Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What pretty eyes you have.”

Jun-ho's stomach twisted uncomfortably. Having to remain by the side of this VIP was not what he expected. But he might be able to work with this. No, he had to be able to. Otherwise, he would die before he ever found his brother.

The VIP’s attention was solely on Jun-ho. He ignored all the other VIPs, he ignored the deaths of the players right in front of him. 

Maybe Jun-ho could use this to his advantage. If he could somehow get more information from the guy...

“Take that mask off.”

Jun-ho’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t do that. But if he didn’t... well, he wasn’t sure just how much power the VIPs held, but he was sure it was enough to punish him. 

At Jun-ho’s silence, the VIP got more demanding. 

“Take that mask off! I want to see your face.”

“We can’t show our faces in here,” Jun-ho replied calmly. His voice portrayed none of the anxiety and panic he was currently feeling.

He desperately needed a plan. He had a feeling the VIP wouldn’t let it go easily. Maybe... he could do it somewhere else. Then, he also might be able to get valuable intel about the games.

But instead of insisting further, the VIP turned to the Frontman.

“I want to see this one’s face.” It was a statement, but it was obvious he was asking for an exception. 

This one . Not ‘his.’ Just “this one.” If it were anyone else, Jun-ho would pay no mind to that choice of words. But the VIPs clearly felt that they were superior to him and all the other staff. It was obvious from the moment he saw them use painted humans as footstools and coffee tables. Him wearing a suit and being able to walk didn’t change anything.

He wasn’t a person here. Not in their eyes, at least. Not in any way that mattered.

“We don’t permit our staff to reveal their identities,” the Frontman said. “However, seeing as you’re one of our oldest VIPs, I will allow it this once.”

Shit.

The VIP turned his gaze back to Jun-ho, his face wearing a smile that made Jun-ho feel nauseous.

“You heard him,” he said, sounding all too pleased with himself. “Take it off.”

It seemed like Jun-ho just had to hope that they didn’t pay much attention to what the staff actually looked like. 

He made eye-contact with the Frontman from across the room, who simply nodded before returning his attention to the game. 

As Jun-ho reached to pull his mask off, he made sure to make his expression completely neutral. He couldn’t give anything away.

The VIP’s smile only grew as he took in Jun-ho’s features. 

“That’s not the kind of face you should keep behind a mask.” Ironic, since everyone in that room either had a mask or face-paint on. 

But most importantly, that statement filled Jun-ho with disgust. He felt too seen, too vulnerable. He knew he had to remain unaffected — he was a cop, for Christ’s sake — but he hated every minute he had to sit with this guy. 

And in the corner of his eye, he saw the Frontman staring right at him.

Chapter Text

“That’s not the kind of face you should keep behind a mask.”

In-ho glanced over to where the VIP and server sat, and found that he had to do a double-take. 

Because the last face he had expected to see there was his brother’s.

His mind was racing, and yet no significant thought came to him. There was too little air in his lungs, as if his own mask was suffocating him. And he couldn’t turn his eyes away from his little brother. 

They had found their intruder, but now what? Not only was he sitting in the same room as the VIPs, but it was Hwang Jun-ho. The one person In-ho never wanted to get involved with the games. 

He was supposed to stay away from this place. 

He was supposed to be safe. 

But now there he sat, the VIP’s hand on his thigh. Even from across the room, In-ho could see the nervous twitch in Jun-ho’s knuckles. 

He turned to the square guard beside him. 

“Keep things under control,” he said, knowing the guard will understand.

He swiftly walked over to where his brother sat, the guard taking his place at the stand. He stood in front of the VIP and Jun-ho, hands neatly behind his back.

“Deepest apologies for this intrusion,” he began. “But I am afraid an urgent matter has come up and I need to see this server immediately.”

VIP, despite the mask, looked taken aback. “Really? This one specifically?”

In-ho simply nodded. 

“Ah, well, can’t deny my host. ...But I will miss that pretty face of yours.”

In-ho decided to ignore that comment as Jun-ho put his mask back on and followed In-ho through the building and into the elevator.

Clicking the button to his floor, In-ho couldn’t help but feel relieved that Il-nam had decided to leave before this. He would not have enjoyed explaining this to him. 

The elevator doors opened to display the narrow hallway of his quarters. In-ho made his way swiftly down it, Jun-ho hesitating for a moment before following. With one arm, In-ho grabbed a bar stool and placed it in front of his own cushioned seat. He then settled himself down into the leather, not even glancing back at Jun-ho.

“Sit,” he instructed, continuing to look straight ahead. 

