#squid game request

Nam-gyu is an addict, a drug addict to be specific. He and Thanos take a pill every day before leaving the room for the game. The duo is always seen laughing, jittery, and even dancing.

Y/N doesn’t get that at all. Her quiet nature helps her observe the other players and even the guards. She knows that getting attached to people here can lead to problems. It’s a matter of survival, and she’s willing to use everyone and anyone to get out of these games (that she agreed on, but let’s not talk about that).

While Nam-gyu is an idiot junkie, she catches his eye. Her number 123 on her jacket gives Nam-gyu the perfect opportunity to be close to her in the dorm room and especially during voting. Her red patch with the letter ‘X’ annoys the hell out of him, though.

The game ‘Six-Legged Pentathlon’ is troublesome for her. Her quiet and cold demeanor makes people around her avoid her at any cost. That is until a girl with short hair and piercings, accompanied by a timid guy, approaches her. “Would you like to be a member of our group?” the girl asks.

Y/N glances around, weighing her options carefully, and with a resigned nod, agrees.

“I’m Se-mi,” the girl nods her head to the side where the boy is anxiously looking at them. “This is Min-su.” The boy bows as a greeting. “What’s your name?” he asks, fiddling with his fingers.

Y/N raises an eyebrow, her face showing no other expression. She doesn’t have a chance to introduce herself, though, not when they are rudely interrupted by a purple-haired junkie named Thanos.

“Señorita, excuse me?” Se-mi and Min-su turn towards the guy, who has an arrogant and smug look on his face. His arms are crossed, and he tugs his jacket like he’s about to rap, which Y/N hopes he won't. She turns her attention to the guy beside the retired (failed) hip-hop rapper. He has long hair, and is jittery as always, following Thanos like a dog.

“We already asked someone else,” Se-mi says, turning back to the conversation. She just notices that Se-mi and Min-su have moved aside to reveal the girl.

“Two girls? Dude, we don’t know what the game is; this could be risky—” Nam-gyu starts, but Thanos puts a hand on his chest, interrupting him. “What’s your name?” Thanos asks Y/N.

She gives them a cold look, puts her hands in her jacket’s pockets, and sighs heavily. “Y/N.”

Thanos smiles. “What’s up? Nice to meet you, señorita. Welcome to the Thanos world.” He curls his index finger in front of Y/N, forcefully takes her right hand from her pocket, and daps her before giving her a shoulder bump. All the while, Y/N stands flabbergasted. “You’re cute, come on!” Thanos says, leading his group to one of the circles drawn on the floor.

Nam-gyu takes this opportunity to socialize with the quiet girl, who furrows her eyebrows at Thanos. “You are cute, he’s right.” Y/N raises an eyebrow at him, rolling her eyes before speeding up to sit beside Se-mi.

That was supposed to be the plan, but instead, she finds herself squished between the two junkies. One is quivering, and the other is doing some gun motions and muttering ‘bang, bang, bang.’

・‥...━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━...‥・

The journey back to the dorm room was silent with a few mumble by Thanos, the drugs wearing down. How did Y/N know? It’s because Nam-gyu kept pestering her with a serious look on his face, “Come on, you got to talk.”

Y/N sighed, speeding up her walk after seeing the door that leads to their sleeping quarters. Going to her bed, not noticing that Nam-gyu followed her like a dog, “Just talk. Give me something, anything.”

“Why are you so persistent?” Y/N groaned, glaring harshly at the guy who smiled widely.

“I did make you talk though.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't shake the small smile tugging her lips, “So annoying, go away!”

Nam-gyu shook his head, making his hair sway with his movement. “No.”

The girl stared at him blankly, turning her face away from him, not noticing the frown that set upon Nam-gyu's face. The latter held her cheeks, forcefully facing him again, “Don’t turn away from me.”

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, taking Nam-gyu’s hand from her face and twisting it, making the guy wince, “Or what?”

Nam-gyu smiled but winced once more when the girl twisted his hand more, “You’re so pretty.” Y/N’s grip faltered, giving Nam-gyu the chance to escape from her grasp. The guy took her shock as an opportunity to lean closer to her face, “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

She laughed. And it sounded so beautiful in Nam-gyu’s ears that it made him smile after seeing hers. “I doubt that.”

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

i hope this is good! first time writing for nam-gyu and tbh i don’t like him (HE KILLED SE-MI) but i like the actor, he’s so cute!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Suddenly, the door creaked open and a figure stumbled in. It was Su-bong, his purple skin looking sickly and gray in the weak light. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had a manic, unfocused look about him. He barely seemed to notice you as he tossed a crumpled wad of cash onto the small, cluttered table.

"Look at this!" he slurred, a triumphant grin on his face. "Another one! The cryptos are going to make me a king, a god! We'll be rich, you and me, richer than anyone in this whole miserable city!"

You watched him, your heart sinking with a familiar, heavy dread. "Su-bong, you said you'd stop," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "The money... we need it for the baby. For food, for a doctor..."

He turned to you then, his grin faltering as he finally seemed to register your presence. His gaze dropped to your stomach, and a flicker of something unreadable, maybe confusion, maybe fear, crossed his face. "The baby?" he repeated, his voice thick with a mixture of drugs and disbelief. "What are you talking about, 'the baby'? We're going to be rich! We don't need a baby, we need more crypto, more… more of this!" He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a small, plastic bag filled with a white powder.

Your hands clenched into fists, your nails digging into your palms. "Su-bong, I'm pregnant. I'm almost six months pregnant. I told you, months ago, before all this started. We were going to be a family."

His laughter was a harsh, bitter sound that echoed in the small room. "Pregnant? You're not pregnant! This is a scam, isn't it? Another one of your little tricks to get me to stop. Well, it's not going to work! The universe is mine for the taking, and I'm not going to let a little... a little lie about a baby get in the way!" He took a shaky step towards you, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"It's not a lie," you said, tears welling up in your eyes. "I love you, Su-bong. I've always loved you. But this... this isn't you. This isn't the man I fell in love with. The man who talked about a future, about a family..."

He stopped, his hand still holding the small bag of drugs. The manic energy seemed to drain out of him for a moment, leaving behind a hollow, empty shell. "The man who talked about a future," he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "That man... he's gone. He's been gone for a long time. All that's left is this. The crypto, the money, the power... that's all that matters now. Everything else is just... dust." He looked at you, and for a brief, heartbreaking moment, you saw a flash of the old Thanos in his eyes, a glimpse of the man you had loved. But then it was gone, replaced by a cold, hard emptiness.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "But there's no room for a baby in this life. Not anymore." He turned away from you, his shoulders slumped as he walked to the window, staring out at the rain-soaked city below. You sat in silence, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a physical force. The sound of his sniffling was the only thing you heard, and you knew in that moment that he wasn't just talking about the baby. He was talking about you. About all of it. And you knew, with a certainty that chilled you to your bones, that it was over. He had chosen the dust, and you, and the life you had dreamed of, were all just another part of the storm.

