Reader x Nam-gyu & Thanos | 18+ MDNI
cw: graphic violence, suicide, decapitation, blood, gore, psychological torture, emotional manipulation, grief, death of a loved one, trauma, PTSD themes, character mental breakdown, rage, revenge, physical assault, screaming, despair, mourning, emotional devastation, implied past abuse, self-sacrifice, bloodied personal items, intense angst, survivor’s guilt.
You were crying before he even opened his mouth.
That was the worst part, how you already knew. Knew he was going to lie. Knew he’d charm you, gaslight you, grab your wrists and swear on the moon that he loved you while his phone buzzed behind his back.
It was always like this. The crash after the high. His voice, his hands, his mouth—he made you feel like the world only spun for you… until it didn’t.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Nam-Gyu muttered, dragging his hand through his hair, pacing the shitty apartment you shared like the floor owed him answers. “You don’t even know the full story.”
You scoffed. “You fucked her.” Silence. His jaw tightened. “I didn’t—” he started, but your laugh cut him off sharp.
“You didn’t what? Mean to? It just happened? Come on, Nam-Gyu, be creative at least. Don’t give me the same cheap line she did.”
He turned fast. “You don’t know what it’s like!” he snapped, voice rising. “Out there, trying to keep shit together, trying to survive! I didn’t plan any of this—”
“But you did it anyway.” Your voice was low. Cold. Broken in the way only love can do. “You always do.”
He looked at you then. Really looked. Your eyes were puffy, your lip trembling, arms crossed like a shield even though your whole body screamed I still want you. And he fucking hated that. Because even now, when he didn’t deserve it—you still looked at him like he was your home.
“Please,” he said. Just that. One word. Soft. Vulnerable in a way that hit you straight in the ribs.
You bit the inside of your cheek. “Please, what?”
His voice cracked. “Don’t leave me.”
You swallowed down a sob. He came closer. Close enough to touch. Close enough to pull you back in, again. Like always.
“Baby,” he whispered. “You’re the only one who ever stayed. Don’t stop now.”
Your fingers twitched. You wanted to touch him. Just once more. But you stepped back. And it shattered him.
“I love you,” he said, like a final offer, a bargain sealed in blood. You nodded. Tears spilled. “I know. But you only love me when it’s convenient.” Then you turned around. You didn’t slam the door. You didn’t scream. You just left.
And Nam-Gyu? He stood there, staring at your ghost in the hallway light. And for the first time in his life he realized maybe he was the one no one could ever truly love.
You didn’t plan to speak to him. Not at first.
The moment you saw him across the dormitory—alive, smirking, leaning against the wall like the months between you never existed—you turned around. You told yourself you were here to survive, not bleed. But Nam-Gyu had never been good at staying away. “Still giving me the cold shoulder?” he murmured behind you, voice smooth and low. “Thought maybe you’d warmed up by now.”
You turned slow, eyes like fire. “Don’t.”
His grin twitched, just slightly. “Don’t what? Say hi to my ex-girlfriend who broke my heart?”
You blinked once. Twice. Then you laughed, breathless and cruel. “I broke your heart?”
He stepped closer. You didn’t move. You wouldn’t give him that. His presence still made your spine hum, still made your chest ache in all the wrong ways.
“You think you get to do this?” you whispered, fury rising like bile. “Pretend you didn’t use me? Manipulate me? Cheat on me? And then make me feel crazy for caring?”
Nam-Gyu’s face darkened. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it?” You snapped. “Because I trusted you. I tried. Again and again. You made promises and broke every single one. And I kept coming back like an idiot because I loved you.”
His jaw clenched. “I didn’t ask you to—”
Your voice cracked. Raw and loud enough to turn heads. “Every time you said ‘please,’ every time you whispered in my ear like I was the only one—you asked me to stay. You fed off that loyalty.”
You took a step forward. Now you were the one towering over him. “You used me, Nam-Gyu. And then you blamed me for the damage.”
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. Because you saw it—the guilt. The twist in his throat. The flicker of regret in the way his hands curled like they were fighting ghosts. And maybe… just maybe, that hurt worse than if he’d screamed back. You shook your head, voice trembling now. “You could’ve had everything, y’know? All of me. You already did.”
Silence stretched like wire between you. Then: “You still feel something,” he murmured, stepping closer again. “I can see it in your eyes.”
You met his gaze with steel. “Yeah. I feel sorry for her.”
He flinched. You turned to leave—but paused. Voice low. Barely audible. “And you know what? I would’ve died for you back then. Now?” You swallowed. “Now I hope you live long enough to regret it.”
Later that night, you weren’t planning to go out.
But sitting in that tiny apartment surrounded by old texts and echoes of a voice that used to own your heart made you snap. So you painted your face, zipped the little black dress he once unzipped, and let yourself be loud for the first time in weeks.
You were on your third drink. Fourth, maybe. Didn’t matter. You laughed too hard, danced too close to strangers, let your body sway with the music like you weren’t quietly falling apart.
And then—his voice. Gentle, amused. “You dropped this.”
You turned. He was holding your phone out, grinning, cheeks flushed from the heat of the crowd. Purple curls messy, shirt rolled up at the sleeves. Wide, open smile.
“Oh,” you said, blinking. “Thanks.”
He glanced at the drink in your hand. “You sure that’s not your third?”
You squinted. “What are you, my moral compass?”
“No,” he chuckled. “I’m Thanos.”
Your lips quirked. “Seriously?”
“Nickname. Stuck since high school. Long story.”
You smiled. You didn’t mean to. Something in his voice was soft and safe. You let him sit with you. Let him talk. He was surprisingly funny. Warm. Not trying to impress you, just genuinely curious. He asked what you liked, where you grew up, what made you laugh and actually listened.
So when he asked, later, if you wanted to walk outside for air, you said yes. But instead of walking you landed at his place.
“Just water,” he offered, handing you the glass once you sat on the edge of his bed. “And maybe a less crowded playlist.”
You looked around, lips twitching. “You live like someone who folds their laundry immediately.”
He smiled sheepishly. “Is that bad?”
A pause. Your eyes met again. And then you kissed him. You didn’t explain why. Didn’t say his eyes were soft in a way that made your ribs ache. Didn’t tell him you were trying to burn out the ghost of another man with the kindness of a stranger.
Thanos didn’t ask. He just kissed you back like you were fragile and fire at once. His hands were warm, patient, and you realized—halfway through climbing onto his lap—that he didn’t know. Didn’t know who Nam-Gyu was to you. Didn’t know why your mouth trembled when he called you “sweetheart.” Didn’t know that when he pulled you into his arms, he was undoing knots that someone else tied around your throat.
And you didn’t tell him. Not when you whispered his name. Not when you sighed against his neck. Not even when he looked up at you after and said, “You deserve better than whatever’s hurting you.”
