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Chapter Text

Gi-hun sat with his arms resting on the top of his knees. He volunteered himself to keep watch tonight while the others slept. It's not like he was tired anyway, he told them, and he had played these games before, so it wasn't like he didn't know what to look out for.

His head lolled to the side as he leaned it against the white brick wall. His eyelids were just starting to droop when—

"Young-il!" He almost jumped out of his skin when the other player had placed a hand on his shoulder. "What are you doing up? You should be resting for the next game."

"Couldn't sleep." Young-il sat cross-legged next to him, also leaning his head back against the wall. He didn't look too tired, his eyes still bright with energy and something else Gi-hun can't quite place.

"Right..."

"I can take over from here. You go get some rest."

It sounded tempting enough, Gi-hun could certainly use the sleep after days of tossing and turning on the rock solid mattress. It wouldn't do him any good to rot away here, barely staying awake all night only to lose the strength to lead the rest of his friends away from certain death.

But it wouldn't do to let Young-il to tire himself out. He's such a kind soul. Gi-hun let's himself steal a quick glance towards the man. His hair was mussed with sleep, making his 'couldn't sleep' sound a little more like a lie.

Young-il is probably trying to get him to rest out of the goodness of his heart. He doesn't mind losing a few hours of sleep, even in such a dire environment where a millisecond of reaction speed can be the difference between life and death for the sake of a friend.

Gi-hun cares for everyone on the team and as much as any loss would be a hardship, he can't even stomach the thought of losing Young-il.

"Gi-hun?" Only now had he noticed that Young-il crawled over to him to wave a hand in front of his face. "Hello? Earth to Gi-hun."

Ok, maybe he had an itty bitty little crush on Young-il.

"Ah— no," Gi-hun sighed, "It's alright." He let his legs slide down from being hunched up to his chest. "I'm the only one who has played these games before. I know how to beat them."

In the dim light, Gi-hun could make out the faint crinkle of Young-il's eyes. The player even brought a hand up to his mouth to suppress a faint laugh. Through the dim lighting, sleep deprivation and constant fear of this place, he knows he sounds ridiculous.

Still, he couldn't say that outright. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." Young-il spoke through his fingers, clearly amused.

"You're laughing."

"I'm not."

Gi-hun spent the next few seconds giving Young-il the sharpest glare he could muster, but it only seemed to send the other man into a fit of giggles.

His face reddening, Gi-hun shook the hunched over Young-il by the shoulders. "You're going to wake everyone up!"

The player seemed to accept this, as he hauled himself up to sit opposite Gi-hun. He took a couple deep breaths, coming back to the serious and passionate and courageous and kind and—

"You haven't slept well these past few days. I can see it by the dark circles under your eyes."

Gi-hun instinctively rubbed at his face. "You can't see them in the dark."

Young-il laughed again, but stopped the second he noticed Gi-hun attempting to burn holes into him with his eyes.

He seemed so much softer tonight. Gi-hun thought it made him look adorable, but he is sure that if he told Young-il that, he wouldn't hear the end of it.

“The fighting won't start tonight.”

Gi-hun sat straighter, leaning over to whisper as if he was sharing a heart-sworn secret. “How do you know?”

Young-il blinked, as if he didn't expect that question. “Oh, I used to be a psychiatrist in a past life.” He scooted a little closer. “They're not desperate enough yet.”

“I don't know… They seem pretty desperate to me.”

Gi-hun tilted his head to face Young-il, but already found the other man looking at him. He didn't have the good manners to look away.

"I'm worried about you." Young-il said very seriously.

Gi-hun’s lips curled down, but only slightly. "You have no business being worried about me. I'm the same age as you."

Young-il slid closer, putting his hand firmly on Gi-hun's knee. "If you're just like me, then you need sleep too."

The warmth from his hand radiated through Gi-hun. He had a point. His tongue froze in his mouth and his throat squeezed up with the contact. At least during the lights out, Young-il couldn't see the furious blush spreading through his face all the way to his neck and ear tips.

He was so gentle, so soft with him. It felt strange, compared to the Young-il he was used to seeing, trying to guide the other's through the games along side him. It was like this version of Young-il was for his eyes only.

As if sensing the heat coming off Gi-hun, Young-il moved closer, shifting to sit next him, so close that their thighs were pressed flush against each other. He brought his hand up to rest against Gi-hun's forehead, the tip of his pinky finger sliding into his brutally short cut hair.

"What are you doing?" Gi-hun mumbled against the cool palm.

"Checking for a fever.” He slid the hand into his hairline. “You feel hot."

"Mm." Is all Gi-hun was bothered to muster up in response.

He tried not to melt into the touch, but ultimately failed when Young-il pulled his hand back an inch to take it away and Gi-hun chased it. Young-il curled his hand into the past winner's hair with a smile plastered on his face.

The long hours spent staring at a brick wall instead of sleeping and soft stroking motion through his hair had his eyelids starting to droop.

It was easy to let his muscles go loose and for his mind to drift when Young-il’s comforting presence was near. The man always seemed to emanate a calm, stable energy from him that just pulled Gi-hun in. It was easy to see himself go.

"You can rest, Gi-hun. No one will attack tonight, I'll make sure of it." Young-il said, grabbing him by the wrist to pull him to his feet. He steadily guided the sleep deprived man back to one of the bunks.

