Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

🎤🎼🎸

Ever since they broke up, the days felt wrong, different, empty. The world seemed to shift sideways, refusing to straighten again.

Nam-gyu didn't have friends of his own, the people he hung out had always been Thanos's friends, and even though he somehow managed to entangle them in his own day-to-day basis, the reality was cruel. Deep in his heart he knew that the only reason he'd been welcomed was because he came as part of the package deal. When they split, that unspoken invitation dissolved overnight. Messages went unanswered, group chats went quiet, and every time he scrolled through social media, there they were – laughing in blurry late-night photos, all of them without him. It drove the point home in the ugliest way possible: without Thanos, he wasn’t just alone. He was irrelevant.

This fact stung.

Not having Thanos next to him anymore was a nightmare. He woke up everyday, feeling the raw, dragging pain gnawing at his insides, scraping away what little happiness he still had in him. His life shifted in the worst way possible, insomnia came back stronger than ever, thoughts spiraled inside his head even when he tried to push them away, suddenly everything became mundane, tiring.

He was left all alone, without even a trace of information.

At least he was, until one small, glowing notification lit up his phone screen.

Instagram: @thanos_ttt just posted!

And as if in some kind of trance, he clicked before thinking.

@thanos_ttt
New single “You’re No Fun Anymore” out now!
Available on all streaming platforms.

Special thanks to my amazing producer @sususu_gyeong 💜

For a second, Nam-gyu’s breath caught. His thumb hovered over the partly shattered protective screen he definitely needed to replace.

His mind spiraled, one question pushing stronger than the rest.

What?

His eyes darted to the comment section, already a flood of fans celebrating the new release.

@realmin_su
one time i’m out the studio and you guys already release something..

@namgoonz
ngl that’s a banger but who is it about??

@semi_active
ts ass don’t even bother listening
↳ @thanos_ttt: save that for when i’m your top 1 on wrapped again se-mi 🫡

@thanosworld
YOOO THE KING RELEASED SOMETHING NEW WE ARE GETTING FED

(Click to show all comments: 2,124)

Nam-gyu’s stomach tightened, to say that he was intrigued was a misunderstatement, his curiosity was chewing at him, jagging, hollowing him out every second. He could’ve sworn his ribs were being dissected alive with pure venom every time he looked back at his phone.

His rational side was telling him to let it go, to scroll away before the whole thing turned into trouble, Thanos was his ex, after all. And even with the knowledge that his stupid, impulsion-fueled action would eventually come back to bite him in the ass, his body betrayed him. Fingers moving fast, opening spotify and typing into the searchbar, brows furrowing at the sight of his old playlists dedicated to late-night hangouts with Thanos. He really needed to delete them, he thought, making a mental note to take care of later.

You’re No Fun Anymore by Thanos

The cover art popped up, blinding his brown eyes with its content. Thanos smirking at the camera, a bag of colorful pills held up over his eyes in a mocking salute. Next to him stood a man, shoulder-length, black jellyfish haircut, the exposed left ear was graced with three, spike helix piercings, his face wasn’t visible due to him facing Thanos rather than directly facing the camera. The background had the song name written all over some gray wall, graffiti-style letters, vivid colors - just like Thanos’s music persona was.

The fact that seemed to trouble Nam-gyu the most was the appearance of the man on the cover, jellyfish cut? Three spike helix piercings? The colorful pills? Every detail hit home a little too hard.

Maybe he was just overthinking it, it was odd-sure, but Thanos always had weird artistic visions when it came to his cover designs. It was even possible that the whole thing was made way before their break-up.

This thought alone was enough to make the corners of his lips curl upwards.

He plugged his earphones in, cord frayed due to the excessive use, and clicked play.

🎤🎼🎸

The first thing that hit him was the beat, loud, bass-heavy, the kind meant for sticky floors in overcrowded clubs. It was extremely Thanoesque, painfully similar to other tracks he released over the course of last year. Some part of Nam-gyu was disappointed, it wasn’t the sad breakup ballad he foolishly seemed to hope for.

Then came the lyrics.

No more late nights
No more bar fights
No more good times
You’re no fun anymore

Nam-gyu frowned. His grip on the phone tightening with every leap of the song.

No more naughty, naughty
No more dirty, dirty
No more hanky panky
You’re no fun anymore

At first, he didn’t get it. It sounded… stupid. Petty. Sure, the rhymes were definitely there, but the entire thing seemed childish, almost off-putting in some way, even though Nam-gyu couldn’t properly put his finger on the reason.

And then.

No more binge drinking
No more drug bingeing
No more binge bingeing
You’re no fun anymore

Something in his chest went cold.

The words weren’t random. They weren’t vague. They were him.

The memories flickered through his head without a warning, him leaving the party earlier when someone mentioned doing lines, Su-bong’s irritated laugh when he refused another pill at 3 a.m., the way the parties had felt different when he stopped joining in. How the air had shifted between them, heavier, more strained.

He forced himself to keep listening, even when his throat started to ache.

Now that the party’s over
You’re always clean and sober
No sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll
And you’re no fun anymore

He swallowed hard, his pulse thudding in his ears.

And then the final verse hit like a punch through his heart.

Well now this party’s fucking kickin’
Now that you’re not here
Well this party’s fucking kickin’
Now that you’re not here
Well this party’s fucking awesome
Now that you’re not here

Nam-gyu yanked the earphones out. The sudden silence rang through his skull almost louder than the music.

His face felt hot, not just from embarrassment, but from something meaner. Anger. Humiliation. Heartbreak.

Thanos hadn’t just made fun of him. He’d made art out of it. Put it on streaming platforms. Let thousands of strangers sing along to the punchline that Nam-gyu was the boring one, the killjoy, the dead weight. Someone not worth anything from anyone.

And the worst part was that somewhere deep inside, he could hear Thanos’s voice saying the same things – not as lyrics, but as offhand comments, smirks, eye rolls.

It punched his heart in a way Nam-gyu didn’t have a name for.

He stared at his phone like it had personally betrayed him. He should’ve thrown it across the room, deleted the app, done something, but instead, he opened Instagram again.

Bad idea.

The song was already everywhere. People were clipping the chorus over shaky videos of them dancing in club bathrooms, laughing into their front cameras. Twitter was even worse – his timeline was drowning in screenshots of the lyrics, people arguing in the replies about who it was about.

He scrolled, and then he saw it.

A post from @bongnation, one of the bigger Thanos fan accounts:

“Lowkey think ‘You’re No Fun Anymore’ is about that one guy he used to hang with?? 👀👀👀”
Attached: a grainy picture from months ago, him and Su-bong at a convenience store at 2 a.m., both holding ramen cups. Smiling at each other.

He didn’t even know anyone had taken it.

The comments made his stomach twist.

@annasunshine77
lol the sober bf arc didn’t last long 💀

@rainzins
isn't that the guy everyone suspected of dating thanos?? he lowkey fine ngl..

@whambampineapples
he LOOKS no fun, can't blame thanos for crashing out.

And then, the worst – @ahnminkyu, someone he used to see at the same parties back when he and Su-bong were inseparable:

“isn’t that Nam-gyu??? same hair, same hoodie from like… forever ago”
↳ @pinkbunnsies: “who??”
↳ @adawongs_bestgirl: “the guy Thanos called Nam-su on his friends ig posts??”

Nam-gyu’s grip on his phone tightened until his knuckles turned white. The humiliation wasn’t just in his head anymore – it was public property now, being passed around like gossip in a group chat he wasn’t in. He felt dread washing over him, why couldn't he be given a chance to grieve in peace?

They were never official, Su-bong never came out to his fans, but obviously there were rumors. Once a fan saw them holding hands, it seemed to scare Thanos so much that after that incident, he maintained a good amount of distance every time they went outside. It hurt Nam-gyu, being a secret, hiding, dealing with Thanos stressed out of his mind about the media finding out.

That’s why he couldn’t fathom the thought process Thanos had to go through in order to release a public diss-track about his former boyfriend.

It was unfair to say the least, especially when they both knew how toxic Thanos's fans could be.

He closed the app, but the words stuck. They echoed in the same ugly rhythm as the song’s hook. You’re no fun anymore. You’re no fun anymore.