Jun-ho came into view and sat down with another twitch in his knuckles. He remained silent, back straight.

“Take off your mask.”

Jun-ho did just that, setting his mask off to the side. His face conveyed no emotion, though his hand was seemingly itching to reach inside his suit jacket.

He must have his gun on him, of course. Though he was down to his last bullet, that’s all it would take to kill In-ho. 

In-ho didn’t want to die, but he wasn’t afraid of death either. In fact, if he had to choose, Jun-ho would be the one person he was okay dying to. He had let his younger brother down so many times, he wouldn’t blame Jun-ho for firing that gun straight into his head. 

“So you’re the intruder,” In-ho said. “You’re good, I admit. The few people who’ve tried to trespass before have never made it this far.”

Sure enough, Jun-ho immediately pulled out his gun and pointed it at that black mask. In-ho didn’t even flinch, instead just tilting his head to look at his now standing brother. 

“I have video evidence of everything you’ve done here,” Jun-ho stated, now showing the phone he had tucked in his sleeve. “It’s over.”

“We don’t get service here,” In-ho explained, probably sounding far too calm considering a gun was pointed directly at him. “You won’t be able to send anything to anyone unless you get back to the mainland with both the phone and yourself intact. And I think we both know that won’t be happening.”

Jun-ho was breathing heavily now, whether from anger or fear, In-ho couldn’t tell. His hand shook slightly with his gun, eyebrows still furrowed in determination. 

“Who are you?” He bit out. 

In-ho hesitated for a moment before inevitably deciding that he couldn’t hide forever. Jun-ho may be the brave one of their family, but In-ho hated feeling like a coward.

He pulled his hood down and oh so gently removed his mask, forcing himself to make eye contact with his brother despite the twist in his gut.

Jun-ho’s face morphed into something of shock and hurt. His hand holding the gun dropped, and he took a wobbly step back as if he were burned. 

“In-ho,” he whispered, as if still not believing his eyes. 

“Jun-ho.” In-ho stood up, but made sure to give his brother more than enough space. “Come with me.”

Jun-ho looked mortified. He couldn’t even verbalize a response, instead shaking his head as his lips trembled. 

“Please. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

“Then don’t,” Jun-ho said shakily. “Just come home.”

But he couldn’t. In-ho’s home had died years ago, alone in a hospital bed. There was once a time where Jun-ho was his home, but In-ho grew up to be nothing more than a shameful disappointment. And Jun-ho didn’t deserve that. 

It was ridiculous, really. Since his games, In-ho had thought himself to be hardened, cold . And yet here he stood before his brother, feeling that familiar tug in his heart of familial love. 

No matter how many people In-ho would kill, no matter how many games he would continue to watch with no sympathy for the players, no matter how many times In-ho would look in the mirror and feel nothing at all, he would never stop caring for his little brother. 

He wished he could let Jun-ho go. It was a weakness. One that had to be eliminated in order for In-ho to be the Frontman he needed to be. 

But looking at Jun-ho now, he didn’t see the grown man that had held a gun to his head. Rather, In-ho saw the little boy who would cry over scraped knees and sick animals. He saw the little boy who helped strangers on the street and who looked at In-ho as if he were someone who deserved to be looked up to. 

Jun-ho was the only good thing left in In-ho’s life. And maybe it made him weak, but In-ho could not find it in himself to kill that last light in the dark. 

“I just want my brother back,” Jun-ho whispered so quietly that In-ho almost missed it. 

“I’m not who you want me to be,” In-ho admitted. 

“Why?”

It was just one, small word, yet it carried so much weight. Why did he leave his family behind? Why did he choose to lead the games? Why can’t he come home? Why did he hurt the one person he was supposed to protect?

The reason for all of those was simple: In-ho had changed. He used to be filled with love and happiness, but that all crashed down the moment his wife got ill. And everything he had done in his games, he had done for her, yet it was all for nothing. Fate was just a cruel, horrible shadow that no one could outrun. Only the privileged got happy endings, no matter how hateful they were. 

But maybe that wasn’t fate. Maybe that was just how the world was. Humanity was naturally vile, and In-ho, despite denying it at first, was just the same as all others — cruel and selfish. He no longer cared to try to be anything else. Besides, the few people who choose to be kind and selfless are the ones that turn up dead. The games are evidence of that.

Then there was Jun-ho. He was good, and he nearly ended up with the same fate as all the other “good” people out there. But he didn’t because In-ho had saved him.

“I’m offering you one last time,” In-ho said at last, ignoring Jun-ho’s question. “Join me.”

Jun-ho once again shook his head. “Hyeong-”

In-ho knocked him out before he could finish. 

