Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

It was an unusually quiet shift at Seoul National University Hospital, with only a sparse handful of patients occupying the waiting area. The receptionists chattered animatedly amongst themselves, as the doctors and nurses milled about in uncommonly high spirits.

Then, In-ho shattered the rare peace, barrelling through the doors with Gi-hun’s broken, bleeding body draped across his shoulders. The baby was secured around his waist in a makeshift sling, grumbling softly. The room fell silent in shock, as every curious pair of eyes swivelled around to take in the scene.

“Someone please,” In-ho breathed, his voice strained with exertion. He swayed as his knees started to buckle under the weight of Gi-hun's lifeless form. “Help him.”

One of the receptionists triggered an emergency alarm, its wail summoning a swarm of medics who descended upon them, tearing Gi-hun from his grasp and hoisting him onto a stretcher. In-ho found himself being pushed aside as countless pairs of hands worked quickly, fixing wires and inserting cannulas, stabilising Gi-hun as best they could in the waiting room. Kept at arm's length, In-ho could only listen, trying to make sense of the hurried exchanges between the medics, catching only mere snippets that evaded his comprehension. Without warning, they began rushing Gi-hun away, wheeling him through the maze of corridors and out of sight.

"Where are you going?" In-ho protested, desperately trying to follow. "Where are you taking him?"

He could only watch helplessly, catching one final glimpse of Gi-hun's stretcher disappearing around the corner before the doors slammed shut in his face.

Against all odds, In-ho had managed to sneak Gi-hun off the island unspotted. He had carted him through the underground labyrinth of tunnels, climbed up and down rickety ladders that had threatened to topple from the walls. He had sailed them across the churning expanse of ocean in a ramshackle old speedboat and carried Gi-hun on his shoulders through the dim backstreets of Seoul. Through it all, In-ho had managed to stay calm and collected, swallowing his own terror and doubts, and ignoring his aching muscles as they had screamed under the strain. He had no choice - he had to save Gi-hun, and nothing else had mattered; his own body, sanity, even his life, were just mere afterthoughts.

But now, being forcibly separated from Gi-hun - not knowing whether he was dead or alive and whether all he had done had been in vain - proved the final straw for In-ho's composure.

In-ho pounded his fist furiously against the doors, releasing a tirade of vicious, tearful curses, numb to the stares and whispers rippling through the watching patients. Blinded by rage, found his hands itching for the familiar weight of a gun. If they tried to keep him from Gi-hun, he'd force them to let him through. If they couldn't save Gi-hun, he'd make them pay the price in blood.

But his sudden aggression startled the baby, who emitted an earsplitting scream at the top of her tiny lungs, jolting In-ho swiftly back to his senses. He looked down, shushing her and stroking her hair, his anger ebbing away into shame at his loss of control. As his adrenaline faded, a wave of emotion and exhaustion overcame him, and he leant heavily against the doors, scarcely able to hold himself up.

They made for a pitiful pair, and a passing nurse took compassion on them. She took In-ho gently by the shoulder, guiding him into a private family room away from the prying eyes.

"I need to see him." In-ho choked out as she led him away. "Why can't I see him?"

“The doctors will do the best they can for him.” The nurse said with rehearsed sympathy, patting his shoulder. “They’ll bring you more news as soon as they have it.”

Defeated, he crumpled into an armchair, burying his face in his hands. And so began the longest wait of In-ho’s life.

It was merely a couple of hours at most, but it felt like an eternity.

The room was painted in soft pastel shades, likely supposed to be soothing, but it was too reminiscent of the Games to comfort In-ho. The decor was sparse - a threadbare sofa, a wobbly coffee table adorned with a vase of plastic flowers, and a wooden crucifix on the wall. He found himself wondering how many loved ones had sat on that sofa before him, how many lives had been changed forever in that room, and it filled him with dread.

Occasionally, a member of staff entered, and In-ho’s head would snap up in anticipation of news, but none was forthcoming. Some would bark out urgent questions before vanishing again, others offering only hollow platitudes, although the kind nurse did return with a warm bottle of formula for the baby, which finally soothed her to sleep. Meanwhile, In-ho was inconsolable, capable only of muttering one thing over and over, like a desperate prayer.

Do whatever it takes.

Any surgery or intervention, until Gi-hun was more metal than man. Any amount of money, until In-ho’s wallet ran dry. Whatever it took to save him. Whatever it took to redeem In-ho of his sins.

Finally, a doctor walked into the room, his tired eyes ringed with shadows, and his face haggard with strain. He rubbed his brow, peering at In-ho and the baby over the rim of his glasses.

“You are with Mr Seong Gi-hun?”

In-ho rose to his feet, swallowing nervously.  “Yes.”

“What is your relationship to him?”

“I’m his…” In-ho hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I’m a friend.”

The doctor took in the scene - In-ho’s worried, pale face and the baby cradled in his arms, and quirked an eyebrow in disbelief. But he nodded wordlessly, beckoning for In-ho to follow him.

They traipsed through the labyrinth of corridors, In-ho’s heart pounding in anticipation. They finally reached the Intensive Care unit, and the doctor paused outside the door, urging In-ho to take a steadying breath.

“He’s alive. But we had to place him in a coma to limit any further damage. Prepare yourself.”

The doors swung open, and In-ho followed the doctor to the bedside, steeling himself for whatever horror lay within. The doctor pulled back the privacy curtain, and In-ho stepped inside the bay with trepidation. He exhaled softly at the sight, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

Gi-hun was hardly recognisable, buried beneath a thrumming mass of machinery. He was unconscious and intubated, a mechanical ventilator pushing air into his lungs with a soft, rhythmic hiss. Monitors were strapped to his chest, closely observing every bodily function. In-ho’s eyes flicked up to the tracing of his heart rate on a screen above, reassured by its slow but steady cadence. A central line was inserted into his neck to deliver an infusion of medications and fluid, his skin sallow and peppered with deep cuts and violet bruising.

“We gave him a scan to assess his injuries.” The doctor said, taking Gi-hun’s file from a holder at the foot of his bed, and reading solemnly from the report. “Blunt force trauma consistent with a fall from height. Diagnoses: lower spinal cord injury, fractured ribs, pelvis, and skull. Subarachnoid haemorrhage, pneumothorax, and a ruptured spleen. They are severe injuries, but mostly manageable.”

In-ho released the breath he was holding. “So he’ll be okay?”

“I said manageable, not necessarily fixable.” The doctor sighed, pinching his brow. “There is one other thing.”

In-ho let out a low growl. “Go on.”

He has suffered a traumatic brain injury.” The doctor said sombrely. “We think his vital functions are unaffected, but the damage is still…significant.”

In-ho nodded, his face smooth and expressionless, but a muscle twitched almost imperceptibly in his jaw, betraying his distress. “What does that mean for him?”

“He may have problems with some of his lesser bodily functions. He may not be able to communicate properly or understand you. His personality may change; he might have mood swings or lose his memory. We won't know the full extent of the damage until he wakes up.”  The doctor gave a heavy shrug. “I know this is hard to believe right now, but Mr Seong is very lucky."

In-ho narrowed his eyes skeptically. "How so?"

"Such severe trauma would usually be fatal." The doctor shook his head incredulously. "I can’t believe he survived.”

In-ho couldn’t help but snort in amusement. Because, of course, yet again Gi-hun was the exception to the rules, the anomaly in the dataset. Despite everything, In-ho felt his heart swell with pride and hope. In every way, Gi-hun was extraordinary. If anyone could defy the expectations, it would be him.

“It was partly due to your heroism in getting him here so quickly.” The doctor clapped In-ho on the back. “Mr Seong is fortunate to have such a good friend.”

In-ho snorted again at his naivety. He wondered if he would think the same if he knew the truth - that it was all In-ho’s fault.

“So what happens now?”

“He will need to stay in the hospital for a while.” The doctor explained. “We will gradually start to wake him up, and once he does, we can start considering surgeries and rehabilitation.”

In-ho nodded. “How long will that take?”

“Every patient is different. But one thing is for certain - Mr Seong has a very long road ahead of him.”

Gi-hun remained in a coma for three days. During that time, In-ho spent every moment at Gi-hun’s bedside, from dawn until dusk, when the nursing team finally shooed him away.

"We'll look after him." They promised him. "Go and get some rest."

But rest was near impossible. In-ho booked a room in a nearby hotel to be close by, but sleep still proved elusive and fraught with nightmares, with the few precious minutes he managed to salvage interrupted at regular intervals to feed the baby.

In-ho forced himself to visit Gi-hun, but he loathed hospitals. Since the day his wife and baby had passed, he had vowed never to set foot in one again, and the cloying odour of disinfectant and insistent trill of alarms brought back memories he had long tried to suppress. On the second day, while battling an ancient vending machine for a cup of coffee, In-ho had even spotted his late wife’s surgeon marching down the corridor.

He had tried to catch the doctor’s eye, hoping for a flicker of recognition or murmur of condolence. Instead, the doctor merely smiled at him with polite detachment and breezed by obliviously, leaving In-ho shattered in his wake. The worst day of In-ho’s life was nothing more than any regular day for the doctor, his greatest loss just another patient crossed off the roster, and the realisation was almost too much for In-ho to bear. Coffee abandoned, In-ho crawled back to Gi-hun’s bedside with tears in his eyes.

It was a long three days, and Gi-hun’s progress was slow. Once the swelling in his brain subsided, the doctors gradually began reducing the dosage of the drip, which In-ho learnt was a sedative, keeping him unconscious. When they removed the ventilator, In-ho had watched on in silent terror, sighing in relief when Gi-hun took his first shuddering breath all on his own.

At one point, the baby had cried, and Gi-hun’s nose had wrinkled, his lips turning downward in a slight frown, as though he were upset by the sound. Another time, In-ho was allowing himself to hold Gi-hun’s hand, stroking his thumb over his knuckles, when Gi-hun's fingers had flexed almost imperceptibly in response, and In-ho had jumped back as though he’d been burned.

“Gi-hun? Can you hear me?” He had whispered. But there had been no response, and In-ho was left wondering if he’d imagined it.

On the fourth day, In-ho was sitting in his usual chair, thumbing absently through a day-old newspaper, when Gi-hun groaned softly beside him. In-ho’s head shot up immediately, to see Gi-hun stirring fitfully. The monitors began bleeping urgently as his heart rate and blood pressure skyrocketed, and the doctor burst into the room, taking in the scene.

"What's happening?" In-ho demanded. "Is he okay?"

“I think he's waking up.” The doctor said, with a smile. “Come - stand here, where he can see you."

"What?"

"He might be confused or disoriented. It’ll be good for him to see a familiar face.”

In-ho hesitated, trying to form an excuse. He dreaded Gi-hun's reaction upon waking up - hurting, confused, and restrained, only to see his mortal enemy looming over him like all his worst nightmares made corporeal.

“I can’t…I shouldn't...”

The doctor scoffed impatiently at In-ho’s reluctance, grabbing his elbow and dragging him to his feet. In-ho growled, but before he could make any further protest, Gi-hun’s eyes flickered open, blinking rapidly at the onslaught of light. In-ho froze in terror as Gi-hun's eyes darted nervously around the room, before coming to rest on him.

“Y…y…”

Gi-hun’s voice was hoarse and garbled from disuse, and he paused, swallowing and licking his parched lips. His face contorted with confusion, his eyebrows knitting together in uncertainty as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

In-ho waited for realisation to dawn in his eyes. He knew Gi-hun loathed him and wouldn't welcome him at his bedside, so every stolen moment had been a privilege. Despite the pain it would cause him, In-ho was prepared to walk out of that hospital and never bother him again. But before he turned his back and left forever, he just needed to see that Gi-hun was okay - that the Games hadn’t managed to claim the one good thing left in his life. And some small, selfish part of him needed Gi-hun to know that he had been the one who had saved him, that he had redeemed himself, even slightly, for his transgressions.

But as Gi-hun’s confusion melted away, it transformed into something unexpected. Not into anger or hatred as In-ho had anticipated, but into sheer unadulterated joy. A lopsided smile formed on his lips, his eyes crinkling in the corners. And though his voice was still strained and slurred, his words were unmistakable.

“Young-il.” 

Chapter Text

For a moment, In-ho was stunned into silence. He thought he had prepared himself for every possible eventuality when Gi-hun awoke. He had braced for the rage, the retribution, the rejection that Gi-hun would surely dole out to him. He had even steeled himself to face the potential agony of Gi-hun’s death. One way or another, In-ho was ready to lose him forever.

But he had never anticipated this. 

“Young-il.” Gi-hun repeated with more insistence. His fingers reached out pleadingly, seeking to bridge the gap between them. Dumbstruck, In-ho remained fixed to the spot, and Gi-hun’s brow furrowed with confusion and anxiety at his refusal to acknowledge him. 

In-ho opened his mouth to tell him the truth. To remind Gi-hun that he was his adversary, not his ally. That Young-il had been nothing more than a fabrication, a trap designed especially to lure him in and win his trust, only to crush his faith, once and for all. 

But In-ho recalled that painful moment, when he had unmasked himself and revealed his deception, all too acutely. His hand had hesitated over the mask, and it had taken every ounce of strength he possessed to force his eyes up to meet Gi-hun’s. And though In-ho had known the reveal would hurt Gi-hun, he had underestimated just how much. Gi-hun had seemed to shatter, recoiling in disbelief and dismay at the overwhelming magnitude of the betrayal. And now, lying hurt and vulnerable in that hospital bed, with such fragile hope blooming in those soft brown eyes, In-ho couldn’t bring himself to break him all over again. 

In-ho reached out hesitantly, threading his trembling fingers through Gi-hun’s. Gi-hun’s hand closed eagerly around his, and he gave In-ho a crooked, grateful smile, which In-ho tried his best to return.

The doctor cleared his throat, shooting In-ho a knowing look. “I’ll give you two a moment of privacy. Ring the call bell if you need me.” 

“Have I died?” Gi-hun asked uncertainly as the doctor left. His speech was slow and faltering, the words merging into one another. He gave In-ho’s hand a feeble squeeze, as though testing whether he was actually real. 

“No, Gi-hun,” In-ho comforted him. He perched on the edge of Gi-hun’s mattress, pulling their joined hands into his lap, and returning the squeeze to emphasise his point. “You’re alive. You’re in the hospital.” 

“But…I thought you died.” Gi-hun shuddered. “How did you survive?”

In-ho swallowed thickly, unsure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. Even now, the man was still more concerned about other people than himself. It was so characteristically Gi-hun that it brought a lump to his throat. 

“I’ll explain another time,” In-ho said quickly, avoiding the question. “You’re more important right now.” 

Gi-hun’s eyes flitted nervously around the dim hospital bay, before his eyes trailed downward to the mass of wires and machinery still attached to him, realising his predicament for the first time. 

“What is all this?” Gi-hun mumbled, using his free hand to fiddle anxiously with one of the trailing wires. “What the hell happened to me?” 

“What exactly do you remember?” In-ho prompted him.

Gi-hun considered this, frowning. It felt like an enormous amount of effort to think, his brain slow and stalling, the sensation akin to wading through thick mud. His own thoughts proved evasive, like smoke slipping through his fingers and fizzling away into nothing as he grasped clumsily for them.

“I…I’m not sure.” 

“It’s okay,” In-ho said soothingly, with a reassuring smile. “Just take your time. What was the last Game you remember playing?” 

“It was uh…Mingle?” 

“Okay.” In-ho blinked, keeping his voice steady. “And then what happened?”

“We…uh…took the guns off the pink soldiers,” Gi-hun said, grimacing with the effort of concentration. “And we made it into the management area.” 

“Good.” In-ho nodded in encouragement. 

“But we…we lost.” Gi-hun swallowed, the painful memory suddenly resurfacing. “And Jung-bae…Jung-bae got…”

He trailed off, shaking his head, the weight of his grief rendering him speechless. His eyes swam with tears, and In-ho shushed him, running his thumb soothingly over the knuckles of Gi-hun’s trembling hand.

“It’s okay. I know. What happened after that?”

“Well…I was trying to fight them, and I must have blacked out or something.” He said uncertainly. “And then…then I woke up just now.” 

In-ho let out a juddering breath, desperately trying to keep his face smooth and impassive, even as his heart leapt in his chest. Gi-hun worried his bottom lip with his teeth, searching In-ho’s eyes for answers. 

“Am I right, Young-il?” Gi-hun asked questioningly. “Is that really what happened?” 

In-ho hesitated, conflicted between telling the cruel truth or a comforting lie. His silence unsettled Gi-hun, and he shifted nervously in his bed. The slight movement sent electric jolts of pain shooting through his head and down his spine, and he gasped in shock, which triggered sharp stabs of pain across his chest. His lungs burned at the stretch as they heaved, desperately trying to catch his breath. His grip tightened uncomfortably around In-ho’s hand, seeking an anchor against the sudden wave of agony washing over him.

“Gi-hun! Are you okay?”

“Hurts.” Gi-hun choked out, gritting his teeth through the aftershocks as the pain slowly receded to a dull residual ache. “Fuck, it hurts.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.” Gi-hun groaned. “Except…”

Tentatively, Gi-hun moved again - or rather, he tried to. His mouth opened, his brow scrunching with bewilderment, before he emitted a low whimper, his eyes widening in horror as the realisation dawned. 

“I can’t feel my legs.” He gasped out, his eyes glassy with fresh tears. “I can’t move them.” 

In-ho’s eyes jumped up to the monitors. In Gi-hun’s distress, his heart rate was soaring, and his oxygen saturation was plummeting. The numbers on the monitor turned amber, then quickly into crimson, flashing in warning. Panicking, In-ho slammed his palm on the call bell, and the doctor rushed in at the sound.

“Breathe, Mr Seong.” The doctor instructed calmly, taking in the scene. “You’re hyperventilating. You need to slow your breathing down.”

In-ho clambered to his feet, releasing Gi-hun’s hand to point accusingly at the doctor. 

“He’s paralysed.” In-ho rasped, a menacing edge creeping into his voice. He took a threatening step towards the doctor, who flinched, unnerved by this sudden change in the seemingly loving man who had kept vigil at Gi-hun’s bedside. “You told me his injuries were manageable. He’s paralysed.” 

“I told you they were manageable, not necessarily fixable.” The doctor repeated, eyeing In-ho with a stern glare. “Now stop it. You’re upsetting him more.” 

His eyes flickered back to Gi-hun, who was shaking in terror, looking helplessly between In-ho and the doctor. A solitary tear trailed down his pale cheek, and In-ho’s hand yearned to brush it away. With a low growl, he forced himself to sink back down onto the mattress, his need to be a reassuring presence for Gi-hun outweighing his own anger and fear. He took Gi-hun’s quivering hand in his again, stroking his thumb in gentle circles over the other man's palm, whispering soft words of comfort until his breathing slowed, and the number on the monitors evened out. 

“That’s good, Mr Seong.” The doctor said, flashing Gi-hun a smile. “I’m glad to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?” 

“I’m in pain,” Gi-hun whispered. “And I’m…scared. I don’t know what’s happening.” 

“Let me explain. You have a few different injuries, but the main problem at the moment is your spine.” The doctor said. “You have an incomplete lumbar spine injury.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you haven’t severed the whole spinal cord, only partially. Over time, some of the sensation and movement might come back, but I can’t promise for certain.” 

Gi-hun nodded solemnly, taking all this in.

“I’m sorry to say you also have a brain injury.” The doctor continued with a sigh. “Again, I can’t say for certain how it will affect you at the moment. But the fact you’re awake and talking is a positive sign.” 

Gi-hun nodded again wordlessly, his jaw clenching. His eyes were unfocused as he lost himself in thought, the realisation of just how much his life had changed starting to sink in. 

“Now you’re awake, we’ll do some more scans and make a plan on what to do from here. In the meantime, try to get some rest.” The doctor patted Gi-hun’s shoulder reassuringly, before his eyes swivelled round to In-ho.  “May I have a word with you outside?” 

Reluctant to leave Gi-hun in the aftermath of such bad news, In-ho unwillingly followed the doctor out of Gi-hun's hospital bay. He raised an eyebrow, demanding an explanation. 

“You know him best. I just wanted to ask whether he seems normal to you?” The doctor said. “In terms of his personality?”

“He seems mostly like himself.” In-ho hesitated. “Except…he seems to have forgotten some things.”

“That can be normal.” The doctor said. “Patients often lose their memories of the injury itself, and for some time afterwards.” 

“It’s not just that,” In-ho explained. “He seems to have lost his memories from a few days before the accident actually happened.”

The doctor hummed thoughtfully. “That is more unusual. Did anything else happen to him prior?”

“Like what?” 

“Did he have any other injuries before the accident? Any periods of unconsciousness? Did he experience any kind of trauma?” 

In-ho flinched at the recollection. When he had shot Jung-bae, Gi-hun had been transformed into something almost inhuman; a savage, snarling beast baying for In-ho’s blood. The grief-stricken cries rended from his lips were so heartbreaking that it had been all In-ho could do to turn and walk away, not daring to look back. The sounds had haunted his dreams that night.

It had taken four guards to pin Gi-hun down as he thrashed and screamed. In-ho had given them strict instructions - subdue him, make an example out of him, but keep him alive. The soldiers had beaten him into unconsciousness and delivered him back into the Games in a cardboard coffin, humiliated and defeated. 

“Yes,” In-ho whispered. “I believe he might have.” 

The doctor nodded. “There are two types of amnesia. It can be retrograde, which causes a patient to lose their existing memories after an injury. Or, it can be anterograde, which causes a patient to lose the ability to form new memories after an injury.” 

“So which type does Gi-hun have?” 

“It’s hard to tell. The first injury might have caused him to lose his ability to form new memories, or he might have lost them all after the second injury. Possibly a mixture of both.” 

“So he’s lost all memory of the period between the two?”

“It sounds like it, yes.”

In-ho held his breath, a flicker of hope igniting inside him. “And is the memory loss going to be permanent?” 

“Probably.” The doctor shrugged. “Some details might come back over time, but they’ll likely be hazy.”

“Should I try to remind him of things that happened?” 

“If he asks questions, then be honest with him.” The doctor advised. “Otherwise, don’t try to remind him. It will only distress him more if he can’t remember.”

In-ho nodded slowly, his heart beating wildly as an idea took hold. It bloomed swiftly, like a poison ivy snaking its way through his mind, consuming everything in its path.

Now that Games had burned to the ground and his worldview lay in tatters, In-ho had nothing left except Gi-hun. And although he’d prepared to lose him forever, maybe there was a way he didn’t have to. Perhaps he didn’t have to be the Frontman anymore. Perhaps he could just be Young-il. 

It was wrong. He knew that, deep down. But it was just too perfect to refuse, the opportunity practically presented to him on a platter. He could support Gi-hun through his recovery, make amends for his sins, and Gi-hun would never have to suffer the pain of knowing the truth. He could be the person he used to be; the man before the monster. It could be a brand new start for him, a blank slate, the blood on his hands wiped clean. 

A small smirk spread along In-ho’s face as the plan took root. The doctor narrowed his eyes, suddenly suspicious. 

“Why do you ask all these questions? Is there something you think Mr Seong ought to know?” 

“No,” In-ho said a beat too quickly, flashing the doctor a winning smile. “Nothing at all.” 

Before the doctor could respond, they were interrupted by a loud wail cutting through the air. Jun-hee’s baby, who had been sleeping peacefully in a crib in the corner of Gi-hun’s room, had awoken hungry and decided she had to let everyone in the vicinity know about it. Hearing Gi-hun’s murmur of curiosity from behind the curtains, In-ho sidled quickly back into the bay.

Gi-hun was straining his neck round as far as he could bear, wincing at the pain it caused, searching for the source of the sound.

“A baby?” He whispered in awe, his eyes shining with wonder. “Oh, Young-il, is it yours?” 

“Yes, she is.” In-ho lifted her from her bassinet and cautiously brought her into Gi-hun’s eye line. He held his breath, waiting for a flicker of remembrance or realisation to cross his face. Would he recognise her as Jun-hee's, the very baby he'd been willing to die for? Would In-ho's hopeful plan fail at the very first hurdle? 

But there was nothing. Gi-hun merely gazed at her with admiration before grinning adoringly up at In-ho. 

“She’s beautiful.” He said. “I’m so happy for you. How’s your wife?”

“Dead.” 

Gi-hun’s face crumpled with sorrow. In-ho sniffed, rubbing a hand brusquely over his eyes to wipe away imaginary tears. 

“She’s dead.” He elaborated. “She made it through childbirth, but she was too sick. Her body was too weak to survive.” 

“Oh, Young-il.” Gi-hun breathed. I’m so sorry.” 

In-ho was almost repulsed by how easily the lies slipped from his tongue. Though he had told tales to dupe Gi-hun in the Games, about his sick, pregnant wife waiting at home, he had justified it by reasoning that it hadn’t been a complete lie - it had been true, once upon a time. But working undercover in the police, then becoming the Frontman, concealing his identity behind a mask and hiding the truth even from his own family, his survival had depended on cunning and deceit for so long that it came effortlessly, like a reflex. 

In-ho swallowed, his voice hoarse as he feigned emotion. “Would you like to hold her?”

Gi-hun’s eyes widened eagerly, and he nodded. In-ho leant over, placing her gently into the crook of his waiting elbow. Gi-hun cooed affectionately, gently stroking her soft cheek. Her cries seemed to stop almost instantly as she nuzzled closer with a low sound of contentment. 

“I think she likes me,” Gi-hun said, giving In-ho a sad smile. 

In-ho nodded, not trusting himself to speak as genuine tears suddenly pricked at his eyes.  The scene was so painfully domestic - a person he loved, holding a baby - that it made his chest ache. The life he had so desperately wanted and lost was finally within his grasp, almost a decade later. And although he felt a slight pang of guilt, taking advantage of Gi-hun’s broken mind, he refused to allow it to be taken from him all over again. 

