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Three months after the destruction of the games was when he first saw him.
The baby. That’s what he called player 222. The baby.
Taking the baby in by himself wasn’t his original plan - his original hope.
That night.
That night was when his original hope died.
The night where Gi-hun refused to kill the other finalists. Refused to take the same deal Il-nam offered In-ho so many years ago.
He had told Gi-hun they could take the baby, far away from all of it. Far away from the pain and suffering that plagued Gi-hun, that gnawed at his bones like a starved animal.
He wanted to say more, he wanted to say something- anything to convince Gi-hun to come with him. That he adored him, that the fleeting moments they shared together meant so much to him. That from that night in the limousine, after he won his games, he knew Gi-hun was different.
Different from the inhumane filth of the island. Different from In-ho.
But he didn’t say enough. He couldn’t stop Gi-hun from continuing on his self-destructive mission. The mission which was always going to end with him dead.
Sometimes he wondered if that night was when it actually started - not the visions, but the guilt. The way Gi-hum seemed to look right through him, even without the mask. Like he could see right into his very existence - like he could see every mark and scratch on In-ho’s impure soul.
In-ho knew he could see it.
He could see the stains that seeped deep beneath In-ho’s skin - he could see the rot that no water and soap could ever scrub clean.
Even after the island was destroyed, after he left Gi-hun’s body untouched in the very place he hated more than anything - that look followed him home.
It clung to him like smoke, threading through his breath and nestling in his lungs.
He’d put the baby to bed, in the crib he’d set up next to his own in his small, modern, soulless apartment.
Sterile. The apartment was like a sterile museum - glass, chrome and no warmth. No colour, no light.
It lacked love, life or anything he’d ever dreamed of having. Everything he ever dreamed of having with his late wife, or with Gi-hun, belonged to another life entirely. Without them, he didn’t want a life of colour or light - he didn’t want the baby.
They were more similar than he’d like to admit. Both painfully stubborn and both, in their own way, undeniably good.
Good in a way that didn’t feel fake. Good in a way that was so undeniably human.
Sleeping wasn’t easy for In-ho, the night was plagued with images of Gi-hun - images of forgiveness which twisted and turned until they formed reality. The reality that no matter what In-ho did, Gi-hun would never forgive him. No matter how long he kept the baby, nor how long he grieved Gi-hun.
The baby cried that night, awakening him from his uneasy slumber.
It was a thin, needy sound, soft at first - then sharp, like something breaking. In-ho often envied the baby, crying was such an easy relief for pain. Not like the drawn out pain that no crying could ever ease.
If Gi-hun was here, he would’ve insisted on tending to the baby himself. If Gi-hun was here, he would’ve known exactly what she needed. If Gi-hun was here, he would’ve told anecdotes about his own daughter as he rocked the baby - what calmed her down when she was an infant.
But Gi-hun wasn’t here.
So In-ho rose from his bed.
The air was heavy, as if the smoke of the island had followed him all this time. All the way back to his sad, lonely apartment.
He slung his legs over the side of the bed.
He turned to the crib on the other side of the room.
That’s when he saw him.
Standing above the baby’s crib was him.
Gi-hun stood unmoving, a statue carved from the dark. The faint city lights of Seoul shone through the curtains, highlighting his figure in a light silver hue.
He was still as beautiful as the day In-ho lost him.
Clad in his finalist outfit, with the same dried blood on his temple. His features still sunken, the dark shadows under his eyes still visible. The red X stood proudly on his chest - unwavering even now that Gi-hun was gone.
He was looking down at the baby, hardened features softer - loving. Like she held the world in her little hands.
No regret laced his features. It was clear no part of this figure of Gi-hun thought he made the wrong choice in giving his lift to protect what he saw as a precious gift.
As if she could sense him, the baby stopped crying. She paused. In-ho watched.
Then she began to coo and giggle, unlike anything In-ho had seen her do before. Like she was seeing a familiar face. Like she was seeing a guardian angel.
