Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nam-gyu was pissed. Of course he was—Myung-gi had called him Jun-hee. In the middle of sex. Who the hell does that?

Myung-gi knew damn well Nam-gyu had issues with names, thanks to that bastard ex of his. How could he?

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Myung-gi tried to explain.

Nam-gyu didn’t answer. Or maybe he did—by lighting a cigarette, knowing full well Myung-gi hated when he smoked indoors.

“Get that crap out of your mouth, it’s gonna stink up the whole apartment!” He tried to snatch the cigarette from Nam-gyu’s hand.

“Why should I?” Nam-gyu grabbed his wrist and pushed him away.

“Because we’re grown-ass men. You could stop acting like a child. I didn’t mean it.”

“I’m not the one acting childish. You didn’t even apologize. What’s your deal? You think I’m your prostitute?” He stood up from the couch, too angry to stay still. “If you want to come in someone without the slightest consequence, buy a sex doll.”

Myung-gi lowered his head in exhaustion. Arguing with Nam-gyu was awful. Dealing with his insecurities was even worse.

And come on—Nam-gyu always let Myung-gi do whatever he wanted with him. Why would a slip of the tongue change that?

Yes, he messed up. But it wasn’t intentional. He thought of Jun-hee by accident, that’s all.

“Fine,” he sighed, frustrated. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about what I said. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t want to be the villain, okay?”

If it wasn’t on purpose, why was this happening?

Nam-gyu heard him, and the anger shifted into melancholy.

“Right. You just want me to stop smoking in here, don’t you?” He didn’t look at Myung-gi as he stubbed out the cigarette.

Myung-gi tried to argue, but it was hard—because it was true.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Nam-gyu laughed, realizing he was right.

“I’m leaving,” Nam-gyu said, slipping on his shoes and giving Myung-gi a brief warning as he reached for the doorknob.

“Where are you going?” Myung-gi asked, trying to sound innocent.

Nam-gyu didn’t answer. He just left without giving any explanation.

Myung-gi was alone.

“He’s going to cheat on me, isn’t he?” he asked Nam-gyu’s ashtray. “Son of a bitch.” He collapsed onto the couch.

Ecstasy on the kitchen counter—Nam-gyu really could’ve hidden his drugs better.

Myung-gi got up, restless, and flushed the pills down the toilet.

“Fucking junkie.”

He only made sure Nam-gyu would feel the consequences if he cheated.

But the moment he flushed them, he regretted it. Things were bad already—now they’d get so much worse.

Why does he always do this?

Every time they fought, he’d destroy some of Nam-gyu’s stash, driven by a massive sense of revenge.

Myung-gi unintentionally remembered something Nam-gyu once said to him while high.

“Fucking whore,” Nam-gyu had kept cursing Thanos, his ex. “‘Hey, Nam-su,’” he mimicked. “‘It’s Nam-gyu.’ ‘Nam-su?’ ‘No, it’s Nam-gyu.’ ‘Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu, Nam-gyu, Nam-gyu.’” He raised his hand like he was explaining it to a ghost. “I said it so many times…” His voice grew louder, but something cracked. “Right in his ear, until it bled. And he… that fucking bastard.” You could see the shimmer of tears in his eyes.

Yeah, calling him Jun-hee was a huge screw-up. But it was an accident. He thought of her by mistake. A damn accident.

And honestly, this relationship only started out of spite. They didn’t even like each other, really.

What does “spite” mean? Simple. After breaking up with Thanos, Nam-gyu went after the one person Thanos despised most on Earth—Myung-gi. Who, in turn, agreed to it because nothing was more satisfying than watching Thanos throw a tantrum.

But everything went completely wrong. A kiss wasn’t enough for Nam-gyu. He wanted sex—desperately, hungrily, to the point that…

....

After a kiss that, according to Myung-gi, was completely technical, which he gave to Nam-gyu, he thought he would never see him again.

But he was wrong.

Nam-gyu appeared in front of his apartment building. How did he get his address?

When he went to the market, Nam-gyu was there.

At the gym, Nam-gyu was there too.

And in all these "coincidences":

"Want to have sex? You'll like it."

Nam-gyu kept offering himself, why was he being harassed after saying no every time?

He wasn't in the damn closet. No, simply not. Didn't want to be.

When he went to a friend's birthday party in a hall and saw Nam-gyu there, his blood boiled.

Was sure that Nam-gyu wasn't a friend of that guy.

Myung-gi grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the bathroom, which was empty.

He pinned Nam-gyu against the wall; he had a satisfied look on his face. As if he had gained something from it.

"Stop following me, damn it!" Myung-gi shouted.

"What? Is it your birthday by any chance?" Nam-gyu just smiled maliciously, he didn't seem to want to understand the message. "You'll like it, seriously." Nam-gyu ran his hand over Myung-gi's chest.

Nam-gyu didn't seem like he was going to give up anytime soon.

And damn it, Myung-gi just... What should he do?

"I said no! You sick bastard!" He grabbed him by the collar, he needed to understand the message. "I swear, if you show up in front of me again—"

"Are you going to kiss me?" He stuck out his tongue mockingly.

Myung-gi gritted his teeth. "You must be kidding me." He laughed in disbelief.

"Stop messing around, Amazinggi—"

"Don't give me nicknames, you bastard!"

Who does he think he is? “Myung-gi, I felt your hand exploring me that night, it wasn't just acting, it was desire, one of the most primitive.” He shamelessly looked at Myung-gi's lips.

Myung-gi let out a dry laugh, but didn't deny it. Did Nam-gyu know? Shit.

“What do you want?”

“To fuck me,” he said as if it were simple. As if Myung-gi could actually…

After that part, he doesn't remember the rest of the conversation, just flashes and glimpses, but nothing complete.

He remembers pushing a smiling Nam-gyu into the bathroom stall, slamming the door shut behind him.

He remembers burying his face in Nam-gyu's neck, so he wouldn't see his face, so he wouldn't see that he was fucking a man.

The smell of cigarettes that Nam-gyu exuded. His moans were too loud, enough for Myung-gi to put his hand over his mouth. There was blood…was there blood?

Yes, he was sure there was. He was scared of himself.

Nam-gyu bled, damn it.

Myung-gi got off Nam-gyu, didn't look at his face, didn't want to see. He said something as if his head was underwater:

“You're fucking disgusting,” he said in the coldest tone he could manage. “I didn't like it. I don't like men, stop pursuing me.”

No response. Myung-gi glanced at what he had done, God. Why was Nam-gyu hugging his knees to his chest, with his eyes blank?

He was the one who offered himself.

Got dressed as quickly as he could, trying to hide the trembling, that environment was claustrophobic.

He fumbled with the door, unlocking it with more difficulty than necessary.

“I don't want to see you anymore,” he said, leaving that cramped space. “I’m d-disgusted, disgusted!”

Myung-gi couldn't remember how he ended up walking in the middle of an avenue; he wanted some car to do him the favor of killing him, something like that.

And of course, the next day Nam-gyu followed him again. He came back to remind him of what happened, and said:

“You didn’t finish, you didn’t come.”

Myung-gi couldn't feel more disgusted. This guy? Why?

This is so damn weird, Myung-gi hurt him physically and he still came back?

It was Nam-gyu who offered himself; Myung-gi didn't know how to have sex with men. That was all.

Nam-gyu bled but came back, maybe he was a masochist. And he wanted to use Myung-gi to satisfy his fetish.

“Because I didn’t like it, I don’t like men,” Myung-gi insisted.

“I know, are you afraid I’ll tell?” Nam-gyu didn’t seem to understand the problem. “It can be a secret, I don’t care.”