Even when he set the phone face down on his desk, he swore he could still hear the muffled bass through the plastic, the ghost of his ex’s voice grinning through the catchy chorus.

He tossed his phone onto the bed and paced the dimly-lit room, dragging both hands through his hair. He needed to do something, anything, that wasn’t thinking about that song.

He tried watching a drama, but the opening scene had a club in it. The muffled bass under the dialogue instantly reminded him of the beat, and before he could stop it, the lyrics were already creeping back into his head.

You’re no fun anymore. You’re no fun anymore.

He shut the laptop and grabbed a book. Read three sentences. Realized one of the characters was popping pills and slammed it shut.

He decided to make some tea. Stood in the kitchen with the kettle boiling, staring at the blank tiles, thinking about the way Thanos used to laugh – that specific, lopsided grin – when Nam-gyu refused a pill.

“You’re killing the vibe,” He had joked once. Nam-gyu had laughed back then, brushed it off.

Now, alone, he replayed it in his head and wondered if it hadn’t been a joke at all.

By midnight, he’d scrolled past at least a dozen more videos with the song in the background. People clinking glasses. Spilling liquor on the floor. Laughing in neon-lit bathrooms.

All of them looked so alive. So fun.

He thought about how, near the end of their relationship, he’d started leaving early from parties. About how he’d stopped taking the random pills Thanos offered him, how the fights had started small – little sighs, rolled eyes – and then grew into whole nights of silence.

The more he thought about it, the clearer it felt: maybe it really was all his fault.

Maybe he was the reason the party ended. The reason Thanos got bored. The reason they broke up.

And if that was true, then maybe the song wasn’t just petty – maybe it was honest. Something that needed to be said, even if talking straightforward about it was too hard.

He lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the phrase looping in his mind until it started to sound less like a chorus and more like a fact.

You’re no fun anymore.

He repeated it to himself under his breath, just to hear how it sounded in his own voice.

It fit too easily.

It hurt.

He felt betrayed. When he decided to get clean from drugs after a near-death experience, Thanos congratulated him and gave him his full support and care.

Nam-gyu could remember the flutter he felt in his stomach when his boyfriend pulled him in for a hug, whispering sweet nothings and praise in his ear.

And now?

The same person was trying to publicly paint him in a negative light.

The shade thrown at him seemed to drown every positive thing Nam-gyu had left in his head. It became unbearable, considering the fact that they broke up only a week prior to the song's release.

Maybe he never really deserved Thanos as his boyfriend.

It was, well, Thanos. The always energetic, humorous man whose life was a constant thrill. A never-ending party. A space where no boredom could ever occur.

And Nam-gyu was...

Boring. Scraped out of anything that would make him even a bit more than just a junkie with attachment issues.

He tried to shake the thought out of his head.

A black, beat-up notebook lay face-down on the floor, right next to the mattress. The corners were bent, the cover torn like it had been through something worse than him. He stared at it for a second, then reached for it without thinking, just as if muscle memory took full control over his actions.

The pen he grabbed was worse than the notebook–cheap, cracked, and barely working unless you stabbed the page like you wanted to kill it in the process. Fine. That felt right at the moment anyway.

He didn’t think. Didn’t plan. Just pressed the tip down so hard the paper almost tore. The first words came out ugly, crooked:

Yeah, I heard your song, but I wasn’t impressed.

He read it once, exhaled so sharp it was almost a laugh. Pathetic. He sounded pathetic. Like a fourteen-year-old crying about her MovieStarPlanet boyfriend who dumped her for a VIP with better clothes.

What was he doing? Writing letters no one would read? Like that was gonna fix anything?

It’s stupid, he thought. I’m stupid.

The pen scratched again before he could stop it.

So, you got your feels hurt and now you’re feeling depressed.

He stared at the sentence, dead-eyed. He wanted to tear the page out, but instead he just let himself fall backward, sinking under the white duvet wishing it could smother out the ongoing noise in his head.

He pulled it up over his head, blocking out the ceiling, the world, everything. Begging that when he woke up, this would all be a joke. That the song didn’t exist. That Thanos didn’t exist. That none of what happened between them was real to begin with.

The ink on the page remained. And so did the hollow pit in his chest.

🎤🎼🎸

Chapter Text

🎤🎼🎸

Just because we had sex and it didn’t last.

Nam-gyu was a mess.

The words sat messily scribbled on the page, black ink bleeding through the crumbled page where his pen dug too deep. His handwriting messy and sloppy due to the constant state of stress and anger.

Nam-gyu stared at the sentence until it blurred, then dragged the pen across the margin, pressing so hard the paper almost tore. It looked pathetic. The whole thing. Him crouched on the floor next to a bare mattress, chain-smoking like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth, scrawling revenge fantasies in a notebook like a kid in detention.

He flicked the ash into an already full tray. The cigarette was burning down too fast, similarly as all the previous ones. There was no rhythm to his smoking anymore–just inhale, exhale, light another, repeat. The room reeked of smoke, sweat and sadness.

Sure, thinking about his failed relationship started the suffocating ache in his chest, but the song has fueled it, added a new meaning to it.

Changed everything.

He pulled the duvet tighter around his shoulders even though the heat in the room was becoming unbearable. Sweat clung to his collarbone, trickled down his spine. Yet still, he found himself shivering.

The whole apartment was quiet except for the scratch of his pen and the occasional groan of the building settling. But in his head? It was loud. That fucking song.

He could still hear it. That hook, the one everyone on Instagram thought was genius. You’re no fun anymore. Like a curse stuck on loop. Like the whole world was chanting it at him through a shitty Bluetooth speaker.

Nam-gyu dug his nails into his knee. He tried not to picture Thanos smirking in the music video, leaning too close to some faceless girl while his voice poured out venom disguised as art.

Pathetic. That was the word that kept surfacing, like a dead fish in dirty water. Pathetic for still caring. Pathetic for thinking he mattered.

Pathetic for remembering the way Thanos used to look at him.

And as much as he hated the resurfacing memories, his brain didn't seem to get the memo. Everything in his brain always came back to the endless nights spent with Thanos.

It was back in the studio. Late night, half the city asleep. They were sitting too close on that stupid, battered leather couch, cigarette smoke curling toward the cracked ceiling tiles. Thanos had his notebook open, scrawling lyrics no one was allowed to read yet.

“You’re staring,” Su-bong said, not looking up. His voice was calm, like it wasn’t a question. Like he already knew.

He always did.

Nam-gyu rolled his eyes, white hoodie sleeve grinding up his hand as he reached for the lighter, long forgotten on the padded floor. “You wish.”

That smirk, the one that always made his knees weak, the kind that started in the corners of the older guy's mouth, always bleeding into his piercing blue eyes. Shot right back at Nam-gyu's pale, tired face.

He hated how clear that memory was. The heat of Thanos's hand brushing past his clothed knee. The presence of something sensual lingering in the air between them. The way every touch and look made Nam-gyu feel like the world had tilted just slightly in his favor.

He’d thought it meant something. Back then, in that smoke-stained room, it felt like it did.

He caught himself wondering if everything he felt back then was just a well-acted facade.

He snapped back to the present, dragging hard on the cigarette like it could burn the memory out of him. The Marlboro hit harsh and dry. His throat ached.

He hated himself for picking the one brand of cigarettes his former-boyfriend always chose. He hated the comfort the smell and taste brought to him. He hated the warmth it provided, tricking his brain into thinking that the purple-haired guy was just right next to him, as always, staring him up and down.

The pen hovered above the page again, his fingers cramping from how hard he gripped it. He wanted to write something clever, something that didn’t sound like begging disguised as bitterness. But the truth leaked out anyway, clumsy and raw.

He pressed the nib down on the previously-written sentence until the ink bled.

So, you got your feels hurt and now you’re feeling depressed.

Nam-gyu stared at the words he'd written the day before and almost laughed. Not because they were funny—but because they were true. Because that was all he could see when he pictured Thanos: hurt pride behind a mask of arrogance. Maybe Nam-gyu was wrong. Maybe the song wasn’t even about him. Maybe he was nothing more than background noise, and this humiliation? Self-inflicted.

He hated that thought more than anything.

He crushed the cigarette in the tray, grabbed another without thinking, lit it off the old flame. Smoke filled his lungs again, heavy and bitter.