You just kissed him again. Desperate. Quiet. He held you all night. And you tried your hardest not to cry. His kisses had a sweetness to them, like he was still surprised you wanted him. You shoved your hands under his shirt, breath hitching when your fingers traced the lines of his stomach. “Take this off,” you muttered, tugging at the hem. “Now.”
He smiled against your mouth. “You always this bossy?”
“Only when I’m this wet.”
His breath hitched. His shirt hit the floor. You gasped when he pushed you back, lips never leaving your neck as he crawled over you. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered, voice gone low. “Let me give it to you.” You reached for his belt, dragging him closer. “I want your mouth first.”
He didn’t hesitate. He kissed down your body with reverence—slow at first, like he needed to learn every reaction. He teased the inside of your thighs, hands gentle but firm, until you were squirming beneath him.
And when his tongue finally slid over your soaked heat, you broke. “God—fuck—”
He groaned like it turned him on to hear his name like that. His grip tightened on your hips as he ate you out like a man starved, like he needed to prove something with every stroke of his tongue. You were shaking in minutes. But he didn’t stop, not when your legs clamped around his head, not when you came hard on his tongue with a strangled cry.
“You taste like peace,” he muttered against your skin, breath warm. “Like everything I’ve ever wanted to come home to.”
Then he was above you again, hard and thick, pressing against your entrance with a low groan. You grabbed his jaw and kissed him as he pushed inside, slow but deep.
And when he started moving you nearly sobbed. He fucked you like he felt something. Like this wasn’t just a night, but a need.
“Tell me you’ll come back,” he whispered, hips rolling in a rhythm that made you clench around him.
You whimpered into his shoulder. “You’ll ruin me if I do.” His voice cracked. “I want to.”
The morning after, sunlight was soft against your bare back. You blinked slowly, curled into warm sheets, his chest rising and falling beside you. He was beautiful in sleep. One arm under the pillow, purple hair falling over his forehead, lips parted just slightly.
You didn’t wake him. You got up quietly, pulling on your dress from the night before, finding your heels beside the door. And then, with a smile and a soft exhale, you grabbed the pen from his desk and scrawled your number on a folded napkin.
“Call me when you want to feel something real.”
You left it on his nightstand. Right beside the glass of water he gave you hours earlier.
He texted the next night. “Can I see you again?”
And you did. Once. Then twice. Then every time the ache got too loud. You didn’t talk about feelings. You didn’t talk about exes. Just soft laughter. Hard kisses. Slow touches. He never asked who broke your heart. And you never realized his best friend used to hold the same parts of you.
You came home late three days later after hooking up with him again.
The envelope sat on your table like a dare. Pink. Crisp. Folded so perfectly it pissed you off. You didn’t even remember taking the card from that man’s hand.
You’d just been walking home. Alone. Same walk, same silence, same city that didn’t care if you were alive or dead. You told yourself you’d throw it away. You didn’t.
Instead, you sat there for hours, staring at the numbers printed inside. Rereading the instructions. Fingering the edge of the card like it could cut you open and finally let something out.
No one would miss you. Not your job. Not your landlord. Not Nam-Gyu. You laughed bitterly at that. He’d probably already replaced you. Or convinced himself you never mattered. Maybe he was drinking somewhere, charming the next girl into loving a version of him that didn’t exist.
Maybe he’d already forgotten how many times you let him destroy you and still begged him to stay.
You stood. The clock blinked 1:34 a.m. You packed nothing. Didn’t call anyone. Didn’t even leave a note. You slipped the card into your pocket, grabbed your coat, and walked out the door barefoot.
Not to escape. Not to win. Just to see what would happen if you finally let go.
And when the black van pulled up— You didn’t flinch.
When the gas hissed into your lungs— You didn’t fight.
When the mask came off and the games began— You didn’t care.
Because you had already lost everything that mattered. And the only thing you still knew how to do was survive.
The dormitory was nothing but metal and murmurs. Rows of beds like prison bunks, cold lights humming overhead. You stood in the doorway with your arms crossed, ignoring the stares. Nobody knew you. You liked it that way. At least—until a familiar voice sliced through the noise.
You didn’t move. But you felt him behind you. Felt the tension coil in your spine like instinct. Like muscle memory.
“Of course it’s you,” he said, voice low. Bitter. Almost amused. “They really let just anyone in now, huh?”
You turned slowly. Nam-Gyu leaned against a bunk post with that same crooked grin, the one that used to undo you in seconds. Hands in his pockets. Eyes dark with recognition and something sharper. Your heart cracked once in your chest. Loud and sudden. You said nothing. He tilted his head. “What, no dramatic reunion? No tears?”
“I used them all up,” you muttered. He chuckled under his breath. “Still bratty, I see.” You stared at him—at the face that kissed you sweet and then lied just as easily. And then you walked away. No words. No reaction. That was the worst punishment you could give him.
You didn’t expect to see Thanos next. He found you near the back wall, sitting alone, pretending not to shake. “Hey!”
You looked up. And your breath caught. That smile. That voice. That ridiculous purple hair you buried your face in two nights ago.
“I—I didn’t think you’d actually… be here,” he said, surprised and warm and way too soft for this place. “You okay?”
Your throat tightened. “Yeah. Just… a weird day.” He didn’t question it. Just sat beside you, close but not too close. You could feel the heat of him through the chill. “I was hoping I’d see you again. Not like this, but—still.”
You smiled. Barely. “You’re too sweet for this place.” His eyes met yours, and you swore you saw something flicker. A little worry. A little affection.
The call echoed through the dorm. You both turned. Nam-Gyu. He strolled over casually, grinning at his friend. “Man, you got dragged into this too? Crazy.” Thanos stood, surprised. “You know her?” Nam-Gyu didn’t miss a beat. “Oh yeah,” he said, glancing at you with a smirk. “We’ve… met.”
Your blood ran cold. Thanos looked between you. Confused. Then concerned. You stood before either of them could say another word. You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or scream.
Of course they knew each other.
Of course the one man who held you like peace and the one who destroyed you like a storm were friends.
Of course the universe was cruel enough to put all three of you in the same goddamn death game.
It started with a hand on your wrist. Firm. Familiar. You yanked away on instinct. “Don’t touch me.” Nam-Gyu raised both hands, expression exaggerated like he was innocent. Like he didn’t know exactly where your bruises were buried. “Relax,” he muttered, glancing around the dormitory. “I just wanna talk.”
“Funny,” you said flatly. “That’s not usually what you wanted.”
His grin twitched. For a second, it slipped. “I’m not here to fight,” he said. “I just… it’s been months. You never answered my texts. You disappeared.”
He stepped closer, voice quieter. “Look, I fucked up. I know. But maybe… maybe this place’s giving me a second chance. And maybe you showing up here—”
“Don’t you dare spin this like fate,” you snapped. “This isn’t destiny. This is hell. And I ended things because I couldn’t breathe with you anymore.”
Nam-Gyu’s smile vanished. His jaw locked. “You really think I didn’t care about you?”
