Archive of Our Own ^beta

The metallic scent of blood and the stale, rancid sweat permeated every fiber of the air, a thick miasma that clung to the throat, an invisible layer of anguish and unease. Myung-gi, with his newly acquired, scarlet chest protector still immaculate, his fingers tangled in its hem, a nervous tic that betrayed the tempest brewing within him. His eyes, two dark pools of uncertainty, watched the silent retreat of the Blue team's players, blurred silhouettes in the labyrinthine gloom of the arena. Among them, like an ephemeral apparition, was the figure of Jun-hee. The promise, a fragile wisp of hope suspended in the heavy air, resonated in his mind: protect her, reunite with her as soon as the opportunity materialized. But the icy blade of the knife, a dead weight in his fist, was a biting reminder of the volatile nature of promises in this existential purgatory.

A deep sigh escaped his lips, carrying with it the cacophony of veiled murmurs and choked laughter emanating from his own team. The euphoria was palpable, a feverish excitement that had blossomed in the barren ground of morality, nourished by the possession of a knife and the abject license to sever lives. He, however, swore not to yield, not again. The visceral memory of the freezing fork between his fingers, the indelible image of blood gushing in torrents in that bathroom, still haunted him like a persistent specter. "Self-defense," he repeated to himself, a hollow litany to quell the deafening echo of guilt that resonated in the deepest recesses of his being. If he hadn't done it, he too would be dead, reduced to nothingness.

Before his thoughts could plummet into the abyss of self-pity, dragging him into a sea of torment, firm footsteps anchored him to reality, jolting him from his mental lethargy. Nam-gyu, his warm breath grazing Myung-gi's cheek, planted himself mere inches away. The closeness was an invasion, an audacity that made Myung-gi recoil mentally, his inner self shouting a warning.

─Do you want to do this together?─ The question, an invitation to complicity that chilled Myung-gi's blood, disarmed him completely. A wave of perplexity washed over him. Had Nam-gyu forgotten that this man was the architect of his current predicament, the executioner of his friend? Suspicion enveloped Myung-gi like a shroud, tightening around every fiber of his being. There was a stratagem, an insidious duplicity in that offer that sent shivers down his spine. Trust was a luxury Myung-gi could not afford in this personal hell.

─What?─ Myung-gi's voice was a mere thread, almost inaudible, tinged with barely contained incredulity. Nam-gyu, with the nonchalance of one confiding a forbidden arcana, began to unravel his Machiavellian plan, his words a seductive whisper that slithered through the tension-laden air. ─Believe me, the Blue team won't let themselves be killed just like that, will they? It's obvious they won't. They'll fight tooth and nail. It'll be much simpler, trust me, if we attack them together, with ferocity.

Myung-gi scrutinized him from head to toe, every fiber of his being weighing the overwhelming indecision that oppressed him. Nam-gyu smiled, a grimace that didn't reach his eyes, an empty smile, while he toyed with the gleaming edge of his weapon, the gloomy light reflecting on its surface with an unsettling glint. ─I'm not asking you to be my partner. It would be more of a fleeting thing, a quickie.

Nam-gyu's free hand slid with an almost lascivious slowness towards the hem of Myung-gi's chest protector, his fingers toying with the edge of the fabric, a barely perceptible touch, yet it invaded Myung-gi's personal space with astonishing audacity. Myung-gi's breath hitched in his throat. He tried to brush it away, a subtle evasion, an almost imperceptible movement, but Nam-gyu immediately returned, a brusque push that threw Myung-gi off balance, an unexpected force that made him waver. Eighteen seconds. That was the deadline to calibrate the proposal, for his rational mind to weigh the pros and cons. He saw no apparent benefit, but also no clear detriment, save the alliance with that unhinged drug addict, whose behavior was as erratic as it was unsettling.

─When you stabbed Thanos... Seriously...─ Nam-gyu sighed, his voice a vanishing murmur, and a confused grimace settled on Myung-gi's face, an expression of astonishment and disorientation. ─Huh...?─ Nam-gyu continued, the intensity in his eyes escalating. ─You were amazing. Absolutely brilliant.─ Nam-gyu's madness was a whirlwind, an incomprehensible vortex. Myung-gi had killed a man, a brutal act, and now he was being decorated as a hero, a being worthy of admiration. The counter, which had been a constant presence in the periphery of his consciousness, reached zero with a piercing beep.

─Red Team, enter the game area!─ The voice resonated, metallic and devoid of all emotion, through the omnipresent loudspeakers.

The time for contemplation, for hesitant indecision, had abruptly expired. Nam-gyu fidgeted beside him, his restless eyes darting between the inexorable final tic-tac of the clock, the cold, unyielding wall that offered a false refuge, and Myung-gi's profile, every muscle taut with palpable uncertainty. ─Let's go...─ Nam-gyu insisted, his voice tinged with an almost childlike urgency, as he executed small, nervous hops that completely unnerved Myung-gi. He needed Myung-gi's company, a stark revelation that surprised Myung-gi, unveiling an unexpected vulnerability in that chaotic, unpredictable being. And despite Nam-gyu's characteristic pedantry, that very trait that sometimes made Myung-gi's blood boil, the undeniable truth was that he had to overcome this perverse game, he had to survive, if he was ever to reunite with Jun-hee. With a sigh that was more resignation than genuine assent, Myung-gi nodded, a barely perceptible motion. He dragged himself towards the entrance, a profound heaviness in his limbs, an invisible burden, to follow his path alongside Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu lingered for a few seconds, a wide, visibly elated smile etched on his face, his gaze fixed on Myung-gi, a gaze that seemed to devour him, brimming with a disturbing, almost predatory curiosity.

The Red team delved into an intricate labyrinth of corridors, whose walls, instead of the expected institutional gray, were painted with a fascinating, sprawling starry night. Inexplicably, it struck Myung-gi as curiously pleasant, a heartbreaking contrast with the impending darkness that loomed over them, both literally and figuratively. It was a cruel irony, a small, exquisite detail of beauty amidst the encroaching horror. Nam-gyu followed him closely, his footsteps echoing with an unsettling regularity, a persistent shadow, a constant, unnerving presence. A voice, amplified by the ubiquitous loudspeakers, announced their entry: ─Have you hidden yourselves? I'm coming to find you.─ Thirty minutes. Barely half an hour to snatch a life in exchange for his own. Myung-gi's lips pressed into a thin, grim line, a desperate barricade against the terror that threatened to devour him whole. Despite the warped time he had spent in this deranged place, a stubborn, albeit fragile, sense of morality clung to the last vestiges of his being. But that debt, that cursed and suffocating debt, would not be settled with the glimmer of kindness he desperately tried to preserve. There was simply no room for innocence here.

