prompt , [ mark ] ; via gentle biting or hickeys, sender leaves a mark on receiver.
     sent , @0000218â.
          he cared about things much more than he wanted to admit. gi-hun believed in good people, good timing, good deeds. he wasnât always good, himself, but that didnât make him lose his hope in humanity. and despite everything heâs done, gi-hun wanted to be a good person. so yes, he cared. he cared deeply about many things. his family and his daughter, the life he wanted her to have ( itâs only a dream, thus far ; gi-hun doesnât know how to get there, but he wants to try, now more than ever ). he cares about his mother, sick and dying. thatâs why he had come back to these deadly games. he cared about his future, but more than that, and unfortunately so, he still very much cared about the past. not just his, but theirs ; his and sang-wooâs. which is why he had been so shocked to see the other man in the first place.
they had history, too much to recount in 24 hours, and they werenât necessarily in the place to do so, but gi-hun kept trying. he got closer and closer to sang-woo, smiling, reminiscing as if their past hadnât ended in heartache. the difference was that gi-hun had forgiven sang-woo a long time ago. for leaving, for what heâd said on the last night they saw each other. gi-hun still spoke with mrs. cho at her shop, asking about sang-woo often. she said he was good, and that made gi-hun grin and nod. thatâs all he wanted to know ; itâs all the information he needed. the way theyâve met again, itâs tragic, isnât it? and looking at sang-woo, gi-hun wants to ask if heâs forgiven, too. for everything he put sang-woo through, even though he hadnât meant to. watching how cold sang-woo is with him seems to give him his answer. and then gi-hun had chased the other into the bathroom. and gi-hun felt something change.
sang-woo seemed so angry, and for what? for everything that happened, years ago? gi-hun canât say he had let it go completely, but he held little resentment, and he didnât want the other man to, either. but sang-woo, he wouldnât talk about it, not even here, not even at what could possibly be the end of their lives. so yes, gi-hun had followed him that first time into the bathroom, yelling about how sang-woo was acting, as if people werenât dying, as if this was all okay. the moment sang-woo shoved him is the moment gi-hun went quiet, a rare feat for him. there was a long silence, one of gi-hunâs hands wrapping around sang-wooâs wrist, and then they were kissing without another thought. that was the first time, and it had been confusing, frustrating, exhilarating. maddening, especially with how sang-woo walked out and acted as cold as he had been before it happened. if gi-hun wasnât struggling to understand before, he is now.
tonight, sang-woo excuses himself quietly from the group and makes his way toward the doors, gi-hun watching his back as he asks the guards to let him through. he thinks he sees the other glance back, and even though he canât be sure, gi-hun stands shortly after. iâll be right back, donât worry. his smile is reassuring, inconspicuous. no one would question why he walked across the long auditorium and was let out into the hallway, ushered toward the bathrooms that he knew so well by now. hand hesitates as it lands on the door. he can hear water start and then stop inside. gi-hun knows sang-woo is the only one in there, and as he finally presses the door open slowly, heâs proven correct.
it always starts like this, the two staring at one another, wondering if this was a good idea. well, sang-woo knew better than anyone that gi-hun rarely thought about his own actions, or the consequences they might bring. which is why heâs stepping up to the other man, staring up at sang-woo with those large, brown eyes, pleading without meaning to. heâs rarely initiated touch, but this time he reaches out, placing a hand on either side of sang-wooâs neck, thumbs set delicately on his jawline. this is nostalgic, reminiscent of a kiss they shared long ago. before gi-hun can move forward, however, sang-woo is pulling him roughly by the hips into one of the grungy stalls. do you want us to get caught? that hadnât seemed to be a problem last time, when sang-woo pushed gi-hun against the adjacent wall. but he wouldnât argue. instead, he moves a hand behind him to lock the stall door before gently pushing sang-woo to sit down. itâs the most control heâs had in years.
legs spread and heâs straddling sang-wooâs hips, feet on the ground, the men dangerously close, close enough that gi-hun can feel sang-wooâs breath on his skin. he still doesnât understand what sang-woo is doing here, and he wants sang-woo to tell him the answers, but now isnât the time to ask. without a word, sang-woo begins touching gi-hun, feeling his way up gi-hunâs white t-shirt, the trail of his fingers causing a shiver to run down his spin. gi-hun tries to look down at sang-woo, his eyes half lidded, but sang-woo buries his head in gi-hunâs neck, teeth finding flash, quick enough to make gi-hun sharply inhale. his own hands move up into sang-wooâs hair, grasping lightly at the base, not pulling, simply holding, as if sang-woo would stop and pull away at any moment. gi-hun can feel the other man kiss and suck at his collar bone. there was going to be a bruise, and leaning his head back, brown eyes now closed, gi-hun would keep that bruise as a reminder that sang-woo had once again left a mark on him.Â