She hardly cooed or giggled for In-ho. As if she could sense his distaste for her - his bitterness.
Bitterness that she lived whilst Gi-hun died.
“Gi-hun…” In-ho finally whispered into the night air.
Gi-hun’s eyes flicked up - meeting In-ho’s for one fleeting second.
Then he was gone - the city lights cascaded against the bedroom wall, as if he was never there at all.
Then the baby cried again.
••●━━━━━━●••
A week later he saw him again.
Since that night, In-ho hadn’t slept much at all. Most nights, he was up into the early hours of the morning watching the baby.
Not out of care, or love - but out of the need to see him again.
His face, his eyes, his everything.
He had to see it again.
Even if it was a figment of his imagination, even if he was just losing his mind.
Even if Gi-hun had returned to complete unfinished business, even if he was there out of hatred, not love.
He had to see him again.
And he did.
But, this time, it happened in the kitchen.
He’d made himself a beef and radish soup.
It was simple, mild and clean.
The baby was already in her crib, down for a nap, leaving In-ho alone as he sat down to eat.
The broth steamed in its bowl, a pale fog raising into the air. The spoon felt heavier than it should have as it rested in his hand, hovering above the bowl.
He wondered what Gi-hun would’ve wanted them to eat. Probably something with more flavor, something cheap and tasty like black bean noodles.
In-ho took a spoonful to his mouth.
Then he saw him again.
The spoon fell back down and into the bowl with a clank.
Gi-hun didn’t look as friendly as he had the week before, when he was looking at the baby. No, he looked empty.
The same emptiness that he had when he was handcuffed to the bunk bed after the failed rebellion. The same emptiness that he had when he turned away from In-ho, leaving him alone in his office to watch as the person he loved most walked away from him. Walked away from him like he was nothing.
He didn’t blame Gi-hun for that night, he blamed himself. He shouldn’t have been as naive to think Gi-hun would give up on humanity that easily.
All he could see right now was Gi-hun sitting opposite from him, in his office.
In-ho in his leather chair - Gi-hun in the wooden one.
But this time they were both sat on the white dining chairs in his kitchen. The only thing between them was his small circular dinning table. The same table which held his neglected bowl of soup.
This time Gi-hun didn’t wear a look of betrayal. He didn’t wear a look at all.
In-ho’s breath hitched.
Gi-hun’s eyes were cold, unmoving, as they looked at In-ho. Finalist suit still on. Blood still on his temple.
“Gi-hun…” In-ho spoke, clearer and less quiet than the last time. “Please…” He didn’t know what he was asking for - was he asking for forgiveness? For Gi-hun to stay?
Gi-hun said nothing.
Just an icy stare.
In-ho spoke again. “I should’ve….” His eyes clenched close as he tried to muster up something, anything.
He opened his eyes.
Gi-hun was gone.
••●━━━━━━●••
A month later he saw him again.
Keeping Gi-hun’s player jacket was an impulsive choice, an impulsive choice he didn’t regret.
It offered him a strange comfort, tracing the number with his index finger like a lover memorizing a face.
456.
Every year 456 players played the game.
It was ironic that player 456 was the last contestant to die in the Korean games.
Perhaps it was a symbol of his endurance and luck. Perhaps it meant something that his favorite 456 of them all was the last one.
Or perhaps it meant nothing at all.
It was a bad habit, taking the jacket out of its box. But it led to something far worse. Something far more shameful.
The first time it happened was a week after Gi-hun’s sacrifice for the baby. A week after In-ho left him there on that island.
He had taken the jacket out and placed it on the bed. Then, he buried his face in it - allowing himself to inhale the smell of Gi-hun like a dying man, allowing himself to smell what he’d so foolishly let go.
Pathetically, he’d let his hand drift below his waistline. He’d let himself get lost in inhaling the scent of the taller man as he slowly moved his hand across his length.
He mumbled words of apology, of wishing that Gi-hun hadn’t died. Wishing he’d done something, anything to save him.