“You cared when it was easy. When I said yes to everything, when I trusted you blindly.” You shook your head, words sharp and fast now. “You used my loyalty. My love. Every time I gave you another chance, you turned it into a fucking leash.”
His voice dropped dangerously soft. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“But you did,” you said. “Over and over. Until I couldn’t recognize myself anymore.”
You felt it before you heard him. “Hey.” You turned. Thanos stood a few feet away. His brows were furrowed, that usually soft face drawn tight. You could tell he heard enough. Not all. But enough.
“Everything okay?” he asked. To you. Only you.
Nam-Gyu laughed, low and bitter. “So this is the guy, huh?”
Thanos looked confused. “What?”
“She’s fast,” Nam-Gyu said. “Didn’t know you had her so soon after I lost her. But I guess we’ve got similar taste.”
You flinched like he slapped you. Thanos stared between you two. “You… dated?”
You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Nam-Gyu smirked, cruel now. “Didn’t she tell you? No? Huh.” Thanos stepped forward, voice calm but cold. “What’s your problem?”
“My problem is that she moved on without a second thought,” Nam-Gyu said. “That she acts like she’s better now—like she didn’t crawl back to me a dozen times crying.”
“That’s enough,” Thanos snapped, stepping between you.
Nam-Gyu tilted his head. “Touchy.”
Thanos didn’t move. “Walk away.”
The tension snapped like a live wire. Nam-Gyu scoffed. “Whatever. She always picks the soft ones first. Let’s see how long that lasts.” He turned and walked off, leaving silence in his wake.
You couldn’t look at Thanos.
“I didn’t know,” he said finally, voice gentler. “I didn’t know you had… history.”
You swallowed hard. “I didn’t want you to look at me differently.”
“I don’t,” he said, too quickly. Then softer, “But I wish you’d told me. I would’ve understood.”
You looked at him then. And your chest ached. Because he meant it. Because he still looked at you like you weren’t damaged. Because maybe… you were starting to care too much.
You couldn’t stay in the dorms after that. Too many eyes. Too much heat. Too many ghosts walking in Nam-Gyu’s skin. So you left. Found a quiet stairwell behind the sleeping quarters. Cold concrete. Flickering light. No one followed.
Except— You felt him before you heard him.
Thanos. He didn’t speak. Didn’t sit. Just leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, eyes gentle. Not watching. Just… there.
You pulled your knees to your chest, forehead against them, and exhaled. You didn’t mean to cry. You didn’t want to.
But the sobs came anyway—shallow, panicked, gasping. Your body shook like it had too much electricity and nowhere to ground it. The tightness in your chest finally cracked, and it all spilled out: the shame, the longing, the heartbreak. The missing.
You didn’t even look up when he crossed the space and knelt beside you. Didn’t flinch when his arms wrapped around you slowly—just enough to let you pull away if you wanted.
You didn’t. You melted into him like you’d been waiting for someone to notice you were crumbling.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
He pressed his face into your hair. “Don’t be.”
“I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”
He pulled you tighter. “That’s not your call to make.”
You sobbed harder. “I still love him,” you choked. “I hate it, but I do. And you’re—fuck, you’re so good to me, and I don’t know how to let that in.”
Thanos didn’t flinch. He didn’t scold you. He didn’t ask for anything. He just held you. Kept holding you. “I’m not asking you to love me,” he said softly. “I’m just asking you to let me stay.”
And maybe that was the moment you broke again. But this time, not from pain.
You curled into him like a child, hands fisting the front of his shirt, forehead pressed against his chest. His warmth soaked into your frozen skin. His hand rubbed soft circles into your back, patient and slow.
No words. No expectations.
Just this: Two broken people. One trying to be enough. And when you finally fell asleep in his arms, hiccuping through the last of your sobs— He stayed awake. Holding you like you were the only thing left in the world worth saving.
The dorm was dim. Most were asleep.
You sat curled in your bed, far in the corner, away from the others. A makeshift sanctuary built out of blankets, shadows, and what was left of your will to stay numb.
Thanos had left quietly. He said he’d grab food. Told you to rest. Gave your hand one last squeeze before disappearing through the rows of bunks. You missed his warmth the second he left. But the moment of peace he gave you still lingered on your skin like breath.
Until— “Figured you’d crawl back to someone eventually.”
You froze. Nam-Gyu stood a few feet away, voice lower now. Quiet. Controlled. A storm holding its breath. You didn’t answer. Just pulled your knees closer, fingers digging into the thin blanket wrapped around you. He stepped closer. Slowly. Carefully.
“Out of all people,” he murmured, eyes burning into yours, “him?”
“Go away,” you whispered.
He chuckled. It wasn’t kind. “You know you don’t want that.”
His voice was low now. Almost gentle. But it dripped with heat and hate and something worse: familiarity. “You belong to me.”
Your jaw clenched. “I never belonged to you. That’s the whole fucking point.” He stepped closer. You stood, quickly—heart pounding. Ready to leave. Run. Hide. Anything. But his hand shot out fast and grabbed your wrist.
You gasped, twisting. “Let go—”
But he was already there. His mouth crashed into yours, bruising and raw and violent with need. His other hand grabbed your jaw, holding you in place as he kissed you like he wanted to punish you for leaving.
And the worst part? You let him. Because your body remembered him too well. The heat of him. The taste. The way he took without asking and made you love it. You whimpered against his mouth as he bit your lip, dragging your body against his like he’d been starved for this. Like he was trying to rewrite your loyalty through sheer force.
“Fuck,” he muttered into your skin. “You still feel like mine.”
Your fingers fisted his shirt before you could stop yourself.For one filthy, breathless moment—nothing else existed. Not Thanos. Not the others. Not the shame.
Just him. The boy who broke you. The boy you still loved in all the wrong ways. When the kiss broke, your breath was ragged. His hand still gripped your waist. His forehead pressed to yours.
“You’ll come back,” he whispered. “You always do.”
You didn’t answer. Because you didn’t know if he was wrong. You were still standing when Nam-Gyu left. Still dazed. Still hot in the face, your lips swollen and your wrist sore from where he grabbed you too tight. Your breath came shallow, chest rising and falling like something had just happened.
Because it had. And you let it. You didn’t cry. Not yet. You sat down slowly, pulled the blanket tighter around your legs, stared at the far wall like maybe you could undo it just by wishing hard enough.
You heard Thanos before you saw him, soft footsteps, the familiar clink of a tray in his hands. He appeared in the row again, warm eyes scanning the space until they landed on you.
He smiled, tired but sweet. “I brought you something,” he said quietly, crouching beside your mattress. “It’s not great, but it’s hot.”
You nodded once. Didn’t meet his eyes. “Thanks.”
He paused. Studied you. “You okay?”
Your heart stuttered. You nodded again, a little too fast. “Just tired.” He watched you for a beat longer. The tension in your shoulders. The way you wouldn’t look at him. The way your fingers trembled slightly when you reached for the food.
He didn’t press. Didn’t push. Just sat beside your mattress with his back against the wall, knees drawn up. Quietly near. Not touching.