What the hell is this sick guy talking about?

“Why?” That’s all Myung-gi managed to express. “Why did you come back?”

“I already answered, Amazinggi didn’t need to run away like a little girl, it makes you look like a virgin,” he provoked, flashing a huge smile. “I know your bitch left you, what do you have to lose? She’s not coming back, you know.”

Nothing. He had nothing without Jun-hee.

Why not accept the offer?

It shouldn't be that bad.

He doesn't want to.

But Nam-gyu looks like a woman, right? He has a more delicate appearance than other men, he has long hair, he can pretend… He can endure it.

....

"Okay, fuck it." Myung-gi blinked harshly, trying to snap out of that miserable train of thought.

It wasn’t Myung-gi’s fault—Nam-gyu had insisted. He’d only been cruel to push him away, but somehow that had pulled them even closer.

And now they were stuck in this shitty situation: sharing rent, having sex. Yeah, that’s what it was.

They were dating. And it was Myung-gi’s first experience with a man.

It hadn’t really been his choice to date Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu had chased him down until he gave in and agreed to sleep with him. It was… disgusting.

Nam-gyu was disgusting. Myung-gi hated him. All Nam-gyu deserved was contempt—and Myung-gi gave it to him. That’s how things had been working for the past six months.

Myung-gi had been coerced into this mess. Why was Nam-gyu demanding more than the trash he already deserved?

Nam-gyu was just a little prostitute. Fine, names were the only thing he wanted to preserve, and not even that did Myung-gi respect.

Wasn’t that bad enough?

Myung-gi felt revolted being with a man. But that didn’t make him gay. It didn’t!

He thought that since Nam-gyu was a man, things would be easier. Sexually, yes—he was incredibly easy to handle. Myung-gi could do whatever he wanted with him, except call him Jun-hee apparently. But emotionally? It felt worse than dealing with women.

"What the hell." He rubbed his face, feeling like he’d committed a crime. "Okay, okay, I’ll fix this," he muttered, frantically washing his hands in the sink.

Leaving the bathroom, he grabbed his phone and sent a message to Nam-gyu:

》What do you want for dinner?

Nam-gyu didn’t reply. He read the message and immediately blocked him.

Myung-gi sighed in defeat. That was so immature.

"I…"

He could only think about how things used to be easier. Jun-hee could be stubborn, but with Nam-gyu, it was impossible.

Myung-gi was a normal guy. Nam-gyu wasn’t. That complicated everything.

So he decided to cook Yakgwa. Maybe Nam-gyu would come back to eat with him—or maybe not.

It didn’t matter. It never did.

Nam-gyu always came back, even when he was angry. He must be obsessed with Myung-gi or something equally pathetic.

He gathered the ingredients, hoping it might stop Nam-gyu from killing him for calling him Jun-hee and impulsively flushing his precious drugs down the toilet.

Nam-gyu, Nam-gyu… Why was he still with him? They didn’t like each other. There was no reason to be devoted, to waste time on pointless arguments, to waste time apologizing.

To calm himself, he thought of Jun-hee’s sweet smile—how much better she was, kinder, gentler. Not terrifying like that crazy stalker.

Jun-hee liked the Yakgwa he made. She said he was a good cook. Nam-gyu didn’t seem to enjoy eating at all.

Come to think of it, how many times a day did Nam-gyu eat? Not that Myung-gi cared about the health of an addict, but it would be a problem if he got sick. Myung-gi didn’t want to take care of him.

How had things fallen so far? It was more offensive to him that he’d called Nam-gyu Jun-hee. Simply unacceptable.

He spent five and a half hours in the kitchen until it was done. It felt great when it was over—like a mission accomplished, a sense of control.

Recipes were easier to handle than other people’s feelings.

Almost at that moment, Nam-gyu stumbled through the door.

Myung-gi couldn’t help but feel disgusted by his partner. It was a degrading sight.

But fine. Nam-gyu was upset and dealt with it pathetically. Fine—Myung-gi could handle that.

"Come on, I made Yakgwa for us." He supported Nam-gyu’s arm over his shoulder.

"Amazinggi made food for me, how sweet." He gave a weak smile, fragile like a piece of wet paper.

"Yeah, I guess." Myung-gi placed him on the couch. "What did you take?"

"Heroin." His head drooped, threatening to pass out. "And a cocktail of other stuff."

Myung-gi held his head up, keeping it steady. His eyes were bloodshot. "What other stuff?"

"Crack, cocaine, you know? That kind of thing."

"Injected, ingested, or snorted?" Myung-gi was preparing for a possible overdose. He needed details.

"Injected." Nam-gyu closed his eyes, enjoying the cold touch of Myung-gi’s hand.

"Don’t sleep." Myung-gi’s voice came out firm. "If you don’t want to be hospitalized again, don’t sleep."

"Are we gonna eat?" Nam-gyu’s voice was sluggish.

"No. It’ll give you tachycardia. It has sugar."

"The amazing Myung-gi is such a buzzkill." Nam-gyu pouted.

"Nam-gyu, I know you’re mad at me for mistaking you for Jun-hee, but seriously?" His voice was bitter, too resentful. "Trying to kill yourself or whatever you were thinking—because of that?"

Myung-gi didn’t know how to apologize. It just wasn’t in his character. Maybe that’s why Jun-hee gave up on him.

"My name’s not Jun-hee. Not Nam-su." Nam-gyu wasn’t really talking to him.

"I know. It’s Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu." He repeated it to show he understood. "I didn’t mean to. But stop doing this crap. You’re making things hard for me."

Myung-gi looked up at the ceiling, then back at Nam-gyu.

"I’ll get water. Don’t fall asleep." He warned, heading to the kitchen.

He grabbed the water as fast as he could, even letting a few drops splash onto his impeccably clean floor.

"Here, drink." Myung-gi took Nam-gyu’s hand and pressed it against the glass.

No—Nam-gyu couldn’t hold it.

"Okay." He sighed, exhausted. "Open your mouth."

Myung-gi cursed himself internally for being in this situation. Nam-gyu choked on the water. What a mess.

"I get it—you definitely tried to kill yourself," Myung-gi said with biting sarcasm, furious to be in that situation. "Where the fuck is the Narcan?"

"Closet… bottom drawer," Nam-gyu replied, taking far too long.

Myung-gi had to keep Nam-gyu awake, but if he left to get the medication, things could go south fast.

The closet was only a few steps away, but it felt miles off now.

With the glass of water still in hand, Myung-gi didn’t hesitate to throw it in Nam-gyu’s face.

Nam-gyu turned to curse at him, but Myung-gi was already sprinting toward the closet.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, yanking the drawer open.

Seriously? Nam-gyu had tried to overdose just for attention? Myung-gi had already said it was an accident—he hadn’t meant to call him Jun-hee. It would be an insult to compare the two anyway. Jun-hee was so much better than this loser.

"Found it," he muttered, clutching the vial. "Great. Now where’s the syringe?"

Opened the second drawer, assuming Nam-gyu would’ve kept it with the rest of his stash.

He was right. He grabbed the first sealed one he saw and rushed back to the living room.

Nam-gyu was still conscious, mumbling something like, “Those who want to die will live, and those who want to live will die,” while watching the water drip from his hair onto the floor.

He subtly pulled back Nam-gyu's sleeve, exposing his arm, then, without much ceremony, injected him. Nam-gyu flinched in surprise.

"Hold still. If this shit breaks inside you, I’m screwed," Myung-gi grumbled, gripping Nam-gyu’s tense arm and injecting the medication. The moment he pulled the needle out, he felt immediate relief.