Chapter Text

Gi-hun remained in the intensive care unit for six long weeks. In-ho spent every moment he could by his side, with the baby always in tow. Gi-hun adored her, and she certainly seemed to return his affection. Whenever In-ho struggled to settle her, he passed her over to Gi-hun - her grumbling always ceased immediately when she was placed in his arms, soothed to sleep by the sound of his voice as he sang her lullabies. 

“Have you named her yet?” Gi-hun asked him, rocking her softly as he fed her from a bottle.

“Haneul.” 

The name tumbled automatically from In-ho’s lips before he had a chance to consider it, as though the universe had decided for itself. The memory only struck him later that it had been his wife’s favourite name if she bore a baby girl. It also meant sky - a small concession to acknowledge her true parentage - born beneath the glow of the starry night sky during Hide and Seek. 

Gi-hun repeated it in hushed, reverent tones. “It’s perfect. Just like her.” 

Moved by Gi-hun’s paternal display, In-ho decided to phone Eun-ji, informing her that Gi-hun was in the hospital.

“I thought maybe Ga-yeong might like to visit?” He asked, smiling excitedly at the thought of surprising Gi-hun with his daughter. He pictured how thrilled the man would be at the reunion, how grateful he would be to In-ho for orchestrating it. 

“Oh no, she’s very busy at school, and I wouldn’t want to upset her,” Eun-ji replied dismissively. “Send him our best wishes, though.” 

She hung up the phone before In-ho could protest. He relayed this deflatedly to Gi-hun, his chest aching at the dejected look that flitted momentarily across the man’s face. But Gi-hun swallowed his disappointment quickly, plastering on a wide grin. 

“Of course! She should focus on her schoolwork.” He said, trying to be flippant, but his tone was just a touch too bright to be genuine. “Top of her class she is, unlike her old appa ever was! She doesn’t need to worry about me.” 

Cursing himself for making the call, In-ho just nodded silently. He tactfully pretended not to notice the crack in Gi-hun’s voice or the sheen of tears that glistened in his eyes. 

Gi-hun made slow but steady progress over the weeks, with the swelling in his brain gradually subsiding and the bleed coagulating and healing. Once he was more stable, the surgeons decided it was safe to operate to fix the shattered bones of his pelvis and to remove his ruptured spleen. 

Gi-hun had reached anxiously for In-ho’s hand as the doctor had inserted a new cannula to administer the anaesthetic. It was the first he’d received while conscious, and he had to avert his gaze, his grip tightening around In-ho’s hand as the needle breached his vein. 

“Are you okay?” In-ho asked, watching in concern as his face paled. 

“I’m scared of needles,” Gi-hun admitted sheepishly, and In-ho had to stifle a chuckle. The idea of such a fearless man, who had been subjected to inhuman amounts of pain on more than one occasion and had even faced death unflinching, being frightened of something so small was laughable, but somehow incredibly endearing. 

He held Gi-hun’s hand until it went limp in his, the anaesthesia taking hold, and the surgeons had wheeled him away to the operating theatre. When they brought him back a few hours later, groggy and disoriented, the first mumbled words from his lips were “Young-il.” In-ho grinned, feeling his heart swell with affection, and reached for his hand all over again.

As Gi-hun improved, he became increasingly lucid, although his memory remained lacking. But with his clarity came questions that In-ho could no longer delay. He had to fill the void in Gi-hun’s mind with plausible explanations for all the events that had transpired. And so, he began weaving an intricate web of lies, ensnaring Gi-hun in its threads. He added just enough facts to buffer the fiction, producing a story he almost believed himself after a few repetitions.

“They shot me and beat you after our revolution failed,” In-ho explained, his fingers dancing over his shirt to trace the old bullet wound at his shoulder that he knew would substantiate his lie. “But I think some of the soldiers were running an organ trafficking ring.” 

Gi-hun’s eyes had widened at this, aghast. Every time he thought the Games and its masters had reached the limits of human depravity, there was yet another hidden depth to discover. 

“They kept us alive to harvest from us. I woke up to someone cutting me with a scalpel.” In-ho continued, running his fingers along the scar that still marred his abdomen from his donation to Jun-ho, all those years ago. “I managed to fight them off, but then there were suddenly loads of alarms.” 

“Alarms? What happened? 

“There was some sort of evacuation, and all the soldiers left,” In-ho said. “I think someone must have infiltrated the island.”

“How did we escape?” 

“I was looking for a way out, and I found you unconscious in the room next door.” In-ho smiled softly at him. “During all the chaos, I managed to steal a lifeboat. The coastguard was arriving just as we left.” 

“Do you think they rescued the other players?” Gi-hun asked, his eyes gleaming with hope. Perhaps his plan had worked. It seemed that against all odds, Jun-ho had managed to find the island just in time and alert the authorities. But seeing the pitying look in In-ho’s eyes, Gi-hun’s smile faltered, his momentary hope shattering.

“The island exploded, Gi-hun.” In-ho sighed heavily. “I saw it from the water. They must have blown up the arena to cover up what they’d done.” 

Gi-hun’s lower lip wobbled. “Do you think anyone survived?” 

In-ho remained ominously silent. It was all the answer Gi-hun needed. He buried his face in his hands with a low groan, his eyes swimming with tears. Not only had his ill-advised plan to stop the Games been so easily crushed, but he had also led Jun-ho and his team to their deaths. Somehow, catlike, he had survived yet again, leaving everyone else behind to burn. The grief weighed heavily on his chest, almost to the point of suffocating, as his heart broke with the realisation of how badly he had failed them all. 

In-ho watched as the man’s body was wracked with sobs, his stomach churning with regret. His lies had seemed a necessary evil - to ensure Gi-hun could mourn the loss of his fellow players without implicating In-ho - and to make sure Gi-hun didn’t try and seek out Jun-ho, who would expose his deception in an instant. However, seeing the man’s anguish was nearly impossible for In-ho to bear. He climbed to his feet, wrapping his arms around Gi-hun’s heaving shoulders, and pulling him closer. Sat in his hospital bed, Gi-hun’s head was held level with In-ho’s chest, and he leant into it, comforted by the steady sound of his heart beating under his skin. In-ho ran his hand in small, soothing circles over his back. 

“It's okay. The Games are over now.” In-ho hummed, swallowing the lump that formed in his throat. “It’s all over.” 

Towards the end of his hospital stay, Gi-hun began to regain sensation in his lower limbs. It started with a muted tingling sensation, spreading gradually from his feet and crawling up his legs. It was so faint that Gi-hun almost convinced himself he was imagining it in a desperate, vain hope of recovery. 

But the strange sensation soon progressed into burning, severe and scalding, as though flames were licking at his limbs. He had cried out, his muscles tensing involuntarily with the sudden onslaught of pain, and just barely, his toes had curled. By the end of the sixth week, he was able to move them on command and even roll his ankles in slow circles. The first time In-ho had placed a cautious, curious hand on his calf, and Gi-hun had been able to feel it, both men had almost cried with joy. 

“Does this mean I’m getting better?” Gi-hun had asked the doctor with bated breath. “Will I be able to walk again?” 

“It’s a very positive sign.” The doctor had replied with a smile. “It’ll be slow progress, and you might always have some limitations. But someday, yes. I think you will.” 

With Gi-hun out of the woods and seemingly on the road to recovery, the doctor allowed him to be transferred to a wheelchair. This finally granted him the freedom to explore the rest of the hospital, with In-ho pushing him through the corridors.

They went to the hospital cafe for coffee, the brew renowned only for its mediocrity. But to Gi-hun, that first sip tasted like ambrosia. 

“I promised I’d buy you soju when we got out.” Gi-hun said, as he stubbornly rebuffed In-ho’s attempts to pay. “This will have to do for now.” 

They took their cups and sat outside in the small hospital garden. After weeks in an ICU bed, deprived of the world for so long, Gi-hun had forgotten just how beautiful it could be. Now he looked at everything through fresh eyes, with a new sense of appreciation. He basked in the first warm kiss of sunlight on his skin, breathing the cool, fresh air into his lungs. He admired the bright rows of multicoloured flowers and whistled along to the soft sound of birdsong rippling through the trees. He tried to point things out to In-ho, but he merely hummed in the barest acknowledgement. As far as he was concerned, he had already found the most beautiful thing in the garden - Gi-hun himself - and he had eyes for absolutely nothing else. 

On his last day in the hospital, Gi-hun was taken for one final set of scans to check his progress, and they awaited the results with breathless anticipation. The doctor had walked in beaming, ecstatic to break the good news: Gi-hun would need to return weekly for physiotherapy and rehabilitation, but he had improved enough to be discharged from the hospital and continue his recovery at home.

"Where is home for you?" In-ho asked while helping to pack Gi-hun's few belongings in a suitcase. "I can drop you off and help you settle back in."

“I bought a motel to use as a base while I was investigating the Games,” Gi-hun said, with a reluctant shrug. “I guess I’ll just stay there for now until I work something out.” 

“A motel?” In-ho blinked at him doubtfully. “Are you sure? Will you be alright all on your own?” 

“I’ll be fine.” Gi-hun dismissed him with a humourless laugh. “I don’t exactly have anyone else.” 

“You have me,” In-ho responded indignantly. 

“Oh, of course! You’ve been a wonderful friend, Young-il.” Gi-hun said. “I just meant I don’t have anyone to stay with.” 

“Well...I thought maybe you could stay at mine?” 

“Oh.” Gi-hun breathed, stunned by the generosity of the offer and the vulnerability in the other man's tone. “Thank you, but…I couldn’t possibly.”

In-ho's face hardened with displeasure. “Why not?” 

“I don’t want to be a burden.” Gi-hun averted his eyes guiltily. “I’ve imposed on you too much already.” 

“Nonsense. You’re going to need support, and honestly…it would be nice to have the company. It’s so empty without my wife.” In-ho said, giving him a sad smile. “I’m like you, Gi-hun. I don’t have anyone else.” 

It wasn’t a total untruth. In-ho and his wife had purchased a cottage on the outskirts of Seoul, intending to make it their family home. He still owned it, but he hadn’t set foot in it since the day she died. It was the physical reminder of all he had lost - he’d never sit on the sun-drenched balcony with his wife, never cook them a meal in the kitchen, never hear the patter of tiny feet on the wooden floors. The thought of living there alone had been too painful to bear. Instead, he had chosen to isolate himself, renting a small apartment more akin to a prison cell - a bleak concrete box, permeated with his loneliness and suffering. 

But now, with Gi-hun by his side and Haneul in his arms, he found himself yearning for a real home again, thrumming with love and life. It was perfect - near enough to Seoul to allow them to attend Gi-hun’s hospital appointments, but far enough that In-ho was confident they wouldn’t cross paths with Jun-ho, or anybody else who might threaten the deception.  

“Oh, Young-il, are you sure?” Despite his reservations, Gi-hun couldn’t prevent an edge of longing from creeping into his voice. He was enamoured by the prospect of starting anew - somewhere quiet, green, and far removed from all the horrors he’d lived through. And even though they hadn’t known each other long, he recognised a kindred spirit in Young-il. They had both experienced the brutality of the Games - he was the only person left alive who understood his experiences and shared his trauma. 

“I’m sure.” In-ho nodded. “It’d be entirely my pleasure.” 

“Then yes,” Gi-hun said, with a shy smile. “I’d like that.”

"Good." In-ho said, a delighted smile lighting up his face, which made Gi-hun feel unexplainably giddy at being the cause. "Then it's settled."

Gi-hun couldn't help but smile back. He knew it would be a long, arduous journey to make a full recovery, and the challenge had initially seemed insurmountable. But now, the idea of having Young-il at his side to support him made it feel so much more possible. At the very least, he wanted to try. He owed the man that much for saving his life. 

And so, after saying his heartfelt farewells and expressing his sincerest gratitude to the doctors, Gi-hun finally bid the hospital goodbye. He was pushed out the doors by In-ho, both men contemplating just how much their lives had unexpectedly changed, feeling nervous but excited to face whatever lay in store next. 

Chapter Text

For two men so accustomed to spending their lives in solitude, they settled surprisingly easily into cohabitation. There was a certain intimacy in the way their separate lives became so thoroughly entwined, and the reliable predictability of their shared routine was strangely comforting —a far cry from the years of chaos and violence they had both endured. 

The days always began the same. Gi-hun would wake in In-ho’s guest room to the daylight spilling through the curtains and the sound of birdsong carried on the breeze. Soon, he’d hear In-ho’s footsteps in the hallway, before he knocked softly at his door. 

“Good morning, Gi-hun,” In-ho would say with a soft smile, his voice a warm, gravelly baritone with the remnants of sleep. 

“Good morning, Young-il.” 

In-ho would lift him carefully out of bed and transfer him into his wheelchair. He’d leave Gi-hun to get dressed, a laborious process aided by baggy clothes that slipped on easily, with few fiddly buttons or zips to contend with. While he was getting dressed, he would hear the sizzle of a frying pan or smell the scent of food wafting down the hallway. Mouth watering with anticipation, he’d wheel himself into the kitchen to join In-ho for breakfast.

Gi-hun had confided that he rarely cooked, having sustained himself for years on a meagre diet of instant ramen and kimbap from the local convenience store. Appalled by this, In-ho had insisted on making him proper food for every meal. So, Gi-hun was greeted every morning by a freshly cooked breakfast - buttery scrambled eggs, fluffy golden pancakes, or rich yolky omelettes. In-ho would never eat breakfast himself, merely sipping on a black coffee, while poring over a newspaper or a crossword. 

“You don’t need to go to all this effort for me, you know.” Gi-hun had protested feebly, but he was unable to tear his hungry eyes away from the contents of his plate. 

“It’s good for your recovery,” In-ho claimed with a nonchalant shrug, as though that were the only motivation. But secretly, he had always enjoyed cooking, and he felt a flare of pride watching Gi-hun enjoy his food. And besides, amid all his pain and trauma, he liked making the other man happy, however transient such happiness was.

They would sit in companionable silence, broken only by In-ho reading out crossword clues for assistance, or Gi-hun talking about his latest strange dream. Since leaving the hospital, his sleep had been fraught with nightmares. Sometimes they were simply violent and terrifying, but other times, they were convoluted and confusing, with snippets of conversations he couldn’t recall or images from games he’d never played. In-ho would listen sympathetically and reassure him, making sure to dismiss anything that skirted too close to the truth as a figment of his imagination. 

Once his own hunger was satiated, Gi-hun would give Haneul her morning bottle of milk, cooing at her in a babyish voice or singing her lullabies. Since Gi-hun couldn’t get up without assistance, the responsibility fell solely to In-ho to look after her if she cried during the night, so Gi-hun liked helping with feeds and changing during the daytime to allow him some respite. When, at around eight weeks old, she had smiled for the very first time, it had been aimed up at Gi-hun, and the man had almost cried with delight. 

The rest of the days would vary. Sometimes they’d shop for groceries or take Haneul out for a walk, or treat themselves to coffee and pastries in a local cafe. Twice a week, In-ho accompanied Gi-hun on the metro to his physiotherapy appointments, which always left him exhausted and aching. Then they'd return home - for Gi-hun quickly began to think of it as his home too - for dinner. After a couple of months, each day following a familiar rhythm, it felt so natural that it almost became mundane, as if neither man had ever known any other way. 

But the path to establishing their newfound domestic bliss had not been without its bumps. After years acting as Frontman, In-ho had come to expect compliance. He was accustomed to making decisions and having them obeyed unthinkingly. But Gi-hun was as obstinate as an old mule, and prone to bouts of fiery temper or self-deprecating melancholy. So the first few weeks, they clashed more than once. 

The first challenge had been showering. Entering the bathroom, Gi-hun had caught sight of himself in the mirror for the first time since the fall. The severity of his injuries and all the time spent bedbound in the hospital had rendered him almost unrecognisable. His skin was sallow and dappled with bruises and cuts, his dark eyes ringed by deep violet shadows. His bones jutted visibly through his skin, at obtuse angles and sharp points, his stomach concave and his cheeks hollow. He sank deeper into the wheelchair, his arms folding inward and his spine hunching, his body instinctively trying to hide from himself. 

In-ho noticed and frowned. “Are you okay?” 

“I don’t look like me.” 

“Well, you’ve been through a lot. You won’t look the same as you remember.” In-ho said softly.

“I look like shit.” 

“I think you look just as handsome as you did before.” 

“So I just always looked like shit to you?” Gi-hun said gloomily.

“Oh, stop it, Gi-hun.” In-ho chided him. “Now come on. Clothes off.”

With Gi-hun unable to stand to shower, and the cubicle too narrow to accommodate his wheelchair or a stool, bathing was the only option. They had devised a system whereby Gi-hun would undress, and once ready, In-ho would lift him into the warm water. He’d leave him alone to bathe, coming back only to transfer him back into the chair once he was finished. 

Although In-ho was never anything but respectful, Gi-hun still felt humiliated every time. In-ho tried his best to handle him gently, his hands never straying any further than necessary, his gaze averted as much as possible, but Gi-hun still felt horribly exposed, laid bare and vulnerable before the other man, and it made him ill-tempered. He would snap at him not to look, even when his eyes were already lowered, and hissed whenever his touch inadvertently brushed against cuts or bruises.

“I don’t want you doing all this for me.” Gi-hun spat in frustration. “I’m going to move into residential care. Or I’ll pay for some carers to come to the motel.” 

“You’d rather have strangers touching you?” In-ho said, quirking his eyebrow doubtfully. 

Gi-hun opened his mouth to argue, but he knew In-ho was right. The brutality he had faced in the Games had made him wary, his body learning to presume that hands reached out to harm, not to help. Then, during his long hospital stay, he had been poked, prodded and even sliced open by the doctors. So, the thought of a stranger laying their hands on him, seeing his most private parts and prying at his wounds and scars, made him feel sick with anxiety.

"No," Gi-hun admitted begrudgingly. "I'd rather have you. It's just...awkward, you know?"

"I know. It is for me, too." In-ho said. "But it's the best option." 

Gi-hun always felt better once he was in the bath, the heat seeping through his skin and soothing his aching bones. On his worst days, he found himself reaching instinctively for In-ho's shampoo rather than his own - the herbal, woody scent quickly becoming one he subconsciously associated with comfort and safety. And if In-ho noticed the bottle depleting faster than normal, or the familiar fragrance in the air when he drained the bath, he didn't say a word about it.

The next obstacle was the division of household chores. In-ho had rebuffed his offers to pay rent, so Gi-hun insisted on trying to help around the house. But his body still hurt, and his strength and coordination were limited. He would choke down the highest dosage of painkillers he was permitted, and ignore his discomfort, much to In-ho’s chagrin. Even then, he still struggled with basic tasks. Besides, the small cottage was not built to accommodate a wheelchair, with its tight corners, uneven flooring, and narrow hallways. 

One day, while dusting a sideboard, Gi-hun misjudged the distance and bumped into it, sending photo frames and expensive ornaments tumbling to the floor and shattering in a cascade of sharp glass shards. Cursing himself, he grabbed a broom and began attempting to sweep up the pieces. Hearing the commotion, In-ho quickly entered the room, his initial anxiety for Gi-hun’s wellbeing giving way to irritation at the sight.

“It’s okay. Just leave it.” In-ho said, his jaw clenching. “I’ll sort it.” 

“No.” 

“Gi-hun.” In-ho said firmly, trying to prise the broom from his hands. “Stop.”

“Let me help.” Gi-hun insisted, stubbornly jerking away from In-ho’s grip.

In-ho took in the scene - his precious last photos with his wife and the ornaments she’d picked out lying broken on the floor, the glass ground into fine powder by Gi-hun's manoeuvres in his wheelchair, shards embedded in its rubber wheels - and snapped. 

“You’re not helping! You’re making it worse.”

Gi-hun winced at that, his eyes welling with tears. He relinquished the broom without further protest, his hands shaking. In-ho sighed, immediately feeling guilty. 

“I’m sorry.” He said, rubbing his brow. “I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay, Young-il. You were right.” Gi-hun whispered, lowering his head in shame. “You’ve done so much for me, I just wanted to make it up to you.” 

“You don’t need to make anything up to me,” In-ho said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You deserve someone to look after you, Gi-hun. It’s not something you have to earn.” 

“But you just lost your wife, and you have Haneul to look after.” Gi-hun said, brushing away his tears. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You could never be a burden,” In-ho said softly, beginning to sweep up the pieces. “Not to me. Please don’t think like that.”

“At least let me give you money.” Gi-hun offered. “I’d be paying for carers anyway. It’s only fair.” 

“I’m not your carer, Gi-hun. I’m your friend.” In-ho shot him a withering glare, seeming almost insulted by the offer. “You’re a guest in my home. I’m not taking a single won off you.” 

“I want to be useful,” Gi-hun said, almost begging, his pride sorely wounded. “I want to contribute. Please, Young-il. Let me.” 

In the end, they reached a grudging compromise, with Gi-hun paying his portion of the groceries and bills, and the metro fares to and from his hospital appointments. They agreed he would begin helping with chores as his recovery progressed, but in the meantime, he decided to arrange small surprises to show his gratitude. In-ho found himself receiving all sorts of gifts in the mail - expensive coffee beans, an engraved fountain pen, and brand new books for his shelf. On his better days, Gi-hun would take him out for soju or daytrips with Haneul, and he would order takeout whenever In-ho was too tired to cook. 

“You don’t need to do all this, Gi-hun.” 

“I know. But I want to.” 

And In-ho hadn’t argued any further, secretly pleased. Gi-hun’s choices were always perfect - anticipating his needs without him ever having to ask, and recognising his preferences without him ever having to express them - and after years spent hidden, concealing his identity behind a mask, it was a heady feeling to be seen and known so intimately.

Even if it was by the wrong name.

After around three months, Gi-hun had made good progress in his physiotherapy. He was able to move his legs, and although he couldn't walk yet, he had managed to stand for the first time, bearing his full weight without assistance. It was only for a few seconds before his knees had buckled and he crumpled back into his wheelchair, but it was an enormous victory nonetheless. But the appointments were gruelling and tiring - his muscles had atrophied from disuse and protested at the vigorous, intense exercises. After one particularly demanding session, he found himself falling asleep on the metro.

"Sorry." He muttered, embarrassed when he awoke to find himself leaning on In-ho's shoulder, using him as a makeshift pillow. He tried to move away, but In-ho slid his arm around him, pulling his head back against his shoulder.

"Rest." In-ho instructed, and Gi-hun didn't have the energy to protest, letting himself doze off. 

By the time they got back to the house, Gi-hun was in agony, his muscles stiff and painful, each movement tentative and halting. In-ho made his favourite kimchi jjigae, but Gi-hun could barely force down a few spoonfuls, the food making him nauseous. He decided to get an early night, falling deeply asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. 

And suddenly he was on his knees, arms raised above his head in surrender, glaring down the barrel of a gun. The Frontman loomed above him, the cold, cruel mask leering down at him. The situation was familiar - he knew all too well what came next.

"Look closely at the consequences of your little hero game." 

He braced for the gunshot. Waited to watch Jung-bae die, all over again. Instead, the Frontman motioned for him to turn. With a sinking feeling of dread, Gi-hun swivelled his head round and cried out at the sight. 

Behind him was a pile of bodies, limbs tangled and eyes lifeless. But they weren't just any bodies. It was Jung-bae, Jun-hee, Dae-ho, Hyun-ju, and Geum-ja. It was the players he had led into the doomed revolt - people who had placed their trust in him, and yet he didn't even know their names. It was Sang-woo and Sae-byeok. It was Jun-ho.

Everyone he'd let down. Everyone he'd hurt. Everyone he'd left behind to burn. 

And as he crawled towards them, reaching out fruitlessly as if he could still save them, whispering apologies they'd never be able to hear, he caught sight of his hands.

Slick and dripping with blood. 

And as he screamed, the Frontman's maniacal laughter echoed off the walls behind him. But something about it sounded strangely familiar. It sounded almost like...

"Gi-hun!"

Gi-hun awoke with a gasp, blinking frantically in the dark. In-ho stood over him, pale and terrified.

"Young-il!" Gi-hun sobbed, flooded with relief as he came back to reality. He panted as his heart pounded in his chest, the grotesque images still flashing through his mind. 

"What happened? Are you in pain?" In-ho asked urgently, pressing a worried hand to Gi-hun's forehead. "You were screaming." 

"Nightmare." Gi-hun choked out, wiping away the hot tears that spilt down his cheeks.

In-ho hummed in understanding. "Want to talk about it?"

Gi-hun shook his head, shuddering at the thought. In-ho lowered himself to sit on the bed next to him, rubbing his hand in soothing circles across Gi-hun's back as he trembled and cried. Eventually, his breathing began to slow, his heart rate steadying, and he felt a creeping sense of embarrassment at the whole situation.

"I'm sorry for waking you." Gi-hun sniffed, with a humourless laugh. "I'm so stupid. Crying over a bad dream like a child."

"Don't be silly, Gi-hun. I understand." In-ho said in a soft voice, smiling gently at the man. "I get them too."

He patted Gi-hun's leg sympathetically before rising to head back to bed.

"Goodnight, Gi-hun."

"Young-il, wait." 

The words slipped out of Gi-hun before he could stop them.  Though the nightmares had become a common occurrence, tonight was different. The images from the dreams were particularly brutal, still lingering in his mind, and his severe pain from the physiotherapy made him feel even more vulnerable and defenceless than usual. Seeing In-ho departing had sent fresh waves of terror clawing at his chest again, and he realised he couldn't bear to be left alone.

In-ho paused in the doorway, turning to Gi-hun with a questioning look.

"Can I...could I please..." Gi-hun stuttered in a small voice, his cheeks flushing. "Could I sleep in your room?"