He sank deeper under the duvet like it could hide him from the fact that everyone knew. Like a blanket could erase a diss track that had already hit ten million streams across the internet.

He wrote one more line, his hand trembling:

And now you want revenge

The rest would come later. He thought.

The words sprawled across the page, crooked and raw. Nam-gyu stared at them until his vision blurred, cigarette ash tumbling onto his wrist before he even noticed the burn. He cursed softly and brushed it away, leaving a gray smear on his skin.

The cigarette was almost gone. He grounded it out, chapped lips still tasting of smoke and tears he shed without noticing, then again, reached for another. His hand shook, the pack beneath his hand rattling like discarded bones.

The silence pressed in heavy. He hated silence. It gave memories room to crawl out.

And they always did.

The first time they kissed wasn’t after some gig or a party. It wasn’t a movie moment either. It was Thanos in Nam-gyu’s shitty kitchen, eating cereal out of a mug because all the bowls were lying dirty in the over cluttered sink.

“Why do you live like this?” Thanos had teased, spoon clinking against the mug as he leaned against the counter in that lazy, cocky way that made Nam-gyu’s stomach ache.

Nam-gyu rolled his eyes. “Like what?”

“Like you’re allergic to basic hygiene.”

“Fuck off,” Nam-gyu muttered, tossing a dish towel at him. It missed, because Thanos dodged like it was a game.

And then–out of nowhere, like it was the easiest thing in the world–Thanos kissed him. No buildup, no warning. Just leaned in and did it, cereal spoon still in his hand. Nam-gyu froze for half a second, heart detonating in his chest, before kissing back so hard the spoon clattered long-forgotten to the file floor.

Later, Su-bong had grinned that sharp, boyish grin that made Nam-gyu feel both invincible and doomed. “Guess I’m staying for dinner,” he’d said, making Nam-gyu's heart skip a beat.

Nam-gyu crushed his cigarette in the tray with way too much force. He hated his brain and all the misery it seemed to push on him in the worst moments possible. The reminders of Thanos were metallic in taste, and instead of repulsing Nam-gyu, they only seemed to fuel the ache in his heart more.

It wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just some late-night hookup he could laugh off later. They’d had mornings. Afternoons. Quiet hours where Thanos had played with his hair while pretending not to. They’d had whole days that felt like forever–like this thing between them was going to last because it was too big not to.

He was foolish for thinking that.

Another drag. Another flash. Lungs begging for a break.

And the thing that graced his brain made his knees weak, heart thumping vigorously. In that moment, he felt like dying, even though he would give anything to have it all back.

Thanos had him pressed against the couch of his recording studio, breath hot on his neck, laughter spilling between kisses like they were in on the same joke.

“You sound so pretty when you moan my name, Nams.” Thanos had whispered against his ear, voice dark and teasing.

Nam-gyu had laughed, sharp and breathless, but it died fast when Thanos's thrust's became harder and drove him insane. The whole night was like that—rushed, violent, all teeth and hands and the sound of something breaking on the floor because neither of them cared enough to stop. That's how their sex always went like, loud, spit stained and intense.

Later, Nam-gyu had traced the bruises blooming across his skin like proof–like love notes written in a language no one else would ever read. No one, except for Thanos.

And now?

Now those moments were lyrics. Sung into a mic with a grin that wasn’t private anymore. Played in clubs where strangers screamed them like they owned them.

They sure as hell didn't. No one did.

Nam-gyu lit another cigarette with shaking hands. The taste of smoke was almost a relief—it hurt less than remembering.

He opened the notebook again, ink bleeding into paper as if the page could take the weight he himself couldn’t hold anymore.

The next line dragged out of him like a scream he couldn’t make.

Now you want revenge, you wanna put me on blast?

The letters tilted, uneven, smudged. Handwriting skewed in a way that made it all look even more depressing.

He stared at them until the cigarette burned down to the filter.

The words stared back at him while he brushed the ash down onto the floor, jagged and desperate.

Nam-gyu pressed the pen so hard it ripped the page.

The apartment felt smaller with every breath. The mattress sagged. The ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts, the air was heavy with smoke and the faint rot of leftover takeout. He couldn’t sit in it anymore. Couldn’t sit in his own body anymore.

He dragged on his hoodie, grabbed his lighter, and stepped outside, not bothering to lock the door behind him.

🎤🎼🎸

The night was cold and electric. Neon signs buzzed like insects eating light. Puddles warped the glow into shapes sharp enough to cut skin.

Nam-gyu hated how everything smelled–cheap cologne from strangers, the grease stench bleeding out of late-night diners, even his hoodie carrying something that wasn’t just smoke. It reminded him of the smell of desperation and utter misery, as once Min-su said, sitting too close to him during one of Thanos's rehearsals.

It made him cackle back then, but now the words seemed too fitting to just be played off as a simple joke.

He ended up at the convenience store down the corner. The same one they used to hit after late-night recording sessions, laughing like idiots while buying ramen and canned coffee. Back when things weren’t exactly good, but still much better than they currently were.

Inside, the fluorescent lights were violent. Too white, too clean for someone like him. He grabbed another pack of Marlboro reds and a lukewarm beer because why the fuck not.

The cashier didn’t look at him. Just scanned, muttered the price. Nam-gyu tossed down a couple of crumpled bills from his pocket, walked out, cracked the beer open, and swallowed bitterness like it owed him something.

That’s when he heard it.

“Nam-gyu?”

He turned.

Yong-sik. Of course. A face from a past life, grinning like a bad memory that learned how to walk.

“Holy shit, dude. Thought you were dead.” Yong-sik laughed too hard at his own joke, just like he always did. It made Nam-gyu's blood boil with annoyance. He didn't exactly hate the guy, it's just the fact of him invading his personal space after all those weeks that seemed to drive Nam-gyu off the edge.

He didn’t laugh. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“You, uh…” Yong-sik tilted his head, grin cutting deep. “You heard the track?”

Nam-gyu dragged on his freshly-lit cigarette, exhaling smoke through his nose. “Yeah. I heard it.”

“Crazy shit, right?” Yong-sik's voice was soaked in fake sympathy, just enough to make the interaction worse. “Didn’t know you two were—”

Nam-gyu cut him off. “What?”

“You know. A thing.” He leaned in as if saying some forbidden thing. “Everyone thought it was just rumors. You never posted him or anything. Guess he didn’t post you either. But still.."

That hit like a knife to the heart.

Nam-gyu’s jaw locked. His pulse was an iron drum. He wanted to smash the beer can against the wall, smash Yong-sik's teeth after it–but he just smiled. Thin and sharp enough to bleed.

“Guess you didn’t know a lot of things.”

Yong-sik raised his hands, mocking innocence. “Relax, man. I’m just saying… guy moves on quick, huh? That track was brutal. Like, straight-up murder.”

And then something beneath the facade slipped.

Nam-gyu remembered Thanos’s voice, low and amused against his ear. “Now you can moan,” he whispered, breath hot like liquor. “Don’t snob.”

Nam-gyu had hated that word—snob—but hated more how his hips reacted, hated how his own breath broke like something fragile when Thanos pressed his face harder into the hotel mirror, nails biting into his waist. Drawing moans out his throat, thrusting deeper and deeper, leaving no space for a break. He hated how he came undone, staining both of their bodies with his release, still firmly pressed together. He hated how much he missed the feeling of Thanos's hands trailing over his naked body.

The sheets were cheap and the AC was broken. Sweat clung onto his forehead like glue. Thanos grinned above him, wide and wolfish, like this was something he owned. Like Nam-gyu was just another track in his endless discography.

And God, Nam-gyu let him. Over and over.

“Yo, you good?” Yong-sik's voice dragged him back. Nam-gyu blinked, tasting smoke in his teeth.

“Yeah.” His voice was paper-thin.

Yong-sik smirked like he could see the ghosts behind Nam-gyu’s tired eyes. “Alright. Good seeing you, dude.”

Nam-gyu didn’t answer. Just watched him disappear, every step making his head ache with anger.

By the time he got back to his apartment, the beer was long gone and his throat burned raw. He kicked the door shut and collapsed on the mattress, head buzzing from nicotine, alcohol, and something uglier. Deeper, buried inside his chest.

The walls bent inward, suffocating him. Silence screamed in his ears.

He grabbed the notebook. The pen dragged like a knife across the page.