Of course, if Nam-gyu died, at least he’d done his part. That was always how he justified helping.

"Shit," Myung-gi muttered again, opening Nam-gyu’s jacket. He was drenched in cold sweat.

Nam-gyu tried to close it, but Myung-gi slapped his hand away.

"Not now."

Within two minutes, the Narcan began to take effect. It worked fast when injected directly.

Myung-gi watched the color return to Nam-gyu’s face, which had been ghostly pale—and that brought a different kind of nausea: the kind that came from having him back.

Nam-gyu jerked violently. Myung-gi grabbed his wrists, already anticipating the storm. An aggressive Nam-gyu could turn his life into hell.

He often reacted like someone in sudden withdrawal. He’d even punched Myung-gi once—so fast he didn’t have time to get angry before his nose was bleeding.

…

“Nam-gyu, you need to calm down. You just came out of an overdose. You can’t use crack now,” Myung-gi said, grabbing his arm to stop him.

Nam-gyu screamed in pain, turned, and punched him in the nose.

Myung-gi staggered back from the force. His nose started bleeding.

Nam-gyu froze, his breathing faltering.

Myung-gi was about to curse, maybe even hit back. But his anger faded when he saw Nam-gyu sobbing, shoulders shaking, tears streaming down his face—fragile.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please…”  

When he got no response, he dropped to his knees, hands clasped together—the one that hit still stained with Myung-gi’s blood.  

“Sorry…”

That day, Myung-gi learned he had to hold Nam-gyu after administering Narcan. Otherwise, he’d get hit.

“It’s fine. Get up,” Myung-gi said, looking at him with indifference, like Nam-gyu was some pathetic creature.

Myung-gi just didn't want to look scared, he couldn't be weaker than Nam-gyu.Warding off instability seemed like a good plan at the time.

Nam-gyu kneeling down and begging gave him a good feeling, as if his small and big ego was being fed a feast.

But even with this feeling of power, he still wanted to, he wanted to hug him, even though he wanted to, he didn't. Because of an idiotic pride that won't let him.

He licked the blood that dripped from his nostrils, it was proof that Nam-gyu was the weak one in the relationship, not him, please not him!

"Come on, get up already," Myung-gi said in disgust, but Nam-gyu was so broken that he didn't heed his command.

…

Back in the present, Nam-gyu’s eyes flew open like he’d just woken from a nightmare.

He looked around, panicked. The tremors were back. That awful feeling again.

Noticing Myung-gi’s grip on him, he shouted, "Let go of me! Let go!"

"Shut up," Myung-gi hissed, tightening his hold.

It was so easy to restrain him now—Nam-gyu was so thin.

That hurt more than it should’ve, and Myung-gi cursed himself for the bitter taste in his mouth.

"Nam-gyu…" He didn’t know what to say, but he knew he was supposed to say something. "I don’t want to fuck a skeleton. You need to gain weight."

Nam-gyu let out a small, high-pitched cry of pain. Everything hurt. He didn’t need to hear that right now. He didn’t want to hear it.

"I will," he said through chattering teeth. He sniffled, trying to hold back the tears. His eyes darted around, desperate for an escape.

The grip was firm, warm—it felt dangerous.

"Please, let me go. Let me go," he gasped, struggling with what little strength he had.

Myung-gi didn’t react. Junkies say all kinds of shit. He wasn’t about to risk getting hit again.

Feeling like he’d failed again, he squeezed his eyes shut. Seeing himself in that pathetic situation hurt too much.

"Nam-gyu," he sighed, lowering his head. That uncomfortable feeling of seeing Nam-gyu so desperate—it needed to stop. "I’m sorry about today," he said, biting his lip. It felt like vomiting. It just came out. A strategy to make Nam-gyu stop resisting.

Nam-gyu blinked a few times, checking if he was hallucinating. He wasn’t. So now what?

"Okay…" he nodded, still trying to process what he’d just heard. "Thank you."

His lips trembled. He bit the inside of his cheek to stay in control. Another cry escaped—this one more confused.

Myung-gi nodded. This was something he didn’t understand. Theoretically, yes. But seeing it? No.

"I’m sorry for…" Nam-gyu tried to apologize, but the words got stuck in his throat.

"It’s fine. Doesn’t matter," Myung-gi said, trying to make the overdose seem like no big deal—because if it was, he wouldn’t know how to handle it. "Think you can drink water now?"

Nam-gyu shook his head. He was burning up inside.

"Okay. Is there anything you want?" He’d read on WikiHow that step three after an overdose was to ask if the person needed anything.

"Let me be alone," Nam-gyu said, trembling, still feeling the ghost of Myung-gi’s hands on him, that cursed breathlessness.

"Alright." Myung-gi let go slowly, wary of another outburst. Then he left the room.

Now alone, Nam-gyu stared at the ceiling, waiting—for something. He was always waiting for something.

"Fucking idiot," he cursed Myung-gi for not understanding what he really wanted. Damn it, he thought of Thanos—his shitty ex—who also never got the subtext.

Another scream. He yanked his own hair hard, lowering his head to towards the ground "Idiot," he whispered as the tears began to fall.

Chapter Text

Myung-gi had been in the bedroom for half an hour. During that time, he’d heard sobs and screams coming from the living room, and even got a notification from the building management—his neighbor was complaining about the noise.

He sighed. Nam-gyu was always a handful, wasn’t he?

Returned to the living room. He needed Nam-gyu to quiet down, or they’d get a formal warning—and of course, he’d be the one held responsible. It was always Nam-gyu who caused the problems, and Myung-gi who dealt with the consequences.

“Nam-gyu, stop screaming,” Myung-gi said, grabbing his shoulders and crouching down to face him. “Seriously, it’s past midnight. People have to work.”

The only response he got was a violent spasm—and tears streaming down Nam-gyu’s face.

Myung-gi resorted to the last and worst option: becoming a shelter for this damned addict.

“It’s okay,” he said, hugging him, disgusted with himself. “Shh… shh…” He stroked his back, trying to make the motion gentle, but stress made it mechanical. “It’s over. It’s over.”

Nam-gyu felt worse. Trembled under Myung-gi’s grip, and the screaming only intensified.

He knew what Myung-gi was doing—knew it was just to shut him up.

But he couldn’t stop. Was it some kind of spasm? It was ugly. Myung-gi would run if he didn’t stop.

“Bite my jacket,” Myung-gi suggested, assessing the situation. He knew the screams weren’t intentional, but they were just as irritating.

Nam-gyu bit into the fabric so hard that Myung-gi could feel his teeth pressing through to his shoulder.

The screams were muffled, silenced—more tolerable for the neighbors.

Nam-gyu didn’t understand why he couldn’t control the sounds. He really felt like an idiot.

His arms wrapped around Myung-gi in desperation, pleading silently: Please, stay here.

Myung-gi hated himself more as he tightened the hug. “Let’s go to bed, okay?”

Nam-gyu didn’t answer. Even if he wanted to, he knew if he let go, Myung-gi wouldn’t hug him again. He just needed a little more time.

“Nam-gyu, I’m not leaving,” Myung-gi said after feeling how desperately Nam-gyu clung to him, how his body trembled. There was more than drugs in that. He knew it. “Let’s go to bed?”

This time, Nam-gyu gave a faint nod. So Myung-gi let go quickly. He didn’t want to seem vulnerable. He couldn’t.

He slung Nam-gyu’s arm over his shoulder again, but without warning, changed direction and led him to the bathroom, sitting him on the toilet.

“You need to brush your teeth,” Myung-gi explained. Anyone he kissed had to meet at least the basic standards of hygiene. That wasn’t asking too much.