“I can sit here,” he said softly. “If you want.”
You swallowed hard. “You don’t have to.”
Minutes passed in silence. You picked at the food. He hummed quietly, gaze distant. And then—too soft for anyone else to hear: “Did something happen?”
Your throat closed. You shook your head. “No. Just… being here. Everything. It’s a lot.” He nodded slowly. “Yeah. It is.”
Another pause. And then, voice like a whisper: “You don’t have to carry all of it alone.”
And fuck, that nearly broke you. You didn’t deserve him. You knew that now—knew it with every aching, dirty corner of your heart. But when he leaned his shoulder gently against yours, you leaned back.
Because even liars need warmth sometimes.
Thanos noticed the way your eyes shifted when Nam-Gyu entered a room. The way your voice clipped shorter. How you pressed yourself into corners like you were trying to shrink.
You flinched when footsteps came too close. You didn’t let anyone walk behind you anymore. He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched. Quietly concerned. The pieces were starting to fit—but he didn’t want to believe what they formed.
Not from Nam-Gyu. Not from someone he trusted.
But then Nam-Gyu bumped into you during lineup—his hand resting a second too long on your back.
And you flinched like you’d been hit. Thanos saw it. Saw the way you immediately pretended it hadn’t happened. Saw the fake smile you put on. And something in his chest snapped.
That Night you didn’t sleep. The bunk was too hot. Too loud. Too close to memories that pressed against your skin like fingerprints. You were still curled up under your blanket when you felt Thanos’ presence beside you.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he murmured.
“I just wanted to check on you.”
You nodded into the blanket. “I’m fine.”
“I saw the way he touched you earlier.”
Your breath caught. “I wasn’t gonna say anything,” Thanos said, voice tight. “But I’ve seen the way you look when he’s around. Like you’re bracing for something. Like you’re waiting for a hit that already landed.”
You stayed frozen. And then, voice trembling: “I let him kiss me.”
The words came out before you could stop them. Thanos was quiet. You forced yourself to keep speaking—shaking now, breathing too fast. “I let him. I don’t know why. He just—he always gets in my head and I’m so fucking stupid, Thanos—”
“I’m not like you,” you whispered. “You’re kind. You’re good. I—I broke something before it even had a chance to start. I ruined it. I let him ruin me.”
You were full-on crying now, curled into yourself. Too hot. Too dizzy. Your skin felt too small.
And then—you felt him. Gently, carefully, Thanos slid into the narrow space beside you and wrapped his arms around you.
Not tightly. Not possessively. Just… there. His fingers stroked your hair. Your back. He didn’t shush you. Didn’t try to fix it. He let you break. Quietly. Fully. And when your shaking finally slowed, he whispered: “I don’t care what you did.”
You blinked up at him, eyes red. “I don’t care how broken you think you are. Or what he did to you. Or what you let happen.”
His hand found yours, warm and grounding. “You still deserve better. And I’m staying until you believe that.”
You cried harder. Because deep down, you wanted to believe it too. After fifteen minutes you excused yourself and went to the bathroom.
The bathroom was cold and echoing, the flickering light above the sinks humming like a warning. You didn’t want to cry again.
You needed air. Just five minutes of quiet. Away from Thanos’ kindness. Away from your own guilt. Away from everything boiling under your skin like rot. You didn’t hear Nam-Gyu at first. But you felt him. The door creaked behind you. Then silence.
You glanced up at the mirror. He stood behind you. Calm. Watching. You turned, slowly. “Don’t,” you warned.
“I just want to talk,” he said, voice low. Too low.
“Then talk from over there.”
But he stepped closer. And closer. Until your back hit the door of the stall and your breath caught. He leaned in, eyes burning. “You’re shaking.”
You glared. “You really think I’m scared of you?”
“I think you’re scared of how much you still want me.”
Your jaw clenched. “Say that again and I’ll kill you.”
He smirked. So you slapped him. The crack echoed in the tile. His head snapped to the side, jaw tight, breath caught.
Silence. His chest heaved once. Slowly, he turned back to you. And your heart was racing. You stared up at him—eyes wide, still trembling from the impact, lips parted like you were about to say something.
But neither of you spoke. You lunged first. Mouths collided, teeth clashing, hands in hair, on hips, dragging each other closer like the heat might kill you if you stopped.
He shoved you into the stall, kicked it shut, slammed the lock. Your back hit the cold wall. His hands were already under your shirt, your nails digging into his neck, pulling him closer.
You hated him. You wanted him. “Fucking bastard,” you hissed against his mouth. “I missed this,” he growled. “I missed you like this—mad, wet, desperate.”
You kissed him harder. Dirtier. He dropped to his knees. And when his mouth pressed against your cunt through your panties, you almost screamed. “You acting like you didn’t want me?” he muttered against the soaked fabric.
You grabbed his hair, yanking. “Shut up.”
He tore the fabric aside and licked you like a man drowning. Messy, groaning, tongue flicking over your clit until your knees buckled and your moans echoed off the walls.
You came fast. Violent. He stood and kissed you again, your taste on his mouth, unbuckling his pants like he couldn’t wait another second.
You didn’t stop him. You let him push into you deep, fast, brutal. You clung to his shoulders and bit his throat, cried out his name like it still meant something.
He fucked you against the stall door like it was punishment.
And you loved it. Every thrust reminded you what you hated. Every kiss reminded you what you missed. And when you came again, full-body shaking, sobbing into his mouth, you hated yourself most of all.
The bathroom was too quiet now.
The air still reeked of sweat and desperation. Your back still pressed against the cold tile, your thighs sticky, his breath ghosting over your collarbone as his arms caged you in.
You didn’t move. Couldn’t. He was still inside you, half-soft now, forehead resting against yours like he was allowed to be there. Like he hadn’t just broken every part of you you’d been trying to fix.
His voice came low, raw, and almost sweet. “You still fit me,” he whispered.
“This—” he breathed, nose brushing your cheek, “this doesn’t happen if it’s over. Not like that. You don’t come for me like that if it’s done.”
You wanted to say it meant nothing. You wanted to scream fuck you. But your mouth stayed shut. “I know you feel it,” he murmured. “You always did. You just get scared when it’s real.”
You scoffed weakly, eyes fluttering open. “Is this the part where you ask me for something again?”
He smiled softly, that same disarming twist of his lips you once thought was love. “Not ask. Just… remind.”
You stared at him, jaw tight.
“You know the next vote’s coming soon,” he said. “People are scared. Panicking. But you—you’re smart. Loyal. We could stick together this time. Watch each other’s backs.”
“I already voted,” you muttered. “I’m staying.”
“Then stay with me.” His voice dropped. “We could survive this. We know each other. We work. You just… forget that sometimes.”
His fingers skimmed your side, your hipbone. Ghost-like.
“You said you’d always come back to me.”
You flinched. “That was before you destroyed me,” you whispered.
