanos murmurs with that groggy morning voice that Nam-gyu is sure must drive ladies wild. His hand stalls once he reaches the middle of his spine, then drags back down to the bottom, resting just above the waistband of his pants.

“Good,” Nam-gyu says, embarrassed by the heightened sound of his own voice. He should be moving away right now and shuffling his way out of bed, but if anything, his grip only tightens. “You?”

“Great.” Thanos rubs his thumb in absentminded circles against Nam-gyu’s back, slow and purposeful. “You’re like my personal heated blanket.”

Nam-gyu makes a noise of embarrassment. “Dude, come on…”

“What?” Thanos laughs lightly, chest reverberating beneath Nam-gyu’s arm. “It’s true. You’re warm.”

Nam-gyu thinks back to last night, to hands wrapping around throats and how it felt to straddle Thanos, effectively pinning him to the bed. His face burns with an acute humiliation.

“Your ears are turning red,” Thanos points out bluntly, using his free hand to reach over and pinch the shell of Nam-gyu’s ear between his thumb and pointer finger. “Thinking about last night?”

“I was really out of it,” Nam-gyu defends. “Forget it ever happened, okay?”

“Murder attempts tend to have that effect on people, huh?”

Nam-gyu swallows his pride and allows himself to take momentary comfort in the touch of another. Even if he’s a man, even if it’s Thanos, even if it’s not something he should partake in. Who’s to say what he should and shouldn’t indulge in, anyways?

He tried to kill a man last night. Whatever this is is the least of his problems.

Using the hand that isn’t palming persistently at his back, Thanos lays a hand against the crown of Nam-gyu’s head and drags his fingers through his hair, repetitive and insistent.

“…Dude, are you petting me?” Nam-gyu asks, muffling a laugh.

“You’re like a kitty. I wouldn’t even be surprised if you started purring.”

“What?” Nam-gyu guffaws, making a noise of exaggerated abhorrence. “Please tell me you don’t use corny ass pickup lines like that on girls, man.”

“Hell no,” Thanos snickers. “Only you.”

“Only me, huh? I’m honored.”

“As you should be.”

Despite the ridiculously cringeworthy line, having Thanos stroke his hair feels nice, as does the way his hand presses against the bare of his back. Nam-gyu thinks about what his hands would feel like if they traveled lower, moving underneath waistbands and gripping shamelessly at thighs. He shudders instinctively, nose thunking against Thanos’ collarbone; he shouldn’t be thinking about things that are so indecent.

“Cold?” Thanos muses, a tinge of humor lacing his voice. There’s no way in hell he isn’t doing this shit on purpose.

It doesn’t seem to be out of mockery, though. Maybe Thanos really does enjoy his reactions. Or maybe Nam-gyu’s just being delusional. Thanos has made it so obvious he likes girls, after all. And, it’s not like Nam-gyu likes guys either, so…

Oh, whatever. There’s no point in even attempting to lie to himself anymore. Right now, there’s nothing that Nam-gyu wants to do more than tilt his head and sink his teeth into the tender flesh of Thanos’ neck and drag his tongue against skin. If his skin tastes as good as his blood, Nam-gyu might enter a state of euphoria that he’s unable to come down from.

He shudders again, pushing against Thanos more noticeably. As Thanos’ breath stutters, Nam-gyu fantasizes about what it’d feel like for the hand in his hair to grip and pull, tugging him like a dog on a leash. For the hand on his back to feel other parts of his body. Bare and open, vulnerable, needing, wanting—

Ah. So, something has come to fruition from the events of last night, then. Something within him has changed irreversibly. His thoughts are more open, as are his actions.

The shame remains stagnant. He pushes himself off of Thanos is one quick, startling movement.

“Nam—?”

“I should make breakfast,” he says quickly, avoiding eye contact. “I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.”

There’s a small noise of understanding, and while Nam-gyu can’t bring himself to look at Thanos’ expression, he’s sure his face reflects that of muted acceptance. Another push followed by a guilty, fastened pull away; this is what Nam-gyu has managed to make himself known for.

It feels lonely, being away from wrapped arms. Nam-gyu makes his way to the kitchen without sparing a glance behind him.

– – –

Nam-gyu manages to cook two platefuls of scrambled eggs without setting them on fire. After the hectic absurdity of the past twenty-four hours, he deems this an extreme success.

He sits at his run-down dining table with Thanos seated across from him, poking and prodding at his food as Thanos takes large, heaping bites of his own.

“I got to sleep in a bed and now I get home-cooked breakfast?” Thanos nods approvingly. “If these are all side effects of a murder attempt, you should do that shit more often.”

“Ha…no.”

“Really, though. What are you—“ Thanos pauses, pulling a face of discontent before spitting a chunk of egg shell into the palm of his hand.

Nam-gyu winces at the blatant bafflement. “…Whoops.”

Thanos sets the small piece of shell to the side of his plate with a noise of disgruntlement. “…Anyways, what are you going to do if you see him again?”

“I seriously doubt I will.” Nam-gyu shrugs. Talking about Myung-gi reminds him of the cut on his hand and the dull pains that still permeate throughout his body — he’d rather not talk about that man’s existence ever again.

It wasn’t trying to kill him that changed Nam-gyu, it was letting Thanos handle him so gently. His body aches as if it’s been left with a gaping, open wound, though the feeling has nothing to do with his physical injuries.

“Well, if I see him, I’m killing him right then and there,” Thanos says through a mouthful of egg, gesturing at Nam-gyu’s wrapped hand with the prongs of his fork. “Nobody messes with a member of the Thanos World and gets away with it.”

Nam-gyu stifles a laugh — ‘member of the Thanos World’? What a moron. A ridiculously charming one, at that.

Nam-gyu stares at his eggs with sudden abject horror. Out of all the people to have these sorts of thoughts about, why’d it have to be a man? Why’d it have to be Thanos?

“Ugh,” Nam-gyu groans, burying his head in his hands. There’s really only so long he can trudge on with his whole ‘ignoring it will make it go away’ mantra before it starts to make him feel like his brain is leaking out of his ears. Fuck his stupid, faulty thought processes. And fuck Myung-gi for not putting him out of his misery, too.

“What’s the problem?” Thanos asks through another mouthful of eggs. Nam-gyu resists the urge to tell him to chew with his mouth closed. “Is it your hand?”

“No, no.” Nam-gyu waves off the question. “Yesterday was just…a lot.”

“You need to take your mind off of everything, my boy,” Thanos says, and to Nam-gyu’s rising embarrassment, plucks another piece of eggshell from his mouth. “You also need to never cook eggs again, I think.”

“Last time you tried to cook them you dropped the pan and wasted the whole thing.”

Thanos holds his hands up with a shake of his head. “No need to bring up past events, man. Focus on the present, because it’s the only one named after a gift. Or whatever they say.”

“I don’t think that’s it.”

“Anyways,” Thanos continues, “hurry up and finish your yellow goop, okay? I want you to do something.”

“It’s eggs, not yellow goop,” Nam-gyu gripes, taking a tentative bite of his food. …Yeah, definitely not his greatest work.

“It's yellow and it's goopy, so it’s not like the name is far off.”

“I’m never cooking for you again.”

“I’m kidding!” Thanos defends, smiling impishly as Nam-gyu noticeably bites into yet another small piece of eggshell. Damn, did he cook this with his eyes closed?

He swallows it down just to prove a point, spluttering slightly. Thanos snickers into the palm of his hand. “Want some egg with your shell?”

“Real funny, man,” Nam-gyu deadpans. “What do you need my help with, anyways?”

“Look at this shit!” Thanos holds out his hands, splaying his fingers as he displays his nails. Each nail is painted the same colorful shade as always, though there's a few chips in the polish here and there.

Nam-gyu’s eyes dart between Thanos’ expectant expression and his flaunted hands. “...What am I looking at?”

“My nails, dude! The polish is peeling off.” Thanos upturns his nose in clear disapproval. “Damn, you really do need glasses.”

The second the words leave his mouth, Thanos gets a certain look in his eyes, the kind of look that’s always followed up by a god-awful idea.

“No,” Nam-gyu cuts in before he can get a word out. “Dude, no—“

“You have to wear your glasses,” Thanos says seriously, eyes glittering with excitement. “How are you going to be able to paint my nails well if you can’t even see?”

“I can see just fine!” Nam-gyu defends. “And, who said I’m painting your nails?”

“I did. Just now.”

Nam-gyu shovels another bite of food into his mouth and forces himself to chew. He’s lost the battle before it’s even begun, and Thanos cheers at Nam-gyu’s almost immediate yielding expression.

Well, whatever. If Thanos wants him to paint his nails so bad, then so be it.

– – –

The glasses sit awkwardly on the bridge of Nam-gyu’s nose as he hunches over Thanos’ hands, carefully handling splayed out fingers as he drags brush against nail. He’s never felt like more of a dork in his entire life, and the fact that Thanos hasn’t said a single word about the glasses only makes him feel all the more silly.

“Sort of sick and twisted to make the guy who just got his palm sliced open do manual labor for you,” Nam-gyu jokes.

Thanos says nothing, and the silence drags on. Nam-gyu pauses his ministrations, sparing a glance upwards with the words ‘just kidding!’ on the tip of his tongue. Thanos’ expression stops him in his tracks.

His face is flushed, the same pretty shade of rosy pink his face had turned when his hands were wrapped around his throat. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth as he stares at him with wide, glazy eyes, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. He looks at him as if he’s looking at a meal about to be devoured, nourishment to be savored. The gaze is scorchingly intense, and Nam-gyu stills under eyes that display emotions he couldn't possibly explain if he tried.

“Hyung?”

“Hm?” Thanos hums, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “What?”

‘You…what are you staring at?” He pushes self-consciously at his glasses. “...They look pretty stupid, huh?”

A look of legitimate offense interferes with whatever strong, unknown emotion Thanos is displaying. “Huh?”

“The glasses?” Nam-gyu clarifies in confusion. “I figured– I mean, that’s why you’re staring, right?”

“I think they look nice,” Thanos admits quietly.

“Nice?”

“Mhm. Cute.”

“Cute?”

“Or, uh, handsome? Do you prefer handsome?” Thanos fumbles his words, his face turning several shades redder. “I’m just— I’m saying they look good. The glasses, I mean.”

Nam-gyu blinks in mild confusion. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Thanos so flustered before, stumbling over words in clear embarrassment. It’s almost surreal, seeing a man who’s usually so suave act so out-of-sorts.

Living with Thanos has made him realize a great number of things about him, Nam-gyu realizes. There’s so much more to him than what he originally presents.

Nam-gyu adjusts his glasses again, and Thanos watches the action like a man possessed. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Thanos shrugs sharply, making a poor attempt to appear nonchalant. “It’s whatever.”

Nam-gyu turns his attention back to Thanos’ hands, biting back a smile as something warm blossoms in his chest. He drags purple polish along one of the nails, smiling serenely. “You know, it feels kind of weird for me to be doing something like this right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“After yesterday,” Nam-gyu clarifies. “Things could’ve ended so differently, you know?”

“If you killed him, you probably would’ve been caught and thrown into jail by now, knowing our shitty luck,” Thanos muses. “So, maybe it’s a good thing, you know?”

Nam-gyu snorts. “Didn’t you say you’re still going to kill him if you see him again?”

“Of course,” Thanos replies readily. “He hurt you, man. That’s fucked up.”

“…Thanos, I was trying to kill him,” Nam-gyu reiterates, because there’s many reasons to hate Myung-gi, but self-defense seems like an odd one to land on.

“It doesn’t matter. I still can’t stand that piece of shit,” Thanos gripes. “I used to watch his stupid videos so much that his smarmy face would haunt me in my fucking dreams, dude.”

Nam-gyu hums in understanding, switching to the green polish. His hands are less shaky than usual.

“If you actually had killed him and came back here covered in his blood…” Thanos makes a slightly choked sort of noise. Nam-gyu glances upwards, and sees the same look of barely concealed hunger in Thanos’ eyes. Nam-gyu refocuses on the nails, heat buzzing beneath his skin. He’s never been looked at in such a manner before.

“What would you have done?”

“…I can’t say,” Thanos mumbles after a few beats of silence.

“Huh? Why not?”

“Maybe later.”

Nam-gyu frowns. “What’re you being so cryptic for?”

“Look, my point here is that as much as I would’ve loved you to kill him,” Thanos redirects. “It can also be viewed as a good thing that you didn’t. Since, you know…you’re not in jail, and whatever.”

“And whatever,” Nam-gyu parrots with a nod. “Yeah, dude. For sure.”

It’s difficult to pinpoint the good out of what happened last night. But today Nam-gyu is still alive, despite his bruised body, and as he sits and paints coats of color across Thanos’ nails, he thinks he might not need to kill in order to live.

He might just need this.

— — —

Morning turns to afternoon quickly, and Nam-gyu gnaws unceremoniously on an almost-too-ripe apple as he scrolls absentmindedly on his phone. Job-hunting. Again.

Thanos sits next to him on the couch, watching a low budget action movie on the television. He sighs, an excessively long and drawn out noise. “I wish I had a vape right now.”

“Bro, seriously?” Nam-gyu says, because really, is vaping all this guy thinks about?

“I need to make some more cash. My favorite brand just came out with a new multi-berry flavor,” Thanos explains sagely.

“How’s your songwriting going?”

“Absolutely fucking awful,” he complains. “Oh, hey, that reminds me. You’re into poetry, right?”

Nam-gyu pauses mid-chew, his half-eaten apple nearly tumbling out of his hand in surprise. “…What?”

Thanos glances at him with furrowed brows. “You are, aren’t you? What’re you so shocked about?”

“You— you—!“ Nam-gyu flusters, face reddening with an acute mixture of annoyance and betrayal. “You read through my poetry? How the hell did you even—?!”

“You write it?” Thanos says in surprise. “I thought you just read it. You know, because of all the poetry books you have strewn about?”

…Oh.

Nam-gyu sets his apple down on the arm of the couch (his appetite has dissipated in a matter of seconds) and buries his heated face in his hands. Fuck.

“Dude, what’re you all embarrassed for?” Thanos snickers. “Do you really write poetry? That’s cool, man!”

Nam-gyu makes a muffled noise of despair. This might be the worst day of his life, actually, if he disregards the death games, murder attempts, and the many times his body has turned on him due to taking too many drugs at once.

(...Okay, not even close to his worst day, then. Still, this is fucking humiliating.)

“Dude,” Thanos laughs, though not out of mockery. He jostles his shoulder slightly. “Hey, come on. Poetry and lyrical writing isn’t all that different, you know.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Nam-gyu says bluntly, removing his face from his hands and straightening his posture. “At all.”

Thanos continues on regardless, because of course he does. “Hang on, is that what you have hidden in that floor nook?”

Nam-gyu turns his head to look at him so sharply that he’s surprised he doesn’t sprain something. “What?”

“It’s pretty obvious there’s a little opening over there,” Thanos gestures to the corner of the room. “Remember when I came back from packing my shit and you were standing over there all suspiciously?”

“Oh my god—“

“I figured it was a sex toy, or something.” Thanos grins wolfishly. “Unless…you have something like that tucked away in there along with it?”

“No!” Nam-gyu exclaims, face reddening. “Of course I don’t!”

“Damn, don’t look so appalled,” Thanos snickers. “Nothing wrong with sex toys. What, you’ve never used one before? Never ever?”

Nam-gyu wonders which conversation topic is worse — poetry or sex toys. Oddly enough, talking about sex toys seems less personal than his poetry hobby. “Thanos.”

“What?” Thanos tilts his head, looking him up and down with rising amusement, his smirk a permanent fixture of his features. “Can’t a guy be curious?”

“If you’re so curious, why didn’t you just check?” Nam-gyu grumbles, crossing his arms. Since when has Thanos had stupidly good observation skills?

“Didn’t want to invade your privacy.”

“…You’ve literally gone through my mail.”

“Well, yeah.” Thanos shrugs. “But, still.”

“How chivalrous of you,” Nam-gyu drawls, and hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels.

“Of course, my boy. The Legend Thanos always puts chivalry first.” He nods in utmost agreement, the sarcasm flying directly over his head. “Now, as I was saying; if you write poetry, why don’t you try thinking up some lyrics for me?”

Nam-gyu looks at him wearily, drinking in the sight of his overly pleading face. “Poetry and lyrical writing can be similar…but they aren’t the same. And, it’s not like I’m particularly skilled, okay? I just write from time to time for the hell of it. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Thanos refutes. “Come on, can’t you just try it? You’ve heard my songs before — just try to write something that fits the vibe of what I usually sing.”

“So, you want me to write about taking drugs and fucking women in clubs?”

Thanos grins, nodding eagerly. “See? You’ve already got the genre down!”

“That’s not really a genre…” Nam-gyu sighs. “Man, I really don’t think you’re asking the right person for this.”

“I think I’m asking the perfect person,” Thanos insists. “Just give it a shot, okay? Think of all the money we’ll wrack in if it all goes well!”

“And imagine all the money we’ll lose if it doesn’t,” Nam-gyu could counter. But he likes the way that Thanos groups them as a duo, always we instead of I.

Myung-gi had seemed so certain Thanos would leave him stranded, but he’s done nothing of the sort. If anything, they’ve managed to remain just as closely stuck together as they were in the games, even with the lack of drugs to tether them.

Myung-gi knows nothing. Nam-gyu is appalled, looking back on it, that he ever thought that killing him would make him feel anything at all.

“Okay,” Nam-gyu says eventually, smiling at the way his agreement makes Thanos’ face light up. “I’ll try.”

Notes:

“Thanos has made it so obvious he likes girls” bro is over here forgetting bisexual ppl exist 🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️ someone PLEASE tell him to lock in

Also I genuinely believe in my heart that Thanos would be so awkward when flirting with someone he genuinely really likes lol.

Chapter 14: Death

Notes:

Bet that title chapter is making you nervous, huh?

Sleeping in an empty bed after spending the night suctioned to Thanos’ side seems unfamiliar. Which makes very little sense, considering he’s spent almost every night by himself, and only one singular night with Thanos. It’s very clear which one of the two situations should feel more familiar.

And yet, as crickets chirp outside, Nam-gyu finds himself unable to sleep. It feels abnormally cold, and he finds himself wishing that he never crossed the line of asking Thanos to lay with him in the first place.

Nam-gyu views his partnership with Thanos as a fragile ornament dangling by a thread, ready to crash and shatter at any given moment. Nam-gyu views most relationships he has as such, due to his poor track record at maintaining them, but he fears that wrecking the relationship he has going on with Thanos would ruin him completely.

He’s let himself get attached. The very thing he always swears to himself that he’ll never let happen.

Thanos bulldozed his way into his apartment and is now sticking as a permanent fixture. There’s very few people on this planet that Nam-gyu genuinely enjoys being around, and yet he always finds himself looking forward to his interactions with Thanos. The playful quips, the shared experiences, the mutual thirst for revenge.

Nam-gyu wants to impress him. He wants to prove himself as useful. He wants to mean something to him.

So, as Nam-gyu attempts to sleep, he makes a solid effort to think over lyrics for a rap. It’s an incredibly difficult task, especially considering he doesn't have any type of beat to go off of. It all feels very out of the ordinary for him, and no matter how extensively he mulls it over, he struggles to come up with any lyrics that adhere to Thanos’ persona.

…He doesn't want to write lines about Thanos having affections for others, despite flirtatious lyrics being so on brand for him.

Nam-gyu screws his eyes shut and waits impatiently for sleep to consume him. He knows, deep down, that he isn't cut out for this.

– – –

Incomprehensible words are whispered in his ear. Light, airy, and completely meaningless.

The place Nam-gyu resides in is shrouded in shadows, but it’s not dim enough for him to not understand where he is. He’s in the pastel colored maze from the games, alone and defenseless.

He sighs despite himself. He’s had this dream before.

Before the games, he rarely ever dreamt at all. But things have changed, and now they seem to get more vivid by the day. The imagery is always either completely nonsensical or relating back to his entrapment, pieced together memories and reminders of what he went through.

Tonight, the imagery is particularly intense. He can pinpoint each small fixture in the walls that surround him, as well as each tiny flicker of blood. He swivels his head until his eyes land on a body laid out in front of him, bloodied and dead.

His body moves on its own accord, as it so often does in his dreams. He approaches the body in slow, heaving steps. The lights flicker overhead, purposeful in their movements. A warning or invitation — Nam-gyu can’t tell. But the way the lights spasm and shake is meant to mean something, he’s sure of it. Some form of communication. He doesn’t know what it’s trying to say to him, and he has little interest in trying to decipher it. The bloody pool beneath the body grows.

He nears the corpse until he stands right in front of it. The body lays face down, wearing the same greenish track suit all the players wore back in the games, but the number on the back of the tracksuit is a jumbled mess of unintelligible symbols, blurred and without meaning. Due to the positioning of the corpse, Nam-gyu is unable to discern who it is, and can only take note of the person's messy, blood-soaked black hair.

The lights continue to flicker, growing in their frequency. Nam-gyu’s seen this sequence of events play out in his dreams before, but never to this intensity. Usually, by the time he reaches the body, he wakes up. This time, he stays stuck in his own mind, staring down at the corpse for what feels like eons, but can only be a few fleeting seconds.

Somehow, he’s fully aware that he’ll be unable to awaken until he identifies the body in front of him. But just as securely as he’s aware of this fact, he’s shaken with an all encompassing fear of what he’ll find if he lifts up the body's head and sees the expression waiting for him. There’s so much blood, much more than there usually is, and even though he knows it’s not real, the thought of touching it detests him.

He swivels his head and takes in his surroundings. As far as nightmares go, he supposes this could be worse. At least there's no pink-clothed masked guards chasing him down, clad with guns.

He thinks he hears the sound of weeping, somewhere far away. Or, is it screaming? He can’t quite tell.

It’s dreams like this that make him fear of the afterlife. If he can’t escape what he’s seen while alive, how will he possibly escape it in death? In the grand scheme of things, what did he do to deserve this, and how can he repent for something he can’t understand?

He needs to act quickly. He fears if he waits for too long he’ll be stuck here forever.

Nam-gyu kneels next to the corpse, his body seeming to move in slow motion, hesitant to carry out his own prompted actions. He feels no sorrow as he watches the blood seep from the person, and this is what disturbs him the most, even more so than the sight of the gore to begin with.

“He must have committed some sort of cardinal sin to end up like this,” a voice echoes in his head. He thinks the voice is supposed to belong to himself. But is it really, or is he just assuming it is?

‘He’ the voice says, though it’s impossible to tell if the body is female or male from looking at it from this angle. But, of course, Nam-gyu already knows who the body belongs to. He’s known from the beginning. He just didn’t want to admit it.

The corpse is him. The body that resides in front of him bears his own face and his own self. What does that make him, then? A mirrored reflection of something else? Is he the false image, or is the body in front of him the one that’s the copy? The blood that oozes from the body before him is his own, but it’s also someone else's. The semantics of it all jumble within Nam-gyu’s brain.

“I must have committed some sort of cardinal sin to end up like this,” Nam-gyu repeats, and he’s certain this time that the voice is his own.

– – –

Nam-gyu wakes up with tears streaming down his face. The action is acutely more terrifying than the dream itself. He can’t even remember the last time he cried.