Nam-gyu, with a playful, almost accomplice smile, seized Myung-gi's arm, his fingers clinging with an unexpected familiarity, and dragged him unceremoniously through the winding corridors, as if it were a carnival attraction, not a hunting ground where lives hung in the balance. Abruptly, he halted, with an almost ritualistic gesture, a movement charged with a strange solemnity. He opened his collar, a small metal chain, and extracted a tiny pill, an insignificant object that, nevertheless, radiated a dark, potent promise. Myung-gi, his voice barely a whisper, a mere puff of air, inquired what he was doing, as Nam-gyu ingested it with the natural ease of someone savoring a sweet, his facial muscles barely altered, his eyes fixed on some distant, unseen point.

─I'm taking... A little pill that enhances my strength and my confidence,─ Nam-gyu said, his voice tinged with an almost innocent complacency that made Myung-gi's skin crawl. Myung-gi sighed, comprehension striking him with a cold shiver that prickled his skin. It was, unequivocally, not the best idea for this man to follow him, much less if he was doping himself in the midst of the brutal contest, transforming the battle for survival into a macabre, personal spectacle.

─Thanos... That imbecile. I gave him a thousand free drinks at the club, but he still treated me like an idiot,─ Nam-gyu continued, his voice dripping with venomous resentment, each word a poisoned dart. His knife, with a dull clink, struck the metal cross of his collar, stabbing it repeatedly, almost with fury, an act of symbolic violence against the ghost of his oppressor. ─He didn't even remember my name.─ Nam-gyu turned to face him directly, and it was then, for the very first time, that Myung-gi glimpsed something beyond mere madness and mocking in his eyes. He observed an ancestral rage, a primal fury that seemed to crawl from time immemorial, and Nam-gyu's lip, previously twisted in a smirk, now trembled, revealing an unexpected, disarming vulnerability.

─Hey Nam-su, I'm Nam-gyu. Nam-su, I said Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu. I repeated it so many times, I don't know how his ears didn't bleed! That fucking imbecile...!─ Myung-gi felt the impact of the raw bitterness in Nam-gyu's words. Nam-gyu offered him a nervous, almost twitchy smile at the end of his confession, a smile that did nothing to soothe Myung-gi's apprehension. He edged closer to Myung-gi, encroaching on almost all his personal space, leaving Myung-gi's back pressed against the cold wall, trapped in a bubble of inescapable tension. Nam-gyu's breath, now heavier, warmer, struck Myung-gi's face.

─Amazing, Myung-gi, want one?─ He pulled out a small yellow pill, an unhealthy gleam under the dim light, and almost brought it to Myung-gi's lips for him to ingest, a gesture of forced intimacy that churned Myung-gi's stomach.

─No.─ Myung-gi pushed the hand away with a brusque gesture, his voice firm, a desperate barricade against the unwanted intrusion. Nam-gyu tilted his head to one side, his gaze inquisitive, a flash of unsettling curiosity in his feverish eyes.

─I'm only being generous because you killed Thanos,─ he argued, with a twisted, chilling logic. His "generosity" was sickening, the casual mention of Myung-gi's crime producing a profound, visceral nausea. Myung-gi wanted that scene, that haunting memory, to be swept under the rug, to vanish into the abyss of oblivion.

─I said no, Nam-gyu.─ Despite Myung-gi's sharp, unequivocal refusal, Nam-gyu's smile widened further, as if the mere mention of his own name were a trophy, a personal victory. His breath, now closer still, merged with Myung-gi's, and he swallowed the pill directly in front of Myung-gi, his eyes locked on Myung-gi's with an almost predatory intensity.

─Fine, you lost your chance.─ He pulled away, and Myung-gi's heart, utterly unbridled, hammered in his chest with a speed that prayed it had never existed in the first place, yearning for a calm that refused to arrive.

─Follow me. Let's kill half of humanity.─ His words resonated with a disturbing mix of madness and perverse invitation, an echo of the deepening darkness they now shared.

They walked for a long time through the dizzying maze of corridors, Nam-gyu ahead of him, taking small, almost childlike hops, as if he were a child oblivious to the nightmare engulfing their surroundings, an unsettling contrast that grated on Myung-gi's nerves. Myung-gi felt strange, disoriented, and deeply uncomfortable. An unease that crawled over his skin like a silent plague. He tightened his grip on the handle of his knife, his knuckles white with the pressure, his eyes fixed on Nam-gyu's back, a strange blend of grim determination and gnawing apprehension that consumed him. Suddenly, Nam-gyu bolted, tearing away in a desperate run, his shouts inciting Myung-gi to follow, the urgency of his voice a painful jab in Myung-gi's stomach. Ahead of him, Myung-gi glimpsed a fleeting glimpse of a blue chest protector, and a cold, sticky sweat began to trickle down Myung-gi's body, a chilling omen of the inevitable confrontation.

The man before them ran with astonishing speed, a palpable desperation in his strides, but Nam-gyu was even faster, a blur, an indistinct streak in the gloom. Myung-gi tried to keep pace with the utmost diligence, his muscles coiled and tense, until Nam-gyu requested they split up to corner the man more effectively, his voice authoritative, indisputable. Myung-gi ran with a persistent doubt, an inner voice pleading with him to stop, still clinging to those last vestiges of humanity that resided within him, small, trembling lighthouses in the ever-growing darkness.

Myung-gi found the man desperately scrambling into a room, his hand fumbling frantically with the doorknob, movements jerky and fraught with pure desperation. Myung-gi entered, his body a formidable, unyielding barrier, halting directly in front of him. The man's face contorted, a mask of raw fear.