In-ho's mouth dropped open in surprise. Gi-hun scrambled to explain himself, the words spilling out of him in sheer panic. 

"I won't disturb you, I promise. I'll even sleep on the floor." He said, his eyes swimming with fresh tears. "Please? I don't want to be alone."

And without a moment's hesitation, In-ho stepped forward and scooped Gi-hun into his arms, lifting him out of bed. Gi-hun buried his face in the other man's shoulder in relief, breathing in his scent. In-ho carried him into his bedroom and laid him gently onto the bed, tucking the duvet protectively around him. 

"Young-il." Gi-hun protested, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I said I'd sleep on the floor."

"You'll do no such thing in your condition," In-ho said sternly. "We can share for one night. It'll be fine."

In-ho lay into bed next to him, switching off the bedside lamp with a sense of finality, as though he'd hear no further argument. The bed was large enough to maintain a respectful distance, but Gi-hun was still comforted by the sound of In-ho's steady breathing in the dark, the reassuring presence by his side. Within minutes, In-ho seemed to be soundly asleep, and Gi-hun was beginning to follow suit, just drifting off, when he felt it.

In-ho's arm, snaking around his waist.

Gi-hun gasped, his heart stuttering against his ribs. 

“Y…Young-il?” He whispered, tentatively looking round.

The man didn’t stir, his eyes still closed, lips parted.

"Young-il!" Gi-hun said, more sharply this time, poking him gently in the ribs with his elbow.

In-ho shifted in his sleep, grumbling something unintelligible, but his arm only tightened around Gi-hun's narrow waist, pulling him closer until Gi-hun was tucked against his chest.

Gi-hun tensed, unsure of how to react. He felt a pang of guilt, the gesture obviously a reflexive action intended for his late wife and not for Gi-hun. But he couldn’t bear to wake the other man up again - and besides, he looked so soft and relaxed in sleep, not all serious and stoic as he usually was. And Gi-hun knew he’d be embarrassed and apologetic if he realised his transgression, and he hated the idea of making him feel that way. 

And as much as Gi-hun was reluctant to admit it, it felt nice to be held again, after so long starved of affection. The warmth and weight of the man next to him made Gi-hun feel safe, as though nothing could harm him while he lay between those strong arms. He decided for once to be selfish, to allow himself to enjoy this small, fleeting comfort while it lasted.

Just for one night. He told himself, finally sinking into sleep. Just one night.

He didn't see In-ho's eyes flicker open, or the small, satisfied smirk that crossed his face, as he finally got to hold Gi-hun exactly the way he'd been yearning to for far too long.

Chapter Text

Later in time, Gi-hun would look back and try to pinpoint the exact moment his feelings had changed. And he would settle on that moment, the first morning he awoke in In-ho’s bed instead of his own. 

Since his first time in the Games, he’d been a chronic insomniac, with any rare hours of sleep he managed to salvage broken by night terrors. He’d tried all the tricks in the book; spent hours counting imaginary sheep and trying to meditate his restless mind into silence, and taken every pill the doctors could prescribe him. Nothing had worked. He grew to accept the constant weariness in his bones and the permanent dark circles smudged under his eyes.

After leaving the hospital, the problem had only been exacerbated. His pain kept him tossing and turning, seldom able to find a comfortable position, and the second round of the Games had supplied brand new nightmare fodder for his unconscious mind to torture him with. And with his memories lost and only In-ho’s explanation to go by, his subconscious tried to fill in the blanks, conjuring up all sorts of horrors until he could barely distinguish fact from fiction. 

But those few precious hours curled up in In-ho’s arms had been the best sleep he’d ever had. The other man was pure melatonin, his touch the sweetest and most potent sedative. Gi-hun had slept soundly and woken up refreshed for the first time in years, his limbs as light as feathers and his mind blissfully quiet. In his half-asleep haze, Gi-hun found himself instinctively reaching out, seeking the heat of the man next to him. He whimpered when he found only the cold, empty expanse of the mattress.

But as he shook off the sleep, the realisation hit him, and with it came the guilt. He had allowed himself to sleep in another man’s marital bed, between his arms, in the place of his late wife. He had been nothing but good to Gi-hun, letting him willingly into his home and his life without complaint, and this was how Gi-hun repaid him? Stealing comfort intended for somebody else and taking advantage of his vulnerability. Gi-hun buried his face in his hands with a groan, anticipating the other man’s hurt or anger. 

“Good morning, Gi-hun.” As if on cue, In-ho slid into view, silhouetted in the doorframe. He looked down at Gi-hun with his usual soft, easy smile, as if nothing were amiss. 

“Good morning, Young-il.” Gi-hun swallowed, scarcely able to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry, I…”

“Hurry and get dressed,” In-ho interrupted, striding forward to lift him from the bed and into his wheelchair. “I made pancakes.” 

“O…okay.” 

In-ho grinned at him again, clapping him platonically on the shoulder, before leaving him in privacy to change clothes, as if it were just like any other morning. As if nothing were out of the ordinary. 

Gi-hun tried to make sense of the reaction. Perhaps he had woken up early, finding himself entwined with Gi-hun, and been furious with himself. Perhaps he didn’t realise Gi-hun had been awake, feeling every touch, and thought he could conceal his misstep. Either way, he didn’t seem to want to address it, and that suited Gi-hun fine. It meant he didn’t have to acknowledge his own conflicted feelings, or address his own moment of weakness where he’d felt In-ho’s arms wrapping around him, and chose to let him. 

Well, he told himself, pulling a shirt over his head. Why should it have to change anything? They could both just forget about it, dismiss it as an awkward fumbling mistake, and move on.

After all, it was just one night, right?

But for Gi-hun, as much as he tried to deny it, it had changed things. Something innate and primal had been ignited in him, and despite his reservations, it had a will of its own and refused to be suppressed. 

When In-ho handed him his plate at breakfast, the slight brush of their fingers made Gi-hun’s hand twitch with want. When In-ho did the crossword, Gi-hun found himself admiring the way his brow furrowed as he frowned at a particularly elusive clue. He was hypnotised by the way In-ho's mouth moved as he whispered it aloud to himself over and over, as if through repetition it would reveal itself. 

He found himself noticing details he’d never paid attention to before. Like the slight asymmetry of In-ho’s lips, as though they were always on the brink of curving into one of those rare smiles or laughs he reserved only for Gi-hun. Or the soft strands of hair that tumbled free of the neatly gelled style, that seemed to beg for Gi-hun’s fingers to push them back into place…

“Do I have something on my face?” In-ho asked, noticing Gi-hun’s unrelenting gaze. He rubbed his hands over his mouth self-consciously, raising an eyebrow. That quickly jerked Gi-hun out of his reverie, and he tore his eyes away.

“No, sorry. You’re fine.” Gi-hun cleared his throat. “What was that clue again?”

But it didn’t stop there. Later, when In-ho helped him into the bath, Gi-hun found himself shivering when In-ho touched him, his skin burning and tingling pleasantly under his hands. As In-ho lifted him into the bathtub, his tight shirt rose slightly, and Gi-hun caught a glance of his stomach - a smooth plane of muscle, rippling underneath his tan skin, with a trail of fine, dark hair that snaked southwards from his navel and vanished beneath his belt line. It was a brief glimpse, but it was enough. Gi-hun was suddenly and shamefully hard, and laid bare before the other man, he was completely unable to hide it. 

“Oh...” 

“Fuck, shit…I’m sorry.” Gi-hun babbled, flushing a deep crimson as his hands scrambled to cover his modesty. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry, Gi-hun. It happens.” In-ho grinned at him boyishly, giving him a joking nudge. “Must have been thinking about something nice, huh?” 

In-ho lowered him into the warm water and, with a knowing wink, left him to his privacy. Gi-hun buried his face in his hands and groaned at the humiliation. When he washed, he scrubbed viciously at his skin until it was red raw, as though trying to wash away whatever strange spell was holding him captive. He had to wait almost half an hour for the hardness between his legs to dissipate before he could finally call In-ho to help him back out of the bathtub. 

When In-ho cooked them dinner that night, singing ‘Fly me to the Moon’ under his breath in that rich, velvety voice as he stirred the pans, Gi-hun hummed along, yearning to sneak up behind him and wrap his arms around his waist. When they settled together on the sofa to watch a movie, Gi-hun resisted the urge to rest his head in his lap, or to reach over and hand-feed him popcorn. 
At the end of the day, when he finally crawled into bed, he lay awake with his head spinning, consumed by thoughts of the other man, and it frightened and confused him. 

Young-il is my friend. Gi-hun reminded himself sternly. I shouldn’t be thinking of him like this. I don’t even like men.

He hid his face in his pillow, screwing his eyes closed to block out the thoughts. He decided it must all just be a passing phase. He was so tired of being alone and so starved of affection, he was latching desperately onto the smallest gesture and overthinking it. He’d wake in the morning, back to his senses, and everything would be back to normal. 

Or so he thought. But Gi-hun soon found that the door, once opened, was almost impossible to close again. Gi-hun’s strange new feelings didn’t go away. If anything, they grew stronger. Whenever he was by the other man's side, he felt almost like the old Gi-hun again. When they were together, he could almost forget the Games had ever happened, the weight of his guilt and the pain of his injuries diminishing for a few, fleeting moments. Every day, the trench was dug deeper, each touch or conversation only stoking the flame.

And if Gi-hun didn’t know any better, he would have thought the other man was aware of the effect he had, and was doing it deliberately. Though In-ho's touches remained platonic, they often seemed to linger a little longer than they should, and his gaze sometimes seemed to contain a heat that was more than friendly.

But Gi-hun chose to ignore it, dismissing it as wishful thinking. Their friendship was strong, and he wasn't willing to risk losing something so wonderful in pursuit of something impossible, however much he secretly craved more. He couldn’t help but indulge occasionally, leaning helplessly into touches whenever they were offered, and staring at the other man whenever he thought he wasn't looking. But he tried to resist ending up in In-ho's bed again, drawing that line in the sand as one boundary he couldn't allow himself to cross.

He really did try. But on one particularly bad night, when his pain threatened to consume him, and his demons felt a little too close for comfort, he found himself crying out in the dark again, longing for the safety and understanding that only one man could provide. 

"Young-il!"

And In-ho didn't hesitate to allow him back into his bed and back into his arms. Gi-hun slept peacefully, but woke up alone again the next morning, with the familiar guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders. He cursed himself for his weakness, swearing it would never happen again. 

But each night, he found another reason to call for the other man. The excuses came more and more frequently, each feebler than the last, but it didn't matter. In-ho never once denied him. Cocooned in the duvet, inhaling the other man's scent, Gi-hun would relax immediately. He’d lie awake in anticipation, listening to In-ho’s breathing pattern change as he drifted off to sleep. Then he’d wait. Sometimes it took mere minutes, other times it took hours, but eventually, inevitably, In-ho would reach for Gi-hun, pulling him into his arms. And Gi-hun would sigh in pleasure, snuggling closer, before he finally allowed sleep to claim him too.

So it was that on the six-month anniversary of leaving the hospital, Gi-hun awoke in In-ho’s bed instead of his own. 

He stretched, catlike, easing the ache of the previous day’s physiotherapy from his joints. The gruelling months of rehabilitation, and all the pains and strains he’d accumulated in the process, had finally begun to pay off. In that last session, he’d finally taken his first tentative, staggering steps with the aid of a cane.

The physiotherapist had warned him they were approaching the limits of his physical recovery - he’d only ever be able to manage short distances, and he’d likely always need the cane for support - but Gi-hun didn’t care. He’d come so far since his darkest days in the hospital, where the notion of any meaningful recovery had seemed an impossible fantasy. He was thrilled at the concept of being able to walk again and being able to do all the everyday things he’d previously taken for granted.

Hearing the crackle of food already sizzling in the pan, their usual breakfast routine underway, Gi-hun decided to surprise In-ho with the good news. He dragged himself slowly to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall until he reached the wardrobe, where he’d stashed the cane. Fishing it out, he slowly and silently padded his way into the kitchen. 

In-ho was there, his back turned to the door, a dark apron tied around his waist. He was muttering something to himself as he poked at the contents of the pan with a spatula, too engrossed in the task to notice Gi-hun sneaking up behind him.

“Good morning, Young-il.” 

In-ho flinched violently in surprise, a curse spilling from his lips as the spatula slipped from his grip. He whipped round quickly, a practised move, as if anticipating the need to defend himself. But then he froze, his mouth falling open at the sight of Gi-hun standing triumphantly in front of him, on his own two feet for the first time in months.

Then, without warning, he practically threw himself at Gi-hun, tugging him into a fierce hug. The sheer enthusiasm almost knocked Gi-hun off his feet, and he grunted, trying to maintain his balance as his cane clattered to the floor. In-ho felt him slipping, and wrapped his strong arms tightly around him, enough to keep him held upright but mindful of not hurting him any further. 

“God, Gi-hun.” In-ho breathed, squeezing him with affection. “I’m so proud of you.” 

Gi-hun sighed, heady and pleased with the praise. In-ho’s voice, low and warm in his ear, and the slight height difference between them that meant In-ho’s chin rested on his shoulder, had Gi-hun feeling even weaker in the knees than before.

“I’m so happy for you.” In-ho continued, pulling back to beam up at him, his eyes shining. “Let’s go for drinks tonight to celebrate. My treat.”

Gi-hun nodded, rendered unable to speak by the emotion that suddenly tightened his throat. Because the victory, as hard-fought as it was, tasted bittersweet. 

Despite his initial reluctance, he had grown to enjoy living with In-ho. After so long in solitude, he liked the reassurance of the company, and he liked knowing there was somebody who cared about him. But it was always intended to be a temporary arrangement, and now that he had some of his independence back, he knew the time had come to think about finding a place for himself. 

But now, in his imagination, he saw himself being able to push Haneul in her pram, or chasing after her when she began learning to crawl. He saw himself slow dancing in the kitchen with In-ho as they cooked together, or walking down the street hand in hand with him. All of these things he was secretly longing for - and now he was finally physically capable of them, yet they still remained tantalisingly out of his reach. 

Because Gi-hun knew his feelings would never be reciprocated. The man was a widower, the loss of his wife still a raw, open wound.  That sort of thing took time to heal. And though busying himself caring for Gi-hun had likely been a welcome distraction, Gi-hun knew it meant nothing more to him than that. They’d stay friends, of course, but it was time to move on. He’d imposed on the other man’s hospitality long enough. 

But that conversation could wait. Until then, Gi-hun allowed himself to bask in the joy of the moment, savouring every second he could in the other man’s arms, until an acrid, smoky smell emanating from the pan meant In-ho had to reluctantly pull away.

"Shit." In-ho sighed, frowning at the charred remains. "I hope you like burnt eggs."

Chapter Text

It was a busy night, the bar buzzing with activity. Seeking some quiet to allow for conversation, they sought out a secluded corner in the outdoor seating area, a small table for two under the stars. Gi-hun opted for peach soju while In-ho preferred his plain, but either way, it was cold and crisp, and went down as smoothly as water. Gi-hun soon started to feel a familiar, warm buzz around his ears as everything took on a soft, muted quality. 

In-ho was saying something to him, and Gi-hun was nodding along absently in response, his mind preoccupied. He had been trying his best to listen, but the other man was wearing a tight black shirt - the silk straining across his muscles, and the buttons partially undone to expose a few inches of smooth, golden skin - and it was proving very distracting. Gi-hun’s fingers itched for the buttons, though whether he longed to undress the man further or to cover up the temptation, he wasn’t quite sure. 

“Are you even listening to me?” In-ho’s hand suddenly waved across his eye line, jerking him out of his trance. Gi-hun flinched and tore his eyes away, mortified at being caught staring. In-ho merely smiled and sipped innocently on his soju, as if oblivious to the effect he was having. 

“Sorry,” Gi-hun said sheepishly, forcing his eyes up to meet In-ho’s. “What did you say?”

“I said it’s been a difficult six months,” In-ho repeated, reaching across the table and placing his hand on top of Gi-hun’s. “But I’m so proud of you and how hard you’ve worked to get better. You deserve it.” 

“Well, I couldn’t have done it without your support, Young-il,” Gi-hun said gratefully, bowing his head in gratitude, a faint blush colouring his cheeks at the praise. “Thank you for all your help, and for letting me stay with you. I really appreciate it.” 

“Oh, please.” In-ho smiled at him in that warm, affectionate way that always conjured butterflies in the pit of Gi-hun’s stomach. “It’s been entirely my pleasure.” 

Gi-hun swallowed, steeling himself. He hadn’t intended to have the discussion so soon, but the moment seemed an ideal segue. And Gi-hun figured he could tolerate the painful conversation better with the alcohol buoying him than if he were sober. 

“I’m going to start looking for my own place now,” Gi-hun said, ejecting the words quickly before he lost the courage to say them. “I’ll be out of your hair soon.” 

“You’re leaving?” The smile dropped immediately from In-ho’s face, replaced with an impassive expression Gi-hun couldn’t read. “When?” 

Gi-hun paused. He didn’t want to go back to the motel, but otherwise, he wasn’t fussy. His intention was to sign up with some estate agencies and take the first reasonable place he was offered. He thought In-ho would appreciate having his home back, and he didn’t want to take advantage of his hospitality for any longer than he needed to. Besides, Gi-hun knew every extra day he spent living with In-ho would only make him more reluctant to leave. He needed to get it over with fast before his nerve failed him, akin to ripping off a plaster.

“As soon as I find a place,” Gi-hun feigned a nonchalant shrug, desperately trying to keep his tone even so he didn’t betray his emotion. “Hopefully sooner rather than later.” 

But to his horror, In-ho withdrew his hand from his, his lip curling upward with displeasure. 

“I didn’t realise you hated living with me so much,” In-ho said coldly. “But if that’s what you want...” 

“What? No!” Gi-hun yelped, wondering how the conversation had gone quite so wrong. “I love living with you, Young-il.” 

In-ho’s brow crinkled in confusion. “So what’s the rush to leave?” 

“I just thought once I was better, you’d want your space back,” Gi-hun explained. “So you and Haneul can be a family, without me intruding.” 

“Have I said or done anything to give you that impression?”

“Well…” Gi-hun spluttered. “No, but...”

“Then don’t make assumptions about my feelings, Gi-hun,” In-ho said with a frown. “If you want to leave, then I won’t stop you. But don’t leave on my account. I’m happy for you to stay.” 

“Really?” Gi-hun whispered, scarcely daring to hope. “For how much longer?”

“As long as you like.” In-ho said, as though it were obvious. “Stay forever, for all I care. I like having you around, and so does Haneul.” 

For a brief moment, Gi-hun was sorely tempted. He pictured In-ho’s face being the first thing he saw every morning and the last thing he saw every night. He saw a life of companionship, of home-cooked meals and fun day trips. He visualised getting to watch Haneul grow up, taking her places and buying her things like he’d never got to do for Ga-yeong. 

But could he bear the pain of living with someone he loved, but could never have? Could he deny his true feelings forever? And what if one day, the other man brought home a woman, or decided to get married again? Gi-hun didn’t think he could cope with the heartbreak. It was better this way, to leave now, before he invested any more time and emotion. 

“I’d love to,” Gi-hun admitted miserably. “But I still can’t stay.” 

“Why not?” In-ho asked.

“I can’t explain,” Gi-hun said, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.” 

“Gi-hun.” In-ho took one of Gi-hun’s hands in his again, stroking his thumb encouragingly over his knuckles. His expression was almost wounded, like a kicked puppy, and it broke Gi-hun’s heart. “You can tell me. It’s okay.” 

“Because…” Gi-hun swallowed, feeling the last of his resistance crumbling under In-ho’s beseeching gaze. “It’s because…”

Maybe it was the way In-ho was touching him, his face so soft and worried. Maybe it was the alcohol, lowering his inhibitions and emboldening him. Or maybe it was because mere words felt insufficient to convey the magnitude of his feelings. Either way, it was like a dam broke inside Gi-hun. A flood of long-suppressed desire swept over him, and it had irresistible momentum; he had no choice but to go with the current. He found himself surging forward, pressing his lips against In-ho’s. 

For a moment, he was euphoric, the universe condensing down to the place where their lips met. Nothing else mattered; all his pain and trauma seemed to be washed clean in that one, single second. 

And then In-ho pulled away.

Gi-hun jerked back hastily as though he’d been scalded, clasping a hand over his mouth. Sobriety pierced suddenly and sharply through the pleasant haze of his drunkenness, as he became acutely aware of how badly he’d just ruined everything. 

“Fuck…I’m so sorry.” Gi-hun gasped, tangling his hands in his hair, as tears pricked at his eyes. “This is why I can’t stay. Because I love you, Young-il. And you don’t feel the same.” 

“What?” In-ho rasped. He was trembling, every muscle in his body taut and rigid, his eyes wide and stunned. 

“It’s okay, I don’t blame you!” The words poured frantically out of Gi-hun as he scrambled to save the situation. “I get it - it’s too soon after your wife…it’s only been six months….”

“Gi-hun…”

“And you don’t even like men…I didn’t even know that I liked men…”

“Gi-hun, stop talking.”

“I’m so, so sorry…”

Gi-hun’s protests were quickly subdued, a muffled sound of surprise escaping him as In-ho grabbed his jaw and pulled him forward into another kiss. He captured Gi-hun’s bottom one between his, tugging on it slightly, and the sheer ardour and dragging heat of it made Gi-hun gasp into his mouth. In-ho pulled back at the sound, meeting Gi-hun’s gaze with a wicked grin. His pupils were huge and hungry, engulfing his irises, and a faint flush was creeping over his face.

“I thought I told you not to make assumptions about my feelings.” In-ho breathed, panting slightly.

“I…what?” Gi-hun stammered, lost for words. 

“It’s not too soon. I like both men and women.” In-ho ticked them off on his fingers. “And lastly - I love you, too.” 

“Really?” Gi-hun said, his heart pounding wildly with hope. 

“Really. Have done for ages.” In-ho confessed, with a smile. “And I suspected you felt the same."

"What?" Gi-hun spat, incredulous. "How long for?"

In-ho gave an evasive hum, the corner of his mouth tilting upward into a smirk. "A while."

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Gi-hun groaned frustratedly, his head spinning with confusion. “Why did you pull away when I kissed you?”

“Because I wanted to hear you say it,” In-ho said softly. “And I needed you to say it first, so I know that you wanted to. Not because you thought it’s what I wanted to hear, or because you thought you owed me something for looking after you.” 

“You absolute bastard.” Gi-hun said, but he was grinning, too giddy with delight to truly be angry. “You let me suffer, all that time?” 

“I’m sorry.” In-ho laughed. “I know what you’re like. I just needed to know that you meant it.”

“I meant it,” Gi-hun said forcefully, enunciating every syllable clearly as though it would reinforce the verity of his words. “I love you.” 

“So you’ll stay?” In-ho asked, his eyes wide with hope.

“I’ll stay.” 

With a huff of relief, In-ho leaned back in, tugging Gi-hun forward into another kiss. When Gi-hun finally pulled back for breath, In-ho was looking at him as though he wanted to devour him, his lips red and swollen from the kissing. 

“Hurry up and finish your soju.” He growled hungrily, eyeing Gi-hun’s half-empty bottle. “We’re going home.” 

The moment the front door closed behind them, they pounced on each other again, months of repressed desire finally unleashed. Kissing felt foreign to them both - In-ho hadn’t kissed anybody since his wife’s death, Gi-hun hadn’t kissed anyone since his divorce, and neither had ever kissed another man - but it certainly wasn’t unpleasant.

Their lips met messily at first, their movements unpracticed and blundering, a blur of eager hands and colliding teeth - but muscle memory soon kicked in. In-ho’s hands roamed Gi-hun’s body for purchase, settling on the slight dip of his narrow waist. Gi-hun’s hands found In-ho’s neck, and pulled his head forward to deepen the kiss, which earned him a low hum - a deep, gravelly sound that sent shivers of pleasure down Gi-hun’s spine. Their slight height difference suddenly felt more pronounced as In-ho had to lick upwards to seek access to Gi-hun’s soft mouth. Gi-hun’s lips parted just enough to allow their tongues to slide up against each other.

In-ho tasted like soju, but there was a rich, earthy, and slightly bitter depth that was entirely his own - indescribable but utterly intoxicating. Gi-hun, meanwhile, tasted like fresh peaches and honey; somehow both sweet and tart at the same time. 

In-ho tangled his fingers in Gi-hun’s hair, which had been left uncut during his recovery and grown into long curls that had driven In-ho crazy for weeks. They were soft and fluffy, simply begging to be stroked or pulled, depending on his mood. The sensation evoked a fervent groan from Gi-hun, who reddened with self-consciousness at the noises being wrenched from his lips. In-ho didn’t mind - if anything, it only spurred him on, as he swallowed each soft sound Gi-hun made and answered it eagerly with one of his own. 

After a few minutes, In-ho swept Gi-hun’s legs from underneath him and carried him down the corridor and into the bedroom. Gi-hun wrapped his arms around In-ho’s neck, chuckling softly in his ear. Despite his display of strength, In-ho’s touch was soft when he sat Gi-hun down on the edge of the bed, handling him gently as though he were a precious, breakable artefact. 

“Does this mean I can stay in your room permanently?” Gi-hun asked hopefully, running his fingers over the dark, satin duvet. 

“Of course. It’s our room now.” In-ho purred, and Gi-hun shuddered with pleasure. He seized In-ho by the collar and pulled him down into another searing kiss, sighing into his mouth as their tongues tangled together. 

In-ho’s eager hands soon found the hem of Gi-hun’s shirt, breaking the kiss to lift it up and over his head. The shirt had been taunting him all night - a white, satin number with material so fine that it was almost sheer, offering teasing glimpses but nothing more, and In-ho was glad to finally rid him of it.