He paused. Then leaned in and kissed you. Not like before. Not violent. Not messy. This time, it was soft. Dangerous in a whole new way. Like he was trying to convince you it was still love.
And the worst part? You kissed him back. For a second. Then you broke away, breath catching. “You’re trying to use me.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive,” he said quickly. “I’m trying to remind you who the fuck you are. And who we are.”
You stared at him, chest heaving, wrists trembling. And for a second… You wanted to believe him.
The next morning came too fast.
You barely slept. Your body ached. Your mind ran in circles, torn between regret and denial, and your skin still carried the imprint of him like a bruise you couldn’t scrub out.
They lined you up for the game—rows of red suits, the cold voice echoing rules none of you had the power to change.
You didn’t look at Nam-Gyu. Not even once.
But you felt Thanos near. Too near. “Hey—”
You turned, fast. He flinched at the cold in your eyes.
“Don’t,” you said quietly.
“Don’t follow me. Not today.”
He paused. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
You swallowed the guilt. Hard. “I’m not yours to protect.”
That hurt him. You saw it. But he nodded anyway. Respecting your distance. Even when it killed him to do it.
It was chaos. No teams. No strategy. Just panic and knives and desperation. You were supposed to be watching the perimeter.
Nam-Gyu had a plan. Said he’d found a loophole—one that meant less death if you trusted him. But the first scream told you otherwise.
You turned just in time to see it. Nam-Gyu—blade in hand—slashing across a man’s throat with terrifying ease. The guy had no weapon. He didn’t even fight back. And Nam-Gyu laughed. Like it was fun.
Another player ran. Nam-Gyu threw the knife straight through their back. More blood. Another body. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate.
You froze, horror pooling in your stomach like acid. Thanos stepped up beside you just in time to watch the third kill.
His breath hitched. “Is that—?”
“Yes,” you whispered. And then, slower: “Yes. That’s who he is.”
Nam-Gyu turned, blood on his hands. Saw you watching. And he smiled. Like it was all for you. The world cracked around you. Everything he whispered. Every kiss. Every apology. Every time he said you belong to me.
It was a lie. All of it. And now people were dead. Because of him. Because of you. Because you let yourself believe him.
You didn’t cry. Not yet. But when Thanos whispered, “What did he do to you?”— You finally broke inside. Because you didn’t have an answer that didn’t taste like shame.
You sat alone against the cold dormitory wall after, your body heavy with someone else’s blood. You hadn’t spoken in hours.
Not since the screams stopped. Not since Thanos helped you clean your hands in silence. He didn’t ask what Nam-Gyu meant to you anymore. He didn’t need to. He just stayed close—breathing, real, human. The only softness left in the building.
But now… Nam-Gyu was here again. He walked toward you with that same, deliberate calm. The killer’s walk. Slow. Careful. Like he already knew how the conversation would end. You didn’t look up.
“I told you we could survive this,” he said quietly, crouching beside you.
Like a lover. Like he wasn’t soaked in what he’d done. You kept your eyes on the floor. “You murdered people who begged.”
“I made it through,” he said. “So did you.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
His voice dropped, coaxing. “We did what we had to do. You’re alive because of it.”
Your jaw clenched. He shifted closer. “The vote’s coming. I know it’s scary. But you have to keep going. Vote O.”
You finally looked at him. Eyes hollow. Voice flat. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
His face twitched. “I mean it,” you said. “I’m done. I don’t care what the money means. I don’t care who gets out. I just… I don’t want to watch anyone else die.”
Nam-Gyu’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“This is how we live now,” he said, low. “There’s no ‘done.’ There’s just dead or alive. You want to live?”
You shook your head. “Not like this.”
His hand brushed your arm. You pulled away.
“You don’t get to come here, dripping in blood, and pretend you’re the victim,” you snapped.
“There is no us, Nam-Gyu.”
He leaned in, whisper sharp. “There could be. If you just stop running.” You laughed bitterly, broken. “You can’t keep choosing violence and calling it love.”
He stared at you—hard. And then… softer.
“You voted O before,” he murmured. “You trusted me once.”
You swallowed the ache. “That was before I saw who you really were.”
The room was colder than you remembered. One by one, they called names. One by one, people walked forward, stepped into the glass booth, and placed their hand on the panel.
Thanos stood across from you, his jaw tense. He hadn’t said it out loud, but you knew he’d vote X. He wanted out. He wanted to believe people still had something left to live for. You told yourself you’d do the same. You rehearsed it in your head like a promise.
X. X. X. X. Then you heard your name. Your legs felt numb. You walked anyway. Nam-Gyu caught your eye. He didn’t move. Just sat with one arm draped lazily over his knee, lips slightly curled like he already knew what you’d choose. His voice echoed in your skull. “You want to live, don’t you?” “Vote O. With me.” “We’ll make it out. We’ll survive.”
You stepped up. Two symbols. Two futures. Your hand hovered over X. You closed your eyes. Bodies hitting the floor. Blood under your fingernails. Thanos’ arms around you. Nam-Gyu’s mouth against your neck.
The moment you watched him laugh while killing someone who begged. Your heart stuttered. You could end this. You could vote X and maybe—maybe—go home with your soul intact. But your finger didn’t move.
And before you could stop yourself— Your hand slid to the right. Pressed O. No expression. No emotion. The light blinked green. You stepped out of the booth and walked back to your bed. You didn’t meet Thanos’ eyes. But you felt his heartbreak crash into the back of your skull like a wave you didn’t bother to outrun.
You didn’t look at anyone after you voted.
Not Thanos. Not the guards. Not the others staring like they’d seen a ghost in your skin. You just walked. Slow. Stiff. Back to your bed. Back to the place where you pretended to be okay every night.
You sat down, hands still in your lap, fingertips tingling like they’d just signed a death warrant.
Because they had. And then—you felt him. You didn’t need to look up to know it was him. Nam-Gyu dropped down beside you, body angled toward yours, voice low and syrup-slick. “You made the right choice.”
“You might hate me,” he murmured, “but you don’t want to leave me.”
“I watched your hand,” he continued. “I watched it hover. Thought maybe, for once, you’d resist. That you’d actually walk away.”
He leaned in closer. “But you didn’t.”
You turned your head just enough to see him—eyes glassy, expression unreadable.
He smiled. Soft. Satisfied. Deadly.
You wanted to hit him. You wanted to scream. But you just sat there, still as stone, breathing through the burn in your throat.
“You can pretend you’re doing this for survival,” he whispered. “But we both know it’s me. It’s always been me.”
His hand brushed your thigh. Casual. Possessive. Infuriatingly intimate.
“No,” you said hoarsely. “I voted because I don’t know who the fuck I am anymore.”
He chuckled. “Same difference.”
And then he leaned forward and kissed the side of your head. Not lust. Not heat. Just a quiet claim. And when he stood and walked away, shoulders relaxed, swagger back— You felt the hole he left behind fill with self-hate.