─Attack me, goddammit!─ the man shrieked, his voice laden with overwhelming desperation, a guttural plea that chilled Myung-gi's blood to ice. Myung-gi raised his weapon before him, still hesitating, unsure whether to follow the implicit command or await his new "partner." He swallowed hard, his hands trembling uncontrollably, the knife's blade vibrating almost imperceptibly. But the cruel truth was simple, brutal: it was his life or the man's. So he lunged forward, but the man was, without a doubt, significantly stronger. He shoved Myung-gi aside with brutal force, managing to escape for a brief, fleeting instant, a gasp of liberty. But Nam-gyu unexpectedly cut him off, appearing in front of him at the precise moment, an unforeseen wall, an insurmountable obstacle. The two became embroiled in a fierce, desperate struggle, the man grasping Nam-gyu's wrist with frantic strength, his eyes wide, fixed on the knife's edge just centimeters from his skin. Both tumbled to the ground with a dull thud, Nam-gyu in a vulnerable position, with fewer opportunities to prevail.

Myung-gi stood motionless, utterly paralyzed, his mind a whirlwind of indecision. ─Help me! Kill him!─ Nam-gyu shrieked, his voice shrill, an imperative command that pierced the air. Myung-gi didn't know what to do, but a dull fury began to swell in his chest; a surge of rage propelled him forward. He wouldn't leave Nam-gyu like this. He plunged the knife into the man's back, embedding the blade with colossal force before yanking it out, hot blood staining his hands. The man screamed in agony, a guttural lament that sent an icy shiver down Myung-gi's spine, and Nam-gyu, with a deranged smile plastered across his face, began to stab the man's leg repeatedly, with a brutality that churned Myung-gi's stomach.

The man begged for clemency, his voice broken by unimaginable pain: ─I'm a father and a husband, I beg you.─ Myung-gi's grip on his knife loosened, confusion and nausea overwhelming him, a maelstrom of contradictory emotions. What the hell was he doing? He looked at Nam-gyu, whose face was etched with an almost viscous amusement, an expression that made Myung-gi shudder to his core. Myung-gi seized Nam-gyu's wrist before he could end the man's life. Nam-gyu looked at him in confusion, surprise clearly visible in his eyes, silently asking him what he was doing. Myung-gi didn't know why he did it, perhaps he wanted the carnage to cease, to stop the bloodshed, or perhaps he wanted, once again, to appear to be the good person he desperately tried to believe he was. But if Nam-gyu killed that man, he would advance in the game, and Myung-gi would be left behind, still shackled by that infernal debt.

─If you kill him, you'll pass, and I won't.─ His words came out with a firmness that surprised even him, a voice he didn't know he possessed.

─We'll kill another one,─ Nam-gyu responded with twisted logic, a chilling simplicity.

─And how do I know you'll help me with the next one once you've won?─ It wasn't his humanity, not entirely, no. It was his selfishness, his cowardice, a nauseating blend of pragmatism and self-interest.

Nam-gyu laughed, a hollow, disturbing sound that echoed through the corridor. ─So what then?

Myung-gi inhaled deeply and exhaled, the air burning his lungs, a sharp pang of pain. ─Let's do it at the same time.

Nam-gyu froze, genuinely intrigued by Myung-gi's proposal, his gaze fixed on Myung-gi's with unusual intensity. ─We stab him together?

Myung-gi nodded, a barely perceptible gesture, earning a proud, booming laugh from Nam-gyu, as if he had uttered the most revolutionary phrase in the world. ─Incredible! What a logical idea, damn it!

They looked at the man, who was clutching his leg wound tightly, his face contorted in agony, a map of suffering, as he dragged himself out of the room, only to be intercepted by Myung-gi and Nam-gyu, two predators converging in the dim light. ─One, two, three...─ Their knives plunged in with brutal force at the exact same moment, extinguishing his life in a single second, a synchronized and brutal act, a macabre dance of shared death. Myung-gi gave a curt nod, a silent signal to withdraw their weapons, and they observed the inert body beneath them, a life extinguished.

Nam-gyu let out a shrill laugh, observing Myung-gi with such profound admiration that it made Myung-gi profoundly uncomfortable, a sticky, repulsive sensation. He gripped Myung-gi by the shoulders and shook him with overflowing joy, as if they had won a prize at a fair, as if death were merely a game. ─You're amazing! I always thought you were a pathetic idiot, but you're better than I expected!─ he cheered gleefully, but Myung-gi's gaze was fixed on the blood staining his weapon, a silent testament to his act, an indelible mark on his soul. He was a husband, a family man, and his life had been snatched away in a countdown, as if they were anticipating a gift, not a sacrifice.

─Damn, I'm so surprised. Did you see his gaze when he died?─ Nam-gyu crouched before the man, making confused gestures that Myung-gi couldn't decipher due to the fog covering his mind, a dense mist of horror and guilt. ─An empty look, like a doll's. Just like with Se-mi.─ Myung-gi noticed the collar around the man's neck, the key to unlocking all the doors in the place, a potent symbol of escape. ─It's fascinating, don't you think?─ Myung-gi knelt before him, taking the blood-stained key between his trembling fingers, before removing it and taking the collar.

─What are you doing?─ Nam-gyu asked, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

─We need it to open doors.─ Myung-gi wiped some of the blood from the key on his chest protector and placed the collar around his neck, the cold metal against his skin. Nam-gyu laughed, a shrill, unnerving sound. Myung-gi stopped to look at him, silently asking him to get up with his gaze.

─We only killed half a person each.─ Nam-gyu almost crawled towards him, his gaze never leaving Myung-gi's face, his eyes shining with a mixture of admiration and sick adoration. ─Damn, you're rational! Wait for me!─ He ran behind Myung-gi, and they continued their path, the atmosphere thick with the freshly spilled blood, a palpable oppression.

Another man crossed their path, and they moved with a disturbing synchronicity, as if they were a single, terrifying entity. Myung-gi attacked first, a surge of something unknown, pure adrenaline, coursing through his skin, an electrifying and addictively potent sensation. As Nam-gyu closed in, and as if in perfect harmony, they began to attack, again and again and again, until life vanished from the man's eyes. ─Done. There, look!─ Nam-gyu pointed to the man's eyes, now vacant thanks to the two of them. ─See it? He has a doll's gaze.

