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And The Moon Said 'I Love You'

Summary:

Swallowing a lump in his throat, he slowly swipes away the messages one by one, his body trembling so badly that a drop of watery blood falls to the phone screen, splattering and dripping downwards.

Once those notifications are gone, all that's there are inane, useless ones from his apps wondering why he isn't using them. His heart rate slowly calms down as he swipes those away methodically, wiping his screen as he does it, flicking the watered-down blood to the ground.

Suddenly, his breath hitches and he nearly drops his phone.
 
[UNKNOWN NUMBER: hello sir! :^D 8 new messages]

Notes:

28/11: TITLE CHANGE: The Sun Will Always Rise Again -> And The Moon Said 'I Love You'
(if you think its a really bad title lmk!! ill change it back)

Chapter 1: Melancholyism

Summary:

Dēsīderium n (genitive dēsīderiī or dēsīderī); second declension

  1. longing, desire, wish (especially for something once possessed)
  2. grief, regret (desire for something lost)
  3. need, necessity
  4. (in the plural) pleasures, desires

Notes:

edit 24/11: for some reason i thought jiyeongs number was 47????? shes not a hitman though so i changed it to normal dont worry ;)
edit 13/12: title change (effective for every chapter)

Chapter Text

Gasping awake, the first thing Sang-woo notices is how annoyingly bright it is. Breathing heavily, he squints as bright, white fluorescent lights assault his vision. He tries to cover his eyes with his hands, only to realize he’s tied down to a bed.

(Is this hell?)

His heart racing, Sang-woo frantically looks around, his mind in shambles as he watches those godforsaken pink soldiers cutting players free from their bindings. Everyone seems equally as confused as him, some crying out in fear as the circle-masked guards untie them and some just aimlessly wandering around in the large warehouse they’re all stashed in.

A circle approaches him calmly, their black-gloved hands deftly untying Sang-woo’s left arm. As they continue to untie the rest of his bindings, Sang-woo glances around, looking over his shoulder to see behind him.

His hands now free, Sang-woo’s eyebrows furrow as he notices an elaborate looking helmet on a sterile-looking table behind his bed, wires coming out of it in every which way like tendrils, all slithering to something underneath his strangely chair-like bed.

Out of curiosity (or perhaps stupidity), Sang-woo slowly reaches out for the helmet, his fingers intertwining with countless wires. Quickly ducking under it to peek inside, Sang-woo nearly drops the heavy apparatus when he sees what’s inside.

It’s blurry from the angle he’s looking at, but it’s fairly easy for him to recognize himself.

(Or, well, you know - his corpse.)

Chills run down his spine right as a triangle-masked soldier he didn’t notice loads their gun, pointing it at Sang-woo.

Breaking into a cold sweat, Sang-woo’s eyes are blown wide open as he slowly looks towards the soldier, eventually looking straight down the barrel of a handgun. The soldier has their gloved hand outstretched at him, as if asking for payment.

(For some strange reason, he can faintly hear someone calling his name.)

The gears clicking into place in his head, Sang-woo quickly hands over the helmet, the hundreds of eyes on him encouraging him greatly. The soldier stashes the gun away in god-knows-where and carefully places the helmet back down on the table, staring down Sang-woo for a few seconds that feel like hours, before resuming walking through the rows of beds.

His heart pounding in his throat, Sang-woo internally scolds himself for touching things that are clearly not safe to touch.

The circle at the foot of his bed stands up, dusting their gloves off before moving on to go do whatever they do. Sang-woo wills his breathing to return to normal as he swings his legs over the side of the bed, his nicest (and only) pair of business shoes neatly placed on the floor.

(Faintly, it dawns on him that he’s wearing the same clothes he came here in, and he assumes everyone else is too.)

“Sang-woo Cho.” 

Sang-woo jolts at his name being uttered by one of the managers, the square-masked person standing right in front of him, casting an intimidating shadow over him. The Korean man breaks out in a cold sweat, his expression neutral despite him feeling the beginnings of panic clawing at his throat.

“Second place,” the manager drones, pulling a card out of their pocket sharply, holding it out in front of Sang-woo.

Sang-woo stares at him blankly, glancing up and down between the card and the manager, who moves their hand forward and back quickly, as if encouraging the man to take it.

Cautiously, Sang-woo plucks the card from the manager’s grasp - the manager immediately turns and walks away after he takes it - and holds it gently, as if it could turn to dust at any second. He holds it up in front of his eyes, the light bouncing off of the brightly coloured card to reveal a series of numbers, along with a bank often frequented by his ex-clients.

“Debit card,” Sang-woo whispers, as if he’s worried that it’ll disappear if he so much as utters a word. His hands tremble pathetically as he clutches it in his hands, his grip firm but not too strong in fear of breaking the card.

A conversation forcefully forgotten rings in Sang-woo’s head.

(“Hyung, do… you have any family?”

“... Yes. My mother.”

“Do you miss her, Hyung?”

“... So, so much.”)

A loud crash jolts Sang-woo out of his thoughts, as panicked screams ring out in the room, echoing as if to mock them. His eyes dart every which way, settling on a set of large metal doors that he only now notices are slowly opening.

Triumphant music blares through the speakers stationed around the room, a playful insult to what the players had gone through. A cheery feminine voice rings throughout the room, the same that might've been the last thing people heard.

(Wait, but, if… they're alive? How are they alive?)

"Congratulations on completing the game! Please walk in a single file line towards the door to collect your reward," the voice announces, the happiness in her voice so strangely genuine-sounding that it feels mocking. "Please note that the following players, who were the top five, have already received their special reward - Player 456, Seong Gi-hun, Player 218, Cho Sang-woo, Player 067, Kang Sae-byeok, and Player 017, Lee Sang-hee. The fifth place prize will be split between Player 212, Han Mi-nyeo, and Player 101, Jang Deok-su, who were eliminated at the same time.”

At the announcement of his own name, Sang-woo breaks into a cold sweat, anxiety clawing at his stomach. His grip on the card tightens ever so slightly, so as not to damage it.

He needs to get out of here.

(In the back of his mind, he squashes down the realization that if he’s alive, that means Gi-hun and Sae-byeok are alive.)

“Han Mi-nyeo, you fucking bitch!”

As a voice that is undoubtedly the cowardly thug Deok-su roars out into the room, Sang-woo’s heart pounds like a jackrabbit, every breath he takes feeling like too little and too much.

“Suck on my fat nuts, Jang Deok-su!”

(His heart aches and cries as he pretends that he doesn’t know full well that Ali Abdul is in this room with him.)

The entire room bursts out in loud conversation, some murmuring to the player next to them and some shouting at each other, cursing each other out as other players try to stop them from beating each other senseless.

(Someone is calling his name.)

A gunshot is fired into the air, the whole room immediately falling so quiet, the sound of the bullet falling to the floor echoes through the space.

(His mind speeding at a rate he can’t possibly process, Sang-woo muses that it’s funny how fear can silence an entire room.)

“I will now repeat the instructions,” the cheery feminine voice announces, booming out over the chaos. “Please walk in a single file line to exit the building and collect your reward. Any violence is prohibited, as we are now back in Korea.”

The masked soldiers begin to close in, herding everyone together like cattle. Sang-woo allows himself to be squashed into the line, clutching his card to his chest. He ends up two people behind Mi-nyeo and Deok-su. Despite most of the room being silent, they’re still squabbling fairly loudly. 

(Despite mostly being lost in his own mind, Sang-woo allows himself to huff out a miniscule laugh at Mi-nyeo shouting that Deok-su’s penis was like a Japanese sausage.)

“Sir? Is that you?” Someone says faintly from the back of the line, presumably re-meeting a player.

Absent-mindedly, Sang-woo mourns the memory of when Ali would call him sir. 

(Though he may have found it annoying at times, truly, he knows that he was mostly endeared by it.)

“Sang-woo?”

Sang-woo stares ahead blankly, fully convinced the familiar voice calling his name is just a memory replaying on repeat.

“Sang-woo hyu-- Sir?”

(Now this is just cruel.)

Sang-woo rubs his eyes under his glasses, knocking them slightly askew. He rubs his temples, hoping that maybe if he just presses hard enough it’ll knock the memories from his head.

“Sir--!”

Now at the front of the line, Sang-woo tiredly accepts a sealed envelope from a circle-masked guard, walking through the large metal doors and onto a creaky old dock that he doesn’t exactly trust to hold up 456 people.

The sun greets him with a middle finger to the face, Sang-woo squinting as he walks out onto the dock, the rays shining directly into his eyes. The line has dispersed into scattered crowds of people all mumbling among themselves, leaving Sang-woo looking strange standing there alone.

At the end of the dock, Sang-woo spots a road with inconspicuous cars lining it as far as he can see. Squinting at the window, he realizes that the drivers are circle-masked guards, and assumes he’ll probably be knocked out and tossed out in Yeouido again if he gets in one.

(Maybe if he got in one of the cars, he would see Ali again.)

As he prepares to take a step closer towards the parade of dark cars, a familiar hand lands on his shoulder, the grip firm yet gentle. 

(Sang-woo glances at it out of the corner of his eye, his breath hitching as he notices the hand is missing the ring and pinky finger.)

“Hyu-- Sorry,” Ali heaves, clearly having run at full speed to catch up to Sang-woo. The latter stares at the Pakistani blankly as he positions himself in front of Sang-woo, a bright smile on his face. 

(He looks nice with sweat running down his face.)

“Sir, I’m so glad I caught up to you,” Ali breathes, a more serious expression crossing his face. Sang-woo’s stomach turns, anxiety clawing at his skin. “I just wanted to talk to you about… well, you know--”

Sang-woo’s eyes snap open in fear. 

(He’s not ready to have this conversation. He’s not ready. He might never be. He has to go.)

“I’m sorry,” Sang-woo whispers, sharply turning on his heel and running down the dock, ripping open the door of one of the cars.

The driver turns to him, and despite the mask, Sang-woo can tell they’re staring at him incredulously. 

(He doesn’t have the time to be anxious or embarrassed about his actions right now, thank you.)

Slamming the door quickly, Sang-woo allows himself a moment to breathe, leaning back in the backseat of the shady car.

“I assume you’ll knock me out and drop me off wherever you dropped me last,” Sang-woo heaves, staring at the headrest of the seat in front of him. His chest rises and falls in succession with every shaky breath he takes. “Come on. Let’s go.”

The driver stares blankly at him for a moment, before turning back around. 

And as the car pulls out, and as the gas fills the air in the car, Sang-woo tucks the debit card and envelope safely into the pocket of his suit jacket, his hand resting on them as he succumbs to the gas, the last sounds he hears being Ali and Gi-hun calling for the car to wait.


Gripping the sides of the bathroom sink tightly, Sang-woo breathes heavily, drops of water and blood dripping off his face and hair as he stares down at the tap blankly.

(Abandoned in the other room, his phone buzzes twice.)

An eyebrow razor grasped tightly in his right hand, Sang-woo slowly straightens up, his arms falling limply at his sides. He releases his grip on the razor, and it falls to the tiled floor with a clatter.

His eyes blown wide open, Sang-woo slowly looks up, facing himself in the mirror.

Short, black hair parted to the side. Frenzied, wide eyes. Dark circles under his eyes and messy stubble on his jaw. Glasses askew on his face.

A familiar cut on his cheek.

Blood oozes from the fresh gash on his cheek, the phantom pains from his memories now imitated in reality.

He’s now truly Sang-woo Cho. Player 218.

(A horrible, manipulative, nefarious, plotting, selfish, stupid fucking son of a--)

His phone clatters loudly on the floor outside, buzzing restlessly. The sound makes Sang-woo jolt, his breaths laboured as he turns sharply towards the door, left ajar. 

Slowly, he trudges out into the other room, dripping blood and water alike on the carpeted floor. 

Not even bothering to shake the water off his hands, he shakily grabs the phone, Sang-woo squinting at the screen as it powers on, blinding him with blue light for a moment.

His lock screen - a drawing of a long-abandoned hyperfixation - pops up, notifications almost immediately flooding the screen. 

[CYBER POLICE: Cho Sang-woo, you are to present yourself in court… 2 new messages ]

[LEE, HYUNG-TAEK: I saw the payment you made. Pleasure doing business… 1 new message ]

[EX-CLIENT: Sang-woo, please, tell me where you got this money. I don't want… 2 new messages ]

Scoffing spitefully, Sang-woo swipes away a good chunk of notifications all pertaining to his (now past) crushing debt or his old job.

(He repaid them in full, so they can all fuck right off and leave him to rot.)

Suddenly, the next few notifications have Sang-woo's finger hovering above them, no longer swiping without care.

(His heart pounds and pounds, as if trying to break out of his ribcage.)

[MOTHER: Please come home Sang-woo… 12 new messages ]

[GIHUN HYUNG: sangwoo. please, just let me know youre still alive i wont text you anymore after… 34 new messages ]

[UNKNOWN NUMBER: hey. it's sae-byeok. look, we weren't close but gi-hun is really pissed that you… 2 new messages ]

[UNKNOWN NUMBER: 🥰🥰 hey bitch!!! its 240 (real names jiyeong btw)!!! so as a proxy friend of urs… 3 new messages ]

Sang-woo's breath hitches as his finger shakily hovers over the messages from his mother and the other participants.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, he slowly swipes away the messages one by one, his body trembling so badly that a drop of watery blood falls to the phone screen, splattering and dripping downwards.

Once those notifications are gone, all that's there are inane, useless ones from his apps wondering why he isn't using them. His heart rate slowly calms down as he swipes those away methodically, wiping his screen as he does it, flicking the watered-down blood to the ground.

Suddenly, his breath hitches and he nearly drops his phone.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER: hello sir! :^D 8 new messages ]

"Ali," he whispers, clutching his phone to his chest as he slowly backs up, quite literally falling back onto a couch that he didn't realize was there.

(Ali’s calling him sir again. A pang of sadness echoes through Sangwoo. He should’ve known better - no one would want to have a hyung who got them killed.)

After a moment, Sang-woo finally gets the courage to look at his phone, Ali's message now shoved down to make way for a Candy Crush notification. Sang-woo swipes it away with a quick eye-roll.

Hesitant, Sang-woo's finger hovers over Ali's message in the notification bar, the cheery smiley face both encouraging and daunting.

With a sudden burst of resolve, Sang-woo firmly presses the notification, the messages app opening.

(In.)

The little loading animation mocks him.

(Out.)

The messages finally pop up, Sang-woo subconsciously leaning closer towards the screen when they do. His eyes burn from not blinking as his eyes practically drill holes in the screen, scanning the messages closely.


September 18th, 2021 (2 months ago)

UNKNOWN NUMBER

hello sir! :^D (4:56 PM)

i know you haven't been replying to the others, so i'm not sure if you'll receive this message ;;; T_T (4:57 PM)

but i really hope you're listening, sir (4:59 PM)

UNKNOWN NUMBER

i just wanted to tell you that i really need to talk to you, in person (5:00 PM)

because i really care about you, sir (5:00 PM)

i'll wait for you every day!! (5:01 PM)

right where we first met :^) <3 (5:02 PM)


(Oh.)

Sang-woo's heart aches at the messages, crying out and wailing for Ali in a way he didn't quite expect.

He wants to hold Ali, hold him and have him say that everything will be okay, he wants to talk to Ali like that night on guard duty, hold his hand and get lost in his kind eyes, he wants to rewind time and live out that moment forever, before he betrayed him, before he murdered him.

(But what kind of murderer deserves comfort from their victim?)

Sang-woo's phone buzzes again, a notification popping up in the small bar at the top of the screen. Still reeling from Ali's messages, he absentmindedly pulls down the notification bar, which unfurls on his screen to reveal a new message from Gi-hun. He taps the notification, a strange feeling of sadness settling in him when Ali's messages disappear, replaced by Gi-hun’s.


34 NEW MESSAGES


… just let me know youre alive i wont text you anymore after this. man’s promise. please, sunny? 4:32 AM

November 18th, 2021 (Today)

GIHUN HYUNG

hey. just texting to let u know we’re having group therapy again on sunday as usual (9:12 PM)

we’d all really like it if you came (9:12 PM)

ali especially, he misses the hell out of you (9:13 PM)

so please come. it’s at my omma’s house (9:14 PM)

i miss you asshole (9:26 PM)


Sang-woo has half a mind to chew Gi-hun out and crush him under his heel - a traumatic human horse race that played him into the villain role like a fool is enough of an excuse for a break in his opinion - but the heartfelt tone of his closest friend’s messages and the messages from everyone is enough to hit home that Sang-woo running away from Ali and Gi-hun and then consequently disappearing for 2 months, the last mention of him being alive being rumours that the mysterious gift box full of money and a premium knife set that showed up on his mother’s doorstep the day after the games ended was from him - yes, perhaps, maybe he could’ve handled this better.

Oh, who is he kidding - Gi-hun is right. Sang-woo’s an asshole.

Stifling a yawn, Sang-woo taps on the text box at the bottom of the screen, the mobile keyboard popping up obediently.

Worrying his lower lip, his thumbs hover indecisively over the keys for a moment. Furrowing his eyebrows in concentration, Sang-woo quickly types something out, firmly pressing the send button.

Sighing deeply, he turns his phone off with a quiet ‘click’ and tosses it to the edge of the bed, throwing himself onto the bed immediately after.

As his eyes flutter shut, Sang-woo sleepily tries to remember where that convenience store is, falling asleep before he can remember.

(For the first time in months, Sang-woo’s heart feels full.)


YOU

I miss you and Ali too (9:39 PM)

Sent

Chapter 2: 'Cause I've Never Hated Myself More ; I Promise I'm Trying

Summary:

Cōnātiō f (genitive cōnātiōnis); third declension

  1. The act of undertaking or endeavouring; effort, endeavour, attempt.

Notes:

edit 24/11: same issue as last chapter
edit 28/11: realized im a dummy and mixed up bus and subway stations in sk. rewrote sangwoo's transit commute to match that - hope its not too inconsistent (sob)

Chapter Text

November 18th, 2021

YOU

I miss you and Ali too (9:39 PM)

Read

6 NEW MESSAGES


GIHUN HYUNG

wherever the fuck you are dude (11:12 PM)

just remember (11:12 PM)

we all care about you. a lot. (11:13 PM)

even jiyeong and saebyeok shit even junho cares about you and you havent even met him (11:15 PM)

but wherever you are (11:16 PM)

were all here for you sunny (11:17 PM)


Friday, November 19th 2021

5:01 AM

A frustrated growl escaping his throat, Sang-woo lobs his phone across the hotel room, the phone clunking loudly as it hits the wall and then consequently, the floor.

[E-MAIL: Your Stay at Roselia Hotel

Dearest Cho Sang-woo,

We regret to inform you that there is a policy for how long guests can stay in our beloved establishment due to an influx of guests in our Suyu-dong location. As of today, (11/19/21), you have reached the limit of 14 days.

Please check out by 12 PM tomorrow at the latest. If you have not left by then, we will be forced to remove you.

Sincerely,

Roselia Management]

Laying back down in bed with a loud groan of frustration, Sang-woo rubs his eyes aggressively with the heel of his palms, the pressure on his eyes oddly therapeutic.

"Alright," he mumbles to himself, leaving his hands covering his eyes. "What do I do now?"

He could always go to another hotel - although, many of them have high traffic and not many free rooms, since he's insisting on staying in Seoul. 