Don’t make me laugh.

He stared at the words until his chest shook–and then, slowly, it broke into laughter. Hollow, cracked, jagged on the edges of his throat.

The sound of his own voice only made him realize the deeply hidden truth.

🎤🎼🎸

Chapter Text

🎤🎼🎸

Three days have passed.

Three days since Nam-gyu last picked up the beat-up notebook.

Three days since the last time his pen carved blood into paper, tearing his insides apart with memories he desperately wanted to erase from existence.

He thought distance would help. Thought if he stopped feeding the wound, maybe it would close on its own. But all he’d done was let it rot under a crumpled bandage.

He tried. God, he really tried.

He woke up on Monday and told himself today would be different. He peeled himself out of the warm embrace of his bed. With a loud sigh he dragged his sore body into the shower and stood under the water until his fingers pruned. Steam and the smell of his favorite mint-scented shampoo choked the tiny bathroom. He scrubbed his body until the skin beneath his fingertips turned pink, quietly wishing that by rubbing hard enough, he could erase every remaining trace of touch Thanos had ever left on him.

He brushed his teeth. Twice. Spit into the sink and watched the foam swirl down the drain. He even dug out his old cologne from the cabinet. Amber glass, barely any liquid left inside. He sprayed it twice on his neck before work, because that’s what a normal functioning person does, right?

Normal. That word kept bouncing around his head like a marble in an empty glass. Normal was such a fucking joke.

Because even when he presented 'clean', his eyes gave him away. Every time he passed a mirror, he saw them—dark circles gracing the underneath of his skin. His cheekbones turned too sharp now, jaw tense like a coiled spring. He didn’t look like someone starting over. He just looked like someone circling the drain over and over again.

He showered every morning wishing that routine and repetition could save him. He worked himself raw at the club, talking, smiling, hustling, letting strangers touch him wherever they pleased. Every lingering hand and every brush against his thigh left him feeling empty, but hey—at least emptiness didn't hurt.

The silence after work though? That was a blade. The apartment walls felt like they were closing in, wallpaper peeling like old scabs. The air was too still, too loud. His head screamed with memories he couldn’t shut off no matter how hard he tried to.

He hadn’t eaten. Couldn’t sleep more than an hour without waking up drenched in sweat, heart racing as though someone was chasing him through his own skull with an axe.

And every night, his phone glared at him from across the table. That one number burned into the screen like a dare. He’d stare at the device until his eyes stung, thumb hovering over the call button. Then he’d throw it across the room like that could erase the want.

It didn’t.

Nothing did.

Work should’ve helped. He thought throwing himself into long shifts at Pentagon would drown it all out.

Biggest mistake of his life.

Pentagon owned his nights now. Long shifts, no break. Management chewed him out for ghosting last week, so now his holiday was gone, fucked off in smoke. Even though he never really went anywhere, it still sucked. Having an out for when things got too unbearable was a comfortable knowledge, but now he was stripped of it. All because of his life crumbling down on him in the matter of days.

He put on the mask anyway. Fake smiles, easy laughter, that half-lidded look he knew got people hooked. Hustling strangers into feeling special for a night. Playing the part of the charming bastard who didn’t give a damn about a single thing going on.

And it worked. For them. Not for him.

Because somewhere between the touches, the drinks, the press of money in his hand, the music stabbed him right in the fucking chest.

Pentagon updated its playlist every week, clean transitions, curated to keep people moving. And of course, they played those songs.

His songs. No. Not his.

Thanos’s songs.

Every fucking track was a ghost with his name carved into it, even when the lyrics didn’t explicitly say it. He knew, and that was enough to make his brain race.

The second he stepped into the club, he realized. The bass hit his ribs like a fist, lights cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke and sweat. The room reeked of sin and alcohol, reminding Nam-gyu of every single one bad decision he'd ever made in the entirety of his 27-year long life.

Bodies everywhere. Vinyl skirts sticking to sweaty thighs. Guys in ripped tanks leaning against chrome railings, flashing teeth sharp from pills. Piercings catching the glint of purple led lights. Cameras flashing. Glitter falling like snow on the dark, crowded dance floor.

And threading through it all came the voice he couldn’t outrun.

“Snow on your nose, when we're being so close…”

Nam-gyu froze mid-step, fake smile curdling on his lips.

“High off your breath makin' me chase my relief…”

That fucking song. He knew every line because he was there when it dropped. When Thanos uploaded the teaser at 3 a.m., grinning at Nam-gyu from the other side of the bed like it was some kind of an inside joke. Like the whole world wasn’t about to hear something meant to stay only between the two of them.

He remembered the sex they had right after, hungry, powder-stained and messy. He remembered the blush creeping onto his face after hearing the full song. He remembered the proud look plastered onto Thanos's face, the one that said 'I won, I stole your heart'. 

And the fact that felt like a stab in the chest, was the fact that it was the truth.

His heart was Thanos's, ever since they met in the dirty walls of club Pentagon.

The crowd screamed when the chorus hit, throwing drinks in the air like baptism.

“Crystal boy, don’t melt away,
Cutting deep when you decay…”

Crystal boy. He didn’t need to guess. That was him. Always had been.

And the worst part? He remembered laughing when Su-bong called him that. Remembered kissing him with his nose still burning from coke. Giggling while the other whispered shit like, 'you’re art, baby, you’re the whole gallery'.

Now it was a hook on the Thursday playlist. Something strangers grinded to while their jaws locked and their pupils blew wide.

Nam-gyu shoved through the bodies on autopilot, weaving past girls in holographic skirts and guys too high to blink. Every flash of neon made his chest tighten. Every perfume trail dragged him back to nights he swore he’d burned out of his system.

He smiled where he needed to. Clapped guys on the back. Let a few girls grab his arm and pull him into selfies for Instagram stories captioned #PentagonNights.

But the song didn’t let up. It chased him down through the entire set.

“You’re poison dressed like heaven’s sin,
And I’d OD just to feel your skin…”

He remembered that line because it wasn’t just a lyric. It was something Thanos had said in the dark of his living room once, voice thick with smoke and spit. It happened just right after he pulled the empty needle out of Nam-gyu's arm when he was too high to dose himself properly.

Nam-gyu felt something break open in his chest. It didn’t even hurt anymore, it stung.

It left him feeling like a nobody, as if he was just another body Thanos got to discard when stuff got too hard for his liking.

🎤🎼🎸

He finished the night like nothing happened. Like his head wasn't being constantly abused with the reminders of his fucked-up past.

He was wrecked.

And when he stepped out into the cold night, neon lights painting the sidewalk in bruises, he realized something that made his stomach drop.

He missed it.

Not just Thanos. Not just the nights tangled up in each other, not even the comfort of finally having a sense of belonging somewhere in the entire world.

He missed the high.

The haze. The numbness. The way the world went quiet when the needle pushed through the thin of his skin, kissing his pulsing vein, letting the poison take over his frail body, his brain turning into a mushed-up smear.

By the time he stumbled back to his apartment, his fake confidence was leaking out of him like bad ink. His shirt smelled like sweat, smoke and someone else’s perfume. He peeled it off and threw it on the floor next to the growing pile of other dirty clothes he didn't care about enough to wash.

He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. Hoped he’d look like someone real this time. Didn’t. Just saw a stranger wearing his skin like a discounted, blotched halloween costume.

The mattress was waiting. So was the notebook.

He sat down. His hands didn’t even hesitate. The pen hit the paper like a sweet relapse.

🎤🎼🎸

When the third night bled into the morning, Nam-gyu was sitting on the floor with his back up against the bed frame, legs drawn up, staring at the beat-up notebook laying on the gray, fluffy rug.

Everything hung heavy over his head, as though the world itself was too aware of the suffocating strain. His hands were shaking, but he picked up the pen anyway.

Remember all those girls you played?

The words bled onto the page like a wound he couldn’t close. The pen scratched against the paper, leaving uneven black strokes, shaky enough to betray his hands. Nam-gyu stared at them for a long time, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that wasn’t calm, wasn’t steady. Just jagged breaths, every inhale of oxygen being harder and harder to acquire.