The rain had finally let up, leaving the city slick and gleaming under the harsh streetlights. You walked aimlessly, your hands still clutched around your belly, the cold night air seeping into your bones. The last of your meager cash had gone to a bus ticket that took you to the edge of the city, a place of neon signs and late-night diners. You were hungry, exhausted, and terrifyingly alone. Every shadow seemed to hold the ghost of Su-bong's face, a twisted mix of manic energy and hollow despair.

You found yourself sitting on a park bench, the cold metal seeping through your thin clothes. A man in a tailored suit, his face unreadable, approached you. He held a small, black briefcase. You immediately recoiled, your hand instinctively moving to protect your stomach.

"You look like you've had a long night," he said, his voice calm and even. He wasn't like the men who usually prowled these streets. There was something... unnervingly polite about him.

You didn't respond, just stared at him with weary, suspicious eyes.

He didn't press the issue. Instead, he simply sat on the opposite end of the bench, placing the briefcase on his lap. "I'm looking for a particular kind of person," he continued, as if you had answered. "Someone who's reached the end of their rope. Someone who has nothing left to lose. Someone who's tired of being dust."

Your breath hitched. Dust. The word echoed in your mind, a cruel reminder of Su-bong's final words. It was as if this man had plucked the word directly from your shattered heart.

"How... how do you know that?" you asked, your voice a fragile whisper.

A faint smile touched the man's lips. "I see a lot of people like you. People with a debt they can't pay. A future that's been stolen. A burden they carry alone." His eyes briefly glanced at your stomach before returning to your face. "I can help you with that burden."

He opened the briefcase and took out two small, rectangular cards: one blue, one red. He placed them on the bench between you. "Do you want to play a game?" he asked, his tone still perfectly calm. "It's a simple game. If you win, you get a little money. Enough for a warm meal, a place to sleep for the night. If you lose, I get to keep your card." He gestured to the cards. "You flip your card over to match mine. Red or blue. It's a simple game."

The simplicity of it was what made it so terrifying. It was a game of chance, something you felt you had run out of a long time ago. But the thought of a warm meal... of a safe place to sleep for just one night... it was an overwhelming temptation.

"What's the catch?" you asked, your voice barely audible.

"There's no catch," he replied, his voice still unnervingly steady. "Just a game. And a chance. A chance to start over. A chance to get away from the dust." He looked at you, and for the first time, you saw a hint of something more in his eyes. Not malice, but a kind of cold, calculating pity. "It's your choice. Red or blue."

You looked at the cards, then at the man. He wasn't making any threats. He wasn't demanding anything. He was just offering an out. A single, fragile lifeline in the middle of a storm. And you, with nothing left, with a life growing inside you that depended entirely on your next decision, had no choice but to take it.

You reached out a trembling hand and picked up the blue card. You flipped it over, and your breath hitched. It was red. You had lost. A small, defeated sigh escaped your lips.

"Better luck next time," he said, a faint smile on his face as he took the card. "But don't worry. We have another game for you. A bigger game. With a much bigger prize." He pulled out another business card, this one a simple black rectangle with a phone number and a small, gold symbol. A circle.

"This is your chance," he said, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. "A chance to truly get rid of your debt. To build a new life. To give that little one a future. All you have to do is make one phone call."

He stood up, the briefcase in his hand, and walked away without another word, leaving you alone on the bench, holding the small black card. You stared at the number, your mind racing. It was a risk. A terrible, unknown risk. But what was the alternative? Going back to Su-bong? Going back to the dust?

You looked down at your belly, at the life inside you. You knew what you had to do. You had to take the chance. You had to play the game.

The rain returned, a cold, relentless downpour that mirrored the empty ache in Su-bong’s chest. The cryptocurrency he had poured every last cent into—your savings, your future, all of it—had crashed. The numbers on his screen, once a god-like promise, were now a cruel, flat zero. The triumph was gone. The manic energy had vanished, leaving behind only the cold, hard certainty of his failure.

He sat on the floor of the apartment, the single lightbulb flickering above him. The drugs were gone, the last of them having faded into a hazy memory of a grandeur that never was. He was surrounded by the wreckage of his obsession: crumpled crypto pamphlets, empty bags, and the memory of your face. He had chosen the dust, and now, he was utterly consumed by it. He had chased a ghost, a false promise of power, and in the process, he had become the very thing he feared—nothing.

You made the call, the number you’d been given an anchor in a storm. A van arrived shortly after, its dark windows offering no glimpse of who was inside. The driver, his face obscured by a black mask, opened the sliding door. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that felt dangerously close to breaking. But you had to. For the life you were carrying. You climbed in.

The moment the door slid shut, a sweet, cloying gas filled the air. You tried to hold your breath, but it was useless. A dizzying wave of nausea washed over you, and your last thought was a desperate prayer for the baby as the world dissolved into darkness.

You awoke to the soft, rhythmic sound of breathing. Your head throbbed, and your muscles ached with a dull, heavy fatigue. The first thing you noticed was the cold, sterile air, so different from the humid warmth of the outside world. The second was the unfamiliar weight of the fabric against your skin. You were wearing a green tracksuit, emblazoned with a white number on the chest: 204. A number that would forever mark you.

You sat up, your movements stiff and disoriented. You were in a massive, brightly lit room. Tiered beds were stacked high, a bewildering sight of identical forms in green tracksuits. The air was thick with the scent of disinfectant. The walls were painted in a vibrant, almost cartoonish a jarring contrast to the grim reality of your situation. You carefully stood, your hands instinctively moving to your stomach. The tracksuit was loose, but it didn't hide the gentle swell of your pregnancy. It was a visible reminder of your purpose here, the reason you had risked everything.

A booming, disembodied voice cut through the silence, echoing from speakers hidden in the ceiling.

"Players, welcome. Welcome to the game. You are all here for the same reason. You are all buried under a mountain of debt. But if you play the game, and you win, you will be free. You will be rich. You will have a new life."

You looked around, seeing the faces of the others. There were hundreds of them, each in their own green tracksuit, each with their own number, their own desperate story written in their eyes. Fear, resignation, and a flicker of hope. You felt a wave of camaraderie, a sense that you weren't truly alone in your despair anymore.

Just then, the voice continued, "The first game will begin shortly. But first, let's establish the rules." You saw one of the doors on the far side of the room slide open, and a figure in a red jumpsuit with a geometric mask stood in the opening, a symbol of the game's brutal, faceless authority.