It became a routine after that night.
He’d moved the baby’s crib to the next room.
Then, he’d lay down on the bed - back against the headboard.
Then, he’d smell the jacket.
It still carried him.
Sweat, blood, iron and the ghost of a packet of cheap cigarettes. Faded and thinned by time, each time he carried out the ritual it faded more. But it still clung stubbornly to the fabric - refusing to die. A ghost that remained confined to cotton and thread.
It was still Gi-hun.
So he breathed it in, he let it consume him every time.
He tried to imagine what he could do with Gi-hun if he were there. Would he whimper and whine, covering his face with his hands? Or would he blossom and bloom like a flower and spring, moaning and writhing openly as his petals bloomed.
In-ho would never know.
But he could imagine.
He could imagine having Gi-hun ride him, saying how he forgave him - how he loved him.
That night was no different.
He sniffed the jacket deeper as his other hand drifted to his waistband, just above where he needed Gi-hun most.
He paused.
Then, he made the mistake of opening his eyes. He felt something. Something cold and unforgiving. The jacket fell from his hands and onto his chest as he took it in.
Gi-hun stood at the closed door.
Gi-hun was always stubborn, just like the scent on his jacket.
••●━━━━━━●••
After that night, Gi-hun didn’t leave him alone.
It didn’t matter where he went. The house, the store for baby formula or the Pink Motel, to look at the place where Gi-hun let himself rot away and become a shell of his former, bubbly self.
He was there.
Watching, glaring, waiting.
For what? In-ho didn’t know.
He tried to talk to Gi-hun - he tried every day.
He pleaded for forgiveness, for hatred, for something.
But Gi-hun never responded, as if he wasn’t even there.
He wore a cold expression.
Well, unless he was around her.
Whenever he was near the baby’s crib he’d pause and his gaze would soften, his shoulders would become less stiff, his sickly pale skin shone and gleamed as he basked in the baby’s loving light.
Sometimes, In-ho felt like she sensed him. She’d giggle and coo - reaching out her little hands. Other times, she didn’t move. As if it was all in In-ho’s head.
Maybe In-ho was losing his mind. Maybe Gi-hun was never there. Maybe he was simply imagining the baby’s lively response to the other man.
It had to be him.
His cold expression followed In-ho wherever he went. Calculating, precise - so un-Gi-hun like.
As days turned to weeks, Gi-hun wouldn’t give him a moment of peace. Like a shadow that never left, even in the dark.
He’d watch him as he ate, slept, drank, showered - everything.
Unbeknownst to In-ho, the worst was yet to come.
Whenever he brought out Gi-hun’s jacket the air would grow chilled and would tighten around him like invisible hands were squeezing the life out of the room. Like an invisible weight pressed itself onto his chest until he returned the jacket to its box. However, Gi-hun remained stoic at In-ho’s unease - watching onward in silence.
Every time he took the baby from the cot to feed her, rock her or even touch her - the floor would tremble beneath his feet, the city would turn silent and the wind would whisper to him.
She’s not yours. It would say. She deserves better than you, she deserves love and happiness. You can’t give her any of that.
It was never in Gi-hun’s voice and Gi-hun never reacted to In-ho’s panicked aftermath.
He never reacted to In-ho’s shouting or screams. He never reacted to when the baby would wake, crying as In-ho caused a ruckus. He never reacted when In-ho begged and pleaded for forgiveness. He never reacted when In-ho trashed his apartment, breaking china plates and fine crystal left to him by Oh Il-nam after he passed.
So In-ho did the only thing he could think of.
He tied up the last of his loose ends - the last of what tied him to those games, to Gi-hun.
Jun-ho was the best choice for the baby.
Ga-yeong was the best choice for the jacket.
Yet, even as he tied up those last two ends - Gi-hun remained.