His heart hammers profusely within his ribcage, pounding within his own body so aggressively that it almost hurts. He wipes the tears from his face in sharp, jolting movements, sniffling as he props himself into a sitting position. He’s covered in a light sheen of sweat, body trembling under the weight of his own mental imagery.

The bedside clock reads 2:07 AM. He knows that what he saw was nothing but a fabrication of his own thoughts, but the scent of blood still manages to linger. A phantom smell to pair along with his quickly beating heart and dampened face.

Nam-gyu hates crying. He deems the action as something reserved for those that are weak, a pathetic display for those that are below him. And yet, here he sits in bed, sniffling and wiping away tears like a child after their first nightmare.

He stumbles to his feet with a body-wracking shiver. His body feels numb, as if he just ran a marathon, and he tries to remind himself that surely it’s natural to feel the aftershocks of a fight via full-body aches. This is nothing new to him.

He can handle this.

That’s what Nam-gyu always says and always thinks, because of course he can handle the effects of one measly fight. He can handle pills sliding down his throat, he can handle injections piercing through his skin, he can handle any and every unsavory environment he’s thrown into.

He can, but he’s so tired of it. He’s exhausted at having to deal with whatever shitty hand of cards he’s given, even if oftentimes he’s the one dealing the cards to himself.

Nam-gyu heaves a shaky, weary sigh. He needs a cigarette.

He steps out of his room quietly, careful not to wake Thanos who he assumes is sleeping soundly on the couch. To his surprise, however, he finds Thanos awake and scrolling on his phone, bright light illuminating his features in the darkness of the living room. He’s shirtless again (as he almost always is at night), and he looks up with a start as he takes note of Nam-gyu’s stumbling form, eyebrows rising in surprise.

“You’re awake?” Nam-gyu asks, although the answer is staring him right in the face.

“Can’t sleep.” Thanos shrugs, eyeing him carefully. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Nam-gyu mumbles, leaning against the wall for support, knees shaking at the effort it takes to keep himself upright. His body feels weak, and his bruises pang with a stinging, unrelenting pain.

“Because you’re stumbling around like one of those baby deer who haven’t learned how to walk yet.”

“I just wanted to go out for a smoke. I can’t sleep.”

“You’re about to topple over.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sit down,” Thanos says, outstretching an arm in invitation. “Come on, dude. I’m bored as hell.”

“It’s two in the morning,” Nam-gyu trudges over with a relenting sigh. He sits to Thanos and lets their shoulders clunk next together, finding the featherlight touch to be a form of comfort in itself.

Thanos sets his phone to the side, glancing at Nam-gyu with a knowing look. “Bad dream?”

“Shit, is it that obvious?” Nam-gyu laughs blankly. “…Yeah, man. Bad dreams. Not like it’s anything new.”

“Same here.”

“Really?” Nam-gyu looks at him with an air of disbelief.

“What’s that look for? Nightmares aren’t some sort of uncommon phenomenon,” Thanos snorts.

He’s right, but Nam-gyu has always viewed Thanos as a man who’s above such things. Thanos is loud, boisterous, and unapologetically self-centered — the thought of him having nightmares and suffering from the similar feelings of panic that Nam-gyu himself does seems hard to imagine.

Not to say that he didn’t see flickers of unease come to fruition through Thanos, back when they were stuck in limbo between games, talking about nonsense and trading pills to get each other's minds off of the situation. Thanos put on a front of not caring, but every once and a while, Nam-gyu would watch the facade falter, flicker right before his eyes before returning back to what it once was. A blip in a performance.

Nam-gyu thinks that he and Thanos are much more similar than he originally thought.

He thinks back to when he first heard of Thanos, seeing his face plastered on poorly constructed posters advertising his performances. Bad font choice, odd coloring; a graphic designer's nightmare, really. Originally, Nam-gyu figured he was just another of many, a egotistical rapper who wanted fame despite not really deserving it.

His views had changed once he saw him on stage.

When Thanos became a regular at the club, Nam-gyu swooped in to become his glorified drug dealer with a quickness, snatching him up before any of his co-workers could get their hands on him. As far as he’s aware, Thanos hardly remembers any of their encounters before the games. While their short conversations are a bit of a blur in Nam-gyu’s own mind, he remembers how he’d examine himself in the club's bathroom mirrors before going to visit him, examining his face in the reflection, curving pieces of jet black hair behind his ears, making sure he looked presentable. Like a schoolboy with a silly crush.

He should’ve known then what he knows now. He’s been stuck in hypocrisy for so long — how much longer can he manage until it breaks him?

It’s almost baffling, looking back on it all. Such a fragile acquaintanceship taken and shaped into whatever this is between them now. A friendship. A living arrangement. A pair of men who have seen so much horror mirrored in each other's eyes.

Nam-gyu has tasted Thanos’ blood. Thanos has felt Nam-gyu’s fingers dig and wrap around his neck. A pendulum swings between them, slow and steady, purposeful in its movements. What’s next, Nam-gyu wonders?

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” he blurts out suddenly.

Thanos looks at him quizzically. “Where’d that come from?”

Nam-gyu rubs tiredly at his eyes. His filter is always so limited when he’s frazzled like this. “I just— I had a dream that I died, and it got me thinking about everything. About how close we both came to dying.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m glad you’re not dead. That’s all,” Nam-gyu finishes lamely, wishing he hadn’t said anything at all. He sounds like such a dork.

“You know, there was a point during Mingle where for a split second, I thought I’d lost sight of you,” Thanos muses quietly. “It scared the shit out of me, even through the haze of drugs.”

The admission is so softly spoken and so achingly honest that it leaves Nam-gyu reeling. “Really?”

“Yeah, man. Wouldn’t have been any fun without you.”

Nam-gyu’s heart stutters. He thinks back to his dream and the sight of his own battered body. The words, his words that had echoed throughout the area.

I must have committed some sort of cardinal sin to end up like this.

Thanos is ruefully beautiful. Nam-gyu has known this since the first time he laid eyes on him, but tonight the fact rests snugly in the forefront of his mind. Nam-gyu wants to plead with the man beside him to stop talking, because if any more fervent words of outspoken honesty are revealed, it’ll only worsen his own spiraling emotions. They aren't supposed to be honest with each other — that’s not a part of the rules laid out in their fleeting cat and mouse game.

In this scenario, the cat is about to pounce, and Nam-gyu is the mouse about to be eaten alive. “Please,” his brain thrums. “Please let it hurt, please let it linger, please let it overtake me completely.”

Though, there’s still ample time for him to skitter away, as most mice do. He can find a crook to hide in if he’s fast enough, and though the cowardice will humiliate him, the guilt will ebb.

Push, pull, push, pull. The pendulum swings.

How many bites of a mouse does a cat take before getting full and abandoning its carcass? Nam-gyu thinks this over carefully, because there’s nothing worse than the thought of being left behind half-consumed. If Thanos is the metaphorical cat, and he’s already full and satisfied, who’s to say he won’t dig his claws in and leave without eating him at all? This is an important factor to consider; if Nam-gyu doesn't get to feel a maw wrapping around his neck, he needs to run. He can’t be left for dead without reason.

But Nam-gyu is not a mouse, and Thanos is not a cat. They are only themselves, and the endless variables laid out in front of them is enough to leave Nam-gyu staggering.

Thanos looks at him silently, contemplatively, and waits for him to say something. Nam-gyu wants to take his face into the palm of his hands, to confess that without his company, he likely would have killed himself a mere day after he was thrown back into the shitty reality of his daily life. He wants to trail his fingertips across Thanos’ cheekbones, his collarbones, the expanse of his chest. He wants to trade positions — for him to be the cat, and for Thanos to be the mouse. He wants to devour him, and be devoured in turn. He wants to prove his devotion.

His wants flicker between animalistic and sickeningly sweet. He opens his mouth to say something, but words abandon him. He feels the same type of nervous shame he feels every time he passes a church or hears the words of an evangelical, a stifling emotion that lurks under the surface.

Nam-gyu teeters forward, the action so small that it’s barely noticeable at all. His eyes flit down to Thanos’ lips, and he wonders what it’d feel like to press a lingering, closemouthed kiss to his mouth and drink in the scent of him.

Nam-gyu lurches backwards so suddenly that it causes Thanos to jolt in surprise. But they’ve both seen this scenario play out before, and his actions shock neither of them. Nam-gyu heaves himself to his feet, dusting off his clothes as if wiping away his own thoughts. “I should go to bed.”

Thanos sighs. A soft, defeated noise. “Yeah. Sure.”

The cigarette that Nam-gyu was originally planning on heading out to smoke is forgotten, and Nam-gyu quickly makes his way to his room. The mouse turns and runs from its hunter.

Nam-gyu pauses. The mouse stalls.

“Do you,” Nam-gyu says, turning back towards where Thanos sits watchfully on the couch, “want to lay with me again tonight?”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep without you.” These are the words that go unsaid, but Nam-gyu hopes that his pleading gaze and softened tone is enough to get his point across.

“Sure,” Thanos says, almost before Nam-gyu is even able to get his whole sentence out. He stands to his feet in a hurry, as if worried that Nam-gyu will change his mind and retract the offer.

“It’s cold tonight,” Nam-gyu mumbles, a flimsy excuse.

“Want me to cuddle up to you?” Thanos jests. Nam-gyu gives him a long, probing look, and leaves it at that.

Nam-gyu lets Thanos get into bed first, watching him shuffle under covers gratefully. Nam-gyu settles in beside him, letting his body relax into the mattress with a quiet noise of relief. He feels far more peaceful with Thanos beside him, though he won’t be admitting so verbally.

“Goodnight,” Thanos murmurs, and Nam-gyu turns to give him another prolonged, purposeful stare. Thanos looks back at him in confusion. “...What?”

Nam-gyu makes a small sound of frustration; not at Thanos, but at his own inability to voice his thoughts. He reaches for one Thanos’ arms, ignoring the look of blatant bewilderment. Nam-gyu shuffles himself onto his side, face reddening, and clumsily places Thanos’ arm across his torso.

A beat of silence passes. Nam-gyu doesn't think he’s ever felt so humiliated by his own actions before.

“Oh,” Thanos says suddenly, voice strained. “You…you actually want to cuddle? Like, for real?”

“Nevermind–” Nam-gyu starts to say, already beginning the process of pushing Thanos off of him again due to pure embarrassment alone. But Thanos acts quicker, arms circling around his torso and pulling him in close, pressing Nam-gyu’s back flush against his chest. The sound Nam-gyu makes in response is so pathetically squeaky that he momentarily considers kicking Thanos out of bed altogether, just for the sake of his shattered dignity.

He does no such thing, of course, because mingled with the embarrassment is overwhelming solace. Having Thanos’ bare arms wrap around him so persistently is comforting, and Nam-gyu feels his muscles relax as Thanos nuzzles into the back of his neck.

Nam-gyu knows there will come a point where they’ll have to have a long, drawn out discussion about what their partnership has turned into. And he knows that, admittedly, he’ll likely flub the entire conversation due to his own deeply ingrained fear of abandonment and all-consuming shame. But right here, right now, he feels at peace, and that’s enough for him.

Notes:

Trippy dream sequences are my favorite!!!!

Chapter 15: Temperance

Notes:

This is where I start putting that smut tag to good use!

Also, I think this might be the shortest chapter yet. However ☝️ I have a reeeeaaaall hefty one coming up soon. So hopefully that makes up for it.

A muffled “good morning,” is murmured against the back of Nam-gyu’s neck, warm breath fanning over cold skin.

Morning sunlight trickles through a half-open window. The arms that encircle him pull him closer, squeezing around him in a silent plea of “don’t get up yet.”

Nam-gyu pushes back against warmth, letting himself sink further into heated comfort. He sighs in contentment, tranquility pulsing through him in slow, steady waves. Thanos nuzzles against him, persistently touchy, and Nam-gyu welcomes it entirely.

Is he allowed to feel this peaceful? …Surely something must be wrong, right?

“What time is it?” Thanos murmurs against his neck.

Nam-gyu squints at his bedside clock, fighting against the blurriness that always encroaches upon his sight after waking from sleep. “Mm…6:50.”

“Sleep good?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Best I’ve ever slept.” Thanos smiles sleepily against Nam-gyu’s skin. “I don’t know how I’m going to go back to sleeping on the couch after this, my boy. I'm addicted.”

“Addicted to what? The bed?” Nam-gyu snorts. “You can use it whenever. I don’t mind.”

He shouldn’t be offering his bed so freely. In fact, he should be cutting all of this off before it goes too far, before he grows accustomed to the feeling of arms wrapped securely around him.

Nam-gyu let’s his eyes drift closed as he disregards his own thoughts. The gentle lull of Thanos’ breathing against his back and the warmth of his body is enough to leave him in a syrupy state of dazed happiness.

“Ten more minutes,” Nam-gyu murmurs, “and then I’ll cook breakfast.”

A brief pause. “Not eggs this time, right?”

“…I’m putting extra shells in yours on purpose.”

“Hey!”

— — —

“Holy fuck, dude. You didn’t tell me the bruising was this bad.”

Nam-gyu leans idly against the kitchen counter as Thanos lifts up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing the purplish bruise that resides on his left shoulder. It looks worse than it feels, an angry shade of plum that spreads across a small expanse of his skin.

“I fell on my shoulder when Myung-gi pushed me off,” Nam-gyu explains, slightly embarrassed by the sudden attention. They’ve just finished breakfast; another dish of scrambled eggs, except with far less bits of shell this time around. He seems to be improving each time he cooks, which is a very small, but still impressive victory as far as Nam-gyu is concerned.

“Does it hurt?” Thanos asks, lightly poking the discolored patch of skin.

Nam-gyu grimaces. “It sure does when you prod at it like that.”

“...Whoops.”

“It’s not that bad,” Nam-gyu insists. He holds up his now unbandaged hand, wiggling his fingers as he shows off the state of the slice on his palm. “And, look. The cut’s already closing up.”

“Because of my masterful medicine-applying skills.” Thanos nods sagely.

“Right, of course,” Nam-gyu snickers. “Where would I be without you?”

The words are meant in jest, but end up coming out far too earnest for Nam-gyu’s liking. He clears his throat awkwardly, desperate to fill the silence with any noise besides his own sweetly-spoken words.

Sweet? No, that can’t be right. Nam-gyu isn't sweet. He’s tough, and intimidating, and–

“Hey, I never asked,” Thanos says suddenly, opening the fridge and peering inside. “How’d you come across that fucker, anyways? I mean, I know you found him in some random ass parking lot, but what were you out and about for?”

Fingers drum nervously against marble countertop, twitchy and nervous. Nam-gyu has been so caught up in the events of the fight that he nearly forgot the situation that occurred prior; his initiation of a hookup, and immediate retraction of his offer. Eyes looking up at him through long lashes, glossed lips pursed in confusion, waiting for an explanation of his lack of interest. She’d smelled so strongly of floral perfume he’d nearly sneezed.

“No reason,” Nam-gyu says, darting around the question. It’s easier this way — he has no want to explain his failed hookup attempt to Thanos. Preferably, he’d like to forget it ever happened at all.

Thanos gives up on his search for a drink and closes the fridge, looking back at him with a raised eyebrow. “You have no idea what you were out of the house for?”

“I don’t know,” he replies sharply, without sense.

“You don’t know?” Thanos repeats with a scoff. “What, you don’t want to tell me what you were up to?”

Yikes. This is, in fact, not easier than just telling him what he was doing straight out. Yet another blunder to add to his ever-growing list of mistakes. Nam-gyu scrubs a hand across his face with a sigh. “It’s stupid, okay? I was just visiting some girl.”

For a split second, Thanos reels back with an expression that seems awfully close to betrayal. But he steels himself quickly, and it leaves Nam-gyu wondering if he imagined the displayal of emotion to begin with. “Did you fuck her?”

“Huh?” Nam-gyu gawks at the blunt wording, eyebrows raising in surprise. “What does it matter?”

“You did, then,” Thanos says curtly, frustration evident. Frustration at what? What does it matter if Nam-gyu did or didn't have sex with someone?

(Though, if he found out Thanos was out sleeping with women, he’d feel pretty irked himself. But that’s only a reflection of his own feelings, the ones he pushes down and out of sight so persistently. So then, what does Thanos have to be upset about?)

“I didn’t, actually,” Nam-gyu corrects bitterly.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because I don’t fuck every single woman I lay my eyes on,” Nam-gyu gripes. The ‘unlike you’ goes unspoken, but it’s clear what he’s aiming at.

“So, you didn't initiate anything?”

“Jesus, man. What are you grilling me for?”

Thanos places his fingers on his temple in an exaggerated display of annoyance, eyes shut in indignation. “Nam-gyu.”

“What?” Nam-gyu presses, because while he knows Thanos is trying to allude to something, he can’t wrap his head around what.

Thanos reopens his eyes, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. His eyes narrow in irritation, gaze flitting across Nam-gyu’s face in hopes of some type of understanding. “Do you think I do this type of shit with just anyone?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nam-gyu asks slowly. He watches with wide eyes as Thanos strides toward him, bracing his hands on either side of the countertop, effectively pinning Nam-gyu in place.

“You know what I mean,” Thanos grits out, and a part of Nam-gyu knows that he’s right. They’ve tangled themselves into a plethora of sexually-charged predicaments, and there's no way for them to ignore that fact forever. No amount of persistent disregard will erase the taste of Thanos’ blood from Nam-gyu’s tongue, nor the way his throat felt constricting under his palms. “You just aren't acting on it.”

Of course Nam-gyu isn't acting on it — he can’t. He can hardly accept the fact that he desires Thanos in the first place, and as much as he wants to pursue him, he’s not sure if he’ll be able to clear his own mental hurdles that stop himself from doing so.

Nam-gyu braces his hands on Thanos’ shoulders, feeling the way his muscles flex under his fingertips as he leans closer. He’s elated by the fact that Thanos seems to want this as much as he does, but he still refuses to let himself press their lips together. Once he leaps forward, he’ll be unable to go back; a devotee seeing the light of God for the first time. Unforgettable, unshakeable. An entire life being altered in a matter of seconds.

Nam-gyu doesn't believe in any form of a God, but as he looks at Thanos, who stares back at him with such unhidden desire, he thinks he understands the aspect of devotion. For Thanos, he’d be more than willing to drop to his knees and worship.

Fingers tremble against tense shoulders. Nam-gyu isn’t used to feeling like this, and ever since he was a child, it’s been drilled into his head that these sorts of emotions are never to be acted upon. Sinful, wrong, abnormal.

But, what can possibly be wrong with what’s unfolded between them? In the gaze of Thanos, a man who’s seen the same horrific imagery he has, Nam-gyu thinks he’s more devoted than any religious person could ever dream of being.

“Tell you what, Nam-gyu,” Thanos says, once Nam-gyu’s inaction goes on for just long enough to be considered agonizing. “You met with that girl to hook up with her, right? Even if you didn’t actually end up doing so?”

Nam-gyu opens his mouth to deny it, but he can’t bring himself to lie. It feels like all he does these days is speak mistruths. He can’t take it anymore.

“Why don’t I do you a favor?” Thanos muses, a gracious offering from a deity to a devotee. “Why don’t I leave some marks on your neck? That way the next time you go see her, it’ll make her jealous. There’s nothing that spurs a person on more than jealousy, Nam-gyu.”

Nam-gyu takes note of not only the purposeful wording, but also the continued usage of his actual name. Thanos seems to have dropped the constant miswording. Nam-gyu supposes he must’ve choked it into his memory.

They’ve reverted back into playing pretend out of pure desperation alone. Nam-gyu knows that he’ll never seek out that girl again, and Thanos surely knows that his suggestion is a blatant cover-story for seeking more contact. Nam-gyu doesn't care about the semantics of it all — all he knows is that he wants Thanos’ lips on his neck more than anything, and he’ll take any opportunity to get it.

…Any opportunity except for asking outright, that is.

“Okay,” Nam-gyu says breathlessly. Accepting an offer isn't the same as directly requesting it, and his brain deems this an understandable course of action to take.

“You want me to?” Thanos reiterates, giving him ample time to back out. “You want me to suck hickeys into your neck?”

Nam-gyu nods rapidly. “Please.”

Thanos wastes no more time. He moves his hands off of the countertop and settles them onto Nam-gyu’s hips, grabbing persistently. Nam-gyu holds his breath as Thanos dips his head downwards, tufts of purple hair trailing against Nam-gyu’s jaw as an open mouth meets a supple neck. All troubles leave them completely; there’s nothing more for them to think of than this.

There’s no sound that Nam-gyu can pinpoint except his own heavy breathing and the wet, slick sound of tongue dragging across skin. Their hips press flush together as Thanos laps and sucks at a spot near the curvature of Nam-gyu’s neck, his mouth working tirelessly. Nam-gyu drags one of his hands through Thanos’ hair, pawing mindlessly at strands of purple. The action earns him a contented hum from the rapper, who begins to trail teasing, soft bites along the baseline of his neck.

If Thanos were to take this opportunity to sink his teeth into his throat and tear out his windpipe, Nam-gyu would die rapturous.

Nam-gyu whimpers at a particularly harsh bite, fingers tightening reflexively in Thanos’ hair. The contact wrenches a muffled moan from Thanos, mumbling a string of obscenities against reddened skin.

“Oh, god,” Nam-gyu moans, voice quiet and pleading as Thanos works his way up to his jaw, nipping at sensitive skin. “Thanos—”

One of the hands positioned snugly on Nam-gyu’s hips travel upwards, ringed fingers tugging at sleek, black hair. Thanos pulls Nam-gyu’s head back, displaying his neck in full. He drags one long, lingering lick along his throat, pulling back once he reaches his chin.

“Thanos,” Nam-gyu murmurs again, whining as firm kisses are pressed against his jawline. “Fuck…”

Nam-gyu has put forth so much effort into blocking out thinking of Thanos in any sort of romantic or sexual manner. It’s been absurdly difficult, but he’s managed well enough for the most part. …Sort of. But right now, ignoring his own thoughts is entirely impossible. The way Thanos handles him feels like something close to adoration, like taking a bite of something he’s been dreaming of eating for years. Chewing carefully, savoring the taste.

Right now, all Nam-gyu wants is to be taken in his entirety. He wants Thanos more than anything, needs him in a manner he can’t possibly put into coherent words. No amount of denial will ever change the truth.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Thanos shifts upwards, murmuring heated words into the shell of Nam-gyu’s ear. Teeth graze against his earlobe, biting against skin.

“Please,” Nam-gyu babbles, begging for nothing in particular and everything at once. He’s not used to begging — what should be guilt curls deep inside his gut, but it’s something far different. Something searing, addicting. Nam-gyu wants to feel more of it, and he knows that Thanos is the only one who can deliver it onto him.

“Please what?” Thanos pulls away, tilting Nam-gyu’s head back down, seeking eye contact. Nam-gyu trembles under a full gaze, feeling more vulnerable than he ever has with anyone. It’s invigorating, terrifying, and unfathomably, intensely arousing.

“Use your words, Nam-gyu.”

Their noses bump together, breath ghosting each other's lips. There’s hundreds of things Nam-gyu wants to say, but can’t. He wants to plead with Thanos to keep saying his name, that way he can etch it into his memory, a permanent fixture. He wants to beg Thanos to strip him bare and fuck him without restraint, right against the kitchen counter. He wants Thanos to kiss him breathless, to swallow his moans and lick into his mouth.