(He's afraid that if he leaves, somehow, everyone will forget him and stop caring about where he is.)

Plus, he's been free for 2 months now - most of the hotels around this area have already seen his ugly mug.

So that won't work. 

Slowly uncovering his eyes, Sang-woo lets his arms fall to his sides, staring up at the fancy ceiling light fixed above him as possible solutions roll around in his head like pinballs.

He could go back to Ssangmun-dong, move back in with his mother or with Gi-hun.

(His stomach lurches and anxiety claws at his chest at the mere thought of anyone seeing him like this - Sang-woo Cho, the so-called "pride of Ssangmun-dong", mentally ill and miserable and in desperate need of a shower.)

So that won't work either, he supposes.

"Ugh," Sang-woo grumbles, propping himself up in bed uncomfortably, his spine squished against the headboard.

Where could he possibly go where he would feel familiar enough to not be constantly on edge but where no one really knows who he is?

(The bright lights of a late-night establishment. The smell of cheap cup ramen. His fingers brushing another man’s as he hands him his phone.)

A realization slowly dawning on him, Sang-woo's eyes light up.

A quiet gasp escapes him. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, frantically grabbing his few belongings strewn across the nightstand and looking around his room for his briefcase - the only thing he really needs to carry around day-to-day.

Yeouido - he can go to Yeouido. He knows the area just well enough not to get lost, but nobody there cares who he is. 

It’s perfect.

Crouching down in front of a shelf, Sang-woo shakily inputs the keycode for the safe in his room, which clicks open without resistance. 

Carefully and gently, he gingerly lifts the brightly-coloured debit card out of the safe, jostling a thin, opaque white case out of his pocket. He cautiously lowers the card into the case, closing the lid with a ‘snap’, unintentionally letting out a sigh of relief afterwards.

Slipping it in the breast pocket of his dress shirt, Sang-woo shuts his briefcase, briefly scanning the room for any forgotten items. His eyes lighting up as they spot his hotel keycard laying on the tv stand, he quickly leans forward and slides it off the surface and into his hand, shoving it in his pocket. He takes a deep breath, turns sharply on his heel, and leaves the room, slamming the door loudly behind him.


His briefcase resting on his lap, Sang-woo stares out the musty bus window at the city around him, students and workers rushing to get where they have to be, some of them looking as if they’d rather go anywhere other than their destination.

(Story of his life.)

“Now arriving at Garwol-dong station,” the automated voice rings out through the speakers as the bus makes a turn, some passengers getting up to make their way towards the exits - including the loud person from before, whose heels click annoyingly on the floor as they and their companion trot down the aisle and past Sang-woo to reach the doors.

The bus finally pulls up, Sang-woo slowly being pushed forward and then jolted back rudely as the vehicle comes to a stop, the doors making a steam-like hiss as they slide open and passengers pour out, new passengers making their way on afterwards.

Sang-woo’s phone buzzes right as the doors hiss shut and the bus starts up again, the automated voice trickling out of the speakers above his head. “Now leaving Garwol-dong station. Next stop, Namyeong station.” 

(Faintly, Sang-woo shifts in his seat as he realizes that the next stop is the one where he needs to get off.)

Slowly standing up, when he feels the phone in his pocket shift, he’s suddenly overcome with nausea and anxiety, causing him to nearly topple over if not for him grabbing a pole to stabilize himself.

Heaving in and out, his breaths always feeling like too little and too much at the same time, Sang-woo stands there trembling as the next announcement rings out.

“Now arriving at Namyeong station.”

Moving with the crowd, Sang-woo stumbles like a dead man walking out of the bus, dread consuming him as his phone buzzes again.

(Okay. He can do this.)

Taking a long, deep breath, Sang-woo readies himself as he practically gets shoved towards the subway station, breaking off from the crowd to go stand at the appropriate subway line, the chatter of the people around him fading into static as the rumble of the subway approaching gets louder and louder.

“Gongdeok, Mapo, Yeouinaru, Yeouido,” Sang-woo quietly chants to himself, staring lasers into the little map of the subway stops in front of him as the subway rounds a corner, nearly tossing him aside if not for his tight grip on a pole.

Gongdeok, Mapo, Yeouinaru, Yeouido. Gongdeok, Mapo, Yeouinaru, Yeouido.

(He can’t afford to get lost - he’s already been standing so long, he fears his legs may snap in half.)

“Now leaving Gongdeok station. Next stop, Mapo station.”

Mapo, Yeouinaru, Yeouido.

Simple. Three more stops. Sang-woo’s not 11 - he can do this. It’s just taking the subway.

(Though, to be fair, when he was 11, he did not yet have a strange paranoia that caused him to flinch and brace himself for being murdered every time a stranger walked behind him - although, he could blame that on the shit mental health cards he was dealt.)

A seat nearby frees up as two passengers make their way to the other side of the car, Sang-woo spotting it and quickly slinking his way into the seat, sighing deeply as he drops himself down in the dingy, uncomfortable seat.

A loud, dramatic sounding voice rings out, catching Sang-woo’s attention with their subject matter. “Did you hear that they’re planning to extend the Yeouido subway to Ansan in 2023?” 

(Absentmindedly, Sang-woo smiles slightly at the thought that in a few years time, he’ll be able to see Ali faster than he can right now.)

He can’t exactly place why, but whenever he thinks of Yeouido, his stomach coils in a way he can’t pin down as nervousness or excitement.

(In the back of his mind, he’s fully aware why - because that’s where he met Ali.)

“Now arriving at Mapo station.”

As the subway slows, pulling into the station, Sang-woo feels exhaustion slowly overtake him like a warm blanket. His eyes flutter shut, one hand propping up his head against the window and the other hand resting on his briefcase. The subway starts up again, and as the sound of people at the station chattering slowly fades, Sang-woo allows himself to reminisce on his more pleasant memories from the games.

(His phone buzzes twice more, but the calls fall on deaf ears.)


[GIHUN HYUNG: oh hey by the by. ali always goes to that convenience store at around 9 am. youre welcome now kiss 7 new messages ]

[MISSED CALL: Unknown Number (2)]


“Now arriving at Yeouido station.”

Sang-woo groggily opens his eyes, his arms crossed and his head resting against the musty bus window.

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he slowly stands up, loosely gripping his briefcase in his right hand as he stumbles his way towards the bus doors, nearly tripping over himself as he does so. One hand gripping onto a pole for dear life, he stifles a yawn as the bus comes to a stop.

The doors hiss open, and Sang-woo quickly steps out of the bus, the noise and bustling around him waking him up quickly.

(Now, just to figure out where he is…)

Absentmindedly reminding himself to check if he has all his things before the bus leaves, Sang-woo pats himself down, feeling his wallet in his left pant pocket, old receipts in his back right pocket, debit card in his breast pocket, phone in his right pant pocket…

His phone.

Remembering the flood of messages he still hasn’t really addressed, Sang-woo sighs deeply before making his way out of Yeouido station, rushing up the stairs as if he has somewhere important to be. 

His chest heaving up and down from the effort of running up the stairs, Sang-woo stumbles towards a nearby convenience store, leaning against a display case set outside.

(Strangely, as he pulls his phone out of his pocket, his gaze following his hand, he gets a sense of deja vu.)

Grumbling to himself, he impatiently presses the power button far too many times, the wait both excruciating and relieving.

(The anxiety of knowing he has to respond to people but he just really, really does not want to talk to anyone claws at his stomach, tearing away at the walls like a trapped raccoon.)

The time briefly greets him - 8:49 AM - before his phone quickly reminds him of his ignored responsibilities, message notifications flooding the screen.

[CYBER POLICE: Cho Sang-woo, you are to present yourself in court… 2 new messages ]

[LEE, HYUNG-TAEK: I saw the payment you made. Pleasure doing business… 1 new message ]

[EX-CLIENT: Sang-woo, please, tell me where you got this money. I don't want… 2 new messages ]

Rolling his eyes, Sang-woo taps the first notification that comes up, not even bothering to read it before pressing the back button. He presses on the now-read message until it’s highlighted, then taps the rest of the messages that - to put it bluntly - don’t mean anything to him.

He scrolls up and down, making sure he hasn’t missed or accidentally selected anything, before firmly tapping the little trash can icon at the top of the screen.


Are you sure you want to delete 21 conversation(s)?

Yes      No


Biting the inside of his cheek, the inevitable anxiety that came from essentially ghosting so many messages crawling up his back like tendrils, Sang-woo’s eyebrows furrow ever so slightly as he selects yes.


Deleting…


Once again, the loading symbol mocks him as the conversations slowly disappear one by one in the background.

An older woman sits down on the other end of the bench, glancing at Sang-woo curiously for a brief moment.

(Her glance disturbs the man, who feels like there’s tarantulas crawling on his neck. Subconsciously, he shuffles a bit to the side, only really half-sitting on the bench now.)

Swiping the notification bar down, it unfurls to reveal the remaining notifications - ones Sang-woo might actually care about.

[MOTHER: Please come home Sang-woo... 12 new messages ]

[GIHUN HYUNG: oh hey by the by. ali always goes to that convenience store at 9 am. youre welcome now kiss 7 new messages ]

[UNKNOWN NUMBER: hey. it's sae-byeok. gi-hun is really pissed that you… 2 new messages ]

[UNKNOWN NUMBER: 🥰🥰 hey bitch!!! its 240 (real name is jiyeong btw)!!! so as a proxy friend of urs… 3 new messages ]

[MISSED CALL: Unknown Number (2)]

Scanning the notifications absentmindedly, the last one catches Sang-woo’s attention, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

(Whatever - he’ll deal with the messages first, register the unknown numbers as contacts, and then he’ll know by then who those calls were from.)

Hurriedly tapping the first notification that comes up, Sang-woo feels a pit open up in his stomach when he realizes he opened his mother’s messages.

12 NEW MESSAGES


Don’t worry about it omma :) America is fine (12:34 AM)

MOTHER

Good! I love you Sang-woo 😍 (9:02 AM)


August 8th, 2021 (3 months ago)

MOTHER

What do you think of this dog ? 😊 (2:12 PM)

 (2:12 PM)

Reminds me of Gi-hun 🤭(2:13 PM)


August 12th, 2021 (3 months ago)

MOTHER

[ANTI-ASIAN VIOLENCE RISING IN...]

[The Korea Times] (11:22 PM)

Be careful Sang-woo 🙁 (11:23 PM)


August 15th, 2021 (3 months ago)

MOTHER

Sang-woo ? (9:30 AM)

I’m worried about you 😟 (10:02 AM)

Call me back when you see these okay ? Kiss ❤️ (10:05 AM)


September 5th, 2021 (2 months ago)

MOTHER

Sang-woo. (8:45 PM)

Please call me back (8:45 PM)

Sang-woo sweetie where are you?? (9:23 PM)

The police came to the shop a few moments after you called me today. (9:24 PM)

I’m really worried about you. They said that you’re under arrest but they can’t find you. (9:25 PM)

Please come home Sang-woo… (9:28 PM)


Shutting off his phone, Sang-woo sighs deeply as he lets his arm fall to his side. 

(He’s fairly certain he looks ridiculous standing outside of a convenience store brooding, but at this point he doesn’t particularly care.)

Glaring at a random teenager who leaves the convenience store, Sang-woo reluctantly brings his phone back up into his view, exiting the messaging app and swiping to find the phone app.

Scowling at the slightly cracked screen of his phone, he repeatedly taps the phone icon until the app finally opens, a keypad popping up on the screen.

(Okay. Deep breaths. He can do this.)

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sang-woo firmly presses the call button, slowly bringing the phone up to his ear as it rings.

Ring…

(His heart beats so loud he fears that his heart might burst out of his chest.)

Ring…

(Clenching and unclenching his free hand, nausea and anxiety alike claw at his stomach. His head spins, his balance feels off, oh for the love of god, he should hang up--)

Ri--

Chapter 3: Least Favourite Only Child

Summary:

Sōlitūdō f (genitive sōlitūdinis); third declension

  1. An instance of being alone; loneliness, solitariness, solitude, privacy
  2. A lonely place; desert, wilderness
  3. A state of want, destitution, deprivation

Chapter Text

"Cho's Fish Market, I'll be with you shortly!"

"Wha--" 

Sang-woo gapes, recoiling in surprise as he's almost immediately put on hold.

A small laugh escaping him, his smile is bittersweet as he slowly lowers his phone down in front of him.

His mother always did have a problem with picking up first, reading contact information after.

(Nothing has changed, he supposes - except, of course, him being a wanted criminal for a while - but he digresses.)

Anxieties and fears crawling up his back like cold tendrils, Sang-woo hesitantly lifts the phone back to his ear, familiar violin music drifting out of the crackling speakers.

(Bittersweetly, Sang-woo recognizes the hold music as the piece he played for his middle school talent show as a student.)

Sang-woo nearly jumps as the music abruptly stops, light static now being the only thing he can hear. Gently holding his phone with both hands next to his ears, he nervously listens for his mother's voice, his gaze continuously shifting to the sides of his eyes, struggling to see the phone properly.

"Hi there, this is Cho's Fish Market, what can I do for you?" 

His mother's voice rings clear through the speakers, and his heart feels both warmed and like it's being crushed by a hydraulic press.

Biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, Sang-woo takes a deep breath, his eyebrows furrowed intensely.

(Okay. He can do this. He's a grown man.)

His lips part slightly, no sound coming out for a brief moment. 

(One more time.)

"... Hi, omma," Sang-woo mumbles.

His stomach churns as he only gets a small gasp in response, the line going completely silent barring for the ever-present static in the background.

His mother's voice is meek and hopeful as it trickles out the speakers. "Sang-woo?"

His mother's voice is like a magnet to his wounds - all at once, Sang-woo is overcome with the urge to cry and scream and rant out all his problems at once.

(Maybe he needs a hug.)

Swallowing down a lump in his throat, Sang-woo tries to ignore the anxiety scratching away at him. "Yeah."

Both ends go silent again, the only audible sound being his own labored breathing and the static.

"Where are you?" His mom asks quietly. "And- and don't you dare lie to me this time, Sang-woo Cho!"

Sang-woo squeezes his eyes shut tightly for a moment, desperately trying not to cry. Guilt and anger and sadness all fight to overwhelm him, like waves crashing against each other.

(Deep breaths. Come on.)

"I'm in Korea," he murmurs, his voice trembling nearly as bad as his hands.

"Okay," His mom replies slowly, and he can practically feel the suspicious and concerned look he's sure his mom has right now. "And you're safe?"

Sang-woo nods rapidly, before realizing that she obviously can't see that.

"Mhm," he hums in reply, pressing himself back against the convenience store window for support.

(The shopkeeper inside gives him a weird look that he can feel without even turning around, but he dismisses it for the moment. He can be embarrassed about that later .)

His mother sighs deeply, uttering a quiet 'ai-ya' in exasperation. "Okay. Okay, I believe you."

"Thank you," Sang-woo replies without thinking, his mind clouded with mental exhaustion. 

"Do the…" His mom starts, trailing off as Sang-woo presses his phone closer to his ear in an attempt to hear her better.

"Are... the police still looking for you, Sang-woo?" She says quietly, presumably to avoid drawing attention.

Shaking his head unintentionally, Sang-woo replies shakily. "No. I- I repaid all my debts. And- and I still- you know. I still have some… left over. Money. Some money left over." He feels like he's about to throw up as the line goes silent. 

(He has to go. He has to get out of here, he has to hang up, he has to leave, he doesn't wanna throw up he doesn't wanna talk right now or be so scared or--)

"Sang-woo Cho." His mother's stern voice jolts him out of his spiral, causing him to nearly fumble and drop his phone. "Where did you get more than 6 billion won?"

Now it was Sang-woo's turn to go silent.

How does he possibly explain a human horse race with their lives as the stakes and the winning prize as more money than he could possibly ever need?

(Scratch that, how does he explain Gi-hun and Ali?!)

"Um," Sang-woo stammers, completely at a loss. "It's… a long story. Really, really long."

"Well, I have all--" His mom starts, before sighing dejectedly. "Actually, no. I don't really have that much-- I'LL BE RIGHT WITH YOU, MI-NYEO!"

(His eyes wide in both horror and shock, and he prays with all his being that his mother doesn't mean that Mi-nyeo.)

"Yeah, I don't have too much time to talk," his mom grumbles, sighing again. "It's not… illegal money, is it?"

Worrying his lip in thought, Sang-woo shrugs slightly. "We signed contracts… so I guess it's technically legal. Just… really suspicious."

"What?? You're not dealing drugs or laundering money, right? Nothing illegal?" His mother interrogates. He has half a mind to be annoyed, but he just sighs, relieved that his money isn't technically illegal.

"No, omma. It's all legal."

His mom grunts in response, and he can feel the scrutinizing-mom-glare from the other side of the phone.

"Fine. Will you at least text me back from now on? And you have to visit soon," she demands, a hopeful twinge in her voice betraying her harsh tone.

Sang-woo subconsciously smiles, his expression softening significantly. "I will, omma."

"Pro- hold on." Sang-woo hears the phone clatter on a surface and his mom yelling from a distance. "MI-NYEO! JUST- JUST CHOOSE WHATEVER YOU WANT AND PUT IT ON THE CUTTING BOARD, GIMME A MINUTE! I'M TALKING TO MY SON! … YES, THAT SON! What do you mean you- ah, whatever, tell me later!"

Sang-woo covers his face with his free hand, mortified. 

(Oh dear god, his mother and Player 212 are friends. Does she even live in Seoul?! Oh god, he never cared about her enough to get to know her, like he did with Ali. This is how he dies.)

"Ah, jeez, that girl… Sang-woo!" His mom exclaims, picking up the phone again. " Promise that you won't disappear again. Ahh, your mom was really worried about you, stupid boy!"

A quiet laugh escapes Sang-woo. "Yes, omma. I won't disappear again. I promise."

"Good! Now, if you'll excuse me… You want EEL--?!"

Sang-woo stares at his phone incredulously as the line goes dead.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, he rubs his face with his hands aggressively, in an attempt to wake himself up.

(He did it. He talked to his mom. That's… progress.)

Now, just to respond to… four people he thought he would never see again - you know, due to the whole being dead thing.

(Yeah, that definitely doesn’t make him want to curl up in a ball and sink into hell.)

Pulling his phone back out of his pocket begrudgingly, the screen lights up with notifications, some useless and some important.

[Cooking Mama: COOKING FEVER: SALE! New recipes for only 1000 won! 🤩 ]

(Seriously?)

Swiping away the notification from forgotten applications on his phone, Sang-woo’s eyes drift over the remaining notifications, all being unread messages, plus that unknown caller.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER: hey. it's sae-byeok. gi-hun is really pissed that you… 2 new messages ]

[UNKNOWN NUMBER: 🥰🥰 hey bitch!!! its 240 (real names jiyeong btw)!!! so as a proxy friend of urs… 3 new messages ]

[GIHUN HYUNG: oh hey by the by. ali always goes to that convenience store at… 7 new messages ]

[MISSED CALL: Unknown Number (2)]

Sang-woo takes a deep breath, and taps the first unread message that pops up.

(‘Ali goes to… where? At when?’ Sang-woo wonders absentmindedly as the messaging app loads.)

From a quick glance, he knows it’s Sae-byeok Kang, Player 67. Tapping on the 'default' profile image, the edit contact page pops up. Tapping the 'contact name' section, he quickly types out her name and saves the contact, backing out to actually read the messages.