You weren’t supposed to fall. The beams were slick. Your balance was off. One misstep—and suddenly your fingers were barely holding on, your feet dangling in open air. Below you: nothing. Death.
You screamed. You didn’t even realize you screamed his name. “Nam-Gyu—!” You looked up. He was there. Just a few steps away. He saw you. Your hand stretched toward him—desperate, trembling. He stared. And then— He ran.
No hesitation. No shame. Just turned and ran. Left you hanging. Left you to die. Your grip slipped.
And then— Warm hands. Big ones. Grabbing your arms. Lifting. Steadying.
Thanos. “Got you,” he panted, straining. “I got you—I got you—don’t let go.” You didn’t. Because he didn’t.
Back in the Dormitory. You were shaking. Bleeding at the knuckles. Dirt on your cheek. Eyes dark with the kind of rage that only betrayal breeds. You didn’t speak.
You walked. Straight through the hallway, past the stares, past the whispers. And there he was.
Leaning against your bedframe like a fucking welcome mat. “Damn, babe,” he smirked. “That was close, huh?”
Your walk didn’t break stride. He opened his mouth to say something else—something smug, but your hand moved faster than your words.
Your palm slammed across his face so hard it echoed off the walls. His head snapped to the side. He had to step back.
Everyone froze. You stared at him, eyes blazing, voice ice-cold.
He blinked, jaw twitching. “I panicked.”
“No,” you hissed. “You left. You watched me scream your name and you ran, you little bitch.”
His cheek was red. Eyes wide now. “It wasn’t like that—”
“It was exactly like that.”
He stepped toward you again, slow. Like maybe you’d melt again if he just got close enough.
But you stepped back. “Try it,” you growled. “And I swear I’ll make what happened out there look merciful.”
You didn’t cry. You didn’t look at Thanos—who stood at the end of the row, watching, fists clenched.
You just walked to your bed. And for the first time since the games began— You didn’t feel broken. You felt done.
He found you later. After the crowd had scattered. After the sting of your slap faded from his cheek but not from the air. You were sitting at the edge of your bed, elbows on your knees, staring at the floor like it held the last piece of yourself you hadn’t given away.
He approached like a ghost. “Hey,” he said softly.
“Can I just… talk?” Silence.
“I fucked up,” he said. “Out there. I know that.”
“I was scared.” Your head lifted slightly. Not enough to meet his eyes. Just enough to speak. “You weren’t scared,” you said. Calm. Flat. Final. “You were selfish.”
He flinched. “You left me to die, Nam-Gyu.”
“I—” “You left,” you repeated, louder. “You looked at me, saw me hanging there, screaming your name, and you ran.”
“I panicked—” “Stop,” you snapped, finally looking at him.
And your expression— It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t sad. It was empty.
And that scared him more than anything.
“I believed you,” you whispered. “Again. I listened. I voted the way you wanted. I let you crawl back into my head, into my body, into everything I was trying to rebuild.”
“And you still did the only thing you ever really know how to do.”
You stood. “You ran.” Nam-Gyu opened his mouth, stepping forward. “Please, I didn’t mean to—” “Shut up.”
His words died. “You don’t get to come back from that,” you said. “Not this time. Not ever.” He stared at you. Pale. Cracked open.
Like he just realized the grip he had on you wasn’t just slipping—it was gone. You leaned in close. Just enough for him to hear your final words: “I would’ve died for you once. Now I hope you live long enough to hate yourself.”
Then you walked away. No hesitation. No pause. And behind you— For the first time since the Games began— Nam-Gyu didn’t follow.
Thanos sat alone at the far wall, legs crossed, head down like he was deep in thought. He wasn’t talking. Just breathing. Solid. There.
You didn’t think. You just moved. Across the room. Quiet steps. No hesitation. He looked up at the last second—eyes widening just slightly—before you wrapped your arms around him.
Tight. All of you. Head in his neck. Hands clutching his back.
No words. Just the weight of everything you’d been holding finally landing on someone who never made you feel small for it. He froze for a moment. Then his arms wrapped around you like he’d been waiting for this since the second you met.
He didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t press. He just held you. Quiet and firm and full of something real. You didn’t speak.
You didn’t need to. Later, he walked you to your bed.
Still holding your hand. Still there. The room was quieter now. Most had fallen asleep. Nam-Gyu sat up in his bunk, pretending to read the wall. You didn’t even look at him. You sat on the mattress, legs tucked under the thin blanket, and waited.
Thanos hesitated for a second. “I’ll go if—”
You shook your head. “Stay.” So he did.
He lay beside you, careful not to touch too much. His fingers brushed your wrist once, accidental, shy. But you turned into him slowly. Pressed your body to his chest. Hands curling against his shirt, your breath slowing as his scent calmed you.
And when you slid your fingers over his ribs, just enough to make him gasp— He looked at you. Eyes wide. Flushed. Still unsure.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
You nodded. Then he kissed you. Soft, reverent. You melted into it. You didn’t hide it. Didn’t shield it. Because you knew Nam-Gyu was watching.
You let Thanos kiss you like you mattered. Let him hold your jaw with both hands like he was scared you’d disappear. And you kissed him back like you wanted to rewrite every bruise Nam-Gyu ever left behind.
In the shadows, across the room, Nam-Gyu watched. Jaw clenched. Fists curled. Heart breaking so slowly it made no sound at all.
It was quiet in the dormitory. Bodies shifted in sleep. A few soft snores. The hum of cold lights overhead. You lay with your back pressed to Thanos’ chest, his arms around you like a shield against everything.
And for the first time in days— You felt safe. You turned in his hold, facing him in the dark. His breath brushed your cheek. He looked at you with those wide, warm eyes like you were something breakable.
You brushed your thumb along his jaw, voice a whisper.
“Throw the blanket over us.”
His brows furrowed slightly, confused. “Why—?”
You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “I want you.”
He stiffened. “Here?” he whispered, shocked. “Now?”
“It’s dark,” you said. Calm. Steady. “People are asleep. Nobody’s around us.”
Your hand slid over his stomach, slow, deliberate. “I want to feel you.”
His breath caught. You didn’t have to ask twice. He moved with care—throwing the blanket up and over you both like a canopy of sin. The space grew warm, humid, yours. You rolled onto your back and let him shift between your legs, both of you still clothed.
But not for long. He tugged your waistband down—just under your ass. And fumbled with his own pants just enough for his cock to slip free, thick and flushed, already hard from how close your breath was.
You both exhaled, shaky and quiet. Then—he pushed in. Slow. Deep. Your bodies curved to fit each other. You moaned into his neck, your legs around his waist. He thrust slowly, careful not to rock the bedframe, one hand over your mouth at first, then both of you stifling sound with desperate kisses.
You whispered his name like prayer. He whispered yours like he couldn’t believe he’d earned it.
“Feels so good,” you breathed into his mouth. “You feel so good.”
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he choked. “You—you’re perfect.”
Your hand clawed at his shirt. He held your thigh tighter, breath ragged. And then he came, quiet, deep inside you, eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressed to yours like he was praying.
