sophie

“Because the food has been sitting for half an hour? You’re right; that’s the final straw.” It’s a good thing he’s not watching you, otherwise your incredulous tone would be betrayed by the smile you can’t quite hold back. “Maybe we should leave a poor Google review.”

Despite his complaints, Namgyu has his cheeks full of the half-crispy, half-soft pancake. Hands stained red with something other than blood, he shakes his head and uses his shoulder to try and push the hair off of his face. Without pausing to swallow, he pushes out, “I’ve seen crackheads season food better than this.”

You huff, sneaking another glance at the door just in case anything’s changed. “I must’ve missed that cooking show,” you drawl, even as the reminder of what hells he’d waded through before coming here dampens your mood. “Listen, Namgyu,” you start hesitantly, “I think we should have a plan. For when we go out there, I mean.”

His brows and jaw work in confusion, practically squinting at you. “To do what?”

“Well-” you fall short, sucking in an uncertain breath. Your mind hasn’t exactly been in the game for the past ten or fifteen minutes, and you feel it resisting as you try and focus back in. “We killed people. I just- I don’t know, what do I even do if we lose the vote? I’ve been sleeping beside the others but-”

Namgyu cuts you off, nails clicking rhythmically on the tabletop. “You want your mom to call my mom and ask if we can have a sleepover?”

Your cheeks heat at the childish way he phrases it, but if you’re honest, it would be reassuring to have confirmation that - if the others still rejected you - you wouldn’t have to find somewhere on your own. “It’s not safe at night.”

“Not safe during the day,” he counters easily.

Your mouth opens instinctively to snap back, but you force yourself to take a beat. The Namgyu you’d been talking to before, the Namgyu that had made you see stars, seems to be evaporating before your very eyes and returning to the one that never lets you know where exactly you stand. He’s unstable at the best of times, and if you want to actually communicate anything to him, you have to tread carefully. “I guess I better keep you around then, too.”

The only sign Namgyu’s heard you is the way his hand buffers for a moment before he continues fossicking through the food to see if anything meets his standards. While you attempt to find the right words, you give in and join him at the table. 

Your actions over the last thirty minutes or so feel flat and unreal. Vivid but held behind a glass wall like your brain doesn’t want to let them in just yet. But if you’re going to face Junhee and Geumja, you need to acknowledge them. The two women had advocated for you so much over the past few days, and yet had completely rejected you - recoiled at the sight of you - when you tried to avenge Hyunju’s senseless murder. Still, you feel uneasy without their support. The urge to beg for their forgiveness as soon as you get back is so strong your hands tremble.

Namgyu wouldn’t understand that. But he does understand vengeance. He understands the heady rush of righteous accomplishment you felt when your knife pushed past the resistance of flesh and bone. Myunggi deserved to die. Who’s to say he wouldn’t have killed you and Geumja next all for a little more cash in the piggy bank? He’d shown no real remorse over Hyunju. 

Sex and violence have valiently overridden your grief over her for a while, but it threatens to come back in full if you dwell too long on it. Before you can attempt to broach a new topic, the dull snick of a lock flipping startles you. 

“Fucking finally,” Namgyu huffs in time with the second and third locks slotting out of place. He shovels a section of crumbed chicken cutlet in his mouth before wiping his hands dry on his blood-stained pants. “You didn’t eat anything.”

You don’t try to hide the grimace on your face at the way he speaks through the ambitious mouthful. Truthfully, you don’t have much of an appetite, though you’ll probably regret not taking advantage of the offerings later. “A trusted source told me it wasn’t seasoned very well,” you quip dryly instead.

The door opens behind you and two guards file in to escort you back to the dormitory. Namgyu skitters past them, beelining for the opened box of cigarettes and lighter on the coffee table, but he’s intercepted by an impassive pink guard. “Items within the exit room may not leave the exit room.”

Namgyu huffs, throwing his hands up in irritation but gives up immediately. “Prick,” he mutters under his breath. As the two of you are herded through the exit door, and the one leading to the hallway, he reaches out to hook a finger into your pants pocket. His eyes stay low for a moment while he pulls slightly at it, exposing the curve of your hipbone. “You see that shit? He just took my one coping mechanism away.”

“Poor baby,” you interrupt teasingly before you can help yourself. The weight in your pocket lingers; with each step, the recoil threatens to tug your waistband below the level of your panties. You’re taut, ready to smack his hand away if he crosses that line. With the way one of the guards’ face cover tilts slightly towards you, you probably should push him off anyway, but the same part of you that willingly spread your legs for him drinks up Namgyu’s attention too much. 

He seems to realise it, too. Two larger strides as you move down the hallway and he’s caught up close enough that your elbow bumps his torso. Close enough that he could get away with whispering privately, so you know it’s intentional when he chooses not to. “I guess I’ll just need you to be my stress relief instead. You’ll do that, won’t you, 123? You’ll help me take a load off?”

Your cheeks burn at the thinly-veiled euphemism. The guard that was trying to act subtle turns to other way as your entourage descends a flight of pastel stairs, but the cock of his head shows he’s clearly still listening. “What’s in it for me?”

“Maybe I don’t kill you in the next game.” 

Namgyu’s serious expression brings a genuine laugh bubbling out of you. “Oh, sure, real compelling,” you drawl sarcastically. “I’ve been terrified this whole time that you’ll attack at any moment.”

His fingers drop from you, though he doesn’t create any distance, even when it makes winding through the corridors clunky and awkward. Even without turning your head to look, you can tell he’s got a sour scowl on his face at the jibe. “It’s every man for him-fucking-self out there, 123. You think I’d hesitate if you stood in my way?”

This time, you can’t resist. You slow to a halt and twist around to face him. As suspected, his mouth is twisted up and his eyes are an oily black. Any other player would be terrified. “Actually, I do. You’re the one who keeps saying we’re going to leave this place together. If anything, you should be convincing me to spare you.”

Namgyu moves so fast you don’t even have time to flinch. In the blink of an eye, he’s used his proximity to shove you against the chest-level partition and pin you there with his own body. The cold pinprick of his knife - when did he even pick that up? - presses snugly against the side of your neck, so close to the artery that each pulse jostles it slightly. You freeze like a deer in headlights, even as a guilty heat pools in your legs at the feeling of his body on yours and the intensity in his eyes. 

Pink blurs move closer in your peripheral, but your mind is honed entirely on him. Namgyu’s face is so close you could kiss him if there wasn’t a weapon in the way, and the thought lances through you with a new realisation. You want to kiss him. You want to feel his lips move against yours, to press against him with the same force he’s exerting on you. You want to be alone with him again, without a time limit.

Namgyu’s narrow in an attempt to seem ore intimidating. “I could slit your throat right here,” he spits out, “I could gut you like a fish. I wouldn’t feel a thing.”

A grin tugs at your lips when he shifts against you. Barely, more like he’s adjusting his centre of gravity, but enough to make something quite clear. “Why are you hard, then?”

Barely audible, a punched-out sound leaves his throat. Namgyu moves his hips again, almost experimentally like he hadn’t noticed. His eyes are blown wide despite clearly being on the downhill slope of his high and they’re locked on to the steady rhythm of your chest as you try to slow your breaths. You curse the knife between you even as it’s one of the contributors to your racing heartbeat.

“Move it along.”

You blink at the order. Not because you’re taken off guard or intimidated, but because it’s at total odds to every other one you’ve been given. Whoever spoke - you assume the shorter guard closest to you - did so without the formal impassive tone you’d grown accustomed to. It’s sharp, rife with irritation, and he further surprises you by waving a hand dismissively, shooing you on. 

Namgyu’s jaw flexes, his knuckles turn white around the plastic handle of the blade before he reluctantly steps away from you with a huff. Your entire front is left cold in his absence, but you force yourself to resume pace with the rest of them. The atmosphere is different now, like you’re two scolded children being led to the principal’s office. You don’t know whether to feel embarrassed or ashamed. 

The entrance to the dormitory comes all too soon, and with it the icy dread of the reception your friends might give you. Namgyu walks ahead of you, oblivious to your trepidation. “Fucking heater on?” he mutters under his breath as soon as he clears the threshold, and as he roughly yanks the zipper of his jacket down, something falls and skitters across the polished concrete. 

Thanos’ cross eventually slides to a stop a few metres ahead, untethered to its chain. 

As soon as he identifies it, Namgyu reacts like it’s about to fall into a bottomless pit. Only a few seconds pass between it breaking away and it being snatched up by him again, but his panic radiates all the same. The immediate dash, his hands smacking on the concrete to grab at it desperately, the heavy sigh of relief once it’s snug in the palm of his hand again; the whole room notices.

You bristle under the weight of their cumulative attention, all too aware that your friends are among them. The door to the hallway swings shut behind you with a heavy thud in time with Namgyu rejoining you. He runs his finger over the cross nestled in his palm with a trembling finger. 

“Thanos, that fucker,” he spits morosely under his breath before holding it out to you, “typical of him to buy shitty quality jewellery. ‘Long as I’ve known him, he’s been a cheap bastard.” Uncaring of the eyes on you - or maybe unaware - he’s in no hurry to hide away among the bunks like you are. Instead, he clicks the lid open, chewing on his lip as he looks inside.

Hesitantly, you take a step closer so you can keep your voice low. “Are you gonna take one?” As horrible as it is, you wouldn’t object to him getting high again. Seeing him slowly withdraw is already making you uneasy. It’s like his grief over Thanos is just beneath the surface, threatening to overflow at any moment. Perhaps it’s selfish, but you don’t like the idea of seeing him fall apart in here. 

Namgyu’s eyes dart up to you almost before you finish your sentence before dropping again to the pendant. With such care it almost seems reverent, he tilts it towards you so you can see the two pills still waiting inside. “Two pills, two games,” he divulges sagely. He snaps it shut and buries it in his pants pocket. “Gotta use ‘em wisely.”

You accept the rationale with a nod, even as you internally worry how he’s even going to make it to tomorrow morning. “Okay, let’s just go sit down for now. Everyone’s staring.”

Looking around, he barks out a short laugh. “Of course they’re staring. Which one of them do you think almost walked in on us?” With a grin at the way you stiffen and flush, he grabs onto the front of your jacket and begins walking backwards to pull you along towards the wall. 