Gi-hun resisted the urge to cover his torso - it was nothing In-ho hadn’t seen before - but he was staring with such intensity that it made Gi-hun squirm below him. Though he was no longer as skeletal and gaunt as when he’d first left the hospital, weeks of In-ho’s cooking combined with a lack of exercise, had left his body softer and less defined than before, and he felt slightly inadequate, laid bare before the other man. 

“I’ve never told you, but you’re so beautiful, Gi-hun,” In-ho said, his voice low and reverent in a way that sent shivers down Gi-hun’s spine. Reassured by In-ho’s compliment, he reached up with shaking hands to undo the buttons of In-ho’s shirt and slipped the material over his shoulders.

In-ho was well-built for a man his age, his shoulders and back broad and muscular. He was Gi-hun’s perfect foil; strong and sinewy where Gi-hun was long-limbed and lithe. His skin was smooth and tan, broken only by that dark, teasing trail of hair, and Gi-hun felt heat pool in his stomach at the sight, longing to chase its course with his tongue.

“So are you.” Gi-hun breathed. Mesmerised, he ran his hand down In-ho’s toned stomach, giggling when his muscles contracted at the ticklish feeling. In-ho caught his hand, pressing a kiss to the old knife wound on his palm, before urging him down onto his back. 

Gi-hun complied, and In-ho clambered on top to straddle his hips. He lowered his head until his lips met Gi-hun’s neck, kissing and sucking his way down the column of his throat, feeling the vibrations beneath his lips as Gi-hun hummed in pleasure. He delivered a playful nip to Gi-hun’s collarbone, hoping it would leave a mark, before descending slowly down his body, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses in his wake.

He made his way across Gi-hun’s chest and stomach, diverting only to swirl his tongue around Gi-hun’s nipple and graze his teeth against the delicate bud. It evoked a gasp from the man at the unexpected sensation, his hips inadvertently bucking upwards against In-ho’s. In-ho sat up, rolling his hips experimentally to grind against Gi-hun again, and they both moaned at the delicious shock of friction. 

Getting impatient, Gi-hun ran his hands over In-ho’s thighs, converging inward until his palm brushed over In-ho’s crotch. In-ho groaned with need as Gi-hun dragged his fingers lightly over his growing hardness. Gi-hun was just reaching to undo his belt buckle when suddenly, In-ho grabbed at his wrists, stalling his movements. Gi-hun paused immediately, looking up at him in concern.

“Sorry.” He whispered. “Is it too soon?” 

“No…it’s just…” In-ho swallowed. “Are you sure that you want this?” 

“I’m sure,” Gi-hun affirmed, pressing forward. But In-ho stopped him again, keeping him held at arm’s length.

“I don’t just mean the sex.” He said seriously, an edge of vulnerability creeping into his voice as he searched Gi-hun’s eyes. “I mean all of this. I’ve lost too much already. Don’t give me something I can’t keep.”

“I love you,” Gi-hun said solemnly, as though making a vow. “I’m all yours, for as long as you want me.” 

In-ho sucked in a shuddering breath, his burgeoning arousal only strengthened by Gi-hun’s words, spoken with such fervour and certainty. 

“You’ll tell me if it's too much?” He gritted out through his teeth, with the effort of restraining himself. “Or if you need to stop or take a break?” 

“I will.” Gi-hun laughed, touched by his concern. “Now stop fussing. I’m not made of glass, you know.” 

“I know,” In-ho said, with a smile. “But you just got better. I don’t want to break you again.”

“Maybe I want you to break me,” Gi-hun whispered huskily, with a teasing quirk of his eyebrow.

That destroyed the final shred of In-ho’s resolve. With a low growl, he let go of Gi-hun’s wrists, and Gi-hun didn’t waste any time sliding his belt loose and pulling down his zipper. 

Gi-hun’s lips parted hungrily as he pulled In-ho’s cock free of the confines of his underwear. It was smooth and silky, but hard as steel, heavy and throbbing as he took it in his hand. He swiped his thumb over the tip, gathering a pearl of precum that had already begun beading, and started moving his hand experimentally up and down along the length, mimicking his own preferences in hopes of not appearing too inexperienced. It seemed to work, his ministrations earning a strangled curse from In-ho.

“How do you want me?” In-ho rasped, his voice cracking with pleasure at finally being touched after so long. “You want me on top? You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” Gi-hun said, his voice high and breathy with sheer need. “Please, Young-il.” 

And suddenly, In-ho’s cock deflated, going soft in Gi-hun’s hand. Gi-hun’s brow crinkled in confusion and disappointment. 

“Oh…”

“Fuck!” In-ho let out a hiss of frustration, pulling brusquely away from Gi-hun. “Sorry, just give me a minute.” 

“It’s okay,” Gi-hun said soothingly. He leaned back in what he hoped was a seductive pose, gazing up suggestively at In-ho through his lashes. In-ho groaned at the sight, and he pumped his fist up and down his length, trying desperately to coax something, anything out of it. 

But it remained stubbornly and humiliatingly limp in his hand, and In-ho couldn’t help but laugh hollowly at the irony of the situation. After months of careful deception and repressing his true feelings, he finally had Gi-hun exactly where he wanted him - splayed beneath him and begging - only for his body to let him down. 

Because hearing that name was a stark reminder of his deceit. That it wasn’t really him Gi-hun wanted. It was Young-il, the fantasy he’d created for both of them, the man who embodied everything he wished he could be, everything he should have been if his life had turned out differently.

But he wasn’t that man. And Gi-hun had already lost so much - his family and friends, his mobility, his memories. In-ho had already taken the truth from him. He couldn’t bear to take this from him, too.

“I’m sorry, Gi-hun.” In-ho sighed heavily. “It’s just not happening.”

“Don’t worry, Young-il. Happens sometimes at our age, right?” Gi-hun said, giving him a reassuring smile. “Another time.” 

In-ho flopped backwards on the bed, tucking himself away in defeat. Gi-hun burrowed up underneath his arm, demanding affection, his head coming to rest on In-ho’s shoulder. In-ho stroked his hair apologetically, as Gi-hun’s fingers traced soft, soothing patterns over his chest. His face crinkled into a sad frown as they found In-ho’s collection of scars, pressing his thumb into the old bullet wound on his shoulder before following the path of the long, silvery scar over his abdomen with his index. In-ho blinked, strangely emotional at being offered tenderness in the places where his body had only known violence and pain. 

“Does it hurt?” Gi-hun whispered.

“No,” In-ho said, swallowing thickly through tears. “It feels nice.”

Gi-hun hummed, reaching up to swipe away an errant tear that spilt down In-ho’s cheek with his thumb. In-ho buried his face in Gi-hun’s neck, breathing in the comfort of his scent, cradling him in his arms, until they both drifted off to sleep. 

And when Gi-hun awoke the next morning, it wasn’t to an empty bed like usual. He woke to find they were still tangled together, his limbs so thoroughly intertwined with In-ho’s that it was almost impossible to discern where they each began and ended, the sunlight spilling through the shutters as it rose on the first morning of the rest of their lives together. 

Chapter Text

The next six months were some of the happiest times either man had ever experienced.

Being with In-ho elicited a version of him that Gi-hun had long thought dead. He was quicker to smile or laugh, more so than he had in years, usually a result of In-ho’s self-proclaimed ‘dad jokes’, funny only because they were so terrible. He was bubbly and talkative again, and unafraid of making a fool of himself, often clowning around or babbling nonsense to entertain Haneul. Despite his lingering survivor's guilt and numerous regrets, he began to try to enjoy and appreciate life again. He pursued fun pastimes and long-forgotten hobbies to fill his days, instead of being consumed by the single-minded suicide mission that had led him back to the Games. 

As for In-ho, he could finally drop the stoic facade he’d developed to protect himself. After years of maintaining his cold, calculated control, he began to feel more comfortable being messy or flawed. He allowed himself to feel emotions he’d long suppressed, secure in the knowledge that Gi-hun would never judge him for something as human as feeling. And his hands, so accustomed to doling out pain and violence, learned how to be gentle and tender again.

And although In-ho had never previously enjoyed grand, public displays of affection, he simply couldn’t keep his hands off Gi-hun. The man seemed to have a strange, magnetic pull that he was powerless to resist. Besides, as far as In-ho was concerned, Gi-hun was the most incredible being to grace the Earth. Such blinding brilliance was surely obvious to everyone else, so it was only logical to him that everyone else must desire him too. So, In-ho felt the need to stake his claim, making sure that everybody knew exactly who Gi-hun belonged to. 

Going through doorways or narrow walkways, In-ho would usher Gi-hun ahead of him, and his hand would inevitably find the small of Gi-hun’s back. Walking down the street together, his fingers would naturally reach to intertwine with Gi-hun’s. In long queues at grocery stores or cafes, he’d loop his arm around his narrow waist under the guise of helping him to stand, and press gentle kisses to his cheek. Gi-hun never denied In-ho, preening with pleasure and pride whenever the man’s hands found him. After years spent alone and unwanted, practically invisible in the eyes of society, it was a heady thing to finally feel so wanted and loved.

Intimacy, however, remained an insurmountable obstacle. Though In-ho craved nothing more than to be on top of (and inside of) Gi-hun, hearing the words ‘Young-il’ spill from his lips in the throes of passion felt like being doused with icy cold water, its unfavourable effect on his cock always devastating and instantaneous. 

And Gi-hun would watch him wilt, quickly plastering on a smile or cracking a joke to mask his disappointment. In-ho would still plead to be allowed to pleasure him, proposing hand jobs or offering to take him into his mouth, but Gi-hun would kindly rebuff him. He refused to take something from In-ho that his body clearly didn’t want to give, and aside from the occasional gentle suggestion that In-ho see a doctor or get his hormone levels checked, he never raised the issue. 

After all, he was content just being with the other man, and the bond between them was undeniable. They had both known love before, and the pain that came with its loss. They had both been irrevocably altered by the Games. Therefore, there existed a mutual, unspoken understanding between them, a different kind of intimacy that nobody else could offer. Wherever one was weak, the other was strong; their souls perfect mirror images. They soon forgot how to exist without the other, like the two faces of a coin; different, separate, but incomplete when not part of the whole. And whenever their respective trauma reared its ugly head or the ghosts of their past rose up to haunt them, the other man was always there to hold them through it.

Their weekly routines continued as normal, except without Gi-hun's physiotherapy sessions, they had additional days free, which they designated for dates. One unseasonably pleasant day, they decided to take Haneul for a walk to one of the national parks. They strolled under the canopy of trees flush with thick, emerald leaves, the cloudless blue sky rolling endlessly above them. They stopped by a crystal lake to sit on the grass and have a picnic, watching the sunlight shimmer and dance across the surface of the water. 

Gi-hun basked in the warmth, chuckling as In-ho hand-fed him bites of mandu or fresh-cut fruit, licking and sucking teasingly at the remnants on his fingers. In-ho lay his head in Gi-hun’s lap, almost coaxed to sleep by the feeling of Gi-hun’s fingers running through his hair. They stayed until the sun dipped low behind the mountains on the horizon, watching it paint the sky with pastel pinks and oranges, before reluctantly making their way to the train station.

But standing on the platform awaiting the train home, Gi-hun soon felt the twinges of pain that had become so familiar to him. It had been a long day, and he had stubbornly insisted on walking with his cane instead of using the wheelchair, a decision he was now beginning to regret.

Gi-hun quickly sought out a seat, cautiously lowering himself into it with a quiet groan, before tentatively stretching out his protesting limbs. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth silently through the onslaught of pain as it washed over him.

Sensing his silent suffering, In-ho sat beside him, taking Gi-hun’s shaking hand in his. Gi-hun clenched it tightly like a lifeline, his knuckles paling with the force. In-ho’s other hand found his thigh, delivering a reassuring squeeze. His touch was like a salve to Gi-hun, soothing and grounding, easing the sharpness of the pain into a dull ache. Sighing at finding some relief, Gi-hun leaned gratefully into In-ho, his head coming to rest against his shoulder. 

A group of young people stood nearby on the platform, clearly drunk, swaying and clinging to one another to stay upright. One of them nudged the others, looking pointedly towards In-ho and Gi-hun with a smirk. Raucous laughter and jeers rippled through the group at the sight.

“Gross.” One of them said, wrinkling their nose with disdain. “It’s so unnatural.” 

Another nodded emphatically, his disapproving eyes fixed on Haneul’s pram. “A child needs a mother. It’s not just right for two men to be raising a baby.” 

Overhearing this, Gi-hun flinched as if he’d been struck, his cheeks burning scarlet. He tried to slide his hand out of In-ho’s, but In-ho tightened his grip, holding him firmly in place.

“Young-il…”

“Don’t listen to them,” In-ho growled. “We have nothing to be ashamed of.”

In defiance, he leaned across to press a soft kiss to Gi-hun’s jaw. Though it was fleeting and chaste, it sparked another chorus of mocking laughter from the group, interspersed with theatrical vomiting noises.

“Aish, but what a waste of such a handsome face.” One of the women among the group sighed, gazing longingly at In-ho.

“Right?” One of the men laughed cruelly. “He could do so much better than that ugly, old cripple.” 

“What did you just say?” In-ho’s head suddenly snapped up to glare at the group. Despite his anger, his tone was low and measured, in a way that somehow seemed more dangerous than if he had shouted. 

The group fell awkwardly silent at being challenged, bowing their heads deferentially to avoid In-ho’s piercing eyes. Only the young man who had last spoken sauntered forward, an overconfident swagger in his step that reminded Gi-hun eerily of Thanos. 

“You people are disgusting.” He spat, venom lacing his words. “It shouldn’t be allowed.” 

“Not that.” In-ho rose to his feet, every muscle in his body taut and poised for action. Though his face remained calm and impassive, something akin to a challenge burned behind his eyes, as though daring the young man to repeat himself. “What did you just call him?”

“Young-il, don’t,” Gi-hun whispered, tugging at In-ho’s sleeve. “He’s just a kid, he’s drunk…”

But In-ho shook himself free, advancing slowly towards the man. Gi-hun swallowed nervously at the stark transformation from the gentle man he loved into this perfect predator, honing in on his prey with cool, practised precision. He tried to stand, desperate to intervene, but his tired legs failed him, and he crumpled helplessly back into the seat.

“You heard me.” The man hissed, his face contorting into a mean grin.

“That man has lived through things you couldn’t imagine in your worst nightmares.” In-ho snarled, pointing at Gi-hun. “You should show some respect.”

The young man stepped closer, leering at In-ho. “Or what?” 

“I’ll make you.” In-ho strode forward, his voice cold and menacing in a way that sent shivers down Gi-hun’s spine. 

The man closed the gap, so near that In-ho could feel his breath against his skin. “I’d like to see you try, old man.” 

And In-ho felt that old, familiar urge flaring inside him. He wanted to hurt the man, to punish him, to beat him until he bled and begged for mercy. He longed to put his hands around his delicate throat and press until the cartilage caved under his palm, or to wrap his strong arms around his neck and squeeze until the fragile bones snapped. He’d done it before for less, and he could do it again. The man would deserve it. And it would be so, so easy. 

Two sides were battling for dominance within In-ho. There was the cold and ruthless Frontman, who would have killed the man where he stood, without so much as blinking. 

But there was also Young-il. The kind, gentle man that Gi-hun and Haneul deserved. The man they believed him to be. The man he had sworn to be for them. And Young-il would take a step back.

It took everything he had, every ounce of compassion and willpower he could summon. But he did.

And with some distance, he could see with new clarity. He noticed the tremor in the other man’s voice and the jump of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, betraying the fear beneath the drunken bravado. He really was just a foolish kid, barely out of his teens, showing off for his friends. He wasn’t important; Gi-hun and Haneul were. And In-ho wouldn’t allow himself to disappoint them.

“You’re not worth my time.” In-ho gritted out, forcing himself to turn his back and return to Gi-hun’s side, steadfastly ignoring the taunts and jeers that started up again behind him. They were soon swallowed up by the sound of the train as it rattled into the station.

With a sigh, In-ho cupped Gi-hun’s cheek in his hand, running his thumb lovingly over his cheekbone, and leaning in to try and press a kiss to his forehead. But to his surprise, Gi-hun leaned away from the touch, averting his gaze. They sat in silence for the entire journey, a wide gulf suddenly emerging between them that In-ho didn’t quite understand how to cross.

When they got home, he chivalrously tried to take Gi-hun’s jacket from his shoulders, but Gi-hun shrugged off his efforts. When In-ho spoke to him or demanded to know what was wrong, he was met only with stony silence. And when they switched the lights out to sleep, Gi-hun immediately rolled over in bed, keeping as far from In-ho as he could without falling off the side of the bed. 

In-ho stared miserably at the ceiling, crushed under the oppressive weight of the silence, wondering what exactly he'd done to deserve this. It was only when he heard the soft, muffled sniffing that he realised Gi-hun was crying.

“Gi-hun!” He gasped. He pulled Gi-hun around to face him, his heart aching at the sight of his blotchy, tear-stained face. “What’s wrong?”

Gi-hun just shook his head, his palm coming to rest weakly on In-ho’s chest, as if uncertain whether he wanted to pull him closer or push him away. 

“Did I scare you earlier?” In-ho cradled Gi-hun in his arms, cursing himself for his momentary loss of control. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to protect you.” 

“No.” Gi-hun choked out, his voice hoarse with emotion. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” In-ho said, wiping a tear away with his thumb. “Talk to me, Gi-hun. Please.”

“They were right.” Gi-hun said in a small, sad voice.

“What?” In-ho growled. “Who?” 

Gi-hun flinched at the anger in his tone, but the words poured from him before he could stop them.

“I can’t do things like I used to. I’m a burden.” Gi-hun wept, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I’m just an ugly, old cripple, like they said.”

“Gi-hun!” In-ho cried, aghast. “That’s not true.” 

“Of course it is. That’s why you won’t…can’t…fuck me, right?” Gi-hun sniffled. “I get it now. You don’t find me attractive.” 

“Don’t speak like that,” In-ho said, seizing Gi-hun’s shoulders. His grip was rough and desperate, his nails leaving crimson crescents imprinted into the delicate flesh, as though he could physically impress his feelings on the man. “You’re the most attractive man I’ve ever met, beautiful inside and out. I love you, Gi-hun.” 

“But I’m broken,” Gi-hun whispered, looking sadly at In-ho. “You deserve better.”

“You’re not,” In-ho growled. “Even if you were, then I’d love you broken. I don’t want anybody else.” 

Gi-hun sighed in disbelief, rubbing at his eyes. In-ho grabbed his wrists, tugging his hands away from his face, and pinning them above his head. Gi-hun let out a gasp, wide-eyed and breathless with anticipation, as In-ho climbed on top of him. 

“You’re beautiful. You’re perfect. I love you.” In-ho said reverently, each sentence punctuated by kisses; first to his forehead, then to the tip of his nose, which wrinkled adorably, and then finally to each cheek, which tasted wet and salty with his tears. Gi-hun squirmed beneath him, flushing with embarrassment as he whispered out denials. 

“Don’t believe me?” In-ho purred, the corner of his mouth tilting upwards into a grin. “Fine. I’ll prove it.” 

And he made his way down, worshipping every single inch of Gi-hun’s body he could reach with his lips and tongue. He murmured sweet affirmations and sincere compliments against his skin like vows, sealing each one with an ardent kiss. He left a searing trail, starting from his jaw and travelling slowly down his chest and stomach. He paused to bite at the soft flesh of his inner thighs, earning him a squeal, before descending all the way down to his toes and back up again. Each one burned like a brand against Gi-hun’s skin, and he trembled and whimpered beneath In-ho, his protests quickly giving way to pleasure. 

By the time In-ho reached his lips, Gi-hun was crying for an altogether different reason, overwhelmed by the attention and moved by the sheer devotion of the man above him. In-ho caught the tears on the tip of his tongue, licking each one away. Gi-hun giggled, trying to push him away, and In-ho seized his wrists again, playfully holding him down. 

“Stop it.” Gi-hun groaned, writhing as In-ho began nibbling at his earlobe and tracing the shell of his ear with his tongue. “It tickles.” 

In-ho finally relented, releasing his wrists. He grabbed Gi-hun by the waist and rolled them over gently until he was on his back with Gi-hun’s head resting on his chest. Gi-hun snuggled closer with a contented sigh. 

“Do you believe me yet?” In-ho asked softly, running his fingers through Gi-hun’s fluffy curls. “Or do you need some more reminders?” 

“I believe you.” Gi-hun breathed, stretching his neck up to press a shy, grateful kiss against In-ho’s jaw. “Thank you.” 

In-ho hummed, exhaling in relief at having the man back in his arms. He stroked Gi-hun’s hair lovingly until his tears dried, and his ragged breathing evened out as he fell peacefully asleep. 

Chapter Text

During his stay in the hospital, Gi-hun had frequently found himself reminiscing about the time when Ga-yeong was young, during those golden, halcyon days of his early marriage. He remembered bringing her home when she was born - this tiny, precious, breakable thing - and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do next. It had frightened him that she relied on him for her every need when he could hardly take care of himself. It had seemed an impossible task to keep such a small, fragile creature alive, one that he wasn’t entirely sure he was up to. 

But one thing he never doubted was the fierce, protective love he had for her, unlike anything he’d ever experienced. After all, she was made half of him and half of the woman he loved  - how could he do anything but adore her? It was an awe-inspiring thing to see his eyes or Eun-ji’s nose replicated in that tiny face, to hear his own laughter echoed back at him whenever she giggled, or to recognise her mother’s fiery temper whenever she threw a tantrum. 

And as she grew, his love for her only deepened. He would almost burst with pride when she hit each developmental milestone, or when strangers stopped him in the street to coo over her. She didn’t just survive, she thrived - growing up to be smarter and stronger than Gi-hun had ever been - and he wanted to give her every opportunity that he’d never had. 

But then it had all gone wrong. His businesses started struggling, so he began working long, backbreaking hours, vainly trying to keep them afloat. He took out more loans than he could afford to pay. He’d come home late at night, so overwhelmed with exhaustion and stress that he was still absent even when he was present. 

He never sat down at the table to help her with homework or to ask about her day. He missed bedtime stories, school plays, and parents’ meetings. Suddenly, he found he didn’t know anything about her anymore - her favourite subjects, her friends, her hobbies - it all became a mystery to him. 

And ultimately, it was all for nothing. The businesses collapsed, and Eun-ji divorced him, escaping like a rat fleeing a sinking ship. She quickly found a better option, and she took Ga-yeong with her.

And soon, Gi-hun had the loan sharks snapping at his heels, baying for his blood. Lost and purposeless, he found himself stumbling down a path of no return, becoming the jobless, good-for-nothing gambler that washed up in the Games. The deadbeat dad and worthless husband he had never wanted to be.

These days, Ga-yeong wanted nothing to do with him. When he tried to call, the phone rang endlessly unanswered. When he sent letters, they were returned to him unopened. Eun-ji wouldn’t even let her visit him in the hospital, or so much as send him a get-well-soon card. And though the rejection ached like a knife through his heart, deep down, he understood.

If only he’d got on that plane, with his winnings in his pockets, he could have made reparations. He could have given Ga-yeong the world. But he had turned his back and walked away. 

He had believed it was the right thing to do. He thought he was making a sacrifice for the greater good, martyring himself for a higher cause. And where had it got him? Beaten and broken in a hospital bed, while the people he had gone back to save had burned. 

But then In-ho had walked in, with a baby in tow, and turned his life upside down. By choosing to love the man, Gi-hun was choosing to love Haneul too, and to accept her as part of his life. And even though she wasn’t his, it was like being granted a second chance to be the father he’d always wanted to be - but never had been - to Ga-yeong. And this time, Gi-hun swore he wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

This time, it would be different. 

Throughout the months they’d been living together, while Gi-hun was recovering and his romance with In-ho was blossoming, Haneul had been rapidly growing - and it swiftly became apparent to Gi-hun that he’d looked back on Ga-yeong’s baby days through rose-tinted glasses. 

Parenthood was tougher than he remembered, or perhaps he just wasn’t as young as he had once been. Caring for a baby was frankly exhausting. There was always a bottle of milk that needed to be made or a full nappy that needed to be changed. At a few months old, she developed colic and would refuse to sleep, crying inconsolably for hours. In-ho would pace exhausted circles on the floor all night, desperately trying to soothe her, and Gi-hun would stay awake to keep him company. 

When she started teething, she gnawed and drooled on everything she could find, and caught Gi-hun by surprise with a sharp bite or two. When she learned to crawl, she was devilishly quick and stealthily quiet, her movements announced only by the crash of something being knocked over, or a piercing cry when she got lost or stuck somewhere. Gi-hun’s recovery had been set back many times by tripping over a toy left on the floor, or rushing to save her from the consequences of her own curiosity. 

But the difficulties were all worth it for the good moments. Like the day she had smiled up at him for the very first time, and melted his heart. Like the day she had first sat up unsupported, her eyes wide and astonished as she viewed the world from a brand new angle. Like the day she stood up on her wobbly little bow-legs for the first time, held securely under the arms by In-ho.

Or like the day she spoke her first word.

It happened when Haneul was almost a year old. She was perched on Gi-hun’s knee as he read her favourite book; the story of a clever rabbit who outwitted a hungry tiger and escaped with his life. Though the finer details of the plot escaped Haneul’s comprehension, she adored the illustrations of the bunny, cooing in admiration and touching her tiny hands to the pages in wonder. 

She giggled with glee as Gi-hun enthusiastically acted out the story, putting on theatrical voices for each character - high and nasally for the rabbit, and deep and rumbling for the tiger. In-ho leaned on the doorframe, sipping a cup of coffee and chuckling softly at Gi-hun’s performance. Gi-hun’s eyes flickered up to meet his, flashing him a bashful smile.  