September 18th, 2021 (2 months ago)

KANG SAE-BYEOK

hey. it's sae-byeok. gi-hun is really pissed that you ran off you know. he has not shut tf up about it it's starting to get annoying. also he's the one who gave us your number so don't be shocked if ji-yeong and ali text you too. but like seriously. gi-hun's like really upset that he couldn't find you or il-nam after a whole ass month. and since i don't even think il-nam has a phone, i think he and ali would appreciate it if you like. y'know. let us know you're alive. also ali will not shut the fuck up about you and ji-yeong is starting to complain about "sang-woo infecting gays brunch conversations" and i think if i hear one more word about you from anyone that's not about you finally showing up i will find you myself and snap your neck (5:30 PM)

no hard feelings about the whole killing me thing by the way. we can deal with that later first get gi-hun and ali to shut up 👍 (5:47 PM)


Surprisingly, Sae-byeok's messages are the easiest for Sang-woo to understand so far, despite her typing style just being her trail of consciousness.

(‘... Also, Ali will not shut the fuck up about you…’)

A strange mix of worry, guilt and happiness flutters in his chest, Sang-woo rereading that line multiple times to see if he misread something.

What does that mean? What is Ali saying about him? Is it positive? Or is it negative? Agh - of course it’s going to be negative. Who the hell would miss their own murderer?

(... Does he want Ali to miss him?)

“Ugh,” Sang-woo grumbles, rubbing his eyes aggressively with his free hand in an attempt to clear his mind, forcing himself to focus on the rest of the message.

Suppressing the wave of mixed emotions he feels at the mention of him murdering Sae-byeok during the second-to-last game, Sang-woo slowly rereads her messages, trying to figure out an appropriate way to respond.

He types out his response slowly and methodically, worrying over every single possible response and constantly deleting and rewriting his response.


November 19th, 2021 (Today)

YOU

When's the next time you'll all meet? (8:58 AM)

Sent


(Nailed it.)

Sighing in relief, the tremendous task finally over with, he backs out to respond to the next message on the list.

Tapping on the one that claims to be Player 240, he quickly goes in to change the contact to said player’s name before going back to properly read the messages.


September 19th, 2021 (2 months ago)

JIYEONG (240)

🥰🥰 hey bitch!!! its 240!! (real names jiyeong btw) so as a proxy friend of urs i feel obligated to text you abt this whole sitch 🥴 (2:01 AM)

and yk i just gotta say like i didnt get to know you really at ALL during the games so i dont really feel comfortable telling you what to do 😩😩 - also i dont actually know what you did beyond what i heard from gihun and what they said during the video of you gettin bitch slapped that they played at the beginning of the game AHSGHAGHSADS 😭😭😭 (2:06 AM)

anyways. from one shitty person to another: this group of dudes? we’re all “bad” people in one way or another. no judging in this clown house!!!!!! 🤪🤪 so whatever you think you did wrong just come back, apologize, hug ali and PLEASE slap gihun silly because mans will not fuckin shut UPPPP haha ok bye bestie!!!! 🥰🥰🥰 (2:35 AM)


(Dear lord. )

Squinting at the screen, Sang-woo can barely understand anything beyond the fact that Ji-yeong is aware that they don’t know each other well, - she mostly only stuck to Sae-byeok’s side, and Sang-woo preferred to spend his time with Ali - that his absence seems to make Gi-hun act like an unlikable chatterbox, and that their social group are all apparently ‘bad’ people, whatever that means.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Sang-woo taps the text box to respond, his fingers typing faster than usual, and he sends the message immediately, without any of the hesitance he had when replying to Sae-byeok.


November 19th, 2021 (Today)

YOU 

I highly doubt that. I don’t think Ali could even kill a fly without remorse. (9:00 AM)

Sent


Though he is well aware that Ali could probably crush Sang-woo's bones to a fine dust if he tried hard enough, his potentially dangerous strength isn’t enough for Sang-woo to consider him a bad person - Sang-woo doubts Ali has ever even pirated a song in fear of breaking the law.

(In the back of his mind, Sang-woo sadly wonders if they were ever inherently incompatible because of their contrasting morals.)

To Sang-woo’s immediate surprise, his phone buzzes as Ji-yeong replies, her message popping up on screen, a sticker popping up right after it.


JI-YEONG (240)

i cant believe ur only response to my whole heartfelt paragraph was abt ali (9:00 AM)

actual lesbophobia. /j (also im totally telling him what you said) (9:01 AM)

(9:01 AM)


An absolutely incredulous look on his face, Sang-woo squints at the screen harder as if that’ll make the messages easier to understand. 

Slash ‘j’?? ‘j’ for… jam? Or maybe… ‘j’ stands for joke? Was she indicating that she was joking?

(Well, he supposes it does relieve a bit of his anxiety knowing that she wasn’t truly upset and accusing him of lesbophobia.)

His phone buzzes repeatedly again, Ji-yeong sending messages at the speed of light.

(How fast are her fingers?!)

Sang-woo struggles to scroll up to the first new message as new ones pop up, another quirk of Ji-yeong’s typing style apparently being sending whole sentences in one-word increments.

(Never has he felt so old, unable to read as fast as someone types.)


JI-YEONG (240)

ok but to like (9:03 AM)

answer yr reply (9:03 AM)

ali didnt talk to anyone else about it (besides gihun) but the general gist of it (9:03 AM)

is apparently (9:03 AM)

ali was in trouble w the cops and gihun paid the bail (9:04 AM)

gihun told us it was morally justified as hell (9:04 AM)

but (9:04 AM)

yk (9:04 AM)

technically makes him a bad person just like us (9:04 AM)

(9:04 AM)


Scoffing, Sang-woo adjusts his glasses quickly before leaning in closer to the phone screen, quickly typing out his response.


YOU

Preposterous. Even if Ali was in trouble with the law, as you said, it was morally justified. That doesn’t mean that he’s a bad person. (9:06 AM)

JI-YEONG (240)

mimimimimimimimimimimimimimimi (9:06 AM)

mans did crime mans bad person (9:06 AM)

YOU

That is ridiculously flawed logic. (9:07 AM)

Read

JI-YEONG (240)

🙄🙄 (9:07 AM)

ur mom is a flawed logic OOO GOTTEM (9:07 AM)


(... What?)

Sang-woo starts to type out a similarly confused response, before more new messages interrupt him.


JI-YEONG (240)

n e ways (9:07 AM)

im havin a blast here but unfortunately duty calls (9:08 AM)


Furrowing his eyebrows, Sang-woo tries to reply before Ji-yeong can disappear as fast as she types.


YOU

I wasn’t aware you were a part of the force. (9:08 AM)

Read

JI-YEONG (240)

BARF (9:08 AM)

im not a cop 🤢🤢🤢 (9:08 AM)

its a figure of speech grandpa (9:08 AM)

im going to gihuns house ali called an emergency meeting (9:08 AM)


Sang-woo’s heart drops as a pit opens in his stomach. 

(Ali? Emergency? Is he safe? What happened? Why did he tell Gi-hun? Is he alive?)

Anxiety consumes him, and he finds himself replying before he’s even aware he’s typing.


YOU

Emergenyc? (9:08 AM)

JI-YEONG (240)

holy shit sangwoo cho spelling error 📸📸📸 (9:09 AM)

you are so in love w him kiss already (9:09 AM)

but like yeah no dont worry about it (9:09 AM)

we call em that (9:09 AM)

but (9:09 AM)

theyre never actual emergencies (9:10 AM)

last time one was called was last week because gihun thought i stole his bagels (9:10 AM)

spoiler alert: i would never. there are raisins in them (9:10 AM)

i did steal a 12 pack of 3 ply toilet paper though (9:10 AM)

YOU

Pardon me? How? What? Why? (9:11 AM)

JI-YEONG (240)

oh wow look at the time (9:11 AM)

bye loser phones are banned during group therapy LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL (9:11 AM)

ok byebye now!!!!!! 😇😇😇😘😘 (9:11 AM)

YOU

??? (9:12 AM)

I understood just about none of that (9:12 AM)

Is Ali safe? (9:13 AM)

Ji-yeong??? (9:13 AM)

Sent


Scowling at his phone, Sang-woo roughly shakes the device back and forth a few times as if that’ll make Ji-yeong come back and explain.

After a moment, he gives up, shoving the phone in his pocket with a sigh of defeat.

“I need a cigarette,” Sang-woo mumbles inaudibly, a tension headache forming as he stares up at the cloudy sky.


“That’s 4,500 won.”

Rustling around in his wallet for the appropriate bills, Sang-woo huffs quietly as he hands exactly 4,500 won to the cashier, taking the pack of cigarettes eagerly.

Popping the lid open, Sang-woo makes his way out of the modest store, the doors making an electronic chime as they slide open. 

“Ah, excuse me!”

Freezing in surprise, Sang-woo glances around for the source of the voice. His eyebrows furrow, squinting at what seems to be a mostly empty street.

(Was he imagining it? Or were they calling for someone else? Oh, god, that’s embarrassing.)

“Excuse me! Over here, young man!”

Spinning around, frantically looking for the owner of the voice, Sang-woo finally notices a small, old man, sitting on a stool and waving at him from behind a cardboard box set-up that appears to be some sort of stall.

Anxiety and confusion bubbling in his gut, Sang-woo’s eyebrows subconsciously furrow in worry as he slowly approaches the old man, who seems friendly enough.

(Please don’t try to sell me something. Please don’t recognize me from the wanted notices. You know what? Please don’t talk to me. Ever.)

“Do you need something?” Sang-woo asks quietly, keeping his gaze fixated on the cardboard box rather than the old man behind it.

(Oh. He’s selling grilled squid.)

Sang-woo’s stomach churns, and suddenly, he feels the need to go to the bathroom and hack up his entire intestinal tract.

“Oh, yes, I’m very sorry, but I was just wondering,” the old man cranes his neck, pausing to look around at the mostly empty street. The crease between Sang-woo’s eyebrows deepens in curiosity and confusion. 

“You see, there’s this very nice young man who comes by around this time,” the old man explains jovially. “He’s just a bit shorter than you, dark curly hair, dark skin. He usually comes around with his son.”

Sang-woo’s heart nearly stops right there in the middle of the street.

(Ali.)

His eyes widen in realization, his lips parting just slightly, looking absolutely dumbfounded whilst the old man rambles about how cute the young man’s son is, and how he apparently passed his last math exam.

( ‘... by the by. ali always goes to that convenience store at…’ )

The gears slowly click into place in Sang-woo’s mind, the chilly autumn air stinging his eyes as he stands there frozen.

Convenience store. This is the same convenience store in Yeouido where he first met Ali. The young man this old man is talking about is Ali .

And the reason Ali isn’t here… 

The emergency meeting Ji-yeong was talking about.

(... Why does he suddenly feel so alone?)

“... he’s so kind, every day they come by and they get a medium and a small hot chocolate, and the father buys a grilled squid and the little boy buys a fish ball skewer, and then the father walks him to school… The other day, they came by and the little boy showed me a bruise he got from defending his friend! Now, that man is raising his son right, I tell ya!”

(Gi-hun’s address. Does he still remember it?)

“I’m sorry, sir. I have to go,” Sang-woo says rapidly, turning sharply on his heel whilst mapping the fastest way to Ssangmun-dong in his head.

“Wait!” The old man reaches out, grabbing Sang-woo’s hand. 

Panic rising in him like a geyser, Sang-woo rips his hand out of the old man’s grasp roughly, fear coursing through his veins.

“Ah, I’m sorry, young man,” the old man frowns, looking apologetic. “I’m just quite worried about that young man. He always shows up, and I’d hate it if something bad happened to him…”

(Huh. Guess that’s one thing Sang-woo and the old man have in common.)

“I know where he is,” Sang-woo mumbles, rubbing his hand self-consciously. 

“Is he safe?” The old man’s eyebrows furrow in worry.

(His conversation with Ji-yeong rolls around in his head like a loose peanut.)

“Uh,” Sang-woo slowly nods. “Very likely, yes.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” the old man sighs in relief, putting his hand over his heart. “Well, I won’t keep you. Have a good day now, son.”

(Son?)

Nodding dumbly, Sang-woo slowly turns around and meanders towards the bus station, all thoughts in his head thrown out the window.

(Strangely, the lack of notifications from his phone makes him feel more isolated than emancipated.)


"Oh!" Gi-hun exclaims upon opening the door, a friendly smile on his face. "Hey, Ali. The other's are here already, come on in."

"Thank you, sir," Ali says softly, his usual polite smile on his face as he bows to Gi-hun and enters the older man's house, Gi-hun shutting the door behind them.

"Yo!" Ji-yeong calls, waving from her spot on the floor in front of the couch. Sae-byeok briefly looks up from her book - ‘If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho’ - offering a small wave as a greeting.

"Hey," Jun-ho greets from the kitchen island, pouring some water into a jug. Ali bows in response.

Ali's expression lights up slightly at the sight of his friends, quickly taking off his jacket and hanging it on a coat rack. 

Taking his usual seat on the floor next to Gi-hun's spot, Ji-yeong leans over to address him whilst Jun-ho and Gi-hun argue in the background about cups. 

"Hey, you usually don't call group meetings," Ji-yeong points out, Ali tilting his head curiously in response. "Why didja call this one?"

Bowing his head in embarrassment, Ali murmurs his response under his breath. "I'm just… kind of upset."

Ji-yeong's eyebrows furrow and her jaw drops open. "No! Who hurt you?! I'll kill them, like actually. Sae-byeok, babe, come on, murder time."

"No, no!" Ali cries, grabbing Ji-yeong's arm as she starts to stand up, Sae-byeok snickering behind her book at the scene.

"It's not like that! It's just…" Ali falters, trailing off with a lost look in his eyes.

"What's up, little buddy? Out with it," Gi-hun smiles, ruffling Ali's hair as he drops down on the ground, groaning loudly when he sits down, cursing himself for getting old. Ali smiles slightly, his chest warm with appreciation for his friends. 

"No rush, though," Jun-ho reminds the group gently as he sits down on the other side of Gi-hun, carefully placing a plate of assorted snacks and a jug of water in the middle of the small circle the group is in. 

Ji-yeong immediately dives for the snacks, shoving a handful of chips in her mouth with one hand and grabbing three cookies with the other hand. 

Gi-hun makes an audible gagging sound, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Hey, hey, that's for the whole ass group!"

"Thuck it, bith!" Ji-yeong shoots back, bits of chips and cookies flying into the air with every syllable.

The group erupts into a chorus of noises of disgust, Sae-byeok laughing at her partner whilst Gi-hun and Jun-ho try to get her to stop.

Ali's smile at his friend's antics slowly drops as he remembers why he called them here.

(Hopefully, the meeting just gets derailed like it usually does. Now that he's here, he really doesn't want to explain why he's down.)

Unbeknownst to Ali, the group slowly falls silent as they watch his expression morph to one of frustration. His eyebrows furrow and his lips screw into a large frown, as if he's holding back tears. 

"Hey," Ji-yeong says softly, causing Ali to jolt out of his rumination, his expression quickly snapping to one of surprise. 

"Sorry," Ali apologizes quickly, an embarrassed smile tugging at his lips. "I just got lost in my thoughts for a bit."

"Didn't seem like they were very fun thoughts," Sae-byeok mumbles, her arms crossed as she glares at Ali's shoulders.

(Ali assumes the glare is her regular 'neutral' scowl.)

"It's- you know what, it's nothing," Ali dismisses, waving his hand up and down in a 'don't worry about it' gesture. "Don't worry about me!"

Jun-ho turns to face him, his eyebrows furrowed in concern when Ali catches his gaze and matches it. "Didn't you call this meeting? Is something up?"

"It's just- you know," Ali murmurs, staring down at his fingers as he fidgets by picking at his nails. "It's- I'm just kind of sad about… um…"

(Even saying his name hurts now, Ali's heart squeezing in distress, calling out hopelessly for his Hyung.)

"Just- It's- never mind, it's not actually a problem, you know," Ali stammers quietly.

The other 4 exchange worried glances after seeing the normally bubbly Ali mumble and trip over his own words, anxiously fidgeting as he stares at the ground.

"Do you need money?" Gi-hun breaks the silence, leaning closer to Ali with his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Because, well, the one thing I have a shit ton of nowadays is money."

"Gi-hun!" Jun-ho hisses quietly, hitting Gi-hun on the arm, scowling at the older man disapprovingly.

"No, I'm serious!" Gi-hun exclaims, rubbing his arm on the spot where Jun-ho punched him. "They gave me that stupid huge prize, and I hate using it because it's literally blood money, but if it's to help you guys or my daughter, I'll empty the whole account!"

"Alright, now I just need the three little numbers on the back and your mum's maiden name," Ji-yeong snickers, trying to lighten the mood. Sae-byeok smirks at that, covering her mouth with her sleeve.

"Guys, come on," Ali giggles, relieved, before reverting back to a melancholic smile, the group turning their attention back to him, listening intently. "It's not a money problem. It's about… Hyung."

"Oh," Gi-hun mumbles awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "Sang-woo? What's up with him?"

"That's the thing," Ali continues sadly, gazing at the floor longingly. "Hyung has texted Ji-yeong-ssi, Sae-byeok-nim and Gi-hun-nim back, but he still hasn't replied to me…"

Gi-hun and Sae-byeok glance awkwardly at each other, whilst Ji-yeong leans forward towards Ali, placing her hand on the floor in front of him to catch his attention.

"Has he read your messages?" She asks softly, her usually mischievous expression replaced by one of concern.

Sniffling quietly, Ali nods slightly as he swallows a lump in his throat.

(Why does that hurt so much?)

Biting her lip in thought, Ji-yeong pulls away and leans back against the couch, crossing her arms. 

Quietly, Sae-byeok chimes in. "It's possible he didn't know how to reply."

"Could be," Gi-hun agrees. "I don't think he was ever good at replying to messages. He checked his emails all the time, but would only reply to mine like, two days after I sent one, unless they were school related."

Ali shrinks into himself, picking his nails harshly as his anxiety intensifies, his stomach coiling horribly. "What if he… just doesn't want to talk to me? "

"No offense," Ji-yeong says, her voice muffled by a cookie shoved entirely into her mouth. "But Sang-woo replied to my long-ass message, only addressing one point, about how he didn't believe me that you were technically a criminal at one point. Plus," she pauses to munch loudly on her cookie. Swallowing the snack and sighing as if refreshed, she continues. "Remember? The thing he ever said to any of us for the first time in two months? Uhh, what was it again?" Pretending not to remember for dramatic effect, Ji-yeong leans forward with her hand cupped around her ear, urging the others to answer.

Ali blinks, unable to remember the message.

Who did he reply to first? Was it… Gi-hun? What did he say? 

… What did Gi-hun say that got him to reply?

"He said that he missed Gi-hun, the recipient of the message, and that he missed you , Ali," Jun-ho answers softly, gently putting his hand down near Ali in a comforting gesture. His eyebrows still creased anxiously, Ali covers Jun-ho’s hand with his own, squeezing the younger man’s hand gratefully.

“Thank you, Jun-ho-ssi,” Ali mumbles softly as the two of them pull away and back into their seats. Jun-ho nods in response, offering a sympathetic smile, to which Ali responds with a small, grateful grin.