Without thinking, you naturally let yourself get physically guided by him until your brain catches up with you and you bat his hand away to walk independently. “Fuck off,” you retort weakly. 

Namgyu just hums, ambling along to an empty region of bunk beds. They’ve thinned down, you notice belatedly. No longer are the walls steeped with ten bed-high towers; the taller ones have either been replaced or deconstructed, and those closer to the centre of the room seem to have been culled completely. It just adds to the eerie, void atmosphere that festers after every game. 

Even with less furniture, it’s easy enough to find somewhere to sit. By rule, the group has to have at least halved, and you know Hyunju and you had both killed people on top of that. You wouldn’t be surprised if others had, too. 

Belatedly, you recall your earlier realisation that the elimination and pass announcements weren’t playing in the exit room. A good ten minutes of gameplay you aren’t up-to-date on. Your heart quickens anxiously as, the moment the two of you sit down on the edge of a floor-level bed, you begin to scan the room for familiar faces. 

Systematically, left to right, you check every single one. A lot of them still are faces you generally recognise but know nothing about. Somehow Jeongdae made it through, the 100 on his jacket just as stained as his face. 203’s beside him, seemingly replacing his old buddy. He paces like a caged tiger while Jeongdae’s eyes linger on the golden pig above your heads. The shaman occupies her perch on the top of a bunk, though now it’s maybe half the height it was this morning. She stares imperiously out, meeting your gaze with such a catlike sharpness that you’re forced to move on.

An unhappy gurgle breaks your calculated sweep. You can’t help but seek out Junhee’s baby and your old friends. Part of you hopes they may have just been shocked before, that Junhee will let you hold her child, Yongsik will recollect his own experience in the game. Geumja will let you off with a smack on your own and equilibrium will resume. It’ll never be the same without Hyunju, of course, but at least you could mourn together. 

It’s Geumja you see first. Her hair is a brighter silver than it had seemed when it was coiled up, and it naturally catches your eye as she has her back to you. 

Behind her, partially shadowed, Junhee is rocking the baby. The cries quickly subside, but a heavy dread remains in your stomach. 

Someone’s missing.

You stand up fast, instinctively as if it’s going to give you a better view. Back and forth, left and right, in every crevice. The bathrooms are closed off, so he can’t be there. You check the room again. No Yongsik.

Tears prickle in the corners of your eyes as your feet lead you in their direction, mind numb with shock. The man you’d spoken to this morning, the son of a woman you’d connected with so strongly. Taken without a goodbye. The intention of going over to commiserate is struck down almost before it even begins. 

On the opposite side of the room, Junhee shifts the baby’s weight to point a single, accustory finger at you. Her head is crooked towards Geumja, who stiffens and twists around to face you. 

Even from here, her face is red and haggard. Grief has melted her features and for a moment you truly believe you’re about to be welcomed back to support each other. The illusion doesn’t last long. The second her eyes lock on you, her face hardens, mouth taut and brows pinched. There are no words or gestures. She simply turns her back again, refusing to deign you with so much as an acknowledgement. 

Guiltily, you feel a flicker of irritation. One moment of impulsivity borne from the death of a mutual friend, and you’ve been totally excommunicated from them. You can understand Junhee had a connection to Myunggi, but they weren’t together. Even right after he saw her, he didn’t enter the room to go to her. He left. Junhee herself looked horrified at his actions. 

You’ll bear the burden of blood on your hands for the rest of your life, an irony after all this time you’ve spent trying to disprove it, and they’ve abandoned you for it. 

The injustice of it all doesn’t sit well. You don’t return to Namgyu, not yet. That irritation, that teary swell of unfairness, threatens to bubble over as you force yourself to move on, going back to your scan of the room. 

Gihun’s still alive, chained back up in his usual spot with a defeated slump in his shoulders. For someone that begged to die, now he was clearly willing to kill to ensure he didn’t. 

Onwards. More faces that don’t mean much, yet you spend a few seconds on every one just to be sure you don’t know them. If you’re honest with yourself, part of you is still expecting Hyunju to cross your path. Or even Semi, Jungbae, even Youngil. 

Finally, you squint in a dim corner and make out the meek frame of Minsu. He’s a few beds off of the floor, knees up to his chin as he pulls the cuffs of his sleeves over his fists and watches the room. His face is pale, eyes not just wary but paranoid. Clearly, he’s coming down from that Namgyu-induced high you’d had to ferry him through. 

Assessing his wellbeing long enough gives Minsu’s wandering gaze time to reach you. You’re expecting a smile of gratitude, a look of mutual resignation. Perhaps a shy little wave if you’re lucky. 

Instead, strangely, Minsu shares a similar reaction to your other friends. 

He recoils, looking away before burying his head in his lap completely to block you out. 

Disbelief makes you turn back to Namgyu, wanting to see if he noticed it, too. He’s squinting in Minsu’s direction, head cocked at a light angle. “What the fuck?” you loud-whisper across to him. For a moment, he seems to be equally baffled, before letting in go in favour of a slow, tired laugh. “It’s not funny,” you whine, rejoining him to give a light kick at his shin, “I fucking helped him, Namgyu. And now I’m just the gum on his shoe. He didn’t even- He wasn’t even there and he still hates me for it.”

“Hey!” Namgyu cuts in decisively, leaning forward so he has to look up at you from his seated position. Despite the withdrawal that won’t let him sit still, his eyes sparkle slightly with the catlike mirth you’ve grown too fond of. “I bet it’s him that tried to crash the party. You reckon he’s jealous?”

“This is serious,” you defend mulishly, though you can’t help but turn back to look over him again. Could that be the reason? You all-but ensured his survival in the game, and you highly doubt he was debriefing with the others before you came in, so why else would he? As if he knows he’s being looked at, Minsu pokes his head up just enough for his eyes to rise above his folded arms. He’s much too far away for you to read that sliver of his expression, but his eyes are firmly locked on the two of you now. You blink. “Shit; you think? But he was a seeker, he didn’t need the room.”

Namgyu chuckles again, rubbing at his face, fingers pressing harshly on his closed lids. “He’s also a coward.”

Unfortunately, that’s not really something you can defend. “Okay, then how would he have known it was us?” you point out. “He didn’t actually open the door.”

He pulls his hands away to give you a grin so sharp it borders on condenscending. “Because he just watched guards escort the two of us out after everybody else from the arena had already returned.”

You pause, then huff. “Dammit. Okay, that’s a fair theory.”

“Theory?” Namgyu shoots the word back at you in offence, pushing himself to his feet with a dry scoff. “I’m right. Look; watch him for a sec.”

Curiosity overrides your suspicion, and though you remain standing in front of Namgyu, you return your attention to Minsu. He’s still watching you, which is a little unsettling, but it’s nothing different to before.

That is, until a hot mouth descends on your neck. 

You suck in a sharp breath as the warmth of Namgyu’s tongue laving over one side of your throat contrasts with his cold fingers curling around the other side to hold you there. “N- Wh-?” The sudden stimulation has your tongue dumb in your mouth, failing to form a single word.

Instinctively, your eyes flutter closed and you lean into him, shuddering when he nips at the sensitive skin there. The sting is quickly soothed by the deep press of his tongue. It doesn’t stop there, however, leaving a languid trail up to the divot of your jaw. You can feel his nose pressing into your hair and his breath warming the shell of your ear. 

“What’s he look like now?”

Namgyu’s fingers are tight on you, the weight of his arm pressing across your chest, but they can’t tether you down fully, your mind still airy and slow. “Hm?” you make out, eyes open just enough to make out the golden glow of the pig against the rest of the room’s cold lighting. 

“Minsu,” Namgyu clarifies stiffly like the word itself is distasteful. There’s nothing stiff about the way his mouth returns to work for a few moments, a dull pressure rising where it sits. 

Despite the way your nerves feel on fire, heat pooling in your core, the name is enough to bring a weak sense of self-awareness back to you. By the name Namgyu unlatches from you with an obscenely wet pop, your eyes are wide open and locked on Minsu as requested.

A tug on your earlobe just rough enough to pull a whimper from you, and Namgyu’s whispering in your ear again. “Does the little freak look shy, baby?” He says it teasingly, perhaps even mockingly, but it’s so honeyed your mind threatens to tune the world out again. 

A primal part of you, however, the part that wants to please him and keep him close, prioritises following his directions. Minsu’s looking right at you, though certainly not making eye contact. He’s coiled up like before, but his hands have found their place tucked tightly between his thighs, and his head is half-poking out from behind the metal strut that does absolutely nothing to conceal his voyeurism. 

“He looks curious,” you correct with a breathy laugh, finally breaking yourself away from Namgyu, who pouts but quickly redirects his attention to drink in Minsu’s reaction. 

“Fuck, that pervert. Didn’t think he had it in him.” Namgyu’s hand still lingers on the side of your neck not doted on with spit and teeth. You don’t take it off, even as your cheeks heat in the certainty that Minsu’s far from the only person that caught the show. Unbothered, Namgyu makes a fist and mimes jacking off. The recipient blushes so fiercely you can see it from the other side of the room, and quickly turns to face the wall, yanking at the blanket beneath him to try and cover himself. Namgyu hums thoughtfully. 

You’re far too embarrassed - and, you can admit, worked up - to keep scanning the crowd now. No way do you want to make eye contact with any of them. Wiping away the quickly-cooling saliva on your neck with the sleeve of your jacket, you dislodge yourself from Namgyu’s hold and lie back-first onto the bed. 

Letting your feet dangle over the edge, all the tension and emotional turmoil of the day floods out of you in an indulgent groan. Your muscles ache, panging only now that they have the chance to rest. “Let’s just wait for the vote,” you suggest in a mumble so low he probably doesn’t catch it. You close your eyes as a yawn takes over, and as you do you feel the weight of the mattress shift beside you. “Maybe we can finally go home.”

The springs squeak, but there’s no audible answer. Eventually, Namgyu’s jostling settles, and the only sound is breathing, two distinct rhythms slowly merging into one. 

You don’t intend to, but in the ten or fifteen minutes you spend before the guards return, you can’t keep a tight hold on consciousness. It was only two nights ago that you’d gotten no sleep due to your failed rebellion. How is that even possible? Without a sun or moon to follow, your circadian rhythm has been unable to file your memories away neatly. Instead, events of that first day are side-by-side with the arena you just left. Everything feels both months ago and painfully current and it takes conscious effort to try and put any of it in chronological order. 