“Too much?” 

“No.” In-ho smiled back at him. “It’s cute.” 

Sensing Gi-hun’s attention had been diverted from her, Haneul’s face puckered up in discontent. Her eyes screwed tight with concentration as she struggled to form the word. It was hesitant and lisping, but entirely unmistakable.

“A…ap…appa?”

In-ho froze in shock, holding the coffee mug comically in the air, suspended inches from his lips. Gi-hun gasped, gathering Haneul into his arms. 

“What did you say?” Gi-hun breathed, scarcely daring to believe his ears. “Can you say it again, sweetheart?”

“Appa.” 

For a moment, Gi-hun beamed, overcome by a rush of sheer love and pride, before the cold realisation hit him. The smile slid quickly off his face, his eyes darting guiltily to In-ho. 

“No, Haneul. I’m not appa.” Gi-hun corrected her, pointing at In-ho. “That’s your appa, over there.”

“Appa!” Haneul said, more firmly this time. Her brow creased with frustration, as if Gi-hun were being deliberately obtuse. She pressed her tiny palm against Gi-hun’s cheek, dispelling any doubts about who she was addressing. 

“I’m so sorry, Young-il.” Gi-hun whispered apologetically, feeling as though he’d been handed a gift intended for somebody else. “That should have been your moment.” 

“Don’t worry, Gi-hun,” In-ho said, swallowing his own disappointment. “I’m just happy she’s learning to talk.” 

“But she’s yours.” Gi-hun protested. “She shouldn’t call me that.” 

“I don’t mind,” In-ho shrugged. “Does it bother you?” 

Gi-hun shook his head. 

“Then let her.” In-ho gave him a reassuring smile. “You’ve done so much for her. You’re as much her appa as I am.” 

Only then did Gi-hun allow himself to smile, pulling Haneul into a celebratory hug and telling her how proud he was of her. In-ho found himself blinking back tears at the scene, as he wondered, not for the first time, just how he had got so lucky. 

On Haneul’s first birthday, Gi-hun suggested a visit to Seoul Land. He showed In-ho the brochure he’d found, detailing all the attractions, in a bid to convince him. 

“It’s got so many fun rides, and look!” Gi-hun pointed excitedly at a photo of a pink, fluffy bunny mascot. “It’s just like in the book! She’ll love it.” 

And In-ho, who was unable to deny Gi-hun anything he wanted, reluctantly acquiesced. 

With Gi-hun unable to risk aggravating his injuries, it fell to In-ho to accompany Haneul on the rides. Gi-hun had to stifle his giggles at the sight of such a strong, serious man straddling a garishly painted pony and rotating slowly around the carousel. He laughed when In-ho got drenched on the log flume, the grin swiftly wiped off his face when In-ho dragged him into a soaking wet hug.

They stood to watch the parade, Haneul clapping and gasping in amazement at the colourful floats and dancers. They took photos with every mascot they could find; Haneul adored the pink bunny mascot most of all, just as Gi-hun had known she would.

It had been the perfect day. In-ho was just queueing up to buy ice cream before they headed home. With a smile, he turned to ask Gi-hun what flavour he wanted. 

“Strawberry or chocolate?” 

But Gi-hun’s eyes were fixed on something in the distance. He was rooted to the spot, every muscle trembling and his face devoid of colour, as if he’d just seen a ghost. Ice cream forgotten, In-ho was back by his side in an instant, seizing him by the shoulders with concern.

“What is it, my love?” 

“It’s…it’s Player 246.” Gi-hun raised a shaking hand to point. In-ho followed his gaze, settling upon Gyeong-seok sat behind an easel, waiting patiently for customers. 

In-ho felt blood surge through his head, a ringing in his ears. The world blurred and tilted on its axis, and he felt as though he were going to faint. He’d always known he’d built this life on a precarious foundation of lies and deceit, and now it seemed the walls were finally crumbling down around him. Panic clutched at his chest, an icy cold hand of dread tightening around his throat. 

“It can’t be him,” In-ho swallowed, a slight tremor in his voice, leaking through the crack in his composure. “It must just be someone who looks like him.” 

But Gi-hun was already moving with purpose, approaching the painter. In-ho staggered after him, his feeble protests dying unheard. It felt like witnessing a car crash in slow motion; he was helpless to do anything except stand back and watch the inevitable unfold. 

“Gyeong-seok!” Gi-hun called out, and the artist raised his head, his eyes widening in surprise. 

“Gi-hun?” The man cried incredulously, leaping to his feet. “Young-il?”

Gi-hun pulled him into a fierce hug, letting out a gasp of disbelief. In-ho smiled politely, but a muscle twitched subtly in his jaw, betraying his displeasure. 

“It’s so good to see you.” Gi-hun breathed. “Young-il told me the island exploded after our rebellion. How did you survive?” 

“Some of the guards were running an organ trafficking ring,” Gyeong-seok explained. “I woke up in an operating room. One of the guards killed the others and then helped me to escape.” 

Gi-hun’s eyes widened. “Oh! That’s what happened to us! Young-il woke up in the operating room after the rebellion, and he found me there, too.” 

“Really? I didn’t see either of you there.” Gyeong-seok frowned. “Besides, all the guards involved were killed.”

“We were!” Gi-hun insisted. “It was during the evacuation. We left just as the coastguard was arriving.” 

“The coastguard?” Gyeong-seok shook his head doubtfully. “No, Gi-hun, that was a couple of days later. After the other games.” 

“Other games?” Gi-hun bit his lip and glanced at In-ho, seeking reassurance and finding none. “But…I thought there weren’t any more after Mingle?” 

“Well, the guard that helped me gave me one of those pink suits, and I stayed in their quarters overnight. Then the next day, we got assigned to the perimeter, but the others got assigned to the games.” Gyeong-seok shrugged. “So there must have been more after Mingle.” 

Gi-hun’s mouth dropped open, his brows knitting together in confusion. He tried to speak, but In-ho cut in, scrambling to salvage the situation.

“I’m sorry, Gyeong-seok. Gi-hun sustained a serious head injury.” In-ho said smoothly, putting his arm condescendingly around Gi-hun's shoulders. “He gets a bit muddled up sometimes.” 

Gyeong-seok nodded in understanding, shooting Gi-hun a pitying look. But to In-ho’s horror, Gi-hun shoved him off, his eyes burning with humiliation and anger. 

“Don't speak about me like I'm not here.” He spat, offended. “I'm not getting muddled up. This is what you told me when I was in the hospital.” 

“I think we should leave. It’s been a long day, and you’re clearly overtired.” In-ho said stonily, his tone reminiscent of speaking to an unruly schoolchild. It promised retribution for defiance and made it clear he'd hear no further argument. He seized Gi-hun by the wrist, ignoring his splutter of objection. “It was nice to see you, Gyeong-seok.” 

“Yeah,” Gyeong-seok said, scratching his head in bewilderment. “You too.” 

And with that, In-ho dragged Gi-hun away. Adrenaline pounded through his veins, and he walked quickly, desperate to distance himself and Gi-hun as far from Gyeong-seok as possible. Gi-hun winced, stumbling as he tried in vain to keep up. He attempted to tug himself free of In-ho’s grasp, but it was unrelenting, cruel and vice-like around his slender wrist.

“Young-il, stop.” Gi-hun yelped. “Slow down, you’re hurting me.” 

That jolted In-ho back to his senses. With a growl of frustration, he relinquished his grasp on Gi-hun’s wrist. Gi-hun let out a huff of relief, grimacing and rubbing the sore spot in indignation. 

“What the fuck was that?” 

“I’m sorry.” In-ho said coolly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

“Not just that.” Gi-hun said, his forehead creasing into lines as he puzzled over the situation. “It doesn’t make sense. There were more games after Mingle?” 

“No, Gi-hun.” In-ho hissed. “There wasn't. I already told you what happened."  

“Well, that’s not what Gyeong-seok just said.” 

“And you believe him?” In-ho shouted, a man possessed by panic. Gi-hun flinched and drew backwards, unnerved by the venom in his tone. In-ho felt a brief flicker of guilt being so cruel to Gi-hun, but he was like a beast caught in a snare, deserted by all rational thought, willing to tear his own leg off if it freed him from the situation. “You trust him more than me? After all I’ve done for you?” 

“Of course not, but…” Gi-hun tangled his hands in his hair, aghast.  “It’s just not adding up. What you said, what he said - they can’t both be true.”

“So what are you implying, Gi-hun?” In-ho snarled, taking a threatening step towards him. “Are you calling me a liar?” 

"I don't know, Young-il!" Gi-hun wailed in distress, averting his gaze as tears began dripping down his cheeks. “It’s all so confusing. And I hate not being able to remember!" 

Unable to stand the sight of him upset, In-ho shushed him, instinctively reaching to brush them away with his thumb. His chest clenched with regret when Gi-hun instinctively cringed away from the gentle touch, as if he had been anticipating a hit. 

“I'm sorry, Gi-hun. I shouldn't have shouted at you." In-ho said, taking a steadying breath as he fought to regain his composure. "I get it - this must all be so confusing and frightening for you. It's okay if you have questions. I'll do my best to answer them.” 

"I only have one," Gi-hun choked out. "And I'm only going to ask it once." 

In-ho nodded in encouragement.

"What you told me happened," Gi-hun whispered, swallowing nervously. "Is it the truth?"

In-ho's eyes flickered down to the pavement, unable to bear the intensity of Gi-hun's gaze. "Yes."

But Gi-hun grabbed his chin and tilted his face upward, forcing In-ho to look at him. "Do you promise me?"

And looking into those beseeching brown eyes, so gentle and desperate to believe him, In-ho felt his stomach churn with guilt. For a transient moment, he yearned to tell him the truth. He wanted to drop to his knees and beg for Gi-hun's forgiveness. But he had chosen this path, and he had come too far to turn back now. Even if it broke his heart to betray Gi-hun, he knew the pain would be nothing compared to that of his loss. 

“I promise.” 

“That's all I needed to hear.” Gi-hun shuddered out a sigh, shaking his head as though clearing it. “You’re right. I’m probably just overtired. Can we please go home?” 

"Of course."

Crisis narrowly averted, In-ho took Gi-hun's hand in his, pressing a long, relieved kiss to his palm, before interlacing their fingers. He hoped Gi-hun wouldn't feel his hand shaking, or notice the slick of sweat on his skin, evidence of his terror. His head reeled, scarcely able to believe just how close he had come to losing everything.

Gi-hun, meanwhile, allowed himself to be guided out of the amusement park and taken home. He allowed In-ho to cook him dinner and carry him to bed when his legs ached. He allowed In-ho to hold him and kiss him, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

As if everything was okay.

As if Gi-hun had actually believed him. 

Chapter Text

Gi-hun desperately tried to pretend that everything was fine. He really did. 

He wasn’t naive; he knew something was amiss. Gi-hun was like a street dog given a home - a little rough around the edges, docile and affectionate when treated kindly, but with honed survival instincts that never fully die. He knew people were inherently untrustworthy; his body had learnt that hands reaching out for him were just as likely to hit as caress. He knew when to trust and when to suspect. He knew when to bark and bite, and when to wag his tail. 

And he had seen In-ho at his worst, behaving in ways he never would have expected. Like the cold, calculated way he’d approached the boy who’d yelled slurs, his hand twitching around air like it longed for a weapon. Or like the forceful way he’d grabbed and pulled Gi-hun away in Seoul Land, wild-eyed and terrified, like a seasoned predator who’d unexpectedly found himself become the prey. Snippets that suggested there was more to the man than he knew, fleeting moments that hinted at a past Gi-hun wasn’t privy to. It made him wonder what else the man could be hiding, what else he could be capable of.

But, Gi-hun reminded himself, this was the man he loved. Even amid all his confusion and suspicion, Gi-hun never once doubted his feelings were reciprocated. After all, this was the man who had carried his broken body to safety at great peril to his own life and kept faithful vigil by his bedside. The man who’d cared for his every need for months on end, without ever once demanding anything in return. The man who held him through his darkest hours, who could banish his demons with a simple kiss or kind word. He wanted to believe a man who loved him enough to do all of that wouldn’t be capable of betraying him.

So it wasn’t trust that kept him by In-ho’s side. It was fierce, foolish hope. Hope that he wasn’t lying to him. Hope that if he was, there was a good reason for it. Hope that everything they’d built, this small corner of paradise they’d carved out together, was real. 

So he tried to swallow his doubts. He told himself he was just being paranoid. He dismissed his concerns, thinking it would all blow over in time. 

But it was more than that. A seed of suspicion had been planted in Gi-hun’s brain and had thoroughly embedded its roots. And soon, it began growing, quickly branching out of control. 

Shortly after Haneul’s first birthday, Gi-hun had the idea of visiting In-ho’s wife’s grave. He felt a residual sense of guilt, occupying her place in In-ho’s life, and wanted to pay his respects. Besides, he thought In-ho would appreciate the opportunity to visit her, and to take Haneul along. He gently broached the subject one morning at breakfast. In-ho was sitting at the table, engrossed in a book, his left hand wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. 

“I was thinking we could visit your wife’s grave today,” Gi-hun broke the silence softly, seizing In-ho’s free hand and stroking his thumb over his knuckles, in anticipation of soothing his grief. 

“Really?” In-ho raised his head, an eyebrow shooting upwards in bemusement as he peered at Gi-hun over the rim of his reading glasses. “Why?”

“Well, it must be close to the anniversary, right?” Gi-hun explained.

“No?” In-ho said slowly, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “She died in September.” 

“But you told me she died after childbirth.” Gi-hun croaked out, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Haneul was born in November.” 

In-ho’s eyes widened marginally, his lips parting to release a small puff of air. The reaction was momentary, so slight you would never notice it if you weren’t deliberately looking out for it. 

But Gi-hun was. His fingers stilled over In-ho’s, his eyes narrowing in distrust. In-ho cleared his throat, quickly regaining his composure. 

“She did,” He said airily, feigning nonchalance as he took a sip of his coffee. “I’m getting mixed up with her birthday. That was in September.” 

“Right.” Gi-hun said coldly. He tried to pull back his hand, but feeling Gi-hun slipping away, In-ho’s grip only tightened, holding him firmly in place. 

While Gi-hun’s offer moved him, In-ho knew he could never allow him near his wife’s grave. It would reveal his deceit immediately - the dates, the year inscribed on the headstone - they wouldn’t tally with the lies he’d told. His mind swiftly conjured up an explanation.

“Anyway, we can’t. She was cremated, and her parents kept her ashes,” In-ho said. Something akin to a challenge burned in his eyes, as if daring Gi-hun to try and disprove him. 

Gi-hun sucked his teeth, unable to refute him. Besides, if he was wrong, it would surely break In-ho’s heart to accuse him of lying about such a delicate, emotive subject. He wasn't willing to risk hurting him like that. 

“I see.” Gi-hun sighed. “Never mind then.” 

“It was a lovely idea, Gi-hun.” In-ho smiled warmly at him, leaning forward to press a grateful kiss to his cheek. “I appreciate you.” 

And Gi-hun hummed in acknowledgement, his icy facade quickly thawing. He was utterly unable to resist In-ho when he was being so soft with him like this, and almost incapable of not smiling back. 

Winter was soon upon them, the air becoming crisper and colder, with sporadic snowfalls and frequent frosts turning the city shimmery and white. Gi-hun was giddy with childlike excitement as Christmas approached.

Christmases with Ga-yeong when she was small were some of his most cherished memories. He had loved decorating the tree together, singing along to cheesy music as they placed baubles, and lifting her up so she could crown it with the star. He enjoyed taking her ice-skating, his feet sliding beneath him as he fought to stay upright, her tiny, gloved hand clutched tightly in his. He had adored picking out presents for her, wrapping them in colourful paper, stuck down with reams of tape and adorned with clumsy, lopsided bows, eager to watch her tear them open on Christmas morning.

His last few Christmases had been spent alone, devoid of the joys of the past. But now, with In-ho and Haneul in his life, the magic had been restored. His heart leapt as he pictured it - curled up on the sofa watching festive movies, Christmas songs on loop, tinsel glittering above a fire crackling in the hearth. He trembled with excitement as he visualised watching In-ho unwrap his carefully chosen gift, the way his eyes would light up with appreciation.
 
He knew In-ho’s two biggest passions were music and reading, so Gi-hun decided to buy him a book or a record. But his gift needed to reflect the depths of his love and his gratitude for all In-ho had done. It had to be something special. It had to be perfect. 

So, one morning, Gi-hun feigned a headache, sending In-ho out grocery shopping alone. He took the opportunity to peruse In-ho’s study, in search of inspiration. 

The study had clearly been left unused for some time, with a fine layer of dust gathering across the furniture and cobwebs hanging in the corners. The only thing not in disrepair was In-ho’s treasured collection of books, displayed proudly in an ornate wooden bookshelf. They bore the marks of being well-loved - covers worn, pages dog-eared, and the spines broken. Gi-hun traced his fingers over them, reading their titles. 

They were mostly non-fiction books - various biographies and philosophical theories, interspersed with the occasional poetry anthology or classic novel. They didn’t interest Gi-hun - he wasn’t much of a reader, but when he did, he preferred the escapism and excitement of fiction. 

But then his fingers danced over some familiar names: Van Gogh, René Magritte, Claude Monet, Pablo Picasso. That captured his attention; he had never seen In-ho take an interest in art before, so the discovery came as a surprise.

He took the Van Gogh book in his hand. Like many of the other books in his collection, In-ho had folded the corner of a page down, marking a particular spot. Gi-hun rolled his eyes with affection, thinking perhaps he ought to buy the other man a bookmark. He flicked open the page out of curiosity, wondering what had caught In-ho’s attention. 

It was The Starry Night, and though the image was one he’d seen before, something about the swirling blues and yellows now felt strangely unsettling. Something buried deep inside him seemed to flicker with recognition, a creeping sense of unease trickling like ice water down his spine. 

A starry night sky rolling above him.
An endless grey labyrinth, his footsteps echoing off the concrete…

The images evoked by the art felt reminiscent of something long forgotten, but frustratingly, he couldn’t quite figure out what. The memories seemed to materialise briefly, taunting him with their closeness, but slipping through his fingers like smoke when he grasped for them. Unnerved, Gi-hun quickly snapped the book shut, casting it back onto the shelf. He reached warily for something else, desperate for a distraction to settle his growing anxiety.

Next in the row was Picasso’s Blue and Rose periods. He seized it, flicking rapidly through the pages with unsteady hands. The captions explained the images: cool, sombre blue shades, representative of the artist’s loneliness and despair, contrasted with vibrant, earthy pink tones which illustrated his happier years. 

Red vests. Blue vests. 
Himself in red. In hot pursuit of somebody in blue.
The gap narrowing, as he draws ever closer…

Gi-hun gasped, the book slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor. He stumbled blindly as if he’d been struck, as a wave of flashbacks crashed over him.

His hands, wrapped around a knife.
His hands, wrapped around someone’s throat. 
The pulse beneath his fingers. 
Slowing. Stuttering. Stopping...

He sank to his knees with a whimper, clutching his head in his hands as it spun. The grotesque images flashed uncontrollably through his mind like a movie he couldn’t switch off.

Like a movie he must have seen before. Because somehow, he knew what came next. 

The voice. Breathless, strangled but unmistakably Dae-ho’s voice, uttering the words he had dreaded to hear, but had always known to be true. 

It’s your fault. 

The walls suddenly felt like they were caving inward, the room devoid of oxygen. He needed space. He needed air. He needed time to think. 

He forced himself unsteadily to his feet, staggering out of the study. The world felt like it had been knocked off kilter, and he leaned heavily on his cane in a bid to stay upright. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind reeling with confusion and terror.

He reached for Haneul, quickly bundling her into her coat and gloves to protect her from the fierce cold outside. She babbled away happily to him, and he smiled back wanly, trying to act as if nothing was awry. He took her to a local park, hoping that being surrounded by nature and breathing its fresh, cool air would help to clear his head.

He sat down on a bench, somewhat soothed by the birdsong rippling through the trees and the soft rustle of their leaves in the wind. He soon found himself consumed by his thoughts. The revelations had felt like being given a handful of random pieces from a difficult jigsaw; although the image was becoming somewhat clearer, there were still some parts missing, and the pieces he had still didn't quite click perfectly together. It was incredibly frustrating, his thoughts becoming more jumbled up and tangled than ever. 

Haneul soon grew impatient, tugging demandingly on his sleeve for attention. Relenting, he scooped her up and took her to the playground. He buckled her into the small baby swing and let her soar, pushing her higher and higher, unable to stop himself from smiling and laughing along as she giggled and clapped with glee. 

A gaggle of schoolchildren entered the playground, a couple of girls cooing in admiration at Haneul's cuteness. Gi-hun smiled politely, feeling his chest swell with pride. Still lost in thought and preoccupied with Haneul, he didn't notice them setting up a skipping rope. 

But soon, his ears pricked up, catching the notes of a familiar tune on the breeze. 

Little friend, little friend - touch the ground!

His head snapped up, watching them skip. Two boys swung the rope, the pace and intensity increasing with every revolution. A line of girls jumped over it in unison, chanting the words to a song that he somehow recalled. He found himself mouthing along with the words.

Little friend, little friend - touch your toe!

He shook himself, frowning in confusion. That couldn't be right. He remembered all his childhood games and rituals, those carefree days spent in the sun with Sang-woo and his other friends were some of his most precious memories. They had played all sorts - tuho and tag, jegichagi and squid game.

But not once had they ever played jump rope. 

The boys swung the rope with increased vigour, showing off their strength for the girls. One of the girls misjudged the timing of her jump, and there was a sickening crack as the nylon rope collided with her skin. She was sent sprawling, clutching at her ankle with a wail. Her friends swiftly rushed to her aid, rolling down her sock to reveal the red rope burn marring her skin.

Him on his knees, rolling up another player's tracksuit leg. 
Revealing their ankle - swollen, malformed, and dappled violet with bruises.
Looking up to meet a pair of eyes...Jun-hee's eyes.
Wide and terrified, as they both reach the same awful conclusion...

"Appa!" 

Haneul's wail pulled him back to his senses. He was standing, frozen and trembling in the middle of the park, his hands hanging uselessly by his sides instead of pushing Haneul on the swing. She had swivelled round in the seat, staring at him with confusion, as the swing shuddered limply to a halt. 

"Sorry, darling." He mumbled. He quickly started unbuckling her from the swing with shaking hands, ignoring her grumble of protest. "Time to go." 

He lifted her out of the swing, grunting with the strain on his fragile joints. She was growing up fast, the weight of her seeming to increase almost daily.

The weight of a baby, clutched tightly against his chest.
The sound of the rope, cutting through the air. 
The abyss beneath, threatening to swallow him whole.
Running at the end. Heart pounding, knees weak, breathless but victorious.
Holding the baby aloft for Jun-hee to see...

He gasped, staggering to stay upright, the intensity of the flashbacks threatening to knock him off his feet. He panted, trying to focus on getting himself home, but the world was a technicolour blur, spinning and tilting around him.

"No." He whispered, feeling his stomach churn with nausea, the bile rising in his throat. "No."

Because suddenly, he remembered with startling clarity what came next.

"You told me to protect my baby. No matter what. That's what I'm trying to do now."
A step forward. Teetering on the precipice, her feet too close to the edge. 
"Please help me."
And then she was gone. Falling out of view.
The end of her descent marked only by a distant crack, as she made the greatest sacrifice...

And Gi-hun had only a second to react, unceremoniously plonking Haneul on the ground, before he was vomiting. He hunched, coughing and spluttering over a drain, as the contents of his stomach violently ejected themselves. He emitted a low groan of self-pity, fever burning hot in his cheeks, the aftertaste sour and acidic in his mouth. He straightened up, blinking back tears and wiping his mouth as he tried to regain some sense of dignity. 

"Appa?" Haneul said nervously, her bottom lip trembling, her eyes filled with tears threatening to spill. He looked down at her, and was hit with sudden, sharp realisation that left him reeling and breathless all over again, clutching at his chest as though he'd received a swift, sharp punch to his solar plexus.

The shape of her eyes, their rich tawny colour. How had he never noticed how similar they were to Jun-hee's? 

"I'm okay, sweetheart." He said soothingly, even as his stomach heaved and his hands shook all over again. He picked her back up, plastering on a placating smile as she touched an uncertain hand to his cheek, seeking comfort. "It's all okay. Let's go home." 

The moment his key turned in the lock, In-ho knew something was wrong. The atmosphere was stifling, a strange, eerie hush hanging over the house that usually hummed with life and love. 

“Gi-hun?” In-ho called out, frowning in concern when it went unanswered. The bags of groceries slipped from his grasp, assorted cans and loose fruits toppling out onto the floor and rolling down the hallway with a clatter. 

He strode through the house, calling out Gi-hun’s name, his anxiety increasing when he found each room cold and empty. He pictured Gi-hun lying hurt, bleeding and injured somewhere, unable to speak. He pictured Gi-hun packing his bags and storming out with Haneul in tow, leaving him heartbroken in his wake. 

But to his consolation, he finally found Gi-hun sitting in the kitchen in darkness, hunched over the dining table. In-ho switched the lights on, blinking in confusion. 

“Gi-hun!” He exhaled in both relief and frustration. “Why weren’t you answering me?”

But Gi-hun didn’t respond. He sat still and statue-like, every muscle in his body taut and rigid, his wide eyes staring into space as if seeing things In-ho couldn’t. In-ho approached with caution, as though trying not to spook a skittish wild animal. 

“Gi-hun? Are you okay?” He asked softly. He knelt in his eye line, tentatively placing a hand on his knee, frowning when he felt his leg trembling beneath his fingers.