He even had the courtesy of covering the man with a thin blanket and tucking him in around the sides.

Chapter Text

"Two,"

The sterile female voice echoed out through the speakers, a voice that was sure to haunt his every dream once he got out here.

Gi-hun spun on his heel, looking around to see everyone scurry off in pairs. As he was about to grab Jung-bae's forearm, he felt a broad hand grab him by his shirt collar. He let out a staggered gasp as he was yanked backwards.

He found himself pulled into a yellow room by none other than Young-il. Just as quickly as he'd grabbed him, the other player had let him go. He knew they had only a short 30 seconds in this game, but Gi-hun had to take a moment to lean against the room's door. He was dizzy from the way his cheeks blushed like crazy.

He tried to fan at his face as inconspicuously as possible when thoughts of Young-il's strong arms flitted through his head. The way he'd tugged at him brought many poorly timed, but certainly not unwanted images to mind.

Young-il was pressing him against the wall with those broad hands, leaning in until their foreheads were braced against each other and their breaths mingled. He cast a pointed glance towards Young-il's plush lips, a clear suggestion. Young-il, with his straight forward attitude, naturally leans in and—

This time Gi-hun was broken out of the spell with a shove instead of a tug— and most importantly one not from Young-il. Some guy was trying to push past him into the room that Young-il claimed for the both of them.

Gi-hun was going to have none of it. He shouldered the man, causing him to stagger backwards. Then, using the trick he saw Young-il employ to take down Thanos when he was messing around with some poor guy earlier, he kicked the man straight in the shin. The man didn't crumple immediately the way Thanos had, he needed a couple more kicks to get him curled up on the ground, but Gi-hun supposed it was simply because Young-il possessed more brute strength than he did.

Young-il, with his soft lips and square shoulders. His hand on Gi-hun’s—No. He didn't have the time to waste on fleeting little daydreams. He knew that dying during this stupid game meant certainly no kissing Young-il. Certainly not now and not ever.

With that he steeled himself. Not wasting another precious second, Gi-hun shoved against the yellow door, keeping it open for Young-il to slide in after. He felt like a real gentleman.

Young-il clicked the lock and gave him a quick look up and down. Gi-hun's heart fluttered for a few beats before he realized that he was probably just checking for injuries.

"Whew," Gi-hun sighed and leaned against the door. His eyes fluttered shut as he sighed, rubbing his palms down his face. "We barely made..." Just then, he noticed the player— probably the man-whose-shin-he-absolutely-demolished pair.

The man's eyes were wide in shock with a good dose of self-preserving fear. "W-we were... we were h-here first." He stuttered out.

In that moment, something in Young-il clicked. He strode over to the man and yanked him by the collar— the same way he grabbed Gi-hun— and wrapped his arm around the poor man's neck. Then, he began to strangle the breath from the man's lungs.

"Young-il!" Gi-hun rushed over, but could do nothing more than watch him and the man slide onto the floor as Young-il crushed his windpipe. Though, it did not stop him from yelling. "Young-il! What the hell has gotten into you!?"

The only indication that Young-il heard him was a quick flash of sea-dark pupils, blown wide probably by the adrenaline of the situation.

He couldn't stand it. He couldn't just sit back and watch as his friend bled the life out of an innocent man's eyes. Gi-hun grabbed Young-il by the wrist, two hands on one, in an attempt to loosen his grip on the dying man's windpipe.

"Stop!" He yelled, though it did nothing more than voice his anger. "I said stop, Young-il!"

Finally, thought Gi-hun when Young-il made eye contact and kept it.

"I can't." Young-il whispered, the man rapidly growing limp in his arms. "Either he dies or we all do. What would you prefer, Gi-hun?"

Young-il gave the man's throat one last, good strangle before dropping him onto the obnoxiously happy, yellow flooring, right beside a smear of someone else's blood.

Gi-hun only noticed that his breathing had grown erratic when Young-il's hands cupped his cheeks. The same hand he had just used to kill that man. With a sharp breath, he pushed at Young-il's chest, but he didn't budge. The proximity was almost suffocating, but not in the pleasant way it had been when he'd let his daydreams play out.

Now, he only felt the overwhelming urge to flee.

"You're safe. We're safe" Young-il tried to reassure in a slow, rhythmic voice, though it did nothing to slow Gi-hun's breathing.

The camera clicked once, the living inside their room were counted, and then it clicked again, turning off.

Young-il kept his eyes locked on Gi-hun's, purposefully keeping his attention on him. "He's already dead— and we're safe. There is nothing you can do about it now."

"You..." Gi-hun said under his breath. At some point Young-il's hand slipped into his hair, curling the short strands around his fingers. He was still shaken, but trust in Young-il did not slip. He knew it should have. What sense did it make, to see someone take an innocent life and not loose all feeling one might have had for that person?

The hand in his hair was the last straw to melt him.

Gi-hun gave up with a sigh. He slid down to the floor, just like the man—. Young-il was right, there was no point to worry about it now.

Young-il followed him to the floor, never taking his hands off him. He scooted in between Gi-hun's legs, settling himself there.

Oh my days, Gi-hun thought, He's gonna do it.

Young-il seemed to hesitate as he fisted the hair at the nape of Gi-hun's neck, most likely in part because Gi-hun's breath sped up again. He must have thought he was afraid.

God, just do it already.