Nam-gyu is achingly hard, his cock pressing persistently against the confines of his boxers. He ought to feel embarrassed for getting so worked up over some simple foreplay, but he can feel Thanos’ own hardened dick pressing against him in tandem, and there’s hardly anything he can feel except dizzying desire.

Nam-gyu is overcome with the want to pray, to clasp his hands together and display unwavering devotion to the man in front of him. “You are my religion,” he wants to say. “You are my definition of God. You’re beautiful, you’re everything, I need you to make me feel whole.”

“Use your words,” Thanos had said, but how can Nam-gyu possibly begin to verbalize the extent of his passion when he can barely manage to wrap his own head around it inwardly? Nam-gyu makes a noise of despair, bucking his hips forward eagerly.

He can feel, just barely through the cloth of their jeans, the slow and purposeful drag of their hardened lengths against each other. Their clothes serve as a barrier, one of many things that barricade them from the bare vulnerability that they truly seek. Thanos lets his eyes flutter shut, his hold on Nam-gyu’s hair tightening as he lets out a soft, keening noise. His face is flushed a pleasant shade of red, and his lips are slicked with spit.

A pendulum swings. Of course it is — it’s always swinging, and it has been since they first laid eyes on each other. Now, all Nam-gyu has to do is push himself forward and connect their lips, to take what he so desperately wants.

He stays rooted in place, squirming persistently under Thanos’ touch. He wants more contact, but refuses to make any real move to initiate it; even after everything that’s occurred, there’s still a part of him that fears the worst. He can’t stand the thought of being abandoned.

“Tell me you want me,” Thanos insists, voice trembling. His eyes reopen, probing and sharp. “Say it out loud.”

I want you, I want you, I want you — his body thrums with it, displays it in every lingering touch and gasping noise. But Thanos wants to hear it verbally, auditory evidence of his feelings, even while pressed flush together like this.

“I can’t,” Nam-gyu says, voice cracking with unconcealed misery. Speaking it aloud will only lead to his damnation, destroying the very last wall that he’s so carefully constructed. “Please, Thanos–”

But he’s already begun to pull away, and the moment is severed in two. All contact is lost as Thanos retracts himself, stepping backwards with a sigh. To Nam-gyu, the action feels akin to a knife straight to the heart, unrelenting in its descent.

“I’ll wait until you can, then,” Thanos says gruffly, pointedly avoiding his gaze.

Something close to frenzy consumes him. He attempts, rather pathetically, to conjure up some form of defense, a reason as to why he can’t verbally announce the truth of his own feelings. But he’s left repeatedly opening and closing his mouth in silence, a gaping fish left stranded out of water.

Everything fizzles to nothing in a matter of seconds. Thanos leaves quickly and keeps his head craned downwards, as if unable to look at him. Nam-gyu is left alone in the kitchen, fingers dazedly trailing across his marked, spit-slicked neck, consumed by his own silence.

Nam-gyu realizes too late that his refusal to admit his own feelings is what has damned him, and not the other way around.

Notes:

Okay chat. I’ve been ruminating about these upcoming chapters a lot because I really, desperately want to display their sexual encounters in a certain way, and if I fail to capture it in the exact manner that I’m aiming to I think I might actually explode and cry and sob all over. So. What I’m saying here is that I’m really pouring my all into this.

Now I’m sure you must be thinking, “hey man why are you so fixated on the porn aspect of this when you’re literally 50k words into this damn story” and to that I say. Well I actually started writing all of this in the first place bc I wanted to write them fucking crazy style and figured the only way I could accurately display the acute sense of yearning between them is if I had an expansive buildup to it. So I feel like it’s my duty to display it exactly how I’m imagining it in my mind. In other words, I’m VERY locked in.

Also — if you’re throwing your hands up in frustration or clutching at your head in dismay and saying phrases such as “noooo namgyu you idiot noooo aughhhh!!!” after his hundredth act of denial — do not fear! All misunderstandings will end up being resolved eventually and I would like to once again ensure you that this DOES have a happy ending ^_^ communication is vital and they WILL end up communicating! <3

Okay enough yapping on my part and more frotting am I right or am I right!!! ..sorry. Damn. I need to relax.

Chapter 16: The Devil

Notes:

The next chapter is the hefty one I’ve been referring to hehehe…also check the tags bc they have been updated!

(and here’s another quick warning that the next two chapters in particular are very sexually explicit!)

Inaction plagues them for days.

They trade bland small-talk over meals, but their conversations are short and clipped. Questions offered to fill the silence, despite both parties already knowing the answers.

“Have you found a job yet?” “No.”

“Come across any good, cheap dealers?” “No.”

“Think of any lyrics?” “No.”

Oftentimes, Thanos refuses to even look in his direction. The lack of attention makes Nam-gyu wilt, but apparently the emotional equivalent of his body rotting from the inside out isn’t enough to drag the truth from his lips. His words stay lodged in his diaphragm. He wonders how much time will pass until it chokes him.

He catches himself staring at Thanos often, examining his face when the other isn’t looking. He drinks in the sight of him as if afraid he’ll disappear right before his eyes, but each time Thanos turns to meet his persistent gaze, Nam-gyu jolts his head in the opposite direction.

He also spends a hefty amount of time examining his own neck in the mirror, trailing fingertips against the reddened marks that are situated along his skin. Like right now, for instance, as he stands in the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips. The shower runs behind him, ready and waiting for him to step inside, but Nam-gyu remains standing rigidly in front of the mirror, eyes glued to the marks that adorn him.

A nasty, purplish bruise on his shoulder, and pinkish red bite marks along his collarbone. One mark made in violence, the others in passion. He presses his fingers against bite marks and wishes that the teeth indents could mar his skin forever.

Warm water rushes against shivering skin. It’s been three days exactly since their encounter; Nam-gyu knows this fact well, because it’s all he’s managed to think about since the event occured. Each hour is deemed another stretch of time left being untouched, a string of meaningless seconds strung together.

Needless to say, Thanos has reverted back to sleeping on the couch.

What makes the situation so frustrating is that the ball has been left entirely in Nam-gyu’s court. Thanos has openly admitted that he’ll wait for Nam-gyu to make up his mind, and while the waiting game seems to have left Thanos in a similar state of disarray, there’s nothing left for him to do. It’s Nam-gyu’s turn to act, and if he decides on inaction, then stagnation will be the only thing left for them.

Nam-gyu scrubs strawberry shampoo into his hair. The scent reminds him of Thanos, which only furthers his ever-growing misery.

Why is speaking such a difficult endeavor for him? Why does he struggle so intensely to say things that are so simple? A multitude of phrases would work — all he has to do is open his mouth and say them.

“I like you.” Childish, bland, doesn’t get his point across as well as he’d like to.

“I want you.” Truthful, but he wants to make it clear that he’s not only seeking Thanos in a sexual manner. He doesn’t want a one-time fling. He wants something lasting.

“I need you.” Very upfront, but isn’t that coming across too strong?

“Please be mine.” Hell no! What is he, a cheap Valentine’s Day card?

Nam-gyu thunks his head against the wall, water streaming down him in torrents. He’s really not cut out for this sort of thing.

Thanos never seems to have any issues with matters of flirtation and confession. He flirts with nearly every woman he comes across — another factor that makes this whole situation so confusing. Thanos said he’d wait for him, but he has so many options at his fingertips. Of everyone to wait for, why wait for Nam-gyu?

His face heats up as he recalls Thanos’ phone call with his mother, his quietly spoken admission. “I like him.” So simple. So sweet.

Thanos isn’t the type of man that many would describe as sweet. Nam-gyu bumps his head against the wall again out of pure frustration alone; not incredibly hard, of course. It’d be sort of awkward if he walked out of the shower with a goose-egg sized bump on his forehead.

Nam-gyu’s own fluctuating emotions certainly don’t help. One second he’s accepting the fact that he likes Thanos, wanting him in both a romantic and sexual sense, and the next second he’s plunging himself back into denial, an inner voice circulating in his head that surely he must be misunderstanding himself.

As if getting a hard-on and rutting against a clothed cock isn’t enough evidence. Fuck. Nam-gyu is starting to hate his own brain more than anything else on the planet.

On the topic of hard-ons, Nam-gyu is getting one just due to recalling the interaction for a few fleeting seconds. Damn. He knows he’s pent up, but this is just embarrassing.

Nam-gyu closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. His forehead still remains set against the wall, resembling something like a main character in a drama show ruminating the meaning of life and death, instead of the reality of the situation; a twenty-seven year old man trying not to cream himself over the thought of his own roommate sucking hickeys against his neck.

He lets his hand dip downwards, taking hold of his slowly hardening cock as he lets out a shaky, unstable breath. If Thanos were here, how would he touch him?

It’s a dangerous line of thought to travel down, a fantasy that he’s never allowed himself to indulge in before. If he starts thinking, really thinking about what it’d be like to have sex with Thanos, he could very easily lose all sense of self-restraint and find himself bumbling his way out of the shower and outright begging Thanos to take him.

…Well, that seems a bit dramatic, actually. But his general point still stands.

Maybe it’s better if he frames this as a test. Right, of course, a test! He’s testing himself to see if his feelings for Thanos are true and palpable or some sort of inner glitch, miscalculation, misunderstanding. He wraps his palm (the one without the cut on it, because while the wound is healing up well enough, he has a feeling that jacking off with it probably isn’t the best idea in the world) fully around his dick, giving a few slow, careful pumps. A test. That’s all this is. This is completely fine. A totally understandable course of action.

…What the hell is he doing? More specifically, what the hell is he thinking? He already knows the answer to all of this. He knows his own feelings and he knows that this is all some sort of weird inner struggle to nudge himself into jacking off to the thought of Thanos without guilt.

Why is everything always about guilt? He’s so tired of feeling so fucking guilty about every single action he takes. He should feel more guilty about trying to kill a guy then wanting to be fucked by one, shouldn’t he? Who is it that wired his brain so poorly?

Guilt and shame pile on top of each other for the wrong reasons and at the wrong times until it chokes its victim and strikes them dead. Nam-gyu has seen this happen many times; as a child, he noticed this phenomenon very often at the church his mother dragged him to. He watched adults scurry about with their hands clasped together and their heads craned upwards, pleading for forgiveness over things that don’t require apology, and they’d leave thinking that such extreme, palpable fear is normal. Because everyone fears being alive, don’t they? Everyone fears what happens after death. Everyone fears their own actions, their own brains, and their own fragile bodies, no matter how desperately they try to convince themselves they don’t.

Nam-gyu thinks it’s all a load of shit. He furrows his eyebrows, heat curling in his abdomen. He has many things to feel ashamed of in his life. Cruel words spoken to cowering expressions. Pushing others to their deaths in order to save himself. Hands gripping at shaky shoulders, whispering cruel words into the ear of a man who reminds him of an exaggerated version of himself when he’s not high off drugs. “Press O, okay? All you have to do is press O. Press O or I’ll fucking kill you, and I swear I’ll make it hurt.”

There’s so many things that he’s done that should cause him guilt. His feelings for Thanos don’t qualify as one of them.

Acceptance is bestowed upon him like a gentle caress. Nam-gyu lets out a small sound of relief, the noise drowned out by the drone of water. The phantom hand that’d been gripping so persistently onto his thoughts, tight and unrelenting, eases its hold on him. The guilt and shame ebb, carefully slinking away as Nam-gyu comes to terms with the fact that their presence is unnecessary, and has been for a long while now.

His palm drags slowly against his erect cock. His eyelids flutter and his breathing quickens as he allows himself to imagine how Thanos would handle him in bed, openly and without further hesitance.

Nam-gyu has had sex with a plethora of women before, but never a man. Having sex with Thanos would be a step into completely uncharted territory, and he’d likely have to be walked through it like a bumbling virgin. Would Thanos guide him gently, or fuck him without restraint?

Has Thanos ever had sex with a man before? If he has, he’s never mentioned it. Nam-gyu squirms under his own shaky palm at the thought of Thanos in bed with a guy besides himself, positioning him on his knees, sliding into him with a needy groan—

Ugh. He doesn’t want to think about Thanos with anyone but him. Nam-gyu has always had a possessive streak, and it always rears its head viciously when it comes to Thanos. It’s no surprise, looking back on it, why he hated both Se-mi and Min-su so intensely. Flirting so brazenly with Se-mi and calling Min-su cute all in the same five minute timespan…even thinking back on it makes him nauseous.

He reroutes his thoughts — how would Thanos treat him in bed specifically? Nam-gyu assumes he’d want to be in charge, considering he likes to be the leader in every other aspect of his life. Nam-gyu’s never been submissive in bed, and in any other scenario, he doubts such a thing would appeal to him. But if it’s Thanos, he thinks he’d like to be manhandled. He’d welcome the act of wandering hands, ringed fingers gripping at his hair and pushing his face into a pillow, touching him with blatant desire.

Nam-gyu recalls the feeling of Thanos’ voice in his ear, how sultry his tone had sounded after sinking his teeth into his neck. Is he talkative during sex? Knowing Thanos, Nam-gyu is sure the things he says during the act must be fucking filthy, murmuring all sorts of sinful remarks into the crook of a neck or shell of an ear.

Nam-gyu fastens his pace, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he bites his lip to muffle a moan. He’s not the type to cry during either sex or masturbation — he really isn’t. If he ever caught himself getting even remotely teary eyed while fucking a girl, he’d probably have to take himself out afterwards out of pure mortification alone. He doesn’t cry in general, let alone due to sexual pleasure.

Except for right this instant, apparently. He’ll just blame it on the water from the shower. Besides, getting teary-eyed and outright crying are two very different things. Still, how embarrassing…

Damn, he’s getting off track. He needs to refocus.

He has a hard time imagining Thanos being vanilla in bed. Not that Nam-gyu would mind if he was. Though, with the way Thanos jokes about things, it often seems like his words aren’t meant fully in jest. Even his dumbass sex toy commentary — he’d made it pretty clear that he’s dabbled in that area.

“What, you’ve never used a sex toy before? Never ever?”

Never ever is right. Nam-gyu likes to consider himself an experienced man, but he’s never really felt the need for sex toys when he has a hand that works perfectly well, and none of his past partners ever took any interest in them either, so it never seemed all that important to him. How wide of a variety has Thanos tried?

Has Thanos used a dildo before? Has he ridden one? Now that’s a drool-worthy thought. Maybe he’s into the vibrating ones, too. Fuck.

Nam-gyu’s quickly approaching a high he didn’t even know existed prior to this exact moment. Holy shit — if he knew jacking off to the thought of Thanos would get him off like this, he would have indulged himself much sooner.

He quickens his pace, poorly stifling a moan. He’s being too careless with his noises, but he can’t be bothered to care. God, it feels so good. In the back of his mind, he hopes Thanos has gotten off to the thought of him before. He hopes that when Thanos touches himself, the only thing he thinks of is him.

The water is warm, but the feeling building in his gut is far more heated.

The thought of Thanos — cocky, arrogant, always-in-charge Thanos — riding a dildo and moaning like a slut is an absolutely wonderful fantasy. An even better one, Nam-gyu thinks as his brain dazedly switches from one scene to the next, is the thought of Thanos owning a pair of those stupid, fuzzy pink handcuffs. The type of shit that people see in cheap, corny pornos where the actors moan too loud and the production has a budget that’s clearly close to zero. Fuzzy pink handcuffs…fuck, what has Nam-gyu’s life come too? The thought of Thanos pinning his hands up, cuffing him to the bedpost and fucking him relentlessly is enough to make Nam-gyu start gripping for purchase where there is none on a water-slicked wall, whining and whimpering as he bucks into his own hand. Maybe he’d even pretend to lose the key and leave him covered in cum for a while, writhing and chained up. Thanos, always so intent on teasing, would keep up the act for a stupidly long amount of time, and Nam-gyu would love every second of it.

The wet, squelching sound of him rutting into his own hand is embarrassingly loud and impossible to muffle, and somehow, this only spurs him on further. He thinks back to how diligently Thanos had bobbed his mouth along the digits of Nam-gyu’s fingers, lapping up a mixture of blood and spit, cheeks hollowing with practiced ease. He’d look so good on his knees, his mouth wrapped around Nam-gyu’s cock.

The buildup is quick, almost startlingly so. In a frenzied attempt to replicate the feeling of some part of Thanos being shoved down his throat (fingers exploring an open mouth, or maybe a cock being guided past plush lips), Nam-gyu takes his free hands and shoves his fingers in his mouth. The last time he did this while getting himself off, his fingers were still covered in blood and saliva, but he’d still refused to let himself actually think about Thanos as he touched himself.

This time, of course, is very obviously different. He gags against his water-slicked fingers and imagines Thanos snorting a line of coke clean off of his back and then fucking him raw. He imagines Thanos kissing him tenderly and holding him close, whispering sweet nothings into his ear like a cliché, cheesy lover. He imagines Thanos bending him over in front of every girl he’s ever been with as visual proof that nobody can take him as good as Nam-gyu can.

He imagines a great number of things in quick succession — he didn’t even know he was capable of thinking about this many sexual situations at once, really. It makes him feel sort of depraved. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life.

He wrenches his fingers out of his mouth when the orgasm finally hits him, spit trailing down his chin as he spills across his fingers with Thanos’ name on his lips. It’s more of a sob than a moan, a noise filled with an almost egregious level of desperation. Nam-gyu refuses to acknowledge the fact that the water dripping down his face is too searingly hot to be from the shower head water.

He breathes heavily, stumbling in the aftershocks of pleasure. His chest heaves, his hand shakes, his body is flushed. Whatever this was, it feels akin to a type of religious awakening.

The water overhead has turned cold. Nam-gyu has forgotten, momentarily, how astoundingly thin the walls are.

Notes:

In my little layout doc thingy I had this chapter labeled “the masturbation chapter” as a joke, so when I was transferring this over to ao3 from my docs I put that as the chapter title for laughs as I was editing. Surprise surprise — I almost accidentally uploaded this fuckass chapter with the literal title being “masturbating chapter lol”. Dude. Imagine. Imagine if that actually went through without me noticing. Actually mortifying. I made an actual verbal, high-pitched noise of horror when I almost uploaded it w/ that as the title name. My body literally jolted in pure panic, had me jumping out of my chair like a cartoon character and shit.

Anyways. I hope you’re all having a swell day today! Shoutout to Nam-gyu for having such a…vivid imagination!

Chapter 17: The Tower

Notes:

Spent an hour writing for this chapter and then decided I didn’t like it, deleted the whole thing and restarted it. oh my great heavens dude.

Also I finished s3 and like. dude. What on earth even….yk what let me just hold my tongue -_-

Nam-gyu stumbles out of the shower feeling more alive than he has in years.

It’s sort of funny, really. He thought he’d need to kill Myung-gi to feel something, but it’s starting to seem like all he needed was a particularly good orgasm.

He stares at himself in the foggy mirror, hands gripping harshly against the countertop. His hair sticks to his forehead in damp strands, the marks on his neck are as vivid as ever, and his eyes blown wide with an uncalled for frenzy. Allowing himself to think about Thanos in such an explicit manner has only increased his want tenfold, and brought forth his already deep-seated emotions to the surface. The amount of desire he feels is almost stifling.

Thanos had said he’d wait until Nam-gyu could verbally admit to wanting him. Thanos, the most impatient fucker Nam-gyu has ever met, is willing to wait for him.

Nam-gyu takes a deep, unsteady breath. He’s a fool for having waited so long in the first place. If he’s sent to hell for wanting to feel the touch of another man, for wanting to feel Thanos’ mouth pressed persistently against his own, then he thinks that burning will be worth it.

He’s wearing nothing but a towel hung loosely against his hips, he just came across his hand about fifteen minutes ago, and frankly, he looks a little bit unhinged. Nam-gyu’s heard stories that people who claim to have ’seen the light’ after a near death experience often look fairly crazed. Perhaps something similar has occurred to him.

Except, unlike the recounts of strangers, Nam-gyu knows that this is real. He wants Thanos more than anything, and after what’s just occured, he’s more than willing to voice this fact.

“Thanos?” Nam-gyu calls out as he makes his way out of the bathroom, striding into the living room so quickly that he nearly trips over his own feet. “Hyung, are you busy?”

Thanos is situated on the couch, as he always is, and his eyes wander over to Nam-gyu slowly as he enters the room. He seems distracted, and it appears that he’s been staring off at nothing before Nam-gyu came in.

When Thanos’ eyes do land on him, though, his gaze lingers. He’s ogling, for a lack of better words, looking him up and down carefully, as if trying to memorize each curve of the bare skin that’s available for him to see. Nam-gyu flushes under the intensity of his gaze — damn, this guy couldn’t be more obvious if he tried. It makes Nam-gyu want to pounce him and eat him alive.

…He needs to relax.

“How’d your shower go?” Thanos asks slowly, face flushed a pleasant shade of red. It’s at this moment precisely Nam-gyu realizes that, due to the egregiously thin walls, Thanos likely heard each muffled whine and moan he made against the tiled wall of the shower, bucking into his own hand like a fucking horndog.

“Fine.” Nam-gyu shrugs sharply. “It was…it was fine. Look, we need to talk.”

“Right now?” Thanos asks, lingering on the towel slowly edging dangerously low along Nam-gyu’s hips. “I‘m certainly not complaining about the view, my boy, but—“

“You said you’d wait until I could admit it, right?” Nam-gyu interrupts. He’s overcome with a sharp, sudden feeling that if he doesn’t force the words out now, he’ll sit and overthink and mess everything up before it’s even started. He needs to get his feelings out while he still clings to them so openly, and he needs to do so quickly. He’s painfully afraid of his guilt reappearing and destroying what he wants. “You could have anyone, Thanos. I see the way girls look at you when we’re out together, and I remember the way they fawned at you back at the club. Your options are practically fucking endless. Why are you waiting?”

Thanos blinks at him in surprise, mouth agape. Nam-gyu offers his heart to him on a silver platter, and waits patiently for him to consume it whole.

“…I’m waiting because you’re you.”

The phrase can be interpreted a number of different ways, but no matter what angle Nam-gyu perceives it in, the affection lacing the words leave him staggering.

Nam-gyu trudges on. He needs to dump his thoughts out before his walls build their way back up. “I thought that killing Myung-gi would make me feel something. But I tried, and I felt nothing. The only thing that made me feel anything was when my hands were wrapped around your throat. You were so warm, so beautiful, and for the seconds that passed where I squeezed my fingers against your neck, I finally felt alive. I didn’t know it was possible for me to feel like that.”

He strides forward until he stands in front of Thanos, looming over him from where he sits on the couch. Wide eyes stare up at him in awe, adoration. It feels like their roles have switched, or perhaps just momentarily shifted, and as Nam-gyu takes Thanos’ face in his hands and keeps his gaze held firmly upwards, he wonders if this is what it feels like for a devotee to stand above a deity. “I want you. I should’ve said that a while ago.”

Hands travel upwards to grip aimlessly at hips, ringed fingers digging against bare skin. Thanos keeps his head tilted upwards and his eye contact steady, licking his lips in eager anticipation. “Why didn’t you?”

