#guemja

that must be it.

if you had the key to his handcuffs, walked over and freed him, you aren't convinced he'd even register it. not even if you opened every door out of this place and told him he's free to run away and never come back. and even if he did, you don't believe he'd care.

he wouldn't even lift his head. too heavy, too empty.

too far gone.

the longer he sits there, the longer you watch him wasting away, the tighter the knot of concern gets in your stomach.

it's true, the rebellion failed. but he lead it, fought for it, was willing to sacrifice himself for it. you saw that, you know it, just like everyone else should. he risked everything in the name of securing a way out for everybody, to save every life left, including yours. and it all went up in flames.

but the one who really got burned is him.

it was optimistic, thinking he could fight his way out of this place. it's cost him jung-bae, young-il, the others. but what worries you most is that it has cost him his will to live. you can see it in the defeated curve of his posture. in the hollowness in his eyes, fixed somewhere too far away to be seeing anything in this world anymore. but it's the hollowing of his cheeks that worries you more.

you can't seem to take your eyes off them from where you sit with hyunju and the others.

nobody's talking much. guem-ja tries, but nothing she says seems to stick. junhee and hyunju try not to leave her talking into the void, but young-sik doesn't even bother to hide his absence. he's too busy glaring into the dark corner where daeho's curled up. whenever he does find his voice, he always ends up circling back to something about cowardice.

but you? your only focus is gihun.

it's been two days since he's eaten. you know it's true because yesterday he offered his meal to junhee under the guise of making sure she and the baby didn't go hungry, and the rest of what was left on his tray was picked clean by daeho. today's lunch has yet to be served, almost feels like it's not coming at all, and the thought only twists your gut with more dread.

the meal gihun did eat two days ago was only meagre, too. half a stale bread roll that you insisted he split with you, after he'd handed over his tray to daeho without even touching the food. by the time you managed to coax the tray back from daeho, almost everything was gone.

you can't even think about the last time he drank water.

it makes your stomach flip. threatens your ability to keep down your last meal, however meagre. and every bite is too precious to lose to this place, which is how you know gihun is in serious trouble.

even if you could remove his cuffs, if he managed to find the will to live again, he'll be too weak to even climb into his bunk for lights out tonight. never mind competing in the next game, he'll be too weak to even crawl to get there. the thought threatens your foods position in your stomach again. best not to think about it.

but you can't help it!

you're on your feet, forced to by the cold wave of worry that fills your senses.

hyunju glances up at you. "everything alright?" she asks, catching the corner of the blanket you're sharing as it falls from your lap.

guem-ja's equally as concerned. "where are you going?" she asks but you don't answer. it's made clear when you head straight to the one bunk with the silver cuff attached to it.

"it's pointless!" young-sik calls after you, but it only fuels the fire igniting in your body.

maybe it's impulsive, what you're doing. maybe it's reckless, too. after all, you don't know gihun very well. not well enough to know how to handle him in this state, after what he's been through. part of you starts to feel doubt the closer you get. that maybe leaving him alone is better than provoking him. that maybe you aren't equipped to handle this.

the thought of turning around grows more appealing the closer you get to his bunk. you consider just walking past him, like you were really only heading for the bathroom. not him. but as you close in, you see what you're thinking of running away from.

you see him. properly, not from far away.

he's sprawled out. deathly still and so quiet you aren't even sure he's breathing.

he resembles an animal. not a rabid dog, foaming at the mouth and ready to bark and bite. not a little fawn or kitten that's strayed too from from its mother, helpless and afraid. it's worse than that. it's like one that's too wounded to care about the ants and the flies crawling over its bleeding body. ready to be eaten. put out of its misery.

it nearly stops you in your tracks, but it only strengthens your resolve.

you're slow when you move in. unrushed. not afraid, but not confrontational in your movements, either.

your company isn't acknowledged when you sink onto the floor across from gihun. you suspect it's not even noticed. you choose not to sit directly in the way of his otherworldly stare, just as close to it as you can get without blocking it.

the silence isn't charged. it's heavy, sure, but not because of you. it's loss, grief. guilt.

the more you stare, the more you know. it's not something conversation can fix.

any intentions to talk fall out the window. apologising to him about the rebellion falling through, like it's your fault, or anybody's at all? gone. to apologise for the loss of jung-bae, or young-il, or any of the others brave enough to have followed them into the fight? forgotten. lost somewhere between hyunju's bunk and gihun's.

there's something about the silence between you. familiar, almost safe. it's something you've gotten used to since meeting gi-hun what feels like forever ago, but really must be only a few days. he never spoke all that much. the times he did, it was always strategy, advice. he always let you talk, though, and you know he always listened, even if he didn't say much of anything back. part of you wonders about the things he enjoys talking about outside the games. if he likes jokes, if he's more of a story person.