When he left the baby in Jun-ho’s apartment, he turned around to get one last look at her. Gi-hun was doing the same - gaze filled with love as he looked down at the baby girl dressed in a bonnet. The baby he’d given absolutely everything to protect, the baby that would finally have a father that could offer her the love, support and name In-ho could never give her. Everything Gi-hun could’ve.
When he delivered the box to Seong Ga-yeong in America, Gi-hun didn’t hesitate to approach his daughter. In-ho struggled to keep eye contact with the young girl as the vision of her father gently traced each feature with his pale fingers. Each hair on her head, each crease in her shirt. He stood behind Ga-yeong as In-ho handed her the box.
I’m sorry. His gaze silently read. I’m so sorry.
As In-ho entered the car, his shoulders became less stiff, his features softened. He felt…relief. Relief that he was done, that everything was finished. Finally, he’d given away the last of what tied Gi-hun to him. Finally it was over.
Then the car drove away.
Then he saw the American recruiter - he rolled up his window.
Then he turned to the seat next to him.
Gi-hun was there.
••●━━━━━━●••
The journey back to Korea was a nightmare.
Shoulders stiff. Features hard.
Gi-hun didn’t leave his sight, not for a second. He was there, waiting and watching.
By the time he’d gotten back to his trashed apartment, baby and jacket no longer there, he had enough.
He stormed into his bedroom, Gi-hun in tow.
The former gamblers eyes had returned to their empty, dark state - a far cry from the love that lingered as he looked towards the baby and his daughter.
That night he practically ripped his clothes off in panic as he stumbled towards the bathroom, chucking his gun carelessly onto the bedside table.
Cold shower, a cold shower may help.
As the ice cold water cascaded down his body, Gi-hun disappeared from view. As if he were steam or mist.
Please. In-ho thought. Please don’t come back.
He never believed he would think those words. But, he couldn’t bear seeing the other man anymore.
While he got dressed into a black tank top and joggers, Gi-hun didn’t come back.
But as he re entered the bedroom there he was.
Sat up against the headboard, unmoving and staring towards the entry way - towards In-ho. Still in his finalist suit, still with that dried blood on his temple.
He approached the bed, Gi-hun’s eyes followed. He still said nothing.
In-ho had to say something.
He met Gi-hun’s cold gaze as he spoke. “I wish you had gone on that plane, truly.”
A beat passed - nothing.
Just a cold stare.
“You know what they say… during those safety demonstrations on planes.” He lamented, crossing his arms over his chest as if he held any form of power over the other man. As if he held any power over the object of his admiration- of his obsession. “They say to always put your oxygen mask on first - then you can help others.”
He began to pace around the bed, Gi-hun’s eyes never leaving him as In-ho wagged his index finger at him. “You never put on your oxygen mask - you never saved yourself.” In-ho’s tone shifted, one of sternness - like a school teacher scolding a student who never learnt his lesson.
He stopped pacing, he looked away from Gi-hun - towards where he used to put the baby’s cot. “You thought if you gave everything - your money, your time, your life.” In-ho’s voice cracked, feelings of grief and frustration pushing against the dam he had built up in his mind. “You thought if you did all that you could stop it… but you couldn’t - you never could.” In-ho paused, he looked back to Gi-hun. “You always tried to be good. Even when the world spat you out, picked you up and chewed you up again, you still thought being good would make it stop hurting. Even after the times you failed - the times you were so…so…” He tried to find the word.
The time Gi-hun tricked Oh Il-nam, the times he was a bad father, the time he killed player 388 in hide and seek.
There was only one word that fitted. “Human.” The word came out as a confession, not an accusation.
“I should’ve… I should’ve stopped you.” He stepped closer to the bed.
Then he fell to his knees.
Gi-hun’s eyes followed him as his knees collided with the cold, hard floor. Still, he didn’t move, the faint hum of the city outside grew silent to In-ho as he tried to think of something - anything to get Gi-hun to speak.