“…I’m not used to feeling like this towards men,” Nam-gyu answers honestly, thumbs rubbing circles along cheekbones. “Towards anyone, really. I don’t believe in hell, but if I end up being sent there for this, it’ll be worth it.”

“You’re not gonna burn in hell just for liking me,” Thanos scoffs, pulling him closer. Nam-gyu keeps his hands firmly placed on Thanos’ face as his chin rests on navel, nuzzling against any patch of bare skin he can find. “…You do like me, right?”

Nam-gyu laughs lightly. There’s a slight insecurity to his tone that seems unfitting for the persona that Thanos displays. “I figured that was obvious. I’ll be expecting moonlit dinners and fancy bouquets, okay?”

“Okay,” Thanos says seriously, though the words are clearly said in jest. “Of course, baby. Anything.”

The pet name has a far greater effect on him than he’d like to admit. He shudders, biting down on his lip to stifle a sound that he’s sure must be awfully embarrassing. The hands that trail along his hips move deftly to grab shamelessly at his ass as Thanos presses a lingering kiss to Nam-gyu’s navel.

“I want— fuck, Thanos, I need you,” Nam-gyu murmurs.

“What do you want me to do?” Thanos blinks up at him sweetly, though he’s already well aware of the answer.

“I want you inside me,” Nam-gyu says bluntly, the words heavy on his tongue. He waits for the familiar wave of shame to overcome him, but it doesn’t come. Like a newly formed evangelical, he needs this more than anything. “I want…”

He trails off. The next words, for whatever reason, seem substantially more embarrassing.

“Want what?” Thanos asks. Nam-gyu drops his hands from the sides of his face, and Thanos takes the opportunity to stumble to his feet.

I want you to kiss me.

It feels silly, asking for something so simple, something they’ve both done with others a vast multitude of times. Nam-gyu reaches a hand up and trails his thumb across Thanos’ lips, slow and steady.

I want you to love me.

Nam-gyu brings himself closer, stopping just as their noses bump together. He keeps his eyes locked on Thanos’ corneas, examining the way his pupils dilate, the jittery movement of his eyes. What’s that saying, again? Eyes are the gateway to the soul?

“I want you to stay,” Nam-gyu confesses softly.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

The kiss is tender, far more gentle than Nam-gyu could ever think up in his head, and the hands that had been so blatantly feeling him up mere seconds ago now reside softly against Nam-gyu’s back, pulling him closer. Nam-gyu settles his hands on his shoulders and lets his mouth drop open slightly, giving easy access for entry.

Thanos licks into his mouth slowly, taking his time to explore every crevice of Nam-gyu’s mouth that he can gain access to. Nam-gyu’s kissed plenty of people before, but never like this — he’s used to fast-paced kisses given during hasty one-night stands. This is nothing of the sort. This is long-lasting, each drag of their tongues a deliberate action made to feel more of the other. Thanos’ tongue explores his mouth without restraint, trailing along the top of his mouth, the rows of his teeth, the inside of his cheeks. Nam-gyu’s never been kissed so thoroughly before, and he’s sure his whines and whimpers prove testament to it.

Thanos bites the bottom of his lip before pulling back completely, earning a groan from Nam-gyu. “So noisy,” he comments with a smirk. “I fucking love it, my boy.”

Without further comment, Thanos dips his head downward, mouthing persistently at the expanse of his neck. Though this is the second time he’s been privy to Thanos’ teeth nipping at his throat, it’s not any less alluring.

“Gotta mark you up real good,” Thanos grunts against his neck, “to take away from the bruise that fucker MG Coin left on you.”

The surge of possessiveness, though slightly nonsensical, only makes the pooling warmth in Nam-gyu’s abdomen grow larger. Thanos’ hands glide persistently along bare skin, groping at anything he can lay his palms on. Appreciative squeezes, pressing against him and pulling him closer — each action is more heated than the last, and Nam-gyu drinks in every touch like a man who fears he’ll never taste again.

“Thanos,” Nam-gyu groans at a particularly harsh bite, digging his nails against Thanos’ shoulder blades and relishing the shudder it earns him in response. “The bed…”

“Want me to take you to bed? How many times have you imagined me fucking you into your bedsheets, huh?” Thanos murmurs against his skin, a self-satisfied smile gracing his features. “Do you touch yourself to the thought of me often? Or was today just a spur of the moment thing?”

“Fuck,” Nam-gyu curses, rubbing a hand down his reddended face. He was hoping his slip-up would be disregarded without notice. “Hyung, please-”

“Nothing to be shy about. It was sexy!”

“…Why am I the only one without clothes on?” Nam-gyu redirects with a mutter, tugging at Thanos’ shirt with a noise of desperation. “C’mon…take it off.”

“So fucking hot when you’re needy like this,” Thanos murmurs. Instead of relenting, he chooses to grab onto Nam-gyu’s arm and drag him towards the hallway. “And, for the record, the towel counts as a clothing item. Let’s get you in bed first, okay?”

The random spurts of broken English only serve to endear Nam-gyu further. He lets himself be tugged down the hallway between wandering hands and hushed giggles, like a couple of highschoolers sneaking away from supervision.

Nam-gyu lets Thanos push him against the bed with steady hands, his back arching against covers as Thanos dips his fingers under the waistline of the towel, pulling persistently. “Can I?”

Nam-gyu nods rapidly, watching with lidded eyes as Thanos pulls the towel loose, tugging it off of him with trembling hands. There’s another layer of vulnerability for Nam-gyu now, being the only one between them to be completely nude — while Nam-gyu’s erect cock is on full display, Thanos still wears a shirt and sweatpants. Too much skin being covered, Nam-gyu thinks.

Thanos seems entirely unfocused on his own state of coverage, and far more busy ogling at Nam-gyu’s body splayed underneath him. He makes no effort to hide his stares, examining each curve and dip of Nam-gyu’s body with careful concentration. Nam-gyu jolts as Thanos drags a finger along the base of his cock, slow and teasing.

“Thanos,” Nam-gyu pleads, “please-”

“I want to take my time with you,” Thanos says, giving the meat of Nam-gyu’s thigh a squeeze at the frustrated whine it earns him in response. “There’s no need to rush, baby.”

“But I’ve already waited for so damn long,” Nam-gyu wants to complain, but then Thanos presses a thumb against his lips, and his mouth opens without even an ounce of hesitation. Thanos’ thumb hooks along the side of his cheek, and his pointer and middle finger are quick to follow. Having three fingers shoved in his mouth is a messy endeavor, and drool beads at the corner of his lips as fingers press deeper into the caverns of his mouth.

“Look at you, opening your mouth and sucking on whatever’s given to you,” Thanos purrs, “always so obedient. But only for me, isn't that right?”

Of course Thanos keeps up his cocky persona even in bed. …Figures that Nam-gyu would be so into it. He nods against the fingers that twitch against his tongue, the faint metallic taste of nail polish working its way under his taste buds as spit dribbles down his chin. He must look a complete mess right now, naked and drooling and achingly hard. His hair is probably messy, and he’s already starting to sweat. He can’t imagine he looks all that appealing, but when he looks up at Thanos, he stares right back with reverence.

Nam-gyu has always found that it’s easiest to learn things about a person by looking at their eyes. The movements, the gleaming emotions hidden behind corneas, unsaid words swirling inside pupils. It’s not like Nam-gyu’s a mind reader, but he likes to think he’s pretty decent at reading people's emotions when he really puts the effort forth.

Right now, Thanos looks down at him like he’s something ethereal. His eyes linger as if drinking in the sight of something worthy of worship, and Nam-gyu suspects that he often looks at Thanos similarly.

Thanos removes his thumb and replaces it with his middle finger, keeping his pointer firmly situated in Nam-gyu’s mouth. “I’m going to have you suck on my fingers, and then I’m going to flip you over, face down on the bed, and finger you open nice and slow. Okay?”

There’s that bit of English again. Nam-gyu openly shivers, nodding zealously against long, spit-soaked fingers.

“So eager,” Thanos hums, curling his fingers along the roof of his mouth. “No one’s ever been as good for me as you are, my Nam-gyu.”

My Nam-gyu. Fuck, he could cum just from those words alone, and if Thanos’ smarmy expression is anything to go by, he’s made it very clear.

“Such a pretty mouth,” Thanos continues on, spurred on by the whines his words wrench out of his partner. “Did you know you have a habit of licking your lips a lot? It’s like your tongue is always looking for something to lap up. If you’ve got an oral fixation, my Nam-gyu, all you have to do is say so.”

Nam-gyu lets Thanos pull his fingers out of his mouth with a slick pop, wiping at his dampened chin with the back of his hand.

“Flip over, baby,” Thanos murmurs sweetly. “Let me take care of you.”

Nam-gyu licks his lips (he really does do that a lot, doesn't he?) and nods, letting Thanos manhandle him into a suitable position. He’s flipped over and positioned on his hands and knees, and much to his rising embarrassment, Thanos makes a point to shift him so that he’s bent over, ass directly in the air.

…Well, this certainly isn't a position he’s ever tried.

There’s a submissive vulnerability to the pose that feels entirely unfamiliar. If he were with anyone else, he’d probably be uncomfortable being so brazenly bare and open. It’s different with Thanos. Nam-gyu trusts him. Thanos could ask him to tear open his own stomach and hand over his ribcage, and he’s sure he’d do so without asking for as much as an explanation as to why.

Nam-gyu rests his head against the sheets, heaving a breath. There’s a long lapse of silence paired with inaction, and when he cranes his head back to see what the holdup is, the only thing he sees is Thanos staring again.

“Hyung,” Nam-gyu whines. “Don’t just sit there and look.”

Thanos snaps out of whatever daze he’s in, bringing both hands up to shamelessly fondle each side of his ass. “Sorry, I just…”

“Just what?” Nam-gyu mumbles, leaning his head back on the bed.

“Your ass is fucking amazing, dude.”

Nam-gyu splutters. He’s not sure how to respond – should he say thank you? Is it awkward to say thank you during sex?

“I mean, really,” Thanos continues, squeezing mounds of flesh insistently. Nam-gyu shudders under the continuous touch. “I’ve never seen an ass like this in my life. It’s fucking huge.”

“Thanos,” Nam-gyu says with chagrin. God, this guy sure is embarrassing sometimes.

“I should've figured, ever since you wore that damn tracksuit. Those shitty clothes fit your body so fucking good. Always hugged your ass just right. It took everything in me not to bend you over on one of the beds and fuck you raw, right there in front of all the other players and cameras and creepy ass guards. I bet you would’ve taken me so well, even with everyone watching.”

Thanos traces his fingers along the rim of his hole as he speaks, and Nam-gyu lets out a pathetic mewl against scrunched up bed sheets at the featherlight touches and filthy words.

“When you were touching yourself earlier,” Thanos continues, dipping the tip of his finger past the tight ring of muscle, “and moaning my name in the shower. What were you thinking about, huh?”

Nam-gyu squirms as Thanos’ finger pushes deeper inside him. The feeling is foreign, and he’s having trouble thinking coherently about anything except Thanos working him open and loosening him up.

“You clench around me so tight…can’t wait to be inside you,” Thanos murmurs. He pats Nam-gyu’s ass with his free hand expectantly. “C’mon, my boy. Tell me about your little fantasy earlier.”

“Fuck,” Nam-gyu groans against bedsheets. “Which one?”

“There were multiple?”

“I lost count,” Nam-gyu pants. “I think I managed to think about you in nearly every sexual situation known to mankind.”

Thanos let’s out a startled laugh. “Damn, Nam-gyu. You’re a kinkster, aren’t you?”

“Hah…I don’t know about that,” Nam-gyu mumbles. “…Add another?”

“I will if you tell me one of the scenarios that got you off earlier.”

Nam-gyu makes a sound of irritation, bucking his hips backwards in an attempt to gain more friction. But Thanos is already down to the knuckle — if he wants to be filled any more, he’ll need another finger. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” Thanos snickers, rubbing his side appreciatively. He leans forward, pressing his chest against Nam-gyu’s back, and the feeling of clothes against his bare skin feels strangely dominating. He can’t believe the fucker hasn’t stripped down yet. “Tell me what you imagined me doing to you.”

Thanos licks along the shell of his ear, and Nam-gyu breaks under the pressure. “I was— I was thinking about you tying me up with one of those stupid fucking handcuff props and having your way with me. Now please, hyung, add another finger.”

“Having my way with you?” Thanos repeats, breath hitching as he straightens back up. “…Holy shit.”

Another finger is added without delay, and he’s far less graceful with it this time around. He sinks his fingers in with one firm, solid push, and Nam-gyu whimpers at the feeling. He needs something bigger.

“You’d look so good tied up for me,” Thanos groans. “Arms cuffed up above your head, writhing underneath me…fuck, I could cum just thinking about it.” A brief pause. “Well, I guess you actually did cum by just thinking about it, huh?”

Nam-gyu mumbles a jumbled half-insult, half-groan as Thanos curls his fingers inside of him, poking and prodding.

“Want me to fill you all the way up?” Thanos asks slowly. “You ready?”

“Mhm.” Nam-gyu nods. “I can take it.”

“‘Course you can. You were made for this, baby,” Thanos reassures, removing his fingers in one slick movement. “Flip over for me. I want to see your face when you cum.”

“What for?” Nam-gyu laughs lightly as he turns over. “Thought you were all about the ass.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Thanos scoffs, shaking his head as if Nam-gyu said something particularly silly. “Your expressions are the best part.”

“Huh?” Nam-gyu says dazedly. He watches as Thanos reaches over towards the bedside table and pulls a condom and small bottle of lube from the dresser drawer — how the hell does he know where Nam-gyu keeps his fucking condoms? And where did the lube even come from? Oh, whatever. He can’t be bothered to care. He’s clearly a little preoccupied.

“Your expressions,” Thanos repeats. “Like, after I kiss you, your eyes get all glazy and your lips quiver. When I start feeling you up, your eyebrows twitch, and you usually bite your lip. It’s hot. You’ve got a fucking gorgeous face, man. Can’t wait to see what expression you make when you cum.”

Nam-gyu’s jaw drops slightly. Glossy eyes, quivering lips, twitching eyebrows; did Thanos really manage to pinpoint all of that under such a short period of time?

He flushes more intensely than he has during the entire encounter — which is really saying something, considering he just had fingers pumping inside his ass.

“That’s another good one.” Thanos taps his nose. “I like when your face gets all red. It’s cute.”

“Thanos.”

“And, look, now your eyes are getting all wide and shocked. So cute, dude. Makes me want to crush you into paste.”

“Thanos,” Nam-gyu laughs shrilly, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Wait…hey, why the hell are you still wearing clothes?”

“Sorry. Want to get a striptease from the great legend Thanos?” He pauses to flex his muscles dramatically.

“…Don’t refer to yourself in the third person when you’re about to fuck me,” Nam-gyu snorts. He reaches forward, tugging on the hem of Thanos’ shirt with persistent fingers. “I want to see you…”

Thanos leans forward and presses a quick kiss to his lips, then leans back and begins to shuck his shirt off. Nam-gyu takes in the sight of his chest, and the tattoos that travel across his arms.

“Like what you see?” Thanos winks, a very over-dramatic and cheesy action, but it turns Nam-gyu’s insides to mush the same. And, to be fair, he really does like what he sees.

“Pants next.”

“Damn, boy! So impatient,” Thanos tuts. “You want my dick that bad, huh?”

“I figured I’ve made that pretty obvious,” Nam-gyu says, watching carefully as Thanos takes off his pants, then tugs down his boxers.

Oh, fuck. Thanos is big.

Not unrealistically big, but Nam-gyu would guess it’s at least above average. Thick, fully hardened, flushed pink, with a small bead of precum oozing from the tip. Nam-gyu swallows thickly — he’s fucking salivating over this shit.

“You like?” Thanos grins proudly as he fumbles with the condom wrapping. “Can’t wait to get inside you, Nam, I’ve been dreaming of this shit.”

“Me too,” Nam-gyu answers honestly. “But, Thanos, I’ve never…I mean, it’s not like I’m some sort of virgin, but I’ve never…not with a guy—“

“I know. It’s okay, I’ll take it slow,” Thanos reassures, squirting lube onto his open palm and lathering it onto the condom that covers his cock. “If it’s too much, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

Nam-gyu nods, thankful for the reassurance. Admittedly, it’s difficult to imagine something so big fitting inside of him.

Once Thanos is slick and ready, he positions his cock along Nam-gyu’s entrance, the head suctioning slightly inside the tight ring of muscle. Nam-gyu is completely spread open like this, on his back with his legs wrapped loosely around Thanos’ hips and his hands bracing for impact on his shoulders. Thanos looms over him, eyes searching his face for any sign of discomfort. He finds none, and Nam-gyu nods at him to push himself deeper.

The stretch stings. It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced — much different from what the fingers felt like. Thanos’ cock is far thicker, heavier, and Nam-gyu can hear the squelch of his entrance sucking Thanos into warm, tight heat as he pushes inside. His body arches, mouth open in a silent gasp as Thanos lowers himself inside.

It’s everything. Having Thanos grip at his hips like this, guiding himself inside of him, is greater than any feeling Nam-gyu could have possibly imagined. The burn of being filled is deliciously addicting.

“Wait,” Nam-gyu wheezes once Thanos is half-way inside of him, gripping his shoulders as a warning. “Wait, wait. Give me a second.”

“You okay?” Thanos asks, stopping all motion. “Too much?

“It’s good. It’s just…it’s a lot,” Nam-gyu pants. “I need to adjust.”

“You’re doing so good, baby. Take all the time you need.”

The praise goes straight to his dick. His head falls back as he lets out a moan, and Thanos peppers kisses along the expanse of his throat.

A hand comes up to card through Nam-gyu’s hair, a strikingly gentle caress. Thanos looks down at him patiently, adoringly, and Nam-gyu matches the gaze with equal intensity. Is it possible for two devotees to worship each other, each one considering the other to be a God?

“You can move,” Nam-gyu breathes out. “Please. I can take it all.”

He can, and he does. Thanos fills him to the hilt, slow and steady, and the moan it manages to pull from Nam-gyu is so utterly whorish that he covers his own mouth to muffle it on pure reflex. But Thanos acts quickly, reaching forward to tug his palm from his mouth.

“Let me hear you.”

“We’ll get a noise complaint,” Nam-gyu whines, whimpering as Thanos begins to slowly slide back out. The wet sound of skin-against-skin is obscene.

“Good,” Thanos grunts, pushing back in. “I want everyone to hear how good I fuck you.”

Nam-gyu is sure that his neighbors won’t be particularly thrilled with the predicament, but he couldn’t possibly care less if he tried. As Thanos picks up his speed, the sounds Nam-gyu makes only get increasingly louder. The drag of Thanos’ cock inside of him is unfathomably pleasurable, a heavy weight inside of him.

“Mmm…wish you could stay inside me forever,” Nam-gyu gasps out. “It’s so good, Thanos, you’re so good…”

His words slur with lust; this must be what it feels like to be cockdrunk, Nam-gyu assumes. With each slap of Thanos’ balls against his skin, paired with the firm grip of a hand on his hip, Nam-gyu makes another sweet, pleasured noise to pair with it.

“So fucking tight,” Thanos moans, deep and heavy in the humid air between them. The scent of sex lingers between them, clinging to sweat-slicked skin, and Nam-gyu finds himself hoping the smell never leaves them. He can feel himself building up to a release, quickly, quickly, quickly…

Barely susceptible, something changes.

“You’re so…warm…” Nam-gyu watches as Thanos’ expression shifts from ecstasy to concern, eyebrows furrowed in bafflement. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Nam-gyu asks with rising alarm, because to be fair, that phrase paired with that expression isn’t exactly the best sign during sex.

“I think—“ Thanos pulls out completely, leaving Nam-gyu gaping and empty.

He arches at the sudden departure, whining in disapproval. “What-?”

“The condom broke.”

…Ah.

“While you were inside?” Nam-gyu gawks. “Uh…that’s, like…not good.”

“Yeah, I gathered that.”

“Have you been tested?”

“…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you’ve been tested?”

“I don’t remember!”

“Okay, okay, relax.” Nam-gyu holds his hands up placatingly. “Don’t stress about it. I’m sure it's fine.”

“Shit, man, this was the only condom in there,” Thanos gripes, removing the ripped condom and setting it aside with a scowl.

“Just go in raw,” Nam-gyu offers quickly, probably too quickly to be written off as a casual suggestion instead of a wanton plea. “The condom already ripped while you were inside. It’s fine.”

Thanos looks at him with a slack jaw. “…You’re sure?”

“Yeah. ‘Course.”

So, with shaky hands, Thanos lathers his cock with lube and repositions himself. Just as he did earlier, he eases the head in first; it’s warmer than it felt before. As Thanos pushes inside, Nam-gyu swears he can feel each individual vein running across the dick pulsating inside of him.

“Oh,” Nam-gyu moans, toes curling as Thanos buries himself in fully, cock twitching within the heat. If he thought getting fucked with a condom on was heavenly, this is something else entirely.

“Nam-gyu,” Thanos chokes out, a level of desperation to his voice that he’s never heard before. “Holy fuck.”

To Nam-gyu’s chagrin, tears start to prick at the corner of his eyes — the feeling of Thanos pumping inside of him raw, bare skin dragging against the heat of his insides, is overwhelming enough to bring him to the brink of pleasure-induced tears. He had no idea sex was able to feel this good.

Nam-gyu snakes his hand down to his own stomach and presses downward, desperate to imprint Thanos’ cock within him in full. The action causes both of them to moan in tandem, gripping onto each other as if afraid letting go will result in losing the other forever.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Nam-gyu babbles, building towards a quick release. “I’ve wanted you for— fuck, so goddamn long. Need you to cum inside me and fill me up like a slut. Please, please, please—“

Nam-gyu’s sure he’ll look back on his own sex-induced ramblings and feel rather embarrassed, but as of right now, all that matters to him is that his words seem to have taken a drastic effect on Thanos, making his eyes widen and pupils dilate.

“Kinky little shit.” Thanos grins wildly. His pace becomes almost brutal, balls slapping harshly against skin as he thrusts with a sudden ferocity. “You want me to pump you full? Want to watch my cum drip out of you?”

Precum smears across Nam-gyu’s chest by his own hard and neglected cock, sticky and warm. He nods frantically, frenzied by his own desire.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” Thanos chokes out, pinballing between sultry filth and blatant yearning. He looks at Nam-gyu in full, trembling and flushed beneath him. Sweaty, on the verge of an orgasm, eyes fluttering and chest heaving. Thanos looks at him like he means something, pressing into him with a purpose.

“You’re everything,” Nam-gyu whispers. “To me, you’re everything.”

As if spurred on by the words, Thanos hits the bundle of nerves inside of him that he’s been aiming for. Nam-gyu’s entire body jolts, nails digging into shoulder blades as he lets out a garbled sound of pleasure.

Thanos groans out his name — his actual name. Nam-gyu, not Nam-su. He moans it in a continuous, unbroken stream, as if offering a prayer to a deity, wrapping a hand around Nam-gyu’s neglected, precum slicked cock.

The sudden contact makes him gasp. Thanos takes a moment to fondle his balls, pressing persistently against sweet spots, and then moves his palm to grasp fully at his dick, pumping in time with his thrusts.