While you’re not asleep enough to dream, your mind is soft enough to conjure up lazy, half-baked imagery. This week threatens to flash behind your eyes over and over, so you redirect your focus and try to imagine you’re in some hotel or exotic resort instead. That slight cool shifting air from the ventilation units in here is actually the fresh breeze of a lake, or a coastal town, or a chalet in the springtime. The brightness that seeps past your closed lids is a skylight letting in the midday sun. If only you can keep them closed a little longer, by the time you get up again you’ll have a Michelin star restaurant and cobblestone streets of little shops and cafes and live music waiting for you. 

The mattress shifts again, and a knee or elbow brushes against your shoulder. It’s frictionless the way your little bubble expands to fit Namgyu inside. You can clearly see him complaining about public transport or dragging you to seedy clubs, but equally so you let yourself indulge in the thought of him perusing street markets and covering himself excessively in sunscreen at the beach and poring over Google reviews at 8am for the best local coffeeshop. Perhaps that version of him is the one you would’ve seen if you’d met him before the games, before Thanos’ pills triggered a relapse. 

He’d mentioned earlier in the exit room that he might go to rehab after the games. You still haven’t decided whether he means it. What you do know is that, whether it’s wise or not, you want to stick near him. Find out what he’s like when he’s a real person, not just a number and a tracksuit. It’s particularly cruel that for all the people that died here, and whoever lives but doesn’t cross paths with you again, you’ll never truly know them. 

A familiar mechanical whirr pulls you from your thoughts and back into alertness. They’re here. With a groan, you reluctantly open your eyes to the same heartless prison you’ve been stuck in for a week. You sit up, making room for Namgyu when he scooches forward to the edge. Your tongue aches with the urge to talk to him, to see where he really stands about what he’ll do after he leaves. If you’d be a part of it. Instead, you stare balefully at the chain of pink guards at the front.

“Congratulations to all of you for making it through the fourth game,” the leader announces coolly, “here are the results.” A click of his remote, and stacked bills come tumbling down the chute into the piggy bank in time with the arcade tune. You brace yourself for the total, everyone else doing the same. “In the fourth game, thirty-five players were eliminated. We now have twenty-five players remaining. The prize money accumulated up to this point is 43.1 billion won, and each person’s share is 1.724 billion won.”

You stiffen. That means five extra players were killed, four outside of Myunggi. With a pang, you recall that Yongsik was another. You suppose you’ll never know if he failed to pass or just got attacked by a blue player. Three more, then. 

“You will now take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not.” The voting podium is quickly wheeled out onto the floor at the foot of the stage, and you all herd yourselves to the back of the room. 

The two of you split up without speaking, though you’re almost certain you feel Namgyu’s eyes on you when you’re not looking. Junhee and Geumja stay close to the beds, the latter standing protectively in front of the mother and child. Obviously not welcome, you decide you won’t even attempt to go near them. Minsu’s probably still in that weird funk from before, so it leaves Daeho. 

There’s a dwindling red population, so it doesn’t take long to scan over them, but yet you miss him on your first look. More careful this time, you go through the seven players systematically. Dread curls low in your stomach. Not Daeho…

You even check the blues and the beds, just in case he’s squirreled himself away like yesterday. Nothing. 

Your search of the dormitory leads you to the back, where a single man sits cuffed to a bunk bed. He has his back to the rest of you, and like yesterday you doubt he’ll be uncuffed to be given the right to vote. Gihun had rallied for you all from day one, yet now, as you struggle to even fathom that Daeho is no longer with you, all you can see in your mind’s eye is the way the older man had glared at Daeho for almost the entirety of yesterday and this morning. 

A red vest on him, and a blue on your friend. 

Even though it’s perfectly plausible that somebody else could’ve gotten him, your gut knows you’re looking right at his killer. 

The leader is speaking behind you, presumably to initiate the vote, but your feet have a mind of their own. As fast as you can without running, you stalk past the others and straight towards his slumped silhouette. How dare he murder somebody in cold blood just for being frightened? It wasn’t like Daeho killed anyone himself. It’s not like you even would’ve won the revolt with a few extra magazines. A few steps away now, there’s a buzzing growing inside you, a deep agitation. 

The first time you felt this way was about an hour ago.

You don’t have a knife this time, but as you round the corner you make full use of your fist. Gihun barely has a chance to look up at the incoming movement before you’re bending down to sling a punch right across his cheek. His head snaps to the side as a pained grunt of shock leaves his bloody mouth. 

Heavy footfall is incoming, so you waste no time. “You’re a hypocritical piece of shit, Gihun!” Your knuckles ache where they met his cheekbones, and so instead you level a harsh kick at his torso, the buzz between your temples reveling in the way he curls in on himself. “What happened to trying to save people? Daeho was your friend and you fucking killed him! Jungbae would be ashamed of you.”

Nothing manages to get a reaction from him until that last sentence. “You don’t know anything,” he growls up at you, pausing onto to spit a mouthful of blood onto the polished concrete to his side. His eyes blaze beneath furrowed brows as he strains forward against the cuff tethering him down. “Daeho was not my friend. He was a coward and a liar.”

Gihun has his mouth open to continue but as a rifle clicks above you, you steal those last few seconds to level a kick at him again. Gloved hands curl painfully around your biceps as you reel back for it, however, and by the time your foot lashes it out it meets open air. 

You continue to spit vitriol at him as those two guards drag you away, and it’s not until you’re suddenly wrestled and pinned to the ground that your voice fails you. It happens so quickly; one moment you’re upright and thrashing in their hold, and the next your knees ache from solid impact, a boot pinning your chest to the icy floor. 

You’re frozen bar a tremble in your bones that you can only partially attribute to the cold. The pink guards have always been a threat with their role as executors, but - just like the PA voice and the leader - they’ve held themselves with an almost clinical coolness. Aggression is not something you’ve ever witnessed in them since you got here and it immediately does its job of getting you back in line. 

In the silence of the room, the leader’s modulated voice carries heavily. “Violence among players inside the dormitory is not tolerated.”

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, feeling almost embarrassed at your outburst despite the anger still simmering in your veins. The boot on your back lifts up once the guard is satisfied you’ve given up and the group of three return to the stage. The other players all stare at you as you stand up but you keep your gaze resolutely locked onto the floor. You rejoin the red side with your tail between your legs, relieved when the leader proceeds with the voting. 

“The player with the lowest number will vote first. Player 039, please cast your vote.” The man makes his way to the front as the manager continues to repeat the rules all of you have long since memorised. “If you wish to continue the games, press the O button. If you wish to end them, press the X button.”

Now that the two sides are separated with the blue players clearly having the majority, you again feel like watching the outcome is pointless. Those selfish and stupid enough to come this far aren’t going to suddenly change their mind. They’re all just like gamblers in a casino, convinced their winning run will last forever. But when you catch out of the corner of your eye that 039, a previous red voter, has changed sides, you still feel a stab of disappointment. 

The shaman takes her place next. Her ponytail is bedraggled and her face is as splotched with blood as the rest of you. Still, she holds herself with the same regality you’ve come to expect. At the front, she tips her chin skyward and raises her hands: left over one button, right over the other. She takes the same painstaking approach as she usually does and you’re not the only one that starts shifting in impatience. Finally, a strange shudder rocks through her, almost a convulsion that she recoils into herself from. Trembling, she reaches forward again and bloody fingers find the X button. 

Namgyu scoffs under his breath, other players mutter. Voting to leave is all good and well, but if her divination is to be believed, it doesn’t seem like the future is very pleasant. 

A few more players are called before you, though none you’ve had much to do with. For a couple of days, right in the middle, it felt like you had a small community of allies around you. All of you were terrified for your lives, but misery loves company and at least you knew everyone was looking out for each other. That feeling began to crack the night of the rebellion, but now it’s been completely shattered in less than two hours. Namgyu is the only person you have, and you can’t help but wonder if this tight pull - almost possessiveness - you’ve started feeling towards him is just your brain’s desperate plight to not be abandoned completely. 

As you make your way up to the podium, you chance a look at him. He’s watching you, and that in its own right provides a subtle reassurance. Despite his straggled appearance, there’s nothing weak about the keen desire in his eyes. It takes you off guard for a moment until his gaze flickers to the back of the room, where Gihun is still cuffed. Ah. 

Childish as it is, Namgyu’s clear approval makes you puff your chest a little. Arriving at the voting station, you look up at the sets of guards flanking the leader to see if you can somehow work out which one roughhoused you just before. Despite the anonymity, there’s a dead giveaway. On the leader’s immediate left, a triangle mask falls out of alignment with the others and cants subtly towards the wall, as if the guard behind it is refusing to look at you. You wonder if it’s the same one that got so bothered with the encounter you had with Namgyu in the corridor. The thought makes you grin. It’s a small triumph, but the evidence that you were able to get any sort of rise out of the emotionless guards gives you a genuine sense of satisfaction.

You place your completely useless vote to leave, and step over to the red X on the floor. There’s only one man there - the shaman has abandoned the vote to return to her turret, which is now only two bunks high - and he gives you a polite but uneasy smile when you stand beside him.

“Player 124.”

Namgyu approaches. As he passes he doesn’t look over at you, instead rubbing his hands harshly over his face, letting out a deep sigh. For the first time, he’s not confidently walking up the aisle. He seems genuinely uncertain. Without realising, you hold your breath as you watch him. Letting out a deep groan, he pats himself firmly on the cheek like he’s trying to wake himself up. 

While his indecision is out of character, his fidgeting is not. His hands roam restlessly. They go from his face to carding through his hair, to drumming on the podium top, to one buried in his pocket. This makes him go still. You can’t see it, but you can imagine the cross pendant with his fingers wrapped tightly around it. One slow breath. Namgyu reaches out with his trembling free hand, and for the first time he votes to leave.

Your jaw drops, and by the time he rips his O patch off to exchange it and then join you, your mouth is still hanging open. 

Namgyu’s change of mind has clearly taken away the arousal he’d felt earlier. Nonetheless, his eyes still glimmer at your reaction even as he schools his features. “Shut up,” he instructs gruffly at the bewilderment on your face. 