“I love you, Gi-hun.” The words cracked like old porcelain. It was the only thing he could say. The only thing he thought could make this vision, this ghost, this hallucination speak. Whatever Gi-hun was now, he just wanted him to speak.
Nothing. Gi-hun still said nothing.
“Please…just say something.”
Gi-hun’s head tilted slightly to the side, like a scientist observing an animal in pain. Still looking at In-ho. Still saying nothing.
He didn’t look distressed. Just… interested - almost curious at how In-ho was acting.
Enough, In-ho had had enough of this.
The dam broke - the guilt and frustration poured out like crashing waves of water when a floodgate opens.
“Ssi-ball!” In-ho exclaimed - his hands coming up and grasping at the beds sheets. “Why are you still here? I did what you wanted!” His eyes begin to sting, tears clouding them. Months of pain finally seeping out and into the open. “The baby and the jacket are gone why the fuck are you still here!” He screamed out, voice growing hoarse.
Still nothing.
In-ho’s breath hitched.
Then he continued. “I gave you a way out that night, you could’ve come with me. We could’ve…we could’ve taken the baby, raised her together. But no, you wanted to play the god damn hero!”
Gi-hun seemed to be taking in every word. Yet, he made no motion to speak to the man who still remained on his knees, still grasped at the bedsheets like a dying man.
“Say something!” In-ho demanded.
Then, for the first time since In-ho began seeing him. Gi-hun spoke.
“Do you remember what you said to me, that night in the limo after I won my games?” In-ho’s breath hitched.
“You called the players horses.” Gi-hun’s eyes widened slightly - gaze unfaltering as he continued to speak coldly, tone never shifting. “But you know what, I don’t think you’re a horse Hwang In-ho.”
He leaned in slightly.
“I think you’re a dog.” A pause, quiet but lethal. “A filthy mutt.”
His tone didn’t raise, but the venom bled through every word - like ink through thin cheap paper. “What makes you think I’d want to play happy families with a pathetic mutt like you?”
In-ho’s forehead touches the bed. Finally the tears started to pour out.
“What are you now?… a ghost?…some kind of hallucination?” He questioned, his voice cracking at the last word.
Gi-hun whispered lowly. “Your guess is as good as mine…”
In-ho felt a sharp tug on his hair, his gaze flicked up to meet Gi-hun’s cold stare. Blood rushed through In-ho’s body and to his lower region.
Not now. He tried to will it away. This isn’t Gi-hun, not really - not truly.
The vision of Gi-hun’s eyes trickled down In-ho’s body.
“You truly are pathetic.” Sharply, the cold hand left In-ho’s hair. Like it was touching something dirty, something unpleasant.
Yet, In-ho leaned towards him anyway.
Gi-hun laid down on the bed, his head resting against the cream colored pillows below him.
His hand patted the space next to him.
Faithfully, In-ho stood up and sat down on the bed.
Analyzing each part of Gi-hun - just as he had everyday since he started seeing Gi-hun again. Those deep eyes that used to gleam with naive warmth, each wrinkle etched by the cruelty of time, each drop of blood that still lingered on his temple.
He was hauntingly beautiful. A true masterpiece painted from regret and ruin.
For a brief moment, In-ho thought he was looking at an image of his own decay. That Gi-hun held onto the pain and suffering both of them had felt over the years. Gi-hun had become the mirror that never forgave, the canvas that bore all the stains In-ho could never wash off.
He couldn’t help himself, he crawled closer to Gi-hun.
Then he climbed ontop of him, so his body caged the taller man beneath him.
“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered into the night’s air, to the gap between their features. His eyes flicked towards Gi-hun’s lips.
Then he leaned down, slowly - as if seeing if the other man would push him away, would demand he stopped.
He didn’t.
So In-ho pressed his lips gently against Gi-hun’s.
Whenever he imagined kissing Gi-hun he thought of clumsy passionate dances of lips, of him becoming enthralled and entangled in Gi-hun’s long limbs as they passionately touched each other.
This kiss, wasn’t that.