The stimulation of having a hand pumping him to completion while Thanos pistons directly against his g-spot is overwhelming. His body feels searingly hot, and the way his name sounds in Thanos’ lust-addled voice is just the thing to tip him over the edge. He spills across his own chest and Thanos’ steady palm with a needy moan, pleasure radiating through his body in waves.

“Cum inside me,” Nam-gyu begs dazedly, locking his legs around Thanos and clenching around him as he looks up at him pleadingly. “Want every last drop of you.”

“So fucking pretty,” Thanos whispers, voice cracking with biblical adoration. “Your voice, your body, everything about you. I love—“

Thanos cuts himself off with an uncharacteristically high-pitched whimper, slamming into him harshly. The last word lingers unspoken between them, but it doesn’t change the meaning of it. Nam-gyu feels as if his chest has been torn open, hands cradling his beating heart with a gentle, loving touch.

A tear streaks down the side of Nam-gyu’s face, hot and searing. He nods slowly, intentionally, and hopes he can get his own response across by the way he looks at him longingly. I love you too.

With one last broken moan, Thanos thrusts inside him and cums, shuddering as he releases into the tight, clenching heat. Nam-gyu spasms at the feeling of hot, sticky seed coating his insides, warming him from the inside out. To be filled to the brim like this, loaded with the physical emptying of Thanos’ pleasure, feels like something akin to a blessing. In the face of raw lust, yearning, and unshakable devotion, he shivers and trembles, wet eyelashes sticking to skin as his eyes flutter closed.

The sound of Thanos pulling out of him is wet and noisy, a prolonged schliiick sound of cum being dragged against skin. Nam-gyu can feel the liquid trickling out of him, and shudders at being left gaping and hollow. He almost wants to ask Thanos to stuff him full again, just for the simple fact of keeping every drop of cum trapped within him. When he reopens his eyes, squirming at the loss of contact, he sees Thanos’ eyes locked on his overfilled hole, wide and flustered.

“I just—“ Thanos nearly chokes on his own words, his face a bright shade of red. “I just came inside of you.”

“Yeah. I was there to witness it, believe it or not,” Nam-gyu snarks, laughing breathlessly. “…How’d I do?”

He cringes at his own words the second he says them — who the hell asks for a performance review after getting fucked raw?

Thanos glances up at him with an appreciative, almost shy smile. “So good, man. I’ve never had sex that good in my life.” He presses his hand against Nam-gyu’s stomach, watching as more cum dribbles out of him. “You’re all filled up with me…”

“Shit,” Nam-gyu groans. “Don’t talk like that, man, you’ll get me going again.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Thanos smirks, leaning down to Nam-gyu’s cum covered chest and giving it a long, lasting lick. Nam-gyu watches with heavy breaths as Thanos laps up the spend that sticks to his skin, pink tongue darting out to cover itself in Nam-gyu’s seed.

“You taste bitter,” Thanos murmurs against his skin. “A little salty. Fucking delicious. Next time we fuck, you should cum across my face so I can drink every last drop of you.”

Next time. Nam-gyu bites his lip to stifle a smile, threading his fingers into purple hair and pulling him up. “Kiss me. Let me taste it.”

Thanos grunts, leaning forward as Nam-gyu’s hands travel to cup each side of his face. Their lips connect firmly, opening against each other in tandem. Nam-gyu hums contentedly into an open mouth, tasting himself on the pressing tongue of another.

Nam-gyu rests their foreheads together when they pull back for air, their breaths mingling as they stare at each other with lidded eyes and reddened cheeks. Nam-gyu let’s his fingers rub against cheekbones, examining the raw openness of Thanos’ gaze.

“Thank you,” Nam-gyu murmurs. It feels a bit silly to thank someone for having sex with him, but there’s a loaded weight to his words. He’s not just thanking Thanos for fucking him, but for allowing him the time to come to terms with his own feelings. It’s a thank you for not leaving him after they got thrown out of the games together, even though he so easily could have. A thank you for taking who he is at face value, and for standing alongside him regardless.

Thanos wipes at the half-dried tears that trailed down Nam-gyu’s face at the height of pleasure. “For what?”

“For everything.”

Thanos smiles serenely, calm and fulfilled, and Nam-gyu thinks it might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Notes:

All bro needed to do was jerk it one singular time and he was like yk I’m chill w/ being gay actually. All it takes is one masturbation session and a half an hour later he’s taking it raw. Unreal. I love him for this truly

Also yesss ik they are not using the proper protection in this and it’s kind of unrealistic, I’m sorry folks. My fingers started flying across the keyboard and next thing I knew they were fucking raw. I needed something super self indulgent after….the incident….. (the incident being s3)

Out of all the chapters I’ve written for this fic so far, this is the one that’s gone through the most rewrites and rough drafts before I landed on what I liked. I hope it gets across the emotions I’m trying to display well enough 🤞

Chapter 18: The Star

Notes:

Sometimes I get real tears in my eyes because of how kind you guys are in my comments btw. You’re all so awesome!!! ❤️

Nam-gyu isn’t very experienced in the act of aftercare.

In the past, after a quick hookup or hasty fling, Nam-gyu often would spend a few brief moments making sure his partner was alright and well, and then leave without any further comment. There’s never been anything to say, and acts of service always seemed too personal.

This is different. What occurred between him and Thanos wasn’t a quick, one off act of sex. It was something far deeper. Personal, intimate. Baring their bodies together wasn’t only due to lust, but also shared vulnerability.

Thanos cleans him up dutifully. He gets a rag with warm water and washes away leftover cum before it dries and hardens, grabs him a bottle of water from the kitchen, even goes as far as to ask him if he wants him to order any food or make him a snack, a little treat after using so much stamina.

Nam-gyu can’t believe it. He’s truly, unequivocally appalled.

It’s all something that Nam-gyu has assumed, for a long while, only happened in movies and cheesy romance books. He brushed off stories of partners doting on each other after sex as fiction, or at the very least, something he’d never get to experience himself. “I’m not built for that sort of thing,” he’d think to himself with a scowl. “All that mushy bullshit.”

Now, Nam-gyu sits and sips on water, faced with the exact scenario he used to poke fun at. He tells Thanos that he’s not all that hungry, and all he really wants is to take a nap, and then politely requests to use Thanos himself as a pillow, and brightens when he agrees.

It’s domestic. It’s loving. It’s something that a man like Nam-gyu isn’t supposed to indulge in.

But he’s so tired of endless ‘supposed to’s. His body still thrums with the warmth of Thanos filling him, basked in the prolonged afterglow of indescribable intensity. What matters right now isn’t thoughts of what he’s supposed to do or say or be. What matters is what he is, when all is said and done. When everything else is stripped away, and he’s left with the pure core of himself, that’s what matters.

He disregards the faint trickles of guilt that try to worm under his skin as Thanos slips back into bed. Nam-gyu lets himself settle his head on Thanos’ bare chest, breathing in the scent of him, listening to the steady beating of his heart. He allows himself the contentment of letting a hand drift through his hair, a cheek nuzzling against his scalp.

He lets himself exist, unapologetic with his own self. His eyes drift closed, and for the first time in a long while, he sleeps peacefully.

— — —

He wakes up to the sound of a dog barking.

…Typical. He’d get irked at the noise, but after the obscene amount of moans and lust-addled words that he’s sure the entire complex just managed to hear, he doubts he’ll be able to comment on anyone else’s sound-level without getting some very intense glares.

Despite everything, Nam-gyu hopes his neighbors managed to conveniently miss the part where he begged to be ‘filled up like a slut’. He’s not sure his ego can survive such a massive, mortifying hit.

“Loud ass dog,” Thanos mumbles sleepily, irritation lacing his voice. Nam-gyu hums in tired agreement, laying his hands on Thanos’ chest and propping his chin on the back of them, blinking up at him through bleary eyes.

It’s difficult for him to wrap his head around his current circumstances. Just hours ago, he’d been caged against his bed, pounded into, and filled with another man’s cum. If someone were to travel back in time to, for example, a week or two ago, and reveal this exact tidbit of information to him, he’d likely have denied the claims so vehemently and with so much anger and disbelief, he very well could’ve dropped dead on the spot due to stress induced heart palpitations.

It’s shocking how quickly a card can be flipped over to something new.

Thanos yawns, settling his palms along the curve of Nam-gyu’s back. His lips twitch into a small smile as he looks down at him, warm hands smoothing along bare skin. Nam-gyu makes a soft, contented noise at the featherlight contact, leaning his cheek against the back of his hand as he tilts his head.

Thanos has the type of face that looks like it should be captured in a heart locket and fawned over. Kissable lips, vibrant eyes, strands of purple hair curling against his forehead. The type of face you see displayed in model magazines, head tilted to display his sharp jawline.

It’s hard for Nam-gyu to believe that he just had sex with someone so ethereal. If he wasn’t literally laying on top of him right now, the both of them still completely nude, he’d likely think he dreamt the encounter up completely.

“What’re you thinking?” Thanos asks, looking at him curiously.

He’s thinking, or more accurately, he’s fearing that when they get up from bed and go about the rest of the day, this moment will dissipate into thin air and never be spoken about again. He knows he shouldn’t be so pessimistic — Thanos made a handful of comments during the act about wanting to fuck him again later, and near the end of it, his words seemed to edge startlingly close to a love confession.

Still, Nam-gyu can’t help but consider the worst case scenario. He doesn’t want to grasp onto something that’s falling if it turns out that the item doesn’t actually want to be caught at all.

“Why did it take you so long to learn my name?” Nam-gyu asks softly. He makes sure not to make his tone sound accusatory, as it so often does — that’s not his aim. He’s not digging the topic back up out of anger, but genuine befuddlement. What is it about the name Nam-gyu that was so difficult to remember?

“I always knew your name,” Thanos admits easily. “I just…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Nam-gyu repeats incredulously.

“…Your nose scrunches up when you're annoyed,” Thanos mutters, avoiding eye contact in clear embarrassment. “It’s cute.”

“…Dude.”

“What? I’m being honest!” Thanos defends. “Look, when you choked me after your encounter with Myung-gi, it made me realize how much it bothered you. I was just trying to get under your skin a little, not make you legitimately upset.”

The explanation quells some of the worries that run through Nam-gyu’s mind. He makes a hum of understanding, nodding slightly. “…Yeah, okay. I guess I should probably apologize again for strangling you, huh?”

“Nam-gyu,” Thanos says seriously. “That was one of the hottest things I’ve ever experienced in my life.”

Nam-gyu guffaws, covering his mouth to stop himself from letting out an unattractive snort. “Okay, man.”

“I’m serious!” Thanos insists. “You were literally straddling me, dude, and you had this crazy look in your eye…I nearly creamed myself right then and there. Do you know how hard it was to stop myself from bucking up into you? Fuck, man…”

“I can do it for you again sometime,” Nam-gyu offers coyly. “Except, next time I’ll actually ride you as I choke you. I’m a good multi-tasker.”

Thanos squirms beneath him, face reddening. “Nam-gyu…”

He can feel the slight, familiar hardening of Thanos’ cock poking against his thigh, and grins impishly at his quick success. He can probably squeeze in a third orgasm for himself today, can’t he? Maybe even a fourth, if he puts forth some real effort. He’s still loose from their last rendezvous, he’s sure, and the thought of taking Thanos raw again and being filled up twice in one day sets his skin alight. With some lube, he can easily position himself right along Thanos’ dick and ride him to completion.

These thoughts flit through his brain quickly as he props himself up and leans forward, pressing biting kisses along Thanos’ collarbone. His skin leaves a sharp, tingling aftertaste along his tongue, and as Nam-gyu opens his mouth and leaves wet, sloppy kisses against his neck, he wants desperately to taste more of him. The room still smells of sex, and he wants nothing more than to make the scent stronger.

“Nam-gyu,” Thanos wriggles beneath him, breath hitching. “Nam, hold on.”

Nam-gyu pulls back instantly, his face flushing with palpable embarrassment. “Sorry, should I not-? Did I misread-?”

“I’d love to fuck you again, Nam,” Thanos says bluntly, rubbing his hand comfortingly along his side. “Right here, right now. I love how eager you are for it, baby. But, I want…” he trails off momentarily, chewing persistently on the inside of his cheek. “I want to take you on a date first.”

Nam-gyu blinks down at him. He swears he feels his brain short-circuit. “Huh?”

“…I used to think I’d never want to be tied down into a relationship,” Thanos continues slowly. “But it’s different with you. I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone before. I know I have the track record of some sort of sex fiend, but I don’t just go around fucking people raw and cumming inside them on the regular. That’s…that’s some real intimate shit, you know?”

Nam-gyu nods slowly, laying back down on Thanos’ chest. “Yeah. I’ve never…I mean, I’d never let anyone except you see me like that.”

“I meant it, you know,” Thanos murmurs. “When I said you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

“Have you looked in a mirror?” Nam-gyu laughs lightly, cheeks flushing. He can’t imagine how he looked beautiful when he was so sweaty and out of sorts, chest heaving, overwhelmed with his own feelings.

“Have you?” Thanos fires back, tapping his finger against Nam-gyu’s forehead.

“…So, a date, huh?” Nam-gyu redirects. “Are we, like…you know…?”

“Boyfriends? Speaking the word isn’t gonna curse you, dude,” Thanos snickers.

“I know,” Nam-gyu complains. “This is just…new.”

“Liking men?”

Nam-gyu nods. He wants to offer some sort of explanation to his own deeply ingrained unease, but his throat constricts, and he ends up with nothing.

“There’s nothing damning about this,” Thanos says, as if reading his inner thoughts. His heartbeat is a gentle lull against Nam-gyu’s skin.

A few weeks ago, Nam-gyu would likely disagree. Now, his mindset has shifted. He let Thanos take him, fill him with his own self, and it all came forth because of their shared feelings for each other. What can possibly be damning about two grown men letting themselves exist within each other?

“There was a brief moment, back when I choked you, when I thought the reason I felt something was because I was so close to killing you.” Nam-gyu let’s his eyes drift closed. “I thought that if I couldn’t kill Myung-gi, I had to kill someone, to make up for my failure. But you never looked up at me with fear — you were startled, obviously, as any person would be — but I could tell you didn’t actually fear for your life. I really could’ve killed you right then, if I’d wanted to.”

“But, you didn’t.”

“No. If you died, you’d take a piece of me with you. And then, only then, would I really be left with nothing.”

Nam-gyu feels the slow intake of breath against his body. “Have you ever thought about me killing you?”

“I’d let you tear your fingers into my flesh and rip me open if it would mean something to you,” Nam-gyu says. There’s no longer any point in lying.

“…The most insane part of this all, I think, is that I want to treat you gently,” Thanos admits softly, and his tender touch is proof of his words. “I’ve never felt that way about someone before. I think about you more than I think about pills, more than I think about dying. I think about what stupid joke to tell you the next time we talk instead of ruminating on all the awful shit in my life. Nam-gyu…”

“I know,” he says. He knows what words are coming next, and he knows the familiar blockage that Thanos must be feeling in his throat. Wanting to say something, but rendered unable to. “Me too.”

Nam-gyu could spend years dedicating himself to prayer and repentance, and nothing will change nor overtake the devotion he feels for the man beneath him. The man he’s thought about killing, the man he briefly resented for not calling the right name, the man who trampled into his apartment and onto his couch and hasn’t left his heart since.

Thanos is an enigma, and Nam-gyu adores every aspect of him.

— — —

The next morning, they end up getting a sound complaint slipped under their door.

Is it surprising, after the amount of complaints that Nam-gyu himself has sent out? No. Is it irritating? Absolutely.

“God forbid I have sex in my own apartment one singular time,” Nam-gyu gripes, tossing the paper with a politely worded warning in the waste bin. He speaks loudly, very loudly, just to prove a point. “As if the girl next door isn’t getting fucked every goddamn day!”

There’s a thump on the wall next to him, followed by a string of muffled curse words.

“Dude, her crazy ass is gonna kill you the next time she sees you if you keep it up,” Thanos snorts.

“I’d like to see her try,” Nam-gyu grumbles. “I can’t even…ugh, I can’t even believe I was so stupidly loud to begin with.”

“Don’t be self-conscious. It’s not like I was quiet myself,” Thanos snickers. “Besides, thanks to my commentary, now everyone knows you’ve got a killer ass.”

“Oh my god,” Nam-gyu groans into his hands, stifling a laugh at Thanos’ overzealous cackle. “You’re so embarrassing, man. Seriously.”

“It’s not my fault you’ve got a nice body. And a nice voice, and a nice attitude—“

“Okay!” Nam-gyu interrupts shrilly. He’s really not used to compliments. “Okay, okay!”

What Nam-gyu has discovered over the last 24 hours, is that Thanos is incredibly touchy. They were both rather handsy with each other even before all of this occured, but now, Thanos takes nearly any opportunity to smooth his hands across Nam-gyu waist, pushing him against walls and kissing him breathless.

And right now, for example, he can tell by the way Thanos drinks in the sight of him as he approaches, that he has one singular goal in mind.

Nam-gyu allows himself to be positioned with his back against the wall, which seems to be Thanos’ favorite way to position him before tasting him. Nam-gyu even lets him get one slow, longing kiss in before pulling back, pressing fingers against lips.

“What happened to having to take me out on a date first, huh?” He snarks, rubbing the sole of his foot along Thanos’ ankle in slow, teasing movements.

Thanos’ eyes widen, lips moving against fingertips. “Kissing is different than sex!”

With the sultry way Thanos goes about kissing him, wet and loud and unrelenting, Nam-gyu hardly thinks so. Saliva entering his mouth or cum stuffing him full — either way, a part of Thanos is intermingling with him, and either way, it leaves Nam-gyu staggering with desire.

“It is. But you’ve got wandering hands,” Nam-gyu taunts. “So it’s only natural we should hold off on everything until you plan out that date, don’t you think?”

“Man…I wish I had the cash to take you somewhere extravagant. Treat you real nice, you know? All gentlemanly?” Thanos sighs, pressing quick kisses to the pads of his fingers. “I’m telling you, once I get some good money…”

“I’m the one without any lyrics to offer you,” Nam-gyu sighs, letting his hand drop. “Maybe you should look into finding someone else…”

“Nah, man! Thinking up lyrics takes time. If we both put our heads together, something is bound to come up eventually,” Thanos insists. “Hey, if you let me look over some of your work…”

“Hell no,” Nam-gyu shakes his head fiercely. “It’s humiliating enough that you even know about it in the first place.”

“What’s there to be humiliated about? You think too much,” Thanos chides. “Way too much, my boy.”

Thanos has seen him at his most vulnerable, both physically and emotionally. He’s seen him trembling in the aftermath of a failed murder attempt, shaking from withdrawals, bared and offering himself to him. They’ve already seen so much of each other — what’s one more thing on top of an ever growing pile?

“You’re thinking again, huh?” Thanos asks, eyes glittering with excitement.

“I’m thinking that you seriously owe me for this shit,” Nam-gyu says, sidestepping Thanos and making his way towards the small, slightly raised piece of floorboard.

— — —

Thanos takes his time reading through carefully written lines. So much time, in fact, that it’s almost unbearable.

Nam-gyu catches glimpses of phrases as he peeks over Thanos’ shoulder, but he finds himself unable to continuously read his own words without looking away with acute humiliation. Maybe if this goes south, he can chalk it up as an extremely elaborate prank.

“I don’t really think any of this is rap material,” Nam-gyu says eventually, just for the sake of breaking the silence. “It’s mostly, like…weird sentimental bullshit.”

“It’s not weird,” Thanos says bluntly, then continues reading in silence. He’s not saying anything substantial. It’s stressing Nam-gyu the hell out.

Nam-gyu takes another quick glance over Thanos’ shoulder despite himself. He spots a passage describing the sight of the church his mother used to take him to, of how the high the ceilings rose, and how stifling and oppressive the thought of something watching him felt. It’s one of his older pieces of writing, and he can’t help but scoff as he reads it.

“Guess it’s no surprise where I got the ingrained feelings of guilt and shame from, huh?” Nam-gyu rolls his eyes. “That’s a passage all the way from last year. The phrasing I used was too flowery, because I was too caught up on trying to replicate the style of…” Nam-gyu cuts himself off with a clear of his throat, baffled by his own long-winded explanation. “...Nevermind. The messaging falls flat, is all.”

“What made you overcome it?” Thanos looks up to ask. “The guilt and shame, I mean.”

Nam-gyu mulls it over, looking down at his hands clasped in his lap. “I think the best way to describe it is that my want for you became so overpowering that it outweighed any and all fear I had of judgement. Denying myself from you made me miserable, and spending my life miserable in fear of judgement from a thing, an idea that I don’t believe in…it’s a waste. It’s all such a waste. I almost died so many times in those games, and I never saw a light, or had a voice speak to me, or felt anything watching over me at all. All I saw, at times where I really needed it, was you.” He takes a breath. “It’s always you. Devoting myself to you, devoting myself to a God; is it really all that different? If I reformulate my personal definition of God and place you into said definition, then…ugh, nevermind.” A dismissive wave of his hand. “Sorry. I don’t even know what I’m…”

His sentence doesn’t finish. As he glances back upwards he’s met with a wide eyed stare and slack jaw, which…yeah, that’s a pretty natural reaction to the tirade he just went on, isn’t it?

“You really want to be with me that bad?” Thanos asks, voice heightening.

“Well, it managed to single-handedly knock my own personal issues to the side. So, yeah, I’d say so.”

For a brief moment, such strong, unwavering emotion passes across Thanos’ features that it’s almost startling. And then, just as quickly as it came, it’s replaced with intense determination. “Nam-gyu. It’s you.”

“…What?” Nam-gyu squints. “What’s me?”

“My definition of God. It’s you,” Thanos says seriously. “If it weren’t for you, I would’ve tossed myself off a bridge by now. That’s pretty Godlike, isn’t it? Saving a life?”

“Hyung—“

“I mean it, Nam-gyu. To me, you’re a form of divinity. A type of angel. You’re even pretty like one.”

Nam-gyu could argue that in all technicality, biblically accurate angels are far from pretty. Layers of eyes and outstretched wings, booming voices requesting those who see them to remain unafraid. Though, that’s a bit fitting for their dynamic, isn't it? Trembling hands reaching out for each other, both with the same requests on the tips of their tongues. “Don’t be afraid. Just this once, don’t run away.”

Pretty isn't a word he would use to describe himself. He doesn't dislike how he looks; he thinks he’s good-looking in a standard type of way. Nothing jaw-dropping or head-swiveling. But Thanos had looked down at him so earnestly when he said he was the most beautiful person he’s seen, a sincerity to his words that Nam-gyu hopes wasn't only due to pleasure. They’d both been so full of each other — their touch, their smell, their thoughts, intertwining and mingling within each other. Nam-gyu wants to believe that Thanos’ words hold truth.

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts that it takes him a moment to realize Thanos has already begun reading again. He flips to a page with a small star scrawled against the corner of the paper. Ah, Nam-gyu remembers this one. He even marked it specifically because he liked it so much. With another pair of eyes looking it over, though, his confidence is close to none.

It’s a short paragraph about club music and strong drinks, a winding commentary on the highs and lows of the environment. Nam-gyu watches Thanos’ eyes flit over the lines once, twice, thrice. By the fourth time, he has to resist the urge to yank the booklet out of hands and check his writing himself, just to make sure he didn’t make a dumbass spelling mistake.