The notebook sat open on the floor beside an half-empty pack of Marlboro Reds and a half-crushed can of Chilsung Cider from two days ago. The carbonation had died out, leaving the faint smell of sugar and metal in the air. His apartment smelled like an ashtray and stale sweat, weeks-old laundry piled in the corner, half-finished takeout boxes remained stacked on the dresser like some shrine to apathy.

It was a sad sight.

Nam-gyu shifted, now sitting on the mattress, his back was hunched, hair sticking in clumps from where he’d run his fingers through it too many times. The screen of his phone kept lighting up with TikTok notifications, and he kept ignoring them. There was a time he’d scroll through those videos for hours, laughing at the stupid shit people posted. Now he couldn’t even stand the sound of someone else’s voice without getting the overwhelming urge to puke his guts out.

His throat felt raw. Maybe from the cigarettes. Maybe from the yelling he’d done at nobody other than himself.

He reached for the green bottle sitting next to his knee. Soju. Room temperature. He’d opened it ten minutes ago, poured none of it, just sipped straight from the neck like it might wash the dirt out of his chest. It burned the back of his throat, but it wasn’t enough. It never was.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

He leaned his head back against the wall and laughed once, short and bitter, when he read the line he’d written.

Remember all those girls you played.

It was months before they were official. If you could even call what they had official. Before anyone knew—or thought they didn’t. Before he was stupid enough to believe in private things staying private.

He remembered Thanos at some stupid afterparty, all neon lights and bass-heavy music pounding through the floorboards. Su-bong leaning against the wall, talking to a girl Nam-gyu didn’t know by name. She had her nails painted pink and a laugh that made him want to crush something in his hand.

Thanos tilted his head when she touched his arm. That smile. That fucking smile he swore was only his, back then. Except it wasn’t. It never was.

Nam-gyu had been standing across the room with a warm beer in his hand, pretending to listen to some guy talk about crypto. All the while, his eyes kept drifting back to the other. Watching his lips move. Watching him laugh. Watching her lean closer as if the gravity was pulling her towards his orbit.

Nam-gyu didn’t drink much that night. He just burned with something inside him that tasted more bitter than any alcohol.

When Thanos caught him staring, he didn’t stop smiling. Didn’t move the girl’s hand grasping his arm away. Just raised his glass like some fucking toast, like cheers, babe, before going back to whispering some erotic stuff in her ear.

That was the first time Nam-gyu felt small around him. And it stuck.

He shook his head hard like he could shake the memory out. The pen fell from his fingers and rolled across the notebook page.

Nam-gyu reached for the soju again. Another mouthful. Another burn that didn’t fix anything.

His phone buzzed, and for a second, he thought it might be him. Stupid. Always stupid. It was some random spam notification.

He let out a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, wasn’t quite a sob. Something lingering in between the bitterness and sweetness of it all. And then he picked up the pen again, dragging it across the paper as if carving into skin.

With all the lies you told back in the day to get laid?

He didn’t even realize he was writing the next line until it was there, staring at him like an accusation.

Nam-gyu stared at them until his eyes blurred. For a second, he thought about tearing the page out. Then he thought about tearing all the pages out. Then the whole notebook. Then the walls of his fucked-up apartment.

Instead, he reached for the soju bottle again, tilted it back until his throat was nothing but fire. The burn felt good. It felt like well-deserved punishment. Like maybe if it hurt enough going down, it would drown the ache clawing through his ribs.

The bottle was half gone now, and he hadn’t eaten a single thing since yesterday morning. His stomach felt hollow. His body felt hollow. But his head, as always, remained loud.

That sentence kept repeating, over and over. 

With all the lies you told back in the day to get laid?

And suddenly, everything in his head forced his body to remember.

It was before they even established their relationship. Back when Nam-gyu was still figuring out if Thanos was someone he could trust. Spoiler: he couldn’t.

They were sitting in the back of Min-su's car after some late-night run to the beach. Windows fogged up from the cold and the shitty heater blasting on low. Thanos had his phone out, typing fast. Too fast. His face lit up by the screen in that sharp, unnatural blue glow.

Nam-gyu leaned over, just a little, just enough to catch a glimpse of the conversation he wasn't a part of.

The name on the chat wasn’t his. It wasn’t even saved—just a number with a heart emoji at the end of it. The messages were grossly obvious. Flirty. Dripping with the kind of fake sweetness Thanos could coat anything with when he wanted something.

When you coming over again?
Missed you last night.
Promise I’ll make it worth your time.

Nam-gyu had laughed then. A sharp, dry sound. Like he could play it cool. Like his chest didn’t cave in when Thanos turned to him with that lazy smile and said, “What? You jealous?”

He didn’t answer. He just turned to stare out the window, watching rain hit glass in streaks reminiscing veins.

Thanos kept typing.

And even with the cold breeze of the outside, he was suffocating.

Nam-gyu slammed the notebook shut and pushed it away like distance could make the words disappear. He rubbed at his face, fingers pressing into his eye sockets hard enough to see stars.

The ashtray on the floor was full of cigarette stubs, some burnt all the way down to the filter. He lit another one anyway, holding it between his slightly trembling fingers without even wanting it. The taste turned his stomach, bitter and stale, but the nicotine still hit his blood like a soft punch to the gut.

Halfway through the cigarette, he threw it out. He was sick of smoking. Sick of breathing in overpriced tobacco and calling it comfort.

His eyes landed on the shoebox peeking for under his desk. Old, dented cardboard. He stared at it for a long time, his throat dry, heartbeat heavy.

Don’t.

But he was already reaching. Already dragging it out. Already opening the lid to that familiar green haze of dried weed and half-used rolling papers.

He sat there, staring at the stash like he would at an old friend. Something he swore he wouldn’t touch again. Something he only ever reached for when he needed to disappear.

And right now, he needed to fucking disappear.

The sound of the grinder was sharp against the silence. He sat cross-legged on the mattress, shaking slightly as he worked the weed down. His fingers moved on autopilot, rolling muscle memory into something he had grown to hate himself for.

By the time the lit-up joint was between his lips, his hands had stopped shaking. Almost like they remembered how to be steady when sinning was involved.

The first drag hit like a slowly unraveling car crash. His lungs burned, his throat closed, and then it was all smoke curling up toward the ceiling like a ghost leaving his body.

He leaned back, exhaling slow, eyes half-lidded as the room started to hum at the edges.

The weed was slowly beginning to kick in, same with everything else going on in his mind.

It was another party, another bed, another night where everything felt both too much and not enough.

Nam-gyu remembered being on top, his fingers curled deep inside Thanos, slick and slow, watching the way his mouth fell open every time they brushed against his prostate. That sound—soft, desperate, breaking on the edge of a moan made his heart race.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it,” Nam-gyu had whispered against his jaw, voice low, lips brushing sweaty skin. “You’re not too good for this. Take it all Hyung.”

Thanos had laughed. Breathless, teeth grazing Nam-gyu's sensitive earlobe. “Don’t worry, Nam. You’re the only one I ever let touch me like this.” He held back a moan and returned to grinding his hips, syncing the movement with Nam-gyu's fingers working him open.

Nam-gyu wanted to believe it. God, he wanted to believe it so bad that it carved holes in him.

Back in the present, He dragged his hands down his face until his skin felt raw. The joint burned slow between his fingers, the ash growing long, threatening to fall at any second.

He stared at the ceiling. Eyes glassy, heart heavy. Pulse thumping in his ears.

Nam-gyu believed every fucking word. Every promise. Every 'you're different Nam'.

And now? Now he was here. Alone. High out of his mind. Writing letters like some washed-up poet choking on a heartbreak.

The next line in the letter made his stomach churn in disgust.

An excuse for Mi-na, you got a story for Se-mi.

Nam-gyu barked out a laugh that wasn’t a laugh at all. It was sharp. Broken. Ugly.

He found himself wishing for a break.

Se-mi had been sitting on the edge of the couch at a mutual friend’s place, and if Nam-gyu wasn't mistaken, he could've sworn her name was No-eul. Music low, people passing joints like candy. Thanos slid in next to Se-mi, too close, that stupid grin plastered on his stupidly-perfect face.

“Come on,” he’d said, voice dipping like it always did when he wanted something. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”

Se-mi had laughed in his face. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Thanos. You know I like girls.”