But to his shock, Gi-hun jerked away violently, as if the gentle touch had scalded him. His foot twitched upward before lowering, as though containing the urge to kick out at him. In-ho shrank backwards in hurt and surprise, looking up at Gi-hun for an explanation. 

“You lied to me.” Gi-hun rasped. “There were more Games after Mingle.” 

It wasn’t a question. Gi-hun’s voice shook with fury not hesitancy; the statement was clear and certain, making it obvious he’d hear no further lies or denials. In-ho was smart enough to know when he was backed into a corner, and he groaned in defeat, running his hands down his face.

”Yes.” He admitted. “There was.”

Abruptly, Gi-hun leapt to his feet, the chair scraping across the floor. He paused only to glare down at In-ho, with sheer, unadulterated disgust burning in his eyes, and In-ho flinched under its weight. Then, Gi-hun was turning his back on him and walking away, striding towards the doorway. Watching him depart with such a sense of finality sent In-ho spiralling into panic. He scrambled quickly to his feet, chasing after him.

“Gi-hun, please.” In-ho begged. Gi-hun's foot was hovering over the threshold, one step between staying or leaving, a decision he couldn't take back, and In-ho desperately tried to claw him back, grabbing at his shoulder. His voice was high and keening, bordering on hysteria. “Please don’t leave."

"Fuck you." Gi-hun snarled, trying to shrug him off.

"Gi-hun, you promised me.”  

Gi-hun stilled in the doorway, considering his words. Then, with a growl of reluctance, he turned slowly to face him. In-ho looked up at him with pleading eyes, glassy with tears, reaching out with a shaking hand to touch him. Gi-hun gave a low hiss, slapping his hand away, but despite himself, he felt his heart throb painfully at the sight of the man he loved so desperate and broken. He heaved a sigh, fixing In-ho with a stony glare.

“Fine. You want me to stay? Then you’re going to explain yourself,” Gi-hun said, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re going to tell me everything. And then...I'll decide.”

Chapter Text

“Okay. Tell me what you know, and I’ll fill in the gaps.” In-ho said smoothly. 

Gi-hun emitted a mirthless laugh, looking scornfully down his nose at In-ho, his lip curling upward with disdain. 

“What, so you can lie to me again? Do you really think I’m that stupid, Young-il?” He spat. “Tell me what you know first.” 

In-ho flinched at the hostility lacing his tone like venom. Releasing a shuddering breath, he sank reluctantly into one of the dining chairs. He gestured for Gi-hun to sit opposite, but he lingered in the doorway, torn between satiating the curiosity that drew him closer to In-ho and heeding the distrust that kept him removed to a safe distance. 

“Sit down, Gi-hun.” In-ho sighed heavily, noticing the other man's hesitance.  

“I’m fine here.” Gi-hun replied, obstinately folding his arms across his chest. 

“Gi-hun, please.” In-ho huffed. “I just don't want you to be in pain. This could take a while."

The elevator doors sliding open, revealing crystal chandeliers, Italian leather seats, a private bar.
The room reeking of smug opulence, in stark contrast to the cesspit of suffering merely floors below.
And he’s finally brought face-to-face with his mortal enemy, only the cold, cruel leer of the mask remaining between them. 
And through the modifier, echoes the voice that’s haunted his dreams for years. 
“Take a seat. This could take a while.” 

“Gi-hun?” 

Gi-hun gasped, finding himself dazed and breathless on the cold, stone floor, his legs having collapsed beneath him. In-ho was crouched by his side, his face pinched and pale with concern.

“Are you okay?” He asked urgently. He reached out a concerned hand, as if to assess the temperature of Gi-hun’s forehead or to soothingly stroke his cheek. But met with Gi-hun’s fierce glower, he swiftly thought better of it, diverting to pat him awkwardly on the shoulder instead.

“Don’t.” Gi-hun rasped. “I’m fine.”

He tore himself away from In-ho’s touch, and In-ho recoiled, rocking back glumly on his haunches. But Gi-hun soon realised his predicament - with his weak, painful limbs, and the slippery stone tiles beneath him, he couldn’t stand up unaided. 

He sat for a moment, scowling at the shame of having to ask for In-ho’s help after pushing him away, the plea curdling like sour milk on his tongue. But before he could force out the words, In-ho was on his feet, wordlessly offering his hand. Gi-hun took it grudgingly, allowing himself to be tugged to his feet.

“Thanks.” He sniffed, avoiding In-ho’s gaze. 

In-ho frowned, his hand hovering behind Gi-hun in anticipation of breaking any further falls, as he made his way haltingly to the table. “What happened?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Gi-hun sidled tentatively into the chair, wincing at the pain it caused him, and pointed at In-ho’s recently vacated one. “Just talk.” 

And with an ominous feeling settling upon him as though he were walking to the gallows, In-ho rounded the table and slid back into his chair. 

In-ho told Gi-hun everything. 

Well, almost everything. 

He spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. The conversation was like walking through a field of landmines, an intricate dance performed without knowing the right steps, where one single stumble would destroy everything.

He tried to keep his explanations within the boundaries of Gi-hun’s existing knowledge, gauging Gi-hun’s reaction to every sentence. In turn, Gi-hun tried to keep his face blank and impassive, hoping not to give himself away. But occasionally, he couldn’t help quirking an eyebrow or giving a sharp inhale at some of the details, and In-ho would cringe internally at his misstep. 

First, In-ho explained how Gi-hun had blamed Dae-ho for the failure of the revolution. How he had pursued him relentlessly through the labyrinth of Hide and Seek, how he had strangled the life out of him with his bare hands, unflinching and ruthless. Gi-hun nodded silently, holding his breath in an effort to prevent the guilty tears that pricked at his eyes from falling.

Then, In-ho told him how Jun-hee had given birth beneath the starry sky, but sustained a devastating injury. How Geum-ja had killed her own son to save her and the baby, and how her final, selfless act was to beg Gi-hun to protect them, before joining him in death. His voice trembled at the memory, as he explained how Jun-hee had entrusted her precious baby to Gi-hun, watching him carry her across the bridge to safety. How it was too late for Gi-hun to save her, how she sacrificed herself, secure in the knowledge that her child would be protected in his care.

Here, Gi-hun interrupted, unable to stop the tears from trailing down his cheek.

“Haneul’s not really yours, is she?” He croaked out hoarsely, his knuckles paling as he clenched his shaking fists.

“No.” In-ho confirmed his suspicions in a small voice, bowing his head as shame coloured his cheeks crimson. “She’s Jun-hee’s”

Gi-hun hissed in fury, restraining the sudden, vicious urge to lash out at In-ho. “So why did you lie?” 

“When my wife died, so did our unborn child. I suppose selfishly, I saw her as my second chance to be a father,” In-ho admitted, feeling painfully exposed and laid vulnerable by the honesty, as if he was being flayed alive. “And it allowed you to keep your promise to Jun-hee, while still protecting you from the truth.”  

Gi-hun’s eyes narrowed in anger, a muscle in his jaw clenching in displeasure, but he nodded for In-ho to continue. 

Finally, In-ho explained the last game. How the remaining players had tried to corner Gi-hun and the baby, but toppled one by one from the towers. How he had valiantly fought Myung-gi, leaping across the abyss, risking his own life over and over to save Haneul. How brute strength and raw determination had kept him clinging to the edge, even when Myung-gi had threatened to drag him down to his death. 

But here, In-ho paused. He had braced for Gi-hun’s reactions to the revelations, steeled himself to face the man’s rage, revulsion, and ultimately, rejection. He had expected the man to get up and walk out, leaving him behind forever. 

But to his surprise, Gi-hun remained stubborn and steadfast at the table, even in his devastation at In-ho’s deceit. He wanted to understand In-ho’s motives, however twisted. He wanted to understand this unfamiliar, dark side of the man he thought he knew so intimately. He wanted to understand because he so desperately wanted to be able to forgive him.

And his willingness to stay fuelled In-ho's hope that this was somehow fixable, that Gi-hun would forgive him, that he wouldn't have to lose this life he so loved.

But there was one thing In-ho knew that Gi-hun would never be able to forgive him for. And even though he'd changed, even though he wasn't that man anymore, he doubted Gi-hun would ever believe that. 

So, he decided to risk deviating from the truth, swearing that it was for the last time. He analysed Gi-hun’s facial expression, searching for any traces of disbelief or denial, comforted when he found none.

“You and Haneul were the victors.” In-ho began. “But you didn’t know they had kept me alive after the rebellion…until they brought me back out.” 

His eyes flickered upward. Gi-hun tried not to react, but his eyes widened just a fraction. It was enough. Encouraged, In-ho continued.

“They wanted to punish you for the revolution. They wanted to prove you’d lose your principles, like all the others. They wanted you to lose your faith in people.” In-ho paused for dramatic effect, letting his words sink in.

“How?” Gi-hun relented, frowning in frustration when he couldn’t remember. So far, In-ho’s explanations had mostly correlated with the fleeting fragments he’d recalled, but he couldn’t summon any memories of this part.

“They told you to choose between my life and hers.” In-ho lied. 

Gi-hun let out a shuddering breath. “And what did I do?”

“What do you think you did?”

Gi-hun didn’t need to consider his answer. He knew he’d have died for Haneul - he would have honoured his promise to Jun-hee, and he would never have allowed himself to have the innocent blood of a child stain his hands. And he knew he’d have died for the other man, too - knowing his pregnant wife waited anxiously for his return, and refusing to watch the light leave yet another friend’s eyes.

“I jumped.” 

In-ho’s eyes softened, gazing at him in reverence. “You jumped.” 

“How did I survive?”

“When the game finished, the island evacuated. I went to find your body. I couldn’t bear to leave you to burn, without saying goodbye.” In-ho said truthfully, swallowing around the lump in his throat that formed at the memory of Gi-hun’s body lying twisted and bleeding at the foot of the pillar. “And then…you know the rest.” 

Gi-hun sat back in his seat, burying his face in his hands with a low groan as his head whirled with the new information.

“So where does this leave us now, Gi-hun?” In-ho asked solemnly, dreading the response, his words ringing out in the silence like a funeral knell.

“I don’t know, Young-il.” Gi-hun sighed, peering at the man between his fingers. “You betrayed me...you lied to me, all this time. I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me all of this in the first place.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.” In-ho said ruefully. “You already blamed yourself for what happened after the rebellion. For what happened to Jung-bae. So when you woke up without the rest of your memories, I thought maybe it was a mercy.” 

“You thought lying to me was a mercy?” Gi-hun snorted derisively. “You thought gaslighting me - making me think I was crazy - was a mercy?” 

“Of course not, but…you were so hurt, Gi-hun. You were in so much pain…” In-ho choked out, his eyes blurring with tears. “I didn’t think you could handle all that, too. I suppose I thought I was helping.”

“I’m trying to help you and the baby here.” 
Laughing in disbelief. Swallowing around the lump in his throat.
Smelling a trap yet holding a hand out for it anyway, uncertain whether he is reaching for ruin or rescue.
“You’re trying to help us?” 
A clatter on the table. He looks down to see…

In-ho looked on in terror, watching Gi-hun's eyes go glassy and his jaw slack, before he jolted suddenly and violently back to his senses. Gi-hun jerked backwards with a cry, his chair scraping across the floor with a shriek. 

"Enough of this," In-ho growled, his face darkening. "Tell me what's going on, or I'm taking you back to the hospital."

Gi-hun's face crumpled with distress as he wrung his hands together in agitation. 

"I've been having...visions, of sorts," He admitted, swallowing anxiously. "Flashbacks from the Games. I wasn't even sure if they were real. Until today." 

In-ho stilled, his heart suddenly stuttering in his chest. "What do you mean?"

"After everything you said today, I've realised they were true." Gi-hun shot him a wounded look. "Because it all matches up. Except..."

He hesitated, clapping a hand over his mouth, realising he'd said too much. 

"Except what?" In-ho pressed urgently, his skin prickling with foreboding. 

"I'm having visions that I met the Front Man. The one who ran the Games." Gi-hun explained, his voice rising an octave with distress. "I think he made me a proposition. He gave me something. But I can't remember what."

In-ho released a breath through gritted teeth as the bleak realisation settled heavily on his shoulders. He masked his dismay, patting Gi-hun on the back of the hand in an attempt to appear comforting.

"Don't worry, Gi-hun." He said, feigning a smile. "I'm sure it'll come back to you in time." 

Gi-hun hummed noncommittally, avoiding his gaze. In-ho jumped to his feet, mumbling out a feeble, unintelligible excuse before dashing out the door. The world spun around him, and he tripped on the loose cans still littering the corridor, cursing and stumbling all the way to the bathroom.

He ran the taps, quickly splashing his pulse points with cold water, sucking in desperate, fevered breaths to steady his heaving lungs as he fought to stay conscious.

Because now he knew how Gi-hun had discovered the truth, he regretted yielding to his weakness. He regretted being so stupid and so selfish. He regretted telling his final, fatal lie instead of taking his last opportunity to come clean.

Because now he realised he was on borrowed time, a dead man walking.

Gi-hun was going to find out.

And there was nothing he could do. 

For a few weeks, they continued their lives at a distance, the frosty tension in the air so thick it was almost palpable. It was like a sheet of glass had fallen between them and severed their connection - a completely invisible barrier but entirely impenetrable. 

Gi-hun had requested space and time to think things over, and In-ho had been determined to respect that.

But the separation was acutely painful, and In-ho found himself tiptoeing around on eggshells - conflicted between wanting to honour the other man's wishes and his desperate desire to make the most of whatever remaining time they had together, feeling it slipping helplessly like sand through his fingers. Now that he knew about Gi-hun's flashbacks, he found himself second-guessing everything he said or did, cautious of triggering the fateful flashback that would serve as the final nail in the coffin.

Gi-hun gave him a wide berth, ignoring his pitiful attempts at small talk and artfully dodging his hands when they instinctively reached out to hold him. He moved back into the guest room, sobbing quietly through the long, lonely nights plagued by nightmares, instead of crawling into In-ho's bed for comfort. He rebuffed In-ho when he made any offers of assistance, preferring to struggle and suffer through tasks rather than accept his aid. 

But eventually, the inevitable happened.

Gi-hun had insisted on cooking, having refused to eat a single meal that In-ho made. The kitchen had always been In-ho's domain, so he hovered nervously behind him, peeking over Gi-hun's shoulder to monitor his progress.

He was met with a distressing sight - lumps of charred, blackened beef sizzling furiously in the pan, with rows of clumsily peeled vegetables lined up ready for cutting on the chopping board.

“Do you need a hand?” In-ho asked tentatively, unable to resist.

“No.”

In-ho sucked his teeth, trying to be tactful. "The beef is...a bit overcooked." 

Gi-hun lifted his chin in defiance, prodding the rubbery meat with a spatula. "I like it chewy." 

"It's burnt." 

"It adds flavour." 

Defeated, In-ho turned away, seeking another way to make himself useful. He settled on the washing up, starting to collect the various utensils and crockery Gi-hun had left lying around the kitchen, raising an amused eyebrow at just how many items the man had felt the need to use to make a simple beef bulgogi.

But as he placed them in the sink, Gi-hun shouldered him brusquely out of the way, reaching to switch the tap off.

“Leave it, Young-il.” 

“I’m just trying to help,” In-ho argued. "Let me."

"I don't need your help." Gi-hun snapped back. "I'll wash up when I'm done." 

Stubborn and sulking, In-ho looked around the kitchen, trying to find another task to occupy himself before he snatched the spatula out of Gi-hun's hand. He strolled casually around the kitchen, surreptitiously scraping some vegetable peelings into his palm and picking up an empty juice carton, before putting them into the bin.

His poor attempt at stealth did not go unnoticed - Gi-hun watched him out of the corner of his eye, his irritation only growing.

"What are you doing now?" He asked in exasperation. He picked up a knife and vented his frustrations on the vegetables, hacking them aggressively into thick, uneven chunks.

“Taking out the trash,” In-ho grunted, lifting out the bag and tying it into a neat knot. “It’s too heavy for you in your condition...” 

Kill the trash.

The second the words left his mouth, In-ho froze in horror, suddenly acutely aware of how he'd betrayed himself. He swivelled round slowly, dreading the sight he already knew he'd see.

Gi-hun was frozen, his eyes glazed over and his mouth agape, his knees trembling beneath him. Despite himself, In-ho reached out with a shaking hand to steady him, his grip settling softly on his shoulder.

"Gi-hun...?"

Gi-hun whipped around, their gazes meeting.

And In-ho could see it in his eyes - the Gi-hun he knew was gone. He was rage made incarnate, all fire and fury, a vengeful angel sent to make In-ho atone for his sins in blood. In-ho shuddered at the sight, taking a step back, raising his arms in surrender.

"Gi-hun, please..."

"You." 

And Gi-hun's hand tightened around the knife. 

Chapter Text

“Why are you suggesting this?” 
In lieu of response, the Front Man reaches for the mask.
And that steady, assured hand that doled out death without so much as a tremor now pauses, hesitant to uncover the man behind the monster. 
And when the Front Man finally relents, peeling the mask away, it reveals a face that's all too familiar.
“Seong Gi-hun, ssi. I’m sorry about Jung-bae.” 
The words are cruel, intended to provoke, and they convert his heartbreak into fury. 
And suddenly, he’s on his feet, his hand wrapped around the knife…

In one swift move, Gi-hun had the knife at In-ho’s throat, exerting just enough pressure to pose a credible threat. He was heady with power, as he felt the frantic thrum of In-ho’s blood pounding beneath the blade. In-ho froze, his arms still raised in surrender. 

And now Gi-hun remembered with sickening clarity  - they had been here before. Him, betrayed and broken with a knife clenched in his shaking fist, vowing to enact his revenge. In-ho, baring his throat to the blade, still believing that Gi-hun wouldn't hurt him. 

But now, he’d been betrayed twice over. He’d been manipulated, gaslit, and lied to at every turn. And this time, it wasn’t just a friend concealed beneath the mask - it was the man he loved, the sting of the betrayal felt even more acutely. 

So this time, Gi-hun’s hand didn’t waver. His grip was sure and steady as he guided the knife flush against In-ho’s jugular. In-ho swallowed nervously, a rare fear flickering to life in his dark eyes, as he wondered if he'd misjudged Gi-hun. Perhaps this final betrayal was the last straw that would push him over the threshold into violence. 

“Gi-hun, please…” He choked out. “Drop the knife, and I’ll explain everything. I promise.” 

“Explain?” Gi-hun spat incredulously. “I gave you plenty of chances to explain. And all you did was lie to me, over and over again.” 

“Gi-hun, let go.” In-ho swallowed, one hand slowly stretching upward, his trembling fingers closing around Gi-hun’s wrist. “You’re in no fit state to fight me. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

He flinched as Gi-hun only pressed closer instead of relenting. He hissed as the blade bit into the delicate skin of his throat, small drops of blood beading on its serrated edge.

“Why not?” Gi-hun snarled. “You’ve hurt me already. You've hurt so many people. And now you decide to have a conscience?” 

“I’ve always had a conscience, Gi-hun. I know I’ve done terrible things. And they weigh on me heavily.” In-ho said, his eyes desperate and pleading. “Ask yourself - can you live with my death on yours?” 

It was a last-ditch appeal to Gi-hun's humanity; both his greatest strength and weakness, the inherent goodness that always stayed his hand. He waited with bated breath for his words to sink in, praying for a mercy he knew he didn't deserve. He had known the betrayal would crush Gi-hun; he could only hope that it hadn't destroyed the last shreds of his humanity as well.

To his relief, he felt the shift almost immediately - the way Gi-hun faltered almost imperceptibly at his words, the momentary flicker of indecision across his face, the way the blade retreated just a fraction. And he seized his narrow window of opportunity before it slammed shut again, moving so quickly that Gi-hun didn’t have time to react. 

He pivoted sideways out of range, squeezing Gi-hun’s wrist hard while simultaneously jerking his arm downwards. The combination sent pain ricocheting through Gi-hun’s limb, and he let out a yelp, the knife clattering to the ground. In-ho hastily kicked it away, and it skidded noisily over the stone tiles, out of reach.

Gi-hun lurched after it, but In-ho grabbed him from behind, his strong arm wrapping tightly around Gi-hun’s neck. He dragged him backwards, pinning him against his chest. Gi-hun clawed viciously at In-ho's arm, his nails leaving deep gashes in his skin, but his grip was unrelenting.

"Gi-hun, stop." In-ho growled, his voice low and dangerous in his ear. "Enough." 

"Fuck you."

Gi-hun threw his weight backwards, slamming In-ho into the wall. In-ho let out a stifled groan as the force knocked the air from his lungs. Before he had time to recover, Gi-hun reared his head back with all his strength, his skull colliding with In-ho’s nose.

He heard the brutal crack behind him, followed by a warm splatter of blood down the nape of his neck as the delicate bone broke. In-ho grunted out a curse and staggered under Gi-hun's weight, dazed and nauseated from the hit, his vision blurring as his eyes watered. But still, he refused to release him, his arm only tightening around Gi-hun's neck.

Recognising he was losing, Gi-hun panicked, overwhelmed by a sheer, innate drive for survival. He lashed out frantically, a frenzied prey animal blinded by instinct, deploying every tactic to defend itself from a relentless predator. He thrashed and bit, his fists and feet flying wildly in all directions.

In-ho gritted his teeth against the fresh deluge of attacks, the muscles in his bicep straining with the effort of containing him. He leaned against the wall for leverage and bent his knees, slowly lowering himself and Gi-hun to the ground. It was a practised manoeuvre to subdue an assailant, one well-honed by hours of gruelling training in the police force, and long shifts patrolling in the underbelly of Seoul. And he hadn't been the best on the force for nothing - though Gi-hun fought with everything he had, In-ho's grip was unyielding, dragging him down in an unstoppable descent to the ground.

And soon, Gi-hun's strength began to ebb, his limbs burning with agony from the effort. Though every assault or curse thrown his way by the man broke his heart, In-ho took each one stoically, holding Gi-hun against his chest until the fight finally drained out of him. Exhausted, Gi-hun fell limp and boneless in his arms. Assessing for danger and finding none, In-ho finally loosened his grip.

But to his surprise, Gi-hun didn't try to move away. Instead, he nuzzled helplessly closer, resting his head against In-ho's shoulder as tears pricked at his eyes. His body had learned that comfort from trauma and pain could be found only between In-ho's arms. So even now, left hurt and heartbroken by the other man, Gi-hun still instinctively sought solace in his embrace.

And despite everything, In-ho allowed him to stay, burying his face in Gi-hun's soft curls and breathing in his scent. Because both of them knew it would be the last time they would ever hold each other like this. And neither of them could bear to let go.

Eventually, it was Gi-hun who tore himself away, breaking the silence in a small, reluctant voice. He swivelled round to look at In-ho, wincing at the pain it caused him. Though they were merely inches apart in actuality, it felt as though an enormous chasm had opened up between them, a rift that didn't seem fixable. 

"Who are you, really?" Gi-hun braced himself, knowing the words that followed were going to shatter the world he knew and loved. But he refused to live in that world a moment longer, knowing it was nothing more than an illusion. 

In-ho sighed heavily as he relinquished the final piece of his facade. "My name is In-ho."

"In-ho." Gi-hun tested it, drawing out each syllable, frowning at the unfamiliar weight of it in his mouth. 

In-ho hummed, strangely moved hearing his real name on another's tongue after so long unspoken. To hear it from Gi-hun's lips in particular gave him a warm thrill of pleasure, followed swiftly by the bitter realisation it would probably be the only time he ever would. 

"How could you do all of this?" Gi-hun asked, tears beginning to spill down his cheeks. "How did you become the Front Man? How could you hurt so many people?" 

"Everything I told you was true. I had a wife, and she was sick. I entered the Games to save her." In-ho began, leaning his head against the wall with a sigh. "I got made the same offer as you - to take the lives of my fellow players and walk free. Except...I actually did it.” 

Gi-hun blanched in horror, but stayed silent, only nodding for In-ho to continue.

“But it was all for nothing. By the time I got out, she had already died. And so had our baby.” In-ho explained. “I had already lost my job, my family, my home. I had nothing else left to lose, nowhere else to go. So when the Games made me an offer...I joined them.”

"I'm sorry. I can't imagine how hard that must have been for you." Gi-hun whispered. "But you did have something left to lose - your humanity. You might have killed people in the Games, but then you chose to become a killer." 

“Perhaps. But I always believed any man would have done the same. Any man would have become what I became." In-ho smiled ruefully, reaching to tenderly brush a tear from the other man's cheek. "But then...you proved me wrong.”

"How?"

“You were the goodness I never believed existed. You showed me there was another way. And I loved you, Gi-hun.” In-ho started to cry now, his voice guttural with emotion. "When I saw you jump from that pillar, sacrificing yourself...it changed me. I swore to honour your memory. I swore to be better."

He broke off, wiping away his tears. Gi-hun observed him quietly, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth as he considered his words.

"Then I found out you were alive. And when you woke up in the hospital, calling me Young-il… I saw it as a second chance at life. To have the family I lost. To be the man I always wanted to be." In-ho reached out his hand helplessly, desperate to bridge the gap between them. "I'm sorry, Gi-hun. I know it was wrong. But can you understand why I did it? Can you ever forgive me?"

The sight of the man hunched on the kitchen floor - tear-stained, bruised, and bloodied from the assault - made him look frighteningly vulnerable, so very human. For a brief moment, Gi-hun wanted to reach back for him, to comfort him, to tell him it was all going to be okay. 

But then he reminded himself - the man he knew as Young-il had been nothing more than a mask, concealing the true monster that lurked beneath. And that was In-ho, the callous, cold-blooded criminal, who'd inflicted cruelty and killed people without remorse. Who’d killed Jung-bae in front of his very eyes without a moment’s hesitation. And he refused to reach out to hold his hand ever again, knowing it was so tainted by blood. 