“Hey,” Gi-hun pipes up, setting a hand on Ali’s shoulder. Ali sniffles quickly before turning his head slightly, meeting the older man’s gaze. Gi-hun’s expression softens with sympathy at Ali’s eyes, brimmed with tears.

“I’ve known Sang-woo for forever,” Gi-hun continues, his tone soft. “I know how he acts in general - I’ve known him before the whole world shat all over him, and trust me, he doesn’t act that different from when he was a teen.” He chuckles a little as he recalls Sang-woo as a teenager, the corners of his eyes wrinkling from amusement, and Ali can’t help but giggle a little too.

“Look,” Gi-hun says, a self-assured look in his eyes that makes Ali lean in closer to the other man, listening intently. “I know Sang-woo, and the way he acted around you - yeah, sure, he was a selfish ass during those games, just a huge bitch boy. And, y’know. He murdered you.” Ali’s expression falls, his gaze cast downward at the mention of his simulated demise.

(A weak emulation of his feelings from the moment before he died crashes through his body, Ali’s eyes becoming wet with tears as he recalls how it felt to be betrayed by the one friend he had in there, the phantom pain of a bullet lodged in the back of his head.)

“Gi- hun! ” Jun-ho hisses quietly, swatting the older man on the back of the head. Ji-yeong boos faintly, giving Gi-hun a thumbs-down from across the room. Sae-byeok waves her hand across her throat repeatedly in a cutthroat gesture, as if to tell Gi-hun to stop.

“Piss off, I know what I’m doing!” Gi-hun hisses back, leaning away from Ali briefly. 

“BUT, my point is,” Gi-hun turns back to Ali, who flinches at the sudden attention, looking at the older man with a surprised look. “After you died, there was this other guy in the dorms. He was messed up because his partner was his wife. ” Ali’s eyebrows furrow in sadness, biting his bottom lip to keep from becoming too emotional. 

“The guy went on this whole long tangent about how we’re all monsters who have killed people-  and-and-and y’know, maybe he was right, but that’s another conversation. Sang-woo suddenly got super peeved and annoyed at the guy - normally, he’d let someone else get in a fight with someone like that. You know what he yelled at that guy?” Gi-hun pauses, Ali shaking his head in response, watching the other man intently.

“It’s been a while, but - I think he said something like…” Gi-hun twirls his hand around as if trying to fan the memory back into his head. With a quiet exclamation of ‘oh’, he continues. “‘Will you be forgiven for killing your wife? If you’re so guilt-ridden, why did you come back alive?’” He pauses briefly to sigh quietly, his expression downtrodden. 

“‘You should’ve died instead of her.’”

Silence falls upon the group, the four friends slowly digesting the information Gi-hun just gave them.

“You know what that sounds like, right, Ali?” Sae-byeok cuts through the silence quietly, her words feeling like a heavy weight on the Pakistani’s back.

Slowly, Ali shrinks into himself, curling up with his knees to his chest. Gi-hun shuffles slightly closer to him, his hand still on Ali’s shoulder comfortingly.

“Just give him some time,” Ji-yeong murmurs, both Sae-byeok and her scooting around the snack plate to get to Ali’s side. “He’ll come around soon.”

Sniffling quietly, Ali buries his head in his arms. His heart wails and squeezes in his chest, missing Sang-woo despite his betrayal.

(And now, after hearing what he said afterwards - Ali fears he may just tear in half from mixed feelings.)

Quietly and slowly, Gi-hun, Ji-yeong, Sae-byeok and Jun-ho all move to hug Ali comfortingly, and the group of friends stay like that for a long while, Ali quietly crying and the other four soothing him.

‘He’ll come around soon’, Ali repeats, reciting it in his head like a mantra as he chokes back sobs.

He’ll come around soon. He’ll come around soon.

(Please, please, please let it be true.)

He’ll come around soon.

(All five of the adults in the room preoccupied, no one bats an eye when a phone buzzes in the pocket of a jacket hanging on the coat rack.)

[NEW MESSAGE: Sang-woo Hyung ❤ (1)]

Chapter 4: Crime and Punishment

Summary:

Commereō (present infinitive commerēreperfect active commeruīsupine commeritum); second conjugation

  1. I merit or deserve (fully).
  2. (with culpam) I err in, commit an offence or crime, perpetrate; I am guilty of.

Notes:

the actual only outline for this chapter, word for word: "sangwoo dramatically bikes all the way to ssangmun-dong and just barely misses ali, who’s out for gays brunch with jiyeong and saebyeok"
4 chapters in and they still havent seen each other properly CAN WE GET A 10 CHAPTER STREAK WHERE THEY NEVER MEET IRL??? 💪💪💪 (/j i am dying to finally have them meet but the gays brunch was predetermined)

(anyways kind of missed doing notes so hi!!! i hope you enjoy the story!!! im not sure how long this thing is gonna get honestly since somehow im pulling thousands of words out of the air every time i post but it might be a long ride so strap in! sangwoo healing hours)
EDIT 29/11: spelling errors 🤡🤡

Chapter Text

Friday, November 19th, 2021

10:16 AM

> Subway, Line 5 (575)

“Your attention please, your attention please.”

Sleepily, Sang-woo rubs his eyes as the disgustingly staticky voice rings throughout the bus, the scratchy sound irritating him almost as much as it infuriates him how he can barely understand what the conductor is saying.

“As we approach Gwanghwamun, I must remind all passengers that this subway stops there. It will be a terminal station temporarily, due to the construction around and inside of Sangil-dong station. Thank you for understanding.”

Slowly, Sang-woo blinks as the announcement rolls around in his head like an apple seed.

(Terminal station… means that he has to get off there… at Gwanghwamun…)

Suddenly, his eyes shoot open.

(Gwanghwamun is still 37 minutes away from Ssangmun-dong!)

“Shit,” Sang-woo hisses under his breath, forcing his tired body up and out of the seat, pushing his way towards the subway doors.

“Now arriving at Gwanghwamun station,” the modulated voice rings out cheerily, further irking Sang-woo as the subway pulls to a stop, other passengers gathering up behind him and nearly shoving him up against the door.

(Oh, how Sang-woo loves public transit.)

Scowling icily over his shoulder, Sang-woo shoves his way out as the doors hiss open, nearly using his briefcase as a weapon, his grip on the handle so tight - out of fear of losing it - his knuckles turn white.

Following the flow of the general populace, the South Korean rushes up the stairs, his shoes clacking loudly as he breathes heavily. Nearly getting shoved down the stairs, Sang-woo takes a brief minute to press himself up against the wall and catch his breath, the rest of the crowd drifting past him like a chattering, loud cloud.

Fumbling with his phone, Sang-woo squeezes his briefcase under his armpit, mistyping his password 3 times before he finally manages to get through, tapping aggressively on the maps app.

“Gwanghwamun… to Ssangmun-dong…” He mumbles under his breath, shifting slightly in his spot when someone nearly trips over his shoes. The directions pop up on the screen, and his scowl deepens further when he realizes he’s either going to have to walk or get a taxi.

Ugh. He really does not want to risk a taxi - for all he knows, they’re going to kill him because they believe in the Squid Games story and know about him, or they’re going to rob him because, well… he’s getting in a stranger’s car and letting them chauffeur him wherever.

(But to be frank, Sang-woo thinks that he’s getting much too old to be walking any further than the distance to the bathroom.)

Sang-woo’s eyes suddenly fly open, him slowly moving the screen closer to his face as he zooms in further on the map.

(Wait.)

Right now, he’s at Gwanghwamun station, and just outside is Gwanghwamun plaza, which is close to Gyeongbokgung Palace, a place he frequented as a child. 

Desperately, Sang-woo zooms in even further on the map, fuzzy memories of the streets and areas around there floating up to the surface of his mind.

Gyeongbokgung… if he crosses through Jongno-gu, then he can get to Suyu station, and take the 710 like he used to - no, but all the buses are re-routed, and it’ll take forever to get to Gi-hun’s house at this point.

Frustration boiling over, Sang-woo swipes across the map aggressively, mapping different potential routes in his head, his scowl deepening every time he eliminates one. 

A sudden blur zips across his peripheral vision, causing Sang-woo to jolt up, his gaze now directed at the sidewalk in front of the subway station.

Two more blurs zip across his vision, and suddenly, it dawns on him.

Yeah, sure, maybe he’ll die from overexertion, but if this works…

His fingers flying across the screen faster than he’s ever typed, Sang-woo trembles as he impatiently taps the messaging app.

As soon as the messages list pops up, his eyes scan up and down rapidly before locking onto his target, firmly tapping the only remaining unknown number - Ali.

Haphazardly registering the Pakistani as a contact - Sang-woo rushes so fast he doesn’t notice that he’s misspelled ‘Ali Abdul’ as ‘Ail Adbul’ - his fingers freeze, hovering above the keyboard as he hesitates suddenly, unsure what to say.

(‘I’m sorry’? ‘Can we talk’? ‘Wya’?? ‘I like you please don’t hate me’???)

Agh, he doesn’t have time for this!

Swallowing down the rising anxiety, Sang-woo quickly types out the first thing that comes to mind, tapping send without a second thought, roughly shoving his phone back into his pocket so his hands are free for his briefcase.

The crowd mostly dissipated now, Sang-woo manages to get outside, the automatic doors sliding open with a hiss. Looking around frantically, he nearly trips over his own feet when he sees exactly what he’s looking for. 

Speed-walking and/or politely shoving his way into a shady alley, Sang-woo squats down, grimacing at the only option he really has right now.

Hesitantly, Sang-woo shoves his briefcase back in-between his bicep and the side of his chest, grabbing two egregiously dusty bicycle handles. With a ridiculous amount of effort, he lifts and heaves, trying to pull the bicycle out of whatever ungodly position it's stuck in.

Finally succeeding, Sang-woo haphazardly grabs his briefcase with a much harsher grip than he’d usually ever use and shoves it in the rusty basket of the likely-infectious vehicle, briefly brushing dirt and dust and god-knows-what off the seat, before dragging it out of the alley onto the road, proceeding to practically throw himself on top of it.

(Very briefly, he rolls it back and forth, just to be sure he isn’t about to launch himself into traffic using a bike that most definitely needs to be condemned.)

Taking a deep breath in, his hair unkempt and messy and his glasses most definitely askew, Sang-woo tightens his grip on the dusty handles and, with a long exhale, begins pedaling far faster than any rational person would.

His lungs, legs, arms; his everything burns - but the thought of Ji-yeong being wrong and Ali possibly being in a proper emergency and possibly dying before Sang-woo can talk to him pushes him to pedal through the pain. 

(Even though he’s somewhat certain that the second he stops, his muscles are all going to fall apart like string cheese.)


i'll wait for you every day!! 5:01 PM

right where we first met :^) <3 5:02 PM

November 19th, 2021 (Today)

YOU

Stay at gihuns house. Im comign (10:41 AM)

Sent


Pleaaase? I promise we won’t steal 10 won coins from the fountain this time! Ali will supervise! Please please pleaseee?” Ji-yeong pleads, her hands clasped together as she kneels on the floor, a desperate and whiny expression on her face as she looks up pleadingly at Gi-hun.

“Ah, Jesus! Fuckin’ fine!” Gi-hun relents, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat, Ji-yeong cheering loudly in celebration. “But I’m not giving you my card this time. Last time, you maxed it out in an hour!”

“What can I say? I’m multi-talented,” Ji-yeong boasts, getting up from the floor with a sweeping bow.

“No, you’re the worst,” Gi-hun grumbles, digging around in his wallet. Sae-byeok sniggers quietly as the others watch in a mix of horror and amusement as countless receipts flutter to the floor the longer Gi-hun roots around.

“Here,” Gi-hun half-heartedly tosses a crumpled 50,000 won bill at Ali, and Ji-yeong practically dives for it, whooping victoriously with the bill in her hand, Sae-byeok giving her a high-five when she gets up off the floor.

“Jesus Christ, you’re feral,” Gi-hun groans, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Just be back in time for Mario Kart.”

“And dinner,” Jun-ho cuts in, shooting Gi-hun an unamused look. He turns to look at the other three, giving them a polite smile. “I’m trying the recipes I got from Ali today.”

Ali beams happily, quietly shaking his fists up and down rapidly out of excitement, trying to contain his eagerness. Sae-byeok pats his shoulder, offering him a small smile, to which Ali responds with an even bigger grin, his eyes practically sparkling.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, dinner, whatever, Mario Kart is more important,” Gi-hun jokes, earning an unimpressed look from Jun-ho. “Call if anything happens, okay?”

Sae-byeok nods silently, Ji-yeong rolling her eyes and giving a dramatic mock salute as the two of them pair off and chatter to themselves on their way to the front door.

“Hey,” Jun-ho says softly, pulling Ali aside. “Are you sure you’re okay to go out with them? I know they-” Jun-ho pauses, lowering his voice and leaning in closer. “- well, basically just Ji-yeong can be a lot. You don’t have to go, you know?”

Ali pauses, his eyebrows furrowing in thought. “Um… I think it’ll be fine. I probably need a distraction from Sang-woo hyung, to be honest,” he admits sheepishly, fidgeting nervously.

Jun-ho nods in understanding, giving the other man a sympathetic look. “You can skip out tonight if you want, okay? You’re having a rough time. We care about you.”

“Thank you, Jun-ho-ssi,” Ali mumbles, offering a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Jun-ho’s expression softens into concern, but nevertheless, he gives Ali a hearty pat on the shoulder and leaves the man alone.

“Ali! Come on, I wanna go to McDonald’s!” Ji-yeong whines loudly, holding Sae-byeok's hand by the front door, both of them already wearing their jackets and shoes.

“Ah, um... coming!” Ali exclaims, rushing over to his friends.

(Ali puts his jacket on in such a rush, he doesn’t even realize that his phone is missing from his pocket, nor that Sae-byeok’s sleeve seems strangely longer than usual.)


“Ah…” Ji-yeong sighs, refreshed. She leans back in her seat, patting her stomach with her hands. “Nothing like super overpriced food during the middle of the day, am I right?”

“Mm,” Ali mumbles, pushing his food around his plate, staring at it uninterestedly.

Sae-byeok furrows her eyebrows, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed. “Ali.”

“Hm?” Ali perks up, looking up from his food, confused. 

Sae-byeok sighs and shakes her head, glaring at her cup of water. “We can all tell something’s wrong. You never leave food on your plate.”

Ali flushes, embarrassed, as he quickly scoops up the food on his plate and shoves it in his mouth, using the chewing as an excuse to stay silent.

“What’s up, Ali?” Ji-yeong asks, springing up in her seat and leaning forward, resting her head on her hands, her elbows propped up on the table. “Dish, bitch!”

“I’m just worried,” Ali mumbles sheepishly, messing with his food some more. “I’m worried about Hyung, I’m worried about Aysar, I’m worried about Zaima, I’m worried about my pa--”

“Anddd, I’m gonna cut you off right there before you spiral,” Ji-yeong interjects, her expression a mix between worry and amusement. “First of all, Sang-woo is like, head over heels for you. Have you seen how he acts towards you versus Gi-hun? Night and day.”

Sae-byeok nods in agreement, quickly nabbing a bread roll from the middle of the table and taking a big bite.

“And secondly,” Ji-yeong shifts her position so she’s practically sitting sideways in the seat, her legs hanging over the armrest as she props her head up with her hand on the other armrest. “Your sister is perfectly capable of bringing your son to daycare literally one time. She’s the literal definition of a girlboss.”

“Very cool,” Sae-byeok nods approvingly, her voice muffled slightly by the bread she’s chewing.

“But what if something goes wrong at daycare?” Ali mumbles worriedly, propping his elbows up on the table and resting his head in his hands. 

“What would go wrong at daycare?” Ji-yeong raises an eyebrow incredulously.

“I don’t know!” Ali whines, rubbing his eyes exhaustedly. “Aysar made a new friend - which is fantastic - but that child’s parent is Ms. Han...”

Sae-byeok freezes mid-chew, staring at Ali with wide eyes. She quickly chugs some water, gulping loudly before bewilderedly staring at the downtrodden Pakistani. “You don’t mean…”

Sighing quietly, avoiding Sae-byeok and Ji-yeong’s gazes, Ali mumbles his reply nearly inaudibly. “... Yeah. Ms. Han Mi-nyeo.”

“No…” Ji-yeong gasps faintly, swinging her legs down and sitting down properly in the chair. “No way! I didn’t even know she lived around us!”

“I didn’t know either.” Ali sighs again, a slight pout on his face. “I’m really scared of Ms. Han, but Aysar and her child - Jae-woo, I think - are really good friends. Aysar even lets Jae-woo colour on the same page as him.”

“What do you do when you have to interact with her?” Sae-byeok inquires, grimacing slightly. 

“I just stand back and avoid eye contact,” Ali admits, shrinking back into himself slightly. “It’s really uncomfortable, although the kids don’t seem to notice.”

“Aw, jeez, does that mean we might see her walkin’ around?” Ji-yeong groans, frowning in annoyance. “Don’t worry, Ali. I’ll just scream obscenities at her whenever she shows up and she’ll leave you alone.”

(Ali’s brows furrow, his expression shifting to something darker.)

Sae-byeok leans forward, a serious look darkening her expression. “If she harasses you, Ali, just call me and I’ll make her regret ever speaking to you.”

“Hell yeah! That old witch’ll never approach you again!” Ji-yeong gives her partner a high-five, whooping loudly.

(Something strange coils in Ali’s chest, his hands curling into tight fists as a wave of emotions crash against him like a waterfall.)

“I don’t need you to defend me from Ms. Han,” Ali growls lowly, abruptly standing up from the table, causing the other two to jolt in surprise.

Sighing quietly, Ali scowls at the floor. “I’m going to go to the bathroom,” he mumbles under his breath, his face screwed up in an upset expression as he snatches his jacket, putting it on as he quietly trudges away.

Ji-yeong and Sae-byeok exchange confused and worried looks, the latter slowly slipping a phone onto the table, next to her plate. 

Staring at each other in awkward silence, Ji-yeong slowly opens her mouth to speak. “... Do you think he’ll be mad when he finds out?”

“That we stole his phone and invaded his privacy? Yeah, no, I think he’ll be totally fine with that,” Sae-byeok mumbles, sliding her hands down her face slowly.

“Well, shit, we’re in too deep anyways,” the other girl sighs, reaching over and nabbing the phone, quickly tapping her way into the phone.

“Remind me how you know his pin?” Sae-byeok asks, shuffling her seat over to be next to Ji-yeong’s.

“It’s just Aysar’s birthday,” Ji-yeong explains, swiping methodically through the phone. “It’s his pin for everything - even his credit card.”

Sae-byeok raises an eyebrow. “And you know that because..?”

“I watched him enter his pin out of the corner of my eye when I couldn’t afford to buy a Big Mouth Billy Bass from the shady American seller at Dongdaemun market, duh,” Ji-yeong rolls her eyes at Sae-byeok, tapping the messaging app without even looking at the screen.

Silence falls between the two for a brief moment, Ji-yeong getting more and more fidgety until she suddenly mumbles under her breath. “It was 150,000 won.”

“One-hundred fifty- thousand?!” Sae-byeok cries incredulously, her head whipping around to face Ji-yeong. “You made him spend--”

Clearing her throat loudly, the shorter girl interrupts Sae-byeok. “ Alrighty , let’s see if he’s replied y- et…” Ji-yeong’s jaw drops to the floor in shock. She spins around to show Sae-byeok the screen, pointing aggressively at it. 