His hand slipped down between you both, fingers dipping through the mess of you, rubbing your clit in slow, wet circles under the blanket. Your back arched. You bit his shoulder. He kissed you harder.
“You’re gonna cum for me,” he whispered. “Let me feel you.”
You did, silent, trembling, your thighs locking around his hips. He kissed your moans from your mouth. Swallowed every sound. You clung to him like gravity itself had chosen him for you.
Across the room, in the dark, Nam-Gyu sat up in his bunk. He’d heard the breathing. The rhythm. The way your hips rocked beneath the blanket. The way Thanos kissed you after—gentle. Loving. Final.
He stared. Jaw clenched. Fists curled. Chest hollow.
And for the first time in his life— he felt it all crash down.
You lined up like before.
Another game. Another set of rules none of you fully understood.
But this time, you didn’t tremble. You didn’t flinch. You stood still. Eyes blank. Expression unreadable.
Until Thanos stepped beside you. Your face softened. Just slightly. Just for him. A tiny smile. Almost invisible. But he saw it. And it was enough.
Nam-Gyu saw it, too. He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t spoken to anyone. And now, watching you lean toward Thanos—watching the ease, the comfort, the way your bodies curved naturally into each other—something in him snapped.
He stormed across the line. Ignored the guards. Walked straight toward you.
“You’re really doing this now?” he hissed, voice low. “After everything?”
“You think this ends well for either of you? That fucking smiley coward’s gonna get you killed—”
Then he grabbed your arm. That was his mistake. The second his hand touched your skin— You turned. Your face didn’t twist. You didn’t scream.
You just snapped. You grabbed his wrist. Tight. He gasped. Dropped.
A crack—SNAP. Two fingers. Bent the wrong way.
He collapsed to one knee, staring up at you, stunned—like he couldn’t understand how someone he once controlled just broke him without blinking. You stood over him, chest rising and falling, breath calm.
Then you leaned down— And spat next to him. “Fuck you, Nam-Gyu.”
You didn’t wait for a reaction. You walked away. Straight to Thanos. Back to your place. Back to the side you chose. And for the first time since the games began—
Nam-Gyu stayed down. Not because of pain. But because he finally understood: You weren’t his anymore.
And now? You never fucking would be.
The room after the game was silent.
Not quiet. Silent. No breathing. No crying. No scrambling for food. Just 10 people. Still. Shellshocked. Soaked in blood that wasn’t their own. You sat against the wall, knees tucked to your chest, staring at the ground like it might rise up and swallow you whole.
The game had been a nightmare. Not clever. Not strategic.
Just violence. Screams. Chaos. People running in circles, stabbing each other just to stay alive. No rules. No structure.
Just… purge. You made it. But you didn’t feel human anymore.
Across the room, Thanos sat, shoulders shaking, blood smeared across his jaw. Not his. He’d tried to help someone. Tried to save a woman who begged on her knees. She died screaming anyway.
Nam-Gyu sat in the far corner. Alone. Hands wrapped in bandages. Still stunned from the last time you touched him. No one looked at him. No one spoke to him. He was dead in a different way now.
No power. No voice. Just a broken man watching the world burn around him. You stood slowly, legs shaking. And walked to Thanos.
He looked up like he expected you to push him away. Instead, you dropped to your knees and rested your head in his lap.
He exhaled, one trembling breath. And his hand slid into your hair, slow and soft. “This is what’s left of us,” you whispered. “Just pieces.”
He didn’t speak. Just kissed your forehead. And for a few seconds in that blood-stained hell— you let yourself believe there might still be something worth living for.
The voice rang out overhead, flat and merciless.
“Next game will begin shortly. Players will be assigned into pairs. Pairings are non-negotiable.”
A few people groaned. One girl dropped to her knees. No one cheered.
You didn’t move. Didn’t blink. You just felt it. The cold certainty crawl down your spine before the guards even started handing out slips of paper.
And when they reached you and the red circle was drawn beside his name, you didn’t flinch.
Of course. Of fucking course. You didn’t even have to look up to know Thanos was staring. You stood slowly. Met his eyes across the room. And your heart cracked—because his eyes were already glassy.
Already full of everything he didn’t say. He took a step forward, his voice low, shaking. “You don’t have to—”
You walked to him. Let your hand wrap around his. Let your forehead rest against his, just for a second. His breath caught. “He’s not like the others. He’ll—he’ll twist it. He’ll say anything. You don’t have to listen—”
You leaned back, meeting his gaze. Steady. Unshaken.
“If I have to kill him,” you said softly, “I will.”
Thanos stared at you like he wanted to protest. But your face, it wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t bloodthirsty. It was done. And finally, finally… free.
You kissed Thanos that morning like it was the last time you’d ever breathe. Not rushed. Not panicked. Solemn. Final. Real. His hands cradled your face like he couldn’t bear to let go.
“Come back to me,” he whispered. You smiled through it, even as your throat closed. “I’ll try.”
But in your bones, you knew. This time, one of you wouldn’t return.
In the Room of the next game, they strapped you both down without a word. Two chairs. One steel table. No buttons this time. Just restraints. A camera.
And behind each of you, embedded deep in opposite walls, a samurai sword. Clean. Sharp. Gleaming under the clinical light.
Under the table- a lever. Between both of you.
Nam-Gyu laughed nervously when he saw them. “This a joke?” he muttered. “They expect us to fight like this?”
You didn’t answer. Your wrists were bound. One ankle tied. Only your upper body could move. But your eyes… they scanned everything.
The table. The walls. The small mechanical box above your head that hummed like a countdown waiting to scream.
The blades weren’t there to be used. They were there to be earned. You understood instantly. You always understood first.
Then a voice: “Players will engage in a verbal confrontation. Your opponent’s mental and emotional stability will determine the outcome. The one who breaks first— loses. The one who remains in control decide how it ends.”
Nam-Gyu stopped laughing. You smiled. You stared across the table at him. Nam-Gyu looked pale. Sweaty. He smiled at first—weak. Nervous. “This is… fucked, right?” he tried.
You said nothing. He shifted in his seat, tugged at the restraints. “Come on, don’t do this. Let’s think.”
Still nothing. Just eye-contact. His voice sharpened. “You’re not a killer. You never were.”
You tilted your head slightly. Calm. Observing. “Are you trying to reason with me,” you said quietly, “or with yourself?”
He flinched. You let the silence stretch. He laughed—broken, desperate. “This isn’t justice. You’re just angry.”
You leaned forward, voice low, even. “No. I was angry. Now I’m at peace.”
He yanked at the straps again, panic setting in. “There’s got to be a way out. We just—just say sorry, right? We both say sorry.”
You smiled. “Do you remember the girl who begged you?” you said. “Before you slit her throat?”
“Do you remember the boy with no weapon? You stabbed him in the back.”
You leaned closer. “Why? You don’t like the mirror anymore?”
