Good Night

Concern constricted around his heart, his chest tight.

Oh, this was a bad idea. This was a very bad idea. He was breaking into someone's home for fuck's sakes, yet that didn't stop him from easing his way inside.

Closing the door behind him, he studied the space and tried again. "Gi-hun?"

This time, there was a sharp intake of breath, followed by a quiet, "In-ho?"

Before he could second-guess himself, In-ho's feet carried him forward, following the sound of Gi-hun's voice into the main living area. There, he found the man seated upon the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him, a couple of empty bottles of soju at his side and a full one in hand.

Puffy, bloodshot eyes trailed up to meet his, the dark circles underneath a stark contrast against his sickly pale skin.

"What are you doing here?" Gi-hun croaked out.

That was the big question, wasn't it?

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, In-ho shuffled forward.

"I had to see you." To know that you were real. "I had to know that you made it back safely." Ignoring the slight cracking of his knees, In-ho lowered himself onto the floor beside him. "I couldn't leave things between us like we did."

For a while, neither of them said a word, Gi-hun staring at a spot on the floor, and In-ho staring at Gi-hun.

Eventually, In-ho mustered up the strength to try and broach the topic that loomed over them.

"Your mother…"

"Gone," Gi-hun muttered, short and curt. He tipped the bottle of soju back and took a heavy swig. As he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, his weary gaze shifted towards In-ho, a resigned curiosity simmering within. "And your wife?"

In-ho clenched his jaw.

He could have stayed silent, just let the matter be, but it felt wrong to ask Gi-hun to expose his wounds, only to shy away when he expected the same in return.

Reaching out, In-ho's fingers grazed along Gi-hun's where they were curled tightly around the neck of the bottle.

"May I?" he asked, to which Gi-hun nodded, relinquishing the soju to him.

Safe to say, In-ho took a page out of Gi-hun's book. Swallowing past that sweet, burning ache in the back of his throat, he took a long pull of the liquor straight out of the bottle, and then drank a second time for good measure. He grimaced, the alcohol not working fast enough for this particular conversation, but he knew that there was no need to prolong the inevitable.

"She was declared brain dead some time during the games," he stated, setting the soju down onto the floor between them. "Doctors said she took a turn for the worse. Acute liver failure, something about her ammonia levels, I don't know." He shrugged helplessly, lower lip wobbling. "By the time they were able to stabilize her, she was already gone. I–I—"

His voice cracked while his heart laid broken, the shattered pieces scattered across the floor.

"I was her healthcare proxy. I had to be the one to make the call. To take her off of life support." Tears stung at his eyes, each breath tearing through his body with a vengeance. "They were waiting on me. She—" He clutched at his chest. "She was waiting on me."

Gi-hun opened his mouth, then snapped it shut.

Both of them knew that nothing he could say would lessen the pain, the grief, the mourning, so Gi-hun offered him more than sympathy. He offered his presence. He offered understanding.

Without looking away from the floor in front of them, Gi-hun stretched out his hand to In-ho, palm up, and allowed the gesture to speak for him.

You're not alone. You don't have to be.

"I found her on the floor right there," Gi-hun revealed, and suddenly his intense fixation on that spot made perfect sense. "No matter how much time has passed, I can still see her laying there, all alone." He sniffled, wiping at his teary eyes and snotty nose with his free hand. "She was waiting on me, too, but I guess I had to let her down one last time."

Watching him closely, In-ho eventually turned to look at the same patch of flooring that demanded his attention. He eased closer to Gi-hun's side, a comforting warmth emanating between their bodies, and slid his hand into his.

Their fingers tangled together and locked into place. Seconds ticked by, yet their hold only tightened, as if they were the lone force keeping each other from falling apart at the seams.

"You should leave me here to waste away," Gi-hun whispered. "I only have a few weeks to pay off my debts anyways before they come to collect."

In-ho pursed his lips.

"Maybe you shouldn't have spared me then."

"Why not?" Gi-hun frowned, stroking his thumb along the back of In-ho's hand. "I don't regret what I did."

"In that case, you're even more foolish than I gave you credit for."

They shared a sharp, bitter laugh.

"Yeah," Gi-hun sighed. "I guess so. Although, thinking back on it, maybe I shouldn't have fought back that night. Maybe I should have let you—"

"Don't," In-ho warned, his voice ice cold at the thought of Gi-hun staring up at him, the life slowly leaving his eyes. "We both know now that the money wouldn't have changed a damn thing about this situation." Not for the two people who depended on them most, at least. "All things considered, I'm glad you survived."

Because In-ho knew one thing for certain. In that moment, life would have been a lot lonelier, a whole lot darker, without Seong Gi-hun in it.

It was that thought that brought him to a sole conclusion.

He couldn't let the world's cruelty consume Gi-hun. If nothing else, between the two of them, he had to survive at all costs. That spark of goodness in him was worth preserving, more so than anything In-ho had left to offer.

In-ho could feel the weight of the dagger pressed against his palm again. In spite of Gi-hun's best efforts, In-ho was afraid that his intervention came too late. Most of his humanity died with his victims that night, and whatever was left would be buried alongside his wife. All except one final thread, which bound them together the second Gi-hun offered him his hand on that rain-soaked field.

There was no untangling their fates from each other, but In-ho would take on whatever burdens necessary to ensure that Gi-hun wouldn't have to carry them alone.

There was already so much blood on his hands. What was a little more, if it meant protecting him?

Unable to hold back any longer, In-ho blurted out, "Who's the loan shark that's after you?"

A beat of silence passed between them. Gi-hun's hand clenched around his, his fingernails biting into In-ho's skin.

Caught off guard, Gi-hun blinked owlishly at him, his brow furrowed.

"What?"

In-ho gritted his teeth.

"His name, Gi-hun," he explained, nice and slow. "I need a name."

"In-ho," Gi-hun hissed, "these guys aren't the type you want to make an enemy out of."

"You let me worry about that."

They stared deep into each other's eyes, searching one another's expressions, until Gi-hun finally relented.

"Kim Jeong-rae," he mumbled under his breath. "Most people call him Mr. Kim."

Easy enough. In-ho nodded.

"I'll take care of it," he swore.

"But—"

"I said that I'll take care of it." When Gi-hun ducked his head, In-ho nudged him gently with his elbow. "Hey. Trust me, please. I won't let anything happen to you, not on my watch."

Wetting his lips, Gi-hun considered that, his voice small and quiet when he answered, "I don't want anything to happen to you because of me."

"It won't," In-ho lied, if only to ease his mind for the moment.

His safety wasn't guaranteed, after all. And honestly, as much as he hated to admit it, part of him could care less what happened to himself in the process. The only incentive in surviving another day was in knowing that, so long as he lived, he could continue to protect Gi-hun. If that was to be his new purpose, then so be it.

"What are you going to do to him?" Gi-hun asked.

Do you truly want to know?

"That'll depend entirely on this Mr. Kim," In-ho said instead, and they both left it at that, finishing off the soju in silence while they stared at that spot on the floor together.

In-ho's thoughts drifted back to his wife, to how he failed to be there for the one person who needed him most.