Young-il's eyes flicked down to his lips, back to his eyes, then down to his lips again. His own mouth was parted, he was gaping like a dumb little fish. Gi-hun audibly groaned in frustration.

He grabbed the back of Young-il's head and smashed their mouths together.

The kiss was hot at first, their lips sliding against each other sloppily. Gi-hun nipped Young-il's bottom lip and he shuddered in his grasp. Quickly enough, the daze of their first kiss washed over them, leaving a sort of friendly determination.

Young-il slipped his tongue in between Gi-hun's lips and Gi-hun savoured the feeling of it swirling around his mouth even though they were both decidedly running out of time.

Soon enough, Gi-hun pulled away just as the door's lock clicked open. Young-il rose and helped him to his feet, while in return he smoothed down some of Young-il's hair he'd mussed up.

"Sorry," he whispered as he flattened the strands.

"Sorry?" Young-il huffed out a laugh. "How could be sorry after a kiss like that?"

Gi-hun blushed as Young-il took his hand. "Come," he said. "We'll get through the rest of these games together."

With that, Gi-hun let him drag him out of the room the same way he had pulled him in.

Chapter Text

Gi-hun screwed his eyes shut. He twisted from one side to the other— and when that didn't work he turned over his lumpy pillow to the cool side. The people upstairs, or the frontman or whoever took care of things around didn't switch off the lights completely during nighttime, leaving enough yellow tinted light for them to see well enough to stab each other with forks.

Just as Gi-hun thought he found the right position to drift off, he felt a dip in the flat excuse of a mattress he now spent his nights on.

He blinked his eyes open, greeted by his friend's wide-eyed stare. "Young-il, what are you doing here?"

Young-il shuffled closer. Under the dim light Gi-hun could make out very little of his face, only enough to know that it was him and that he wasn't in any danger.

Young-il put his hand on Gi-hun's ankle, splaying fingers wide to cover it. He moved so casually, they might have as well known each other for years. He stroked up Gi-hun's calf in a languid motion, all the way up his thigh, his hand finally coming to rest on Gi-hun's hip.

It was all in an effort to distract him, it seemed as Young-il slowly laid down next to him. It worked, Gi-hun's breathing was already out of wack and his hands shook with the urge to touch.

Gi-hun asked again, rephrasing the question a little in hopes of an actual answer this time. "What do you want?" He kept his fists clenched under the sheet. His thoughts ran wild, what he wouldn't do to smooth his thumb over Young-il's cheekbone.

"I thought I could sleep here." Young-il faked a yawn, stretching out over the mattress like a cat. That way, he took up more than half of the space, almost pushing Gi-hun to the floor. "I'm quite tired." He lowered his voice purposefully when he spoke. It was meant to draw some sort of reaction from him.

What was Gi-hun supposed to do with this?

"You didn't think to ask?"

"I didn't think you'd mind." Gi-hun could hear the smirk loud and clear in Young-il's voice. "Not after what we did in mingle."

Gi-hun sighed as he lifted up the sheet, an invitation for Young-il to lie down and pull the blanket over himself, one which he took with no hesitation. Young-il pulled the threadbare thing over the both of them as he huddled behind him. Gi-hun could feel his face heating up with every passing second. They were so close, their noses were almost touching.

With a decided huff, Gi-hun flipped around to face away from Young-il before he did something stupid like kiss him.

It didn't help when Young-il snuggled up even closer to him. He flung his leg over Gi-hun's hip and wrapped a solid arm around his waist. They were practically spooning.

"Since when did you get so handsy?"

Young-il shifted to rest his chin on Gi-hun's shoulder, his breath hot against the other player's neck as he replied: "Since I met you."

Gi-hun let out a dry chuckle. "You're such a sap."

Young-il held him tighter, pulling him flush again his chest. "But you like it, don't you?"

Gi-hun couldn't help but smile. Thankfully it was seen by no one in the dark.

"We've only known each other for a few days."

"Well..." Young-il hesitated. It was only half a second, but the silence felt like an eternity. It was out of place for Young-il to stumble, he was the one that always knew what to say. "Well yes. We have."

"Yeah... and we won't know each other soon."

Young-il held his breath, his whole body going awfully still.

"What do you mean, Gi-hun?" He asked like he had never stepped foot in this place. Gi-hun let himself get swept up in the fantasy. They would meet, someplace far far away from here. In Seoul perhaps, though it wasn't that far, it felt big enough to be safe in.

They would meet the way ordinary people meet: on the street, at the library, in a coffee shop. Any place where people weren't getting shot on the regular.

They'd get together, spend a couple of dates getting to know each other. A scenic stroll on the boardwalk, a classy restaurant dinner.

They'd marry after a couple of years. They'd have a dog or two— and maybe Gi-hun would try fighting for custody over his daughter again, this time with Young-il by his side.

Everything would be a little lighter with Young-il by his side and no weight of his dead friends weighing down on his shoulders. But there are dreams and there is reality— and Gi-hun was not about to lose track of which was which.

He felt a light shake on his shoulder, one that would hardly wake him if he had drifted off. "Gi-hun? Are you awake?" Young-il knew how to be so gentle.

"Yeah..." He stretched the word out into silence. Just to buy himself more time to put his thoughts in order. "Well, I mean we probably won't meet after this is over." Gi-hun found Young-il's hand and held it against his chest. "If we both survive."