You hold your hands up silently in surrender even as you try to muffle a pleased smile. Despite the fact that you’re definitely not going to win the vote, seeing the red patch on his chest warms up something inside of you. 

“Player 125.”

With a barely audible snicker, Namgyu elbows your side. It’s you shushing him this time as Minsu walks past, the younger boy’s steps just as slow and timid as they’ve always been. You know that Junhee and Geumja have decided to disown you for your actions, but Minsu’s odd behaviour still isn’t in complete clarity in your mind. While Namgyu seems to just think Minsu is jealous, you’re not so convinced. If you were Semi, perhaps that would be a little different, but you haven’t really interacted with him as much as you have the others. 

Up at the podium, Minsu cranes his neck back to check the tally - red in the minority as usual - then turns to look at you. 

Well, you’re not the first one he looks at. It’s Namgyu his eyes find first and though you’re several steps away, the curl of his lip is unmistakeable. You turn to share an uneasy look with Namgyu, but he’s just got his eyebrows raised in challenge, unimpressed. 

By the time you look back, Minsu is staring at you, but that disgust has softened. Instead, it’s something dangerously close to pity. You bristle and wait for his vote. When he raises his hand, it hovers over the blue button. In the end, an individual vote won’t turn the tide, but Minsu would be the last person you’d expect in here to want to stay. He huffs out a breath, steels his shoulders, and smacks his hand down. 

Overhead, the tally updates, and a breath of relief is pushed out of your lungs at the sight of the red vote climbing by one. That does mean that Minsu has to come over to your side of the room, which, judging by the tense hunch in his stature, he’s not too keen on. 

“Minsu,” Namgyu whines when the boy stops with his feet tucked inside the very front inner corner of the red section, as far from the two of you as he can feasibly get. “Come on, Minsu, we’re getting the gang back together. The final three of Team Thanos.”

Although Minsu seems unconvinced, he does turn back to face you both with a wary expression. You give him your best uplifting smile - you really would prefer to have more than just one friend in the game tomorrow - and you think you catch a glimmer of him about to return it. Then a sudden weight on your shoulder threatens to push you off-balance. 

Namgyu, with his chin now firmly propped up on you, winds his hands around your torso to link them at the front. When he speaks, it’s like velvet in your ear, loud enough to carry to the front. “Feeling left out? Maybe you should try asking to come join us like a good little boy.”

Even as you’re letting out an exasperated breath at his complete lack of tact, Minsu is pinging back to face the front like he’s been shocked, reaching up to rub the side of his neck anxiously. 

Geumja’s number is called, and your stomach flips. Like Minsu, her and Junhee will both be joining your side. The tension between you all feels near tangible and you wonder if it’s making them as uncomfortable as it’s making you. Having Namgyu clinging onto you like a prom date probably doesn’t help your cause. Despite your secret enjoyment of his physical presence, you unlink his wrists and push him back upright by his chest. 

“What?” Namgyu asks innocently when you send him a dry look. “I’m trying to build bridges. Not my fault the boy’s a prude.”

A beep cuts off your reply. Efficient, Geumja has already placed her vote to leave and taken up residence beside Minsu. She rubs his back maternally and a green bolt of envy and irritation passes through you. He’s a killer too. Why should he get special treatment? That feeling of betrayal builds so quickly that you’re forced to turn your back on them both, facing Namgyu instead.

For all his antagonistic and generally self-centred tendencies, Namgyu immediately catches how worked up you’ve become. It doesn’t take a genius to notice the stiffness in your posture and the bitter fire in your eyes, but it seems from the way his gaze cuts darkly to the pair, to Junhee, and back to you that he understands exactly why. 

Not for the first time, though for a different reason, you wish the two of you were alone.

Another number is called while you face the far side of the room. Footsteps, a beep, those same footsteps growing distant. As soon as another number is called, Geumja springs into action. 

“Sir,” you hear her cry, “end this madness. Show some mercy. Take pity on this old woman, please.” A moment of silence, and her volume grows. “Everyone! I’m begging you to put a stop to this now. If the money isn’t enough for you, I’ll give you my share. You can have it all, I just-”

Her voice cracks, and you duck your head shamefully. Perhaps there was a version of you at some point that would’ve advocated beside her, perhaps not. But now, you’d wager every single player in this room has their mind made up. She’s wasting her breath, admirable as it may be. 

“Look,” she tries again, “I’ve lived a long life. It wouldn’t matter if I died here. But that baby and her mother, they don’t deserve this.”

Geumja keeps begging, even after the masked leader instructs the player to proceed with his vote, but your mind is still hooked on one single word. Her. 

Junhee has a baby girl.

It’s unthinkable, really, to be in a place like this as a new mother. She should be picking out baby names and taking photos and dressing her in tiny clothes. Instead, she’s fighting for her life. What happens to the girl if her mother dies? You’d like to think they’d at least take her to an orphanage or something, but the ones that run this didn’t show any care for Junhee when she was still pregnant. Perhaps now the baby is born they’ll feel no different. 

Everyone remains silent once Geumja is ordered to cease her interference. The votes continue; three Os and one X before Junhee’s number is called. 

All eyes are on her, but you feel a strange urge to conceal your own staring as if she’d find it more distasteful given your falling out. With your gaze partially lowered, you notice she’s limping; significantly, too. The baby gurgles as she’s jostled with each step. Truly, it’s a wonder she’s walking at all so soon after being in labour. Her vote, predictably, is to leave. 

Geumja relieves her of the child as soon as she takes her spot beside her. From the way the older woman’s shoulders are sagging, it’s more for her own comfort than Junhee’s. Over her head, Junhee and Minsu share a meaningful look, and you dip your gaze once more to give them privacy. It’s a bubble you’re no longer permitted to join. 

Five more players vote to stay before another X voter - a long-haired middle-aged woman - joins your side of the room. Only one more X follows her; the next four settle the score with a resounding majority for the blue team. 

“It is the final voter’s turn. Player 456, please cast your vote.” 

You tense your jaw at the last player to be called. While you managed to hold yourself back from ogling Geumja and Junhee too much, you don’t hold the same respect for Gihun anymore. He doesn’t move - of course he doesn’t - but you can convince yourself he’s a little more curled up than he was before you got back at him for Daeho. 

That same anger begins to smoulder within you like coals that just won’t die. You’re taken off-guard at how vibrant it still feels, how much righteousness you felt seeing him spit out blood. He was meant to be better than the rest of you, and yet he murdered a young man who looked up to him. 

Namgyu’s steps behind you and his hands find your shoulders, massaging them deeply. “That look in your eyes is so fucking hot, little 123. I might just have to piss you off myself.”

While he can’t see you roll your eyes, there’s no mistaking the deadpan drawl in your voice. “You always piss me off.”

The leader declares an abstention and announces the concluding tally, yet Namgyu’s thoughtful hum in your ear drowns it out. “Huh. You seemed pretty happy before.” You bolt upright in panic the second Namgyu opens his mouth again. Shameless, lewd moaning as he mocks how you apparently sounded in the exit room. It’s probably - hopefully - not loud enough for anyone else to catch, especially while the pink guard is still addressing the room, but to you it’s deafening. 

You twist out of his grasp to face him so quickly your jaw catches his hand as he pulls it away. Namgyu’s eyes are gleaming so smugly if he said he’d taken a pill while your back was turned you’d believe him. Words won’t form fast enough so you settle for glaring at him with a vicious shush and a rough whack on the chest. 

It succeeds in stopping the imitation, but his devious smirk only grows as he scans your face. “Fuck, there it is,” he coos, and this time the moaning lilt to it is his own. 

The players around you disband, barely enough left to form groups of more than three though most leave alone. You’re stuck in the centre, still scowling at him. “You can’t just act like that in the middle of everyone, what’s wrong with you?”

“Hit me then,” he retorts almost before you’ve finished your sentence. 

You blink. “What?’

Namgyu laughs, practically giggles, and takes a step closer. “If you’re so angry at me, why don’t you just hit me? Make me shut up, just like you did him.” He jerks his head towards Gihun. “Like that fucker MG Coin.”

Narrowing your brows, you let out a scoff. “I didn’t hit MG Coin, I killed him.” You don’t miss the way Namgyu seems to preen at the statement, nor your own prideful conviction saying it. “So I guess unless you want to rot in here, you better be nice to me.”

As expected, your weak attempt at a threat doesn’t faze him. “You like me too much,” he says off-hand as if it’s a simple fact. “Don’t worry. You can take your frustrations out on me all you want once we get out of here.”

We again. “Speaking of…” You shift awkwardly at the flimsy segue. “What do you plan to do if you get out of here. I mean, genuinely.”

There’s a subtle change in him. A slight dimming of his eyes and posture. His smile remains, teeth gnawing at the side of his lip, but that provocative version of him has clearly been put on the backburner. You’re almost surprised he’s let you sway the conversation. 

A swish briefly disrupts your conversation. The dinner service has arrived, and although you can’t yet see what’s inside the brown cartons, you feel a pang of regret that you didn’t take advantage of the proper food you’d been offered in the exit room. Even though he’s eaten already, Namgyu leads the way to join the queue before the rest of the players who’d returned to the beds have time to join. 

“Snort a shitload of ket,” he begins jovially, “burn my boss’ house down, steal the Mona Lisa. Buy a zoo. Whatever the fuck I want, 123, that’s the whole point.”

You wrinkle your nose at the sentiment as he politely takes his food and water from the guard. You take your share - two plain potatoes, seriously? - and try to work up the nerve to get him to drop the facade. “Yeah, but… I don’t know what to do. Either way, we’re not gonna be here more than two days. I guess it’d just feel weird going through all of this and then never seeing anyone again.”

Namgyu turns to you with a dramatic gasp, clutching his carton to his chest. “Yes, I’ll marry you. I thought you’d never ask.”

“Oh, you’re such an asshole,” you whine in irritation, though there’s no real bite to it. With him blowing off your attempts at a serious conversation twice you’re too prideful to try nudging him a third time, so instead you turn to go back the way you came, digging in to your sad little dinner before it loses the last slivers of heat. 