Your heart rate spiked. This was it. The point of no return. You looked down at the number on your chest, at the swell of your belly, and took a shaky breath. You were 204. And you were going to win.

The booming voice from the speakers faded, leaving a tense, suffocating silence in its wake. You stood there, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs, the number 204 emblazoned on your chest. You took a deep, shaky breath, the sterile air feeling thin and insufficient. The doors on the far side of the room slid open, revealing a long, narrow hallway. The guards in their red jumpsuits and geometric masks stood as silent, menacing sentinels, gesturing for the players to move.

A wave of humanity, a panicked, jostling sea of green tracksuits, surged forward. You were swept along with them, your hand instinctively going to your stomach as you were pushed and pulled in the human current. The heavy tracksuit felt cumbersome, and you could already feel a dull ache in your back. You were no longer just running for yourself; you were running for two.

The hallway opened into a massive, open-air arena. The sky above was a bright, artificial blue, and the walls were painted with a child-like, colorful landscape of trees and hills. It felt like a surreal, twisted playground. Your eyes widened in horror as you saw it: a colossal, terrifying doll at the far end of the field, its head slowly swiveling back and forth. This was the game. You recognized it from somewhere, a memory of childhood innocence now tainted with a grim, foreboding dread.

"The first game is Red Light, Green Light!" the disembodied voice announced, its cheerfulness a sickening contrast to the fear gripping every player. "Cross the finish line within the time limit. When the doll says 'Green Light,' you may move. But when it says 'Red Light,' you must stop. If your movement is detected, you will be eliminated."

A man next to you, a nervous tremor in his hands, let out a nervous laugh. "Eliminated? What does that mean? Like, we lose?"

The chilling answer came immediately. The doll's head snapped around, its glowing eyes fixing on the crowd. "Green Light!" it chirped in a high, singsong voice.

The crowd surged forward, a desperate, scrambling sprint for the finish line. You tried to run, but the cumbersome weight of the tracksuit and the constant ache in your back made it a difficult, slow process. You had to pace yourself, to move with a measured, careful stride. Just as you were finding your rhythm, the doll's voice rang out again.

"Red Light!"

Everyone froze. A moment of utter, terrifying stillness. But one player, the nervous man from before, had stumbled and fallen. He scrambled to his feet, his foot kicking up a cloud of dust. A sharp, cracking sound echoed across the arena, and he crumpled to the ground, a single, red flower blooming on his chest. A terrifying realization washed over you: eliminated didn't mean you just lost. It meant you died.

The game continued, a brutal, horrifying dance of life and death. With each round of "Red Light, Green Light," the field grew smaller. The fear became a tangible presence, a cold hand squeezing your heart. You saw a woman fall and be shot. You saw a man stumble in his panic and be executed. The sound of the shots became a macabre metronome, marking the steady decline of the player count.

Your back screamed in protest, and you had to slow your pace even more, trying to move with a deliberate, smooth glide. You couldn't run like the others. You couldn't afford to fall. A flash of Su-bong's face, his manic eyes and hollow promises, flickered in your mind, but you pushed it away. He was a ghost. This was real. This was the only thing that mattered.

You were just a few yards from the finish line, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The doll's voice echoed one last time. "Red Light!"

You slammed to a halt, your feet sliding slightly on the painted concrete. You held your breath, every muscle in your body frozen, your eyes locked on the finish line just ahead. The doll’s eyes scanned the field, its gaze lingering on the trembling, terrified faces of the survivors. You felt a wave of dizziness, a sudden, alarming lurch in your stomach. The world seemed to tilt, and you realized with a jolt of panic that you were losing your balance. You began to sway, a slow, agonizing teetering. You couldn't fall. You couldn't move. You had to stay still. But the dizziness was too strong. You were going to fall. You were going to be eliminated.

The world was tilting, a slow, terrifying descent into a fatal mistake. You felt your knees buckle, the ground rushing up to meet you. Your eyes squeezed shut, bracing for the inevitable shot. But it never came.

Instead, a strong, steady hand pressed against the small of your back. It was a firm, reassuring touch that pushed you forward just enough to correct your balance. The momentum from the hand on your back was the only thing that kept you from falling completely. You held your breath, every muscle in your body rigid with the effort to stay perfectly still. The hand remained, a silent anchor in the chaos, holding you steady as the doll’s head slowly turned away, its voice chirping, "Green Light!"

A wave of relief washed over you, a dizzying rush that threatened to buckle your knees again. The hand on your back withdrew, and you surged forward, joining the desperate, scrambling rush for the finish line. You didn't stop until you were across the line, your body trembling with a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline.

You stumbled to a stop, collapsing against the wall. The finish line was a chaotic mess of panting, terrified survivors. As your breathing slowly returned to normal, you looked back at the field. The ground was littered with the bodies of the eliminated, and the guards in red jumpsuits were moving in to clean up the aftermath. You needed to find the person who saved you, to thank them, to put a face to the silent, steady hand that had kept you from becoming another casualty.

Your eyes scanned the faces of the survivors near you, but none of them looked at you with a shared sense of a secret. They were all too lost in their own terror and relief. You felt a sense of both gratitude and frustration, a need to know who your savior was.

Meanwhile, a few feet away, Su-bong leaned against a wall, his hand still tingling from the press of your back against his palm. He had seen you. He had seen you stumble, had seen the fear on your face. And in that moment, as the first man was shot, as the grim reality of the game crashed over him, he had come to his senses. The drugs, the crypto, the manic obsession—it all faded away, replaced by the terrifying, undeniable truth of your pregnancy. The life he had so carelessly dismissed, the life he had so cruelly chosen to leave behind, was now in this place, in this game, and you were in danger. A desperate, primal instinct had taken over. He had run towards you when he could, and when he saw you swaying, he had acted without thinking. He had saved you. He had to. He couldn’t let the dust consume you, too.

He watched you now, his heart aching with a pain that was sharper than any crypto crash. You were looking for your savior, but you didn’t even glance his way. He knew you wouldn't. The last time you saw him, he was a hollow, empty shell of a man. The man who had just saved you, the man who was now watching you from the shadows, was someone you wouldn’t recognize.

The intercom crackled to life, the booming voice announcing the end of the first game. The remaining players were instructed to return to the dorm. A new wave of dread washed over you, but you felt a quiet, simmering sense of hope. Someone had helped you. Someone was watching out for you. You were no longer completely alone in this twisted, terrifying game. As you walked back towards the doors, you felt a new resolve. You were going to win. And you were going to live.