Nam-gyu had been in the kitchen doorway, listening. Watching. And for a second, he almost felt relieved. At least, until Thanos turned and saw him, eyes dark and sharp like getting caught was all a part of some fucked-up game he never signed up for.

Pushing himself back into the mattress Nam-gyu stared at his arms. At the faint scars he thought he’d left behind years ago. He pressed his thumb into one of them until the skin went white. Until it hurt enough to make him feel something more than raging sorrow and grief.

The joint was gone. Leaving the room smelling like burnt leaves and regret.

His chest felt heavy. His head felt light. And everything else was nothing but static.

The notebook lay open again, waiting for him to give in once more. He picked up the pen with trembling fingers and scrawled the last line, big and bold.

And all those other girls you only called when you were horny.

He dropped the pen. Sat there staring at the words until they blurred into black rivers beneath his half-lidded eyes.

And for one terrifying second, he thought about how easy it would be to disappear for good.

🎤🎼🎸

Chapter Text

🎤🎼🎸

The night smelled like spilled cocktails and sweat—sweet, sticky, suffocating. The bass throbbed like an unsteady pulse against his skull, every drop vibrating through his ribs until he couldn’t tell if it was the music or his heart pounding itself raw.

Due to his last-week absence, he was thrown into taking care of the VIP rooms for tonight. Making sure some snobbed-out people enjoyed their night of partying, accompanied by him being pushed around like a big nobody that should be grateful for having the opportunity to share space with 'famous' people. 

He hated them.

Hated their stupid, over-the-top outfits, the way they laughed, the dumb selfies they took just to post them on Instagram a few seconds later. He hated everything about them.

He couldn't stand the fact of them feeling better than everyone else.

Nam-gyu pressed his back against the cold metal railing near the entrance, pretending to scroll on his phone, acting like the neon lights and the stench of alcohol weren’t making him sick. He’d showered today. Twice, actually—once before work and then again twelve minutes later, he stood under the hot stream trying to scald something off his skin that wasn’t really there. Normal people did that, right? Normal people showered, put on black shirts that didn’t smell, and went to their jobs like they didn’t want to fucking die.

He was normal tonight.

At least, that’s what he told himself as he straightened his collar and flashed the grin—the one that didn’t reach his eyes—to some dude on his way into the VIP booth with two girls hanging off his arms. Easy money. Everyone wanted to feel like they belonged, and Nam-gyu sold belonging by the hour, ₩300,000 a table.

Normal.
Normal.
Normal.

He repeated the words in his head, as if the constant repetition would somehow make them come true.

The VIP room reeked of powder and perfume. Nam-gyu stood by the door with his promoter’s smile plastered on like armor, pretending he didn’t see the shit going down. He wasn’t stupid. He knew this crowd, the kind that snorted, smoked, and shot up behind designer sunglasses, acting like the whole world wanted to be them.

The first hit of that characteristic stench—chemical and sharp—made his stomach lurch. It wasn’t the coke that got to him. Coke was clean, quick and pretty compared to the real shit. It was the other smell, the one that clung to skin and needles, that copper-metallic undertone he could taste on the back of his tongue. Heroin. He’d recognize it anywhere.

Nam-gyu looked away, fixing his eyes on the mirrored wall instead of the two guys crouched over the glass table, melting the brown goo down in a nastily bent spoon. He tried not to stare at the girl in the corner, leather belt tight around her thin arm, waiting for the vein to bloom blue. His throat dried out like sand.

The bass from the main floor pulsed through the walls, but in here, the sound felt muffled, Nam-gyu felt as if he was breathing underwater. Someone was laughing, loud, too loud, and Nam-gyu’s skin crawled. His palms were slick. He forced the grin tighter and checked his phone for the millionth time, just as if he had better things to do than watch people dance with the same demon he’d once fallen utterly in love with.

He told himself he was past this. Two months off heroine. Almost. He told himself it was fine, that the itch burning under his skin was just nostalgia, not need.

But the addictive shine of the powder being dissected into liquid on the silver spoon. The sound of the substance entering the needle. The tightness of a belt gracing arm.

The push, the release, the euphoria.

It all came back to him in an instant.

And with that, came him.

The first time he met Thanos was weird, to say the least. The crowded walls of club Pentagon thudded with bass and loud shouts coming from the dance floor. He was just about to grab his jacket and clock out, when he felt a presence of someone standing right behind him.

Without turning around he spoke up, trying to quickly dismiss the wandering person. He really didn't want to spend any more time in his workplace. "I'm sorry, but this area is staff-only, make your way over to the exit."

A low chuckle was heard, a man, smirk clearly audible through the deep voice.

"Mr-Pretty-Promoter, I know exactly where I am." The guy said, making Nam-gyu turn around only to be greeted with a sharp-teethed smile accompanied by a mess of purple hair sticking out in every possible direction, a greenish graphic tee and a pair of jean pants hanging loosely on the man's hips.

What even was this sad-excuse of an outfit? Some failed circus experiment?

"Then.. leave?" He said trying to hold back his laughter fueled by the other guy's ridiculous fashion sense.

"'Y'know, Ya served us pretty sweetly back in the VIP room, consider this.. a tip."

And before Nam-gyu could respond, a small baggie of colorful pills was thrown his way, he tried to protest but when he looked up, the man was already gone.

The one detail that caught his eyes, was the messy handwriting gracing the thin plastic.

Thanos :*
call me sometime ;) (+82 xx-xxxx-xxxx)

Nam-gyu’s stomach twisted so hard he thought he might puke. He fumbled for his pen and a crumpled receipt from the bar, scribbling so hard the paper nearly ripped.

Yeah, but it’s nothing that you didn’t do first.

The ink bled into the thin paper. Nam-gyu couldn't stop his heart from racing. His hands were shaking. Whole body suddenly feeling too tight for his skin.

He stuffed the receipt in his pocket and muttered something about checking another table to his co-worker before bolting out the back door. The alley was colder than he expected, damp with city rot and the overwhelming stench of alcohol. He dragged in some air that burned his throat.

I need something. I need it now.

The cigarette he lit up didn’t cut it. The nicotine feeling like a poor attempt of trying to drown a fire with spit. He smoked half of it, grounded it out, and stared at the night sky, silently wishing that it would provide him with the much-needed answers.

It didn’t.

The rest of his shift was a blur.

🎤🎼🎸

He remembered clocking out, taking a walk back home, listening to music and cursing on his wired earphones for not letting the sound flow properly due to the fucked-up cord.

The tension-coated night followed him all the way back home.

Even after he slammed the apartment door behind him, he could still feel the bass crawling under his skin, rattling against his ribs. His shirt stuck to his back with club sweat, hair smelling of perfume that made his lungs suffocate.

Nam-gyu didn’t bother turning on the lights. Shadows stretched across the walls as he kicked off his shoes and staggered to the kitchen. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He poured water into a glass, spilled half of it, but drank anyway. The liquid hit his throat with a bitter taste of copper and mold, the nausea resurfaced. His fingers locked onto the kitchen counter in a poor attempt of grounding himself.

The craving hit him like a train. Not slow, not creeping but violent. The kind of hunger that doesn’t ask for permission, just claws you open from the inside.

He tightened his grip on the counter until his knuckles whitened.

You’re fine.

You’re fine. It’s been months. You’re fine.

His brain laughed straight to his face. Fine? He could still see the VIP room every time he blinked—the spoon, the belt, the blue veins contrasting with pale skin, the push, the fucking release.

His chest ached as though someone was tightening a rope around it. He wanted to scream.

Instead, he tore the kitchen apart.

Drawers slammed. Cabinets banged open. Plates shattered on the floor with a loud crash. His breath came sharp and wet. Hands digging into cereal boxes, bags of rice, old shoe boxes—nothing. Nothing.

The trash can went next, black plastic ripped open, garbage spilling across the tile. He didn’t care. He was already on his knees, clawing through last week’s filth like a starving animal.

“Fuck!” His voice cracked so hard it barely sounded human.

He stumbled into the living room. Ripped cushions open. Upturned the couch. Moved to the bedroom. Pulled clothes out of drawers, flung them across the floor. The air reeked of sweat, dust, and old cologne. The walls felt like they were closing in on him.

And then—

There.

Wedged behind a stack of cracked vinyl cases and an old speaker, a baggie, dirty plastic, powder inside looking like crushed teeth. He froze, breath hitching so hard his chest burned.