He saw the glass with the toothbrushes in it, emptied everything out of it, filled it with water, and asked Nam-gyu to hold it. Then he put toothpaste on the toothbrush.

“Can you brush your teeth?”

Nam-gyu tried, but the brush slipped from his hand. Toothpaste smeared his chin and dropped onto the clean floor.

“Got it,” Myung-gi said, wetting the brush again and restarting the process. “I’ll do it.”

He tilted Nam-gyu’s chin toward him.

“Open your mouth.”

Nam-gyu hated this. It was humiliating. Shameful.

He shook his head, but Myung-gi didn’t care about his discomfort.

“Stop being dramatic. Just open up.” He pressed Nam-gyu’s cheeks to force his mouth open.

Reluctantly, Nam-gyu obeyed.

Myung-gi crouched and began brushing slowly, afraid Nam-gyu might choke—or worse, throw up on his not-so-clean floor.

“I think we can still eat the Yakgwa for breakfast,” he said, trying to distract them both. “Might not taste great, but it’s edible.”

And once again, Nam-gyu started crying.

“What now? Upset because I’m cleaning you?” Why even try to make sense of an addict? “Look, brushing your teeth isn’t a big deal.” He figured Nam-gyu was just embarrassed.

“It’s just…” Nam-gyu’s voice came out thick with toothpaste.

“Talk later. Just the back teeth left,” Myung-gi cut him off. He didn’t want to hear it, even though he’d asked.

When he finished brushing, he told Nam-gyu to rinse—at least that.

“Gargle, then spit.”

Nam-gyu did. He just forgot to spit.

“Nam-gyu, spit it out.” Myung-gi took his hand holding the cup and brought it closer to his mouth. “Just spit.”

But Nam-gyu didn’t. What the hell was wrong with him?

Myung-gi watched him, trying to figure out why he couldn’t manage such a simple task.

Nam-gyu stared at the floor, his eyes scanning it like a stunned insect.

“Okay,” Myung-gi sighed. “I’ll close my eyes. Then you spit.”

He brought the cup closer and shut his eyes. His temples throbbed from the stress of being there.

He heard the sound of spitting—almost like gagging, maybe even vomiting.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” he said, wiping the toothpaste off the floor with toilet paper.

He grabbed another piece and wiped Nam-gyu’s chin and mouth.

“Now, let’s go to bed.” His hand moved on its own, tucking a loose strand of Nam-gyu’s hair behind his ear.

Myung-gi pulled his hand back, more panicked than he wanted to show. Another slip.

It’s normal. He knew that. But he’d done it the same way he used to with Jun-hee—with someone he loved. It wasn’t right to do that with Nam-gyu, someone who was just… inconvenient.

Nam-gyu sometimes seemed like a woman, so maybe that’s why he got confused—like he had before.

When they had sex. When he said Jun-hee instead of Nam-gyu. All of it happened because he was confused.

It was that stupid mistake that drove Nam-gyu to attempt an overdose. What nonsense. Nam-gyu had issues with names and identity, sure—but it wasn’t like what they had was even real.

Why was this happening? They had nothing in common. Jun-hee was so much better than him. Comparing the two might even be a sin.

There was no way to confuse them. Absolutely not.

There were several possible explanations for these stupid mistakes.

Myung-gi had a few options for self-analysis:

According to Freud, the father of psychoanalysis, the unconscious stores desires, traumas, and memories—and when these repressed contents try to surface, they slip out.

Maybe it was just Myung-gi’s lingering desire for Jun-hee.

But modern psychology questions Freud. For instance, this kind of mix-up might be due to mental patterns—the brain gets used to repeating certain names in specific contexts.

In that version, it’s just a habit. He used to sleep with Jun-hee, so he slipped up. That’s all.

But Myung-gi had recently read an article by a scientist named Samantha Deffler. Calling someone by an ex's name doesn't necessarily mean repressed desire. It means that we have mental compartments—people grouped in the same category may have their names swapped.

That was the worst possibility. Nam-gyu and Jun-hee in the same affection folder? No, no, no. That couldn’t be.

He preferred to believe the first two theories. The third was too painful.

Especially because things got so weird when Myung-gi made that slip. Nam-gyu blushed, looking shy. The problem was—Nam-gyu wasn’t shy at all! It was a disaster. A complete disaster. Because Myung-gi’s face had burned too.

“Come on,” Myung-gi said, standing up and yanking Nam-gyu by the arm, rough and careless.

When they finally got to the bedroom, he laid Nam-gyu down, took off his shoes—which were still on—and lay beside him.

“Nam-gyu, take off that jacket. You’re going to sweat even more,” he warned, refusing to undress him. Not after everything. Not after that.

“Mm-hmm,” Nam-gyu obeyed, tossing his clothes to the floor and lying on his stomach.

Myung-gi’s eye twitched. Nam-gyu wasn’t usually that messy, but Myung-gi was obsessively tidy. Seeing clothes on the floor irritated him.

Another reason his body reacted the way it did was Nam-gyu’s insistence on lying face down. Seriously?

“Nam-gyu, you could choke. Lie on your side.”

“But I feel better like this,” he murmured, exhausted.

“Even so—”

“Fine.” Nam-gyu rolled onto his side. Did it have to be Myung-gi’s side?

Damn it. Why was he feeling embarrassed now?

It was nothing. Just the eyes of a junkie staring at him in the dark.

Myung-gi didn’t look away because he needed to stay alert—to make sure Nam-gyu didn’t choke on his own saliva.

“Have you ever heard of the Imjin War?”

“Yes. Go to sleep.” Myung-gi already knew that every time Nam-gyu was high, he had to sit through a history lecture—specifically about wars. Must’ve been some secret interest that only surfaced when he wasn’t sober.

“This guy was the toughest of his time. He designed the Geobukseon—a turtle ship with an iron roof and spikes to prevent enemy boarding.” He ignored Myung-gi’s plea and launched into his monologue.

Myung-gi rubbed his face, trying to soften the scowl he was making.

“It had cannons on all sides and a dragon head that could release smoke to confuse opponents. Isn’t that amazing, Amazinggi?” He smiled at Myung-gi, hopeful.

“No.” Myung-gi kept his expression neutral.

“And his naval ambushes were phenomenal,” Nam-gyu went on, undeterred. “He knew everything about the local geography. Like Sun Tzu said: if you know the enemy, yourself, and the terrain, victory is assured.” He veered off into another Sun. “Anyway, he used his… knowledge to lure the Japanese. He’d hide his ships behind islands and strike by surprise.” His voice was dragging, slightly tearful.

“Nam-gyu, please shut up. I have to work tomorrow,” Myung-gi pleaded.

“Yi Sun-sin never lost a naval battle, even when outnumbered. Like in the Battle of… Myeongnyang in 1597, I think… Is that the right year?”

“I don’t know,” he replied coldly, covering his face—maybe that would make Nam-gyu stop talking.

“He won with thirteen ships against three hundred Japanese. Just imagine the difference.” Nam-gyu went quiet for a moment.

Myung-gi hoped he was finally tired.

“Everything hurts,” Nam-gyu whispered. “Let me lie on my stomach. Please.”

“Do whatever you want.” Myung-gi turned his back to him, just wanting to sleep.

Not even five minutes passed before Nam-gyu started crying again. Myung-gi could pretend to be asleep. He could. But the noise was too annoying. That was the only reason.

“What now?” He turned back over.

“It’s just… it hurts.” This time, Nam-gyu turned his back to Myung-gi. A low whimper escaped his lips as he moved, burying his face in the pillow, ashamed of being so vulnerable.