The horrific ordeal of "Red Light, Green Light" was over. The surviving players shuffled back into the dorm, the air thick with a grim combination of relief and terror. The tiered bunk beds, once filled with a hopeful throng, were now half-empty. You found a quiet spot, curling into a tight ball on your bunk, your hands pressed against your belly. The thought of food was a distant, secondary concern, yet your body, and the life growing inside you, screamed for sustenance.

A short while later, the guards wheeled in carts filled with food. Each player was given a tray with a small carton of milk and a simple, boiled egg. The players, starved and exhausted, descended upon the food with a desperate, animalistic hunger. You took your tray and found a secluded corner to sit, carefully peeling the shell from your egg. The bland taste of the boiled egg was a welcome sensation, and you ate slowly, savoring every precious bite.

A few feet away, a gruff-looking man with a jagged scar over his eye, number 407, grumbled to another player. "An egg? A single egg for all that we went through? They're treating us like cattle." The other player, number 113, just shrugged, his face a mask of weary resignation. "It's a meal, isn't it? Just eat it and be glad you're alive."

You paid them no mind, your focus entirely on the precious food. You were about to take another bite when a shadow fell over you. You looked up, expecting to see a guard, or maybe another desperate player trying to steal your food.

Instead, you saw a pair of hands. Hands that were bruised and scratched, their knuckles raw. They held a tray identical to yours, but with an untouched egg and a full carton of milk. As you followed the hands up, your eyes met the face of the person attached to them. Your breath hitched in your throat, and the half-eaten egg fell from your grasp, landing on the floor with a soft, sickening splat.

It was Su-bong.

He was thinner, his face gaunt and pale beneath the grime. The manic, wild look in his eyes was gone, replaced by a hollow, defeated sorrow. His green tracksuit, number 230, hung loosely on his frame. The man you had left behind, the man you had so recently convinced yourself was a ghost, was standing right in front of you.

His gaze dropped to your stomach, and a flicker of pained recognition crossed his face. He extended his hands, his knuckles white as he held out his tray to you. "Here," he said, his voice a low, raspy whisper. "Take it."

You just stared at him, unable to speak, your mind reeling. The drugs, the crypto, the bitter laughter, the casual cruelty—all of it came rushing back, a tidal wave of grief and betrayal. You were staring at the man who had abandoned you, the father of your child.

"I... I can't," you finally managed to choke out.

"Yes, you can," he insisted, a new desperation in his eyes. "You have to. It's not just for you. Please. Just take it."

He didn't move, his arms still outstretched, holding the meager offering of food. The other players continued to eat and whisper amongst themselves, oblivious to the silent, gut-wrenching drama unfolding between the two of you. He was offering you his food. His survival. A stark, heartbreaking reversal of the man he had been. He had chosen the dust. But here, in this twisted, terrifying place, he was choosing you. And you didn't know whether to scream at him or cry.

The chaos of the meal eventually subsided, and the dorm room fell into a heavy, unsettling quiet. The guards collected the empty trays, and a deep, somber silence settled over the remaining players. Soon, the harsh fluorescent lights dimmed, casting a soft, ghostly glow over the hundreds of sleeping bodies. You lay on your bunk, but sleep was a distant impossibility. The image of Su-bong’s face, etched with a pain that mirrored your own, replayed in your mind.

You stared at the ceiling, feeling the familiar, protective weight of your hands on your stomach. The silence was broken only by the soft snores and restless whispers of the players around you. You felt a tear slip from the corner of your eye, tracing a hot path down your temple and into your pillow. The exhaustion was physical, but the emotional pain was a crushing, internal weight.

You heard a soft rustling below you and then a gentle creak as someone climbed onto your bunk. You didn't need to look to know who it was. The scent of him—a faint, familiar smell of stale cigarettes and something else, something uniquely his—had already reached you. He sat beside you, his presence a heavy, undeniable thing in the suffocating quiet.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice so quiet it was barely a breath. "For the other day. For the egg. And for… everything."

You turned your head, the tears now flowing freely. "Sorry?" you choked out, your voice raw with emotion. "You can't just say you're sorry, Su-bong! I left you. I left you because you didn't care. You didn't care about me, you didn't care about the baby... you didn't care about anything but your stupid crypto and your drugs!"

He flinched, the words a physical blow. He didn't deny it. "I know," he said, his voice thick with a genuine, agonizing regret. "I know I was a monster. I was... lost. I was chasing something that wasn't real. I thought if I could just get rich, if I could just be powerful, everything would be okay. I thought that money could fix the world, but all it did was destroy mine." He reached out, his hand hovering over your stomach, a silent, pleading gesture. "I’m sorry, I’m so sorry."

You sat up, the tears blurring your vision. "That's not enough!" you hissed, your voice a desperate, wounded whisper. "I had to leave! I had no money, no hope. I was so scared. And then I ended up here, in this… this hell. And you have the audacity to be here too, after you were the one who put me in this position in the first place?"

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a heartbreaking mixture of shame and fear. "I'm in debt," he confessed, the words a raw confession. "I lost everything. All of it. I had nothing left, and then... they came for me. The same man who came for you, I think. He gave me a card, and I… I had nothing left to lose."

You scoffed, a bitter, watery sound. "Nothing left to lose? I had something to lose, Su-bong! I had a baby to protect! I had a life to build! But you were too busy chasing your fake fortune to see it!"

He reached out and gently took your hand, his touch surprisingly warm and steady. "I see it now," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "I swear to you, I see it now. I saw you today, out on that field, and I saw what I had done. I saw you, and I saw my son or daughter... and I knew that everything I had been chasing was a lie. The only thing that was ever real was you. You and our baby."

He squeezed your hand, his gaze pleading. "I’m not asking for forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. I just... I want to help. I want to protect you. I want to make sure you get out of this place. I want to make sure the baby is safe. It's the only thing that matters to me anymore."

You looked at him, at the man who had been a stranger for so long, and a fresh wave of tears choked your throat. He wasn't the man you had left, the one consumed by a manic desperation. He was a broken, terrified man, one who had finally woken up to the reality of his choices. You didn't know if you could trust him, or if you could ever forgive him. But you knew, with a chilling certainty, that you couldn't survive this game alone. And for the first time since you had left him, you realized you weren't.

The announcement of the next game sent a collective shiver through the dorm. "The Mingle Game," the voice boomed. "You will be given a number. You must find a group that totals that number. Failure to do so will result in elimination." The doors to the game room opened, revealing a massive, circular arena. The guards in red jumpsuits gestured for everyone to step onto a central platform that began to spin slowly, accompanied by a horribly cheerful children's song.

As the music stopped, the booming voice announced, "Mingle! The required number is four!"