“Oh my god,” Sae-byeok murmurs, her eyes widening as she reads the newest message at the top of the screen.

[Sangwoo Hyung ❤︎: Stay at gihuns house. Im comign (9:41 AM)]

“Are we bad friends?” Ji-yeong grimaces, looking oddly worried, considering her personality.

Sae-byeok locks eyes with Ji-yeong, wincing as she slowly nods, shuffling her chair back to where she originally was.

They sit in uncomfortable silence as Ji-yeong slowly reaches over the table, gently sliding the phone next to Ali’s glass of water.

“... We’re all gonna go back to Gi-hun’s house as soon as Ali gets back?” Ji-yeong asks quietly, her gaze glued to her plate.

Sae-byeok nods, staring blankly at the basket of bread in the middle of the table. “Mhm.”


Friday, November 19th, 2021

???

> Sangmun-dong

Practically melting off of the seat, Sang-woo’s lungs burn as he struggles to breath, his legs practically numb as they methodically pedal forward.

(This is horrible. He should’ve just taken the bus and put up with detoured traffic.)

Spotting Gi-hun’s house a few houses ahead, Sang-woo mentally steels himself with a few deep breaths, before he begins pedalling with all his might.

(In reality, he doesn’t really pedal any faster, but he allows himself to believe he is.)

Coming to an abrupt stop in front of Gi-hun’s door, Sang-woo essentially flies off of the bike, his briefcase tumbling through the air, causing the man’s heart to skip a beat.

(He can’t lose that. If he lets go he’s going to lose it and he’s going to lose all his money and he’s going to be in debt again and the police will come arrest and he’s going to die he’s going to die alone he’s--)

Throwing himself at the briefcase in an act of pure fear, Sang-woo feels the faint sting of scrapes on his hands as he falls to the ground, breathing heavily.

(Faintly, Sang-woo registers that if the briefcase had fallen, it wouldn’t have actually been able to go far.)

The door to Gi-hun’s house slams open, Sang-woo too tired to react to it beyond a slight flinch. “SEOUL POLICE, FRE-- eeze…?” An unfamiliar voice drifts off, the man on the floor closing his eyes and just accepting his (in reality, very unlikely) death.

“Holy shit!” Gi-hun’s voice calls out as Sang-woo slowly peels himself off the asphalt, tiredly trying to fix his glasses so they’re actually in front of his eyes.

(In reality, what happens is Sang-woo appears to just smack his hand against his glasses a few times.)

“Oh, jeez, I’m so, so sorry sir,” an unfamiliar man with a gun kneels down in front of Sang-woo, putting his gun back in his holster and offering a hand to the exhausted, trembling man. “Here, let me help you up, ajusshi.”

Accepting the help gratefully, the young man has to yank Sang-woo up, the man unable to really help himself. 

“Jun-ho, Jun-ho!” Gi-hun bursts out onto the street, one of his shoes nearly falling off as he stumbles out. “Jun-ho, holy shit, oh my god, that’s Sang-woo!”

“Huh?!” Jun-ho yelps, nearly dropping the older man, who groans loudly, swinging his arm in the direction he thinks Gi-hun is in.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

(Bullseye.)

“Jesus,” Sang-woo mumbles, immediately launching into a coughing fit. The other two men hover awkwardly, Jun-ho attempting to support him as he practically curls into himself.

“Ugh.” Sang-woo takes a moment to breathe, his whole body feeling heavy. “Where… Where’s Ali?”

Gi-hun hesitates, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “Uh… why? I mean, I’m like, so glad to see you, and I fucking hate you, why the hell did you ghost me, also you fucking suck and I care about you so much, never leave me like that again!”

Blinking owlishly, Gi-hun exhales deeply. “Oh man, I just went through so many emotions just now.”

Shaking his head slightly, Sang-woo grimaces, his brain too melted to understand anything Gi-hun just said.

“Ali went out with Ji-yeong and Sae-byeok,” Jun-ho supplies, catching the older man as he almost falls asleep standing, nearly sending himself toppling to the ground. “Um, I think… we should probably get you sitting down.”

Sang-woo nods blearily, unsure if his head is even moving.

“Yeah,” Gi-hun agrees, staring at Sang-woo with a wince at the younger man’s condition. “Let’s get you sat down, Sunny.”

Chapter 5: Dead Boy in The Pool.

Summary:

Tumultus m (genitive tumultūs); fourth declension

  1. An uproar; bustle, violent commotion, disturbance, tumult; turmoil, panic.
  2. (of the mind or feelings) Disturbance, disquietude, agitation; excitement, anxiety; fear, panic.
  3. (of speech) Confusion, muddle, disorder.

Notes:

shake some sense into your sangwoo today! only $218 per shake

Chapter Text

Friday, November 19th, 2021

4:56 PM

> Gi-hun Seong’s Residence, Living Room

 

“See you later, Gi-hun hyung, Sang-woo-ssi!” Jun-ho waves farewell from the doorway, Gi-hun waving back as the young detective shuts the door behind himself.

Taking a long sip from a cup of warm water, Sang-woo internally winces at how badly he’s shaking, almost spilling water all over himself.

(It was only, well, several hours of biking… and he hasn’t exercised regularly since middle school...)

“So…” Gi-hun starts slowly, lounging across from Sang-woo on a beanbag chair. “Wanna tell me why you apparently biked here from god-knows-where on that tetanus machine and floundered around on my doorstep asking for Ali?”

The younger of the two shifts uncomfortably, not especially wanting to explain his already difficult to comprehend motivations. “I just… wanted to see him.”

“And you couldn’t have, oh, I don’t know, taken the bus?!” Gi-hun exclaims incredulously, throwing his arms up in the air in exasperation.

(Yeah, he probably should’ve , and he knows the other man is right, but may as well double down.)

“There was construction. Would’ve taken too long,” Sang-woo mumbles, holding the cup up to his lips to take another sip, the warm water soothing his body, which currently feels as if his muscles are being torn from his limbs.

(... Why did he say that? Just so he wouldn’t be wrong?)

Gi-hun stares at Sang-woo, his mouth agape in shock. Slowly blinking, the older man groans loudly and leans back in the beanbag chair, covering his eyes with his hand. “And once again, you astound me with your shitty sense of time. Even with detours, the bus had to have been faster than your middle-aged ass pedalling yourself all the way over here!”

“It was urgent,” Sang-woo shoots back weakly, scowling at Gi-hun from behind his mug, retreating back into the warm blanket draped over his shoulders.

(Yes, actually, it’s exactly that.)

“I cannot believe I’m saying this, but as much of an angel as he is, Ali is not worth biking across the city for, especially if you’re not a biker!” The other man argues, tossing a pillow across the room, which lands next to Sang-woo on the couch.

Glaring into his mug, Sang-woo quietly seethes. “He is worth it.”

How?!” Gi-hun cries dramatically, throwing his arms up into the air.

“I murdered him!” Sang-woo yells, his voice hoarse as his grip tightens on the mug, the heat stinging his fingers faintly through pins and needles. “I wanted- I wanted to show him that I care. After what- after what I did to- to him, god, I would do anything for him to forgive me!”

(Well, anything except talk to him like a regular human being, apparently.)

His eyes brimming with tears, Sang-woo scowls, grimacing at his own reflection in the mug.

Gi-hun gazes at him with pity in his eyes, the older man stunned into silence by his childhood friend’s outburst.

“He… does forgive you, though,” Gi-hun points out softly, crossing his arms and sinking back into the beanbag chair.

“He shouldn’t!” Sang-woo hisses, shoving the cup of water up against his lips and allowing the liquid to flood his mouth, chugging it in an attempt to drown his emotions, lowering the mug with a long exhale.

“Why not?” The older man asks, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Just saying, I’m pretty sure he practically worships the ground you walk on.”

“He shouldn’t,” Sang-woo repeats, less venom in his tone, tears rolling down his cheeks and dripping into his water. “You know what I’ve done. I was a sleazy businessman, then I stole from my own fucking clients, then I used my omma’s assets as fucking collateral , and then I murdered THREE people. Three innocent fucking people, and I killed them without a single fucking drop of remorse.” 

(... Well, maybe a little bit of remorse.)

A heavy silence blankets the two childhood friends, Sang-woo quietly holding back sobs and Gi-hun completely silent, his eyebrows scrunched together in thought.

(Okay, fine, maybe Sang-woo wants God to strike him down where he stands because he feels so horrible about his past actions.)

Keeping his voice low, Gi-hun quietly replies. “I think you know that last part is a lie.”

Trembling like a leaf in the wind, Sang-woo slowly raises his gaze from the cup to Gi-hun’s legs.

“As a matter of fact, I think you really regret what you did,” Gi-hun continues softly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, looking at Sang-woo sympathetically, who lowers his gaze back down to avoid eye contact. 

(Shit.)

“That doesn’t--” Sang-woo hiccups, a lump lodged painfully in his throat. “That doesn’t change the- the fact that I murdered them.”

(He stood there and he lied, he lied and he gave Ali the fake bag he stood there and looked right into his eyes and he lied he killed him he murdered him he--)

“Yeah, but also, I don’t know if I would judge myself based off of my behaviour in a twisted fucking killing game where poor people performed for rich people’s entertainment,” Gi-hun shoots back sharply, interrupting the other man’s train of thought.

“I killed my closest ally,” Sang-woo whispers, squeezing his eyes shut and shrinking back into himself. “He trusted me so easily. And- and I was supposed to trust him too, and…”

(And at the slightest possibility of himself losing, Sang-woo lost his damn mind, accusing Ali of cheating during the game, knowing full well the younger man would rather starve to death than deceive someone - yes, thank you subconscious thoughts, he knows this already.)

“That was a game where it was kill or be killed,” Gi-hun reasons. “It was either you or him. You chose yourself, like everyone who passed that game did. Like I did.”

(You didn’t lie to your partner and shoot them in the back!)

“I was so scared,” Sang-woo whispers shakily, gripping onto the mug for dear life. “Be- Because I- when I realize that they were making us kill off our partners right after a group game, where so many- so many people died ,” he breathes heavily, every breath rocking his body like a leaf. 

( He feels like he’s about to throw up. His lungs are about to crumble to pieces. Every pull, every yank sends pain shooting through his muscles like lightning bolts, the soles of his shoes skidding horribly against the asphalt.

And suddenly,

the guillotine falls

and it’s over,

the other team screaming horribly as they fall to their deaths below. )

“I knew it- I knew that they were going to make us kill each other. In the end, we would all have to kill each other, and I- I just- I don’t- I didn’t want Ali to do that. I would have rather he hated me forever than- than knowing that I died, and I couldn’t protect him from people like me . It would’ve been the final round- and- and it would only be like, two, two-three people, and-and-and- and Ali would be killed so quickly,” Sang-woo stammers, tripping over his own words as his mouth races to keep up with his thoughts. He pauses briefly to catch his breath, hiccups and choked sobs escaping him as he does. 

“He’s- He’s so strong, but he can’t- he couldn’t kill someone. He- He would hesitate, and that would be all it takes. One- Just one moment of hesitation and someone else would jump in for the kill. And I couldn’t- I couldn’t. If anyone was going to kill him, it was going- it had to be me.”

Gi-hun’s expression shifts to something torn, Sang-woo’s words hanging heavy in the air.

“Um,” the older man mumbles hesitantly, scratching the back of his neck. “You… know what that sounds like, right?”

(Right. That made him sound like a homicidal stalker.)

Shakily taking a sip of his water, Sang-woo washes down the painful lump in his throat, nodding slightly afterwards. “I’d say that- that came out wrong, but I don’t really know if there’s a good way to say- to say it.”

“I think I got it, Sang-woo,” Gi-hun sighs, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. “You’d rather have killed him yourself than die knowing he’d get killed by someone else.”

“He didn’t belong there,” Sang-woo whispers, the crease between his brows deepening. “He’s- Gi-hun, he’s a good man, he’s not like us. I just- You know- No matter what, he would’ve died, Gi-hun.” Retreating even further back into the blanket to the point it practically covered his vision, he trembles as he slowly takes a sip of water, the warmth now less comforting and more searing now.

“Why?!” Gi-hun exclaims, incredulous. “I saw him during lights out- he ran to your defense swinging a giant-ass metal beam around! I’m pretty sure he could beat all our asses and still have energy left to spare!”

“Because I was his only ally!” Sang-woo chokes out, his hands shaking so hard that the cup slips out of his grasp, clunking loudly as it hits the floor, falling on its side as water flows out of it. Pulling his knees to his chest, the younger man buries his head in his arms, painful sobs escaping his throat, rocking his entire body with each cry.

“Sang-woo…” Gi-hun slowly stands up, his hand hovering awkwardly as he watches his childhood friend cry on his dingy couch.

(Bitterly, Sang-woo realizes that technically, this is the first time Gi-hun has seen him cry - due to the games being, well, a virtual simulation.)

“Tell me, Gi-hun hyung,” the younger man whispers, barely audible. “Tell me how much you knew about Ali before he die- he died.”

Gi-hun freezes, both in shock at Sang-woo calling him hyung and the question he was asked. 

(Kind of an odd moment for him to call Gi-hun that again, but Sang-woo supposes it’s too late to take it back.)

Scratching his head, the older of the two seems torn as he replies, his tone unsure. “He… He has a sister and a kid, but I found that out afterwards… Uh, I think the only thing I really knew was that he was from Pakistan and that he’s crazy strong.” He trails off, mumbling at the end, realizing that he truly wasn’t that close with the younger man before the simulation ended.

A heavy silence hangs in the air, the only audible sound being Sang-woo’s labored breathing.

(Night watch. The taste of corn. Faint lights shining against dark skin.)

“His full name is Ali Nasir Abdul,” he mumbles, his voice trembling but his nervous stutter gone, engrossed in his own memories.

“Nasir is one of his father’s names - he has multiple given names, but Nasir is the one he considers his first name. Ali brought his sister and his son with him to Korea - she’s pursuing business to try and support their family whilst Ali raises his son. The rest of his family - his mother, father and siblings - are still in Pakistan, and he worries about them a lot,” Sang-woo pauses, his voice stabilising as the pins and needles fade from his hands, the anxiety coiling in his stomach calming slightly. 

(Quiet giggles. The warmth of another body. A heartfelt compliment. A bright smile.)

“He didn’t know a single word of Korean before he came here, and after only a few years, he was practically fluent. He worries that his son won’t grow up happy because of his lack of income, but he still insists that his son is the sweetest boy. He doesn’t like his boss very much - Ali thinks that he’s a ‘little irresponsible’. He joined the games for money, and he misses his family very much.”

(A comforting gesture. A shy glance.

A question uttered.

A genuine smile.)

Gi-hun stands there in stunned silence after Sang-woo finishes listing every fact Ali told him about himself during those night-watch conversations, the ones he misses so dearly.

(Faintly, he allows himself to hope that maybe, one day, he can have another conversation with Ali.)

“I was the only one who could have made reparations with his family if he died,” Sang-woo whispers hoarsely. “Because he had chosen to trust me .”

Gi-hun’s gaze flickers around the room, his expression torn. Sang-woo unfurls himself slowly, his legs still faintly trembling as he burrows further into his blanket, staring grievously at the spilt cup.

“I know you mentioned this before,” Gi-hun says softly. “But I still don’t get it. Why were you so convinced that Ali couldn’t survive if you died?”

(Because Sang-woo can’t live without him.)

Hesitantly, Sang-woo parts his lips to speak, his voice quiet. 

(Because Sang-woo wants Ali to need him as much as Sang-woo needs him.)

“... Because he listened to me,” he says slowly, barely audible.

Gi-hun makes a puzzled expression, accompanied by a grunt of confusion.

Swallowing down the lump lodged in his throat, Sang-woo takes a deep breath before continuing. “I told him… I told him to go find other teams that didn’t have winners. To go find elderly people, weak looking people - I sent him on a stupid wild goose chase. And he--” His breath hitches, Sang-woo slowly casting his gaze down regretfully. 

“He listened to me. And I think… I think deep down he knew that I was going to betray him. And he… listened to me anyways. That’s what gets you killed in there - trust. Sae-byeok was right to say that she trusted no one in there.”

(She was also right not to trust Sang-woo, evidently.)

“Sunny…” Gi-hun says softly, slowly approaching the younger man.

Taking a deep breath, Sang-woo shrugs off the blanket, the sudden change of temperature jarring to his system. 

(It hurts.)

“I fear that,” he murmurs softly, scowling at the floor as he slowly stands. “‘Sang-woo’ is now synonymous with ‘Player 218’.”

“What?” Gi-hun stares at him incredulously. “What is that supposed to mean?”

(He needs to go, now. )

Cautiously making his way to the door, Sang-woo looks at Gi-hun over his shoulder as he slips his shoes back on. “I think it’s… in all our best interests if you don’t contact me again.”

“What?!” Gi-hun exclaims, his face screwing up into an angry scowl, taking a step towards his childhood friend. “Don’t you dare just fucking run again, Sang-woo, I swear to god!”

“This is for your own sake, Gi-hun hyung,” Sang-woo shoots over his shoulder, a pained glare on his face.

“Don’t you fucking ‘this is for your own sake’ me, you dramatic asshole!” Gi-hun shouts, storming towards the other man with fury in his eyes, Sang-woo’s eyes widening in surprise in response.

Grabbing Sang-woo roughly by the lapels of his jacket, Gi-hun shoves the younger man up against the door, knocking the latter’s glasses askew. “I’m sick of you just running away whenever you’re upset! Like it or not, I’m your fucking friend and I care about you!”

Sang-woo blinks slowly, staring down at his rage-fueled childhood friend with an expression torn between upset and confused.

“Oh, and fun fucking fact, Ali cares about you too!” Gi-hun continues, briefly pulling Sang-woo forward the slightest bit before slamming him back against the door, knocking the air out of the other man’s lungs. 

“But--”

“That man? You know, the one you keep fucking assuming his own feelings for? Yeah, he gives a shit about you! In fact, just earlier today, we had a whole fucking meetup because he was so torn up about you leaving him on read!” He rants furiously, jostling Sang-woo every now and then. 

“I don’t care if you don’t think you deserve Ali’s forgiveness or that you have to repent for sinning or fucking whatever , because you’ve gotta get it through your thick fucking skull that you have people who actually love and care about you!”

(Oh.)

Sang-woo’s vision clouds, slowly raising his hand up to his face as he realizes that he’s crying.

“God… I can’t do this right now,” Gi-hun grumbles, releasing Sang-woo’s lapels and raising his hands in the air in defeat, shoving the other man aside and ripping open the door, storming out as Sang-woo stands there frozen, quiet sobs wracking his system.

Sang-woo’s head spins, aching and churning as he fruitlessly tries to pick apart and understand everything that’s just been thrown at him, his knees buckling beneath him. He falls to his knees with a loud ‘thunk’, but he can’t feel the pain his knees are surely feeling through the haze of pins and needles assaulting his arms and legs.

(He can’t breathe.)

Choking on his own sobs, Sang-woo stares down at his hands, trembling and jolting so badly he thinks he must be dying.

(He can’t breathe. He’s going to die. 

He’s going to die here 

and nobody will know 

and nobody will care.)

Hyperventilating, Sang-woo curls into a ball, gripping the back of his head roughly. His nails dig into his scalp, the sharp, needling pain somewhat distracting from what he’s convinced is his imminent death.