“Oh…” His throat closed on the word.

Nam-gyu snatched it up, tore it open with trembling fingers. White dust spilled across the coffee table like stars on a clear night sky. For one second, he just stared at it in disbelief. Maybe the universe wasn’t all teeth and cruelty after all.

Then he laughed. Bitter, broken. “God. Fucking. Bless.”

The razor came from the nearest drawer without thought, muscle memory snapping back like a whip. The lines formed fast and messy. His hands shook too hard to make them neat, but he didn't care. The only thing on his mind was the release, the hit, the burn.

First inhale burned through his nostrils like gasoline and heaven all at once. His eyes slammed shut. Lungs expanding with liquid fire, and the sound that left him wasn’t human—a form of relief and ruin accumulated in one, broken exhale.

“Fuck.” His voice cracked again, softer this time. Almost tender.

The second line hit harder. His heart sprinted, jaw clenching. The room tilted sideways, then righted itself in a rush of sharp clarity. Everything lit up like buzzing neon inside his skull.

And with it came him.

Thanos.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor of 'their' old apartment, smoke curling from his lips. Eyes dark, glistening with something deep and dangerous remained focused on the man in front of him. His voice echoing in the back of Nam-gyu’s head.

“My sweet, little promoter." He said, voice reeking of weird softness. "You look perfect even when you dissolve." 

Nam-gyu’s breath hitched. His pupils were saucers now, the room stretched wide around him, but that voice—he couldn’t shut it off.

Flash.

The way Thanos grabbed his arm, thumb tracing over the bruised track marks as if he was reading braille. That look in his eyes: not pity, not anger, just cold fascination. Like Nam-gyu was some kind of a fucked-up art installation.

Flash.

Thanos in bed, shirt off, self-inflicted scars splattered across his tattoed arms, laughing like the devil in slow motion. “Don’t look at me like I’m the only sinner here, baby.”

Nam-gyu dragged in air so fast it sliced his throat. He grabbed the crumpled receipt again, pen clenched so hard his fingers ached. The letters scrawled jagged, coke dust smearing across the paper as he wrote.

He stared at the words until they blurred, until they weren’t words anymore—just black teeth biting through white flesh. His hands shook so bad he had to hold the table to keep himself from toppling over.

The third line went down like a bullet. His nose burned raw, his gums tingled. He was grinning now, wide and empty. Tears slicked his lashes without him noticing.

The memories kept coming.

Thanos, head tipped back in the studio, spitting venom into a mic. Lyrics that cut like scalpels. "White like the world you dream of, soft like the veins you hide…”

And Nam-gyu had laughed then, like it didn’t gut him alive to hear himself dressed in metaphors for snow and needles.

He rubbed the residue from his fingers onto his gums, as though it could fill the holes gaping inside him. His chest felt too small for the storm raging inside. His jaw ached from clenching. Everything tasted like metal and ash.

He looked at the receipt, now two sentences decorating the crumpled edges.

The only difference is, I probably did it worse.

Nam-gyu stumbled back.

He wanted to scream, to tear everyone apart. The feeling of being utterly and unapologetically himself came back stronger than ever.

"Fuck that stupid fuck Thanos." He mumbled, grabbing onto his couch and lowering himself onto it with a silent thud.

The world spun, colors raging with their intensity, shadows of the room became sharper, more defined, as if someone sculpted them out into perfect shapes.

His hair fell messily onto his sweat-stained face.

Fuck that.

He stood up, paced the living room muttering the stupid song lyrics his brain was feeding on for the last couple of days.

No fun anymore?

Fun. Fun. Fun.

He was fun, he was fucking amazing. Easily, he could tear the whole world apart. He never needed Thanos, Thanos needed him.

Then..

Everything stopped.

His teeth were gritting like crazy, the sweat coated his body with an unpleasant itch.

The emptiness clawed at him again.

Did Gyeong-su realize the song was about Nam-gyu? Maybe Min-su came up with the idea? Se-mi had to be screeching in happiness when Thanos released the song, she was Nam-gyu's number one hater, after all.

People knew it was him, people were definitely wondering how someone as boring as Nam-gyu pulled someone so amazing, hot, and adventurous as Thanos.

He needed an out.

Now.

Hunching himself onto the table, he searched for any leftover remains of the snowy powder.

Nothing.

He searched the place he found the bag in again.

A vinyl fell onto the floor.

Nothing.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

With shaky hands, he picked up his phone from the floor, unlocked it, and went straight to his contacts.

Ji-yeong’s name glared at him from his contacts list, half a ghost and half a promise. He hadn’t called her in two months. He told himself he would never do it again.

His thumb hovered for a second, then pressed.

The line rang. Once. Twice. A click.

"Who is this?" The girl on the other side of the phone asked. Nam-gyu tried to mumble out something coherent, but his tongue twisted in his mouth, words didn't form properly, shallow breaths swallowed the silence of the call, before eventually, his body took over.

"You still in business?" He said, throat dry.

A low laugh. “Business never dies, baby. But you Nam-gyu? Thought you were dead.”

"I'm not." He replied, voice shaking slightly as if even getting the words out of his mouth hurt. "I need something strong." He didn’t recognize his own voice—too thin, too desperate.

“Define strong.”

There was silence. Just their breathing. Then he said it, even though doing so costed him everything he managed to fix in the long weeks of sobriety. “Dope.”

A beat passed. Then she whistled slow. “Now that’s a blast from the past. Meet me at the alley behind Red Moon. You remember it.”

Of course he remembered. That alley had teeth.

A set of strong, life-ruining teeth.

🎤🎼🎸

The city was alive in the worst way. Neon bleeding into puddles, drunk voices bouncing off glass towers, taxis crawling through the empty streets in an attempt of spotting some drunken people. Nam-gyu pulled his hood up and kept his head down, weaving through the chaos like a ghost.

Every step was a war in his head.

Don’t do this. You’re stronger than this.
You already called. It’s already done.
Turn around now.
Just one more time. Just once, it was a shitty couple of days, you deserve it.

By the time he reached the alley, he already knew which voice had won.

Ji-yeong was leaning against the wall when he got there, her black bomber jacket glinting in the flicker of a dying streetlight. Her hair was shorter than he remembered, jagged bangs hanging in her eyes, but the smirk was the same. That predator’s grin staring right at him, fully aware of the fact that she owned him the second she saw him.

“Well, well, well,” she purred, lighting a cigarette. “If it isn’t Seoul’s favorite born-again saint.”

Nam-gyu ignored the jab. “You got it?”

She blew smoke in his face and laughed. “Straight to business. No hi, no how’ve-you-been. Guess sobriety really does kill manners.”

“Ji.” His voice cracked like glass. “Please.”

Her smirk widened. “Oh, now you’re begging. Cute.”

She dug in her pocket and pulled out a small, folded packet. The sight of it punched the air out of Nam-gyu’s lungs. It wasn’t even in his hands yet, and already he could taste it–sharp, bitter, like metal and rain. His whole body screamed yes.

Ji-yeong dangled it between two fingers, just enough to make his legs tremble. “You sure about this?”

“Yes.”

“You look like shit.”

“I said yes.”

“You sound worse.” She tilted her head, eyeing him like he was a dying animal. “What happened, huh? Thought you had your shiny new life. Big-boy job, clean veins, a popstar boyfriend to kiss your scars away—”

“Don’t.” The word ripped out of him like a snarl.

Ji-yeong raised a brow. “Ohhh. Hit a nerve, did I?” She smiled, slow and mean.

Nam-gyu said nothing. Couldn’t. His hands clenched into fists in his pockets to keep them from shaking.

“You still marked up?” she teased, voice dripping.

He froze. Her words split his head open once again.

Thanos was sitting cross-legged on the mattress, head tipped forward so his messy hair curtained his face, and his eyes—God, those eyes—burned like questions Nam-gyu didn’t want to answer.

“You shot up again,” Thanos said flatly. Not a question. Not even anger. Just a hollow verdict.

Nam-gyu laughed, too loud, trying to fill the space. “What, this? Just a little something to take the edge off.”

“Track marks aren’t ‘a little something,’ Nam.” His voice was sandpaper, worn, scraping at something tender inside him. “What the fuck are you doing to yourself?”