Chaos erupted. Players scrambled off the platform, pushing and shoving to form groups. You and Su-bong immediately stuck together, grabbing the hands of a young woman with a long braid and a weary, older man with a pockmarked face. Together, you rushed into one of the empty chambers, slamming the door shut just as the alarm sounded. The numbers on the screen above the chamber showed your group of four, and a green light flashed. A wave of exhausted relief washed over you. Outside, the screams of the eliminated echoed through the arena, and you clung to Su-bong's arm, your knuckles white.

The game continued, the numbers changing with each round. You and your small group stuck together, a small, desperate island of trust in a sea of suspicion. You made it through a round of "four," then a round of "six." But in the next round, the voice called out a much larger number: "Mingle! The required number is ten!"

The arena became a swirling vortex of panicked humanity. You and your group were at the center of the frantic movement, trying to merge with another cluster of players. Suddenly, a large, burly man, who had been eyeing your group with suspicion, shoved his way past you, his shoulder hitting you with a brutal, unexpected force. You stumbled, your feet catching on the edge of the spinning platform. A sharp, searing pain shot through your lower abdomen, a jolt of agony that made you cry out. You fell to your knees, the world spinning in a dizzying haze of pain and terror.

Su-bong was there in an instant, his arms wrapping around you. "Hey! What's wrong?" he demanded, his voice laced with a frantic panic.

"The baby," you choked out, a raw sob escaping your lips. "It hurts. Oh, God, it hurts."

He scooped you up into his arms, your belly a tender, aching weight against his chest. He looked around desperately, seeing a group of eight who had a free space. Your old group had already been swallowed up by the frantic crowd. "Over there!" he yelled, carrying you toward the group. They saw you, and the horror on their faces was a mix of pity and fear, but they let you in. You had your number, a perfect ten. The door slammed shut, and a green light flashed, but you could no longer feel a wave of relief. The pain was too sharp, too constant.

The game continued with a new, terrifying intensity. You huddled in the small room, listening to the screams and the gunshots, the sharp pain in your abdomen a constant, agonizing counterpoint. Su-bong held your hand, his face a mask of abject terror, his gaze constantly moving from your pained face to the door.

Finally, the booming voice announced the final round. "Mingle! The required number is two!"

The group of ten, now too large, scrambled out of the room, splitting up to find smaller groups. But the players were already dwindling. The air was thick with desperation. Su-bong looked at you, and you looked at him. You were already a group of two. You were safe. But it was in that moment of fragile safety that the final, terrible wave of pain hit you. The world blurred, and you felt a warmth, a terrible, sickening warmth, trickle down your legs. You looked down, and saw a thin, red stream on the concrete floor.

Su-bong’s eyes widened in horror. "No," he whispered, a single, raw sound of utter despair. "No..."

You looked at him, and then you looked at your hands, still resting protectively on your belly. You had lost. The life you had fought so desperately for, the reason you had come to this hell, was gone. The dust, the same cruel dust that had consumed Su-bong's mind, had now consumed your future, your hope, your baby. You sank to your knees, a silent, gut-wrenching scream tearing through your chest, a scream no one in this horrible place would ever hear.

The air in the arena was now thick with a heavy, unnatural silence. The brutal truth of what had happened to you hung between you and Su-bong, a crushing weight more tangible than any debt. You knelt on the painted concrete floor, the blood a stark, crimson stain that mirrored the finality of your loss. Your body was racked with silent sobs, but your mind was a hollow, echoing void. There was no rage left, no grief, just a chilling emptiness.

Su-bong was on his knees beside you, his hands hovering over your shoulders as if he were afraid to touch you, afraid he might break you completely. His face was a mask of utter despair, the kind of raw, unadulterated pain that had no room for self-pity. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. It was a useless, broken phrase, but it was all he had left. He had promised to protect you, to save you, and in the end, he had failed. He had not only lost his fortune, his mind, and his love—he had lost his child, a life that had been real long before his cryptocurrencies were.

A guard in a red jumpsuit approached, his rifle slung across his back. He didn't speak. He simply nudged you and Su-bong with his boot, a cold, dismissive gesture that told you the game wasn't over. You were still players, still pawns in a twisted game of chance and survival.

With a superhuman effort, you forced yourself to stand. The pain in your abdomen was still there, but it was a dull ache now, a physical reminder of a wound that would never heal. You looked at Su-bong, and for the first time since you had left him, you saw the man you had loved. The manic, vacant look was gone, replaced by a devastating sorrow. He had found his way back from the brink, but at a cost neither of you could ever have imagined. He had chosen to save you, to protect you, to do the right thing—and for that, he had been rewarded with the ultimate punishment.

You were led back to the dorm. The atmosphere was different now. The players who had survived looked at you with a morbid curiosity, a detached pity. But a few, the ones who had seen what happened, looked at you with a knowing, hollow grief in their eyes. You were no longer just a player; you were a ghost, a living monument to the game's brutal, unforgiving nature.

When you reached your bunk, you collapsed onto the mattress, your hands still hovering over your now-flat belly. Su-bong sat on the bunk below you, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. He had won the round, but he had lost everything. The dust had finally settled, and all that was left was the storm.

You lay there for what felt like an eternity, the silence of the dorm a deafening roar. The guards collected the bodies of the eliminated, their boots echoing softly in the hall. Soon, the harsh fluorescent lights dimmed, casting a soft, ghostly glow over the hundreds of sleeping bodies. But you were not sleeping. You were just waiting. Waiting for the next game. Waiting for the end.

The booming voice of the Front Man cut through the silence of the night. "Players, the vote is tied. The guards have decided that the vote will be remade tomorrow. You now have time to consider your choice." A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. You looked at Su-bong, his hand already wrapped around yours, a silent agreement passing between you. You both had voted to leave, a red X now clearly visible on your green tracksuits. It was a vote for life, a vote for your freedom.

The lights in the dorm flickered and then died, plunging the room into a deep, unsettling darkness. The silence was heavy, but it was a silence that you knew wouldn't last. A shuffling sound came from across the room, then a muted whisper. The air became thick with a quiet, menacing tension. You instinctively moved closer to Su-bong, your body a shield for his.

Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the calm, followed by the sickening thud of a body hitting the floor. The game had begun. It wasn't the guards, or the Front Man, but the players themselves. You heard the frantic whispers of the blue team, the ones who had voted to stay, and the desperate cries of the red team, the ones who had voted to leave. They were hunting each other. It was a twisted, brutal new game, one where the players had become their own executioners.

A figure emerged from the shadows, their movements silent and swift. Before you could react, a sharp, searing pain shot through your arm. You cried out, stumbling backward. Your attacker, a muscular woman with a crazed look in her eyes, had a shiv made from a discarded piece of metal. She saw the red cross on your tracksuit, and she saw your terrified face, and for a brief, horrifying moment, a flicker of satisfaction crossed her features.