“Attention, players. Lights out will commence in ten minutes. Please enjoy your meal and prepare for bedtime.” You frown at how soon the announcement has come; usually there’s more of a gap after the dinner service concludes. It’s not like you have that much to stay awake for, anyway, so you obediently trudge back to the beds.

Namgyu trails behind, seemingly put-out at your lack of rebuttal. He tosses his own carton carelessly to the side and sits cross-legged on the bed so close your thighs brush his shins. For a moment, he just waits surprisingly patiently for you to eat most of your portion. “You got family waiting for you?”

Eyes narrowing, you swallow down a tepid chunk of potato. “No, why?”

“Friends? Lover?” 

Your cheeks heat up not only at the salacious chime to his voice, but at your own truth. “No,” you’re forced to admit. 

With mock pity, he pillows his cheek against the palm of his hand. “What do you have out there?”

A bitter laugh leaves your lips as you turn to face him. “A warrant for my arrest.”

Namgyu’s eyes darken and he dips his chin a little lower to languidly bite at the flesh beneath his pinky finger. “My baby’s a criminal,” he muses, the words muffled but clear as day to you. You chance another bite of the potato to try and hide how flustered the words make you. “Should’ve known you’d have nasty fucking skeletons in your closet.”

Your jaw tightens before you catch yourself. How long had you spent on the streets furious at being accused of something as despicable as murder? And now, although it’s a different person, you’ve become guilty. The thought somehow loosens a coil of tension in you that you’ve been holding for months. At least if you go to prison now you’ll deserve it. This feeling settles within you in moments, and you’re left sending Namgyu a rakish smile. “And what; you’re in here to raise money for charity?”

“So you’ll start a new life for yourself after this? Fake passport, flee the country.” Namgyu speaks as if you never responded to him at all, and you blink at the matter-of-fact tone. “I know a guy.”

“Oh, really?” He seems confused at how incredulous you are. Sick of the dry potato, you crack open the plastic water bottle instead and take a swig. “Met him at Narcotics Anonymous?”

“Work, actually,” he goads, sitting upright when you don’t seem convinced. “I guess if you’re a street urchin you’ve probably never been. Club Pentagon?”

Unimpressed, you send him a flat look. You can’t imagine Namgyu in some nightclub listening to jerky EDM for eight hours. “Sounds bougie,” you deadpan. 

“Maybe if you’re a dumb foreign student who wandered too far from Hongdae,” he corrects, mouth twisting in a catlike grin, almost as if he’s proud of what lies behind the curtain. “But as soon as you go up to the VIP booths it’s drug traffickers, gun runners, corrupt politicians shooting up while the wife and kids are at home. Fucking yakuza. And I’ve worked there a lo-ong time, 123. Trust me, whatever you need, I can pull some strings.”

This silences you. Your eyes scan over him - his smug expression, preen to his chest, his own dark gaze patiently awaiting your reaction. Despite the unlikeliness of him conveniently working at the type of place you’d only seen in gritty dramas, he actually seems genuine. Making the decision to believe him only leads you to a new hurdle. “Why would you do that for someone you met less than a week ago?”

Namgyu’s brows lift as he sits back, like the question itself is ridiculous. “Come on, don’t act so stupid. You’re not much use to me in prison, are you? I mean, they have the - what the fuck is it called? - the conjugal rooms, but that’s just pathetic.” 

Your skin prickles, a cold, dull weight settling in your stomach. “You’ll get me a new identity so you can keep fucking me?”

An expression you’ve never seen before crosses his face. A downward twitch to his mouth, a exhale that could be a huff of frustration or of disappointment. Namgyu straights his spine, looks decisively away from you at the other side of the room. “You are stupid,” he spits weakly. “Whatever. Why don’t you just go grovel to your friends? You like ‘em more, right?”

The sudden dismissal feels like a physical shove and you stand up almost reflexively. As soon as you do, Namgyu’s back to his twitchy self, scooting up the bed so his back’s to the wall, like he can’t wait to get more distance between you. 

Glancing over to the other side of the room, to your surprise you see Minsu with the two women, bent over slightly to look at Junhee’s daughter. Tiny hands extend past the makeshift swaddle with one clutching at his pinky finger. He’s smiling, a rare sight in here. Geumja has a hand on Junhee’s shoulder, rubbing at it kindly as she speaks with her. You miss them. And while Namgyu’s suggestion was bitter, it is a good one. 

You take a few hesitant steps towards them, but your mind is still caught on the man you’re leaving behind. Calling you stupid for guessing his intentions, when he’s been very clear that he does want to fuck you. This isn’t the first time he’s gone cold in regards to your relationship with the others either, yet it’s almost like he’s daring you to give up on him. 

While your mind tries to piece him together, your feet remain slow but steady. It’s hard to navigate Namgyu when he’s so temperamental, you never know what exactly to believe. He’s flirty one moment, needy and jealous the next, then fobbing you off out of nowhere. No wonder most of your friends seem to think he’s going to turn on you at any given moment. To someone on the outside, it probably seems like he doesn’t give a shit whether you live or die. 

In all fairness, if you didn’t know him and hadn’t seem him and Thanos interact, you’d probably assume judging by the way he speaks about him that Namgyu didn’t like the rapper at all. But you do know him, and you know it’s just a front to conceal how deeply he cared for Thanos. 

Your body jarrs to a halt. 

As soon as the thought crystallises - how deeply he cared - everything comes into startling clarity. Namgyu clung onto Thanos and invaded his personal space just like he does with you. Namgyu bears a simmering hatred for Minsu because Thanos chose him to join their team, just like he’s so critical of your former friends. Namgyu’s speaking ill of Thanos now that he’s no longer with you, just like he gets so icy when you leave him. Namgyu had seethed under Thanos’ implications that he only stuck around for the pills. Just like he was so quick to snap at you when you implied he only wanted you for sex. 

He lashed out because it wasn’t true.

Before you even finish processing it, you’re turning tail and stalking back the way you came. It’s still just a theory for now. Maybe your own budding feelings for him are giving you rose-coloured glasses, but you can think of only one way to truly find out. 

It’s only as you reach the start of the bunks that you realise you hadn’t made it very far across the room at all. Even your subconscious was reluctant about leaving him. It means you don’t have much time to second-guess yourself, thankfully, and as you wind down the makeshift corridors, you see the man that has so deeply etched himself in your mind. 

The crucifix is pinned between his canines like a teething toy, sulking and staring blankly at the metal bed base above him. He’s so deep in thought that you’ve already reached the foot of the bed by the time he notices you. Refusing to risk another second for fear of losing your nerve, you hitch your knees up and crawl to him, heart thudding at the genuine shock in his eyes. 

He’s frozen in place while you settle on top of his lap, tug the stupid pill case out of his mouth, and replace it with your own. 

For a moment, as you clasp onto the front of his jacket and press a kiss to his lips, he remains as still as a statue. His hands are still hovering in the air just beneath your chin from where they were holding the crucifix before. You kiss him again, willing him into action, but after there’s no reciprocation you reluctantly pull away. 

Namgyu’s eyes are still wide, flickering as they alternate between your own and your mouth. Doubt begins to seep in at his inactivity. Your fingers begin to loosen around the fabric of his jacket, and you sit back on your heels, all too aware of your position straddling his thighs. You swallow the thickness in your throat. “Am I stupid?” you whisper, not needing to complete the question. Am I stupid for thinking you like me? 

His brows furrow, that same startled look remaining. His lips twitch barely, like he’s about to say something. Part of you is already bracing for what will surely be an embarrassing rejection when he lets out a disbelieving laugh that’s all air. Humiliation has less than a second to bloom in your chest before it’s cut dead. Namgyu’s mouth is hot on yours, twice as electric now that it moves with passion and intention. 

A throaty whimper of relief is swallowed by him and with it your tension melts away. Your eyes naturally fall closed, your hands splay across his chest instead of clutching at it, and you chase his lips with as much need as he does yours. 

Both of his hands finally come back to life. His right hand curls around the nape of his neck, and you feel the cool fingertips pressing into your hairline as he anchors you firmly to him. The other drops low and grabs onto your hip to keep you in place there, too. You’re overcome with such overdue want that you’ve lost all sense of rhythm. Teeth knock together, your noses bump, half the time you miss and catch the corner of his mouth instead but judging by the huffed breaths leaving his nose at every press of his lips on you, Namgyu doesn’t care. 

Your pulse is thudding weak and rapid like a rabbit’s. This is different to what you’d shared in the exit room. A different kind of urgency. Sharing his breath isn’t enough; it’s not long before your tongue ventures out to seek something more, something deeper. Whatever off-beat synchronicity the two of you have fallen into has Namgyu’s leaving at the same time and the deft flick of it pulls another fragile moan from you. 

The sound only encourages him, and the soft heat of his tongue is replaced by his unyielding teeth as they nip and tug at your lips. You’re gasping now, hips rocking mindlessly against him despite the way his nails dig in through the thin fabric of your pants. It’s only the firm press against your core that flags you back to reality. 

“Wait,” you attempt between frantic kisses, but the only way to pause is to pull yourself away from him. A glinting string of saliva lingers the first few inches before it snaps and falls across Namgyu’s chin. In a daze, he makes no move to wipe it away. Briefly, the pressure on the back of your neck increases from his attempt to reel you back in but you’re already glancing around the room self-consciously. “We’re in plain view of everyone right now, we shouldn’t-”

You’re cut off immediately by the crackle of the PA system. “The lights will turn off in ten seconds. Please prepare for bed.”

A heady smile stretches wide across Namgyu’s cheeks as his head tips back, eyes turned upwards to where the speakers line the ceiling. “My hero,” he quips dreamily. The moment the heat of his gaze returns to you, you know it’s pointless trying to hold back for even those waning ten seconds. 

His hand on the back of your neck guides you in again and this time you don’t resist. You use the last second before your eyes slip shut to locate the zipper at the top of his jacket before you’re melting back into him. Each kiss empties your mind more and more and it takes you longer than expected to navigate such a simple task as unzipping his jacket. Eventually, the two edges give way and you let your hands take their time sliding up his torso. 

You feel the vibrations of an approving hum, and his hold on you is released in favour of wriggling out of his jacket and flinging it carelessly to the side. Your lips don’t leave his for a single moment, too drunk on the thrill of finally knowing where you stand, of indulging knowing he wants this as much as you do. As your hands slide higher still on either side of his chest he jolts suddenly and a stunted giggle leaves him. 