“Dude,” Thanos speaks up after a long lapse of silence, looking up at him with wide eyes. “This is fucking awesome.”

Nam-gyu starts to shake his head, heart fluttering in his chest, but Thanos barrels on without giving him the chance to respond. “I mean it, my boy. This is perfect!”

“It’s only a few lines,” Nam-gyu counters. “Nowhere near an entire song.”

“Yeah, but I can really work off of this,” Thanos insists, eyes sparkling with excitement. He looks legitimately giddy. It’s a good look on him, and the fact that something Nam-gyu wrote while he was high out of his mind was able to bring such a beaming grin to his face feels like an honor unworthy of him. “Can I take a picture of this? Can I use it in the rap? If I put this as the chorus, and then think up some lines for the other verses…”

Thanos starts talking a mile a minute, gesturing wildly with his hands as he begins to visualize the structure of the song. As Nam-gyu nods along attentively, he finds his enthusiasm rubbing off on him.

Notes:

Sickeningly sweet and fluffy thangyu bc after s3 I deadass can’t handle any more angst atm 😭✌️

Chapter 19: The Moon

Notes:

In my writing outline for this chapter I just wrote “idk have them fuck crazy again if the timing feels right” ???? Okay man. Thanks. Thanks for that. Sooo insightful. Such a wonderful outline with so many wise words for my future self to rely on.

Nam-gyu takes small, languid drinks of ice water from a glass with a chip on its rim.

Both him and Thanos have agreed that they need to be conserving the small amount of funds they currently have. They can’t afford to be spending money frivolously — if they could, they’d probably be high out of their minds or tripping on some sort of hard-hitting drug together instead of sitting in a small, run-down diner right now.

Lack of funds or not, Thanos was insistent about taking him out on a date. Which, of course, Nam-gyu finds incredibly charming.

Yes, the location isn’t the best. Sure, the service sort of sucks. Yeah, the food is subpar at best.

…Well. The only actual positive here is Thanos’ company.

But, still. It’s a date. An official one! With Thanos. Nam-gyu is on a date with a man. Okay, cool. Nice. He’s very relaxed about this.

(He’s not relaxed. It’s actually rather difficult to express in words the extent of how not relaxed he is.)

Here’s the thing — Nam-gyu isn’t the type of guy to go out on dates. Over the years, he’s relied purely on one-night stands and quick, messy hookups, because dating leads to attachment, which leads to actual, genuine feelings. And, he obviously can’t have that.

Except, he does have that now. He’s on a date with a guy he already has feelings for, which adds an entirely separate layer of nervousness to the situation. He’s a twenty-seven year old man, for fucks sake; he should know how to navigate a date with someone who’s already made it very clear his feelings are reciprocated.

…But, seriously. What the hell do people even talk about on dates?

“The food is pretty good,” Nam-gyu comments idly, swirling his spoon inside his bowl of cream tomato soup.

“I can’t believe you ordered soup,” Thanos jokes. He takes a bite of his sandwich, overloaded with meat, cheese, and lettuce. “That’s something a grandpa would order.”

“As if your basic ass order is any better,” Nam-gyu snorts. “Tomato soup is a classic.”

“I guess you’re right…I haven’t had it since I was a kid.”

As a brief silence lapses between them, Nam-gyu takes note of the fact that Thanos seems rather fidgety himself, fiddling with the rings around his fingers and the sleeves of his brightly colored t-shirt, chewing persistently on his bottom lip.

It’s evening, the sky outside a pastel shade of slowly darkening blue, clouds slowly dissipating overhead, and while the soup isn't amazing, it serves as a decent enough dinner. Thanos nudges Nam-gyu’s ankle under the table. “You’re all jittery.”

“So are you,” Nam-gyu points out, hoping the way his spoon shakes between his fingers isn't noticeable.

“It’s just that…dude, we totally did this out of order.”

“Yeah, because we’re both the epitome of romance and chivalry,” Nam-gyu deadpans. “...Do you regret it?”

“No!” Thanos exclaims. “No, not at all. It was amazing, man. You pranced right out of that shower and were all over me, it was like a scene straight from one of my wet dreams-”

“Public, Thanos, we’re in public,” Nam-gyu hisses, looking around in embarrassment. The restaurant is empty except for the workers and an old woman sitting tucked away in a far corner of the building, but Thanos has a naturally loud speaking voice, and he doubts that random strangers want to hear the details of their budding sex life.

“Whoops,” Thanos murmurs, though he really doesn't seem all that bothered. He licks a dollop of sauce from the side of his mouth before continuing. “Oh, hey! Guess what, my boy?”

“Hm?” Nam-gyu glances over at the waitress nearby as he takes another sip of his soup; he’s not even near being finished with his food, but he still wants to get a look at their dessert menu. He doubts they’ll have anything amazing, but he’s got a sweet tooth, and even a stale pastry of some sort would be enough to satisfy him. He hopes they have something strawberry flavored, or maybe cherry…hell, he’d even settle for peach. All he knows is that a piece of cake would do wonders right about now.

“You know the lyrics I showed you earlier?” Thanos winks with a dramatically flirtatious flair. “The ones that include your sick-ass poem as the chorus?”

Nam-gyu ducks his head, a poor attempt to hide his flush. He feels like a schoolkid with a silly crush, getting this flustered over basic compliments. “Yeah, of course.”

“I sent them over to my old manager, and it actually fucking worked. Hook, line, sinker!” Thanos pumps his fist in the air, thrilled with his success.

Nam-gyu looks up in surprise, freezing with his glass of water halfway to his lips. “Seriously? That quick?”

“Yeah, man! Don’t worry, I’ll have you written down as my co-lyricist,” Thanos reassures. “There’s no way I would’ve been able to think up the rest if I didn't have your chorus as the base.”

Co-lyricist. That has a nice ring to it. Very official sounding. He wonders how his old, shitty coworkers and ex-boss will feel, seeing his name listed as such under the song of a famous rapper. He’s gaining a bit of an ego just thinking about it.

He still remembers how avidly one particular coworker used to mock him each time Thanos would come into the club, sneering at him as she applied glitter lipstick in the cracked mirror of the breakroom.

“He’s not going to fuck you just because you’re giving him free drinks,” she’d said, glaring at him fiercely. “Isn’t it embarrassing, whoring yourself out so blatantly?”

At the time, he’d just gotten a verbal warning for back talk a few days prior, so he’d settled for a venomous glare and long-lasting show of his middle finger instead of engaging in a full-blown argument like he so desperately wished to.

(“Your lipstick is smeared,” he’d offered unkindly on his way out. “You know, I don’t think that color suits you very well.”)

He hadn't acknowledged it within himself at the time, but looking back on it, his advances on Thanos were rather obvious. He’d convinced himself what he was seeking was acquaintanceship, a surface-level connection to someone more popular and successful than himself. It was only natural to giggle at every shitty joke he made, to give him free drinks and discounted drugs, to tuck his hair behind his ears and lean in close like a possessive ex lover.

…Wow. He’s been ridiculously into this guy for a while.

He imagines, rather deviously, the look of shock his dear-old coworker will display if she catches wind of the fact that he works with Thanos now. And has sex with him. And dates him! Holy shit, she’s going to lose her fucking mind…

“What’re you looking all mischevious for?” Thanos asks through a mouthful of sandwich. It’s sort of absurd that he can still manage to be so good-looking even while being such a messy eater.

“Nothing,” Nam-gyu says quickly, shoveling another spoonful of soup into his mouth. “That’s great news, though. I hope it all works out for you, man. I’d love to see you perform again.”

“Yeah?” Thanos grins, eyes glittering. “I’ll make sure you get a front row seat for all my shows. I’ll even get you free merch.”

The two of them are both getting ahead of themselves, he’s sure. There’s no way of knowing if Thanos’ attempt of restarting his career will actually go well, and his manager agreeing to work with him again isn't a guarantee of success. Talking about performances and merchandise seems like a far leap, something that’ll maybe be set into motion far into the future, after completing loads of paperwork and business meetings.

Still, the thought excites him. After everything that’s happened to them, it’s nice to have something to look forward to. More particularly, it’s nice to look forward to something besides cold-blooded murder.

“Think about all the money we’ll rake in if this goes well,” Thanos continues excitedly, smiling wolfishly. “I’ll be able to treat you real good, my boy. I’m talking rose petals, candles, expensive lingerie — all that mushy romantic shit.”

Nam-gyu guffaws, covering his mouth to muffle the noise. “What?”

“Hey, we could even put you in the back of some of my songs. Like, backup vocals!”

He makes a noise of disbelief. “I can’t sing.”

Thanos raises his eyebrows, eyeing him with amusement. “You don’t have to sing. Not necessarily. Just make some…soft, breathy noises, or whatever.”

“I’m not moaning for your song, Thanos.”

Thanos juts out his bottom lip dramatically. “Not even if I ask really nicely?”

“…No.”

“You hesitated!”

“Hyung.”

— — —

In the end, the only decent sounding dessert they have available are chocolate raspberry cupcakes.

The cupcakes are decently sized, so they both order their own. The pastries are served on cracked white plates — chocolate base, raspberry flavored icing. Nam-gyu licks his lips eagerly as he dips his fingers into the wrapping, carefully prying it off of the baked good.

“Damn, boy. You’re practically salivating,” Thanos teases.

“Just look at it, dude.” Nam-gyu points at the heaping pile of pink-colored frosting. “It looks fucking delicious.”

“It does look pretty good. I wish they had vanilla, though.”

“Chocolate is way better. Superior in every way.” Nam-gyu picks up the cupcake, examines it with narrowed eyes, then promptly sets it back down. “Hey, do you have a hair tie?”

“Nah. Why?”

“Because this is a big ass cupcake, and I’m about to go ham on it,” Nam-gyu says bluntly. “Don’t want my hair to get in the way, y’know?”

Thanos bites back a laugh. “Go ham on it? On a cupcake?”

“Yeah, man!”

Thanos blinks at him with faux innocence. “Need me to hold your hair back while you go wild on it?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Nam-gyu rolls his eyes, amused at Thanos’ jubilant bout of laughter. He picks the cupcake back up with determination. It’s been a while since he’s eaten something loaded with so much frosting — he’s forgotten how much of a hassle it is.

He can hear Thanos snickering as he takes a large, heaping bite. Taking bites of a cupcake is a very calculated endeavor, because he needs to get a good ratio of frosting to cake without having any of it crumble. This shit is serious.

“I just realized I’ve never seen you with your hair pulled back before,” Thanos comments, swiping a glob of frosting off of his own cupcake and sticking it in his mouth. “You’ve gotta show me sometime. I bet it makes you look cute.”

“I can only really put it in a small ponytail,” Nam-gyu says after swallowing his mouthful of food, wiping frosting off of his lips. “It’s nothing special.”

“You ever thought about dyeing it?”

Nam-gyu wrinkles his nose. “I wouldn’t be able to pull that off. Too much of a hassle, anyways. What about you? Do you think you’ll ever dye your hair a color other than purple?”

“I’ve thought about it, yeah. Sometimes I get so bored I think about dyeing it pink, or neon green, or…I don’t know, fucking rainbow, or something.”

“Rainbow hair…” Nam-gyu trails off in astonishment. “You’re probably one of the only people I can think of that could actually pull that off.”

“I don’t think I ever will, though. I’ve grown pretty used to the purple, and it’s sort of my trademark now.” Thanos shrugs, taking a bite of his own dessert.

“It fits you.” Nam-gyu nods in agreement. Damn, this cupcake tastes good as hell.

As the sky outside continues to darken, turning a deeper shade of blue as each minute ticks by, Nam-gyu takes a moment to examine the situation laid out in front of him. He’s on a date with Thanos, a man whom he’s managed to fall for so rapidly that he’s surprised he hasn’t crash landed and broken himself completely. He’s eating a sugary cupcake and chatting aimlessly, his only cause of anxiety being a slight nervousness of saying something embarrassing in front of someone he likes so intensely. The bruise on his shoulder is fading, he’s smiling at the stupid jokes that Thanos keeps making, he’s sober, and overall, he’s actually rather happy. He can’t even bring himself to care about what other people might think, seeing him so clearly enamored with another man. Mortals or omnipresent beings — it doesn’t matter who’s watching. His devotion no longer wavers under judgement of others, no matter who that other may be.

“Remember when we ran into that shaman lady?” Thanos asks, wadding his cupcake wrapper into a ball as he swallows his last bite. “And she started saying all that weird bullshit?”

Nam-gyu licks a smeared bit of frosting off of his thumb, nodding thoughtfully. He’s been so caught up in his own frenzied emotions and inner hypocrisy that he nearly forgot about the encounter entirely.

“I remember you flirting with the grocery clerk beforehand a bit more vividly,” Nam-gyu says wryly.

Thanos winces. “I was trying to impress you!”

“Impress me by flirting with someone else?” Nam-gyu snickers. “Smart move, dude. Really genius idea.”

“I figured if you saw me pulling chicks left and right you’d think to yourself, ‘damn, I need a piece of that…’” Thanos puffs his chest out proudly. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“You do remember that she rejected you, right?”

Thanos clears his throat loudly. “Okay, well…you went off with a girl too, so you can’t fault me too hard.”

“That was different,” Nam-gyu says, though it really wasn’t.

“Uh-huh, right.” A hint of jealousy works its way across Thanos’ features, an unmistakable flicker of unease. “…Did you really not sleep with her?”

“Nah, man. Seriously, I left pretty much immediately.”

“What made you leave?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

Thanos ducks his head, a poor attempt to hide his flush. “Oh.”

Nam-gyu laughs lightly, unaccustomed to being able to fluster his usually unflappable roommate so easily. “Anyways, what were you saying? About the shaman lady?”

Thanos gathers himself, leaning forward conspicuously. “All that shit she spouted off about. ‘A fate held in standstill, branching choices, hiding from your true self…’”

“The cards are all laid out for you, but the steps are yours to take,” Nam-gyu repeats dramatically, heightening his voice in mockery. Thanos stifles a chuckle at the poor imitation.

Though, now that Nam-gyu thinks about it, the words are rather fitting for his situation. His ‘fate’, whatever that may be, likely was in standstill due to how vehemently he was denying his own thoughts and feelings. He’s spent such a long time stuck within his own hypocrisy, pushing away his desires — it’s thanks to Thanos that he was able to pull himself out of it. Like the sudden burst of an unexpected firework, every ignored emotion has bubbled up and spilled out of him like a fissure, a dam exploding due to a single, miniscule leak in the structure.

“If these are the steps she was referring to,” Nam-gyu says, gesturing to the area around them. “I'd like to think I’m making the right ones.”

— — —

“That was a pretty good date, as far as first dates go,” Nam-gyu says once they reach their apartment, slowing to a stop outside the front door. “I rate it a seven out of ten.”

“Only seven?!”

“I’m kidding, hyung.” Nam-gyu leans forward, settling his palm against Thanos' cheek as he presses a quick kiss to his lips. “It was great. You’re far more chivalrous than you let on.”

“Only for you,” Thanos admits, chasing after his mouth, closing the distance once more. His lips taste like raspberries, sweet and soft, a gentle lull of mouths moving against each other as painted nails rise to cradle Nam-gyu’s chin.

The moon shines brightly overhead, the air a cold chill that lingers across each touch they give each other. Nam-gyu bites down slightly on Thanos’ lip, relishing the breathy noise it earns him in turn.

“You’ve been so good to me, hyung. So patient,” Nam-gyu murmurs, pulling back to examine Thanos’ face, the same pinkish red hue of the raspberries that lingers on his tongue. The hand that caresses his jaw moves to press against the apple of his cheek, thumb trailing against his skin.

If the lady next door were to open her door and see them intertwined like this, he’s sure that she’d call them filthy, a string of seething words spoken by a person too afraid of their own fragility to accept the existence of those that differ from her.

Nam-gyu is no longer made of wax, and he will not melt under misguided wrath.

On the other hand, he can certainly picture himself melting under the heat of Thanos’ tongue. A different kind of softening, one that’s slow and euphoric. Liquifying into a puddle and being rebuilt into something new. A stronger, sturdier version of himself. The hands that caress him will be firm and sturdy, full of loving presses and thoughtful touches. The hands will not belong to something all-knowing or infinite, a being setting him up for an unsatisfactory life. Instead, the hands will belong to a man, one similar to Nam-gyu himself. Shared experiences will seep from their fingertips as they hold each other, and it’ll be more than anything otherworldly will ever be able to offer him.

Nam-gyu licks his lips, eagerness palpable by the way he looks at Thanos. His boyfriend, his partner, his lover.

He knows exactly what he wants tonight.

They stumble their way into the apartment with a lack of grace. Feet trip over each other, shoulders knock against doorways. They struggle to keep their hands off of each other for more than a few fleeting seconds, and it’s because of this that it takes them so long to fumble their way to their bedroom.

Their bedroom. Not just Nam-gyu’s anymore. The warmth inside of him builds.

“I want to taste you,” Nam-gyu murmurs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Thanos’ jugular. “Can I…?”

“Can you what?” Thanos probes. He lets himself be pushed onto bed, sitting patiently as Nam-gyu looms over him. “How do you want me, baby?”

It’s such a common pet name, one that many would likely classify as cheesy or cliche. Yet, the way it rolls off of Thanos’ tongue makes Nam-gyu shiver.

He glances down to the obvious tent in Thanos’ pants — if someone could be devoured via a look alone, Thanos would be eaten in seconds. “I want you in my mouth.”

Thanos raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? You’re sure?”

Nam-gyu nods. “I want…I want to be on my knees for you.”

It’s ironic, considering how heavily he used to grapple with feelings of inadequacy when it comes to Thanos. He’s not often the type of man to give up control so easily, but Thanos has already stuffed him to the brim once before, and Nam-gyu needs to taste the same fluid that has filled his shaking body. He needs it in a way he can’t properly articulate. He needs to be on his knees, a dedicated devotee.

Worshippers often find themselves on their knees, praying at altars, looking up at statues of whom they believe in. Nam-gyu is only fulfilling that which he stands for.

(He knows, if he asked, Thanos would do the same thing. He’d fall to his knees and take him into his mouth without hesitation — their roles can switch at any time, and that’s exactly what makes it so thrilling. No matter which one of them is taking the more submissive role, they always remain on equal footing.)

“If you’d rather just go to sleep, we can,” Nam-gyu offers, but Thanos has already begun unbuckling his pants, sliding them off with a quickness. Nam-gyu bites back a smile, watching attentively as he slides off his boxers, revealing his hardened cock.

Nam-gyu’s never given a blowjob before. He assumes this fact is glaringly obvious to Thanos, considering how clear he’s made it that this is his first time being in a relationship with another man, but he still feels the need to voice his inexperience.

“Guide me through it,” Nam-gyu requests, hastily grabbing a hair tie on his bedside table before sinking to his knees. “I want to make you feel good.”

Thanos watches, spellbound, as Nam-gyu gathers his hair and ties it into a small ponytail. The shorter strands don’t fit, remaining framed across his face, black tendrils curving against flushed skin.

“Fuck, Nam-gyu,” Thanos grunts. He hasn’t even been touched yet, and he’s already fisting at bedsheets. “You’re angelic.”

Nam-gyu makes a small noise of appreciation. No one else he’s ever slept with in the past has ever praised him so openly. He wonders, distantly, what he did to deserve such awe-spoken words.

Nam-gyu’s never been this up close and personal to someone else’s cock before. It feels out-of-character for himself, and he can’t help but feel embarrassed. More to the point, he’s embarrassed by how badly he wants it in his mouth.

In Nam-gyu’s eyes, the most angelic thing in the room at the moment is Thanos’ twitching, hardened cock. He’s never seen a dick so pretty before, flushed pink in all the right places. Sizable, veiny, with a glistening slit at the tip, ready and waiting for a pliable mouth. He examines the small patch of black hair that resides at the base — he’s half surprised Thanos doesn’t dye his pubes purple.

He blinks back to focus, squaring his shoulders in preparation. He’s had his dick sucked before…surely it can’t be that difficult. As he leans forward, his breath ghosting the tip of Thanos’ cock, he glances upwards at a softly spoken admission.

“If you change your mind, you can stop whenever,” Thanos reminds, already in a state of breathlessness. “Okay?”

It’s sickeningly sweet; Thanos knows this is his first time giving a blowjob, and even as his dick twitches under Nam-gyu’s touch, he feels the need to tell him it’s alright if he gets overwhelmed and wants to back out. With a small smile, Nam-gyu leans forward and presses his lips to the head of Thanos’ cock, humming contentedly against heated skin. In an inexpressible way, this feels like his final act of confession, a purposefully thought out act to display that he wants every part of Thanos’ body. Physically and emotionally, he wants to be intertwined with him.

Is it yearning, or mutual obsession? Nam-gyu can’t be bothered to care. His lips wrap carefully around the tip of his cock, tongue sliding experimentally against the slit, relishing the shaky, breathless noise that it earns him.

The taste is to be expected; the same sharp flavor of skin that he’d taste if he ran his tongue across any other part of Thanos’ body. Salty, bitter, the tang of sweat lingering on his taste buds. Nam-gyu pulls away to lick his lips, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, swallowing, and praying for the taste to implement itself across the caverns of his mouth. He’s only taken a few tentative licks, and he’s already drunk on the taste of him.

A hand cradles his scalp, fingers threading through silky hair. The room is dark, but not dark enough to hide Thanos’ expressions from him; his eyebrows pinch together, lidded eyes looking down at with barely hidden adoration. Nam-gyu leans back forward, keeping his eyes trained upwards as he takes him back into his mouth. He wants to see every flicker of emotion that crosses his face, to bear witness to each faltering breath and gasping noise.

He keeps his jaw open wide, careful to avoid grazing his teeth along sensitive skin as he sinks himself downward, inching himself down his length. In the quiet of the room, Nam-gyu can hear every labored breath Thanos takes. The rufflings of bedsheets as fingers squeeze against them, the loud swallowing of excess saliva. Each sound tucks its way into the crevices of Nam-gyu’s brain, noises to be recalled and appreciated.

The weight of Thanos’ dick is heavy within his mouth, warm and solid. Nam-gyu makes it about halfway down before maneuvering the cock to the side of his mouth, rubbing the head along his cheek. Thanos inhales sharply, fingers tightening in his hair as he murmurs a string of pleasure-filled curses. The words spur him further, and in an act of recklessness, he attempts to shove the rest of Thanos’ dick in his mouth in one swift, hasty movement.

Nam-gyu gags so hard that his entire body spasms.

Spluttering, he pulls back in a fit of coughs. Thanos makes a noise of surprise, stroking his hair as Nam-gyu sniffles and wheezes, ducking his head in humiliation as he attempts to regain himself.

“It’s okay,” Thanos murmurs, surely able to sense Nam-gyu’s embarrassment. “You’re doing so good, baby. Take your time.”

Nam-gyu can’t help but feel disappointed in himself. Turns out that this really isn't as easy as it looks. He rubs his throat with a wince – he’s sure Thanos has gotten plenty of blowjobs before, and he doubts many have blundered so quickly.