Chapter Text

It was a bit of a blur after that. In-ho destroyed the phone and made one of his guards who doubled as a captain go and sail him back to the mainland. They gave him anesthesia to really make sure he wouldn’t wake while on the boat, though In-ho hit him hard enough that it’d take weeks for that bruise to even begin to fade away. And if he was lucky, Jun-ho would have no memory of any of it.

Speaking of which, In-ho couldn’t seem to remember just how much time that had taken. He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling while his thoughts were consumed by his brother’s voice. 

The managers and soldiers hadn’t questioned any of it, though it’s not like they were allowed to anyway. The workers remained completely ignorant of the situation. As far as the workers were aware, there was never even an intruder in the first place. 

Part of In-ho wished he was one of them. Sure, disposing of the bodies didn’t seem fun, but wearing that circle mask meant that you didn’t have to kill anyone directly or memorize all the information on the players to the point it was like you knew them personally. It didn’t have any emotional weight to it. Sure, most of the guards were just like In-ho, cold and hardened, but there was always a time before that. Everyone is changed when faced with a moment in which they have to choose whether or not to keep their morality. Their first kill, maybe. 

For In-ho, that moment was when Il-nam had handed him the knife. 

He didn’t regret what he had done. Not much, anyway. Those other players were strangers to him and were responsible for nearly as many deaths as he had been. They were trash, and In-ho felt no guilt in taking their lives. And if anything, him killing them while they slept was probably more of a mercy than whatever that last game ended up being. 

His thoughts drifted back to Jun-ho. If he had seen it, would he understand? Or would he be horrified? Before, In-ho would immediately assume the latter, but now, after seeing Jun-ho pleading for him to return home despite everything...

Jun-ho would always be a mystery to him. He truly couldn’t understand how someone could still hold so much faith in someone so horrible. 

That should make him weak, and yet Jun-ho remained one of the strongest and bravest people In-ho knew. 

But then again, maybe In-ho was wrong about that. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

At some point, In-ho did fall asleep, if only for an hour or two. Morning came too soon.

Standing, In-ho pushed aside all the thoughts and feelings he had about his brother. He needed to get ready for the final game. 

“Why’d you do it?” An 8-year-old Jun-ho screamed, tears still running down his face as the dead dog lay in front of him. 

They had found it on the side of the road, whimpering in pain, unable to move. Jun-ho had wanted to take it to the vet, but In-ho slit its throat with his pocket knife.

“It was suffering,” In-ho explained. The older boy was on the verge of tears as well. Not because he felt regret over the dog, but because he hated seeing his little brother like this. 

“We could’ve saved it!”

“No, we couldn’t have.” In-ho knelt beside the younger, placing a hand on his shaking shoulder. “Even if it somehow made it to the vet, it most likely would’ve died anyway. I made it quick. I gave it mercy.” He decided to ignore how his bare knees were rapidly wettening due to the blood puddle. 

“But-... but I-...” Jun-ho was a sobbing mess. Nose snotty, eyes puffy, cheeks red. Now that the anger was beginning to wear, Jun-ho couldn’t seem to find it in him to argue anything else. 

“I know you always want to help,” In-ho said comfortingly. “But sometimes the helpful thing to do is upsetting. I was helping the dog by putting it out of its misery. I know it may not seem like it, but it’s true. Not everything is supposed to have a happy ending. It would have died no matter what, either by succumbing to its injuries in anguish or by being killed quickly and almost painlessly.”

“I know,” Jun-ho sniffled. “I just-... I wish I could’ve been able to do something.”

“You did do something, Jun-ho. You gave it one last comforting face before death. You saw how it reacted when you pet it. It was no longer afraid.”

“Yeah... but if you weren’t here, I would’ve made it suffer. I don’t-... I don’t think I’d be able to do what you did.”

“That’s okay. Not being able to do the hard things doesn’t make you a bad person, Jun-ho. Sure, maybe it would’ve suffered more if I hadn’t killed it like I did. But you still have a good heart. Look at me.” Jun-ho did, lip trembling.

“You are the kindest person I know,” In-ho told him. “And someday, you’re gonna become someone amazing. You’ll be able to help and save all things. And I’ll be with you the whole way.”

“...Promise?”

“I promise.”

That had been the second long lasting promise In-ho had made to Jun-ho. The first was one Jun-ho couldn’t even remember.

He had been a baby, napping in his crib. Unbeknownst to him, In-ho was watching over him, admiring his new half-brother. 

“I promise,” the toddler whispered, “to always protect you.”

But like so many things, promises were hard to keep.