Young-il was back, nuzzling against his neck. "Do you think you won't make it?"

"Winning twice is a fool's errand." Gi-hun said a little too confidently.

"I think the frontman has taken quite a liking to you." Young-il whispered, his breath hot against Gi-hun's ear.

"You think so?"

"No one has dared to come back after their first game." Young-il placed a well-timed kiss right under his ear. "I think, dear—you are quite brave."

"You're teasing."

Gi-hun almost yelped when he felt both of Young-il's hands at his sides. Before he could blink, he faced Young-il once again. The other man basically manhandled him into this position, but Gi-hun can't find it in himself to be angry, or even irritated.

His brows crease when Young-il takes his hand in his, palm face down. Young-il smiles at his confusion, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. "I assure you, I'm not teasing one bit. I'll take you out for soju when this is over to prove it."

Gi-hun pursed his lips and even tapped his chin, as if in thought. "And how will you find me?"

Young-il kissed his knuckles. "I have my ways."

Gi-hun laughed, mostly to hide his reddening cheeks.

"You can't deny it now, you're such a tease."

Young-il flipped the back of his hand, pressing it against his forehead like a faint woman. "Oh, Gi-hun! You wound me!"

Gi-hun laughed. He laughed in the way he couldn't for the past three years. He felt lighter than he had any right to feel in a place like this. It's not worth staying up if the lack of sleep will cost him strength in tomorrow's game.

This time, Gi-hun pulled Young-il closer, their limbs shifting under the threadbare sheets with a shuffling sound that would turn heads if anyone was still awake.

He wrapped his arms around the warm body beside him. He held on tight, his hands clasped together behind Young-il's back.

There was a lot to talk about but even less to say. He didn't say anything— he justified to himself— because his face was pressed right into the thin cotton of Young-il's shirt. His nose brushed up against a curve of muscle. He grew still and hoped what he couldn't say he could express touch. He thumbed quick circles into Young-il's back.

Don't leave me.

Chapter Text

A group of men strung behind each other into the bathrooms. The day leading up to now had been relatively quiet, with the players waiting for the next vote and doing nothing but starting petty arguments amongst the two teams. Gi-hun knew the relative peace couldn't last long in a place like this.

Even though it looked like a lull, Gi-hun could feel the boiling tension that everyone was trying to keep a lid on. A spark was all it would take for all everybody's fear and anxiety to spill over into something violent.

So when he and Young-il wandered into the bathrooms only to witness the beginnings of a brawl, Gi-hun was hardly surprised.

Young-il stiffened beside him, at the sight of one player beating in the bloody nose of another. A lesser man would think he was afraid, but Gi-hin knew that really he was tensing for a fight.

Gi-hun stepped into the middle of the room and began waving his arms in the arm for attention. "Everyone! What's the poin—"

He felt a harsh yank on his collar, just like the one in mingle. The movement was familiar enough for him to instantly recognize the person behind it.

So without thinking twice, Gi-hun began flailing and swatting uselessly at the hand which gripped him all the while yelling "Young-il, let go! Young-il!"

The frankly embarrassing attempt at freeing himself lasted only a few seconds before he was pressed up inside a stall, his back knocking against the wall's cold tile. He screwed his eyes shut at the impact.

Slowly, he blinked them open again to be met with the harsh looking face of Young-il. Right now, his inky eyes bore into him instead of glittering with fondness like they usually did.

Despite how much Gi-hun enjoyed Young-il's company, the man was standing a little too close for comfort. He was practically boxed in by him, barely an inch of breathing room between them in the tight stall. His broad hands pinned the poor and now also sore Gi-hun to the tiles.

"What the hell was that?" Young-il made it very obvious that he was holding back from yelling right in Gi-hun's face.

Gi-hun kept his intentionaly expression empty. "I was trying to warn them," He explained, keeping his voice from wavering with some difficulty. "This is exactly what the frontman wants them to do."

"You mean you are trying to get yourself killed?" Young-il's nails dug into his shoulder blades. His legs were aching from the awkward position he was placed in, half leaning against the toilet's lid.

Gi-hun pushed the other man off, and surprisingly, Young-il let go. "Why do you speak to me like I'm a child?" He reached for the stall's lock, about to click it open when a gentle grip on his wrist stopped him.

Young-il looked determined, almost naively so, when Gi-hun turned back to face him. "If that's what it takes to keep you safe, then that's what I will do." He said as if it meant anything when innocent people were slaughtering each other outside, their brawl steadily turning into a riot.

Gi-hun shook him off. "What would you know about surviving in a place like this?"

Really, Young-il was above his head here. He was talking down to him like he was all high and mighty, like he knew what the frontman wanted from his players and for his spectators. Gi-hun played these games before Goddamn it. He knew what he was doing.

So he didn't bother to turn around when Young-il grasped at his sleeve. "Gi-hun, wait—"

"Everyone!" He yelled, once again walking out into the middle of the room. Most turned to him, stopping whatever punch or kick they had to throw to listen to him. They still recognized him as the one who had some knowledge of the games, and despite the recent division, they still found it worthwhile to listen to what he had to say.

"This is exactly what the spectators want from us," He continued. "Where do you think all that money comes from? They pay to see you kill each other in cold blood! Anything to feed their sick fascination." He pointed to a steadily blinking camera placed conspicuously in the ceiling corner. "Don't believe me? They're watching you fight each other right now."