“Are you ticklish?” you tease between kisses, though it’s barely intelligible. Namgyu’s returning muffled threat is proof enough he understood you. Still, when you trail the pads of your fingers lightly across his ribs you feel the muscles flex reflexively as if to confirm your theory.

The second the lights go out, cold fingers are fumbling blindly around your jaw, nails catching on your skin in the desperation to shed you of your own jacket. You offer up your own breathy snicker at the impatient yanks that tug your upper body forward until he’s able to push it down your shoulders. The sudden cool on your bare arms sends goosebumps across your skin and stiffens your nipples. You arch your chest even though he won’t be able to see it and it’s not long before his wandering hands find them. 

You go boneless at the first sharp pinch. Even though Namgyu’s rolling your nipple between his fingers through your shirt, you’re so worked up it’s enough to make your jaw fall slack. You lean into it and rock your hips a little harder against him until he’s panting as much as you.

Namgyu pulls away after a particularly mean twist that has you shuddering, and that hand clasping onto your other hip is the only warning you get before he’s lifting them up and out from under you, letting gravity tip you onto your back.  

The sudden switch knocks the breath out of you and your eyes scan the impermeable blackness as you wait for his next move. 

The mattress shifts and hands tug at the waistbands of your pants and underwear with the same desperation they’d taken your jacket off with. You feel the slight resistance of your soaked underwear and flush at how worked up you’ve become just from kissing Namgyu. Even with the lights out, the feeling of being so bare and vulnerable builds a flutter in your chest. Instead of feeling self-conscious or anxious, however, that wetness just pools more on the insides of your upper thighs. 

A hand grasps above your ankle and encourages your knee to fold, opening you up for him. Desperate to busy your hands and mouth again, you reach up for him but find only empty air. Your lust-ridden brain doesn’t even have a chance to form confusion before you’re jerking at the sudden sensation of a tongue between your legs. 

Without real navigation, Namgyu lands off-centre, but the searing heat of his mouth on the delicate crook of your left thigh feels just as sensitive. Held open by him, your leg trembles as he sucks deeply, laving his tongue over what you know will be a vibrant mark tomorrow. Despite how good it feels when he begins to nibble there, your thighs widen and hips shift of their own accord, greedy for more. Obeying the unspoken command, his mouth redirects and his tongue flattens right over your clit. 

A guttural moan makes its way out before you can stop it, biting harshly on your lip to cut it short. You feel the slight puffs of air as he silently laughs at your reaction but no more time is wasted before he’s putting his tongue back to work. Deep drags intersperse teasing flicks, making your stomach tense up as you fail to figure out his rhythm. Perhaps there’s no rhythm or method at all; his lips, teeth and tongue seem as erratic and unpredictable as he is as they explore you. 

The influx of pleasure is both overwhelming and insatiating, and you find yourself rucking up your shirt until you can palm yourself, the peak of your nipple dragging dry against your palm. 

You feel a featherlight tickle on your hipbone and realise his hair must’ve fallen past his ears. It’s a crime you can’t see him, but instead you settle with an image in your mind’s eye: long hair bracketing his face and begging to be tugged on, the tip of his nose glistening, his eyes darker than the devil’s. An almost gentle lap on the underside of your clit turns unexpectedly into a harsh suck, Namgyu’s teeth catching on the hyper-sensitive skin as he wraps his lips around it. 

The steep crescendo of sensation rips a keening cry from you and your hand flies down towards his head to complete your mental image. You don’t make it in time, however; his mouth leaves you and your hand bumps awkwardly against the top of his head as he lifts it up.

“I’m not gonna stay down there if you can’t keep your mouth shut,” he scolds warningly in a whisper as he crawls back up. You open your mouth automatically to retort but he beats you to the punch with the heat of his palm covering your mouth and nose. It’s not enough to cut off your air supply, just enough to make his point known. Still, to your dismay, he doesn’t return to his previous post. You hear the rustle and swish of fabric instead, and the subtle hiss Namgyu lets out. 

He wastes no time in using his free hand to line himself up and you make no move to interrupt him. Without visual aid, lining up is clumsy trial and error. It’s all you can do not to whine in impatience as he brushes up against you, slipping between your folds and bumping against your swollen clit, but never quite catching where you need him most. It’s only when he slides off-target a third time that you remember your own hands, and shove one between your legs blindly to guide him. 

The second your fingers wrap around him Namgyu sucks in a sharp breath again. You’re half touching his shaft, half his own hand, and it feels bizarrely intimate to have your fingers slightly interlocking as the blunt tip finally presses into you and stays there. 

Despite the stretch, the relief you feel at being filled by him again is so strong that you go slack against the bed, content to just lie back and savour every minute sensation. Your hand falls away when he slides a little deeper, and soon his does as well. You feel it land heavy on your stomach, right at the base of your ribcage. As soon as he’s met with bare skin, his fingers are straining higher and higher until he reaches the swell of your chest. 

Namgyu buries himself to the hilt the moment his thumb bumps up against your nipple. The two of you moan through gritted teeth at the unforgiving, deep stretch. He paws at you, dragging his nails around the curve just to make you shiver beneath him. “These fucking tits,” he praises in a reverent whisper, “had to wait until I couldn’t see before you got them out, you bitch.”

You smile beneath him and he must feel the way your cheeks move under his hand, because even though you don’t make a sound he’s drawing his hips back almost all the way and driving into you again in a punishing thrust. All the air in your lungs hiccups out of you as your jaw drops. Desperation takes over him, and before you can fully relax around him the second time he’s building up a greedy pace that keeps you breathless.

You hitch up the leg that was splayed out long before so he can go even deeper and the next thrust has your eyes rolling back. So intent on not crying out, your body needs an outlet for the onslaught of pleasure and you find yourself thumping one fist against the mattress as the other wraps around his wrist. Your body was wound so tightly before and hasn’t had any chance to recalibrate, and you feel yourself approaching the edge embarrassingly soon. You writhe underneath him, letting his hand on your chest pin you down. 

Namgyu’s panting hard from exertion but is staying valiantly quiet as he chases his own end. You wonder if he’s finding it as hard as you, with teeth pinning the meat of your lower lip so tightly you feel it bruise, eyes squeezed shut, feet curled and tensed. The only sounds outside of heavy breathing come from the bed itself, which is squeaking far less than you’d anticipated, though the rhythmic nature of it probably would be a dead giveaway to anyone listening carefully. 

At least Namgyu’s not the only one who won’t last long; you feel his pace somehow pick up more but lose its integrity, stuttering every few thrusts. He attempts to gain back some leverage by resituating the hand on your face to latch onto the meat of your hip instead.

You’re beginning to feel the unique, overwhelming sensation of pressure that comes from being fucked so thoroughly without anything else. A feeling that something within you is about to snap completely, that you won’t be able to bear it in silence. You release your iron grip on the sheets to bury your hand between your legs and rub at your clit. 

Namgyu’s pelvis pins your knuckles every time he drives into you but the external stimulation provides that feeling of balance you need. You’ll cum quicker this way, but if you don’t you know that building pressure might grow into too big of a beast for your current situation. The last thing you need is to soak the sheets as much as you did the couch in the exit room. The pleasure grows, and you dip your chin to clumsily bite at the rucked-up fabric of your t-shirt in the hopes of muffling the moans which beg to be released.

As his movements grow more uninhibited your fingers speed up, too slippery to have any real dexterity but more than enough to raise you right to that edge and push you over it completely. Your vision goes white, your ears dull every noise. There’s a distinct ache in your jaw from how tightly it clenches around the cheap cotton in your mouth and your thighs pang just as much from how taut the muscles have been held. 

It doesn’t take long before the sharp dig of Namgyu’s nails heralds his own orgasm. He spills inside you hot and insistent and his body collapses almost immediately onto yours. Every pulse around him sends aftershocks through you, yet not in the sting of overstimulation that so often follows strong climaxes like the one that just tore through you. Instead, the warm licks of pleasure smoulder deep in your belly even as the two of you begin to catch your breath and the sweat and cum on your skin turn an uncomfortably sticky room temperature. 

Still, you allow yourself to remain underneath him. Moving means cleaning up without being able to use the bathroom. It means trying to quietly flail around on the floor for your panties and tracksuit like an idiot. It means finding a clean bed and trying to work out what to say to him when morning comes. 

It’s Namgyu that gets up first. He props himself up with his hands on either side of you and pulls out carefully, grunting to himself. The mattress jerks towards the base of the bed, and the swishing of fabric seems to indicate he’s yanking the sheet off to clean himself up before standing to dress properly. 

Slowly, you get enough leverage to sit up, though the ache between your legs makes your brows knit together. Tentatively, you reach down and are met with your joint slick coating your pussy and the insides of your thighs. Perhaps the sheet idea is wise. 

As you gather a handful of the bedsheet and wipe yourself down, you hear fading footsteps. 

You pause in place, eyes straining against the darkness. Nothing. Just when a trickle of doubt suggests Namgyu’d just up and left you, you’re flinching as something light smacks across your face. 

Your clothes, you realise, smiling at him even though he won’t be able to see it. You scoot to the edge of the bed to put them back on, relying on pure luck that you haven’t done it backwards. Every move reminds you of how sore you’ll be tomorrow, but the thought just brews a deep self-satisfaction inside of you. 

Namgyu’s silent throughout, even as you carefully make your way a few rows of bunk beds away where the smell of sex doesn’t linger in the air. By the time you find an acceptable, relatively-unused one you’re convinced he’s just not going to talk at all - either too worn out, or just not knowing what to say. It’s only as you lift the blanket and burrow under that you feel his presence still loitering just beside you. 

When he speaks, it’s three words, each spoken with as much quiet intent as the others. “‘You with me?”

The release of tension in your muscles already has you drifting off now that you’re horizontal again, but the answer comes easy. “I’m with you.” You’re out before you hear him leave your bedside.

That night you sleep so deeply that instead of being woken by it, the cheery orchestral music seeps into the amorphous haze of your dreams instead. Even the abrasive overhead lighting doesn’t immediately wake you. You simply bury your face a little deeper into the scratchy pillow and let it all wash over you. 