“I’ll do better,” Nam-gyu croaks, desperate to prove that his mouth is superior to any of the women (and men?) that have found themselves in his position, on their knees, looking up at Thanos through fluttering eyelashes.

“Hey.” Thanos tugs Nam-gyu’s head back before he can dive back forward, meeting his eyes with a serious expression. “You’re already doing good, Nam-gyu. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“I just…I want to make you feel good.”

“You are making me feel good. Nobody can make me feel as good as you do, because nobody else is you.”

Nam-gyu blinks up at him. His eyes are watery because of his choking fit, and he refuses to acknowledge any other possibility. He doesn't cry during sex. Seriously, he doesn't. Last time was just a fluke.

He wipes furiously at his eyes. “...Okay.”

“Do you want to stop?” Thanos asks. “It’s okay if you–”

“No, I want to keep going,” Nam-gyu insists. “Really, I do. You got to taste me last time, but I never got to taste you…”

Thanos nods, eyes darkening as he recalls their prior arrangement. “Damn…I should’ve scooped up some of the cum that was leaking out of you and had you lap it up. Bet you would’ve loved it.”

Nam-gyu shudders, fingers digging persistently into Thanos’ calves. He always figured the things Thanos would say in the bedroom would be filthy, but he underestimated how much it would turn him on.

“You loved choking on my fingers, didn't you?” Thanos asks with a knowing grin, teeth digging into his bottom lip as Nam-gyu teeters forward, slowly taking his hardened cock back between his lips. Nam-gyu nods against the dick in his mouth, taking it in slowly. Taking it slow is key. He suctions his cheeks and sucks against skin, flattening his tongue against the underside of his cock.

As much as Nam-gyu wants to propel himself forward, jamming Thanos’ tip against his uvula and burying his nose against the small patch of hair at his base, he knows he won’t be able to do so without gagging. So instead, he settles for taking the amount he can handle, and sucking like his life depends on it, constricting the gummy walls of his cheeks against the twitching, pulsing length in his mouth.

“Look at you, baby,” Thanos gasps out, “you're drooling. You love it, don’t you? Love the taste of my cock?”

Fuck, he really is drooling. He can feel the spit beading at the corner of his mouth, dribbling down his chin as he bobs his head. He’s so focused on the task at hand that he hardly pays any mind to his own hard-on straining against his pants — his hands move to grasp persistently at the base, fingers trailing against the skin he can’t manage to fit in his mouth. One hand wraps around the bottom of his dick, while the other fondles Thanos’ balls with a surprising amount of expertise.

(People often forget about that last part. He feels rather proud of himself for remembering.)

“Nam-gyu,” Thanos chokes out, “do you– do you remember back when—fuck—when you asked what I would’ve done if you’d came back the apartment covered in blood? If you’d actually killed Myung-gi?”

For a brief moment, Nam-gyu stops all action completely, squinting up at the trembling man above him with poorly veiled disbelief. Admittedly, he doesn't enjoy hearing Myung-gi’s name on Thanos’ lips when his voice is so filled with lust. Even still, he makes a hum of consideration, looking up at him expectantly as he resumes his steady pace and handsy ministrations.

“I was going to say,” Thanos groans, “that I would’ve fucked you. I would’ve used his blood as lube and taken you raw right against the door. Or, I would’ve laid you on the ground and fucked you back to your senses.”

Nam-gyu squirms, pressing his thighs together as he whimpers against Thanos’ length. The words are even more obscene than the wet, squelching sounds of Nam-gyu’s tongue working against his cock, and he feels a jolt of pleasure at the imagery Thanos has given him. The smell of another’s blood while being fucked by Thanos, returning to himself as he’s pounded into hardened flooring…

Thanos leans over him, reaching down and dragging his fingers across Nam-gyu’s spit slicked chin. “So fucking messy,” he murmurs. “I love it, my boy.”

Keeping his eye contact steady, Thanos brings his drool covered fingers and places them firmly in his mouth, licking Nam-gyu’s saliva off of his fingertips. He groans against his own skin as he savors the taste of Nam-gyu’s spit, and the imagery is so mind-numbingly attractive that it single-handedly makes Nam-gyu double his efforts.

“Mm…Nam, baby, I’m close,” Thanos grunts. Nam-gyu makes no move to pull away; he wants to swallow each and every drop of him, to be filled to the brim yet again. He suctions his cheeks, a light sheen of sweat glossing across his forehead as he takes as much of Thanos as he can.

Nam-gyu can try to ignore it all he wants, but he can feel the warmth of heated tears trailing down his cheeks as he takes it, mingling with the drool that drips down his chin. He’s never been one to cry during sex—he really can’t stress that enough—but something about baring himself to Thanos overwhelms his senses in the best ways imaginable.

(He remembers that, sometimes, he would see people cry during prayer at church. They’d look upwards, tears streaking down their cheeks, overwhelmed with a supposed holy, pure spirit. He wonders if this is something similar. It’s not uncommon for devotees to cry during worship, overwhelmed with the feeling of another looking down at them, and Thanos is nothing if not holy. Beautiful, even with his flaws.)

Fingers tighten against his hair. Thanos’ breathing grows erratic. Nam-gyu bobs his head one last time, and waits for his prayers to be answered.

Thanos cums with Nam-gyu’s name on his lips, cracked and desperate. The liquid that fills his mouth is, admittedly, not the best tasting. It’s bitter with a salty tang, warming his mouth and pooling across his tongue. He could pull away if he wished, spit it onto the ground and clean it up later. Instead, he keeps himself suctioned to Thanos’ dick as he trembles through his orgasm, dutifully swallowing down each spurt of liquid that leaves him. He shudders as the substance tracks down his throat, thick and heavy.

The best part of it all is how attentively Thanos watches him. Even as he doubles over, overwhelmed by the gut-punch of pleasure that his orgasm has offered him, he looks down and watches as Nam-gyu swallows him. Nam-gyu stares up at him and guzzles, drinking up all of him without hesitation.

“Holy shit,” Thanos curses, his voice a mere whisper as Nam-gyu pulls himself off. His face is streaked with tears, his chin is covered in spit, and there’s a splatter of cum that’s smeared across his bottom lip. He must look like a complete mess.

“I’m going to write so many songs about you,” Thanos admits quietly, the hand in Nam-gyu hair moving to rest against his tear-slicked cheek. “You’re my muse, baby. I mean it.”

Nam-gyu smiles dazedly, leaning his head against Thanos’ palm as he looks up at him through glossy eyes. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Notes:

Funny as hell that I’m writing Nam-gyu eating and enjoying soup bc in my previous thangyu fic he actively dislikes soup 😭why am I writing about soup so much in the first place. I don’t even like soup.

Anyways. If I had a nickel for every time I tied religious connotations to thangyu blowjob scenes I’d have two nickels. I’m sensing a theme here.

(Actually, the entire blowjob scene here is eerily similar to the one I wrote in my last thangyu fic, except their positions are switched. Whoops.)

Alsooo take notice of the chapter 13 callback 👅

Chapter 20: The Sun

Notes:

Veryyy short chapter, my apologies. These next upcoming chapters are all sort of epilogue-ish / wrapping-things-up type of chapters, so they won’t be very long. But despite the fact that this fic is coming to an end soon, I do have lots more thangyu ideas I plan to write for!!! ^_^ Season 3 may be over, but my thangyu fixation certainly isn’t lol

The only thing worse than unemployment is employment.

Nam-gyu stares down at the large, imposing “you’re hired!” tagline that’s lodged its way among his emails. He scans it quickly, eyes darting across his screen frantically.

…It’s a fucking sandwich shop. He doesn’t even remember applying for this shit!

Over his shoulder, Thanos whistles loudly. “Well, would you look at that? You’re a working man again, sweetie-pie.”

“Ew, dude.” Nam-gyu crinkles his nose, turning around to shove a chiding hand against his shoulder. “Come on, cut that shit out.”

“If I can’t call you Nam-su, I have to find something else to call you that pisses you off.” Thanos points a finger in his face. “See! You’re doing that thing where you wrinkle your nose!”

“Hyung, I don’t want to work at a sandwich shop,” Nam-gyu complains, sidestepping Thanos’ antics and refocusing on the topic at hand.

“Then why’d you apply?”

Nam-gyu shrugs. Thanos raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Should I, like…actually accept…?”

“I don’t think we’ll be making any crazy cash due to my job course anytime soon, if that’s what you’re asking,” Thanos snorts. “My manager may have rehired me, but he’s making me do a bunch of paperwork bullshit before anything actually, y’know…happens.”

Nam-gyu heaves a heavy, long-lasting sigh. “I’m not built for customer service, man. I’m so sick of kissing people's ass.”

“Look on the bright side — you’ll be able to bring me free sandwiches!”

Nam-gyu fixes him with a blank stare.

“I’m kidding! …Sort of.”

Nam-gyu looks back at the email, squinting at the start date with uncertainty. “I don’t even really like sandwiches. This would be so much better if that stupid smoothie store hired me…”

“I can make you smoothies,” Thanos offers. It’s a very sweet offer, but Nam-gyu adamantly refuses to let him near their blender. He’s about ninety percent positive that he’d somehow manage to break it. “Just think of it as a temporary arrangement. Once I really get my rapping shit back on track, we’ll be set!”

“Temporary arrangement,” Nam-gyu repeats. “Yeah, okay. I can handle that.”

— — —

In his momentary lapse of joblessness, Nam-gyu has forgotten how much he hates a majority of the general public.

“Can I have cheese on my sandwich? With tomatoes, please. Actually, no tomatoes. Oh, you’ve already added them? Well, take them off! And, don’t leave any tomato juice residue. Oh, and you put the wrong cheese. Yeah, you’ll have to change the cheese too.”

Nam-gyu thinks he deserves a gold ingot as a reward for dealing with such severe levels of stupidity, and it’s only been one singular week.

“It really doesn’t help that the uniform is so fucking stupid,” Nam-gyu gripes as he sheds his neon green, ketchup-stained apron. It’s evening, and he’s just arrived back from his shift.

“I like the hat,” Thanos admits, pointing at the logo printed on the front with an impish smile. “Look at the mascot, man. It’s a cute little kitty! It’s even black, just like your hair.”

“Oh, how wonderful. I’m so honored to resemble a cat that acts as a cartoon mascot for stale, shitty sandwiches. My dreams are coming true right before my eyes.”

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and assume that today was rough?” Thanos jests, stepping behind him and placing his hands against Nam-gyu’s shoulders, thumbs rubbing against tense muscles. “Relax, dude.”

“It’s hard to relax when I reek of lettuce and mustard and…” Nam-gyu waves his hands dismissively, cutting himself off with a grunt.

“We could take a shower?” Thanos suggests, pressing a kiss against the nape of Nam-gyu’s neck. “Or a bath?”

Nam-gyu hums thoughtfully; the thought of Thanos taking his tired limbs and lathering him with soap is an entirely welcome one, but Nam-gyu has a hankering for takeout — they should save the bathing for after they eat.

“We should go pick up food for dinner,” Nam-gyu says, leaning appreciatively into Thanos’ touch, “and then shower afterwards.”

— — —

After a very lengthy discussion, they decide to pick up some fried chicken.

Thanos insists on stopping at the grocery store on the way there — there’s a new flavor of vape he wants to try, and he says he should be allowed to splurge just this once. Although it’s evening, the sun still shines brightly overhead, not wanting to relinquish itself to the moon just yet. The warmth is appreciated, and Nam-gyu lets Thanos sling their arms together as they walk.

“Blueberry peppermint spearmint blitz extreme,” Thanos murmurs as they walk inside the store, rubbing his hands together eagerly.

“Dude, are you casting a fucking spell?” Nam-gyu snorts. “Are you serious? Is that actually the name of the vape?”

“It looks good, man! I’ll let you have a hit, don’t worry.”

“I wasn't worried, trust me,” Nam-gyu jokes, snickering at Thanos’ admonishment. “Peppermint spearmint…isn’t that the same damn thing?”

“No, no, it’s different. One has pepper and one has spear.”

“…Hyung.”

“Look, it has good ratings, okay?” Thanos defends. “Trust me, my boy.”

Admittedly, Nam-gyu is curious about what it tastes like, so he follows along with his arm still clinging against Thanos’ as they make their way to the back of the store.

“Aren’t they supposed to keep these up at the register?” Nam-gyu muses as Thanos plucks a vibrant blue vape from a small shelf, turning it over in his hands excitedly.

Thanos looks around conspicuously. “You’re right…hey, I could probably steal this, couldn’t I?”

“Don’t even. If we get caught it’ll postpone us from getting fried chicken, and I’m hungry as hell.”

“Fine, fine.” Thanos waves his hand dismissively. “While we’re here, though, let me take a look at these other flavors, k’? Gotta see what other goods they have…”

Nam-gyu peers over Thanos’ shoulder as he leans down to look, and catches sight of one called ‘pink cotton candy raspberry craze’ and almost outright cackles. Who the fuck is naming these things?

“Thanos,” Nam-gyu giggles, pointing at the vape in question. “Thanos, look. They’re just mashing random words together! How can something taste like a color?”

“Smoky hazy midnight day…” Thanos reads the name beside it, pulling a face. “Man, none of those words are even fucking flavors!”

Nam-gyu stifles another laugh, shoulders shaking as he restrains himself. “These are all so awful. What makes you want the blueberry one, anyways?”

“Because blueberry tastes good.” Thanos shrugs. “Duh.”

“Are you sure that orange sunshine sugary sweetness isn’t the right one for you?” Nam-gyu gestures to a more expensive vape. “Or, maybe you’d prefer ultra crazy lemon lime extravaganza?”

“You’re getting a real kick out of this, huh?” Thanos laughs; the breathy, disbelieving noise of amusement that someone makes when a person’s reaction is more funny than the situation at hand.

“Yes, dude! This shit is ridiculous,” Nam-gyu begins to gather himself. “Whoever named these needs to get fired and banned from the company indefinitely.”

“Such strong feelings about vape.” Thanos shakes his head in faux dismay, letting himself be tugged away from the stand. “And yet, you don’t even use them!”

“Why would I buy vapes when I can just take a few hits of yours every once and a while?” Nam-gyu counters.

“Little thief.”

“You offered!”

“I’m revoking it. The offer is revoked as of right…” Thanos snaps his fingers. “Now!”

Nam-gyu places a hand over his heart. “Such cruelty!”

They tone down their antics as they reach the register for the sake of the poor worker, an older man with sagging wrinkles. Thanos rests his hand on the small of Nam-gyu’s back as he rambles on to the worker about how he saw something about a discount (there is no discount) and how he’s one hundred percent positive he’s guaranteed a couple of dollars off for being a returning customer (he’s not). The bell chimes as the front door to the store opens, an ominous, grating toll, and Nam-gyu turns instinctively to glance at the person who steps inside.

He freezes, the same cold, gripping fear that consumed him the first time he saw him. It’s fucking Myung-gi.

…Perhaps he’s been cursed. That’s really the only explanation left, isn’t it?

One part of Nam-gyu could argue that this is a good thing. A second chance after a first failed attempt. He can still claim victory now, if he plays his cards carefully.

Another part of him, the sensible part, could argue the exact opposite. He’s already come to terms with the fact that killing Myung-gi won’t serve to change anything for him. He doesn’t need to feel blood against his skin to feel alive.

When their eyes meet, he sees the same strike of fear mirrored back at him. Remembrance, followed by frozen panic. Myung-gi stands in front of entry doors, eyes wide, with the same stupid look of bafflement he always wears when he’s caught off guard.

Thanos is oblivious, too caught up in his mission of haggling the store worker to pay any attention to his surroundings. Nam-gyu watches as Myung-gi glances behind him, eyeing Thanos with furrowed eyebrows. “Oh, great. Both of them this time,” Nam-gyu can imagine him thinking, irked by his continuous bad luck.

Nam-gyu doesn’t act. He doesn’t alert Thanos, nor does he lurch forward himself. He doesn’t want to kill Myung-gi — not because he cares for the man’s livelihood, but because he’s so content with his own. The hand against the small of his back moves to settle on his hip, ringed fingers messing absentmindedly with the hem of his jeans. Nam-gyu feels the action, and lets it ground him, a reminder of what he has, and how quickly it could be squandered if things go ary.

Myung-gi’s eyes dart downwards for a quick, fleeting moment, examining the closeness of them. Something close to understanding dawns across his gestures, an “ah-ha!” moment of realization.

Their eyes meet again. Nam-gyu can see the unspoken question swirling in Myung-gi’s corneas. “Why aren’t you trying to kill me? What’s changed?”

“Everything’s changed,” Nam-gyu would say, if he could. “I hate you more than anything, but I can’t bear to see the blood. I can’t afford to ruin the life that I’m constructing for myself. I want to kill you, but I can’t, and I won’t.”

The exchange is wordless, a rapid exchange of two wide-eyed stares. Somehow, he knows Myung-gi understands. He can tell by the curt nod, the wince of discomfort, the shuffle of his feet as he begins to exit the store. Nam-gyu thinks that, in some odd, inexplicable way, Myung-gi understands what the fear in his eyes stands for. He knows. He must, because their expressions have matched completely. Hatred mixed with panic. A steady, pulsing thought beating throughout both of them in tandem.

”I want to kill you.

But I can’t. I have too much to lose.”

He’s not sure what Myung-gi’s reasoning is, and he couldn’t care less if he tried. He hopes desperately to never see him again. All Nam-gyu knows is that the hand on his waist is warm, solid, and holds him with meaning. It’s a hand that fits nicely against his own. It’s a hand that doesn’t deserve to be bloodied. Not anymore. Not ever again.

“So, no discount?” Thanos asks the exhausted worker that stands before them.

“No, no discount.”

The bell rings again as Myung-gi makes his escape. The sound seems gentler this time, a soft, thankful cadence. An appreciative ring, an acknowledgment of making the right choice.

Thanos pays for the vape, and they exit the store side by side. Nam-gyu rubs his fingers absentmindedly against the fading bruise on his shoulder, fingers trembling from the surprise of the unexpected encounter. He knows, deep within himself, that Thanos would’ve killed Myung-gi if he saw him. He also knows that the regret would eat away at him, no matter how much he’d claim otherwise.

“You okay?” Thanos asks once they’ve made it outside. The sun shines against his hair, a soft, orange hue.

“I’m okay,” Nam-gyu takes his hand, fitting their palms together. For the first time in a long while, he means it.

Notes:

Another character that hasn’t been mentioned in the story yet will be making a surprise appearance next chapter…start placing your bets! >_o

Chapter 21: Judgement

Notes:

Sandwich store worker namling

“Thanos, you have to pick me up and get me out of this place before I start beating the shit out of the customers.”

The cackle on the other line is louder than Nam-gyu’s mumbled complaint. He sits slumped in the corner of the break room, phone pressed tightly against his ear as he takes a five minute breather – at least, it’s supposed to be five minutes. It's been ten minutes already, and he can tell his co-workers are getting irked with him.

“You’re only on week two, my boy! You’re quitting already?”

“I’m not quitting yet,” Nam-gyu says, putting heavy emphasis on the last word, “but, I’m getting out of here early today. They said I could.”

“Did they?”

“Yeah.”

“Why’s that?”

“...Because I called a customer a dipshit under my breath,” Nam-gyu sighs. “I got a warning for it. They said I need to go home, recuperate, and come back with a better attitude.”

“Holy shit, man,” Thanos snickers. “They're going to fire you!”

“‘Tomorrow, come back with a claw-tastic attitude! I believe in you, and so does the rest of your paw-esome team!’” Nam-gyu quotes. “That’s what my manager said to me. Like, with a completely straight face.”

“...Dude, what?”

“That’s what I said!”

“Claw-tastic? Paw-esome?” Thanos guffaws. “Are you working at a sandwich store, or a maid café?”

“At this point, a maid café would probably be more tolerable. Who chooses a cat as the mascot of a sandwich place, anyways?”

“Nam-gyu!” The door to the break room cracks open, and his co-worker pokes her head in apologetically. “We need you out front.”

“Yeah, okay.” Nam-gyu nods curtly, returning his attention back to his phone as the door clicks back shut. “I’ve gotta go. But, I’ve only got roughly thirty minutes left until I can get the fuck out of here. I walked here this morning, but I don’t feel like walking all the way back. If you pick me up, I’ll make you a free sandwich.”

“Say no less!” Thanos cheers.

After exchanging quick goodbyes, Nam-gyu shoves his phone in his pocket and makes his way back to the front of the store, adjusting the cap that fits snugly around his head. He smooths out his apron, pulls on a pair of gloves, and squeezes into the front of the assembly line.

– – –

There’s only so many times he can plaster a fake, overly friendly smile onto his face until his facial muscles start to ache.

He keeps glancing over at the clock, counting down the minutes until he can go home for the day. He’s been able to restrain himself from insulting any customers, at the very least, which he thinks he deserves quite a lot of praise for.

Nam-gyu squares his shoulders as he sees another customer approach, a woman pushing a baby carrier. He paints a blatantly fake smile on his face, and starts to rehearse his welcoming line.

“Hello, welcome to–”

The rest of the words become lodged in his throat as the woman looks up at him. His smile fades, replaced with dazed disorientation. Why does she look so familiar…?

Her features are soft, but her eyes are sharp. He can tell by the way she squints at him that she recalls him as well, lips twitching into a frown as she examines his face closely.

Oh, shit. It’s the girl Myung-gi was with. The pregnant one!

…Not pregnant anymore, obviously. Nam-gyu can’t remember her name, nor does he care to – he’s getting increasingly sick and tired of running into Myung-gi and people who associate with him.

He gathers himself, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Can I take your order?”

She looks at him curiously, but not with malice. If she knows who he is, surely she should look at him with clear dislike, shouldn't she? He tormented her boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) during the games, and then tried to kill him afterwards. Knowing Myung-gi, Nam-gyu wouldn't be surprised if he ran straight to her after their spat, claiming how heroically he fought off the junkie that picked on him back in the games…ugh. It’s pissing Nam-gyu off just thinking about it.

If she does recognize him fully (he hopes she doesnt, because his work uniform makes him look ridiculous), she doesn't say anything about it. She orders a warmed meat and cheese sandwich without any dressings or add-ons, watches him construct it, and says thank you as he hands it over. It’s a normal, standard interaction.

…Weird.

She sits down at one of the small tables set out, her baby carrier situated snugly beside her. Nam-gyu spares another glance at the clock, and resists the urge to fall to his knees and weep tears of joy as he notices the time. He quickly constructs a meat-loaded sandwich for Thanos, packages it up neatly, and hangs onto it firmly, as if afraid of having it ripped from his hands at any moment.

“My times up,” Nam-gyu announces to his aggrieved co-workers, plucking off his gloves and tossing them in the nearby trash bin. “I’m out.”

As Nam-gyu makes his way to the break room to grab his bag, he hears one of his co-workers mumble, “he smuggled a sandwich!”

…Yeah, he’s definitely getting fired soon. A gift in itself; if he hears one more shitty cat pun, he might really lose it.

He places the sandwich carefully in his bag and slings it over his shoulder, taking his cap off and running a hand through his hair. Hey, shouldn't he be wearing a hair net? Man, what's even with this place?

Nam-gyu steps back out into the store, and breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of Thanos’ easy-to-spot head of bright purple hair. Unfortunately, his relief quickly turns to dread when he sees what he’s doing.