He went quiet. Chest rising faster. Tears starting in the corners of his eyes. You saw it. The crack. The breaking of what little mask he had left.
“I loved you,” he whispered.
“No,” you said. “You used me. You broke me. And now? You’ll die with that look in your eyes.”
He whimpered. “I don’t want to do this,” he said, voice shaking. “Please. Please. Just—don’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll do anything.”
Your eyes didn’t soften. “You fucked me up once,” you said.
He started with pleading. “Listen—baby—”
You scoffed. He flinched. “I know I fucked up. I know I did. But you can’t just sit there like this. You can’t act like I meant nothing to you.”
You tilted your head. “You’re panicking already. That’s adorable.”
“You’re not gonna win this by being cold.”
“Cold?” You blinked slowly. “You ran while I begged for my life.”
“You killed innocents because they looked at you wrong. You kissed me the night before slicing a man’s throat. And you lied every time you said you loved me.”
He slammed his hands against the chair arms. “I did love you!”
“Then you’re worse than I thought,” you said softly.
You didn’t answer. You talked. He cracked.
You told him every time you stayed up crying, blaming yourself for his sins. Every time you voted O because he kissed you like he meant it. Every time Thanos held you through the aftermath of something he did. You watched his eyes redden.
“You think I don’t regret it?” he shouted. “You think I wanted this?”
“Doesn’t matter what you wanted,” you said. “It matters what you did.”
He turned back to you—eyes pleading. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” you whispered. And for the first time, your voice trembled.
Your lip trembled. Because you meant it. “But I’d rather die than let you be the one to kill me.”
The lights dimmed. Nam-Gyu blinked. “Wait—what? No. Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare.”
You didn’t move. You didn’t cry. And then you leaned forward— Stared him dead in the eyes.
“You don’t get to be the one who ends my story. Now live with your regret the rest of your life, Nam-Gyu. This is the last thing you’ll remember, forever.”
You laugh at him and with one swift kick of your foot— you kicked the lever on under the table.
The mechanism triggered in an instant. The sword behind you unsheathed, dropped with mechanical precision, and a sound like steel screaming. A flash of motion from above. The sword behind you whipped forward—controlled, clean, exact.
And before Nam-Gyu could finish the word “no”— You were gone. Your head fell. A clean, horrifying sever. Blood splattered across the floor, the wall, him. Blood painted the table. Your body slumped, twitching once. Your eyes still open. Still locked on him. Nam-Gyu screamed.
He howled. Grabbed at the restraints like he could rewind the moment. Like he could pull you back. But he felt it the moment your soul left the room.
Eyes locked on the blood. On your body. On the severed look of calm still frozen on your face. He sobbed, shaking, voice cracking as he whispered your name over and over.
But the room was silent again. Cold. Final.
He didn’t breathe. He just saw.
And when he finally realized it— that you meant it, that you’d rather die than let him win, that your last choice in this world was to be the blade that ruined him— he screamed. He screamed like it would bring you back. Screamed like he could stuff the blood back into your veins. Screamed until the guards had to drag him out, shaking and feral, sobbing and broken.
They let him scream. They let him break. Because that was the real prize, wasn’t it?
You didn’t just die. You made him live with the guilt. The silence. The image burned into his skull of the one person who ever loved him— choosing death just to ruin him.
They dragged Nam-Gyu back into the hall screaming. Screaming. Not from pain. From you. “NO—NO—SHE’S NOT DEAD—SHE’S NOT—DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME—”
He was drenched in your blood. Face red, eyes wild, mouth foaming grief he never knew he could feel. He tripped over his own feet, crumpled to the floor. The other players stared in frozen silence.
Nobody spoke. And then— Thanos stood. And something broke in the room. He was always soft. Warm. But now there was nothing left in his eyes.
No kindness. No calm. Just the raw, boiling void of grief. His tray hit the floor. His fists were already clenched. He walked across the room.
Not fast. Not frantic. Like judgment itself. Nam-Gyu didn’t see him at first. He was on his knees, whispering your name in pieces.
And then— Thanos grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him. One arm. Straight up. Against the wall. Nam-Gyu choked on his breath, struggling. “W-What—Thanos—”
“YOU TOOK HER FROM ME.” Thanos’ voice wasn’t loud. But it shook the walls. Nam-Gyu sputtered, eyes wide.
“She CHOSE it!” he gasped. “I didn’t—I didn’t kill her—”
“YOU BROKE HER!” And then the first punch landed. A sickening crunch. Nam-Gyu’s nose exploded. Blood smeared across the white wall. He didn’t even scream. Didn’t fight back. Thanos hit him again.
Fists flying like every word he never said to you was coming out in bone-breaking fury.
“You don’t get to scream her name—”
“You don’t get to beg for her back—”
“You let her DIE—you watched her break!”
The guards surged forward but the others didn’t move. Even the remaining players—some broken, some dead-eyed—just watched.
Because every one of them knew: This was earned.
Finally, the guards got their hands on Thanos. Pulled him off. His breath heaved. His hands dripped with someone else’s blood.
But his eyes? His eyes stayed locked on Nam-Gyu—slumped against the wall, face shattered, sobbing, broken.
“She was mine,” Thanos whispered. “Not to own. Not to use. To protect. To love. And you took her from me.”
Nam-Gyu sobbed harder. But Thanos didn’t look at him again.
He looked down. At the blood on his knuckles. At the trail you left behind. And for the first time since your death— He finally let himself cry.
It had been over an hour. The others moved around in silence—eating, drinking, whispering in corners. But Thanos hadn’t moved once. He was crouched in your bed. His broad frame curled small, elbows on his knees, head bowed over where you used to sleep.
He hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t blinked in minutes.
Just sat there, fingers wrapped around the edge of your blanket like it was the only thread left tying him to reality.
You’d curled up in this spot so many nights. You’d pulled him in, whispered stupid jokes, traced his jawline with lazy fingers.
It still smelled like you. Still felt like you. He sat there like maybe—if he stayed long enough—he’d hear your laugh again.
He didn’t look up. Didn’t care. But they stopped in front of him.
A pause. Then—softly—something landed beside him on the bed.
A necklace. Yours. Your favorite one. The one you wore even under your jumpsuit. The one you once told him you’d never take off, “not even in hell.”
Now it was bloodied. The chain soaked through. The charm dented, a tiny crack running through the metal where it had hit the floor. But it was still yours. Thanos reached for it slowly, like it might vanish.
He picked it up. Turned it in his palm. Stared. And something in him finally broke. Not with a sob. Not with a scream. Just a slow, crumbling exhale. “…She wore it every day,” he whispered.
The guard who stood there didn’t speak. Didn’t move. He just bowed his head. Not low. Not formal. Just enough.
Like a man offering respect. Like someone who understood—this wasn’t a punishment anymore.
This was mourning. Thanos nodded once, barely able to say the words.
The guard left. And Thanos?
He stayed there. Holding the necklace to his lips. Whispering your name like a prayer he’d say every day for the rest of his life.
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