it takes a moment to realising you're frowning at him. not that it matters. if you reached across and slapped him, you doubt he'd feel it. doubt it would even knock his gaze away from where it boars into another universe.

there's no communicating to be done from this far. after all, how do two people talk from different planets? different realms?

the tightness is your chest is slow to form, but sharp, when the thought sinks in that he might forever be unreachable. too hurt, too traumatised. too far gone. it nearly makes you wince. but you look from his far away eyes to his hollow cheeks, and the determination floods back in. bringing him back from his grief is one thing, but it's harder to do if he starves to death first.

you won't allow it. not when he was willing to lay down his life for every other player here. not when he was willing to do it for you.

the less than half empty bottle of water in your hands is your starting point. you saved it after yesterday's lunch, figured it was worth rationing. you brought it with you for gihun, but you don't give it to him. you aren't foolish enough to think he'll just take it from you if you asked, and you aren't cruel enough to force his mouth open and make him drink it. instead, you untwist the cap, take a sip for yourself, and set it between you. open, just there, like a small invitation.

he doesn't look down at it. you don't expect him to. the most you get from him is a blink, and you don't take that as a sign of acknowledgment.

your sigh is gentle and casual when you pull out a crunchy clear packet. it holds another bread roll from yesterday's lunch, something else you chose to save, this time for when your stomach aches too much from hunger to sleep. the longer you stay in the games, the harder it's been getting to sleep. but tonight you'll be well prepared for bed, because you open the packet and take out your bread. only the packet isn't intact, it's split.

the second your fingers brush the bread, you feel it. stale. not that it wasn't served stale yesterday, but now it's solid. if you threw the roll at the wall, you’re certain it’d dent it. the thought crosses your mind to save it to throw at another player to defend yourself if it comes to it, but you’ve made it this far without staining your hands with blood, and you aren’t in a rush to change that.

you lay the wrapper on the ground. despite your doubts, you try to tear the bread into two parts, but it's too stale for that anymore. you settle on snapping it in half. you keep one, but lay the other on top of the wrapper like a makeshift plate. it's not much, but it's something. gihun's half.

it stays there while you take the first bite of yours. the crunch is loud, nearly rips through the dormitory, but you get a chunk of it free. your jaw's already straining when you start chewing it into something you can swallow, and you start to wonder if you've mistaken the bread roll for a rock. you've got the equivalent of a pebble in your mouth, but it's stubborn and isn't making it easy for you.

gihun hasn't flinched, even as you take another bite.

this one's bigger, and every shift of you jaw only draws the violent crunching out. you notice a few heads turning at the sound. your group is watching from the bunks you left them at. as you suspected, nobody's talking, but there is a conversation being exchanged through concerned glances.

hyunju's nearly quick enough to hide her wincing with a tight smile, and junhee's busy pretending the zip to her jacket needs attention. young-sik is polite enough to avert his gaze, too, but guem-ja can't hide the look of concern. for your teeth, no doubt.

they've been watching the whole exchange—or lack thereof—you're sure, but it's alright if they do. they're worried about gihun, too.

there's no need to send out a reassuring smile. you might have grinded your teeth down to your gums with the stale bread, anyway. but it's when you turn back to gihun that you pause. he isn't looking over your shoulder.

he's staring at the bread roll on the floor. his bread roll.

the chewing is paused. but all too quickly you pull your jaw back up to work on the bread. to keep chewing. as if this is somehow the key to getting through to him.

by the time you're halfway through this bite, your jaw is burning from strain. when you swallow it down, your mouth is nearly as dry as the stale air in the dormitory, and if you tried talking, you doubt any words could form from the scratch in your throat. you lower the bread roll onto your lap, and close some of the distance between your body and gihun's as you reach for the water bottle.

you take a swig, let the water wash down the bits of bread sticking to your throat. and then you take another sip, a bigger one this time. you let it sit in your cheeks to re-soak the dryness left behind by the bread, and you're sure you resemble a hamster stowing little pieces of food away in its cheeks. it isn't pretty, the way you swish the water from one cheek to the other as your tongue works to dislodge the worst of the bread from between your teeth. it's less pretty when you swallow the mouthful down, taking those little pieces of food with it.

you clear your throat, pick at your teeth with your tongue, not being mindful that gihun is right in front of you. one glance to him quickly satisfies you that he's too far away to be aware of you right now. but you pause. you remember you have an audience watching across the room.

it's sheepish, the look on your face when you turn to your group again. they all struggle to hide the wince in their smaller attempts at smiles now. it's not hard to tell that they're worrying about it being enough to make gihun snap. maybe they think it's enough to have him reach across and choke you into silence with his free hand. but you know better.