“You’re going to choke…” Myung-gi said, still indifferent.

“I’m not looking for life, but it always finds me,” Nam-gyu murmured, voice thick with emotion.

“I’m trying to sleep, but Nam-gyu never lets me,” Myung-gi joked—because taking it seriously… he just couldn’t.

“S-sorry, I’m acting like a girl,” Nam-gyu laughed, though there was no humor in it.

“Just a little,” Myung-gi felt oddly relieved to be mistaken for a woman sometimes. “But whatever. No one cares.”

Nam-gyu’s trembling hands clutched the sheets. The pain was so intense it felt like death would be less frustrating.

“You don’t care?”

“No, I don’t,” he said ambiguously. “Turn this way. When the Narcan wears off, I’ll need to check on you. I’m not crawling across the bed.”

Nam-gyu obeyed again. Now Myung-gi could see his eyes, swollen from so much crying. But what was he supposed to do with that?

With Jun-hee, he used to wipe away her tears with his thumb. But this wasn’t Jun-hee. This was Nam-gyu. And Nam-gyu… wasn’t someone you treated gently.

Nam-gyu wasn’t a woman, anyway.

A sad smile settled on Nam-gyu’s lips. He closed his eyes so Myung-gi’s neutral stare wouldn’t hurt so much. But it did. It hurt like a punch to the ribs. No matter how much time passed, he couldn’t get used to it.

He had to stop being weak. He covered his face with his hands, pressing trembling fingers against his skin.

He was sobbing pathetically, unable to stop, his whole body wracked by another wave of pain.

“Why not me?” he murmured, teeth chattering, hands shaking, scratching at his own skin.

“Nam-gyu, stop,” Myung-gi said, grabbing his wrists to stop him from hurting himself.

He pulled the trembling hands down, revealing a tear-streaked, terrified face. Nam-gyu looked him in the eyes and asked again, voice trembling:

“Why never me?”

Myung-gi knew exactly what Nam-gyu meant.

He knew what he was asking for—and how desperate he was for affection.

Even so, he did nothing. He just waited for the breakdown, for exhaustion to finally take over Nam-gyu. He didn’t want to deal with it.

After being met with that avalanche of silence and crying awkwardly for what felt like forever, Nam-gyu finally fell asleep.

Myung-gi watched him, his stomach twisting. The anguish he’d been holding back finally had room to surface.

“Nam-gyu probably won’t even make it to thirty,” he muttered to himself, trying to rationalize what he was feeling.

What the hell—why did he want to hug him?

He reached out to Nam-gyu’s face and kissed his cheek, damp with sweat and tears.

He whispered in his ear:

“I’m sorry. I can’t be what you need.” In a gesture of quiet agony, he brushed the sticky hair from Nam-gyu’s forehead.

And now it was Myung-gi who was crying. How ironic.

Funny, isn’t it? Not even for a junkie was Myung-gi enough—let alone for Jun-hee.

Myung-gi had never been enough. And even knowing that, it still hurt.

But maybe things would be better in the morning. Maybe they could eat Yakgwa together.

_________

Of course, nothing got better when morning came. It was naïve of Myung-gi to think it would.

As soon as Nam-gyu woke up, a wave of migraine crashed over him.

He hadn’t even opened his eyes yet, but the sunlight had already pierced through his eyelids, triggering a wave of dizziness.

“Wake up, I need to leave soon,” Myung-gi nudged his shoulder. “Let’s have breakfast.”

Nam-gyu slowly opened his eyes while Myung-gi was already getting dressed for work.

Adjusting that damn tie for the tenth time—because nothing felt right. Nothing looked like it was in place.

“Nam-gyu, get up… This damn tie,” Myung-gi muttered, finally giving up.

Still half-asleep, Nam-gyu tried to stand, but the moment both feet touched the floor, he vomited on the rug. The same rug Myung-gi cleaned obsessively.

Nam-gyu brought a trembling hand to his mouth, but it was already too late.

Myung-gi sighed, watching the scene unfold in the closet mirror. He squinted—he couldn’t bear to look. His rug, now filthy.

“Shit,” he muttered, checking the time on his phone. “I’ll let the office know I’m running late.”

His eye twitched. Myung-gi didn’t know how to stay calm. The smell of vomit wasn’t helping.

He tried to look at Nam-gyu several times, but kept turning away. As if every fiber of his body warned him: if you look too long, you’ll feel something. And he didn’t want to feel anything.

This ridiculous idea of putting Nam-gyu in the same emotional category as Jun-hee was absurd. What they had wasn’t even a real relationship.

I mean… so what if he stayed up all night checking if Nam-gyu was okay? That didn’t mean anything!

When Nam-gyu finished vomiting, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I’ll clean it up later,” he said, breathless.

“You don’t know how to clean properly,” Myung-gi replied, rubbing his eyes—exactly three times. Odd numbers. Comfort numbers. Is that a thing? Myung-gi wasn’t sure. “Take a shower while I clean.”

And that’s what happened. Nam-gyu staggered to the bathroom.

And Myung-gi took the rug to the laundry room, armed with gloves and baking soda.

It’s easier to deal with the rug. Easier to cook. Everything was easier than dealing with Nam-gyu. Even the office paperwork he hated was better.

He spent hours on that rug. He knew it wouldn’t dry completely for at least twelve hours, but there he was, vacuuming every last trace.

Myung-gi was going to be very late for work.

But that wasn’t the main thought running through his head.

Nam-gyu’s words echoed again and again.

Why never me?

It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault. Nam-gyu was high. Just random words thrown into the air. No reason for it to hurt.

Why did Myung-gi always have to be the villain?

It wasn’t his fault Nam-gyu felt rejected. I mean, yes, he rejected him—but just leave already! It’s easy, isn’t it? Why won’t Nam-gyu just go?

And crying after hearing that didn’t mean anything. He was just caught off guard. That’s all.

Screw that damn rug.

Myung-gi walked to the kitchen, his steps sharp and fast.

He saw Nam-gyu on the balcony, smoking his tasteless cigarette, staring blankly at the streets, at the monotony of the city and its artificial glow.

He walked out to the balcony:

“Did you eat?” Myung-gi sounded more irritated than concerned.

Nam-gyu turned and gave a crooked smile. “I was waiting for you, Amazinggi.”

Myung-gi clenched his teeth, grabbing Nam-gyu’s thin wrist. Too thin.

“You disgust me.”

It was true. Nam-gyu was a failure who made his stomach churn and his throat tighten. Just a junkie whore.

People get lost in addiction because reality is too hard to bear.

Why was Nam-gyu provoking him? Had an overdose over a wrong name—was this bitch really that desperate for attention?

Myung-gi hated him so much. He was weak and pathetic. No, Myung-gi wasn’t going to pity this creepy stalker.

He wanted this. He chased after Myung-gi. If he was suffering, it was entirely by choice. Myung-gi wasn’t obligated to deal with all this shit. With all this guilt.

And Nam-gyu’s reaction to being called disgusting? He just looked away, wiping his nose with his free hand, eyes downcast like some pitiful stray.

That made Myung-gi scoff and drag him to the kitchen.

He placed the Yakgwa on the table.

Nam-gyu grabbed it too quickly—he looked starved. Honestly, Myung-gi had no idea when he’d last eaten.

“Dude, this is really good,” Nam-gyu said with his mouth full.

But it didn’t seem that delicious. Nam-gyu wasn’t swallowing. He chewed too many times before forcing it down. His eyes blinked excessively afterward.

“Nam-gyu…” Myung-gi tried to start a conversation. But nothing came. Nothing ever came.