Su-bong was on her in an instant, a desperate, feral roar tearing from his throat. He tackled her to the ground, a blur of green against the black of the room. He didn't even try to hurt her, just wrestled the crude weapon from her grasp.

Just as the chaos reached a fever pitch, the lights flickered back on. The guards, in their red jumpsuits and geometric masks, stood at the entrances to the dorm, their rifles raised. The game was over. They had seen enough. The guards had known this would happen.

Su-bong was beside you in an instant, his hands on your injured arm, his face pale with fear. "You're okay," he whispered, his voice trembling. "It's just a cut. You'll be okay." He was trying to reassure you, but you could see the fear in his eyes.

You held his hand, the pain in your arm a dull throb. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving you with a bone-deep exhaustion. You leaned against him, the chaos around you fading into a dull hum. You were hurt, and the game was far from over, but for the first time in a long time, you felt a sense of peace. You were together. You were not alone. And in this hell, that was all that mattered.

You knew, with a chilling certainty, that the wound was deeper than it looked. The pain in your arm was a distant thing, a pinprick compared to the cold that was seeping into your veins. You could feel the life draining from you, a steady, relentless flow. You were getting weaker, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. You turned your head to look at Su-bong, his terrified face a blur in the dim light.

"I love you," you whispered, the words a fragile, fleeting breath.

He heard you. He leaned in, his own whisper a ragged, broken sound. "I love you too. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for everything."

A single, silent tear slipped from your eye. It wasn't the end you had imagined, but it was an ending filled with a love you thought was lost forever. You knew, with a certainty that was both devastating and peaceful, that you could go now. The fight was over. You had found him again, and in the end, that was all that mattered.

The harsh reality of morning came, heralded by the sudden, blinding glare of the fluorescent lights. The guards, in their unyielding red jumpsuits, marched into the dorm with a cold, terrifying purpose. They were carrying a black, metal casket, its surface gleaming under the harsh light.

A wave of confusion rippled through Su-bong. He didn't understand. The game was over. They had survived the night. Then he saw it: the guards were moving toward him. He looked at you, a half-formed protest on his lips, a question in his eyes. "Wake up," he whispered, a gentle urgency in his voice. "Come on, wake up."

But you didn't answer. You were still and pale, your arm a dark, unmoving testament to the night's violence. He reached out to shake you, but a guard's hand on his shoulder stopped him. Su-bong struggled, his mind a panicked scramble of denial. Why weren't you waking up? Why were the guards here with that casket?

Slowly, agonizingly, the truth dawned on him. He saw your stillness, your lack of breath, and then the dark stain on your tracksuit. The blood. The blood that had drained from you while he slept, while he had held you, while he had thought you were safe.

A raw, guttural cry of protest tore from his throat as the guards gently, but firmly, lifted your body from the bunk. He fought them, a desperate, futile struggle, screaming your name over and over again. As they placed your body in the casket, he was overwhelmed by a tidal wave of memories. The way your smile had lit up the grimy apartment. The soft swell of your belly. Your final, whispered words. He saw it all, a rapid-fire succession of a life he had thrown away and now, lost forever. The clank of the casket lid closing was the last sound he heard before the world dissolved into a hollow, empty silence.

His cries of protest died in his throat, replaced by a raw, guttural sob as the guards lifted the casket. He was on his knees, his hands scraped and bruised from fighting them, his mind a shattered mess of memories and grief. He watched as they carried you away, a small, black box with a terrible, precious weight inside. The polished metal gleamed under the harsh lights, a mirror reflecting a face he no longer recognized—a face streaked with tears and a pain so profound it was a physical thing.

He saw it all, a rapid-fire succession of a life he had thrown away and now, lost forever. He remembered the dim light of the single bulb in your apartment, the smell of stale smoke and something else, something sweet and hopeful, before it had all turned bitter. He remembered the feel of your hand on your swollen belly, a protective gesture for a life he had so carelessly dismissed. He saw the crumpled wad of cash he had thrown on the table, the triumphant, manic grin on his face as he talked about crypto and power and being a god. And now he was nothing, just a man on his knees, watching the last piece of his humanity being carried away in a box.

The other players watched in silence, their faces a mixture of morbid curiosity and a detached, hollow pity. They didn’t see you; they saw a casualty, a number, a grim reminder of their own mortality. They saw a warning, a lesson, a ghost of what could happen to them if they made the wrong move.

But Su-bong saw you. He saw the person he had been, and the person he was now. The man who had chased a phantom fortune, a god-like power that didn’t exist, was gone. All that was left was a broken, terrified man who had finally woken up to the truth—but it was too late. He had chosen the dust, and now, the dust had taken you. The clank of the casket lid closing was the last sound he heard before the world dissolved into a hollow, empty silence.

His voice was just a ragged whisper, a question directed at no one and everyone. "Why?" he choked out, the word thick with grief. "Why would I even try to survive?"

He sat there, amidst the remaining players, a living ghost in a room full of the living dead. He had fought so hard to find his way back to you, to protect you, and what had it all been for? He had lost his child. Then he had lost you, the only person he had ever truly loved. He had nothing left. The money, the power, the promises of the game—they were all hollow now.

What was the point of winning if the prize was a life alone, haunted by the memory of a love he had rediscovered only to lose? Every victory would be a reminder of your absence, every moment of relief a new wave of pain. The games were a brutal test of survival, but what was survival without a reason to live? He had chosen the dust, and it had consumed everything. Now, all that was left was the storm.

Said man smiles his charming smile and holds your gaze. “Hey, sorry for not calling beforehand but I was in the neighborhood and I had this,” he says as he shows off one of your favorite desserts, replacing your annoyance with temptation.

“You’re not going out right?” He follows his comment with a question he knows the answer to.

“No, but I have someone over. A date. Potential boyfriend,” you reveal, but it doesn’t bring him any surprise, he pretends to be shocked but he knows that too.

“Well I am your best friend,” he points out. “I need to meet him anyway. What harm can it bring?”

You contemplate his comment and also glance at the bag in his hand as if that delicious dessert is what is winning you over, but the truth is a part of you is relieved he’s here, interrupting this moment. You don’t let yourself accept that but you are and that part of yourself that is steps back to open the door wider so he may walk in.

When you close the door behind him your date interjects with a question as he walks over. “Who was it?”

When he makes it to the entrance of the house he comes to a sudden halt and straightens up as he sees Dae-ho at your side with a small smile that was too smug rather than friendly.

“Kang Dae-ho, her best friend,” he introduces himself and then gets closer to your date to offer him his hand.