Myung-gi sighed heavily, his heart pounding again, not from nervousness, but from the intoxication of adrenaline, a strange and perverse sensation, a drug more potent than Nam-gyu's pills. ─Isn't it fascinating?─ Nam-gyu's hands moved to the man's neck, removing the collar with the key. ─Player 411 eliminated,─ the communicator boomed, a voice utterly devoid of emotion. Nam-gyu held the collar, swinging it back and forth, comparing Myung-gi's key with the one he had just grabbed. Myung-gi's was a circle, while his was an X. ─Players 124 and 333, you pass.─ Nam-gyu leaped, wrapping his arms around Myung-gi in a half-embrace that Myung-gi had no intention of reciprocating. He remained stiff, casting fleeting glances at the corpse beside him, guilty of a heavy, crushing slab on his chest. They separated, and Nam-gyu pouted slightly as Myung-gi set off to continue their path. ─Amazing, Myung-gi.─ Myung-gi heard him speak from behind, his voice laden with a strange adoration, a nascent possession.

Now that it was done, blood on his hands, guilt in his soul, he had to go find Jun-hee. He couldn't allow himself to see the expression of disappointment on her face again, a reflection of his own inherent cowardice. Perhaps he had vanished for six months, perhaps he had asked her to abort their baby, perhaps he had dragged her into a million-dollar debt she couldn't repay in a thousand years, but he wouldn't leave her alone in this death game, especially as he saw her stomach grow larger and larger, just as her steps became slower, each stride a heavier burden for her.

─Where are you going?─ Nam-gyu asked, his tone tinged with nosiness, an invasive curiosity. Myung-gi maintained his quick pace, Nam-gyu's presence a constant heaviness, a shadow that refused to disappear.

─I need to find someone.─ He used his key to unlock the doors that stood in his way, his movements mechanical, devoid of emotion, like an automaton.

─The girl you like?─ Nam-gyu asked, and Myung-gi stopped dead in his tracks, his body rigid, every muscle stiff with surprise and mounting irritation. ─And if you find her, then what? Will you protect her? I'm sure she can handle herself. I saw a lot of people with her.─ Nam-gyu positioned himself in front of Myung-gi, blocking his path with a familiarity that irritated Myung-gi to his core, Nam-gyu's closeness was overwhelming, suffocating.

─Come on, MG Coin... Leave the bitch.

Myung-gi gripped his knife with such force that his knuckles whitened, the cold metal biting into his tense skin. He bit the skin of his lower lip until he tasted the metallic tang of blood, a sharp pang of pain that anchored him to reality. It seemed that was the reaction Nam-gyu desired, because he continued, his words like poisoned darts, seeking the wound, the weakness.

─Hey, just now you were so rational. Why do you look like you're about to lose it now?─ Myung-gi's breathing was erratic, a contained gasp, an echo of the internal storm raging within him. This guy was a complete idiot, an infuriating sadist.

─Don't tell me... You love her?─ Nam-gyu brought his knife a little closer, a gesture that felt like a dangerous game, his eyes shining with sadistic amusement, a dark, unsettling fire. When Myung-gi lowered the firm gaze he had been giving him, Nam-gyu shrieked with a piercing euphoria that assaulted Myung-gi's ears: ─Damn, you like her! God, it was so obvious.─ He cackled, a shrill laugh that pierced Myung-gi's eardrums, while he played with his hair, rebellious strands dancing between his fingers, a gesture of unwanted intimacy that churned Myung-gi's stomach.

Myung-gi seized Nam-gyu's chest protector, his hands trembling with barely contained fury, and slammed Nam-gyu's back against the rough walls, a dry thud that echoed in the corridor, an act of violence that released a fraction of the pent-up tension. He raised his knife, its shining tip menacing Nam-gyu's neck, but Nam-gyu merely laughed in his face, a cold, knowing laugh, utterly devoid of fear. He gripped Myung-gi's wrist holding the weapon, even pulling it closer, almost asking, imploring him, to do it. He licked some of the blood that was on Myung-gi's hands, savoring it between his fingers, a grotesque image that turned Myung-gi's stomach, a vivid vision of pure depravity.

─You love her so much...─ Myung-gi tightened his grip on Nam-gyu's clothes, his knuckles bone-white. He released him, pushing him away with a sudden impulse, and the knife clattered with a metallic clang on the floor, an echo of their broken dynamic. Myung-gi turned to leave, not caring about abandoning his weapon, he only had to go find Jun-hee. Nam-gyu's hand on his wrist stopped him, the eyes that had before been playful and mocking, now were filled with raw supplication, a vulnerability that disarmed Myung-gi completely.

The truth was, Nam-gyu wasn't going to let him leave, and certainly not to protect that stupid pregnant woman. He loved the new attention Myung-gi was giving him, not because it was Myung-gi himself, but because of how strong Myung-gi was, the confidence Myung-gi exuded, a confidence Nam-gyu could only dream of achieving through his pill consumption. Nam-gyu felt incredibly inferior, deeply so. He hadn't dared to lay a hand on Thanos, even though Thanos didn't even know his name, but this man in front of him had even had the audacity to kill him. That realization drew a breath from Nam-gyu, a silent acknowledgment of Myung-gi's superior strength. From then on, he knew he needed Myung-gi, he knew how powerful Myung-gi was. Thanos had been like that, but now 

Thanos was dead, and Nam-gyu urgently craved another source of protection, companionship, of feeling seen. Myung-gi knew his name, knew about him, and had even reluctantly agreed to be his partner. And now, Nam-gyu wouldn't allow him to leave; he wanted to continue being admired, continue being escorted. He wanted his world, for once, to revolve around someone as strong as Myung-gi.

Nam-gyu's hand on Myung-gi's wrist was not just a grasp; it was an unbreakable anchor, an intangible shackle that bound their fates in the labyrinth. Myung-gi felt Nam-gyu's feverish pulse against his skin, a trembling vibration that transmitted a raw, naked desperation, a need so palpable it sent chills down his spine. Nam-gyu's eyes, which had previously glittered with mockery and malevolence, were now unfathomable pools of pleading, supplicating to the point of pain, imploring in their utter desolation. It was a gaze Myung-gi had not anticipated, a vulnerability so exposed, so stripped bare, that it left him breathless, the air trapped in his lungs.

Myung-gi tried to free his wrist with a brusque movement, an instinctive evasion of that forced intimacy, but Nam-gyu held him fast again, this time with renewed strength, his fingers clinging like claws, unmovable. Myung-gi's resistance was futile, utterly absorbed by Nam-gyu's tenacity.