It was cold, Gi-hun parted his lips slightly. He let In-ho kiss him - but he didn’t kiss back. There was no warmth - no love.
He let In-ho explore his mouth, willing but not reciprocating as In-ho licked the inside of his cold, wet mouth. It wasn’t warm and welcoming like In-ho had always hoped for
But In-ho continued to kiss Gi-hun - willing and wanting to feel even the slightest bit of warmth. The slightest bit of humanity.
It didn’t come.
He rose slowly and slightly from Gi-hun’s unmoved form. Their eyes met again, nothing had changed. The kiss meant nothing to Gi-hun.
“What? Didn’t live up to your expectations.” Gi-hun whispered, as if reading In-ho’s mind. “You and I both know you don’t deserve that. But I’m willing to give you what you do deserve.”
A shiver cut through In-ho. The air turned thinner, more fragile. As if the walls themselves were holding their breath - as if they were watching.
Gi-hun leaned in slightly. “Would you like that?”
In-ho nodded.
“Then look at me. Look at what you did.”
In-ho’s gaze trembled as he took Gi-hun in. The dim city lights which leaked through the curtains highlighted his sunken cheeks.
In-ho’s throat burned, from the earlier screaming and his own guilt. The guilt of letting Gi-hun fall, the guilt of not being enough to save him, to protect him. Gi-hun deserved so much more than this. “Gi-hun…” He whispered.
Gi-hun’s gaze remained cold, merciless.
Then he smiled.
Not the carefree smile he had in his first games.
But a faint, cruel thing. Like it was carved from stone - not joy.
Outside, the city was silent to In-ho. Inside, the air smelled faintly of smoke, iron, and regret.
In-ho reached out, trembling fingers brushing the side of Gi-hun’s face - cool as marble.
The masterpiece was crumbling.
Then came a sound.
A quiet click, metallic.
In-ho froze. He didn’t need to look to know what it was.
The gun. His gun.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The world held still.
Then Gi-hun spoke. “You were always in charge on that island.”
“But I’m in charge here.”
In-ho nodded “Yes, yes you are! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He pleaded, not for his life but for forgiveness, for repentance. “I should’ve done more! I should’ve tried harder to save you!”
The gun pressed harder into his temple.
That’s when it hit him, he wanted Gi-hun to take the shot. He wanted to die by his hand.
“You can have what you want.” Gi-hun’s eyes flicked down, looking at the tent in In-ho’s joggers. “But not how you want it.”
In-ho nodded again.
He understood.
So he began to rock his hips, clothed cock grinding against Gi-hun’s trouser glad leg.
Pathetically, he ground down against the cold, unmoving leg - for relief, for some form of pleasure in this hell of his own making.
He closed his eyes as he tried to imagine something else - something better. He tried to think of Gi-hun below him, whimpering and wanting - begging for In-ho to give him more.
But this Gi-hun didn’t give him that.
All he received was the barrel of the gun pressing harder against his temple.
“Open your eyes.” Gi-hun commanded stoically.
In-ho obeyed.
“Better.” Gi-hun affirmed as the barrel remained pressed deep against In-ho.
This wasn’t Gi-hun. But In-ho continued to shift his hips because it was the closest he’d ever get. He lost Gi-hun, he’d failed Gi-hun. This was all he deserved.
If this was all that was left of Gi-hun, he’d do whatever it took to please him.
“Now, repeat after me.”
Eagerly, In-ho nods.
“I’m worthless.”
“I’m worthless.” In-ho repeated.
“Louder.” The gun clicked, like a ticking time bomb.
“I’m worthless.” Images flashed across his mind. Him bringing Gi-hun back to the island, back to the place that tore him apart. Back to where he lost everything. Back to where In-ho allowed himself to become a shell of a human. A pathetic excuse of a man bending to the whims of Oh Il-nam and the VIPs.
He continued to grind down against Gi-hun. If it was a hallucination, it felt too real - too present. If it was a ghost, it felt too heavy, too human.