"I understand," Gi-hun said coldly as he recoiled. "But I can't forgive you." 

In-ho shrank in on himself, emitting a low groan as if the words had physically wounded him. Gi-hun grabbed his chin, forcing his gaze up to meet his eyes, and In-ho whimpered, blinking back a fresh wave of tears.

“You killed my best friend and countless others. You betrayed me in every way possible.” Gi-hun whispered, his voice shaking with anger. “You even made me betray myself.” 

In-ho raised an eyebrow. “How?” 

“So many times, I knew something wasn’t adding up.” Gi-hun laughed bitterly through his tears. "Like the first night we tried to have sex. When I took your shirt off, I saw your scars. You said you got them from the organ traffickers during the Games. But they were too old, too well-healed. That’s the first time I knew you were lying.” 

In-ho cursed under his breath, his eyes widening in horror.

“Or like when you forgot the date your wife died. Or like the way you acted after we met Gyeong-seok.” Gi-hun shook his head regretfully. "I knew something was wrong. But I just ignored it all." 

In-ho frowned in confusion. “So why didn’t you say anything?”

“You just don’t get it, do you? This was my second chance, too. To be the father I never was to Ga-young. The partner I never was to Eun-ji” Gi-hun wept, tangling his fingers through his hair in frustration. “So I ignored it all because I so desperately wanted to be wrong. Because I wanted all of this to be real.” 

“But, this is real!” In-ho pleaded. He lunged forward, clutching Gi-hun's face in his hands. His eyes flitted wildly between Gi-hun's, searching for a crack in his armour, or a trace of affection still harboured there. “The man you knew as Young-il - that is the real me. He's the man I was before and the man I want to be again. And I love you, Gi-hun. Truly." 

"Don't touch me," Gi-hun growled, shoving him away roughly. "I've heard enough." 

It took every ounce of strength he could muster, his legs leaden and uncooperative beneath him, but somehow he managed to drag himself up onto his feet. In desperation, In-ho scrambled up after him, tugging pathetically on his sleeve like a lost child.

”Gi-hun, don’t go.” He begged, his face crumpling with distress. "You can't go."

Gi-hun shook him off violently, scowling at him with utter contempt. He marched determinedly down the hallway towards the front door, and In-ho leapt in his path, blocking his exit in a final bid to salvage the situation.

"You promised me I wouldn’t have to lose you." He begged, his eyes wide and reproachful. "You promised me you’d stay.”

“I made that promise to Young-il. Not you.” Gi-hun snarled, rounding on the man, his chin jutting upward in defiance. "Now move."

In-ho hesitated in the doorway. They had reached an impasse, and a war was raging inside In-ho as he considered his options.

The darkest part of him wanted to shove Gi-hun back inside, bolt the doors, and tie him down. He knew from his time as Front Man that everyone had their Achilles heel, their unique breaking point. He knew how to find Gi-hun's. He could make him stay, one way or another.

But he reminded himself, he wasn't that man anymore. He wanted Gi-hun's love given genuinely and willingly, not through subjugation or force. A prison was still a prison, after all, no matter how gilded he made the cage. And he could never forgive himself if he hurt him again, and he knew Gi-hun wouldn't either. His only hope now was that Gi-hun would reconsider and come back to his side in his own time.

It was a tiny, almost impossible hope. But it was all he had left. Reluctantly, he had to step aside.

And Gi-hun was gone in a blink, vanishing into the night, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound reverberated through the walls with an ominous finality, followed by an eerie silence, the door closing on the happiest chapter of In-ho's life. Reeling in the aftermath of yet another loss and unsure how he was going to survive it, he crumbled, falling to his knees and weeping.

And through his tears, he could only choke out one word over and over like a spell, as if through repetition, it might bring him back. 

"Gi-hun."

Gi-hun had thought he was well acquainted with grief; he’d felt the pain of it so frequently that it had begun to taste bitterly of nostalgia.  

But this was on an entirely different level, the likes of which he’d never experienced before. It felt as though his very heart had been cleaved in two, the blow leaving him broken and breathless. 

And yet this type of grief was different. The wonderful man he’d loved so dearly, the happy life he’d thought he had salvaged from the ashes of his past - they had both been nothing more than a fairytale. How could he grieve the loss of something he’d never truly had in the first place? Something he’d always suspected was a little too good to be true?

Only one thing was certain in his mind - In-ho was an evil, irredeemable creature, the epitome of everything he loathed. He cursed himself for having been so foolish, allowing himself to be so easily deceived. He felt humiliated at being laid bare, both metaphorically and physically, before his mortal enemy, his weaknesses and vulnerabilities exposed like bruises for him to poke and prod at.

But although he knew the truth about In-ho now, he still couldn't help but harbour some feelings for him. After all, this was the man who had rescued him from the abyss and nursed him back to health. The man who had served as his lighthouse amid the storm, the only light that could cut through the darkness that shrouded his life. How could he reconcile the image of the kind, gentle man he loved with such a monster? 

His feelings were like a tangled ball of wool, and he walked for what felt like hours, trying to unpick the threads and put a name to each one.  But in his haste to leave, he hadn’t thought to pick up a jacket or an umbrella, and he soon regretted his oversight. A winter storm was swallowing Seoul, dark clouds engulfing the city, bolts of lightning splitting the sky. The driving rain soaked through his thin clothes, the unforgiving cold seeping into his bones, leaving him shivering and aching.

He found himself longing for the familiar comfort of In-ho's arms around him, the fire dancing in the hearth of the home they'd built together. But he couldn't allow himself to be weak and cave to such desires; he couldn't allow himself to go crawling back into the arms of a monster. It would be like a lamb blindly following its butcher to the block, baring its throat to the blade in exchange for a few soft words.

His feet carried him on autopilot through the deserted streets, his body charting a path his mind hadn't fully decided on. He only came to his senses when he reached the bridge, the river Han churning beneath, the moonlight glittering invitingly across the surface.

Out of all the memories that had returned to him, the only one that still evaded him was of the fall. All he recalled was a peaceful, empty nothingness, a void left unfilled in his mind, absent of any sensation or awareness. 

When he'd woken up in that hospital bed, the Games burned to ashes and his body broken beyond repair, he had realised there was nothing left for him in this world. He had longed for nothing more than to close his eyes and succumb to that eternal darkness. 

It was only In-ho who had given him something to live for, something that made all his suffering feel worthwhile. A life and a home - imperfect, chaotic, messy - but his. And now, he'd lost that too. He'd never even had it to begin with. He couldn't bear the thought of tolerating his constant, endless pain and feeling the heavy ache of his loss in his chest, without a reason to make either worth enduring. And he found himself craving that blissful nothingness all over again.

Before he knew it, he was on the wrong side of the railings, peering into the maelstrom below. The water swirled tantalisingly beneath him, as if beckoning him closer. For a brief moment, he would remember what falling felt like. And then he'd be taken into the all-consuming embrace of the darkness below, and he'd never have to feel hurt or pain ever again. The idea was too alluring to deny. He shuffled closer to the edge, his grip beginning to loosen on the railings...

"Ahjussi." 

The voice was hauntingly and painfully familiar. Startled, he slipped, his feet scrabbling for purchase on the wet ledge, his knuckles paling as he gripped the railings with all his strength. With a low groan of pain, he turned round cautiously, scarcely daring to believe his senses.

Jun-hee was standing on the bridge behind him, silhouetted against the moonlight. For a wild moment, he believed he was dead. Perhaps she was some kind of angel here to retrieve his soul, or a spirit sent to accompany him on his final journey. 

"Jun-hee ya?" He reached out a hand for her in disbelief, a sob bubbling up from his throat.

But she stepped back, a shadow falling over her face. He recognised the expression, having felt it himself all too often. It was a look of sheer betrayal, her brow puckering in disappointment, her eyes swimming with tears of hurt.

"Don't do it, ahjussi." She whispered, frowning in disapproval. "You know what you promised me."

And then she was gone, vanishing into the ether, leaving Gi-hun wondering if she'd ever been there at all. But real or imaginary, her words had held a weight he simply couldn't ignore.

A burden he had vowed to carry, but almost forgotten, settled back onto his shoulders again. Jun-hee had laid down her life for Haneul's, entrusting her to Gi-hun's protection. And In-ho had dared to erase her sacrifice to suit his narrative, something Gi-hun simply couldn't allow. In-ho was worse than a stranger to him; he was the villain of the piece, the spectre that haunted his every waking moment. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving her in the arms of that man; he had to go back for her. There was one last thing still worth fighting for, worth enduring for, after all.

With a reluctant growl, he clenched his jaw and hoisted himself back over the railings, ignoring the jolt of pain through his legs as his feet met the wet tarmac again. He started back in the direction of the house, pushing through the burn of agony in his tired limbs, lowering his head to forge a path through the fierce storm that whirled around him.

He would fulfil his final promise to Jun-hee. Whatever it took. 

Chapter Text

Gi-hun turned his key in the lock quietly, easing the door open to prevent the usual, grating squeak that would betray his presence. The hallway was cloaked in darkness, and an eerie silence had settled over the house. Hoping In-ho was asleep and trying to avoid his detection, Gi-hun padded along the corridor stealthily, wincing at the low click of his cane against the hardwood, blindly charting his route along the wall with his palm.  

It had seemed a simple mission in theory - to sneak in, take Haneul, and vanish back into the night. But now, back in the familiar, comforting warmth of the home they’d shared, he dreaded the moment he’d have to turn his back and leave it forever. And he was terrified of In-ho catching him- he knew now the man was capable of unfathomable, ruthless cruelty. Who knew how he could react? Would his supposed love be enough to stay his hand? 

He crept towards the doorway of Haneul’s room, taking a breath to steady himself. But to his horror, he stumbled over an obstacle in the hallway, unseen through the blanket of darkness. It was something warm, solid, and loud; it scrabbled around, emitting a string of hoarse curses as Gi-hun tripped over it. Gi-hun let out a muffled shout, clawing at the wall for purchase, his fingers finding the light switch.  

He flicked it on, blinking in the sudden onslaught of light. The obstacle had been In-ho, and he made for a pitiful sight. He was slumped over in the hallway, leaning heavily against the doorframe of Haneul’s room. His eyes were scarlet-edged and swollen from tears, a tumbler containing a concerning volume of whiskey clutched in one shaking hand. His nose was disfigured and beginning to bruise, taking on a deep violet hue across the bridge. 

He perked up when he saw Gi-hun, his eyes widening with faint hope, like a dog who had been anticipating its master’s return, and was uncertain if he was going to receive a pat or a kick for his troubles.

“You came back?” He said softly, smiling despite the pain, his eyes crinkling into crow’s feet in the corners. 

“I’m not here for you.” Gi-hun gritted out. Despite himself, his chest clenched tight at the thought of upsetting In-ho. “I’m here for Haneul.” 

“Of course.” In-ho let out a mirthless chuckle, his face crumpling into something that was more resigned than disappointed. 

“You thought I’d come back for you?” Gi-hun spat, imbuing his voice with venom to mask how it trembled. “After all you’ve done?” 

“I hoped you’d come back for me.” In-ho corrected him, rubbing his thumb gently over the broken bridge of his nose. “But I knew you’d come back for her. Why do you think I’m sitting out here, Gi-hun? I knew eventually you’d come.” 

Gi-hun hissed, his cheeks flaming crimson at how effortlessly predictable he was, how intimately In-ho understood him. 

“I don’t want to argue with you.” Gi-hun sighed tiredly. “Just move out of the way.” 

In-ho quirked an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “No.”

“What do you mean by ‘no’?” Gi-hun snarled in frustration. “I refuse to play happy families with you anymore. I’m taking her.” 

In-ho rose slowly to his feet, staggering slightly. But to Gi-hun’s chagrin, he didn’t step aside; he stepped forward, and Gi-hun instinctively cringed backwards in alarm. In-ho sighed, saddened at the sight of the man being so fearful of him, the easy trust that had burgeoned between them, now broken. 

“Where exactly do you think you’ll take her, Gi-hun? Back to your grotty little motel?” In-ho shook his head, his lip curling. “She deserves a proper home.” 

“She deserved a mother. She deserved the truth.” Gi-hun bit back. “You stole those from her.” 

“So now you want to steal her from me?” In-ho argued, with a wounded frown. “When I’m the closest thing to a parent she’s got left?” 

“Don’t pretend like you care about her.” Gi-hun seethed. “She was nothing more than a pawn in your little game, a bargaining chip.” 

“That’s not true,” In-ho growled, his voice sharp with warning. “I raised her, Gi-hun. I took care of her, all these months. She’s as good as a daughter to me.” 

“Look…please.” Gi-hun swallowed back tears, an edge of desperation creeping into his voice, his bottom lip trembling with restraint. “It was my last promise to Jun-hee. I swore I’d look after her. I can’t just leave her here.” 

“Then don’t leave her.” In-ho said simply, shrugging as if the answer was obvious. “Stay.” 

“Stay here with you?” Gi-hun hissed. “Never. I’d rather die.” 

“So what’s the plan then, Gi-hun?” In-ho smirked, something akin to a challenge burning behind his eyes. “Are you going to try to fight me again?” 

Gi-hun gritted his teeth, ignoring the sharp, prickling aches that seemed to occupy every bone in his body as he squared up for a second round. “If I have to.”

“And then what? Even if you succeed - all of her documents are in my name.” In-ho said. “Legally, I’m her father. If you tried to take her, you’d be considered a kidnapper, Gi-hun. There’d be a nationwide manhunt. Is that what you want?” 

Gi-hun rocked back, exhaling in disbelief as the situation became clear. In-ho had played the perfect game, every move a carefully choreographed dance, and he’d finally delivered the checkmate. He smiled patronisingly at Gi-hun, with the easy triumph of a man who had always known he would win. 

Still reeling in the aftermath of his betrayal, Gi-hun had found only one thing left to cling to - the oath he’d made to Jun-hee. And he was determined to fulfil it, by any means necessary. 

But Haneul deserved better than a nomad as a father, a life spent on the run, concealed like a crime from the authorities. And even if Gi-hun doubted In-ho’s love for her, there was no doubting Haneul’s for him. He couldn’t bear to deprive her of the man who had raised her. 

He could choose for once to be selfish, to turn his back and walk away. But he refused to relinquish his principles; it would be handing In-ho a victory of a different kind. And with his entire world torn into tatters around him, what else was left to live for, if not Haneul?  

“Fine.” He relented grudgingly, with a low growl. “I’ll stay. But you and I - we’re housemates, nothing more. You keep out of my way, and I’ll keep out of yours.“

In-ho’s face split into a smug grin at having Gi-hun trapped in another snare. “Fine.” 

But In-ho’s feeling of success was short-lived. Gi-hun found himself divided, his emotions jumbled and confusing. Mostly, he loathed In-ho for his deceit and was terrified by his capacity for cruelty. His nightmares came back with a vengeance, haunted by the terrified, pleading eyes of Jung-bae as he died at the hands of a man he had trusted, a man he had considered a friend. 

But a small, traitorous part of him couldn’t help but still love In-ho. He had caught a glimpse of the man behind the monster - the man who loved with soft hands and a gentle tongue, the man who had healed his every hurt, the man who provided for and protected the little family he’d built. And Gi-hun was a man with boundless empathy - he wanted to believe the best of people, his faith in humanity battered but stubbornly not broken, despite the horrors he’d witnessed. 

And he wanted to believe the best of In-ho, too. He wanted to believe that Young-il was the truest version of him, the Front Man merely a role he played to survive.  He wanted to forgive In-ho - and that frightened him. It would be all too easy to go crawling back into his arms. 

So Gi-hun kept his distance. He avoided eye contact, dodged his touches, exited rooms when In-ho entered. If he needed to address him, he spoke his request directly into the silence without preamble, never once uttering his real name. 

And for In-ho, it was the cruellest form of torture. To have the man he adored so close, yet still just out of his reach, was somehow worse than losing him completely. To have silence in the home that had bubbled with laughter, a hollow cold where it had brimmed with warmth. 

Losing Gi-hun would have been agony, but he could have grown to accept his absence. But now, his presence served as a constant reminder of everything he had lost, everything he had destroyed. 

And In-ho found himself wondering miserably if perhaps that was his punishment.

A few months passed like that, a warm, green spring following the cold winter’s wane. Flowers began budding in the garden, cornflower blue skies piercing through the bleak grey. 

They were in the park, making the most of the pleasant weather. In-ho perched on a bench, watching Gi-hun push Haneul on the baby swing. He grinned at Gi-hun as Haneul cooed in delight, and Gi-hun flashed a small smile back. It was fleeting, quickly vanishing when Gi-hun caught himself, but In-ho’s heart still leapt at the sight. Spring was a period of new beginnings, of new life - perhaps it could be a time of new hope, too, bringing about the thaw of the cold that had grown between them. 

But In-ho’s fragile hopes were quickly crushed. His phone buzzed in his pocket, a rarity nowadays, and he fished it out with a frown. It was an unknown number, and his brow furrowed in confusion as he answered. Gi-hun tried to ignore it, feigning disinterest in the man’s activities, but subtly leaned closer with helpless curiosity. 

“Yeoboseyo.” 

“Front Man.” 

In-ho stiffened, his blood running cold, his lips parting in surprise. Gi-hun noticed the shift in his demeanour, ceasing his pushing and quickly unbuckling Haneul from the swing with shaking hands. 

“What do you want?” In-ho choked out, dread tightening like a noose around his throat.

“I’m pleased to inform you that the VIP donors have agreed to fund the Korean Games again, despite the…mishap.” The anonymous voice said smoothly. “You are being reinstated as Front Man. You are required to oversee construction and recruitment for the next round of the Games.” 

“No.” He whispered, shaking his head vehemently. “No, I can’t. I…I resign from my position.” 

A beat of silence. The voice heaved a sigh, as though this were all a minor inconvenience. Gi-hun loomed over In-ho, Haneul in his arms, his face creased with concern. 

“I believe Oh Il-nam made it clear. This job, once accepted, is a job for life.” The voice said, the threat implicit. 

“Then take it.” In-ho growled out, lifting his chin in defiance. “I’ve changed. I don’t want to be that man anymore.” 

“I know threats to your own life don’t scare you.” The voice chuckled menacingly. “But would you risk your family’s?” 

“My family is dead. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” In-ho stammered out, desperately trying to keep his voice casual and impassive. 

“Please.” The voice said with dry amusement. “You really think we didn’t know?” 

In-ho’s phone buzzed again as he received a text, empty except for an image attachment. With trepidation, he opened it, gaping at the sight.

It was a photo of them, as they stood in the park. Him, with the phone clasped to his ear, unmistakably Gi-hun stood by his side with Haneul wrapped in his arms. In-ho leapt to his feet, spinning around wildly in search of the perpetrator, adrenaline pounding through his veins. 

But the park seemed deserted, not another soul in sight. Defeated, he sank back to the bench, his voice quivering.

“When?” He croaked out.

“We’ll collect you next Monday. 7pm.” 

The phone went ominously silent as the anonymous caller hung up. In-ho groaned in despair, sucking in desperate, fevered breaths, as he tried to slow the pounding of his heart. Gi-hun watched anxiously, carding his hand nervously through his hair.

“What happened?” He asked. 

“The Games.” In-ho forced out an explanation between gasps, burying his face in his shaking hands. Panic clawed at his chest, his heart rate skyrocketing. “They’re back. They want me as Front Man.” 

“Try and breathe.” Gi-hun said softly, one hand propping up Haneul, the other coming to rest on In-ho’s shoulder in an attempt to steady him.

“Don’t.” In-ho said, tearing himself away despite desperately craving the comfort of Gi-hun’s touch, after so long deprived of it. “They know about you…they threatened you and Haneul. They can see us right now.” 

Gi-hun swallowed nervously, his eyes darting around the park. 

“I don’t want to go back.” In-ho whimpered, a strangled sob escaping him. “Please, I don’t want to go back…”

Seeing his distress, Haneul began babbling, reaching out her tiny hands for him. Gi-hun passed her over, and In-ho cradled her close, his breathing finally beginning to even out after a few moments.

“We won’t let you go back.” Gi-hun said determinedly, with more certainty than he felt, gnawing worriedly on his bottom lip. “We need to come up with a plan.”  

“You won’t like this.” In-ho sighed, peering over Haneul to look at Gi-hun. “But…I think we should go and speak to my brother.” 

Gi-hun’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Your brother?

“Yes. My brother.” In-ho gave a low shuddering sigh, his cheeks flushing with contrition. “I'm sorry. I should have told you my full name - it's Hwang In-ho.” 

Another layer of deceit peeled back, another lie he’d swallowed without question. Gi-hun’s eyes widened with the realisation, everything slotting together in his mind with a click, like being handed the final pieces of a jigsaw he didn’t realise had been missing, the full picture finally revealed.

“Jun-ho?” He gasped out. 

In-ho nodded. 

“He’s your brother?” 

Another nod. 

Gi-hun paused, his eyes widening further. “Did he know?” 

Despite himself, In-ho grinned sheepishly. Gi-hun released a frustrated groan, throwing his arms in the air and turning his eyes skyward in defeat, as if cursing the heavens themselves for allowing this to happen.

“Ya, for fuck’s sake.” 

Chapter Text

When Jun-ho had laid eyes on In-ho across the arena, it felt like time itself screeched to a halt. The distance between them was more than just physical - it contained years of separation, pain, and loss. The two men on either side of the gulf had been irrevocably changed, each vastly different from the version of themselves the other remembered.

“Hyung!” 

And yet, despite everything, the word had spilt naturally from Jun-ho’s lips. And In-ho had turned automatically upon hearing the familiar honorific, as if nothing had ever changed between them, even as their eyes met for the first time in years. Raw, unfettered emotion had tightened in Jun-ho’s throat at the sight of his brother, rendering him almost incapable of speech.

He only managed to choke out one single, shuddering word: why?

It sounded pathetic, almost childlike, hanging empty and feeble in the air. But it was more than just a word - it was the culmination of a thousand questions left unspoken and unanswered, the sum of years of sleepless nights spent in regretful rumination.

Why did In-ho turn away from them, what remained of his family, without cause or explanation? Why did In-ho’s footsteps, the ones Jun-ho had always longed to follow in, diverge to take this cruel path? Why did his big brother, the hero he had always worshipped and adored, become this cruel, cold-hearted villain?  

Instead of answering, In-ho turned his back again and walked away, tearing the rift between them irreparably wider. So even as Jun-ho’s hands shook with emotion, his fingers had closed instinctively around the trigger, catching In-ho perfectly in its crosshairs to deliver the final, fatal shot. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Later, he’d try to convince himself it was just because of the baby - a precious, innocent life held between In-ho’s arms that Jun-ho wasn’t willing to risk. But he had always been the best marksman on the force, and his skills had been sharpened through practice in Gi-hun’s makeshift gun range - he was almost incapable of missing his target. 

The reality was almost too painful to bear. He had always prided himself on his values - his keen sense of justice and his unshakeable morals - and yet in the end, he had been so easily swayed. 

Because despite everything he’d done, some small part of Jun-ho still loved In-ho and wanted to protect him. He couldn’t bear to put another bullet in his brother. And shamefully, In-ho had realised it - turning his back to the barrel and rendering himself vulnerable to the shot he knew would never come. 

So Jun-ho had let him go, slipping through his fingers once again. He didn’t have time to search for Gi-hun before the island was consumed by the flames. And despite watching the arena burn, leaving nothing but a pile of smouldering ashes in its wake, Jun-ho still clung to the hope that the man had somehow survived. 

After all, if anyone could, it was Gi-hun - the man was like a cat with a seemingly endless stock of lives. He had eluded the clutches of death more times than he could count, more times than he rightfully should have. So Jun-ho waited desperately for the familiar phone number to flash up on his screen, or for the rapping of his knuckles at his front door that always announced his presence. 

But as time stretched on fruitlessly, his hopes began to wither and die. After months of silence, he eventually came to the bitter conclusion that Gi-hun was gone. 

And Jun-ho had to accept the uncomfortable fact of the matter; he’d failed them. He’d been too slow to find the island, too naive to recognise the web of lies before he was fully entangled, too trusting to recognise a traitor in his midst. He’d failed Gi-hun and all the others in the Games. They had all died in vain, waiting for a salvation that was never going to reach them.

So when he opened his front door one morning to find a familiar box on his front step, his heart had leapt wildly in his chest. Black cardboard, bound with a silky pink ribbon, containing only a small, hastily-penned note in Gi-hun’s familiar scrawl. 

Motel. 11pm. Don’t be seen. 
GH

Jun-ho had walked past the motel many times throughout the long, lonely months, desperately looking for any sign of life. It had been to no avail - it remained decayed and decrepit, each day bringing a new splash of graffiti or broken window. 

But today, a single, solitary light was glowing in one of the windows. Jun-ho swallowed nervously, sidling in through a side door that was hanging off its hinges, and scaling the stairs two at a time in his haste. But when he found the right room, he hesitated in the doorway, torn between knocking or bursting through, slightly terrified of what he might find within. 

Overcome by sheer joy at the hope that the man may be alive after all, it occurred to him for the first time that he may have fallen headfirst into yet another trap. His fingers fumbled along his belt line, searching instinctively for a weapon he wasn’t permitted to carry anymore. With a low curse, he pushed the door open slowly, his eyes scanning for danger.

It was like stepping back into the past. The room was exactly as he remembered - the small dingy living area, the flickering CCTV screens - and the man himself, sat among it all as if nothing had changed. 

“Jun-ho.” Gi-hun rose to his feet, giving him an awkward smile. “I’m so glad you came.” 

“Gi-hun!” Jun-ho breathed. 