“What?” Nam-gyu asked, sipping juice like it had tiny thorns in it.

“Why did you try to kill yourself yesterday?” Myung-gi bit into his pastry like he hadn’t just asked that.

Okay, even Myung-gi hadn’t expected that.

He never… asked about Nam-gyu’s reasons. Because Nam-gyu was a massive inconvenience.

“I didn’t try,” Nam-gyu scowled, as if the question was offensive.

Nam-gyu had a short fuse. Myung-gi would have to tread carefully through his emotional minefield.

“What I mean is: why did you put yourself in that overdose situation?” To Myung-gi, that counted as a suicide attempt. “Was it because I called you Jun-hee? It was an accident, seriously. A stupid accident and…” Myung-gi had to force the words out unnaturally. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Two apologies from Myung-gi? Nam-gyu should frame that.

“It’s just… I remembered that guy, in that moment. That’s all.” He bit into another Yakgwa.

“I figured. But damn it, what if you hadn’t made it back to the apartment? You could’ve passed out in the street and died of hypothermia.” Myung-gi was serious. “And you’d die like a nobody. Is that what you want? To die a failure?” He picked up his juice, swirling it carefully so it wouldn’t spill.

“But nothing happened,” Nam-gyu muttered.

“But it could have, damn it!” Myung-gi slammed the table without meaning to. Nam-gyu made him want to hit something. Why did he act so stupid?

Nam-gyu flinched at the sound, as if it were a threat.

“Sorry…” Neither of them knew how to apologize. “I’m sorry for making you take care of me. And for ruining the rug.”

Myung-gi nodded, head down, crushing the pastry between his fingers to distract himself from the weight of the conversation.

The Yakgwa turned into a shapeless mass in his hand. He couldn’t look at Nam-gyu, but he couldn’t stop hearing his uneven breathing either.

Nam-gyu ran a hand through his hair, still slightly damp from the shower he’d taken two hours earlier.

“I know you don’t like me,” he said, trying to sound indifferent, but the pained smile on his face gave him away. “So… thanks for yesterday.”

Why was Nam-gyu making him sound like the bad guy? Of course he didn’t like him—but knowing Nam-gyu could tell left a bitter taste in Myung-gi’s mouth.

He crushed the Yakgwa further, pressing it with a trembling grip.

“I don’t like you either, Amazinggi,” Nam-gyu confessed, resting his head on one hand. “Like, you’re not even good in bed. Sometimes I can’t even come because you’re so damn incompetent.”

“Well, I guess we’re even.” Myung-gi’s voice was cold, distant—as always.

Okay, that stung his ego a little. But since when did he care about how Nam-gyu felt during sex?

It didn’t matter how Nam-gyu felt. If he could finish, that was enough. It wasn’t Myung-gi’s fault if Nam-gyu let it happen.

“Why are we even together?” Nam-gyu’s eyelids trembled slightly.

Myung-gi thought for a moment before answering:

“Because we’re both degrading people no one else would want around. It makes sense we’re together.” Myung-gi concluded, thinking Jun-hee had deserved better than him.

“Makes sense,” Nam-gyu said, turning to him with a bitter laugh. “You’re such a rational guy, Myung-gi.”

Myung-gi didn’t respond. Didn’t even look at him.

“You know, you could at least apologize properly,” Nam-gyu said with a bored tone, picking at the Yakgwa with his fingers but not eating any of it.

“What do you want?” Myung-gi couldn’t help but sigh. It was exhausting. Disappointing.

Nam-gyu didn’t answer. He popped the small pieces into his mouth, scratching his head like he was under pressure—and maybe he really was.

Myung-gi tapped the table three times. Watching that stressed him out. That’s not the same as caring, right?

Dealing with Nam-gyu was suffocating. He was acting like Myung-gi had killed his whole family—if he even had one. Whatever. Myung-gi didn’t know and didn’t want to.

“Do you want to be on the bottom tonight?” Nam-gyu asked—not shy, just utterly drained.

Myung-gi wished he believed in something—any god he could pray to, to cast out this demon that had been leeching off his life for six months.

Would Nam-gyu keep pushing until he gave in?

“No.” He tested him.

“Okay.” Nam-gyu sniffled, a slight twitch giving away the sting.

It was like the “no” physically hurt him—or something. Nam-gyu was so childish. He needed to learn to accept rejection.

Even if he said “okay,” it was just for now. Myung-gi knew he’d try again later, once he had the energy to be annoying.

Myung-gi started counting the number of chews Nam-gyu took. He was used to his own involuntary counting cycles—and each day, Nam-gyu took longer to swallow.

He glanced at the slight tremor in Nam-gyu’s hands as he squeezed another Yakgwa.

He shouldn’t have made sweets. Nam-gyu already had too much sugar in his blood from all the drugs he took or injected.

Myung-gi should’ve thought better. He should’ve thought better about everything.

Instead of accepting Nam-gyu’s proposal, he should’ve called the damn cops to get rid of this stalker.

Instead of asking Jun-hee to get an abortion, he should’ve asked her to stay.

Everything that circles around him… no. He wasn’t going to think about that.

“I have to go to work,” he said abruptly, standing up. “I’m really late. I’ll be back later.”

Why was he even saying that? Yesterday, Nam-gyu didn’t even bother to warn him before trying to kill himself.

Myung-gi needed to escape.

Nam-gyu swallowed the sweet, his eyes fixed on the door.

Myung-gi didn’t understand this sudden obsession. He just grabbed his bag and walked out.

Chapter Text

Myung-gi felt his eyes closing on their own, the computer lights now lulling him into relentless drowsiness.

He hadn’t slept—he’d been taking care of his idiot boyfriend who had overdosed on some crap.

“You okay?”

Oh no.

Not today.

His coworker, Dae-ho.

That son of a bitch. A walking ray of sunshine. Always meddling in other people’s lives.

“I’m fine.” He didn’t bother to look at him.

“Want me to grab you a coffee?” His solicitous tone made Myung-gi want to throw up. “You seem a little… down.”

Dae-ho must have some dumb inferiority complex that makes him try to compensate for his pathetic existence by helping others. That had to be it.

Wait—why was he channeling his anger at Dae-ho? He should be dumping it all on Nam-gyu. Maybe? He wasn’t sure.

“Yes, please.” He tapped the mouse three times in a row. For no reason at all.

Dae-ho left promptly, like a well-trained dog.

Myung-gi pressed his hand to his forehead—it was burning. Was he running a fever?

Damn it, Nam-gyu, that bastard, making him sick.

They should break up.

Yeah, but the one time Myung-gi tried, it was a complete disaster.

The memories came, uninvited, spat into his mind.

…

“That’s it, you’re unbearable!” Myung-gi was yelling. “We’re done! I can’t take this anymore!”

He couldn’t even remember what the fight was about, but he’d hit his limit.

“You know what? I never thought I’d say this, but I get Thanos. I get why he tried to kill himself—with a shitty boyfriend like you!” he shouted, jabbing his index finger into Nam-gyu’s chest.

Maybe it was a shirt out of place. Maybe Nam-gyu had smoked inside. Myung-gi couldn’t remember what had justified such cruel words.

Nam-gyu’s eyes widened in a way Myung-gi could only describe as ugly.

It wasn’t what he expected—Nam-gyu usually snapped back at his insults. But this time, he didn’t. He just absorbed them like they were true.

His breathing turned shallow, struggling to find the air his lungs were begging for.

His hands gripped his own hair, pulling downward with a sharp cry of pain.

Myung-gi stepped back, lips pressed tight as if he could swallow his words.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” his voice cracked.