you turn right back to your food, trying not to think back to the way young-il always narrowed his eyes whenever daeho smacked his lips at previous lunches. there's a small flicker of relief that he isn't here to witness you now, but it's quickly replaced by guilt. what an awful thought. with gihun sitting across from you, suffering with that loss, no less.

if your group thinks sloshing your hamster cheeks around is too much, you dread to think about them witnessing daeho charging up a cough to dislodge food stuck in his throat after eating his meals too quickly. but you try not to find amusement in it. not when he's hiding away in a dark corner of the dorm. he's not himself either, but he's handling it better than gihun. he doesn't need your intervention yet.

you let out a light-hearted scoff, thinking about other the times daeho had everyone lurching back with a head bobbing sneeze in the middle of meal times, too close to spraying over someone's lunch tray. you pretend gihun's in on the conversation, like he'll understand what you're thinking. they think that's bad, just wait until they see daeho! but when you lift your head to smile like it's him who made the joke, you're surprised to find him staring right back at you.

your smile drops. every muscle in your body tenses on instinct. now you're deadly still, not just him.

for a moment, you worry the sunken face and stormy eyes are his version of judgement, too. like you've gotten too comfortable. disturbed his silent spiral into despair. but you don't see anger. not at you, at least. maybe it is judgement, but he isn't capable of that. not in his position. cuffed to a bunk, starving half to death. haunted by the voices in his head convincing him that jung-bae and young-il's blood are stains on his hands. in his mind, he's no better than a murderer.

but the longer you hold his gaze, the more you search his eyes, trying to understand how you managed to do it. how you have reeled him back from another planet. back into the same room.

he doesn't look away. maybe he can't. all you know is you can't, either.

there are no words that come to mind. nothing to express how deep your sorrow runs for him, your condolences for his friends. nothing but a quickly mumbled, "sorry... was i chewing too loud?"

it's slow, the confusion that forms in the knitting of his brows, in the blinking of his eyes. he stares like you aren't speaking the same language.

something possesses you to add "i wouldn't eat that," as you nod down to his half of the bread on the floor. "unless you're looking to shave a couple of inches off your teeth, then maybe."

the words are out before your mind can catch up, and when it does, you're left almost as baffled as he is. wasn't the whole point of coming over to encourage him to eat? to drink something? and now you've only gone and told him actually, why don't you push yourself closer to starvation?

it's not worth backtracking. you've already said too much. blown any chance at getting him to take care of himself. walking away would be better than this. leaping off the tallest bunk in the dorm probably even better. both options make more sense than the decision you make to take another bite.

it's not even three seconds until the stale chunk of bread explodes into a cloud of dust between your teeth, and suddenly you're choking on particles as they fly down your throat.

if the water sloshing around in your cheeks before wasn't pretty, it's best not to think how much worse it is when you burst out with an eye-watering, throat-burning cough. but it doesn't end there. you're hacking, lurching forward, clutching at your neck. there's a startling thought that this might be how you get eliminated from the games. choking to death on fragments of stale bread.

it's only when you bend over onto your hands and knees, heaving the crumbs from your throat with your back arching, coughs turning thick and wet, where you realise you must resemble a cat coughing up a hairball. that's when you wish for elimination to grant you the mercy of putting you out of your misery.

just when it's looking bleak, you're stuck with heavy force on your back. it's sharp, almost makes you cry out, and then it's right back to smacking you once again. maybe it's a punishment. it feels fair, for disturbing the dorm, causing such a scene. for having the audacity to die from a bread roll when others have been bludgeoned or shot dead. hyunju wouldn't smack your back, she's responsible enough to do the heimlich manoeuvre for choking. maybe that tweaker—nam-su?—from the o's side of the room has finally had it with you.

but you realise it's neither of those when you hear a gravelly voice follow after another strike to your back.

"come on," it says. flat, empty, but pinched with concern.

it takes a few more slaps to the back to dislodge the dust in your throat, and it's only then do you connect the voice to the face.

gihun.

when you look up at him, panting and still hunched over, he's staring right back. his hand is warm between your shoulder blades, firm with concern that's rapidly diminishing as the grief creeps back in. his other arm is stretched sharply behind him, hand still caught by the handcuff. he's slow to sink back onto his knees, just like you are to push yourself off the floor.

you wipe the back of your hand across your mouth, wiping away a trace of saliva. catching your breath. holding his gaze like if you don't, he'll slip away again.

your lips part. "thanks," you say breathlessly.

he doesn't answer. just lowers his head, just barely. like it hurts to be thanked. but when he looks down, he sees the water bottle again. wordlessly he hands it to you.

you don't hesitate to take it from him, grateful and gentle. you drink until your throat burns a little less, and when you're done, you're careful with your tone when you add, "that was close," like a breathless joke.