Even in this state, Gi-hun was more human than In-ho would ever be. He moaned lightly as his hips began to speed up. What he wouldn’t give to have one sincere smile from Gi-hun. One gentle kiss on his forehead.
But this would do, In-ho would gladly take the scraps of humanity which remained in Gi-hun.
“I’m a coward.” Gi-hun spoke again.
“I’m a coward.” His mind flashed to the night in the dorms, the night after the mingle game. The night where he stayed up with Gi-hun talking into the night, the night where he pulled away after ghosting his lips over the other man’s.
He should’ve kissed him there and then. He should’ve taken him to the bathrooms and pressed him against a stall wall and devoured that warm welcoming mouth. He should’ve laid their jackets down to cover the dirty floor, then he should’ve laid Gi-hun down - unsullied by the grim and filth. Then, he should’ve stopped them both down before working Gi-hun open with his tongue.
In-ho tried to think of that memory as he continued to grind against the leg below him. It felt good.
But not in the way gently making love to the wonderful man below him would’ve felt.
No, it felt good like a guilty pleasure. Like he was doing something wrong, something sinful as he seeked forgiveness from Gi-hun.
He remembered one of the VIPs talking about a dish they were served in France - Ortolan. A dish obtained through such cruelty that it was traditional for someone to eat it with a napkin or towel covering their head. To hide the shame from god.
Maybe that’s why the VIP liked that dish. The shame fueled something in him.
Maybe that same shame of pleasure through suffering was what was running through In-ho right now.
The shame boiled deep in In-ho’s gut, yet it made him burn deeper with want - with need for release.
His hips went faster - release began to approach as he gripped firmly onto the pillows Gi-hun was resting his head upon.
He moaned, the friction between the two of them felt so wrong, yet so right.
“I’m not even human.” Gi-hun firmly asserted.
“I’m…I’m not even human.” He thought of looking down at Gi-huns corpse after the final game. His final sacrifice.
How In-ho left him there to burn on the very island he hated.
He looked down and into the cold eyes below him.
He looked similar to how he did after he died. Eyes hollow, blood staining his face, finalist suit still on. Red X still bared on his chest.
This wasn’t really Gi-hun.
But this was the closest he’d ever get to having him one last time.
So with a pained groan, he came as he brought one of his hands down to grasp at Gi-hun’s shoulder - to ground himself.
He breathed heavily as he shifted the hand upwards and ran it through Gi-hun’s hair. He felt like a mess, Gi-hun still looked the same - seemingly unsullied by In-ho’s shameful pleasure.
In-ho pressed his forehead against Gi-hun’s. As he came down from his high, he took frequent shallow breaths - Gi-hun remained still.
The room stilled.
There was no longer pressure against his temple. Gi-hun was no longer holding the gun there.
There was nothing, just them.
No jacket, no baby, nobody.
“Could you ever forgive me?” In-ho broke the silence.
“No.”
In-ho’s breath hitched. “Could you ever love me, knowing what I am?” He wanted desperately for Gi-hun to say yes, to offer him some care, some love that he’d given him previously. Some of what he had given Young-il.
“No.”
He should’ve known.
“If I died, would I be with you again?”
“I don’t know.” Gi-hun’s gaze flicked away, to where the baby’s crib used to be. “You’ve tied up all your loose ends.” Then, his eyes drifted to the right - to the bedside table. “Now, I think you know what you need to do.” In-ho followed Gi-hun’s gaze.
The gun. The gun sat on the bedside table now. It sat there as if it had been there all along.
Trembling, In-ho reached a hand over and grasped at it. Grasped at it like he was a sailor whose boat had capsized and he was clinging to the over turned hull for survival.
But he was not gripping for survival, he was gripping for salvation - for repentance.
His eyes met Gi-hun’s.
He brought the barrel to his own temple.
As he looked deep into Gi-hun’s dark, empty, soulless eyes he pulled the trigger.