─No, you can't leave!─ Nam-gyu's voice was a hoarse lament, a desperate plea that tore at his throat, raw and stripped of any pretense. The usual pedantry, that arrogance so typical of him, had been banished, replaced by a profound, almost childlike vulnerability in his helplessness. ─Myung-gi, please. Stay. Don't... Don't leave me alone here. Don't abandon me.

Myung-gi looked at him, his brow furrowed, his expression a complex mixture of irritation, repulsion, and a strange, uncomfortable compassion that burned in his chest. ─What... What the hell are you talking about, Nam-gyu? Don't be ridiculous. I have to go.─ His voice was harsh, raspy, laden with barely contained tension.

Nam-gyu shook his head frantically, his rebellious curls bouncing with the movement, his feverish, wide eyes fixed on Myung-gi's as if they were his only anchor to reality. ─She can take care of herself. You saw her. There are a lot of people with her. Besides... It's not like you need her to pass this, right? The two of us together... we're invincible, don't you feel it? An unstoppable force.─ He stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking to nothing, invading Myung-gi's personal space with blatant audacity. Myung-gi could feel Nam-gyu's warm breath on his face, a disturbing caress. Nam-gyu's voice dropped to a whisper, raspy and seductive, a veiled promise in the encroaching darkness. ─I know what you want, Myung-gi. I know. I can give it to you right now. Here. A quickie. Whatever. Whatever you desire. Just... Just choose me. Again. Like... Like you did before, in the bathroom. Please, Myung-gi. Choose me.

The offer, as vulgar as it was unexpected, struck Myung-gi like an icy slap, a wrenching blow of reality that left him stunned. Indignation, a cold flare, mingled with a pang of something more complex, something he refused to name, a latent desire that terrified him. Nam-gyu's desperation was palpable, a dense aura that enveloped them, oppressing them in a bubble of unbearable tension. The words echoed in his mind, a disturbingly familiar echo, a reminiscence of his own search for validation. Myung-gi thought of Jun-hee, of her growing belly, of the overwhelming weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders, of the promise of a future that felt increasingly distant, more intangible, a chimera in this hell. And then, he thought of the adrenaline he had felt beside Nam-gyu, the strange, almost violent connection that had been forged in spilled blood, in shared moments of chaos. The sensation of being seen, of being understood by someone so viscerally different, so unpredictable, was a strange and potent drug, an incipient addiction that dragged him deeper.

─What... What the hell is wrong with you, Nam-gyu?─ Myung-gi could barely articulate the words, his voice harsh, tense, a barely audible thread vibrating with a mixture of anger and confusion.

Nam-gyu laughed, a laugh that lacked his usual mockery, tinged instead with genuine anguish, a sound that pierced Myung-gi's heart. ─Nothing's wrong with me. I just... I just know what would make you feel good. I know... I know what you need. I know what drives you. Like... Like I offered Thanos everything. Free drinks, women, the purest drugs, whatever he wanted, just so he would stay by my side. So he wouldn't leave me alone in this emptiness. The same with you, Myung-gi. Anything. Whatever you ask for. Just... Don't leave. Please. I know you won't regret it.─ His eyes, dilated to their very edges, shone with a feverish, supplicating, almost crazed intensity. It was the same plea, the same desperate need, replicated, an echo of his own internal battles. 

The need to be chosen, to be important, to be the center of someone's attention, even if it came at the cost of truth, of coherence, of his own dignity. It didn't matter if Myung-gi didn't understand the reason for his desperation; he only wanted Myung-gi to say yes. Sex was the quickest escape Nam-gyu, under his vast and turbulent experience in the abysses of solitude, knew to numb the emptiness, to feel something, anything, even if it was fleeting, even if it dissipated with the morning. It was a momentary balm for a chronic wound.

Myung-gi felt a strange pang in his chest, a visceral mix of repulsion and an... incomprehensible fascination? Nam-gyu's raw honesty, however twisted and disturbing, disarmed him, unsettled him. In a world where lies were the currency and deceit the norm, Nam-gyu's blatant desperation was almost a beacon, a reference point in the darkness. Myung-gi looked at the knife on the floor, abandoned, a broken promise of his intention to leave, and then at Nam-gyu, whose hand now extended towards him, a silent, disturbing invitation, an offer that went beyond mere words.

Myung-gi didn't know why, he had no logical reason, no coherent explanation for the whirlwind of emotions assaulting him, a hurricane of sensations that overwhelmed him. Perhaps it was the lingering adrenaline, the aftermath of shared violence, perhaps a morbid curiosity for this chaotic being, or perhaps a subconscious need to feel understood, even if it was by this deranged and self-destructive man. Something within him resonated with Nam-gyu's desperation.

With a sigh that was more a choked moan, a silent surrender, Myung-gi extended his hand, allowing Nam-gyu to take it, their fingers intertwining in a tacit pact, a strange and anguishing connection that felt as inevitable as fate itself. The decision felt predestined, a force greater than his own intentions, an irresistible undertow that dragged him. His mind screamed warnings, alarms blared in his consciousness, but his body, propelled by an undercurrent of latent desire and an uncontrollable curiosity, moved on its own, without his conscious consent. Jun-hee's promise blurred, a distant echo in the back of his mind, barely a murmur, overshadowed by the intensity of the present moment, by Nam-gyu's suffocating closeness and the promise of a connection, however twisted.

Nam-gyu's hand, still clutching Myung-gi's with a blend of supplication and possessiveness, tensed with a barely contained electricity. A choked moan escaped Nam-gyu's lips, a sound Myung-gi had never associated with the erratic and chaotic Nam-gyu; it was a sound tinged with unrestrained ecstasy, a primal release that reverberated in the charged air. Nam-gyu's eyes, previously sparkling with mockery and malevolence, now gleamed with a feverish, almost deranged excitement, as if he were on the verge of overflowing. With a swift, resolute, almost impulsive movement, Nam-gyu unclasped the polished metal collar hanging from his neck and extracted two more pills, small capsules that seemed to promise an escape from pain, a deeper immersion into the maelstrom of his darkest desires.