By this point in his little speech, Gi-hun felt Young-il looming behind him, even though the man was quite a bit shorter than him.

The still crowd turned their heads like hawks and looked at each other. One man yelled out: "Hey, isn't that the guy who lied about knowing what the next games were gonna be?"

"Oh yeah, you're right!" Another man shouted.

Then, a purple-haired man filtered in to the front of the crowd. He had a clear blue 'O' slapped across his chest, and from that moment on Gi-hun knew this wouldn't end well.

"I know guys like this!" He pointed straight at Gi-hun, getting close enough for his finger to almost land between his eyes. "All he wants is to take our cash and scurry off into some hole like a rat."

The last thing Gi-hun heard was a couple men agreeing before he felt knuckles make contact with his cheek and his head crack against the floor.

Chapter Text

In-ho froze, every muscle in his body tensed as he stared at Gi-hun, crumpled and bleeding on the cold bathroom floor.

The purple-haired man stood back, still reeling from the punch. He seemed to get some sick satisfaction from causing another man's bones to crunch. A satisfaction that ordinarily In-ho could relate to, but there was one difference between In-ho and some simple man like that: In-ho finished off his victims.

He side-stepped the poor Gi-hun, his fists balled. His head almost spun with the need to wring the life out of the man in front of him. He measured his breaths as he approached the purple haired boy, who stood tall, joking with his lackey.

He didn't bother to ask 'Why did you do that?' or any other question that would be sensible at a time like this. There was no hope of resolving this with words. He clenched his jaw shut and swung.

His fist met the man's jaw and he staggered back, cradling it in his palm to stop some of the pain. All it really did was smear blood, as it dripped from his split lip down his chin.

In-ho closed in on him, undeterred, when player 100— an old but certainly not frail man stepped in between them. "Boys! Boys!" He pushed them apart, puffing out his chest with the signature 'O' of the opposing side stamped on it. "Don't you think this is enough now? We have games to be ready for tomorrow."

In-ho didn't even grace him with a glance, he just pushed the man to the side while a conveniently placed foot tripped him.

He swung at the purple-haired man again.

And just like that, the players started clamouring atop each other. Some were giving out half-hearted punches, some were kicking and tripping the player's of the opposite team over. In-ho even saw one of his surprise forks being used to rip someone's throat open, but all he could think about was where Gi-hun had left his.

He used this window of opportunity to sweep the feet from under that young wannabe rapper, enjoying the thud of his skull hitting the tiled floor, only to realize it sounded too similar to Gi-hun's.

By then, the pink-suited guards finally caught on and entered the bathroom with their guns raised. In-ho sighed, wiping his bloody fist down the side of his pants. He was almost disgusted with himself, but ignored it. He would get to change out of these clothes soon enough.

The triangle guards went about packaging up bodies— or rather men who were unconscious or simply to weak to get up, while the circle ones broke up anyone who didn't yet have their fill of bloodshed.

In-ho watched as a guard scooped the unconscious Gi-hun up by the armpits. He shuffled over as quickly as the floor slippery with blood would allow, brushing past the guard to whisper: "Bring him to my quarters."

The guard gave the only form of communication that they were allowed in a place like this and gave In-ho a curt nod. They dropped Gi-hun into the bedazzled coffin way too harshly, In-ho could hear the dull thud of the man's skull hitting wood. The adrenaline still leftover from the fight crawled under his skin. He was ready to lash out, to punch that crappy plastic mask right off that guard's smug face.

He took a breath, clenched and unclenched his fists a couple of times.

He would slip out. It wouldn't be hard now that there is no one to notice him, but that was never the hard part. What waited for him— now as the guards filled the coffins and rolled them away— was at least half an hour of pacing back and forth, waiting to see Gi-hun safe again.

*

Gi-hun laid flat on the thin mattress of a guard's spare room. A bit of blood still trickled from the thin split on his temple, where the man had punched him, and stained his white uniform shirt.

The only reason he was still unclean and not stitched up was because In-ho couldn't stand to let him be out of sight for a minute longer than necessary, even if it was only to see one of the few on-site medics they had.

"I'll do it myself," He had said as he wheeled the marked coffin away. As soon as he'd turned the corner, and the guard's were out of sight, he couldn't wait any longer. He lifted the cover and sighed at the sight of Gi-hun's lax face. At least the poor thing hadn't woken inside the box.

Now, he sat beside the scrawny bed frame on a wooden stool. A kit filled to the brim with medical supplies stood on the nightstand, right beside his mask. He had to wear it most hours of the day while he was the 'frontman'. It was suffocating, the mask and the alternate identity. Over the past few days, he'd found out he much preferred being Young-il.

He swiped an alcohol wipe over the length of Gi-hun's cheek. In-ho thought he looked pretty like this, calm with his characteristic determination drained out of him. Gi-hun wasn't thinking about his friends, the dead ones and the ones that were about to be. His mind was quiet in a way In-ho had never seen while he was awake.

He took his time, never taking his eyes off the man. He swiped right under the wound with long strokes and when the wipe became saturated, he dropped it into a bin.

Most of the blood was gone by now and In-ho sighed out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Gi-hun looked more like a sleeping man and less like a corpse with some of the blood gone. In-ho had been worried, thoughts of Gi-hun being burned in that furnace he kept for losers only had plagued him, and it was easier to let go of them when some colour returned to his face.

