새벽 — ᴅᴀᴡɴ

#MARBLEWON : an independent & highly selective collaborative writing blog for KANG SAE-BYEOK of netflix’s original series squid game. au/crossover friendly. this blog is not spoiler free and is trigger-heavy. loved by darby (she/her, 26) !! —— established december of 2021. ( PLEASE READ MY CARRD )     this blog frequently runs on a queue.

a study in : rigidity & stoicism, being similar enough that your belonging is expected but different enough that it is unattainable, having a good heart and being ashamed to show it, love at the center of every choice you make, biting on hope like a bullet, and putting your family above all else.

                 ❝ IF I MAKE A PROMISE, I ALWAYS KEEP IT. ❞

"that seems confusing." as if the strobe lights, the LEDs, the music pounding so loud it feels like her bones are about to shake right out of her skin aren't all disorienting enough. now thanos is telling her the drink menu changes every day?

half the words can't be distinguished from streak after streak left by half-assed attempts to wipe the chalk away, and the other half are hardly recognizable to sae-byeok. she's more used to cheap beers and whatever is on the bottom shelf.

a shoulder bumps into hers and the instinct to slip her hand into an unsuspecting pocket is there. instead, her fingers squeeze into a tight fist hidden in her jacket. maybe, maybe on the way out of here. but not before she's had something to drink.

she blinks away the sleep from her eyes and stretches slowly, not too unlike a cat waking from a long nap. fingers gently brush her unkempt bangs from her face, the touch soft and careful. sae-byeok can feel her skin tingling wherever fingers lightly graze. for a moment, she stays still, content in this quiet moment between wake and sleep, before ezra's voice stirs her to life.

her head pounds like a hundred tiny elves are busy taking hammers to the inside of her skull. she blinks once, twice, trying to adjust to the dim glow of cheap LED lights that bathe the room in a gaudy pink. sae-byeok groans, sitting up, before immediately regretting the action as a wave of dizziness hits her alongside the nauseating scent of artificial rose and stale alcohol.

the bed beneath her is heart-shaped, obnoxious, covered in plush red velvet. it's also half-empty, despite the two pairs of shoes kicked off haphazardly by the door. turning her head, sae-byeok spots elijah sprawled out on the floor, a thin blanket tangled around his legs. a dark spot of drool stains the heart-shaped pillow near his open, snoring mouth. sae-byeok has to withold a scoff; even blackout drunk, she must've kicked him out.

as she makes her way to the edge of the bed, her gaze drifts downward, catching a glint of something on her hand. sae-byeok's stomach lurches, less from the hangover this time and more from the creeping realization as her eyes narrow to the tacky band now staining her finger green. her eyes find a similar, cheap ring around elijah's finger. no, they wouldn't. they couldn't possibly be so stupid. there's no way they would—

the question goes unanswered for a stretch; sae-byeok buys herself some time by readjusting her legs, choosing to tuck them tight into her chest instead, arms wrapped around them at the knees. "not much," she relents, honest without giving too much away. that question, the other's curiosity, needles dangerously close to a softer part of sae-byeok's heart, something that must remain hidden if she wants a chance of leaving these games.

sharp eyes fall then to the roundness of the other girl's stomach, her obvious pregnancy. sae-byeok is reminded of childhood, when her mother's belly started growing round as player 222's. she's reminded of sitting at her mother's feet, awed by the knowledge that her little sibling was within her, waiting for the day to meet them. sae-byeok remembers the excitement and the stress, the running out to the well to fetch water to be boiled to soothe her mother's aches, and of the rare moments she was able to feel her baby brother's faint kicks when her mother pressed both their hands to her swollen belly.

it's so fucked, it nearly makes sae-byeok dizzy. what's a young pregnant girl doing in a place like this?

she regards the offer with caution, eyes sharp and calculating as they rise slowly from the outstretched bottle to the face of its owner. the other girl is smaller than sae-byeok by nearly half a foot, unassuming and seemingly kind.

the taller of the two searches the other's expression for any hint of deception. finding none, sae-byeok decides instead that there must be something to gain in having this sort of leverage over her. i gave you water, didn't i? now you owe me. and sae-byeok despises having a debt, any sort of debt, to another person.

she stops dead in her tracks — the last time she heard these words, she stopped dead in her tracks, dead on her feet, dead like ji-yeong not a minute later. sae-byeok half expects another shot to go ringing out, despite the game being over.

the game is never really over, is it?

her recovery from the sudden memory is unwieldy and sae-byeok shifts her gaze, first to the ground so she can gather herself, then finally back to the other woman — to the blue patch above her breast.

sae-byeok hasn't figured her out yet. she saved gi-hun in red light, green light, selflessly, like the kind pakistani man she teamed up with the last time she was here, whose face is already starting to muddle around the edges of her memory. but to vote to continue these games after everything they've seen is selfish. sae-byeok would know; she was one of the ones who voted to keep playing the first time she was ever trapped in this hellhole.

she answers with a silence that stretches for so long, it seemed she would give no other reply. sae-byeok focuses instead on reflection, on the way her still-racing heart had thundered in her chest with equal parts fear and determination, how player 120's hand had been sweat-sticky when sae-byeok pulled at it, and how their clammy skin slid together when they all but crashed into the safety of a room no bigger than a water closet.

"there won't be time later," she replies, curt and coarse. sae-byeok still wakes startled sometimes, dreaming of flashing strobe lights and meaty hands that threaten to squeeze the life from her thin frame, of blood and the dull sound of metal beating against bodies. and the screaming and the dying and the madness of it all — she's not eager for another fight, but the fork sits heavy in her jacket pocket where sae-byeok's fingers curl carefully around the handle. it's only a matter of time before the growing tensions boil over into something gruesome.