Your date glances at his hand with his breath caught in his throat and then looks over at you with uncertainty before drawing out a deep breath and taking Dae-ho’s hand without meeting his eye.

“I am sorry for intruding,” Dae-ho doesn’t fail to be respectful as he makes himself at home right away and walks to the dining table to set his stuff down. “But I was in the neighborhood and bought some of her favorite dessert and well what friend would I be if I didn’t share?” Dae-ho says as you quickly join him while your date follows behind slowly, catching your eagerness that you failed to show him.

“However, I am sorry that I didn’t bring you any. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” your date quickly assures him as he finally reaches the table.

Dae-ho flashes him a faint smile before he reaches in the bag and pulls out a small box and napkin and hands it to you. He doesn’t finish there though, he pulls out a drink kept inside the bag and as if expecting it, you take it without so much as looking, letting your date know for certain what he needs to do.

So by morning, just as Dae-ho wanted, your date cut all communication with you with a blunt text.

——

2nd attempt-

Failing is hardly something you did. Sure you do fail from time to time, you are only human, but it’s not something you let slide often, but today…today was one of those days. You failed horribly.

“You’re his best friend, you know him more than anyone could so tell me honestly what he's like,” Dae-ho’s date tries to interrogate you out of genuine curiosity. With no ill intent. You recognize that with the way she carries herself, the way she acts, and the way she looks at him with genuine interest and affection. Maybe that’s what makes you fail or maybe it’s what she says next

”I really like him,” she says. “I just want to know if I'm wasting my time and getting my hopes up to later get them crushed.”

Your stomach twists and irritation rushes through your veins. You don’t even take time to question yourself if you want to shatter her feelings and stomp on her illusions, that irritation takes over before you know it.

“He may be my friend but,” you pause and take a step closer to her. “I have to be honest because no one else will,” you speak with a honey-laced voice. “He’s not particularly loyal. It may seem like that now but in a couple weeks he will be texting other girls. It happened last time.”

The girl’s lashes bat as she deals with the disappoint you just hit her with and steps away as she ducks her head.

“If only I warned you before you came,” you say as you reach over and pat her hand. “Just don’t tell him I told you so.”

You finish with a sweet smile and stroke her hand before you walk out a bit too overzealous, but how could you not be?

You might have failed at containing your…burning feelings, but what you told Dae-ho’s date worked because by the next day she asked him out for coffee and ended things with him.

——

3rd attempt-

Maybe it’s the men you date, or maybe men in particular happen to be more jealous than women but don’t dare to admit it. Or maybe, just maybe, it was Dae-ho stepping over the line. Again.

Whether he meant to or not it didn’t matter. You were at the concert of your favorite artist and Dae-ho happened to be there too. It was on purpose, he happened to like that artist too so why would he miss it?

Now you were at two separate sides of the stadium, but when it came down to it, when you were drunk off the excitement, Dae-ho made his way to you and there was no stopping either of you now.

You both sang at the top of your lungs, jumped, and danced like no one was watching when someone was. Your boyfriend. He was next to you, but with Dae-ho there and stepping over the line, singing with you, and dancing too close for comfort, it’s like your boyfriend didn’t exist. He didn’t even feel like a third wheel because he felt invisible.

Or you just didn’t care about him when it came to Dae-ho. Maybe Dae-ho is all you need. He’s all you care about—no, he’s the one person you care about most in this world so no one else can even be at his level.

It was easy to see, and it was even more obvious that Dae-ho recuperated those feelings with the way he looked at you so affectionately and beamed at you so brightly. He laughs at the little things you say and can never keep his eyes off you; it’s like he’s making sure nothing or no one causes you any harm.

He may be charming and look like he could not harm a fly, but anyone could see how protective Dae-ho was without having to even bare his teeth.

Yet that’s not what sent your boyfriend fleeing, it was a smaller fact. A gesture that could mean nothing but can also mean the world. You shared a drink. You had finished yours so Dae-ho said you could drink from his cup, and that’s what hurt your boyfriend the most because he looked down at his own cup and it was still halfway full, making it just enough to share with you, but you didn’t even look his way. Not even to ask to buy some more, so when he could, he broke up with you, giving Dae-ho a win.

——

Last attempt-

If things were simple you would be able to accept your feelings. You would be happy with the person you think about the most. The one person you love more than life itself, but here you are, with makeup running down your cheeks in a restaurant after a man you hardly liked confessed to cheating on you.

Maybe you should’ve expected it. It’s karma after what you’ve done to sabotage Dae-ho’s relationship, but it didn’t stop it from hurting.

As to why your boyfriend told you in a restaurant of all places? You don’t know, but it made it worse; knowing all the people are staring, and listening in to the drama that unfolded before them.

Yet your embarrassment is not what sends you fleeing. You could have walked out when you were collected and no longer had makeup staining your cheeks, but you can’t handle the pain, you can’t contain the ball of emotions that keeps growing and makes your throat and eyes burn, so you swiftly grab all your belongings and storm out of the restaurant. In doing so, on your way out, you bump into none other than your best friend Dae-ho.

At first, he didn’t recognize you, but it does hit him once you’re out the door that it was you. So with a quick dismissive comment over his shoulder to his date, he runs after you.

Dae-ho calls out to you as you storm away with your arms wrapped around your body to keep as much warmth as possible on this winter night, but you don’t stop, so without so much as thinking about his date, he runs after you to catch up. Once he’s close enough he grabs your shoulder before you can take another step and turns you around.

When you look him in the eye and realize it’s not your boyfriend but Dae-ho, you break down into a sob. “Dae-ho,” you mewl.

Said man looks at you like he’s been wounded and grabs your shoulders. “What’s wrong? What happened?” He quickly bombards you with questions.

You sniffle and part your lips. “My boyfriend, he—he.” You can’t even finish what you’re going to say because of how choked up you get, and he doesn’t wait or pester you to finish. He immediately wraps his arms around you and hugs you against him, basking you in his warmth and comfort.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he tries to soothe you as he rubs your back. “You’re going to be okay.”

You let out another shaky sob and grip onto him so he wouldn’t let go. Neither of you proceed to utter a thing, you stand under the falling snow and let the bitterness nip at any exposed skin it can reach.

It’s only once your shoulders stop shaking and Dae-ho’s date is long gone after being forgotten, that you pull away, but he doesn’t let you stray far, he cups your jaw and holds your gaze with tenderness.

“He cheated on me,” you whisper hoarsely, making him sigh with pity.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he strokes your cheeks with the tip of his cold fingers. “He’s an asshole.”

You nod gently and sniffle again. “I don’t even know why I dated him. I didn’t even like him, but I thought maybe…just maybe it would help.”