He asked himself: why was he apologizing?

Nam-gyu always insulted him with things like “That’s why Jun-hee dumped you,” or called Jun-hee a slut.

Why did he have to apologize for hitting a nerve, when his own were constantly trampled?

If Nam-gyu ever found out about the abortion, he’d definitely use it to hurt him.

He hadn’t done anything that bad…

Maybe he needed to believe that, just to keep the guilt at bay.

“Stop reacting like this. I just want you to grab your stuff and leave,” he said, blinking three times in a row.

Nam-gyu didn’t answer. His trembling gaze darted around, searching for help. There was none. Just his cold boyfriend.

“Not again…” Nam-gyu muttered to himself, dazed by some old memory.

“Okay, I said something stupid,” Myung-gi backpedaled, just wanting Nam-gyu to stop making him feel like the villain.

“I’m sorry,” Nam-gyu whispered, lightly slapping his own head, trying to finish the sentence. “I’m sorry, I’ll be good this time, I’ll behave, I… I will.”

“Nam-gyu,” Myung-gi took his hands, trying to ground him through touch. “Stop this. I’ll give you time to find another place—”

“No! I… I won’t… I’m sorry.” His useless gasps got in the way.

Nam-gyu pushed him away, even though he’d been silently begging for help the whole time.

His legs gave out. He couldn’t breathe. He leaned back against the couch, staring upward. It wasn’t coming back. The air.

Myung-gi watched. It didn’t matter. He was just provoking him. Nam-gyu was just… playing the victim. That’s all.

Just another way to manipulate Myung-gi into staying. It had to be.

Needed to function. Nam-gyu was getting in the way of that.

He had to kick him out. But Nam-gyu wouldn’t cooperate—he only made everything harder.

He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t.

“Fine, we’re not breaking up—” His voice trembled, coughed, trying to dispel the insecurity he was conveying.“You can stay. Just stop this.”

Just stop acting like you’re shattered. Myung-gi isn’t a bad person… he doesn’t want to be.

Nam-gyu looked at him, eyes pleading for help, chest heaving in spasms.

“Fuck this,” Myung-gi spat. He couldn’t take it. It was too much.

Why wouldn’t Nam-gyu just leave? It was too much.

And when it’s too much, Myung-gi runs.

“Do whatever you want,” he said, turning his back. But his legs froze—he couldn’t fully walk away.

He stood there, paralyzed, listening to Nam-gyu suffocate.

“Stop, please,” he whispered, pressing his eyes shut as if that could make it all go away.

…

The memories faded as Dae-ho returned with the coffee.

“Here,” he said, offering the cup like he was completing a mission.

Myung-gi wanted to smash the cup into that stupid face.

“Thanks,” he said, taking it from Dae-ho’s hands and drinking like it was hard liquor.

He didn’t even like coffee, but he needed to stay upright.

“Didn’t sleep well last night?”

“No.”

Dae-ho was provoking him. Of course he was. Probably holding back laughter at the sight of him defeated.

That smile didn’t fool him—it was the same smile he used to cozy up to Jun-hee after their breakup, wasn’t it?

That bastard was probably just waiting for them to break up so he could move in on Jun-hee.

What did he want with her?

What a stupid question—any man would want a romance with Jun-hee.

So the guy who worked beside him wanted his ex.

Okay, Dae-ho was a much better person than he was. It made sense if they started dating.

Dae-ho had what she always wanted: someone affectionate and kind—everything Myung-gi had failed to be.

Wait—a possibility lit up in his mind, one he hoped was true.

What if Dae-ho didn’t like women?

That would be the best-case scenario.

Myung-gi stared at his coworker. Nothing in his appearance gave away his sexuality.

It would be such a relief if Dae-ho was just a gay friend.

But why was he even worried about this? Jun-hee would find someone eventually, Dae-ho or not.

It was easy to love Jun-hee.

He still held onto a quiet hope that she might come back, that they could try again.

He knew he’d been stupid to ask her to get an abortion, even offered to pay for it. He saw her face crumble when she agreed to go through with it.

After that, the days grew heavier, and eventually she broke up with him, saying he was cold and distant.

Myung-gi had no idea what to do without her. None.

So he went out drinking with some friends at Pentagon Club… what a mistake.

…

“Please, it’s just to make Thanos jealous,” Nam-gyu pleaded, hands clasped, begging Myung-gi to kiss him in front of his ex.

Because Thanos hated Myung-gi, and in Nam-gyu’s logic, he’d lost in that relationship and now needed emotional revenge.

Myung-gi felt sick—how could someone humiliate themselves like that over an ex? His disgust for Nam-gyu began right there.

“No. I said no. I don’t kiss men.”

“But it’s just once, just when Thanos walks by. Come on, man. Wouldn’t it be great to see him pissed off?” Nam-gyu suggested.

Messing with Thanos? Yeah, that could be funny.

Myung-gi was thinking, as the club lights hit his eyes and the alcohol burned his throat.

Why was he even there? Trying to forget Jun-hee. Almost as degraded as Nam-gyu for agreeing to this. None of the women around were helping.

“Come on, I’m not asking for a relationship. Just a one-night stunt,” Nam-gyu stopped begging and started teasing with a sly smile.

“Thanos is full of himself at this party—look at him, surrounded by women just because he played that dumb rap song. Seriously? You can do better than that.”

Myung-gi nodded. Nothing like knocking Thanos off his pedestal for a moment. It was just a kiss, after all.

Nam-gyu’s bitter smile widened.

“After this, don’t you dare bother me again,” Myung-gi warned, shutting down any chance of closeness.

They began faking a slow approach—something to build a false context. Myung-gi noticed Thanos growing more irritated just from their proximity.

Myung-gi laughed at Thanos’s furious scowl. Nam-gyu did too. That was their first connection: laughing at Thanos’s rage.

When Thanos started walking toward them, Nam-gyu said, “Let’s go,” pulling Myung-gi by the collar and sealing their lips.

The kiss? Myung-gi could fake it—maybe too well. He grabbed Nam-gyu by the waist, pulling him close. Nam-gyu let out a moan of pleasure, completely unashamed.

Shit. Myung-gi got turned on.

His tongue pushed deeper into Nam-gyu’s mouth, trying to make the most of the moment. Nam-gyu slid his hands under Myung-gi’s shirt, across his back.

That made Myung-gi sigh—a sign he was feeling it.

Was he really kissing this guy? And enjoying it?

He blamed the alcohol. He wasn’t sober. He was too lonely to say no.

Deliberately, he slid his hands down to Nam-gyu’s ass—soft and round.

Damn, that was really gay. Especially the way his hips pressed into Nam-gyu, asking for attention.

Look at that, Thanos—see who’s taking what you lost?

Lee Myung-gi is kissing the man you wanted but couldn’t have.

When they pulled apart, Myung-gi turned to look at Thanos again—but didn’t get the chance.

Thanos punched him so hard he fell backward, completely dazed.

“You bastard!” Thanos shouted, lunging at him and throwing punch after punch.

Do men prefer violence to falling apart? Maybe.

When Thanos started choking him, Nam-gyu jumped in, grabbing him and begging him to stop.

“Thanos, what are you doing? Let him go, please.”

Nam-gyu held Thanos’s tense shoulders, massaging them, pleading.

Thanos obeyed like a trained dog and released Myung-gi, who gasped, hand on his neck, checking if he was still alive.

“You’re insane! What the hell!” Nam-gyu shouted, trying to keep it together. He was still on the job—and more than ever, he needed to keep it.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Nam-gyu had to summon all his willpower not to punch Thanos right then.