Slowly, consciousness returns to you but it’s lazy and soft-edged. The deep ache between your thighs serves as more incentive to remain splayed underneath the blanket. You’d be content to just lie here until breakfast eventually comes.

Nothing is ever so peaceful in here. An angry buzzer fills the room before the unmistakeable sound of doors opening. It’s artificial and harsh enough to remind you of an alarm, and your body’s instinct is to sharpen your wits and get up. 

With a groan, you prop yourself up, rubbing at your eyes when the brightness is a little much to handle. The guards that entered aren’t standing at the front like they usually do. Instead, they march down the centre like pallbearers, a sleek black coffin with a pink bow placed on the ground just between the O and X factions. 

This brings you to alertness more than the buzzer did. Last time they’d brought in a coffin, Gihun had been returned to you alive. You spring out of bed hastily enough to make yourself dizzy for a moment, praying it’s someone you know. 

Namgyu’s awake. You see him in your peripheral as you step out towards the open floor; he’s alert but unmoving, waiting to see what exactly is going on. Unlike you, he probably doesn’t have anyone else in here whose wellbeing is all that important to him. You feel a dull twist in your stomach at the knowledge that Thanos was really the only person he had. 

 All four guards abandon the coffin, though two pause to open it first. Though you want to rush forward, you can’t help but feel a sense of trepidation. They aren’t leaving; when they dropped Gihun off, they immediately exited the hall until it was time for the vote. Now, they’re headed away to the other side of the room with purposeful strides. 

Taking a few more steps over, you - along with the rest of the players - track their path. Across to a line of bunks across from you but tucked into the corner. It’s human nature for your mind to tune out anything unmoving in favour of following the action. Still, when you notice what they’re heading to, you can’t fathom how you didn’t see it immediately. 

You were right. The coffin was for someone you know. Only this time, they aren’t bringing someone back to you, but taking them away. 

“Player 149 eliminated.”

Geumja’s limbs hang limp from her body, dangling over the edge of the second-level bunk by a noose made of bedsheets. Even her hair looks more grey than silver, devoid of life. Two of the guards have ascended the steps to undo the knot, and the way she sways with the unsympathetic jerkiness of their efforts has your stomach rolling. 

It’s not like she’d seemed fine the night before, but you struggle to wrap your head around the fact that she was in a place to do something so final. Especially when she seemed to have bonded to Junhee and her daughter so strongly. You’ve never lost a child, of course, never even had a pet pass away. The pain must have been unimaginable. But despite your distraction, you know Junhee and Geumja would’ve stuck together until lights out, probably Minsu too. They certainly would’ve noticed her gathering bedsheets to tie a rope.

She did it in the dark, you realise. The thought of it sends ice through your veins. As they guide her down into the remaining two guards’ arms, you find you can’t look away. Somewhere off to the side, you hear Junhee’s broken sob, but you’re focused fully as a woman you looked up to and cared so deeply for is carried across the room and lowered into the coffin. Geumja took her own life hating you, or at least hating what you’d done. In a way, watching her go and not turning your cheek feels like your last chance to stand by her, an olive branch for the apology you never even worked up the nerve to attempt.

Lifting the coffin between them, the four guards turn to leave. The piggy bank glows above them, a few bundles of cash tumbling down the chute into the near-full belly. In time, the large screen above the main doors updates as well, one player less, one hundred million won more. You bite down harshly on your lip at the swell of revulsion inside of you. 

After the guards exit with the coffin and the doors swish closed behind them, the only noise comes from Junhee and her baby, crying in heartwrenching unison. Your heart goes out to her. You want so badly to go over and comfort her, grieve together over losing two loved ones in less than twenty-four hours, but you can’t bear the thought of just making her feel worse after what you did yesterday. To your relief, Minsu steps out from between two bunks to come sit beside her in silent companionship. Neither of them turn to look for you. 

A lump thickens in your throat from repressed emotion, and now that you’ve been upright for long enough you feel the need to go to the bathroom. It wouldn’t hurt to freshen up, either; there’s no way that dragging your sleeves across your face had cleared all the blood off. As if to confirm, red flakes cling to your fingertips when you rub unshed tears away. 

Turning around to give Namgyu a heads-up, you get the fright of your life when he’s standing directly behind you. Neither of you speak. As Namgyu looks across the room he has an odd look on his face; despite the washed-out pallor of withdrawal, there’s something steely about his expression. A determination, a conviction that you can’t quite place. It softens when he looks back to you, though doesn’t vanish entirely. 

For a moment, you will all of your churning, torn-up emotions to display themselves loud and clear on your face, so that you won’t have to say anything at all. There’s no words for something like this. This entire situation is a pit deepening and deepening beneath you all. Every new layer scraped away reveals a new incomprehensible, indescribable reality. A grave dug too deep for those of you that have outstayed your welcome here.

Namgyu presses his lips together, not a smile but a grimace of solidarity. A faint tug in your mind tells you this is the price you had to pay to experience the loss Namgyu had in Thanos. This hollowed-out shell is what he’s been trying to fill with drugs and sex for the past couple of days. All this time you’d thought he didn’t understand what it was like having people to care and worry about. Perhaps he was just waiting for you to understand what it felt like when you lost them.

With a sniffle, you give him a shaky nod. Namgyu returns it quietly. Clearing your throat, you wave vaguely in the direction of the bathroom. “I’m just gonna…”

“Yeah, ‘course.” To your surprise, he falls into step beside you. Usually when you traverse the main floor, you feel constantly observed, vulnerable on all sides. There’s a strange dullness to the air now. Nobody has any interest in what the other players are doing. You’re all just alone together. 

When you go out of your way to avoid the very centre, Namgyu doesn’t mention it.

You waste as much time in the bathroom as you can. Cleaning your skin as thoroughly as possible twice over, combing through the knots in your hair with careful fingers, even using your nails to scrape away the build-up on your teeth. Namgyu’s loitering in the corridor when you leave. Again, he doesn’t try to make conversation or hold onto you, but his proximity is just as good an anchor. 

“Attention, please.” You startle at the sudden interruption. The announcements have wormed their way under your skin, making you jumpier every time. It’s always bad news that follows. Now is no different. “The fifth game will begin momentarily. Please follow the instructions from our staff. I repeat…”

No breakfast. You’d surely vomit the second food touched your lips, but it just adds to the curious feeling that they’re cutting time now, shortening the days to lead you to your deaths faster and weaker. In here, at the mercy of artificial lighting, there’s no way to confirm or deny the theory. If you live, at least you’ll be able to check a calendar and see if your suspicion is right. If you don’t, it won’t really matter anyway. You’ll never get to see the sun again.

In the main hall, four armed guards span the front of the stage in front of you. You have to cross them to join the dwindling line of players headed for the opposite corridor, and you take great pains to glare at each of them for as long as you can. None of them react like the one from before, but you don’t let that stop you. 

The distraction lasts long enough for the upbeat string waltz to kick in. The music serenades you through the colourful maze towards your next challenge. It’s on that path that you notice just how much worse Namgyu is getting. While you’re still a little sore as you ascend the steps, it looks like Namgyu is slowly losing the energy to climb them at all. He clutches at the walls and partitions any chance he gets, craning his neck and glancing around as if to gauge how much further you have left to go. You want to bring it up or offer help but any time he catches you watching him, he straightens upright and attempts a casual gait.

There’s something almost ritualistic about the pilgrimage to the next game. You’re not the only one that feels it; both ahead of and behind you, faces stiffen, eyes harden, shoulders shift back. The will to fight for survival gathers every last bit of strength in you. It doesn’t make you feel any less dread when you finally reach the end of the path, however. 

Two doors open wide like a gaping maw, and you all begin to file inside. Just like Red Light, Green Light, a large doll greets you. This time, however, she’s accompanied by another on the far end. Having it so close emphasises the heft of it more than you had really noticed that first day; Jeongdae and his surviving teammates step between the legs and their heads don’t even clear the level of the doll’s painted-on floral boots.

The second doll is a boy, with a striped shirt and black cap. Again, the same childish getup the others have. He’s holding a large rope in both hands, and when you tip your chin back, from behind it seems like the doll on this side may be posed the same. The walls are bright strokes of blue, though unfortunately this game is enclosed. Glaring at the black painted ceiling above, you miss the feeling of sunlight on your skin so much your chest twinges. 

The air is much colder here than in the dormitory and the corridors, and there’s an odd echo as the players closest to the front whisper to each other. Suspicious, you carefully push past Namgyu to weave your way in between them. As soon as you make it closer to the doll, just behind one of the few women still in the game, the realisation hits you like an icy wave. You’re not on level ground. 

The platform is suspended in the air at a dizzying height that makes your head spin and your stomach churn. The actual floor is so low it sits in shadows, but there are lights installed to reveal it’s painted like a bed of flowers, mockingly bright and cheerful.

While the dolls are connected by the rope - which actually seems to be a long metal pole - the two platforms are linked with a train track. It’s only about half the width of a standard footpath, and there’s nothing but empty space below. 

“Scared of heights, little girl?” You look up to glare at whoever made the jibe. 203 gives you an arrogant smile, reveling in your discomfort as some of the blue voters around him look on. “Stick up here with the real men. We’ll keep you safe, not like that freak over there.”

You know without looking who they’re referring to, but you can’t help but glance over anyway to see if his condition has worsened now he thinks you’re not paying attention. He stands close to the back, hands on his hips and head hung so low all you can see is a dark curtain of hair covering his face entirely. Irritation and defensiveness sizzle inside you as a few of them laugh and jeer. Turning back, you give 203 a smug grin to match his own. “Did you see what that ‘freak’ did to the last asshole who tried to mess with me?”

The tall man keeps laughing to save face, but it’s distinctively more uncomfortable. “Hey, just trying to help. Guess you can’t do anything nice these days, eh, boys?”

Your eyes roll as you walk away, back to your freak. Namgyu rubs a palm on his chest, that same self-soothing motion even though the pendant no longer hangs around his neck. He doesn’t look up when you approach, only when you clear your throat and he knows it’s you. 

Namgyu still has that intense resolve in his eyes, but it’s strained. He’s chewing roughly on his lower lip, breaths uneven. Never in your life would you have thought you’d be advocating for a relapsed drug addict to take another hit, but you can’t see him competing with his current weakened state. “You think it’s time to-”

“No!” 