(As black spots dance across his vision, faintly, Sang-woo thinks he may hear someone pull up outside.)

His heart beating so loudly that he can feel it in his head, Sang-woo desperately claws at his own head, choked wails escaping from his throat.

Darkness overtakes his vision,

and suddenly,

he’s gone.


“Hey, what’s with this weird, rusty-ass bike?”

Chapter 6: Falling Asleep Whilst We're Still Talking

Summary:

Dēfectiō f (genitive dēfectiōnis); third declension

  1. failing, failure, deficiency, want, disappearance
  2. eclipse
  3. ellipsis
  4. a fainting spell, failure of energy or stamina

Notes:

TW FOR INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS THAT MENTION SELF HARM + light self harm/suicidal thoughts !! please stay safe :( (tags have been updated to reflect this)
weirdly enough i had a really hard time just.... writing this chapter (i think i might just not be too good at writing confrontations/angst) but i really hope you guys enjoy!!!

Chapter Text

Friday November 19th, 2021

???

> ???

 

“Mgrnnngh…"

Sang-woo rolls over, sprawling his arms out and bending one of his legs. Blearily, he half-heartedly tugs the comforter over him, shifting over on his side, cocooning himself in the warmth.

Inhaling deeply, Sang-woo feels his muscles relax, the stinging soreness from overexertion earlier still present but dulled by the simple pleasure of lying down in a bed.

(The pillow smells of baby powder and citrus - a familiar scent that he just can’t quite place.)

Snuggling into the pillow, Sang-woo relishes in actually just being able to lie down and relax, yawning loudly.

(What time is it?)

Cracking open the eye that isn't smushed against a pillow, Sang-woo glances around the room, spotting a window.

Squinting at said window, he figures that it seems to be quite late at night, possibly even past midnight - not to mention, it's raining cats and dogs outside, the soft pitter-patter of raindrops against the glass loud enough to clue Sang-woo in.

Slowly sitting himself up in bed, his muscles screaming unbearably at the minor movement, Sang-woo surveys the room in an attempt to identify where he is.

(Too well decorated to be a hotel room, at least.)

His memories blurry and slurred together, Sang-woo assumes he got upset after he got to Gi-hun's house and went out drinking, after which he slept with a stranger to distract himself from the overpowering urge to drown himself. 

(Not the most dignified way to cope with his issues, but quite frankly, if he's not dead or dying, then he supposes it's good enough.)

Assorted knickknacks line every surface possible, child-like drawings littering the walls and stuffed animals and pop culture memorabilia are neatly arranged on shelves and the dresser, well taken care of.

(Strangely, there's an empty space on one of the shelves, the only thing filling it being a small bag that's been tied tightly shut and shoved to the back.)

Posters of foreign movies line the walls, alongside the scribbled drawings. Notably, one seems to have been torn down, remnants of the poster left behind but seemingly, the owner of the room had at least attempted to scratch it off.

Rubbing his bleary eyes, Sang-woo slowly swings his legs off the side of the bed, spotting a note folded in half, carefully placed next to a fidget toy. 

Shifting over a bit, Sang-woo gently pinches the note, unfolding it curiously.


staying out late today so you have to pick up aysar from toddler bongos

xoxo ima


(Did… he sleep with a married man who has a child?!)

Sang-woo blanches, immediately sobered as he quickly re-folds the note and drops it back where he found it, standing up out of the stranger's bed and looking for his briefcase.

Spotting it propped up next to the closet, his suit jacket neatly folded on top of it, Sang-woo sighs, relieved. He quickly makes his way over to his things, slipping on the jacket quickly, grabbing his briefcase and unlocking it with deft hands.

Picking up the dark mauve card inside and inspecting it, matching every number on it to the numbers engraved in his memory, Sang-woo breathes another sigh of relief, the card definitely his.

Patting down his pockets as he rushes out of the room, attempting to be as quiet as possible out of respect for whoever's husband he slept with, he pulls his phone out, impatiently clicking the power button.

The time pops up on his screen - 11:36 PM - along with a couple of notifications that he swipes away absentmindedly. 

Shutting off his phone, he shoves it back into his pocket, spotting the front door, a big note plastered on it that he can't quite read.

Kneeling down to put on his shoes - strangely, they're neatly arranged in front of the door - Sang-woo gazes up curiously at the note, scanning its contents.


ALI

I LEFT SANGWOO ON YOUR BED

SORRY

I KNOW YOURE MAD AT US BUT 

PLEASE TAKE CARE OF HIM

I TEXTED YOU MORE DETAILS

AND FOR WHAT ITS WORTH 

IM REALLY SORRY 

 

JIYEONG


 

Oh. 

Oh no.

(This is almost as bad as getting so blackout drunk you somehow forget even going to the bar and sleeping with a random married stranger. Almost.)

“Fuck,” Sang-woo curses under his breath, staring wide-eyed at the note.

(God damn you, Ji-yeong, you little shit.)

Not evening bothering to put his shoes on properly, Sang-woo jams his foot into the remaining shoe and springs up from the floor, fumbling for a moment with the unfamiliar lock before ripping open the door, shutting off the lights behind him out of both compulsion and habit.

Firmly shutting the door behind him, Sang-woo mutters a quiet apology to Ali for leaving the door unlocked.

Glancing around, Sang-woo frowns, having trouble recognizing where he is. It feels somewhat familiar, and yet disconnected from him at the same time.

('You said you live in Ansan, right?')

Oh. Right, then. Ansan.

(His heart hurts.)

Making his way off of Ali's property, Sang-woo squints down the street, looking for a bus station, or a street sign, or anything that could help him get to a shitty hotel room.

('I'm sick of you just running away whenever you're upset!')

… Maybe not, actually. 

Spotting a bus pulling up at a small stop down the street, Sang-woo mutters a curse under his breath and starts jogging towards it, praying that the driver sees him.

Evidently, the driver does not.

“God damn it,” Sang-woo huffs, doubled over and breathing heavily.

(Oh, how he just loves . Public. Transit.)

Anxiety bubbling in his gut at the prospect of running around Ansan like a headless chicken in the middle of the night, Sang-woo fumbles with his phone, checking the bus schedule.

A high, childish voice rings out from behind him, causing him to nearly jump out of his own skin. 

“Abbu! Dekhna!”

Sang-woo cautiously turns around, glancing around for the source of his voice, before another, more familiar voice causes him to freeze in his tracks.

“... Sir?”

Sang-woo slowly looks up, barely meeting the bewildered stare of Ali Abdul, a small child holding onto his hand and pointing excitedly at the Korean man.

(Oh.)

Sang-woo can feel his heart in his throat, anxiety stirring in him like a brewing storm.

“Abbu?” The little boy’s brows furrow in concern, tugging on his father’s hand whilst speaking a mix of a foriegn language and Korean, leaving Sang-woo slightly lost. “Abbu, yeh hai kon man?”

(Well, at least he was called a man… He thinks.)

“Ah, um,” Ali stammers, kneeling down in front of his son, gently setting his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Aysar, you go on ahead first, okay?”

Aysar pouts for a moment, before reluctantly nodding and holding his hand out. Ali breathes a sigh of relief and gently hands his son his keys, the young boy running off towards the door diligently.

Ali slowly stands up, brushing dust off his jacket with a sigh before he remembers Sang-woo is there.

(Honestly, Sang-woo was kind of hoping he wouldn’t remember.)

Swallowing around a painful lump in his throat, Sang-woo stares pointedly at the sidewalk, unable to even make eye contact with the other man.

(Coward.)

Ali takes a tentative step forward, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides.

“Sir, please look at me,” Ali asks softly, his soft brown eyes betraying none of the many emotions behind them.

Hesitantly, Sang-woo raises his head, forcing himself to meet Ali’s gaze with shaky eyes.

(It feels wrong. Sang-woo hates direct eye contact, but this is somehow more agonizing than that.)

They stay like that for a long, long time, staring at each other, dead silent.

Sang-woo's expression is stoic, but on the inside, he's horrified .

Sang-woo watches with bated breath as a whirlpool of emotions brews behind Ali’s dark eyes - fury, grief, elation, betrayal… fear.

Ali begins to walk towards Sang-woo, gradually walking faster with every step. Sang-woo tenses up, his anxious eyes locked with Ali’s indecipherable ones.

Slowly, Ali’s left hand drifts up to cup Sang-woo’s cheek gently. 

Sang-woo’s breath hitches in his throat, the older man completely frozen as Ali softly brushes his fingers against his cheek, his eyes piercing as he stares deeply into Sang-woo’s eyes. He feels completely exposed under the other man’s gaze.

(If not for the circumstances that led to it, Sang-woo subconsciously thinks he might have liked it.)

Ali slowly lets his arm fall back to his side, taking a single step back, his gaze locked with Sang-woo’s the entire time.

Gently, Ali takes Sang-woo’s hand in his.

Squeezes it.

And punches him in the face.

Just once.

Sang-woo’s cheek stings, as do Ali’s knuckles.

(And Sang-woo’s eyes well up with tears, just like Ali’s.)

Sang-woo stumbles back, blinking rapidly both because of the tears threatening to spill and because of the aching pain of the punch. 

Ali’s expression quickly shifts to distraught, and he launches himself at Sang-woo, throwing his arms around the other man’s neck, pulling Sang-woo down to his height.

"How much of it was lies?" Ali whispers, his voice cracking at the end.

And Sang-woo just breaks.

His knees buckle beneath him, and he leans against Ali, returning the hug tenfold.

A horrible, choked wail escapes Sang-woo, as he holds onto the younger man, terrified that if he lets go for even a second, Ali could disappear.

(He must look so pathetic, sobbing against Ali’s shoulder.)

Ali sighs quietly as the pride of Ssangmun-dong weeps in the arms of a man he barely knew.

This is the man who murdered him, and yet he can’t help but hold him in his arms, rubbing comforting circles on his back.

And maybe, Sang-woo’s shoulders are wet too.

Maybe Ali shakes and gasps, holding back sobs.

But what does it matter?

What of two lost people crying in each other’s arms, having lost everything but each other?

(Because if they didn’t have each other at that moment, then did they really have anything at all?)

“Ali,” Sang-woo chokes out, the last syllable stretched out from his cries. “I-I-I- I’m sorry… I’m- I’m sorry…” 

Ali holds Sang-woo closer to him, his lips screwed shut so sobs don’t escape them, sniffling quietly as his body jolts with each held back wail.

“I’m sorry, I-I’m sorryyy!” Sang-woo weeps, his voice cracking. His body shakes and trembles so hard he can barely feel his limbs through the pins and needles. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

As they sit there on the street, holding onto each other for dear life, all Sang-woo receives in response to his wailed apologies are sharp, shaky inhales from the man that he killed.

(Strangely, as their sobs slowly die down, both men find themselves feeling somewhat emancipated.)


Friday November 19th, 2021

12:43 AM

> Ali Abdul’s Residence

 

Sang-woo sits silently on the worn-down couch, staring at the hardwood floor uncomfortably.

He doesn’t feel like he belongs here. 

(He feels like a wolf among the sheep.)

Faintly, Sang-woo hears Ali’s soft voice drifting out from behind a bedroom door, speaking in a foreign language.

(Sang-woo wonders if it’s Urdu. Sang-woo wonders what Ali’s hometown is like.)

“Goodnight, beta,” Ali whispers to his sleepy son, cracking the door open slightly and slipping out of it, softly shutting it behind him. 

Sang-woo flinches as he does, anxiously picking at his fingers.

(God, he really is the worst.)

“Sir?” Ali says softly, causing Sang-woo to jolt slightly at the sudden attention. “May I sit?”

(Sang-woo’s heart aches at the question - how was he the one being asked for permission to sit in someone else’s house?)

“Y-Yeah,” Sang-woo mutters, tearing off a hangnail. “Of course.”

(The familiar stings of pain comforts him as blood quickly pools at the edge of his nail.)

Ali drops down tiredly on the couch next to Sang-woo, exhaling deeply.

(The distance between them may only be around a foot, but to them, it may as well be miles.)

“So…” Ali starts, staring at his own lap with a nervous glint in his eyes.

Sang-woo glances at Ali a few times out of the corner of his eye before nodding hesitantly as a response, his throat practically closing up at the idea of giving a verbal response.

(‘I like you please don’t leave please don’t leave I care about you I care I swear please please please don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t hate me please I beg of you please stay please help me I’m drowning and I can’t I can’t live without you please plea--’)

His mind racing with too many thoughts all at once, Sang-woo opens his mouth to let the first thought that comes to mind tumble out.

(Having mulled over and thought about what he would ask once he finally saw Sang-woo again for the past two months, Ali’s lips part slightly to allow him to say the question that’s been plaguing his mind ever since he was killed.)

“Why do you keep calling m--”

“Why did you kill m--”

(Fuck, shit, bitch and dicks.)

“Sorry,” Sang-woo mumbles, scowling at his lap, distressed, anxiety snaking up his back like overgrown vines.

“No, no!” Ali exclaims nervously, waving his hands around dismissively. “I’m sorry, you- you can speak first, sir.”

“It’s- My question was dumb,” Sang-woo stammers so quietly that if it weren’t for the awkward silence and their close proximity, he’d be inaudible. “You- You go first. Ali.” 

(Tacking the other man’s name on at the end as if it was an afterthought, Sang-woo nearly physically shudders at how wrong it feels to say his name.)

Cracking his knuckles as a nervous tick, Ali gazes at Sang-woo out of the corner of his eye, an indecipherable emotion coiling in his gut. “Oh. Um, okay, sir. Thank you.”

Tentatively, Sang-woo nods, his eyes laser-focused on the fabric of the couch he’s currently sitting on.

(Wow. Fun. You can see the weaving. Man, does Sang-woo love couch… es.)

Ali’s lips slowly part, the words getting caught in his throat before he finally manages to murmur quietly, his voice hoarse. 

“Why did you kill me?”

Sang-woo’s breath catches in his throat, wide-eyed as he stares, terrified, down at his own hands resting in his lap.

(The same hands that lied to Ali, killed him, handed him the fake bag, he tricked him he killed him he has to get rid of them he has to cut his hands he has to see them bleed he has to cut off his h)

“Uh,” Sang-woo chokes out, interrupting and somehow successfully derailing his train of thought with the embarrassment of responding to a totally valid question with a ridiculously loud ‘uh’.

Out of Sang-woo’s view, Ali’s brows furrow in concern, watching the man he once idolized for being such a put-together leader fidget and stammer.

(It makes his bleeding heart ache longingly, a part of him yearning to comfort the older man.)

“I just… just…” Sang-woo repeats, his mind both devoid of thoughts and overflowing with static. 

(He's just a horrible person, that's all there is to it. He's just a murderer, a liar, a fucking piece of shit who should've died instead be--)

“I just chose self-preservation. I’m- I’m a selfish person like that.” Sang-woo stammers, unable to tell whether he’s telling the truth or not, his own emotions now an enigma locked away from him in a place he can’t find by himself.

(But god, please, please let everything he says here be the truth.)

A long lapse of silent tension falls between the two, Ali’s expression inscrutable whilst Sang-woo seems terrified.

“That’s all you have to say?” Ali asks quietly, angling his head slightly to gaze at the other man.

(The gaze feels less like a gaze and more like freezing icicles piercing through his skull.)

Hesitantly, Sang-woo nods slowly, his eyes darting around to Ali’s legs, then his own, then the couch, then the floor.

(He has so much more to say, but how is a lost man supposed to say things he himself cannot understand?)

Ali bites his lower lip harshly, drawing the slightest bit of blood, which he promptly licks away. He nods slowly.

“You’re a jerk, sir.”

Sang-woo’s head snaps in Ali’s direction, his eyes slightly widened as he stares at the younger man incredulously.

His voice cracking slightly, Ali’s brows crease deeper as he attempts to hold back tears. 

“Stop lying to me, you asshole.”

“Huh..?” Sang-woo utters dumbly, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes for reasons unclear to himself.

“Tell me the truth.”

“The..?”

Please.”

Ali’s voice comes out broken and desperate, his hands clenched into shaky fists on his lap as small tears fall from his eyes to his pants, seeping into the fabric.

“I-I don’t…” Sang-woo whispers, his stomach lurching at his lack of control over the situation, anxiety clawing at his skin, desperate to break out. “I don’t kn-know what you- you want me to sa-say.”

“It’s not what I want you to say, sir,” Ali sniffles back a sob. “It’s what you want to say. Please. I just want the truth.”

“About… About wha-what?” Sang-woo whispers, desperately wishing he could run away and get drunk at a shithole bar to wash away his problems.

But he can’t keep running in circles like this, because if he does, soon, he’s going to die.

(No more running.)

“Anything,” Ali mumbles, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. “I just want the truth.”

“Bu-But, Ali,” Sang-woo argues weakly, scratching at an old scar on the back of his hand. “Ali, I… My thoughts don’t- don’t work like that, I just- I don’t even know what--”

“I meant it when I said anything.”

Ali’s sudden authoritative tone stuns Sang-woo into silence, watching quietly as he blinks away tears, sniffling loudly.

“I…”

‘I want to run away’. ‘I wish I could disappear’. ‘I can’t keep living like this’. 

‘I want someone to teleport in here with a gun and shoot me dead so I don’t have to have this conversation’.

(No more running.)

Bracing himself with a deep breath, Sang-woo takes Ali’s hands in his own so quickly he barely even registers that it happens, before squeezing his eyes tightly shut, his head tilted down.

“The- The fact that you apparently forgave me and- and wanted to get back in contact with me scared me, it scared me so bad because I’m such a bad person and you’re such a good person and I killed you and- and why would you want to talk to me?” 

Ali blinks slowly in response to Sang-woo’s word-vomit, but notably, he doesn’t pry his hands away from Sang-woo’s immediately like the older man had feared.

(Strangely, blabbering whatever pops into his mind feels cathartic.)

He takes another deep breath, anxiety crawling up his back.

His hands are squeezed lightly, almost encouragingly, and it may all just be a hallucination but either way, it fills Sang-woo with determination to see this conversation through to the end.

(No more running.)

“I’m really sorry that I ignored you all for so long and I ran away from you right after the games ended, but- but I was so so scared, I wasn’t ready, and I hope you understand. I should have replied when I realized you texted me and- and, well, I d-didn’t. And I’m really sorry, so I tried to go to Gi-hun’s house so- so I could talk to you, but I was so scared and you weren’t there and I talked to Gi-hun hyung and he got mad at me, he got so mad , and- and it was because I was an asshole, but- but he scared me, and I- I tried to run away again but all I remember is not being able to breath and falling and- and then I woke up in your bed and I’m so sorry, and, um, to answer your que-question, I didn’t- I wasn’t- it wasn’t like, a big plan for me to kill you in the end, I- I really just- I liked you, so I gave you that bus fare and ramen and when we shared that corn on night watch, I don’t think I’ve been that happy since I was in elementary school, and also it hurt- it hurt my feelings a lot when you called me sir again and I don’t think that’s your fault but I just wanted to tell you that it made me sad because I hoped deep down you still wanted to be my friend.”

Exhaling loudly, Sang-woo’s eyes flutter open, as he suddenly realizes he’s been crying.

“Oh,” Sang-woo mumbles shakily, letting go of Ali’s hand to wipe his eyes, before his hand is yanked back down, a quiet gasp escaping him.