Thanos glared at him. “Why’d you do it?”

“Do what? Kiss him? Go fuck yourself! I don’t owe you anything. You don’t have that right.”

People around them watched the disaster unfold, completely absorbed in the drama of the three.

Myung-gi doesn’t remember much of what Nam-gyu and Thanos argued about—he was too stunned.

He only saw Thanos being dragged out by security, screaming that he’d kill him one day.

Nam-gyu knelt beside him, wearing that sarcastic look that would soon become routine for Myung-gi.

“Come on, let’s get some ice. You’re a mess,” Nam-gyu said, offering his hand.

Myung-gi refused the help and stood up on his own.

…

If he hadn’t agreed to that stupid kiss, Nam-gyu wouldn’t have stalked him for days afterward, begging to sleep together.

And if Nam-gyu hadn’t insisted, he wouldn’t have made him bleed at that shitty party in that shitty bathroom.

“Have you seen Jun-hee lately?” Myung-gi asked quietly, hoping Dae-ho would hear him—but also hoping he wouldn’t.

How humiliating.

Dae-ho was probably laughing at him on the inside.

“I have,” Dae-ho replied, not looking at him. “She’s doing well.”

What the hell does that mean?

Dae-ho shifted in his chair, avoiding eye contact.

Right. He’s dodging his gaze—what is he hiding?

He wanted to ask something like, “How is Jun-hee dealing with the abortion?”

But Myung-gi didn’t know how close they were. They probably weren’t even that close. Maybe he was overthinking.

Dae-ho felt the stare and slowly scooted his chair away. He didn’t like being glared at—but who does?

Noticing the discomfort, Myung-gi forced his eyes back to where they never should’ve left: that ridiculous email from a clueless client.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, just to mock him.

He clicked the mouse three times, trying to push away the dark thoughts. He didn’t want to think about what Dae-ho meant to Jun-hee. Didn’t want to think about his boyfriend who had tried to kill himself. Didn’t want to think about how he was failing at everything.

Nothing disappeared. Everything tangled. His mind was overloaded, confused.

He put on his jacket because of the cold from the air conditioning. Pulled it up to his chin, as if it could protect him from something more than just the cold.

He just stared at the blinking cursor. Couldn’t type a thing.

Dae-ho cleared his throat. The dry sound cracked through the silence like a whip. He stared at his screen with a puzzled expression.

His face was inches from the monitor, eyes squinting. Typing something with a furrowed brow, like he was solving a quantum physics equation.

Myung-gi tried to ignore it. Really tried. But the constant mouse clicking and the faint murmurs of frustration from the next desk were starting to get on his nerves.

“So much stuff…” Dae-ho muttered to himself, lowering his head in frustration.

Through the reflection in the window, Myung-gi saw the tab open on Dae-ho’s screen: a shopping site. Colorful, full of round icons and childish fonts.

Why is Dae-ho looking at baby items? Is he having a kid?

No, if Dae-ho were having a baby, he would’ve told the whole office.

Myung-gi’s stomach twisted. Like his anxiety was trying to warn him.

It’s nothing. Probably a gift.  

Or an ad. Those sites are always throwing dumb ads at you.

But why was Dae-ho clicking? Why was he murmuring like he was choosing something?

So maybe it’s for someone. A friend. A sister. A cousin.

Or maybe…

No. No way.

It’s not possible.

It’s been six months.

Jun-hee said she’d get the abortion—she said she would, before they broke up.

He was shivering now, partly from the fever.

Okay, this must be a fever dream. Dae-ho mentioned having four older sisters—one of them must be putting together a stupid baby registry.

No, no. It can’t be one of his sisters. Dae-ho is thirty-seven, and if his sisters are older, the odds of them having babies drop drastically. Not impossible, but unlikely.

Shit, six months would be the perfect timing for a baby registry, wouldn’t it?

Maybe it’s another relative. Myung-gi was being completely irrational. He’d blame the fever for his stupid logic.

He went back to writing a reply to the client. Just ignore it.

Jun-hee had the abortion. Jun-hee had the abortion. Jun-hee had the abortion.

He repeated it like an old containment mantra.

It didn’t calm him at all.

It would be better to ask Dae-ho, but if it really was what he feared, Dae-ho would lie.

He tried to focus on work. Really tried. But the sound of Dae-ho’s keyboard felt louder than his own.

Screw it—he was going to settle this.

“Dae-ho,” he called, voice cracking. Just thinking about the possibility made him nervous.

“Yes?” Dae-ho quickly closed the tab.

Suspicious as hell.

Then, Myung-gi grabbed the key to his locker.

“Can you grab some medicine from my locker? I’m not feeling—”

“On it,” Dae-ho stood up before Myung-gi could even finish the sentence.

Dae-ho was a helpful guy—one of those dogs that, once trained, are easy to control.

Myung-gi watched him run off the room where the cupboards were located

He seized the opportunity to check Dae-ho’s computer and put his doubts to rest.

The account was logged in—his personal one. Perfect.

His fingers trembled slightly, committing a tiny act of privacy invasion.

He checked the history: baby registry, crib, baby clothes, bottles—everything.

Okay, but whose baby is this?

Come on, he’d be back any second.

Think, Myung-gi, think.

Instagram was open in another tab.

Sweat dripped from his feverish face.

@junhee

He clicked on the messages.

》You don’t need to buy anything, Dae-ho, seriously. You and Hyun-Ju are already helping with the baby stuff.

Myung-gi felt a wave of dizziness hit him as he read.

Cut it out, I’m the godfather, I want to give the baby a gift too.《

Baby. Baby stuff. Jun-hee… she didn’t abort. She didn’t. She didn’t…

》Seriously, I’ll feel bad if you help any more.

That was Jun-hee. She hated being helped—Myung-gi knew that.

Jun-hee, I literally don’t mind helping you《

But changing the subject—when are you going to tell Myung-gi about the baby?《

I mean, I know you don’t want to, but he’s still the father《

And trust me, I once pretended to be a Marine just to avoid disappointing my family《

It’s exhausting. You don’t deserve that《

Of course Dae-ho had still tried to help him—even if he hadn’t noticed.

Myung-gi couldn’t even hate him in peace anymore.

But at least now he knew Dae-ho wasn’t some perfect saint.

》I don’t know. When I told him I was pregnant, the first thing he said was if I wanted money for an abortion. And how he thought a baby would ruin our lives.

》That idiot even scheduled the appointment without asking what I thought.

》Like, I don’t want that guy to be the father of my child, you know? I don’t know.

There was more to the conversation, but all he did was switch back to the tab Dae-ho had left open. And sit back down in his chair.

The email was still there. He still hadn’t managed to write a reply.

The cursor blinked, mocking him.

Myung-gi covered his face with his hands. The darkness they created helped him process what he had just read.

Jun-hee didn’t tell him. Didn’t trust him enough. That’s fine. It’s fine…

“I think he’s running a fever,” he heard Dae-ho’s voice behind his head, probably talking to the supervisor.

Myung-gi was going to be a father.

What was he supposed to do?

He didn’t feel ready. He didn’t want this.

Jun-hee knew that. Of course she did—that’s the whole reason.

Shit.

“Here,” Dae-ho brought him his bag.

“Thanks,” he said, opening the compartment where he kept his little box of medicine.

He swallowed the pill dry, letting it slide down his throat with just saliva.

His head throbbed. His chest ached like it was about to collapse. The air conditioning felt colder than ever.

But instead of panic, he was met with a ringing in his ears.

It felt like he’d undergone a lobotomy. He couldn’t feel anything. He just… started functioning again.