He bent down, his hand running through black strands sadly cut short and spun a finger around one. Then, he left a kiss just at his hairline.

He pulled back, drinking in the view of Gi-hun under him. He imagined them like this in a different situation with different circumstances; where their biggest worry would be what place to get takeout from.

With those thoughts swirling around and making a mess of his mind, he cleaned the split with a fresh wipe, the sting of it causing Gi-hun to stir.

Gi-hun's eyelashes began to flutter and the instinct to press down harder on his wound, to make Gi-hun squirm, was suppressed with the realization that In-ho didn't have his mask on.

He very nearly dropped the wipe as he rushed to click the mask into place. He'd made it right before Gi-hun opened his eyes.

Gi-hun blinked once or twice, staring straight at his masked face.

He tried to push himself up into a sitting position, using his palms to balance himself. In-ho saw this and quickly swiped the hands from under him, and Gi-hun fell against the pillow. He didn't try to get up again.

"You're the frontman?" Gi-hun reached out to him. In any other circumstances it would look like he wanted to stroke his cheek and whisper a couple of sweet nothings into his ear, but In-ho knew all he wanted was to see who was behind the mask.

In-ho slipped his hand into Gi-hun's, and the man, still only half-awake, let him guide it back down to lay over his chest. In-ho didn't pull back immediately, or even after a few seconds. He kept his hand over Gi-hun's chest, feeling his heartbeat thrumming under his palm.

He breathed in and out, keeping time with Gi-hun's soft inhales. All the while wide eyes watched him.

He didn't look afraid, nor like the frontman's hand on his chest bothered him in the slightest. In-ho could feel himself starting to hope. Maybe Gi-hun wouldn't mind that he was the frontman? Maybe, if he told him now, he could pull him out of the games and they could live out the rest of their days in peace.

But that wasn't a possibility. Not really. Gi-hun was just too out of it to even think that he was in danger, otherwise he would be lashing out and trying to kill the frontman with his bare hands. Or maybe he realized that he was in no position to fight.

"What are you doing here?" Gi-hun asked again. In-ho couldn't bring himself to lie, but he couldn't bring himself to answer either.

"You need medical attention." In-ho spoke slowly through the voice changer.

"Since when do you give medical attention to players?" Ah his Gi-hun, bright as ever.

"You're a previous winner." In-ho opened a sterile needle. Gi-hun stared at its silver tip, shifting conspicuously towards the wall. "Don't worry, I won't hurt you," In-ho assured. "This is just a suture needle."

In-ho moved closer and this time Gi-hun stayed put. He held the back of Gi-hun's head with an ungloved hand. His scalp was warm— almost feverish, but In-ho had to focus on the task at hand. He pushed the needle through thin skin, earning a grimace from Gi-hun, but thankfully nothing else. He would offer him pills for the pain, if not for that the offer would most certainly be refused.

"I couldn't let a previous winner go back to the games injured." He rubbed circles into the nape of Gi-hun's neck. Some of the tension dissipated from his muscles as he relaxed into the touch. "You're too special for that."

"If I'm that special, you won't let me die that easily." Gi-hun smiled, his eyes closed and head leaning into In-ho's palm. "Am I right?"

In-ho cursed himself mentally. His tongue always grew looser around he Gi-hun, that was the reason he found himself telling the man about his wife and unborn child.

In-ho tied off the last stitch a little harsher than necessary. Gi-hun hissed in response.

"I suggest you don't try anything.”

Chapter Text

Gi-hun woke up on the stuffy excuse of a mattress. It was still dark when he woke, and there was no alarm blaring classical music in his ears. His limbs ached and he was still not awake enough to figure out why. He was about to rub the sleep out of his eyes when he realized that one of his arms was pinned to the bed.

He looked down to see why and found Young-il sprawled half on top of him, his warm body providing almost a cocoon of safety.

He was soft like this, softer than he usually was. Young-il was a kind, sweet man, he would do anything for his teammates and those he trusted. And right now, he trusted Gi-hun enough to sleep in his arms. The fact stirred something warm in Gi-hun's chest.

Gi-hun tried to shuffle his way out from under him, without disturbing the sleeping Young-il. First, he slowly pulled his arm out from where it was pinned down. It took a while and a few stops to check on Young-il's breathing, but he got it out. It felt cold as it lost all it's warmth from Young-il's body.

Then, he pushed his fingers under Young-il's cheek and lifted him off his chest in an attempt to lay him on the pillow. It didn't work, of course, Young-il stirred just a second later.

"Gi-hun, you're awake!" Young-il exclaimed in a hushed shout, shooting up. He looked almost afraid, like Gi-hun would disappear on him overnight. "We were all worried about you."

Gi-hun furrowed his eyebrows. He kept a close eye on Young-il as the other man shifted to sit up. "Worried? Why?"

Only when Young-il brushed his hand over Gi-hun's temple did he realize he had a piece of gauze taped there.

He lifted his hand to prod at the dressing when Young-il caught his wrist lightly. "Don't touch it, it's still fresh." He said sternly.

Gi-hun brought his hand down to rest on Young-il's knee. He sighed, leaning back into the hard pillow.

"I know what I'm about to say sounds crazy," He leaned up, if only to sound serious, "But I saw the frontman."