Thanos is sitting across from Myung-gi’s girlfriend—ex-girlfriend? Whatever, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Thanos is talking to her animatedly, without a care in the world. As if they didn’t continuously try to beat the shit out of her baby’s father.

The weirdest part, though, is that she doesn’t look very bothered.

“Nam-gyu!” Thanos brightens the second he spots him, and Nam-gyu would be lying if he said it didn’t endear him. “Look, dude, it’s the pregnant girl from the games!”

“Jun-hee,” she corrects with an awkward smile.

“Mhm.” Nam-gyu gives Thanos a long look as he hands him his sandwich, hoping to get across the words “get up from the damn table and stop making me communicate with fuckers I don’t want to talk to,” without having to actually say so aloud.

It doesn’t work.

“You can sit down,” Jun-hee offers politely.

“We should get going, actually,” Nam-gyu insists, giving Thanos another desperate glance.

“What’re you talking about, dude? We don’t have shit to do. C’mon, sit!”

Nam-gyu wants to throttle him. And yet, he can’t even do that, because the masochistic fucker would absolutely be into it. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, counts to three, and takes a seat.

“What was with the meditating session?” Thanos murmurs. Under the table, Nam-gyu kicks him in the ankle in place of a response.

Across the table, Jun-hee clears her throat. “I know I don’t really know either of you, but I think it’s a good thing that I ran into you here.”

She looks directly at Nam-gyu as she says it, which does nothing to calm his nerves. “Are we all pretending that we didn’t try to beat the shit out of your boyfriend on the regular, or what?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Jun-hee says sharply. “He’ll be shelling over his part of the paycheck, though, I’m making sure of that…”

“So, the amazing MG Coin abandoned his pregnant girlfriend? Sounds like a real catch,” Nam-gyu snarks.

“I wouldn’t say abandoned…” She trails off uncertainly. “He’s trying a bit harder now, at least. After everything that’s happened.”

“Well, good on you for not taking his shit.” Thanos nods in agreement. “That guy is a fucking freak. Did you know that he tried to physically assault my boy?” Thanos slings an arm around Nam-gyu’s shoulder, conveniently leaving out the fact that Nam-gyu started the altercation to begin with. “Obviously, Nam-gyu came out victorious.”

Jun-hee tilts her head. “Really? He told me Nam-gyu approached him first…didn’t you slam a bottle against his head and try to choke him?”

Nam-gyu grimaces, looking around nervously. He sure hopes his co-workers can’t overhear this. “Can we not talk about this?”

“Not talk about the murder attempt?” Jun-hee deadpans. “I mean…I guess. Don’t do anything like that again though, okay? I need him alive so he can pay child support.”

Nam-gyu can’t believe he’s being chided by a lady he doesn’t even know. He also can’t believe that she’s sitting and having a civil conversation with him despite the fact that he tried to kill her ex-lover. And Thanos still has his arm wrapped around his shoulder, chowing down on a sandwich as if the whole conversation is perfectly fine and normal.

“…Yeah, okay,” Nam-gyu says eventually. “Whatever.”

“He’s not going to turn it into a whole thing, is he?” Thanos frowns. “Because, I’m starting up my rapping career again, and I don’t need him going around telling people that my boy tried to kill him.”

“He won’t,” Jun-hee reassures. “I don’t think he wants any sort of publicity or attention from any type of media. It’d be better for all of us if we just forget about the whole thing.”

Forget about the whole murder attempt? Is this chick for real?

“And, besides.” Jun-hee turns her full attention to Nam-gyu, fiddling absentmindedly with a strand of her hair. “He said he saw you a bit ago, and that you seemed different.”

Nam-gyu scowls. She’s referring to their brief run-in at the store, he’s assuming. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Uh…I think the words he used were ‘less unhinged’?” She nods to herself. “Right. Yeah. He said you seemed less unhinged.”

“…Great,” Nam-gyu says blankly.

“You really have been less unhinged lately, now that I think about it.” Thanos nods sagely. “Is it because of my stellar company?”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Nam-gyu refocuses on Jun-hee. “Look, just keep the fucker away from me, alright? Don’t tell him I work here, or any shit like that. I’m not gonna go out trying to throttle him anymore, but if I see him again, I think I at least deserve to verbally berate him.” He smiles politely. “You understand my position here, yeah?”

Jun-hee shrugs. “I was affected by the crypto scam too, you know. I was so angry at first, infuriated at him for ruining my life. I’m still upset with him, of course, but sometimes it gets to a point where you just have to focus on the good you have.” Her eyes dart between them, a small smile gracing her features. “Like, how you two have each other. That’s nice, isn’t it? You guys must be really good friends to have been able to find each other again, even outside of the games.”

Thanos snorts. “Yeah, we’re good friends. Really good friends. Super close.”

Nam-gyu kicks him under the table again, but it only makes Thanos grin wider. Damn, he really is a masochist.

Jun-hee’s mouth falls into the shape of an ‘o’, nodding in abrupt realization.

…This is mortifying, and Nam-gyu needs to find a way out of this situation immediately. He starts to muster up some form of an excuse, but before he can get a word out, he’s interrupted by the sound of a blubbering baby.

“Oh, hold on,” Jun-hee says, leaning over to pull back the cover of the baby carrier. Nestled within fluffy, soft-looking blankets, is a small, chubby baby, a small pink cap adorning its head.

Nam-gyu has never liked being around children — loud, snotty, and when they get old enough to talk, their words are usually blunt and rude. But as he looks down at the tiny baby, limbs moving slowly, he finds himself thankful that he didn’t kill Myung-gi as he originally planned. No matter his purpose and reasoning behind it, he would’ve robbed a child from its parent. As much as he hates Myung-gi, he’s sure the man holds some level of affection for his own kid. If Nam-gyu really did kill Myung-gi, it’d eat away at him, knowing he changed the life of a baby he doesn’t know so drastically.

Nam-gyu doesn’t consider himself to be a good man, after everything he’s done. But he knows that, at the very least, he doesn’t wish harm on defenseless children.

“Cute kid,” Thanos comments, leaning over to get a better look. He looks down at the cooing child, holding up his hands in two matching peace-symbols. “Welcome to the Thanos World, mini Jun-hee!”

The kid blows a spit bubble in response, and Jun-hee muffles a laugh as she cleans the baby’s drool with a napkin. There’s something so inexplicably odd about the situation, the three (four, counting the baby) of them sitting together and making casual conversation. Three people who went through the same traumas. Three people who, in different circumstances, likely wouldn’t even glance in each other's directions. Three people who, all things considered, should probably hate each other.

“So, no more murder attempts, right?” Jun-hee reiterates.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nam-gyu says curtly. “No more murder attempts.”

— — —

Palms travel diligently across a bare, soapy back.

They’ve grown quickly accustomed to showering together under the guise of ‘saving water’. The truth of the matter is that they both enjoy the act of running their hands along each other, lathering skin with soap, massaging shampoo into hair. Anything to keep their hands on each other for an extended amount of time.

“Nam-gyu,” Thanos says from behind him, hands scrubbing soap along Nam-gyu’s back. “We could’ve used that surprise meet-up with Jun-hee today to track Myung-gi down for real. If we really planned to kill him, we totally could’ve used that to our advantage.”

“I was being serious when I said no more murder attempts, Thanos.”

“I know. It’s just sort of funny, don’t you think? How drastically our plans have changed?” Thanos muses. “I hate that fucker, but I don’t want us to land up in jail for killing him. I was thinking that, and it made me realize…”

There’s a brief pause. Nam-gyu glances behind him, taking in the sight of Thanos’ water-slicked appearance and sheepish expression. “Made you realize what?”

“I’m…content. Living with you, dating you. It makes me feel nice, you know? For once, I actually have shit to look forward to.” Another pause, followed by a flustered noise of bafflement. “Ugh, that’s so cheesy! Forget I said anything.”

Nam-gyu bites back a laugh, turning around to place damp palms against each side of Thanos’ face. “Don’t be stupid. Showering together is sort of cheesy, isn’t it?”

“We’re like one of those cliché domestic couples…”

“Not necessarily a bad thing,” Nam-gyu murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Right?”

“Right,” Thanos mumbles. Instead of the metallic, sharp stench of blood, the only scent that clings to them is the smell of strawberry shampoo and fresh shower water.

The smell of new beginnings, a layout for the start of a better life.

Notes:

The thought of Jun-hee chilling w these two after they’ve harassed Mg Coin so intensely makes me chuckle icl

Chapter 22: The World

Notes:

Last chapter! Woaw! I mightttt try to tackle a thangyu timeloop longfic after this, but I’m still undecided…I’ll probably write a few one-shots first to get some smaller thangyu ideas out of my system.

Thank you for sticking with me throughout this. I had lots of fun writing this, and I hope you had lots of fun reading it :)

A half empty can of soda situated on his bedside table. The blinds left haphazardly cracked open. Two pillows laid out on his bed instead of one.

Traces of Thanos are left in each space of his apartment, pieces of himself clicking into place. It’s as if he’s always been here, as if the smell of coffee in the morning, strong arms wrapped around his torso, and sleepy words of greeting have always been permanent fixtures of Nam-gyu’s life.

Sometimes, during particularly lazy mornings, the days where neither of them can gather the resolve to get out of bed at a decent time, Thanos will bring Nam-gyu’s hand to his lips, pressing featherlight kisses along the back of his hand, his palm, his wrist. Other times, Nam-gyu will run his hands through bright purple hair, fingers trailing against scalp, mumbling jumbled explanations of half-remembered dreams.

Often, he finds himself waiting for the telltale toll of a bell. An ominous admission, the sudden and abrupt slam of a fist. He waits, as he always does, for what’s been carefully built to shatter in its entirety. He fears this is all he was made for — to find peace, for a brief moment, and then have it ripped from his trembling hands. Shaky limbs are always the first to twitch, to falter, to drop what’s most valuable.

But this time, he’s not the only one tightening his grip. Thanos’ hands grasp alongside his own, palms covering his knuckles. They hold themselves in tandem, therefore they will not break.

Nights are more difficult than mornings. The darkening of the sky seems to correlate with the spiraling of their own thoughts — some nights, Nam-gyu curls himself into a ball on their bed, tightly compressing his limbs together and clamping his hands over his ears. The echoing recollection of screams and the phantom feeling of blood against his skin haunts him.

Other nights, Thanos finds himself hunched over a sink, sweaty and unstable on his feet. He claims to have put the games out of his mind, but the lie is feeble, and both of them are aware of it.

The comfort that they offer each other in these moments are clumsy. Neither are accustomed to it, but they make an effort regardless; that in itself is enough.

A month passes, and one month quickly turns into two. Thanos begins rebranding himself on social media, ramping up for an eventual performance, and while the amount of fangirls he gains almost instantly makes Nam-gyu’s head spin with jealousy, he’s thankful that his efforts are paying off.

(Because, it’s safe to say that Nam-gyu’s job making sandwiches is not long-term.)

Nam-gyu knows, realistically, he has very little reason to feel jealous. It’s a good thing that Thanos has fans, and it’s not like either of them are making any effort to hide their relationship from prying eyes. Even if they did, it’s not like they’d be able to stay undercover for long — Thanos has a tendency to become handsy without realizing it. A hand resting snugly on the small of his back, fingers dipping into the back pocket of Nam-gyu’s jeans, an arm slung across his shoulders; there’s almost always some form of contact between them, and Nam-gyu leans into the warmth of him every time, without hesitance.

The dreary-looking vines surrounding the apartment complex grow with each passing day, but it no longer feels like entrapment. There’s a prettiness to the shrubbery that Nam-gyu’s never noticed before. The environment that surrounds them as they leave their apartment is run-down, old, and undeniably home.

It still feels surreal, hearing Thanos practice for future performances, singing songs that hold pieces of Nam-gyu’s own written words. “I know I won’t forget the lyrics this time,” Thanos says self-assuredly, “because you’re the one that wrote them.”

Nam-gyu could argue that he didn’t write all of the lyrics. But Thanos seems to grow more confident by the day, and his positivity rubs off on him.

— — —

“What were you doing when the recruiter found you?” Thanos asks one day as they sit upright in bed, taking small sips of coffee as they trade small talk about plans for the upcoming week. Thanos’ manager has been working him to the bone, and Nam-gyu doesn’t mind being the one to listen to his endless complaints about it.

“The recruiter for the games?” Nam-gyu clarifies needlessly.

“Mhm.”

“It was right out in the parking lot.” Nam-gyu gestures towards the window, alluding to the area outside their complex. “That guy was an asshole. He hit hard.”

“You know,” Thanos starts slowly, and Nam-gyu can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s choosing his words carefully. “He found me right as I was about to kill myself. I’ve told you that before, haven’t I?”

Nam-gyu nods, waiting patiently for him to continue. There’s an openness to his gaze, a raw truth to his demeanor.

“As I was looking out over the ledge, I tried really hard to find a reason to stay. I stood there, I considered how far of a drop it was. I even tried to think about it in a morbid sense. About how gross my body would look splattered on the ground. I thought, "What if my mother saw me like that?’” Thanos takes a slow, languid drink of his coffee. “But even that didn’t really deter me, which only made me feel worse.”

“Then…it’s sort of a good thing that fucker showed up, isn’t it?” Nam-gyu muses, unsettled at the thought of Thanos tossing himself to his demise. “I mean, it’s obviously not a good thing that anyone had to go through that shitshow of a kidnapping operation, but…” he clears his throat. “…I’m glad you’re still here.”

Thanos offers him a softened smile, warm and serene. He’s entirely alive, more so than he’s likely ever been, and Nam-gyu knows he’ll never be able to properly articulate his thankfulness for it.

“I think that crazy witch lady was right, when she was spouting off about cards, or whatever,” Thanos says thoughtfully. “I’m not religious. Never have been, never will be. But, I can sort of wrap my head around the idea of fate.”

“Fate? You think we were fated to meet?”

“I think we’re bound to each other,” Thanos admits. “I know it sounds cliché, overly sappy, whatever. I don’t give a damn.”

There used to be a time where the sound of Nam-gyu’s own heartbeat repulsed him. He was sickened by his own pulsating body, crushed by the aspect of existing. The only way out for him, in these moments of suffering, were infused in small, disgusting tablets that disintegrated on his tongue, or sharpened needles that pierced his skin. “Anything to not feel like myself,” he’d think, and the cycle would continue in a perpetual loop. He didn’t care, in these moments, if the episodes lasted seconds, minutes, hours, days, or weeks.

These days, he hardly pays attention to his heartbeat at all. The blood that flows throughout him does so without fear of upsetting his brain, because now, Nam-gyu exists for the sake of existing. He exists as himself, because that’s the only thing he’ll ever be. And for once, he feels content with this fact.

“Nam?” Thanos pokes his side. “You’re zoning out. Come on, it wasn’t that cheesy.”

Nam-gyu brings his fingertips to his mouth, appalled at his own sudden revelation. “Thanos!”

“Huh? What?”

“It’s been, like…over two months since I’ve had any pills,” Nam-gyu says in astonishment. “I haven’t gone that long without drugs in years.”

Which, naturally, is mostly due to the fact that the two of them are making a solid effort to conserve their money. But, with Nam-gyu’s job making sandwiches (he’s still not entirely sure how he hasn’t been fired yet), and Thanos revamping his rapping career, they have a little bit of money to spare. The version of Nam-gyu before the games would’ve blown his small amount of extra cash on pills, syringes, any type of drug he could get his hands on. He’d inebriate himself so intensely he’d forget his own name, spend his withdrawals curled up on his bathroom floor or crumpled bed sheets, and then he would do it all over again, and again, and again, until eventually he’d run out of ‘agains’ to rely on.

That version of himself is still him, but he still feels fundamentally changed in comparison. Instead of heavy, dangerous drug use, he’s content with instead purchasing weed every so often and getting a pleasant buzz in Thanos’ company, or having a few drinks and getting tipsy. Small, brief moments of inebriation. It’s not something he relies on anymore, and the realization leaves him stunned. He’s been so caught up in Thanos—talking with him, being with him, helping him along with his career—that he didn't notice his own improved state of living.

“Holy shit,” Thanos laughs in disbelief. “Dude, neither have I!”

It’s almost entirely unbelievable. Nam-gyu makes a noise of incredulity, and wonders what will become of them if Thanos’ career really does make them a good amount of money. If the opportunity is handed to them on a silver platter, will they fall back into the thralls of addiction?

“We’ll be fine,” Thanos says, sensing Nam-gyu’s wave of worry. “Don’t stress it, boy.”

“It’s creepy when you do that,” Nam-gyu mutters. “It’s like you can read my mind.”

“Maybe I can.” Thanos shrugs.

“Yeah? What am I thinking?”

“You’re thinking, ‘ooh, Thanos is so hunky and handsome and sexy–’”

Nam-gyu shoves his shoulder with a groan of faux annoyance, and savors the burst of laughter it earns him in response.

– – –

“Remember when I choked you?” Nam-gyu asks as they walk down a narrow sidewalk, side by side as they head to a nearby diner. He doesn't mean to bring it up so often – really, he doesn't! There’s a purpose to his inquiry this time.

Thanos whistles lowly. “Hell yeah, I do. When are you gonna do that again, huh? Can’t wait to have your hands wrapped around my throat while you–”

“Okay, perv,” Nam-gyu snorts, though he knows his own sex drive is equally as high. “Try not to pop a boner in the middle of broad daylight, yeah?”

“I’ll make a solid effort.”

“I’m only asking because I was thinking about it–”

“Oh?”

“More specifically,” Nam-gyu enunciates through muffled laughter. “I was thinking about that thing you said afterwards.”

“What thing?” Thanos looks at him sharply. If Nam-gyu didn't know any better, he’d say he looks nervous.

“The thing you said in English. I never caught what it was, actually.”

“I don’t think I said anything,” Thanos mumbles. His reddened face says otherwise.

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

Nam-gyu stops walking, crossing his arms and staring at Thanos expectantly. Trying to, at least. Thanos seems keen on avoiding his gaze. “What’d you say?”

Thanos shuffles his feet, head craned downwards. “Does it matter?”

“It does now that you’re acting so weird about it!”

Thanos drags a hand down his face, stifling a noise of humiliation. “Nam-gyu, come on…”

“Tell me,” Nam-gyu demands, grabbing onto his shoulders and giving him a small shake. “Is it something bad?”

“No,” Thanos says slowly, meeting his gaze with furrowed brows.

“Then just say it!”

Nam-gyu can tell by the shift of his jaw that Thanos is chewing on the inside of his cheek, his hand rubbing absently across his neck. His eyes jitter as they explore each feature of Nam-gyu’s face, considering and weighing his options. Very limited options, clearly, because Nam-gyu refuses to let this go without an answer.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Thanos says in English, deftly switching to Korean to clearly get his point across. “I said, I think I’m in love with you.”

Nam-gyu’s glad there aren’t many people milling around on the streets and sidewalks today, because the level of stupefaction he’s exhibiting right now must seem absurd. The words settle firmly within his brain, weighted with meaning.

And yet, the only thing he’s able to muster in response is a one-word exclamation of shock.

“What?”

It’s not like they haven’t alluded to the phrase before. In fact, they allude to it quite frequently. They often catch themselves babbling during the height of pleasure, choked moans being intercepted with bursts of words.

“I love—“ followed by a brief pause, a heavy pant, a prolonged whine. You, you, you.

“I love how you look underneath me, I love the noises you make when I touch you, I love how much you want me,” are only a few examples of phrases that often end up being said in replacement. Still, the word unspoken is known between them, made obvious by the longing glances and firm, meaningful kisses. Known, but never outwardly said.

“Seeing you straddle me like that…well, it was fucking hot, obviously. But it was the way you looked at me, like you were savoring being on top of me. Your palms squeezed around my throat like it meant something, and it was harsh, but it was also gentle. Does that make sense?” Thanos rambles. He always tends to ramble when he’s nervous — which, admittedly, isn’t very often. “It was like some sort of fucking religious experience, man. The weight of you on me, the way you spoke, the way your eyes locked onto me. You barely even blinked during the whole interaction. Did you know that?”

“You love me,” Nam-gyu reiterates, feeling the steady feeling of warmth rushing to his face. “You…”

“It was all so much,” Thanos continues, waving his hands around as he talks. “All of it. The blood…god, Nam-gyu, do you know how hard it was not to drag my tongue across the wound on your hand? Because, it was really fucking hard. I wanted to taste you so badly, I wanted all of it—all of you—and then you were on top of me, and your hands fit so nicely around my throat…”

Nam-gyu opens his mouth to say something, to add something to the torrent of compliments that pour out of Thanos’ mouth. But he’s not used to such sincerity, and words abandon him. A stark contrast to Thanos, who seems to have an excess of words to rely on.

“So, yeah. Of course I said I think I love you. How could I not, after you did all that?” Thanos takes a heaving breath. “…I think about that night a lot, man. And, for the record, ‘I think’ isn’t really a necessary part of that statement anymore. But, you know…it’s whatever.”

‘It’s whatever’. This guy just bumbled his way through a confession of love, and followed it up with a sheepish, awkward, ‘it’s whatever’.

Nam-gyu takes a hasty step forward, hurling himself towards Thanos in one abrupt movement. Thanos makes a sound of surprise as Nam-gyu connects their lips, a quick, bruising kiss.

Nam-gyu pulls back swiftly, head swiveling around to make sure nobody is outright staring at the open display of affection. Not that it would matter much if they did; the action is mostly instinctive. When Nam-gyu refocuses on the man in front of him, grinning ear to ear, he takes note of the way that Thanos stares at him, mouth agape and eyes wide. Adoration, affection, and unwavering faith, all compacted into one.

“I love you too,” Nam-gyu confesses.

A final card is placed, a display of The World itself.

Nam-gyu thinks that, as long as they have each other, everything might just be alright.

Notes:

Longest fic I’ve ever written!!! I can’t thank you all enough for the support, it means so so much to me. I’m endlessly thankful for all of your kind words! It warms my heart and gives me the motivation to keep pursuing my passion <3 I’ve said this before I think, but the comments I’ve received are genuinely so incredibly kind that they’ve managed to pull me out of some rather tough spots I’ve gotten myself into mentally these days. All of your words really do mean a lot to me. It’s been increasingly hard for me to find positivity to latch onto with the current state of the world, so stuff like this really keeps me going. Writing brings me so much joy, and hearing peoples thoughts on it makes my days so much brighter ^_^

I hope you guys look forward to the other thangyu fics I plan to share, and I wish you all the best >_o

Notes:

Burn My Dread persona 3 ref in the title omg…..here’s my daily shoutout to the persona 3 soundtrack bc I love it oh so dearly. I was gonna make the title a Color Your Night ref (fav song of all time tbh) but I’ve already used lyrics from that one for the title of another thangyu fic I wrote so I wanted to switch things up a bit ^_^

Anyways, I think it’s really neat to see everyone's different interpretations of what Thanos & Nam-gyu’s relationship could look like if they got out of the games together, so I wanted to write my own prolonged spin on it. This is the longest fic I’ve planned out, so I hope it gives you guys something to look forward to. I’ll make an effort to post as frequently as I can!

I always truly adore the kind comments I get, you guys are so incredibly awesome <3 love ya!