“Sang-woo,” Ali breathes, saying the other man’s name like a prayer. 

(Sang-woo’s heart flutters strangely hearing the younger man say his name.)

“Sang-woo… hyung..?” Ali glances up shyly through the thin veil of his bangs, as if he’s worried that the other man will suddenly hiss and recoil in disgust.

“Ali,” Sang-woo whispers, meeting said man’s warm gaze with his own dark eyes. “You- I know I said a lot, you don’t have to pretend--”

Suddenly, Sang-woo is cut off by Ali throwing his arms around him, nearly crushing his ribs in a tight hug that makes his heart beat louder than what he assumes is humanly possible.

His eyes wide and his arms hovering awkwardly, suspended in the air above Ali’s back, Sang-woo feels a lump grow in his throat as his eyes well up with tears.

“Hyung,” Ali whispers in his ear, his shaky voice causing Sang-woo to shiver. “Please, listen.”

“You aren’t a bad person, and I’m not a good person. Together, if you want, we can just… be. Hyung and Dongsaeng. Players 218 and 199.”

A tight, tearful smile.

“Sang-woo Cho and Ali Abdul.”

And with that, Sang-woo bursts like a dam, sobbing late into the night, his wails accompanied only by softly whispered sweet nothings.

Chapter 7: 'Cause I'm a Liar

Summary:

Fuga f (genitive fugae); first declension

  1. flight, fleeing, escape
  2. avoidance
  3. exile

Notes:

sorry for the delay!!!! ive kind of hit a roadblock with this chapter + i started my job at an allergy clinic + im still catching up on my 2 month abscense from school so ive been super super busy and not had too much time for my boys but THEYRE HERE!! and i missed them!! (+ also, im gonna change all the titles, but keep the summaries the same - i like them :D)
i hope you enjoy this chapter <3

Chapter Text

The smell of food wafts in through the door, the faint sound of boiling water drifting in through the walls.

Sang-woo half-heartedly cracks his left eye open - he momentarily tries to open his right one at the same time, before realizing it's squished against the pillow - taking a long, deep breath as he slowly peels his face off of the pillow.

(The gentle scent of baby powder with light traces of citrus floods his senses, a gentle wake up call.)

Rubbing his eyes roughly, he blinks blearily as he slowly sits up, yawning.

(God, his back feels like it has the structural integrity of whipped cream right now.)

“Where..?” Mumbling out loud by accident, Sang-woo struggles to stifle an onslaught of yawns, coming to the eventual realization of where he is.

(Right. Ali’s house.)

Dredging up his memories of the night before as if they were decades old, his eyes flutter shut as a headache starts to set in.


Ali awakens with a jolt at the sound of the door unlocking, his eyes frantically darting towards the door.

The door creaks open cautiously, a chilling breeze drifting in that causes the man to shiver, subconsciously hugging the unconscious Sang-woo closer to him.

"Oh! Hey, Ali. Why're you still up?" Zaima tilts her head curiously, the sudden language change a little jarring to her brother, who's barely awake.

“I wasn’t,” Ali responds wearily, after giving himself a moment to remember what words are. He can barely keep his eyes open, his eyelids heavy as he tries and fails to stifle a huge yawn. “What time is it?”

“Like, 3 in the morning,” Zaima replies, her voice muffled slightly as she takes off her shayla, giving her brother a puzzled look. “But seriously, you always go to bed at like, nine. Why are you out here?”

Giving his sister a ‘seriously?’ look, Ali gestures at the grown man currently clinging to him like a koala to a tree, a blanket gingerly tugged over him.

“Oh damn,” Zaima gasps quietly, slapping a hand over her mouth. “Who’s that? You never told me about an old Korean businessman! Shame, Ali. Shame.” She clicks her tongue disapprovingly.

“He’s not old!” Ali hisses, shooting his sister an annoyed look. Zaima rolls her eyes in response, hanging up her jacket and promptly throwing herself at the free space on the worn couch with a loud ‘oof’.

“Oh my God, Ima, cut it out!” Ali complains, keeping his volume low, although his annoyance is obvious either way. His sister sticks out her tongue in defiance, and he shoots her an icy scowl as best as he can whilst supporting Sang-woo’s body weight.

“So, hey, seriously,” Zaima says, lowering her voice and glancing towards Aysar’s bedroom before turning her attention back to the pair of men. “Who is this guy? A friend? A coworker?”

Shame crawls up Ali’s back as he remembers that he still hasn’t explained everything to Zaima - just snippets about his friends, but never anything about the pink soldiers or the death or the games or Sang-woo’s betrayal.

(As always, the last one stings the worst, like an open wound getting a knife driven into it.)

“Um…” Batting his eyelashes nervously, Ali turns his gaze downwards, focusing on Sang-woo’s tear-stained face.

Ali recalls that when Sang-woo fell asleep during the games, he always had his eyebrows furrowed and a deep frown on his face, even though he was unconscious.

(A soft smile spreads across the younger man’s face as he notices that Sang-woo’s expression seems truly peaceful for the first time, the muscles in his face relaxed and his lips slightly parted, his glasses knocked askew.)

“Hellooo? Earth to Ali?” Zaima waves her hand in front of her brother’s face, yanking him out of his daze when his view of Sang-woo’s face is obscured by her fingers.

Swatting her hand away, Ali gives her an annoyed frown that quickly disappears when Sang-woo shifts in his sleep, startling him slightly.

“Dude, come on!” Zaima exclaims quietly, still being mindful of Aysar and his much-needed sleep. “You still haven’t told me who this old man is.”

“He’s only thirty-nine,” Ali grumbles in response.

“Ughhh, come on !”

Sighing deeply, Ali raises his hands slightly in defeat. “Jeez, fine!” 

Pausing for a moment to glance around and make sure Aysar isn’t awake and wandering around, then glancing down to check if his Hyung awoke from their hushed argument - he didn’t, and Ali worries it’s because of a lack of sleep. 

“You remember that night when I got home at one in the morning?” Ali murmurs, keeping his gaze focused on the man beneath him.

“Uh-huh,” Zaima responds, leaning forward as she watches intently. “You said came from Yeouido, and I–”

“-- called me an idiot because I didn’t have any money on me when I left,” Ali finishes, scratching the back of his head nervously.

“Yeah, and?” His sister prompts, waving her hands in a hurrying gesture.

“... You remember when I told you a handsome stranger gave the bus fare home?” Ali mumbles under his breath, ducking his head sheepishly. “... and how he lent me his phone, and bought cup noodles that we ate together at the convenience store that I pass by every day?”

Zaima’s eyes slowly widen as she realizes what Ali’s implying, her gaze darting back and forth between her embarrassed brother, his hands covering his face, and the softly snoring, presumably unconscious Korean man sleeping, an arm slung around Ali’s waist.

“No way.”

“Don’t- Don’t judge me!” Ali whines, earning a loud snort from his sister.

“Fine, but only because it’s late. Let’s get him out on the pull-out so I can go to bed.” Getting up from her spot on the couch, - hilariously, Ali realizes she left an indent - Zaima yawns obnoxiously.

“Actually, I’m going to carry him to my bed.” 

Nonchalantly, Ali carefully pries the other man’s arms off of him, slowly getting up so as not to disturb him, all whilst his sister stares at him, slack-jawed.

“Your bed??”

“Hm? Yeah.” Ali shrugs, as if this was the most obvious solution. “He mumbles about how bad his shoulders and back hurts when he thinks no one is listening - well, I guess I was the only one who was listening to him all the time. It’s kind of cute, in a way.”

“Okay, first of all, gross. Second of all, wow. You really like this guy, huh, Ali?” Zaima raises an eyebrow questioningly, her joking tone overshadowing the worry hidden underneath.

“Well,” Ali starts, pausing to carefully lift his companion in a bridal-style carry with a quiet grunt. “I suppose I do like Hyung a lot, but… there’s a lot we have to sort out first, y’know?” He tilts his head, gesturing for Zaima to go ahead so she can hold the door open.

Her brows furrow in suspicion, the smile vanishing off her face as she crosses her arms disapprovingly. "Uh huh. Dropped the ball, Ali."

Ali's stomach drops, his heartbeat quickening. 

His voice comes out mostly steady, a twinge of shame only barely noticeable. "What do you mean? Ima, come on, open the door already."

"You just called him your 'hyung'." Zaima flips one finger up, staring daggers into her brother.

"You called him a stranger who you supposedly only spent one evening with, but you know his habits and said you said you were listening to him 'all the time' - ergo, you met more than once." She flips up a second finger.

"And finally, you're actively allowing him to sleep in your bed." She flips a third and final finger up with a flourish. 

"No one gets this privilege - not even Aysar! And he's your son!" Throwing her arms in the air in exasperation, Zaima watches in satisfaction as Ali slowly shrinks back into himself in embarrassment. "Literally no other parent ever gets into their kid's bed when they say they wanna go to sleep with you because they’re scared. Everyone in the Abdul household knows it - 'Ali is a dragon, and his bed is his treasure'."

Ali huffs quietly through his nose, attempting to scowl at Zaima, although it comes out more like  a slightly annoyed look rather than a scornful glare. “Well, that’s just because you guys would always take naps in my bed. That’s where I sleep.”

“Family members share beds all the time, you’re just weird like that,” his sister snorts, swatting him lightly on the arm. “Whatever. As long as you promise this guy isn’t a murderer, sure, he can stay in our house for the night.”

Ali’s breath catches in his throat, an unnerving chill overshadowing him.

“Yeah. He isn’t.”

“Well then,” Zaima struts ahead, luckily not picking up on the strangely robotic tone with which Ali replied, gently opening the door to Ali’s bedroom with a cautious glance at Aysar’s room. “Let’s get your ‘Hyung’ in an actual bed before we wake him and Aysar up with our arguments about your sad love life.”

Forcing a shaky smile onto his face, Ali nods, the concerningly light body in his arms suddenly feeling like he’s instead carrying the weight of the world. “Okay.”

(Wrapped up in a tornado of his own thoughts, Ali doesn’t notice the furrow of Sang-woo’s eyebrows or how his once open hands are now clenched into tense fists.)


Sang-woo slowly exhales, his shoulders sagging a bit at the hurtful memories, snippets of conversation and jabs, but most importantly, Ali’s hesitation at Zaima’s joke.

(Whatever. Ali’s right, in all technicality.)

Shuffling his way towards the edge of the bed, a sudden pang of realization hits him like a truck.

These aren’t his pants.

These aren’t his clothes.

(Please, please, please, dear whatever god or spirit or guardian is out there, please--)

His hands shoot up to his chest, his eyes wide and his heart in his throat.

(His fingers feel out the familiar, faint edge of beige tape on his chest.)

Letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, Sang-woo’s hands move up from his chest to his head, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

(A light ripple of amusement rises in him as he realizes he must look exactly like a stock photo for depression.)

Letting his forearms drop and tilting his head up, Sang-woo stares blankly at the ceiling, as if he’s looking for something.

(He doesn’t really know what he’s looking for, though.)

“... What the hell is wrong with me?”


“Beta?” Ali says softly, knocking gently on his son’s door - three knocks, a short pause, and then another three knocks. “Time for breakfast. I made halwa and gamja jorim.”

Silently doing a victorious fist pump as he hears Aysar’s blankets ruffle and light footsteps, indicating his son is in the process of waking up, Ali nearly jumps out of his own skin when Zaima snorts from right behind him.

“Really? Bribing him with halwa and sauce potatoes?” Zaima rolls her eyes, drops of water falling to the ground below her as she dries her hair by roughly scrubbing it with a towel.

“They’re not ‘sauce potatoes’, they’re gamja jorim,” Ali shoots back, a disapproving frown on his face. “And they’re his favourite. I even packed some extras in his lunch for him to share with Jae-woo.”

“Jae-woo…” Zaima furrows her eyebrows in thought, patting her hair down. “Oh! The kid who has a dumb big vocabulary for a preschooler?”

“Yes!” Ali exclaims excitedly, his eyes practically shining. “They’re so cute and they’re so nice to Aysar!” 

He sighs happily, a dreamy look on his face as he recalls a recent memory. “One of the caretakers told me yesterday that Aysar tripped and scraped his side, and that Jae-woo helped him back inside and insisted on putting the bandage on themselves, and for the rest of the week, they didn’t leave Aysar’s side once. How sweet is that?!”

Zaima rolls her eyes good-naturedly, ruffling her older brother’s hair in exchange for an annoyed pout. “I will never understand parenthood, but as long as you guys are safe and happy, I guess.”

Lightheartedly pushing his sister, Ali’s lips quirk up into a playful smile. “Oh, shut up. Your breakfast is getting cold. You have criminals to arrest, right?”

Stumbling out into the living room, Zaima shouts at Ali’s back, as he turns his attention back to his son’s door. “I told you, I’m not the one doing the arrests! That’s a police officer! … Ooh, sausage buns.”


“I told you, I’m not the one doing the arrests! That’s a police officer!”

Sang-woo flinches at the loud voice, snapping out of his half-depressive and half-exhausted daze.

Right. He’s at Ali’s house.

(... He should leave.)

“Aysar!” Ali’s voice booms through the house, the authoritative tone causing Sang-woo to shrink in on himself out of instinct. “Don’t run through the halls, you’re going to slip!”

He’s intruding. He really shouldn’t be here, this is… He doesn’t belong here.

(Even though he kind of wants to stay.)

Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, Sang-woo has to make a significant effort to push himself up and off of the edge of the bed, standing up on trembling legs. The floorboards creak under him, almost as if to alert the family that there was an intruder in their house.

(Well, not in the traditional sense, but he digresses.)

Spotting his clothes neatly folded and placed on a box near the door, Sang-woo sighs and gets to work changing out of the soft, borrowed clothes that smell faintly of Ali.


“Alright,” Zaima mumbles, her voice muffled by the entire piece of toast crammed in her mouth. “My coworker is here, I gotta dash.”

Ali nods, grabbing her jacket off of the rack and holding it out for her whilst she haphazardly tosses on her shayla. Shoving her arms in the sleeves of her pea coat, her brother frowns in concentration as he fixes her shayla so it doesn’t just look like she forgot how to put on a scarf.

As Zaima opens the door, balancing on one foot whilst she adjusts her ankle boot that’s practically hanging off her heel, Aysar lets out a loud gasp and rushes to shuffle off of his chair, the two adults watching him run into his room without even closing the door in a mix of shock and confusion. 

Aysar practically bursts out of his room, pausing in his mad dash only to methodically close his door before continuing to run as fast as his legs can take him towards his aunt and father.

“Hey, hey,” Ali exclaims, crouching down and holding out his arms to stop the little force of nature in his tracks. An amused smile spreads across his lips, tilting his head at Aysar practically vibrating in excitement, something paper-like clutched in his tiny hands. 

“What’s that, little buddy?” Zaima asks, attempting to keep her gaze on Aysar as she hops on one foot, trying and half-failing to pull up her left sock.

“Jae-woo taught me something in Korean!” Aysar jumps up and down excitedly, holding up something to show Zaima, whose eyes widen, causing Ali to stand back up to see as well. 

Ali’s eyes widen, an adoring shine in them, his lips slightly parting in surprise at the small creation in the palms of his son’s hands - a slightly crumpled but methodically folded origami lily.

“Gomoreul wihan baekap!” Aysar exclaims excitedly, straining to stand as tall as he can, urging Zaima to take it.

An adoring shine in her eyes, Zaima fails to stifle a big grin, stretching ear-to-ear as she slowly leans towards Ali, keeping her gaze glued on the little paper flower as she whispers lowly to her brother.

“Ali.”

“What?”

“I don’t know what he’s saying. Like, at all.”

“Zaima!” Ali shouts, aghast.

The ensuing cackling is so loud that none of the family members even notice when a grown man clambors out of Ali’s bedroom window, his joints creaking like he’s 50 years older than he is.

Chapter 8: Non-Breath Oblige (I Love You)

Summary:

Perturbō (present infinitive perturbāreperfect active perturbāvīsupine perturbātum); first conjugation

  1. I confuse
  2. I disturb or perturb
  3. I trouble or alarm

Notes:

I don't know how I feel about this chapter tbh. I'm considering discontinuing the whole story altogether T_T I think I bit off more than I can chew
Sorry for the delay also! I know it's Winter Break but I've been trying to kick nicotine and it's been affecting my work and I just don't feel very creatively charged at all lately - I think I might go back to one-shots, but no matter what I end up doing thank you for reading :)

Chapter Text

Saturday, November 20th

???

> Ali Abdul’s Residence (Outside)

 

Heaving embarrassingly hard, Sang-woo lays there in the grass outside of his friend’s (?) house, limbs splayed out not unlike a starfish.

A wave of shame washes over him as it dawns on him that he’s doing the exact same thing he’s done to Ali over and over again. 

Running away.

First, during the fourth game.

(In.)

Then, when they were freed.

(Out.)

And then again, when they've finally met again.

(His breath catches in his throat as he suppresses a coughing fit, his eyes watering as he tries not to hack out his lungs.)

He’s a coward, he supposes - it’s in his nature, isn’t it?

(... Despite it all, it still makes Sang-woo feel disappointed in himself.)

Melancholic thoughts drifting through his mind, he lays there, unmoving, focused on the rise and fall of his chest.

In.

Out.

Alive.

He’s alive.

(Why is he alive?)

Strangely, there isn’t a pang of hurt or sadness in him like there was when he was a child - instead, there’s a familiar void of emptiness, completely neutral, but only because he’s so exhausted it feels like he’s a passenger in his own life.

He’s alive because he’s breathing, and he’s breathing because he’s alive.

He shouldn’t be alive. He died.

He’s dead.

(But he’s not.)

Exhaling deeply, Sang-woo’s expression quickly shifts to a more pitiful, troubled one - although he’s too focused on his depressing thoughts to notice.

A boy-ish, irritatingly scratchy voice drifts towards him from the sidewalk in front of Ali’s property. “Dad, why is that lady lying in the grass?”

(Sang-woo feels like he’s going to throw up every single one of his organs.)

“Sweetie, that’s a man, and don’t stare, it’s rude.”

Sang-woo raises his eyebrows in mild surprise, feeling a slight weight lift off his chest, so now he only feels like he’s getting crushed by a 999 ton brick rather than 1000.

“But then why does his face kinda look like moms?” The little boy replies, much louder than necessary, considering the father sounded as if he was nearly past Ali’s house at that point.

(If he has to listen to some asshole little kid misgender him for any longer, he’s going to rip out every single one of his own ribs and chew them into dust out of frustration.)

“What did I say?” The father scolds, his voice drifting further and further away, the family now out of earshot.

Quickly glancing at the sidewalk to make sure they aren’t there, Sang-woo’s head hits the grass with a soft ‘thunk’ as he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Scowling at the clouds, Sang-woo mumbles to himself under his breath, cursing himself and every god he’s ever heard of. “You’d think by the time I was almost 40 I’d look ‘male’ enough for them…”

“Male enough for who?”

“GOD!!” Sang-woo shrieks, launching up from his spot on the grass as if he was doing a weasel war dance, subsequently smashing the left side of his body against the outside of Ali’s house. His shoulder cracks and pops uncomfortably loudly when he does, the adrenaline coursing through his veins hiding the faint twist of pain.

“Goodness,” the stranger stops hovering over Sang-woo for a second, standing up straight and raising their hands in the air in mock defense. “Why so jumpy?”