Young-il's eyes went wide like he instantly believed him, shifting even closer as if they were two girls gossiping. Gi-hun sighed, Young-il trusted him. "Really? What did he look like?"

"Oh, um... I didn't see his face."

Young-il dropped his eyes for a moment and nodded in silent understanding. "What did he sound like then?"

Gi-hun was disappointed he couldn't provide any valuable information. He dropped his eyes. "He had a voice changer."

Young-il got a little closer, and now they sat with their thighs pressed flush against one another. He even wrapped an arm around Gi-hun's shoulders. He leaned as he whispered: "Are you sure you didn't just dream of him?"

Gi-hun pushed him away. "What? No— I definitely saw him!" He gestured to his own face, "He was wearing a black mask a-and the wa—"

Young-il interrupted him with a soft finger pressed against his lips. "You did hit your head quite hard."

Now, Gi-hun's blood was boiling. "He did my stitches," Gi-hun pointed to the guaze on his forehead. "He was so calm and caring. He even said he wouldn't let me die!"

Young-il looked him up and down, putting a hand on his shoulder that was meant to be reassuring but felt nothing but patronizing to Gi-hun. "Now are you sure the frontman would promise something like that?"

Young-il crawled closer to Gi-hun, who then shuffled away. When his back met the white-brick wall, he turned his head to the side with his arms crossed, refusing to look Young-il in the eye.

"This is petty," Young-il said, petting his arm.

"How could this be petty?" Gi-hun spoke to the metal pole. "You won't believe me, how can we trust each other like this?"

"Well," Young-il sat cross-legged. "I'll believe you if that's what it takes for you to trust me."

Gi-hun whipped his head around, only to fall right into Young-il's trap. His broad hands caught the sides of his face and pulled him into a kiss.

It was quick, but it did exactly what it was meant to do. It dissolved the remaining tension in the air and made it something soft and easy to trust instead.

Chapter Text

"I'm scared."

"It's a scary place," Young-il said, rubbing slow, but deep circles into Gi-hun arm. His head bobbed along each time Gi-hun took a breath, and he wondered how Young-il didn't find the position awkward, his head laid on Gi-hun's chest. But Gi-hun found that Young-il was much like a cat; once he settled down, he didn't want to leave.

"We won't get out of here."

Young-il pressed harder. "We will."

This must be boring him, Gi-hun thought. These constant doom and gloom conversations. There was no point to them and they never took them anywhere. Still, Young-il never left or interrupted him. All he did was curl into Gi-hun's side and lay his head on his chest while he listened to whatever Gi-hun had to say.

"What would you do with the money if you won?" Gi-hun asked, his hand drifting to the stringy bangs hanging over Young-il's forehead.

Young-il hummed, the sound vibrating through Gi-hun's chest. He spoke deliberately, each word slow and measured as if he practiced the answer to this question in front of the mirror every morning. "I'd find you." He said with a light smile. "I'd take you out for soju sometime."

It was simple, yet wholely effective. Gi-hun almost laughed. "But there must be something you want to do with all that money?" He couldn't just be in here for shits and giggles.

"I mean," Young-il sat up straighter, pushing himself up to lean against the wall, but not daring to move too far away. They still sat shoulder to shoulder. "I'm not too different from you. The person I wanted the cash for is dead— and no amount of blood money will bring her back."

The atmosphere of soft comfort and camaraderie that had been building since lights out was ripped away in an instant, like a bedsheet stripped of you in the morning. That was their only time alone in this hell-hole and Gi-hun had just ruined it for the both of them.

"I'm sorry," is all Gi-hun said, because nothing else felt right to say.

"I lost my wife and you lost your mother. That's why that stack of cash is rotting away in a motel room."

Gi-hun doesn't remember telling him about anything about his winnings besides insisting that he hasn't spent a won more then necessary, but it must have slipped out during one of these late nights. No matter, he hugged Young-il closer.

Young-il melted into the touch, his smaller frame fitting perfectly in Gi-hun's arms.

Gi-hun stroked his back in languid circles. It seemed to help, as his breath slowed. They layed like that for a few minutes and Gi-hun could think that Young-il had fallen asleep. He knew he should rouse him, they both needed to be awake to protect the group, even though it had dwindled since the last game.

But he couldn't bring himself to. His mind kept screaming at him to get over himself and wake Young-il up, but he got caught up in the smallest details.

Poking him seemed too crude for the pristine man before him. His uniform never had a single crease on it, despite him sleeping in it each night. Nor did his hair ever look messy, nor did he ever wake up with dark circles under his eyes after a night mind-numbing patrolling— though Gi-hun supposed the nights they spent sharing beds helped with that somewhat.

Gi-hun knew this would happen. He felt his head lolling to the side, his eyelids drooping. The warmth of Young-il pressed against his chest was inevitably pulling him under.

Gi-hun closed his eyes and sighed, his head tilting back against the brick wall. A few minutes wouldn't hurt. A few minutes and he'd rouse Young-il, shake him awake if need be.

"Are you still scared, even like this?" Young-il's voice broke through the dead silence. Gi-hun almost jumped out of his skin.

Before he could get his tongue to move and his lips to form words, Young-il's broad hands pushed him down into a laying position. Young-il stared down at him, his pupils blown out and twinkling in the low light. Gi-hun swallowed his words.