Myung-gi sighed, a breath laden with frustration and a growing powerlessness that gripped him. The image of Nam-gyu consuming those pills was a downward spiral, an abyss he knew he shouldn't approach, but from which he couldn't tear his gaze.

─Stop doing that, please,─ Myung-gi pleaded, his voice a harsh murmur, a desperate entreaty that was lost in Nam-gyu's self-imposed deafness. His plea was ignored with a cold, brutal efficiency, as if Myung-gi didn't exist, as if his words were mere echoes. Nam-gyu had already brought them to his mouth, swallowing them with a voracious eagerness Myung-gi recognized as a camouflaged desperation, an almost animalistic avidity.

No sooner had the last pill slid down his throat than Nam-gyu collapsed into the vulnerable hollow between Myung-gi's neck and chin, seeking an illusory refuge in the warmth emanating from Myung-gi's skin, like a castaway clinging to a piece of driftwood. The closeness was overwhelming, a blatant invasion of his personal space that left him immobilized, every fiber of his being silently screaming. Myung-gi felt the tickle of Nam-gyu's hair against his chin, a strange and profoundly disturbing sensation, an unsolicited intimacy. Slowly, almost timidly, Myung-gi raised his hands, resting them on Nam-gyu's arms, his fingers brushing the rough fabric of his chest protector. He was confused, perplexed by the slowness with which everything unfolded, by the apparent calm before the impending storm, as if time itself had distorted.

Their breaths began to synchronize into an irregular rhythm, an unsettling crescendo of nervousness and desire that filled the atmosphere. Nam-gyu's was choppy, an audible gasp, a manifestation of the raw desperation that consumed him, an urgency that pulsed in every fiber of his being, almost palpable. Myung-gi's, by contrast, was nervous, hesitant, tinged with a persistent doubt about what might happen, about the unsuspected limits they were about to cross, about the dangerous path they now traversed.

He felt Nam-gyu's lips part, a barely perceptible brush, and anticipation. They slid with torturous, almost cruel slowness, towards the small patch of exposed skin Myung-gi had beneath his jacket collar, an discovered target. The air grew dense, heavy, charged with an almost electric tension that vibrated between them. Nam-gyu's teeth sank in slowly, biting with gradual but firm pressure, savoring the salty sweat and lingering traces of dried blood, a grotesque caress that was both repulsive and strangely sensory, awakening something primitive in Myung-gi. A shiver ran down his spine. Myung-gi let out a choked, painful whimper, an involuntary lament that was lost in the rarefied air of the hallway, only to be surprised by the unexpected candor of Nam-gyu's tongue licking the freshly made wound with a disturbing softness, as if trying to heal it, as if with that gesture he could erase the pain he himself had inflicted. It was an act of both possession and comfort, a disturbing duality Myung-gi didn't know how to process.

Nam-gyu suddenly pulled back, the abruptness of his movement an unequivocal declaration of intent. Slowness, contained exploration, was not what he sought in that instant. He craved speed, intensity, and outburst. He wanted it to be fast, fervent, an explosion of sensations that would consume him. In the middle of that open hallway, bathed by the gloomy light filtering from the lamps, in plain sight of all the participants still remaining in the game, amidst the distant screams of pain that echoed like ghostly laments, Nam-gyu sought neither privacy nor discretion. He wanted it to be non-permanent, to be a mark, a spectacle, a challenge. He wanted them to be seen, to know, to witness his act of profanation, his blatant claim. He even wished, with a dark, secret part of his mind, that woman , Jun-hee, would also appear, to witness how he profaned the father of her baby, how he claimed him for himself with an almost animal ferocity. He was lost, the pills beginning to take effect within him, distorting his perception, fueling his lowest, most primitive desires.

He returned to Myung-gi's body with renewed ferocity, their lips uniting harshly, with a force that sought fusion, a longing to remain stuck, indistinguishable from the other, as if he wanted to erase Myung-gi's individuality. Myung-gi, in an almost reflexive act of resistance, moved one of his hands to Nam-gyu's chest, almost trying to push away the strong grip Nam-gyu had, a futile gesture, a useless resistance against an overwhelming force. Nam-gyu, oblivious to the resistance, oblivious to everything but his own desire, lowered one of his hands to Myung-gi's hip, squeezing with a possessive force to pull him even closer to his body, earning a gasp of surprise and, at the same time, submission from Myung-gi, a sound that allowed Nam-gyu to play with his tongue, exploring every corner of the other's mouth, embracing their saliva, a sticky, disgusting, yet irresistibly intimate mixture, a communion of the abject.

The sounds emanating from them were obscene, almost painful to hear, a cacophony of sighs, gasps, and the wet smack of their mouths. They seemed to come from a home video consummated with the deepest, most forbidden desires, taboos broken in the darkness. But this was not about fantasy; it was about two lost men, two souls adrift in a sea of desperation and adrenaline, anchored in that instant of pure carnality. They separated after a while, a glistening string of saliva uniting them, the only visible vestige of their mutual consumption, of the ephemeral fusion of their bodies and tormented souls. The air vibrated with the tension that had blossomed, a dark and beautiful flower in the midst of chaos, a tacit promise of what was to come. The silence that followed the kiss was louder than any scream of pain, loaded with unasked questions, untold revelations, and the undeniable weight of a desire that had found its course, however twisted and dangerous.

The string of saliva, still glistening under the gloomy hallway lights, broke with a subtle snap, an echo of shattered composure. Nam-gyu, with a sudden, animalistic impulse, crumpled to his knees before Myung-gi, a figure of submission, almost devout in his urgency. His hands, eager, ascended Myung-gi's legs until they grasped his thighs, exerting a slight squeeze Myung-gi felt through the fabric of his pants, an intimate pressure that made him bristle. Then, with surprising avidity, a voracity he couldn't hide, Nam-gyu began to bite over the fabric, his teeth marking the rough material, almost sinking between Myung-gi's legs, like a predator who, finally, has cornered his prey. The gesture, so visceral and primal, unleashed a whirlwind of sensations in Myung-gi: a mix of alarm screaming danger and a strange, unconfessable excitement that coursed through his spine like an electric current. It was an echo of the undeniable chemistry, a desire manifesting in unexpected and disturbing forms.