his head lifts just slightly at that, and it's like he's fighting a war in his mind when you catch a glimpse of his face. his cheeks are tinted with just the softest shade of red, from sitting up so quickly, you assume. even that must take the energy from him. but you're careful to keep the sympathy far from your expression.

he closes his eyes at the next cough that slips from your lips. it's like it takes everything in him to lift his head, brows pinched with concern, to ask "are you alright?"

and that's when you see it. concern.

your voice doesn't scratch anymore, but you let out a few coughs into your hand anyway, and nod in answer to his question. his eyes track every movement you make as you take another sip from the bottle.

it might not be the full him, but it's a crack. a small one, but still a crack in the armour guarding his fragile state of mind. enough to inspire hope.

when you're finished with the water, you hand the bottle back to him without thinking. he takes it, only he doesn't set it down. slowly, he lifts it to his lips and drinks from it.

it's not much. half a sip at best. but it feels like you have just been told you can leave the dormitory with all the money in the golden pig above your heads.

he hands the bottle back, and something happens. something unspoken. you sip, then he does, and back to you, until you watch him finish off the bottle. you don't fuss, don't stare. you just accept the feeling of relief that washes over your shoulders like waves over sand.

he doesn't reach for the bread. your advice to skip it isn't regretted, because it might've convinced him out of the next lunch the guards bring, whenever that may be. besides, it's not like there's any water left to wash it down, anyway.

him drinking some of the water is enough for you.

he struggles to meet your gaze after that, but you don't mind. the both of you end up sitting beside each other, backs against the side of the bunk he's chained to, settled into another silence. but this time it feels just that little bit lighter. like it did over the last few days since you met him.

time is too hard to track in the windowless dormitory at the best of times, but enough of it passes for you to find the right moment to express yourself this time.

it comes out slow. not hesitant, but cautious. "we can't know what the future brings," you preface. "we can plan, we can prepare, but when the time comes, we are at the mercy of fate more than anything else."

he doesn't respond. maybe he doesn't even want to hear it. maybe he's gone back to the other planet that doesn't have you bothering him on it. but you reel him in one last time with a hand to his knee to coax him into listening to what he needs to hear.

"fate can be cruel, sometimes," you say, and your voice drops to something softer. "but crueller is to punish yourself for trying your best."

he doesn't need to hear more. nor do you feel the urge to subject him to it. and he might not believe his hands are clean, or that he deserves to live. but he has to know that he is not blamed, no matter what that voice in his head has to say about it.

you don't linger. you take the empty water bottle, carefully repackage the bread to avoid spilling crumbs, and make your way back to the others.

hyunju makes space for you on her bunk, but there still isn't much to say. the air is heavy with grief that extends to more corners of the room than just gihun's, and it's clear your words weren't exclusive to only be heard by gihun, either. you can see it in the sombre smile hyunju tries to hide as she drapes the corner of her blanket over your legs again, and you know she's thinking of young-mi. how she feels guilt over her death, too.

but guem-ja breaks the silence. "i didn't think mr. seong would ever stop staring off into space," she sighs regretfully.

young-sik hums in agreement.

junhee meets your gaze, rubbing soothing circles over her baby bump when she asks, "is your throat okay?"

young-sik snickers before you can answer. guem-ja is quick to jab her elbow disapprovingly into his ribs, spouting out words of disapproval, but it's waved away by her son. he turns to you more seriously, leaning in closer as if it's a secret. "how did you know that would work?" he asks. "nearly choking to death on the bread?"

guem-ja shakes her head at him, but you don't miss the curious flick of her eyes when she glances to you, as if she's wondering the same.

you see they're all tuned in, waiting to hear how you pulled it off. you smile softly but don't answer for a moment, your gaze drifting back to gihun. you only look to him for a second, before turning back to say "he's kind," you say simply.

young-sik frowns. "that's it?" he asks.

you glance to hyunju who's just figured it out, her smile slow to form but it carrying a little less grief than before. you stay in the moment with her for a beat, before turning back to young-sik.

guem-ja beats you to it. "you knew he'd never let you choke," she says in amazement.

it draws your smile wider. you nod, confirming that was your plan. there's conversation now, and everyone is involved. for once, young-sik ignores daeho's dark corner and beams about how genius it was, while junhee remarks her surprise that gihun actually drank the water. as they chatter on, you drift away, attention shifting to gihun again.

he's still sitting in the same spot you left him, one hand raised by the handcuff. he doesn't look at you, or anyone for that matter.

but you see it.

the look in his eye. the glassiness coating them. the tension in his brows. signs of life.

he hasn't wandered back to the other planet. he hasn't drifted away. he isn't gone. he's there.

and you wonder if he's thinking over your words. if he's allowing himself to consider the possibility that maybe he isn't to blame. maybe it wasn't him that walked his friends into their graves. maybe fate did have a hand in the failure of the rebellion.

that maybe, just maybe, it isn't his fault.