Young-il traced the line of his jaw, his movements slow and elegant and entirely Young-il. It was exactly like him to not even hitch in such a position, always calm, always intentional.

Then, Young-il pulled the skin of Gi-hun's cheek with his thumb. Each touch was soft and meant to disarm. Gi-hun's eyelids fluttered closed, but only for a moment since not a second later he felt the hot rush Young-il's breath right on his face.

His eyes snapped open to find Young-il posed right over him, for once his hair a mess and ready to pounce.

"We can't do this here," Gi-hun pushed lightly at Young-il's chest and the other man flopped to the side obediently.

Young-il stilled, laying on his back with his arms splayed out and breathing heavily. Like the act of getting off Gi-hun spent him as much as running a marathon would. "You're right we can't." A smirk permeated his voice. "We'd make too much noise."

Once again, no one laughed at his joke. Gi-hun gave him a little slap on the shoulder and said "You're such a tease."

Young-il immediately flipped over, crawling back to Gi-hun with long, drawn out movements. He really did resemble a cat. "We can." He assured, slipping back into being drapped over Gi-hun. "After this ends."

"We won't both get out."

"How are you so certain we will fail, Gi-hun?" Young-il lifted his head from his chest to stare him right into the eyes as he spoke.

"It's very unlikely we won't." Was the only counter Gi-hun could come up with.

"I believe in us."

Chapter Text

The bar's soft light casted a warm glow over In-ho's face. Gi-hun noticed new creases that have formed over the past year, lines that have not been there previously.

The stress of the games had aged both of them, though Gi-hun wasn't sure exactly what In-ho was worried about. The guard's would have never let him die as a mere participant. It was Gi-hun's life that they had both been playing for.

He swirled the clear glass of soju. They could afford a nicer place, now after the games. It was strange— how it ended. In-ho's real name took a while to get used to. During their first few weeks out and about together, Gi-hun had inevitably mixed it up. In-ho didn't mind, or at least hid it well.

A familiar, ringed hand snaked over his one. It had only been a few weeks ago, yet it felt like just yesterday Gi-hun was stuck between gold and silver bands. Then, In-ho stepped in putting a hand on Gi-hun's shoulder. He whispered in his ear, insisting on the cooler colour. It brought out his eyes, he'd said.

Gi-hun hadn't even realized he'd been tapping the thin wood of the bartop until In-ho smoothed down his knuckles with his thumb. "Are you alright, Gi-hun?"

The look on In-ho's face was so innocent. His eyes were soft as they looked into Gi-hun's and his lips tugged into a not so rare nowadays smile.

"How did we end up here of all places?"

Gi-hun turned to the window. The sun was only beginning to set. They had the whole night ahead of them.

"Well, Paris is as good a city as any." In-ho withdrew his hand, facing the magnificent view with Gi-hun.

"Not a little blunt for your tastes?" Gi-hun asked with a little tilt of his head.

"It's called the city of romance for a reason."

They spent the next few moments watching the sun dip beneath the skyline, its orange glow going with it. Ever so subtly, Gi-hun's hand came to rest over In-ho's. He squeezed.

"We can go somewhere else if this doesn't suit, my love."

Gi-hun smiled. He would never get tired of this. "Surprise me."

*

Gi-hun's stomach churned as he picked at his box of fish and chips absentmindedly. The sun was shining a bright— almost angelic light, but the statue they sat under cast a shadow over them.

In-ho was smushed close to him, picking at his food similarly. They'd only gotten here half an hour ago, but In-ho had insisted on trying the local delicacies as soon as possible. Something about settling and blending in, Gi-hun could make very little out over the hum of the ocean.

"You don't want your food?" In-ho asked, moving even closer to lean over Gi-hun's untouched meal.

"I'm still a bit queasy from the boat." He pushed the greasy box over to In-ho, who took it reluctantly.

In-ho stood up and emptied both containers into a trash can. "We should find somewhere to spend the night."

"I thought you'd already planned that part out."

In-ho out-stretched his hand. Gi-hun took it, happy to let the other man pull him to his feet. "Dublin was a last minute decision."

"Will we stay here for long?" Gi-hun asked as In-ho pulled him along through winding streets and alleyways. "I hear they dye the river green for Saint Patrick's day."

In-ho sighed. "That's a good few months away. We should keep moving from place to place for a while longer." He smiled, squeezing Gi-hun's hand in his, almost as if the man was about to be swept up in some wind never to be seen again.

"I have no doubt there are certain people still looking for us back home." He added.

"So we'll never come back then?" It's not like Gi-hun had anyone to visit, with his daughter living in America and his mother in the ground. For the past three years, he's been leaving a couple of flowers at her grave on her birthday, just because it felt like the right thing to do.

In-ho bumped his shoulder. "There's nothing like a fresh start." He laughed. He seemed to have no problem with shedding his past as if it was nothing more than a flaky snake's skin.

Gi-hun gave him a thin smile and a chuckle in return. The truth was, he would follow In-ho blindly wherever he decided to drag him to next. He'd be stupid to give this up for anything as trivial as the country he used to know.

With a gentle grip, In-ho led them into a dingy looking motel, probably to keep a low profile or some other nonsense In-ho was sure to spit out if Gi-hun pressed him. A bell rang above their heads as they entered. His only other thought was on which coast they would grow old together.

"A fresh start sounds just like what we need."