Myung-gi, in a desperate attempt to temper the moment's intensity, to regain a modicum of control, guided his hand towards Nam-gyu's head. His fingers intertwined with the remnants of damp, slick hair, feeling the silky texture and the feverish temperature of Nam-gyu's skin, a palpable contrast to the burning fire consuming him within. It was an attempt at control, a silent plea for Nam-gyu to lower the intensity of his actions, to grant him a reprieve in the maelstrom of sensations that overwhelmed him.

But Nam-gyu, oblivious to the implicit plea, immersed in his own feverish desperation, moved with a trembling swiftness, impatience a consuming fire within him. His hands descended Myung-gi's pants, pulling them down without contemplation, without a hint of modesty, eager to feel, to touch, to possess. He revealed Myung-gi's underwear, and a small, almost imperceptible dark damp stain on the fabric, yet laden with meaning, further agitated Nam-gyu's impatience. Like a hungry animal before its last meal, a long-awaited feast, he approached the growing bulge, licking over it with unexpected, almost savage ferocity. His licks were erratic, chaotic, as if he were trying to prove to himself how good he could be, even with the "first course of the day," the first taste of what Myung-gi represented for him: a liberation, a drug more potent than any he had ever consumed.

With a fluid and decisive movement, an unbreakable determination, Nam-gyu removed the clothing impediment, exposing Myung-gi's member, a raw and unveiled revelation in the uncertain gloom of the hallway. Myung-gi leaned his head against the cold wall that served as his only support, the icy touch a disturbing contrast to the burning heat that engulfed him. He closed his eyes tightly, with a desperate, almost violent intensity, as if trying to extinguish what was happening, to erase the reality of that moment, to escape the maelstrom of sensations that overwhelmed him, that threatened to devour him completely.

It was almost unfair, devastating in its mastery, the way Nam-gyu seemed to be enjoying himself, almost mocking Myung-gi, with short but firm licks, playing with the head of Myung-gi's member and the remnants of fluid on it, provoking him, pushing him to the limit of his resistance. Nam-gyu tried to appear bored now, a facade of indifference, as if he were unaffected by the intensity he himself had created, even though just minutes ago he was the most pleading, most desperate man in the place, a beggar for affection. Suddenly, one of his hands moved to the base, beginning to pump dizzyingly, a frantic rhythm that accelerated Myung-gi's pulse, making it pound in his temples.

Nam-gyu silenced the whimpers that began to escape Myung-gi, a murmur of pleasure and shame, taking Myung-gi's member entirely into his mouth, an act of total possession, of surrender and dominance. He didn't want Myung-gi to continue hearing how much he truly wanted this, how much his body yearned for it with growing desperation, how much he was losing himself in that abyss of sensations, that unconditional surrender. Myung-gi began to feel flushed, shame and pleasure mixing into an intoxicating cocktail, a toxic blend that confused him. He brought a hand to his mouth, covering it tightly to stop whimpering with such harshness and carnality, to stifle the sounds that betrayed him, that revealed his own surrender, his own fall. He opened his eyes, just mere slits, and looked around, a frantic search for any hint of a possible and threatening presence of a third party, an unwanted witness. 

The fear of being discovered, the shame of his total surrender, mingled with the overwhelming pleasure, creating a cathartic and terrifying experience at once. The pulse of the game, the constant danger, had not vanished; it had only transformed into a more intimate and risky dance, in which his body was the battlefield. The starry night painted on the ceiling seemed to mock his situation, a cruel contrast between the unattainable beauty of the constellations and the primordial rawness of his reality. In the darkest corner of his mind, Myung-gi wondered if this was the price of his survival, the sacrifice of his morality on the altar of desperation.

Myung-gi's grip on Nam-gyu's head was not a weight, but a tacit guide, a silent dictum to which Nam-gyu surrendered completely, groaning with pleasure, a guttural sound that resonated in the dimly lit hallway. He allowed himself to be manipulated, to be used for Myung-gi's own pleasure, an inversion of roles that, strangely, he found intoxicating, a drug more potent than any of the pills he had ingested. He enjoyed the control the other man was taking over him, that silent, contained strength which he, in his deepest, most vulnerable interior, utterly lacked. It was a voluntary surrender, an abdication of his own will in search of a sense of belonging that only Myung-gi, in this chaotic hell, seemed capable of offering him. Myung-gi, sensing the response, set the pace, pressing with a growing roughness he craved, inquiring with the tightest possible speed, a hunter exploring the limits of his prey, bringing the tension to a boiling point.

Fragmented memories, like slivers of a feverish dream, began to surface in Nam-gyu's mind, vivid and painful images. Flashes of how obedient he was to every person who presented an undeniable strength, every dominant figure who had crossed his path, leaving their mark. He thought of the strobing, blinding lights of the nightclub that completely enveloped the nights spent with Thanos, of how Thanos was more agile, more forceful, more perverse in his dominance, a cruel and ruthless master. 

The memory was vivid, piercing: Thanos, hurting Nam-gyu's scalp with his rough grip, his fingers squeezing to the point of pain, as he filled him completely, laughing with a cruel, heartless mockery at the tears that embarrassingly fell from Nam-gyu's eyes, tears he tried uselessly to hide, but which Thanos savored with sadistic delight. When it ended, with the coldness of one who has performed a mundane task, he would turn away, wiping the sweat from his forehead with an indifferent gesture and lighting a cigarette, the smoke floating like a veil of contempt and oblivion. Nam-gyu tightly clutched the denim of his jeans, his hand smeared with some of the fluid that had fallen from his mouth, a physical mark of the humiliation. He swallowed the rest, a bitter knot in his throat, and returned to the lobby counter, his face impassive, as if nothing had happened, as if it were just any Tuesday, a day without transcendence, without emotional scars.

But now, facing this man, Myung-gi, with the blood of others splattered everywhere, with the raw reality of survival in his eyes, Nam-gyu felt different, confused, a strange mix of emotions he couldn't classify. He felt noticeably attracted, an inescapable gravitational pull. He didn't know if it was because Myung-gi was so unlike others, because of his contrasting calmness against Nam-gyu's own internal storm, or, again, because of his vigor, that contained and latent spirit that emanated from him, a promise of stability amidst the chaos. Nam-gyu knew, with an unshakable certainty that sprang from the deepest part of his being, that he would follow Myung-gi, that he would be behind him at all times, a loyal shadow. He would laugh at every joke Myung-gi made, applaud every move he made, agree with every decision taken, a loyal shadow, an echo of Myung-gi's will, a silent protector. It was a silent promise of devotion, an unbreakable pact born of ephemeral pleasure and existential need, a connection that went beyond the carnal.