(Because you’re a stranger and you look kind of greasy and when did you get there?!)

Insults and curses run through Sang-woo’s mind like jackrabbits, but when he opens his mouth to speak, all that spills out is a few incoherent grunts. “Wha… Huh… Buh…”

“Shit. You don’t have a concussion, do you?” The stranger crouches down, giving Sang-woo a clearer look at them. “Well, looking at the incident, I’d say your shoulder should be broken, not your head, but…”

The frustrating itch of vague familiarity torments Sang-woo as he squints at his unwanted companion. Their strangely small circle-lensed glasses sit high on the bridge of their nose, reminding him bitterly of his peers at SNU. The stranger tilts their head slightly whilst they stare directly into his eyes, scarily blank and devoid of emotions, almost like a snake’s, a grossly uncomfortable feeling bubbling in Sang-woo’s gut in response.

Their thin lips quirk into a smirk that makes Sang-woo’s jaw tense. The stranger huffs condescendingly, their short, curtained bangs bouncing slightly. “Still don’t recognize me? Hm. Thought you went to SNU?” They click their tongue, raising their hand to the collar of the black turtleneck they’re wearing, Sang-woo inadvertently flinching at the movement.

(Bright flashes between light and dark. The loud clanging of metal beams against beds. Gi-hun ushering a player away from that thug’s group. Someone nearly brains him with the leg of a bed before Ali comes swinging in with a giant beam, knocking them to the ground. 

Ali grabs his hand, and Sang-woo points with a breathless exclamation of ‘there!’ as he spots Gi-hun and another player, huddling against a bed. Ali knocks someone out of their way, Sang-woo giving them a stomp on the knees to ensure that they’ll stay down as they pass. Huddling behind Gi-hun, Ali briefly letting go of his beam - which he somehow holds up with one hand - to give Sang-woo’s left hand a comforting squeeze. 

The thug’s gang sidles up uncomfortably calmly, the chaos raging on behind them. Deok-su has a shit-eating smirk on his face, the hand without a knife in it defending the man behind him, who seems unfit for the gang’s violent activities - in fact, he’s unfamiliar and clearly nervous, his knuckles turning white as he unintentionally chokes a metal pole with his grip.) 

“Maybe this’ll jog your memory?” The smirk on their face sends chills down Sang-woo’s spine, watching wide-eyed and frozen as the stranger tugs their turtleneck down, revealing a number tattooed on the side of their neck. 

(Sang-woo spares a glance at the newcomer’s uniform - 111 - subconsciously noting the number down as one of 101’s goons.)

‘111’.

Sang-woo’s heart nearly stops in its tracks.

“Ahh, there you go.” 111 grins, the rest of his face disturbingly unemotive. He lets go of his collar, the turtleneck bouncing back up to hide the identifying number. 

Sang-woo breathes heavily, absolutely convinced that this is where he gets murdered - right after launching himself out of window and then at a wall. What a way to go.

111’s soulless smile twists into a slight frown, leaning back slightly. Sang-woo sighs deeply, grateful for the personal space - he didn’t really feel like breathing hot air all over the guy he’s currently terrified of.

“It’s no fun if I do all the speaking,” 111 tilts his head mock-pitifully, mimicking a pout that makes the other man feel sick to his stomach. “Come on, 218. Talk to me.”

(What in the absolute FUCK is he supposed to say in this scenario?!)

“What are you-- Why you-- Who–” Sang-woo stammers, half-sure that if he doesn’t speak, he’s going to be found dead, shanked with a scalpel.

111 snorts condescendingly. “I’m a human, clearly. My name is Jang Byeong-gi. I work as a surgeon, though I’ve had my license revoked - if you tell anyone that, I’ll take your organs and put them into chocolates and I’ll send them to your little foriegn boytoy and his son.” 

Byeong-gi smiles joylessly, closing his eyes as Sang-woo squashes down both rage and sadness in an attempt to minimize the amount of embarrassing-himself he’s going to do in front of Player 111.

(Wait.)

Byeong-gi… Jang?

“Jang?” Sang-woo repeats, his brows furrowing incredulously. “Like… Jang Deok-su?”

“There you go!” Byeong-gi claps humourlessly, the same blank smile on his face, this time with his eyes opened and leering at Sang-woo through his glasses. “For someone who went to SNU, it took you quite a bit to piece my identity together.”

Sang-woo glares at the other man’s shoes, - they’re nice, black oxfords with neatly tied laces - self-depreciation eating away at him piece by piece.

(That’s right - he’s a failure. He graduated from SNU and this is where he is? Jumping out the window of his friend's house just to avoid awkwardness? Talking to someone who’s basically a stranger who just admitted to committing malpractice?)

“Wait.” Sang-woo’s eyebrows furrow deeper. “You two didn’t even interact before lights out. I don’t think you’re related - how do you have his last name?”

Byeong-gi tuts quietly, glancing away and tilting his head in thought. “Well, I don’t really have a last name anymore - I didn’t really like it, and it was associated with my old practice - so Deok-su said that on a few conditions, I could share his. Of course, I agreed. Simple cost-benefit analysis.” A malicious grin spreads across his lips so easily Sang-woo nearly shudders at how quickly he went from blank slate to evil incarnate.

(He actually shudders at the memories of old business courses getting dredged up at the mention of a cost-benefit analysis.)

“Why are you here?” Sang-woo narrows his eyes suspiciously, subconsciously rubbing his aching shoulder. “I highly doubt you live around here.”

Oops. He kind of forgot about that - god, it hurts. He hates being nearly 40. 

Clenching his teeth, he hisses quietly as he shifts in his spot to look a bit more dignified. Judging by Byeong-gi’s amused eyebrow raise, it’s not working.

The other man changes his position as well, resting his slightly-tilted head in his hands. “Why is that?”

“Simple probability,” Sang-woo mumbles uncertainly, feeling vulnerable and cornered for the nth time this week.

(If God exists, they hate him with a burning passion.)

Byeong-gi shrugs half-heartedly, his blank stare boring holes into Sang-woo’s skull. “Flimsy logic, but I suppose I’ll give you a pass, what with your recent outing.”

A heavy feeling of dread settles in Sang-woo’s gut, his eyes slightly widening as his heart beats so fast he fears it’ll jump right out of his throat. He’s already infamous for being ‘that guy who stole from a bunch of rich people’, if it comes out that he’s queer, then he’ll have even more droves of middle-aged men recognizing him late at night and swearing loudly at him, and he just can’t have that right now. 

His voice comes out in a shaky whisper. “What..?”

“Oh, dear,” Byeong-gi snorts derisively, swaying slightly where he’s squatting. “I meant your whole bicycle fiasco, but is there something else I should know about?”

(Why is Sang-woo so scared? )

“No.” Sang-woo attempts to compose himself, using the wall of Ali’s house as a support as he slowly sits up properly, crossing his arms and trying not to wince as a sharp jolt of pain threatens to rip his arm out the socket.

“Look at you, sitting up on your own. Do you want a lollipop?” Player 111 coos mockingly, the worst part about it being the absolutely joyless smirk on his face as he easily tugs the strings that induce fury in the other man.

It makes Sang-woo feel like an 11-year-old again - pushed around until he snapped, becoming physically violent and shattering his image of a self-composed ‘gifted’ student, misogynistic, strength-related insults thrown at him until one day, he just took a pair of scissors and cut off all his hair at 3 in the morning, found by Gi-hun the next morning crying on the floor of his bathroom.

(Not that it helped that the insults then turned to him walking into the class and getting called slurs that cemented his already horrific gender crisis, but he digresses.)

“What do you want?” Sang-woo seethes, tears obscuring his vision as the familiar feeling of unfiltered fury pulls at his skull, as if it’s trying to rip his skin off at the scalp.

Byeong-gi rolls his eyes apathetically, only infuriating the other man more. “I should ask you that. Why are you lying on the grass outside of some person’s window? You almost look like a pathetic robber - since, you know, you’re not even holding anything. Other than your arm, of course.”

Oh, Sang-woo is going to pummel him.

Steam practically bursting out of his ears, Sang-woo grits his teeth so hard he hears his jaw click. Something flashes behind Byeong-gi’s eyes - fear or amusement, Sang-woo doesn’t stare long enough to tell. He readies his good arm - thankfully, he didn’t smash his dominant hand against a brick wall - subconsciously baring his teeth at 111 like a feral animal as his hand clenches into a tight fist.

Rage distorting his vision and clouding his consciousness, Sang-woo throws a punch that feels uncomfortably natural, like he’s done it before.

(He has - though, that one, he regrets. This one, he won’t.)

His fist hits a jet of water.

(... What?)

Sang-woo watches incredulously, his fist suspended mid-air, at Byeong-gi scrambling at being blasted with water from a garden hose, trying desperately to keep his glasses on his face as he sputters.

Glancing around frantically for the source of the attack, Sang-woo’s gaze fixes on Ali and Aysar. The former has one foot planted ahead of the other in a steadying stance, a sandal in his left hand, raised as if ready to throw, his lips curled into a focused frown, his gaze sharp and furrowed. The latter stands in a similar stance, one foot in front of the other, except both his little hands are clenched around the front of a garden hose, aiming the jet of water blasting towards his ‘conversation’ partner with a focused pout on his face, his knitted brows making him look exceptionally alike to his father.

The way Ali’s arm is bent shows off the soft but strong curl of his bicep, the fact that he’s wearing a loose-collared shirt that’s much too short for him not helping Sang-woo’s brain exploding from the sensory overload.

Sang-woo sits there dumbly, his mouth agape as he watches Ali shout as he reels back to lob a sandal at Player 111.

“DON’T!”

The sandal hits Byeong-gi in the head, making a hilarious ‘donk’-ing sound as he yelps in confusion and pain.

“HARASS!”

A matching sandal whips through the air, hitting Byeong-gi in the stomach as he tries and fails to get up and out of the way of the water jet, Aysar following him with the jet as best he can.

“PEOPLE!”

A slipper spins through the air, knocking the glasses off of the bastard’s face and knocking said bastard back on his ass, sputtering and spitting water out as he desperately tries to scramble away.

“ON!”

Another slipper, which ‘pap’-s hysterically as it hits Byeong-gi’s back, sticking onto his wet clothes and slowly sliding off.

“MY!”

Ali launches a flip-flop so hard, Byeong-gi makes an audible ‘oof’ sound as it buries itself in his side, knocking more hose water out of his throat.

“LAWN!”

With a final, strong wind-up, Ali launches the final flip-flop at Byeong-gi’s head, the assailant-turned-assailed trying to swat it away from his face desperately long after it’s already fallen to the grass with a wet squelch.

“Fuh– Fbbhrhghhh– FUCK– HINGUu– ugh--” 

The previously intimidating Player 111 sputters and hacks near-comically as he tumbles onto the sidewalk, scrambling away as Aysar finally eases up on his strangely good aim. Sang-woo watches, still stunned into silence, as the young boy scurries off around the other side of the house, the hose now blasting water at the poor grass, the excess water all pooling up where the sandals and slippers are.

Ali huffs, a satisfied, wicked grin across his lips as he watches Byeong-gi clamber away, leaving damp shoe prints on the concrete. 

Sang-woo’s eyes practically pop out of his skull, his wide-eyed stare practically glued onto Ali as his heart threatens to break out of his ribcage, pretending like he isn’t absolutely entranced by the sight of Ali breathing huskily, the light sheen of sweat on his strong-yet-soft arms only accentuated by the slight sunlight beaming down on him, an absolutely devious smirk on his face that makes Sang-woo want to devour him.

(Ali always did run hot - but still, it should be a crime for him to be able to sweat in November weather with the thinnest shirt known to mankind when Sang-woo’s wearing a jacket.)

Tilting his head in Sang-woo’s direction, Ali’s smirk quickly shifts to a worried pout as he rushes towards the older man, offering his hands to help him up. 

Still breathing arduously, Ali’s eyes shine with concern - a stark difference from his previously snarky, wolfish smirk - as he gazes down at the still-slack-jawed-from-shock Sang-woo. “Are you okay, Hyung?”

Sang-woo nods tentatively, pretending that the shiver that runs down his back is from the residual water spray, and not because Ali’s calling him his Hyung as he hovers over him, looking like he’s straight out of his teenage fantasies.

He slowly puts his cold, slightly-damp hands in Ali’s, hating the feeling of wet skin against sweat-slicked skin but relishing in the warmth of the younger man’s strong hands as he practically picks Sang-woo up all on his own, the older man too starstruck to heave himself up.

(Scratch that one time he panic-kissed Gi-hun - this is the gayest thing he’s ever done.)

“Thanks– Thanks you– Thank y-you,” Sang-woo mumbles under his breath, Ali giving him a soft smile in response, causing the other man’s brain-goo to explode again into even goo-ier brain goo.

(Third time’s the charm… kind of.)

Ali tilts his head slightly down shyly, still gazing up at Sang-woo. He squeezes the Korean man’s hands comfortingly, causing Sang-woo’s brain to explode further as he realizes they’re still holding hands. “Of course, Hyung.”

(It might be normal for Sang-woo to have a disinclination towards eye-contact, but abnormally, he finds his gaze glued to Ali’s lips, a strange feeling of want, need, take, mine rising in his chest at the sight.)

Catching himself as he begins to lean towards Ali, Sang-woo awkwardly yanks his hands out of the other man’s and throws his arms around him, enveloping Ali in a way-too-tight hug, his nails practically ripping holes in Ali’s shirt.

(Sang-woo’s face heats up so much, he thinks he must look like a tomato as his subconscious off-handedly comments that he wouldn’t mind leaving claw marks on Ali’s back.)

He’s so busy burying his face in the crook of Ali’s neck, Sang-woo barely realizes that Ali’s heartbeat quickens when his grip tightens, the younger man returning the hug gently but firmly.

It’s there, in Ali’s arms, as their hearts beat in sync, Sang-woo feels safe for the first time since his last night watch shift with him.

"I'm sorry for running away again," Sang-woo mumbles into Ali's ear, the younger man shivering slightly as he does.

(Sang-woo's brows knit together in concern. Is Ali cold? He hopes not.)

"Yeah," Ali replies breathlessly, a relieved smile spreading across his lips. "Yeah, you should be, Hyung."

A warmth blossoms in Sang-woo chest, a mix of relief and adoration. He sighs quietly and allows himself a small smile, hugging Ali just a bit tighter.

"A- hem!"

The two men practically jump away from each other, staring wide-eyed and frantically at what ends up to be Aysar, arms crossed in mock annoyance.

"Abbu, Please Take Care of My Refrigerator!"  

Sang-woo’s eyebrows knit in genuine confusion.

(Like, the show that Gi-hun used to call Sang-woo and live-react over the phone about?)

Ali sighs half-heartedly, a soft look in his eyes as he leaves Sang-woo's side to scoop up his son effortlessly. "Fine, fine, but you can only watch two episodes before we have to go to the store, okay?"

Aysar cheers in victory, the most pure amount of delight Sang-woo has ever seen on his face.

Sang-woo averts his gaze politely and pretends he's not staring at the curl of Ali's bicep and thinking about how strong the other man is.

Ali bends over to allow Aysar to excitedly hop out of his arms, scrambling his way to the door and letting himself in so fast he forgets to close the door behind him - only for a minute though, as Aysar scurries back and carefully shuts the door by leaning his entire body weight on it.

Sang-woo lets out a little huff of laughter, endeared by the sheer amount of energy crammed in that young child's body. "Children must have a better quality of life than me. I cannot begin to imagine getting that excited about Please Take Care of My Refrigerator. I didn't even know that show was still running."

Blinking himself out of his zoned-out daze, Ali giggles as a loud hoot drifts out from the still-open door to his house, generic game show music playing from the tinny speakers of his television. “Yeah, Aysar loves that show. I have no clue why. Maybe it’s because it was the only thing playing on TV when he was a baby.”

Sang-woo hums in response, tilting his head curiously at Ali. “He’s… 4 years old, right?”

Ali’s eyes widen slightly, his eyelashes fluttering in surprise. “You remembered?” A light maroon tinges his cheeks, and Sang-woo nearly chokes on his own spit and dies right there from how unbearably pretty the other man is.

“Yeah… Yeah, of course,” Sang-woo murmurs, averting his gaze. He tugs at the slightly-too-long hairs on the nape of his neck sheepishly, his ears burning. “I remember… um. A lot. Like when you taught me about Pakistani naming culture, and when I accidentally admitted that I used to read atlases when I was a child.”

Ali’s hand flies to his mouth to muffle a giggle, his eyes filled with mirth as he tries and fails to hide the ear-to-ear grin on his face at the memory. “I can’t believe you did that! I thought Gi-hun-nim was exaggerating when he said you were really quiet and studious, but who reads atlases ?”

Sang-woo huffs indignantly, rolling his eyes. He cocks his hip out in an uncharacteristic show of sass, crossing his arms to match his demeanor. “Gi-hun was exaggerating. I wasn’t that quiet or studious. I couldn’t talk to people and they wouldn’t talk to me - other than Gi-hun, but he seemed perfectly willing to sit in silence and read books at the school library, so same difference.”

“Gi-hun-nim can read?” Ali asks.

A brief moment of stunned silence befalls Sang-woo, his owlish, bewildered stare stuck to the other man comically.

When it finally dawns on him, Ali’s eyes fly open and he slaps his hands over his mouth, his cheeks burning red with embarrassment.

“That’s not what I– I didn’t mean– I’m sure he can read--!” He stammers, scowling at Sang-woo when he turns away from the other man in an attempt to hide his poorly stifled laughing.

“I thought you were joking, Ali, oh my god, ” Sang-woo chokes out in between snickers. His mirth is briefly cut off by a sharp jolt of pain through his left shoulder, his entire body freezing up at the momentarily forgotten injury.

(Jesus, it’s not like the wall fell on him… He’s getting too old for this shit.)

“Khuda ka wasta, ” Ali groans under his breath, covering his eyes in exasperation. “I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve heard you laugh, Sang-woo hyung. I’m going back inside.”

Ali turns on his heel, oblivious to Sang-woo being doubled over in pain rather than laughter. Anxiety pools in the older man’s stomach as he watches the other man walk away. 

(Though this time it’s not because he sent him on a fake intel gathering quest, it still feels like if Sang-woo lets him go, they probably won’t see each other again.)

To be fair, every interaction and thing he’s done since getting out of the game has been pretty illogical and confusing - not that this interaction wasn’t just as confusing. He really needs to just sit down with everyone and just talk like a normal person, instead of word-vomiting.

(This could be the start.)

“Can I come too?” Sang-woo huffs breathlessly, clutching his arm like it owes him money.

Ali pauses for a second, turning to look at the other man over his shoulder with a puzzled look on his face. “Of course, Hyung. I thought you were already coming. I don’t even know how you got here, and I don’t think you know how you’re going to get back.” His confused frown morphs into a pleasant smile, the corners of his eyes turning up. 

“Consider it repayment for when you paid my bus fare!” He chirps, turning away and continuing his march to the front door.

Sang-woo reluctantly straightens up and follows, awkwardly hovering behind the younger man as he unlocks his door with a hum. A feeling of dread crawls up his back, the uncomfortable tension that’s suffocating him not quite matching the bubbly demeanor Ali has.

(Something’s not right.)

They really, really need to have a proper conversation that doesn’t end with Sang-woo crying too hard to speak.