Unable to contain himself, Jun-ho bounded across the room in two strides, tugging the man into his arms. He squeezed him tightly, as if checking he was truly corporeal, almost unable to believe he wasn’t a figment of his imagination. Gi-hun let out a grunt of surprise, staggering slightly, and Jun-ho jolted back quickly.

He examined Gi-hun, his eyes flitting up and down, giving a small frown. Now up close, he noted the changes - the thin, delicate lines of his body, the scars littering his skin, the cane clutched tight in his hand. And though Gi-hun smiled tiredly at him, his sunken eyes were devoid of their usual fire, their expression containing something softer and sadder. 

“Sorry,” Jun-ho whispered uncertainly, grabbing his elbow to help him regain his balance. “I’m just so happy you made it out. Where the hell have you been, all this time?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Gi-hun said, gesturing to one of the threadbare, moth-eaten couches. “You might want to take a seat.” 

In trepidation, Jun-ho sank shakily into one of the chairs. Gi-hun followed suit, lowering himself into one with a low groan, as Jun-ho watched on in sorrow at the strong, defiant man he had known, now rendered so fragile and muted.

“What happened to you?” Jun-ho pressed, his mind swirling with questions, desperate for answers. “How did you survive?” 

Gi-hun let out a huff of frustration, his eyes flickering towards the bathroom door as if annoyed by something. Jun-ho followed his gaze, and, seeing nothing, raised an eyebrow in confusion. 

“Do you want to explain yourself, or shall I?” Gi-hun growled, seemingly at nobody, an edge of irritation creeping into his voice. 

His words were followed by an unsettling silence. Jun-ho swallowed nervously, wondering with mild concern if the man was having some sort of hallucination. He was just opening his mouth to speak when the bathroom door inched open, the movement slow and reluctant. 

And there, silhouetted in the doorway, stood In-ho. And for once, he wasn’t cool and composed as Jun-ho always remembered him being - he looked nervous, his face ashen, his eyes trailed downward as he stepped sheepishly into the room. 

“Jun-ho.” He said softly, the corner of his mouth quirking upward into a smile. “I’m glad to see you.” 

“What is this?” Jun-ho croaked out, his face draining of colour. His head swivelled rapidly between the two men, his nails tearing into the frayed fabric of the sofa as he clenched his fists, his knuckles paling with the force. “What the hell is going on?”

“I was injured in the final Game.” Gi-hun explained quickly. “I should have died. But your brother saved me.”

“He saved you? Then where have you both been, all this time?” Jun-ho asked incredulously.

“At my old place,” In-ho said, easing himself onto the sofa next to Gi-hun. “We’ve been living together as…housemates.” 

In all his musings about the Games, about what might have become of Gi-hun and his brother, this outcome had never once occurred to him. The notion that the mortal enemies’ paths had crossed, not just without bloodshed, but with the formation of some kind of union, was almost unthinkable.

“You were that near?” Jun-ho gasped, trembling in fury as he resisted the urge to lash out. He rounded on Gi-hun, his eyes blazing in anger. “You were alive all this time, and you never thought to tell me? I mourned you, Gi-hun.” 

“Don’t blame him,” In-ho snarled defensively as Gi-hun hung his head, his hand reaching to rest protectively on Gi-hun’s thigh. “He lost his memories in the fall. I told him you had died, because I didn’t want him to go looking for you.” 

“Why? Because you knew I’d expose you for what you are?” Jun-ho said derisively. “You abandoned your family, you lied to us…”

“You have no right to talk about lying, Jun-ho,” Gi-hun interrupted with a dry laugh, fixing him with a glare. “Did you not think that telling me the Front Man was your brother might have been relevant information?” 

Jun-ho leant back in his seat with a sigh, pinching his brow in frustration. 

“I’m sorry, Gi-hun. I know it was wrong. It’s just…despite everything, I still wanted to protect him.” Jun-ho said. “And I suppose part of me felt like it was my fault.” 

“Your fault?” In-ho frowned, his brow creasing in confusion. “How could it be your fault?” 

“You gave me your kidney. When your wife got sick, you could’ve sold it to pay for her transplant. And then maybe she would’ve survived.” Jun-ho said in a small, apologetic tone, unable to meet his brother's eye as he flushed with contrition. “And then maybe none of this would ever have happened.”

“What? No, Jun-ho.” In-ho breathed, shocked by the admission. “I never regretted it for a moment. And I never once blamed you.”  

“It’s not just that. You were the man of the house; you sacrificed so much for us.” Jun-ho shook his head, brushing away an errant tear that was threatening to fall. “When you abandoned us, I thought maybe you regretted it.” 

“Family makes sacrifices for each other, Jun-ho. I never regretted any of it for a moment.” In-ho said firmly. He reached out to touch his knee, his hand an olive branch extended to bridge the gap between them. But Jun-ho cringed away, blinking back his tears in confusion. 

“Then why did you do it, hyung?” He asked. “Why did you become the Front Man? Why did you abandon us?” 

“After my wife died, I felt like there was nothing else left. And once I became the Front Man, I needed to distance myself in case something went wrong. I didn’t want them to hurt you.” In-ho sighed. “I thought I was doing the right thing. But I was wrong about everything. I see that now.” 

“So what? After all this time, now you want to reconcile?” Jun-ho snorted in disbelief. 

There was an ominous beat of silence. Gi-hun and In-ho shared an uncomfortable look, In-ho shifting in his seat. But Jun-ho’s eyes were trained to read a room, and they narrowed in suspicion. 

“What is it?” 

“I’d like to ask…a favour.” In-ho gritted out. 

“A favour?” Jun-ho barked out a scornful, hollow laugh. “I don’t believe it. You became a criminal, In-ho, you neglected us for years, and now you want to ask something from me?” 

“Jun-ho, please,” In-ho said desperately. “I’ve changed. I don’t want to be that man anymore.” 

“And you expect me to just believe that?” Jun-ho started to his feet, looking down his nose at In-ho with distrust. 

“Just hear me out. If not for my sake, then for Gi-hun’s.” In-ho said, looking up at him beseechingly. “Please.” 

Jun-ho let out a low growl, his eyes darting to Gi-hun, who sat in grave silence, hunched over and folded in on himself like a bird with a broken wing. He knew the man had endured so much and sacrificed everything he had in pursuit of justice. And after months consumed by guilt, believing himself partly responsible for the man’s imagined death, he couldn’t bear to deny him. With a low growl through gritted teeth, he sank back down into the couch, the leather wheezing dustily in protest. 

“What is it?” Jun-ho demanded. 

“The Games are back. And they want me as Front Man.” In-ho explained. “I don’t want to, but they’re threatening Gi-hun. And they’re threatening Haneul.” 

"Who’s Haneul?” 

“Remember the baby you saw?’ In-ho said, a soft smile playing on his lips. “That’s her. You’d love her, Jun-ho. Gi-hun and I have been raising her together.” 

“So what do you want me to do?” Jun-ho asked, his face wrinkling into a puzzled frown. His brother’s response had only fuelled more questions. It seemed a bizarre living situation for two alleged housemates, the easy closeness between them suggestive of something more than platonic, but he resisted making any further enquiries. 

 “I have no choice. I have to go back,” In-ho said heavily. “But I want you to help me end the Games, for good this time. I’ll be your informant on the inside. I’ll give the police whatever they want to know.” 

“I’m sorry, In-ho.” Jun-ho sighed, shaking his head remorsefully. “I don’t work for the police anymore. You think I could go back, after everything that happened?”

“Please.” In-ho implored him. “I’ll give you whatever you need, every bit of evidence. You’d be a hero, Jun-ho. They'd have to give you your job back.”

“It’s a huge risk.” Jun-ho sighed reluctantly. “They never listened to me before, and after everything that happened last time…"

“I know it’s a small chance,” In-ho said solemnly. “But it’s all we have.” 

“If it’s really what you want, I’m willing to try," Jun-ho said grudgingly. "But you know...even if you don’t get killed in the Games, you’ll be arrested.”

In-ho nodded stoically, but a small muscle in his jaw twitched, betraying his distress. Gi-hun gasped, wincing as if he’d been physically struck. He whipped round in his seat to face In-ho, his face crumpling with horror.

“Do you really want to risk that?” He said mournfully, “Are you sure there's no other way?” 

In-ho sucked in a steadying breath, fighting back the tears that pricked at his eyes. His mind raced, desperately seeking to conjure up an alternative plan, but came up empty-handed.

The thought of leaving Gi-hun and Haneul behind and walking back into the Games, knowing he’d likely never see them again, was unbearable, leaving his chest empty and throbbing with grief. 

It would be all too easy to run away with Gi-hun, to turn his back on the Games and disappear. With their fortunes combined, they could go anywhere in the world. But they’d always feel the watchful eyes of the VIPs on them, always trying to stay one step ahead, fearing their retribution. And washing his hands of the Games wouldn’t rid him of the blood that stained them. He would be taking the selfish way out, the coward’s way. And he knew that Gi-hun would never fully trust or believe him; mere words were not enough to prove he had changed. He had to prove it through action.

And even though Gi-hun had always been his sole motivation, he still found himself wanting to do the right thing, even if it cost him his life or his freedom. He knew he was no hero, but he couldn’t spend another second playing the villain.

Even if he had to become a martyr. 

“I told you both I’ve changed. And I meant it.” In-ho said, setting his jaw with determination, even as his voice trembled. “If I have the chance to end the Games, then I have to take it.”

“You understand what that means?” Jun-ho emphasised. “You’ve killed people, In-ho. You might get a reduced sentence for acting as an informant, but you’re still looking at years. I won’t be able to get you out of it.”

“I know that.” In-ho said sadly. “But it’s the right thing to do. Just promise me one more thing?” 

“What?” Jun-ho said, looking at his brother with a renewed sense of awe. 

“That whatever happens, you’ll look after Gi-hun and Haneul,” In-ho said, his voice breaking with emotion. “You’ll get them out of here. You’ll keep them safe.” 

“I can’t promise that,” Jun-ho said softly. “But I swear, I’ll do whatever I can.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” In-ho flashed him a watery smile, leaning forward to rest a grateful hand on Jun-ho’s knee.

And this time, despite everything, Jun-ho couldn’t bear to pull away. 

Chapter Text

For In-ho, the next couple of months felt like being on death row, an inescapable clock hanging above his head, ticking downwards to the moment he met his fate.

In-ho usually treasured every minute he could spend with Gi-hun and Haneul, savouring every moment he could spend in their company. Now, he could hardly bring himself to enjoy them, knowing each one only brought him closer to the moment he’d have to let them go. 

Besides, his relationship with Gi-hun remained strained, with conversation often stilted and surface-level, and Gi-hun usually dodging In-ho’s attempts at affection. In-ho tried to respect his boundaries, but struggled immensely, feeling their precious remaining time slipping away rapidly, like sand through his fingers. 

Gi-hun felt guilty every time he swerved a kiss or ignored the man’s outstretched arms. He so desperately wanted to believe in In-ho’s claims that he had changed for the better, but he found it difficult to trust him. The man he thought he knew had been nothing more than a fabrication; all he knew for certain of the real In-ho was selfishness and deceit. After being fed lie after lie, words were devoid of meaning now; only action could convince him. And he wasn’t sure a man who could be so cunning and self-serving would actually follow through with such a plan, allowing himself to become a sacrifice. What would stop In-ho from simply embracing the Front Man role all over again? 

But occasionally, in his more optimistic moments, Gi-hun would soften. After all, In-ho had cared for him and Haneul all those months, concealing his feelings and never overstepping the boundary until Gi-hun breached it first. And In-ho didn’t really seem that different to Young-il; the lines between the illusion and the man beneath blurred to the point Gi-hun scarcely knew where one began and the other ended. The man contained multitudes, his actions often contradictory and confusing. Perhaps there was a possibility, albeit small, that he might live up to his word. And Gi-hun knew firsthand the courage it took to walk back into the Games in the knowledge you might never come back out, to put a greater good above your own survival. 

So then the scorn in his eyes would soften into sympathy, and he would accept In-ho’s attempts at affection, although still not reciprocating them. 

But then it would be In-ho’s turn to recoil. He wanted Gi-hun to be willing and wanting, not tolerating his advances out of pity. He could deal with the other man’s anger and hatred because he knew deep down he deserved it; it was Gi-hun's kindness that he found almost impossible to accept.

They met Jun-ho frequently, at clandestine meetings in the motel or in back-alley bars off the beaten track. With In-ho and Gi-hun worried they might still be under observation, it fell to Jun-ho to arrange the finer details of their plans. 

They had agreed it was safest for Gi-hun and Haneul to go abroad, somewhere far out of reach from the clutches of the Games. The first step was to develop new identities. 

“Where the hell do we get documentation?” Jun-ho had cursed, with In-ho shrugging helplessly.

Gi-hun stepped in, reminding the pair of his underground network of contacts, who had assisted him in his bid to find the Recruiter. In-ho and Jun-ho were doubtful, reluctant to engage in any underhanded dealings with such unscrupulous characters. But Gi-hun managed to convince them it was safest - after all, they already trusted Gi-hun, and their silence could be bought. 

“They won’t deal with cops.” Jun-ho protested.

“Ex-cop.” Gi-hun pointed out. “And for the right price, they will.” 

He sent Jun-ho away with a fistful of cold, hard cash and mere hours later, he returned triumphant with a pair of falsified passports in hand. He offered them to In-ho for inspection, and In-ho snatched them up, holding them up in the light and scrutinising them closely.

“They’re good,” Jun-ho grudgingly admitted, ignoring Gi-hun’s smug smile. “If I didn’t know, I wouldn’t be able to tell they’re fake.” 

In-ho just hummed in response, distracted by the sight of Gi-hun and Haneul’s aliases. They had brand new matching surnames, denoting a family that he was no longer going to be part of, and the sight brought a lump to his throat. And frustratingly, Jun-ho and Gi-hun refused to disclose exactly where he was planning to go, making the looming separation all the more painful.

“We both agreed it’s best if you don’t know,” Jun-ho explained, flinching as In-ho shot him a withering glare. “I’m sorry. It’s just safer that way. The passports make them untraceable, and if you don’t know, then the VIPs can’t force the information out of you. There’s no way they’ll ever find out.”

In-ho let out a low growl through gritted teeth. For a man so accustomed to being in control, it was difficult to relinquish the power to Gi-hun and Jun-ho, to put his faith in other people instead of operating alone. But he knew if his plan failed and things went southward, Gi-hun and Haneul were his Achilles heel; they would be the VIPs’ prime target. All that mattered was that they were safe. So much to In-ho’s chagrin, he had to concede.

After weeks of agonising silence, In-ho’s phone finally buzzed with the notification they’d all been dreading - a message stating the designated date and pick-up point for his entrance into Games, only a few days away. 

“So soon?” In-ho said, his face paling slightly with horror. He tried to remain calm and stoic, but his legs suddenly felt leaden beneath him, and he lowered himself into a chair, not trusting them to bear his weight. 

Jun-ho quickly jumped into action, opening his phone and scrolling through airline tickets. Despite himself, Gi-hun sidled up next to In-ho, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. He sighed when he felt the subtle trembling under his fingers, betraying the fear beneath In-ho’s cool facade. In-ho looked up at him gratefully, leaning closer until his head brushed the other man’s hip.

“There’s a flight out the same morning,” Jun-ho said. “Shall I book the tickets?” 

Gi-hun sucked in a shuddering breath and nodded, his fingers tightening on In-ho’s shoulder. In-ho reached up to rest his hand on top of Gi-hun’s, tracing soothingly across his knuckles. 

“Are you sure about this?” Gi-hun asked softly. “It’s not too late to back out.” 

In-ho nodded and squeezed Gi-hun’s hand, trying to convey more certainty than he felt, smiling reassuringly up at Gi-hun. “I’m sure.” 

“It’s booked,” Jun-ho said, looking at Gi-hun with a sigh. “Better start packing your bags.” 

The day came around all too quickly, and the group soon found themselves huddled in the middle of Incheon airport. Gi-hun felt strangely hollow, with his entire life packed into one single suitcase, bidding farewell to the last few people left in the world that he loved. 

“Thank you, Jun-ho,” Gi-hun said with a bow, shaking the man’s hand. “For everything.” 

Jun-ho nodded solemnly. “It’s been a pleasure. I’ll be in touch when you land.” 

Gi-hun nodded as they separated. An uncomfortable silence settled over the group then, and Gi-hun shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, his eyes flickering between the brothers. In-ho cleared his throat pointedly, glancing sideways at Jun-ho.

“Oh! What’s this?” Jun-ho exclaimed, feigning a sudden newfound interest in a nearby newspaper stand. “I’ll be right back, guys.” 

He scampered off, his cheeks flushing as he quickly made himself scarce. 

Gi-hun snorted, and In-ho rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. He crouched down, enveloping Haneul in a hug, and she cooed happily as he whispered something in her ear.  He ruffled her dark hair affectionately before straightening up to look Gi-hun up and down. 

He frowned, stepping forward to adjust the straps of Gi-hun’s backpack containing all Haneul’s things, painstakingly testing the zips of each pocket to ensure they were fully closed. Then, he turned his attention to Gi-hun's jacket, folding the collar down around Gi-hun's neck and smoothing small creases out of the lapels. 

His fussing was absurdly maternal in nature, and Gi-hun grumbled in irritation, stepping out of reach. But then he caught the subtle flicker of hurt in In-ho’s dark eyes, the uncertain tremble in his fingers, and realised with a pang that the man was trying to delay the inevitable - their goodbye. 

So with a low sigh, he resisted the urge to pull away, allowing In-ho to continue fussing over him. Satisfied everything was in order, and unable to conjure any further excuses to stall, In-ho reluctantly stepped back, swallowing down tears. 

“Well, then,” In-ho said gruffly, fighting to contain his emotions. “This is it.” 

Knowing any attempts at affection would be unwelcome, In-ho forced himself to offer his hand politely. Gi-hun looked down at it, a mixture of emotion suddenly swelling in his chest. It was a surge of overwhelming gratitude and fierce anger, desperate affection and bitter remorse. 

In that moment, he both loved and loathed the man. He grieved for the lives they could have led, the men they could have been, if circumstances had been so very different. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, words suddenly seeming a hollow, inadequate medium to convey the enormity of his feelings. 

The intensity of it surprised even himself, and he found himself propelled forward, pushing In-ho’s hand aside and tugging him into an embrace. 

In-ho emitted a small grunt of surprise as the man collided with him, but he didn’t hesitate to wrap Gi-hun in his strong arms, pressing a desperate, grateful kiss to his brow. Gi-hun squeezed him as tightly as he could muster, as though physically trying to impress his feelings on the man.

“Thank you,” Gi-hun said weakly. “For looking after me all of that time. For looking after Haneul.” 

“It was the greatest privilege of my life,” In-ho sighed, tangling his fingers in Gi-hun’s soft curls. “Just promise me you’ll stay safe. And keep her safe, too.”

Gi-hun nodded fervently against his shoulder. In a vain attempt to hide his tears, In-ho buried his face in Gi-hun's neck, breathing in his familiar scent in search of comfort. But Gi-hun felt In-ho’s body convulse against his, heaving with the effort of restraining his sobs. Gi-hun ran a soothing hand down his back, shushing him softly, suddenly finding himself blinking back his own wave of tears as they threatened to spill.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Gi-hun murmured. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I know.” In-ho sniffed, leaning back to meet Gi-hun's gaze. His eyes trailed desperately over Gi-hun's face, drinking in every inch of his features and committing every line to memory, knowing it was the last look he was ever going to get. 

Because he knew he was going to die.

If the VIPs discovered his attempt to sabotage the Games, they would surely enact retribution, which would be swift and severe. He would be executed where he stood, an act as simple and insignificant as swatting a fly; he’d be nothing more than a minor irritation, and another would merely step up to take his place. 

Even if by some miracle he succeeded in bringing down the Games, his reward was a life behind bars. And though he knew deep down it would be exactly what he deserved, he couldn’t fathom rotting in prison for decades. 

He couldn’t bear only seeing Gi-hun on visitations, without being permitted to hold him. He couldn’t allow Haneul to grow up under the shadow of his sins, seeing her father only from behind bars.

So, In-ho had decided, one way or another, he wasn’t making it back out of the Games. And ironically, though he hadn't feared death in almost a decade, it was suddenly rearing its ugly head. 

Because now, he finally had a reason to live.

“Can I kiss you?” In-ho asked hopefully, bracing himself for the rejection. 

Gi-hun tilted his head in consideration, his skin instinctively prickling with discomfort at the thought, the betrayal still a raw, open wound. But there was a strange expression in In-ho’s eyes, something desperate and urgent, like a man dying of thirst being offered a drop of water. And whatever it was, it moved Gi-hun.

“Yes.” 

In-ho visibly relaxed, smiling gratefully. He took Gi-hun’s face between his hands, cradling it like a precious artefact, before pulling him forward into a surprisingly gentle kiss. It tasted salty and wet with tears, the slide of In-ho’s lips torturously slow against Gi-hun’s.

And despite himself, Gi-hun deepened the kiss, whimpering helplessly into the other man’s mouth. As much as he hated to admit it, the feel of In-ho’s lips moving against his after so long felt like finally returning home. Both of them dreaded the moment they’d finally have to separate. 

When they eventually did, In-ho cupped Gi-hun's cheek, running his thumb lovingly over the bone, and Gi-hun leaned hungrily into the touch.

"I love you,” In-ho whispered. Gi-hun reflexively opened his mouth to respond, but the words stuck like a bone in his throat. He stuttered out a jumbled apology, his eyes darting away from In-ho as his cheeks burned crimson. 

"It's okay. I don't expect you to say it back." In-ho smiled sadly. "I just needed you to hear it."

He stretched up to press one final, lingering kiss to Gi-hun’s cheek, and then he was gone. He turned in one swift movement and marched away, his departure swift and painful like tearing off a plaster, as if his nerve would fail him otherwise. The departure left Gi-hun dizzy and breathless in his wake, and he stumbled slightly, clinging to the handle of his suitcase for purchase. 

“Appa?” Haneul said, looking bemusedly at In-ho’s back as he departed. She began toddling after him in pursuit, teetering on her small bow-legs, but Gi-hun gently pulled her back, lifting her into his arms. 

“We’re going on a trip, honey.” He said, plastering on a smile, trying to keep his voice from quivering and betraying his emotion. “He’ll catch us up very soon.” 

The airport was a chaotic maze, thrumming with activity. He weaved his way anxiously through the crowds, desperately trying to find the right gate. He held his breath as their passports were scanned, but to his relief, they were ushered through without so much as a blink. 

It was only when he settled into his seat on the plane, buckling up his and Haneul’s seatbelts, and feeling the great engines roar to life beneath them, that he was struck by the enormity of the moment. 

He was truly leaving. He’d never once travelled outside the boundaries of Korea, he had never once left the country he was born in, and now he was departing it forever.

He found himself reminiscing helplessly, his entire life flashing rapidly before his eyes. He pictured his childhood spent running the streets with Sang-woo and the boys he’d considered brothers, the home he’d shared with Eun-ji and Ga-yeong during those brief but happy years. He pictured the subway station where he’d been recruited for Games, the catalyst that had set his life on this strange path. And he pictured the first and only man he had loved, the house that had become their home. 

He leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window as they took off, tears trickling down his cheeks as he watched the sprawl of the city grow smaller and smaller beneath him. He kept watching until the land disappeared from view altogether, replaced by the endless blue of the ocean rolling below. 

“That’s them,” Jun-ho said, looking up from the departure list on his phone. 

In-ho leaned his head out of the car window and squinted up into the sky. The plane hummed above him, seeming to gradually shrink as it ascended, eventually vanishing from sight behind a layer of cloud.

He retreated back into the car, quickly rolling up the window to prevent himself from fruitlessly continuing to search the sky for it. He let out a low groan, rubbing his face with his hands.

“You okay?” Jun-ho asked softly. 

“Yes,” In-ho responded abruptly, avoiding his gaze. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I’m not ten anymore,” Jun-ho said, a whine creeping into his tone that seemed to suggest otherwise. “You don’t have to pretend. I know you’re not really just housemates.” 

“Ah.” In-ho leant back, looking sheepishly at Jun-ho. 

His brother had a smug, boyish grin lighting up his face, a look he recalled from his childhood days, whenever he thought he’d caught In-ho out in a lie or doing something he shouldn’t have been, and was eager to get him into trouble with his stepmother. Despite himself, In-ho let out a low chuckle at the sight. 

“So what is it?” Jun-ho asked. “Is he your boyfriend? Your partner?” 

“He’s…” In-ho hesitated, searching for the right words. Boyfriend felt too juvenile, partner felt too businesslike. Their relationship was so complex - a mess of deceit and desire, in some ways entirely congruent and in others so very contradictory - that it seemed to defy any of the standard descriptions. 

“He’s?” Jun-ho prompted teasingly, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

“He’s everything.” In-ho finished softly, his voice cracking slightly. He turned his face away from his brother’s gaze, as his eyes stung with fresh tears. Jun-ho fell into an awed hush next to him, reaching over to pat him gently on the back. 

“You’re doing the right thing, hyung,” Jun-ho reassured him solemnly, the playfulness gone from his tone. “I’ll watch out for him, I promise.” 

“I know,” In-ho said with a weak smile. “Thank you. Really.” 

Jun-ho hummed in response. For a moment, they sat in silence, neither willing to acknowledge the magnitude of what they were about to do. It was only Jun-ho’s phone trilling with a reminder that jolted them out of their reverie. Jun-ho peered down at it, heaving a reluctant sigh.

“It’s two hours until you need to be at the drop-off point,” Jun-ho told him quietly. 

“Okay.” In-ho sighed, steeling himself before buckling his seatbelt. It clicked into place with ominous finality. “Let’s go.”

Jun-ho turned the key in the ignition. “Are you ready?”

In-ho nodded grimly. “As I’ll ever be.”