The acquosity felt thick within him, a torrent of heat and sensation that flooded him. He savored the remnants with his tongue, a ritualistic, almost sacred cleansing, swallowing every trace of Myung-gi that had exploded in his mouth, an intimate communion. Myung-gi, in turn, let out a deep, guttural cry, a scream that came from the depths of his being, which he now seemed to care nothing about regarding a possible external gaze. Shame had dissolved, if only momentarily, in the overwhelming wave of pure pleasure that had engulfed him, a pleasure that simultaneously redeemed and condemned him.

Nam-gyu slowly pulled away, his movements more fluid now, as if the act had revitalized him. He coughed slightly, clearing his throat from the sudden space that had formed in his mouth, the physical emptiness contrasting with the emotional fullness he still felt. Myung-gi reacted in an instant, his hands moving with an automatic, almost feverish urgency, pulling his clothes up to his hip, as if wanting to erase any evidence of the encounter, any trace of his surrender. He pushed Nam-gyu away from his crotch with a gentle but firm shove, a gesture that marked a boundary. Nam-gyu, for his part, pulled up the sleeve of his jacket to wipe away what remained, the traces of moisture on his lips, also standing up with a feigned haste to try and disguise what had happened, a pantomime of normalcy in a scene of madness. 

The counter, indifferent to the intensity they had just experienced, to the hurricane of emotions that had swept them away, reached zero, accompanying their now finished encounter with a final beep, an aseptic sound that contrasted with the raw reality of what had transpired. Myung-gi looked expectantly at Nam-gyu, his eyes fixed on Nam-gyu's face, a mixture of confusion, longing, and perhaps a hint of fear. He didn't know exactly how to react, what new dynamics would weave between them in the coming days, what implications this new and unexpected connection would have.

Nam-gyu gave him a timid smile, an almost childlike gesture that disarmed Myung-gi, accompanied by a blown kiss, an air of frivolity that sought to dissipate the tension, an attempt to return to forced normality. He retreated to his playful facade, his mask of nonchalance and carelessness, in an attempt to make Myung-gi forget how fragile he had appeared, how vulnerable they both had been in that instant of pure, blatant carnality. He ran through the corridors, his steps resonating with a lightness that denied the gravity of what had happened, a quick escape from reality, until he disappeared from Myung-gi's sight, leaving him almost helpless there, alone with the echo of sensations, with the damp stain on his pants and the deep confusion in his soul, a confusion that now felt heavier than ever. The air, which had previously been charged with palpable sexual tension, now only carried the residue of emptiness and uncertainty, a dense emotional fog that enveloped him.

The evanescent echo of Nam-gyu's steps completely dissipated, swallowed by the vast and icy silence of the corridor. Myung-gi remained stranded in that deafening silence, an emptiness that felt denser, more oppressive than any prior clamor. The adrenaline, that furious tide that had coursed through his veins like a burning torrent, began to dissipate with exasperating slowness, leaving in its place a chilling cold, an emotional hangover that invaded him to the deepest reaches of his bones. The damp stain on his pants, barely perceptible in the dim light, was not just evidence; it felt like a scorching scar on his skin, a visible, palpable stigma of what had just occurred, etching itself into his flesh and his consciousness.

Myung-gi's gaze, laden with a mixture of stupor and self-recrimination, settled on the dusty floor. The dust motes, indifferent to his torment, danced in the scarce light beams filtering through some high crack in the vaulted ceiling. The hallway, once a stage of primal drama and unrestrained desire, now seemed immense, oppressive, its walls painted with distant constellations that mocked his insignificance, a cosmos indifferent to the smallness of his human misery. Solitude embraced him, not as a longed-for refuge, but as a suffocating weight, an invisible shroud that enveloped him, cutting off his breath.

A deep shiver of self-disgust ran through him, trembling him to the core. It wasn't just social shame or regret for a mistake; it was a profound sense of alienation, of not recognizing himself in the reflection of his own actions, of feeling like a stranger within his own skin. This game, this hell of survival, had not only unveiled the inherent cruelty of human nature but had stripped Myung-gi of his very identity, of his most deeply rooted convictions. The need to survive, that brutal imperative, had become perversely intertwined with a strange form of pleasure and a twisted connection. Had it been paralyzing fear, uncontrolled adrenaline, or something darker, a latent and repressed desire he dared not acknowledge, even to himself?

The image of Nam-gyu, his playful laugh and the blown kiss given with an almost sweet lightness, repeated in Myung-gi's mind like a looping film. That facade of nonchalance, that attempt to erase what had happened with such a trivial gesture, only emphasized the fragility Nam-gyu had shown him, the vulnerability Myung-gi had touched and, to some extent, exploited. But was that vulnerability real and genuine, or another trap in this game? Myung-gi felt a pang of morbid curiosity, an imperative need to understand Nam-gyu's complexity, to unravel the hidden motives behind that disturbing duality that both attracted and repelled him.

Time stretched, each second an eternity of torturous self-analysis and wounding regret. The final beep of the counter continued to resonate in his ears, an aseptic reminder that life continued its inexorable course, that the game had not ended, that danger persisted. But for Myung-gi, something fundamental, something irretrievable, had changed. He had crossed a line, an invisible boundary in his own morality that he now didn't know how to redraw, how to heal. The search for Jun-hee, once his sole priority, his beacon in the darkness, now felt tainted by this encounter, a persistent and sticky shadow that would accompany her, that would haunt him. He didn't know how to explain it, how to justify it, not even to himself, to his own conscience.

With a sigh that was more a choked moan of contained desperation, a silent lament, Myung-gi forced himself to move, to take a step, then another. The hallway seemed even longer, each step an unbearable burden for his shoulders. His mind was a devastated battlefield where atrocious guilt, confusing desire, and overwhelming uncertainty waged an all-out war. This "quickie," this impulsive and uninhibited act, had left a deeper, more indelible mark than Nam-gyu or he himself could have imagined. It was not just a momentary release of tension; it was the catalyst for an existential redefinition, the point of no return.