Your head jerks to the side at the ragged scream in time with everyone else. Right in the middle of the entrance, with the doors swinging shut behind her like folded wings, player 044 stares up at the dolls in horror. You’ve never seen her face so pale, her eyes so wide in anything other than bemusement. 

“No!” she cries again, ignoring the confused whispers of those in front of her. The shaman only has eyes for the dolls, and she holds her hands up to them in plea. “I’m not ready, it wasn’t meant to be like this! I did everything you said!” 

Even as some of the players mock her under their breath, she shudders in place, slowly dropping her gaze. Her eyes haze over like she’s carefully listening to something and then, after a moment, she turns to you. The vulnerable, betrayed expression on her face is almost childlike. “You-” she chokes out, shaking her head, “why is it you?”

You’re stunned into silence, but clearly she isn’t expecting a response from you, as her attention draws upward again, right into the sky as she clasps her hands tightly together. “Why have you forsaken me, your loyal servant? They’ve done nothing to deserve your blessings, not like I have!”

The female voice begins to introduce the game over the PA, but the shaman keeps muttering towards the ceiling.

“Shut up, you crazy bitch,” someone in the crowd snaps, receiving a general mumble of agreement from the others. Shaking, she stops, though her eyes still flare like a spooked horse.

You try to put the odd interaction out of your mind and focus on the rules that have already begun. 

“-must cross the bridge as you jump over the rotating rope and get to the other side within twenty minutes. You may decide on the order amongst yourselves.”

With a heavy clang, the rope comes to life, arcing upwards with an eerie creaking sound. “Now,” the announcer declares as a countdown appears on the wall to your left, already blinking down from twenty minutes, “let the game begin.”

Beside you, Namgyu lets out a miserable groan, bending over like he’s out of breath. You, on the other hand, are staring in terrified silence as the spindly behemoth rises like most of the other players. Just like a rollercoaster inching painfully close to a drop-off, the anticipation has you unable to breathe. An inch higher, and another, until the rope finally reaches its maximum altitude in the perfect centre.

It whizzes down faster than any of you are prepared for, swooping harshly over the surface of the tracks before rising once more. Having gained momentum, it doesn’t take as long to make it to the top again. The second brutal swoop has the group flinching just as much as the first. 

Several of the players closer to the front start to time their jumps, trying to learn the rhythm before they venture out. It’s not a bad idea. You turn to Namgyu to gauge his reaction, but he’s not beside you. It takes a moment of confused searching before you realise he’s splayed on the floor, peering over the edge of the platform at the lethal drop below.

“Hey, don’t!” He’s nowhere near close enough to actually fall off, certainly not when he’s lying down, but your stomach flips all the same. You bend down to grab him by the back of the jacket and bodily drag him back up. You’re not quite strong enough to lift him properly, but he gets the picture and sits back on his heels, sending you a helpless look. “You’re- It’s okay, we’re fine,” you assure, though you grimace at the cyclic creak and whoosh of the rope rotating behind you. You crouch in front of him, grabbing at his shoulders with the same clinginess he’s often had with you. “Look, we’re fine. Two pills, two games, right? When you think about it, this is, like, the easiest one. It’s just jumping in ti- What are you doing?”

Your hands are jostled off Namgyu as he begins to panic, hands flying around his body frantically. He’s not talking, but as he digs in his pockets and gives himself an aggressive pat-down three times over, he doesn’t need to.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath. You begin looking around the floor as if Thanos’ pendant is going to magically appear, but there’s nothing. “You didn’t leave it in the dormitory?”

“I wouldn’t leave it.” Namgyu’s voice is quiet but blazing, and you recoil at the intensity of it. Leaning forward, he clutches at the front of your jacket, fingers stiff even as the rest of him trembles. His voice cracks when he says your name. “I can’t- Fuck, I can’t do this without it, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

“It looks like you’re not feeling so good.” The voice is familiar, but lower than you’ve ever heard it. Above you, Minsu looks down at Namgyu; first at his face, then where Namgyu’s holding onto you, and back again. “If only they had some ibuprofen in here, right?” His voice flattens still, beaten down to a sharp point. “Just a couple pills.”

“Piss off,” Namgyu snaps, but it’s weak and guttural, and he’s not even making eye contact. “Leave me alone, you fucking loser.” 

Minsu’s jaw flexes before he can plaster on a bitter smile. “You really don’t look well, Namgyu.” Your confusion over his strange attitude gives way to pure shock when he slips Thanos’ pendant out of his pocket, wiggling it teasingly between his fingers to catch Namgyu’s peripheral. “Is it because of this?”

It succeeds in pulling Namgyu’s attention. He loosens his hold on your jacket and lifts his head carefully, eyes tracking the pendant every step of the way. Yet when he strikes to grab at it, he’s still too slow. Minsu jumps back with a mean laugh huffed out of his nose. Namgyu yells out, empty hand smacking uselessly against the platform. 

Your back stiffens at the quickly shifting energy. “Minsu, what is this about?”

“What isn’t this about?” he fires back immediately, giving you a disbelieving smile. “He’s a selfish asshole who puts himself before anyone else, even his own team. He harassed Semi, he pressured me into taking drugs, he’s killed people even when he didn’t need to!” He jabs a finger towards Namgyu at the last half of his sentence, like he anticipated your objection before you got the chance to voice it. “Namgyu’s going to get you killed. I can’t- I won’t stand by anymore and let that happen.”

In front of you, Namgyu has his hands tangled in his hair, so focused on every minute movement of the pendant in Minsu’s grasp that you’re not sure if he’s even listening. The bridge is empty; nobody’s even attempted it yet despite over a minute passing. “Now’s really not the time.”

“I know, I should’ve done something ages ago.”

You grimace at the self-sacrificing fury on Minsu’s face. “That’s not what I mean. We’re right in the middle of- Look, Minsu, I don’t understand where this is coming from. We’re all horrible people in here. We’ve had to do terrible things to survive.”

Cheeks flushed, Minsu shakes his head like he’s physically fending the thought off. His knuckles whiten from their tight grip. “It’s not the same. He left me for dead; you helped me make it through. I was out of my mind thanks to him, but I remember it all. Everything.”

Between you, Namgyu crawls a few paces closer to Minsu, who steps back to maintain the distance, making the man let out a garbled moan of desperation. You’ve never seen him like this, and everything in you is screaming to resolve the situation as quickly as possible. You’re sure once this is all said and done and Namgyu gets the help he needs out there that this will be the rock bottom. That it doesn’t get any worse than what it is now. 

Standing up, you tentatively step closer to Minsu yourself. He stiffens up but doesn’t move. You take that as a good sign and try to keep your voice as soothing as you can. “I really appreciate the sentiment. And, you know, I hope we can still be friends after this, once we get out. But I don’t need you to do this for me. I helped you because I care about you. I care about him, too.”

“That’s the problem! You shouldn’t care about a piece of shit like that. He’s got such an influence on you, but if you just get some distance from him, I know you’d see it. See how pathetic he is.”

“Minsu.” The boy pauses mid-rant at the croaky voice coming from below. Namgyu has his hands clasped together in front of his chest, begging with them. “I’m a piece of shit, I know. I fucking know, Minsu, just give me the cross, man, I’ll do anything. You can take my money when we get out. I don’t care. I need it, Minsu. I can’t do anything without it.” Namgyu sucks in a deep breath, waiting for a reaction. When one doesn’t come soon enough, he drops his voice to a reverent plea. “I need it.”

You want to cut back in, to somehow sway control of the conversation, but you have no idea what you could possibly say to resolve this. There’s no convincing Minsu that Namgyu is a saint, but at this point you don’t even know how you can convince the younger boy to show him any empathy. He seems to be feeling vindicated over how in despair Namgyu is. 

Minsu makes his mind up before you do. Swallowing thickly, he turns back to you. “Please trust me,” he requests, and for a moment you hear the Minsu you know, the one who was sweet and shy and grateful to be included. But he catches himself, and dips back into that bitter, jaded version of himself. “Trust me. I’m just trying to give you a little perspective. You’ll see.” His gaze drops to Namgyu and that dark scowl deepens even further. “Get up. You can have it.”

The abject relief in Namgyu’s voice twists into your chest like a knife. You still don’t fully understand why Minsu is so intent on getting you to change loyalties, but you do know he’s not just going to hand Namgyu the cross and be done with it. You’re quickly proven right as he begins walking to the base of the bridge with Namgyu scrambling to his feet to catch up. 

The last in your trio, by the time you join them at the front Minsu is already winding his arm back. You press a hand to your mouth as the crucifix arcs gracefully through the air - narrowly missing a strong swoop of the rope rod - and jangles to a stop on the train tracks. 

“Be my guest,” Minsu goads, pointing over to where it fell, “if you need a high that bad, you fucking junkie, just go get it!”

Around you, players whisper and murmur to each other, trying to piece together whether someone is finally going to attempt to cross. Namgyu’s right in front of the track. Eyes wide and panting, he shakes out his wrists and presses at his temples, trying to work up the nerve. Your stomach flips at the thought of him going out there, more concerned about the pendant than his own survival. 

“Namgyu?” you murmur quietly, reaching across to wrap a hand around the crook of his elbow.

Something in him deflates at your touch. His lip trembles so he bites down on it, humming in acknowledgement instead of replying, but his gaze never leaves the cross. 

You spare a glance at Minsu, who is watching you with a vulnerable expression, though his brow still furrows in disapproval anytime his eyes dart to Namgyu’s trembling figure. Time ticks down, those around you grow as impatient as they are anxious. Something’s gotta give.

As soon as you make your mind up, your heart starts thudding frantically in your ribcage, trying to pump your blood as fast as it can in anticipation. Your grip on Namgyu’s arm tightens before you work up the courage to let go. He gives you a wounded look at the lack of contact. “Namgyu,” you repeat, “just wait ‘til I’m across, okay? I’ll go first and grab Thanos’ cross for you, then you come after. Got it?”

“No.” Namgyu says it flatly, but his withdrawal-addled brain can offer no alternative. “No.”

If you wait any longer, you’ll just lose your nerve. “Okay, good talk. I’ll see you on the other side.”