Dae-ho blinks with confusion and he quickly he follows up on your question. “Help what?”

You avert your gaze and sniffle. Your pause lasts for a moment. It’s only when his hand falls on your shoulder and the other falls at his side that you speak up.

“Forget my feelings for you.”

A cloud of Dae-ho’s breath forms in the space past his lips as he can’t help but gasp.

“I went into that relationship knowing what I felt, but I also know that you don’t feel the same and I can’t possibly live with that so I had to forget, but he…” you trail off and slowly lift your gaze, meeting his bewildered eyes.

“Who,” he stammers and you lose all contact with him as he pulls his hand off your shoulder. “Why…why would you think I don’t have the same feeling you do? I love you,” he admits, stealing your breath and making you feel as if you’re out of this world.

“All this time,” he adds as he watches you work through your disbelief. “I was just…scared that it would ruin us. If I had known—all those dates I’ve been on…” he trails off and grabs your shoulders so you can look him in the eyes as he then continues firmly. “…If it’s true that you feel what I do, tell me and I will stop wasting my time with nobodies.”

You blink in disbelief and your lips part because of the same feelings.

It’s hard to process the fact that he shares the same love you have for him, but that fear of letting him know no longer exists. You’re just hesitant because you’re still caught in disbelief.

“I…I do,” you confess slowly, making him beam at you before he presses his forehead against yours.

“I was going to kiss you, but I think it would be wrong considering…” he doesn’t finish saying but you know he’s referring to your situation.

“Hm,” you hum and grab his face this time to press a light kiss on his lips. “For warmth.” You giggle.

“Please,” you beg as you keep your eyes on the handsome policemen that just walked in with intent to save your life. “Just take it. Take everything.”

The criminal firmly grasps onto his weapon to press it harder against your head. “I’ll take everything and take the girl. Just to make sure you won’t shoot me on my way out if I do leave her.”

Jun-ho gulps and pretends to be uncertain about the criminal’s request, but he was getting instructions in his earpiece and the reassurance he needs, so he pretends to be hesitant.

“Fine,” Jun-ho pretends to give in, making your breath shutter and your heart break as you think that the policeman didn’t care about your life.

“Go,” Jun-ho gives his go ahead as he steps forward, making the criminal step back cautiously—“take what you need.”

Streams of tears roll down your cheeks and your heart aches with more agony. “Dont,” you plead the policeman as you hold his gaze in hopes that would sweeten your plea, but he keeps staring at you with that hardened scowl.

If only you could know he had a plan though, he would have assured you the moment he got his orders, but he can’t risk letting the criminal know, so he doesn’t give you any hints. He takes another step forward, making the criminal once again take another step back and this time he’s right in front of the large window.

With this opening the sniper hidden in the shadows locks on his target and shoots without a second to spare because your life is on the line. Nevertheless, when he shoots, the criminal flinches and manages to hit his own trigger before he’s hurdled to the ground and robbed of his life. The bullet he shot doesn’t manage to hit your head or even graze it, the bullet hits your shoulder and the force of it throws you forward and on the way down you hit your head, forcing a darkness to take a hold of you.

——

*LATER*

Bright white lights immediately burn your eyes as they flutter open. The usual smell of medical use alcohol filters through your nose, and the rising sound of a heart monitor is the first sound that hits your ears.

For the first few seconds you’re confused as to why you’re in the hospital, but it then hits you, you got shot by a criminal at your job. Thus the memory of what happened causes you to jolt up.

Yet nothing around you changes, except your family doesn’t rush to your side, instead, you see someone else come to your side with concern, the policeman.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay,” he quickly tries to assure you with a softer tone than the one he used when he was confronting the criminal. It’s almost soothing.

“I thought…you were going to let him take me,” you’re quick to throw at him, making him scoff and drop his head with shame. Yet there on his charming face a smile makes a quick visit before disappearing.

“No,” he counters and meets your gaze so you know he’s serious. “I would never have let that happen. Had I been dead perhaps, but not while I was there.”

The corner of your lips flicker to a smile before you fall serious again as you fail to see your family around you.

“They were here, but it’s late so they went to get some food,” he says as if he can read your mind.

“Oh,” you mouth and as you’re returning your gaze to look at him you spot flowers at your bedside table and a card that has a name you don’t know, “Hwang Jun-ho”.

“I hope you don’t mind my presence,” he adds, shifting your gaze to him. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You process his words but you’re still confused so you probe. “Why?”

He holds your gaze for a minute before he averts his gaze and gives you an honest answer. “I’m not sure. I just had the need to come.”

Your heart skips a beat and you glance at the flowers again. “Are those flowers from you?” You finally ask and he faces you again and nods without a hint of timidness, making you smile. “Well, thank you.”

He offers you a soft smile before he steps back and glances at the door. “Well, I should go now that you’re awake.”

Before he can even turn you reach out for him to stop him. “Wait. Aren’t you going to give me your name, hero?”

Another smile flickers on his lips before he gives you what want. “Hwang Jun-ho.”

Your eyes go small as you smile and then give him your name.

“Well,” you continue to say. “Hwang Jun-ho, if you could do one more thing for me that would be great.”

He nods without so much as thinking about it, letting you voice your final request. “Can you stay until my family comes?”

He's not a leader by nature, and he feels a deep sense of relief when he's able to let someone else take control. He'd be completely content in the background, making sure his partner's plans are carried out perfectly, a silent guardian in the shadows.

He's not a cruel person by nature, but a man driven by a deep-seated fear of powerlessness. He’s terrified of being vulnerable and exposed. His moments of cruelty and violence are often a desperate attempt to gain a feeling of control over a situation he feels is slipping away.

He doesn't have a high tolerance for small talk or emotional conversations. He would much rather sit in comfortable silence with someone he trusts, finding a rare sense of peace just by being in their presence.

Somewhere deep down, he feels a crushing amount of shame and regret. His addiction and his past are something he would never speak about, and he would lash out if anyone ever tried to bring it up.

In a relationship, he wouldn't be very affectionate or romantic. His love would be shown in a practical way. He would be the first person to stand up for you and protect you, and he would never let anyone harm you.

He would be terrified of losing his partner. His possessiveness wouldn't come from a place of malice, but from a desperate need to feel in control of his life. He would be very clingy, needing to be physically close to you to feel a sense of safety.

He wouldn't care for fancy dates or gifts. He would find joy in simple things, like having a quiet meal with his partner or just sitting in silence with them. These would be his most cherished moments.

His partner would have to deal with two very different sides of him: the person he is when he's under the influence of drugs, who is capable of great cruelty, and the person he is when he's sober, who is a scared, insecure human being who needs his partner's help to survive.