Nam-gyu wanted to tell him to shut up, wanted to shove those words back down his throat. Instead, he smirked, cruel because that was easier than letting anyone in. “Oh, don’t act like you’re a saint.”

Thanos stared, and for a second, Nam-gyu swore he saw fear. Not for himself. For Nam-gyu. Like Nam-gyu was something wild and broken, bleeding out right in front of him.

Ji-yeong dangled the plastic baggie between two fingers, lazy, like a cat playing with a mouse.

“Tell me something first,” she said. “Why now? The last time, you made a whole show of blocking me and telling me to delete your number. Guess the 'clean-era' didn't last long."

Nam-gyu felt his body fill with rage again. "None of your fucking business, take your money and leave." He said, handing her a couple of crumpled bills, coming to a ₩250,000 total.

Ji-yeong grinned wider and tossed him the overflowing packet. He caught it as if it would vanish at any second.

“Go on,” she teased. “Say it. Say thank you, noona.”

He didn’t. He turned and walked. Fast. Before she could twist the knife even deeper.

"Tell Thanos I said hi."

Nam-gyu froze, every muscle snapping tight.
He didn’t turn around.
Didn’t breathe.

Then he walked away.

🎤🎼🎸

The neon sign outside the bar flickered like it was trying to die. Se-mi sat in a booth near the back, legs crossed, phone glowing in her hand. Across from her, Sae-byeok was nursing a beer, Jun-hee stirring her cocktail like it had personally offended her.

They were laughing about something—some stupid joke about Jun-hee’s ex—when Sae-byeok’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then snorted.

“Oh my God,” she said. “You’re not gonna believe this. Ji-yeong just told me something wild.”

Se-mi looked up, heart already clawing at her ribs. “What?” She knew Ji-yeong, she knew her perfectly well to understand that whenever she had some 'wild gossip' to share, it was either the most unhinged or concerning thing ever.

“She said Nam-gyu called her tonight.” Sae-byeok grinned, not even noticing the way Se-mi’s face drained like someone pulled the plug. “Like, begging for the good shit again. Guess sobriety didn’t stick, huh?”

Jun-hee laughed, sharp and mean. “Classic.” She really wasn't in the mood today, it seems. Jun-hee was rarely this mean. Poor girl, her shift at the bakery must've been horrible.

Se-mi didn’t laugh though. Couldn’t. Her grip on her phone tightened until her knuckles turned white. Ji-yeong wouldn’t lie about that. Which meant—

She swallowed, forcing her voice into steadiness. “She’s joking.”

“Nope,” Sae-byeok said, scrolling. “She literally texted me: ‘Thanos's boy is crawling back to the needle. Thought he was a saint now.’”

Se-mi’s stomach turned to glass. Her pulse felt like fire in her ears. She forced out a laugh— thin, sharp, fake as hell. “Yeah. That’s… that’s hilarious.”

🎤🎼🎸

Nam-gyu sat on his mattress, thin arms stretched over bruised knees, hugging them in a poor attempt of getting even a tiny glimpse of comfort.

The baggie of heroin lay on the ground below his feet, trying to lure him into doing the one thing he promised himself to never pick up again.

He tried.

His phone buzzed, but he ignored it.

He remembered the night before Thanos blew up instead.

It was in some shitty rooftop bar in Hongdae, two cracked speakers hanging on a wall. Nam-gyu handing Thanos his last cigarette because Thanos had “forgotten his pack” again.

Thanos was drunk but grinning wide, arm slung heavy over Nam-gyu’s shoulders, both of them feeling like the kings of the world.

“You’re my day one, you know that, right?” Thanos said, breath thick with whiskey. “When I make it big—we make it big.”

Nam-gyu laughed because he believed him. Because every time Thanos talked like that, it didn’t sound like a dream. It sounded inevitable.

He remembered saying, “You will. I don’t even doubt it for a second.” And meaning it.

He remembered spotting the holes in Thanos’s hoodie sleeve when he lifted his glass—stitching coming undone, fabric worn thin—and Nam-gyu thinking, Yeah, I’d fight the world for this guy if I had to.

And now the same guy was on a track, waging war like Nam-gyu was some snake in the grass instead of the person who held him up when no one else gave a fuck.

The next sentence made its way into his mind, leaving a space for him to write it down in the morning.

So look at the 'great rapper Thanos' declaring holy war on every person that didn't mean to fuck him over

🎤🎼🎸

Chapter Text

🎤🎼🎸

Mornings were always hard for Nam-gyu.

Especially the ones after getting coked out of his brain.

He woke to the sound of birds tearing through the morning air—too loud, too alive for someone like him, someone who wanted nothing more than to slam his head against the nearest wall until silence came back. His eyes stung when they cracked open, sunlight stabbing his vision with its warm streaks. He groaned, half in protest, half in surrender.

His skull pulsed with pain. Rising too fast from the pillow made his growing migraine claw even deeper, pulling at his brain with the silent purpose of ripping his thoughts out altogether.

Today was going to be hell.

The only semi-positive thing was the fact that his shift at Pentagon didn't start until late afternoon. The brief space of time he could use to recollect himself seemed to be enough to slightly lessen the weight lingering on his shoulders. 

The gray shirt he’d thrown on last night clung to his skin, soaked with sweat, sticking to him in that disgusting, nerve wrecking way. He wanted to peel himself out of it, hell, he'd peel himself out of his own skin if he could—leave only a husk behind and forget there had ever been a person inside.

Instead, taking off the piece of clothing had to cut it, for now.

Standing hurt. Every muscle in his body ached like it had been wrung dry, bones seemed to scream louder than his head. His hair fell into his eyes, greasy strands poking the reddened eyeballs with their texture. His tongue was sandpaper, useless, thick in his mouth. He knew drug hangovers well enough, but this wasn’t just the usual wreckage. This was something worse. Something deeper.

He collapsed back down, unwilling to keep fighting gravity. The cold pillow pressed against his cheek, merciful, almost tender. He groaned into it, the sound muffled, pathetic, his teeth clenched, trying to keep his throat from unraveling into a full scream.

His hand reached for the notebook lying nearby.

He scribbled down the scraps he’d meant to add to the letter yesterday, half-thoughts he couldn’t afford to forget, then stopped and forced himself to read it all over again.

Every line. Every word. Like a mantra repeating itself in the shadowed corners of his existence.

They pressed on him like lead. Each sentence sank heavier into his chest, palms sweating, eyes burning.

Too heavy. Too suffocating. Too much.

He wanted to disappear.

He wanted Su-bong.

Tears prickled, hot at the corners of his eyes, sharp against the dryness of his skin. He didn’t fight them this time. He let them spill, small streaks down his face, a quiet plea for the universe to loosen its grip for once.

He let the memories in. All of them. Even the ones that cut.

And for a moment, lying there, he didn’t try to stop the breaking.

🎤🎼🎸

Thanos—no, Su-bong.
Choi Su-bong was the kind one. He liked conversations that weren’t dressed up in bullshit, bonding over the little things. He loved his dog, Yuo. He loved the people close enough to earn it.

But when Nam-gyu stumbled into the so-called 'Thanos world.' he understood quickly. Thanos wasn’t Su-bong. And when that first song reached the milestone of 100,000 views, he knew the old Su-bong was gone. Scraped off like excess paint, tossed aside like he was never supposed to exist.

Nam-gyu hated how much that stung.

He thought about the first time they met—if that counted as a meeting at all. Su-bong had been wearing the mask already, leaning into the arrogance, the posture, the performance. Thanos, not Su-bong. But when Nam-gyu poked at it, asked why he was acting that way, Thanos had smirked and said he was just curious about meeting such a “charming promoter.”

It was the kind of line that shouldn’t have worked. But it did. It made Nam-gyu smile.

By the time he showed up in Su-bong’s orbit, Thanos was already eating Su-bong alive.

Nam-gyu never got the version Se-mi knew.

Se-mi’s story came out one night when she was blackout drunk, crumpled in the backseat of Nam-gyu’s beat-up Honda. The car smelled like stale cigarettes and the radio stopped working years before. The seats were stiff, the bodywork scratched to hell. But it moved, and that was all Nam-gyu cared about.

Her voice came from behind him, slurred but sharp. “Y’know, Su-bong is changing. And I fucking hate it.”

Nam-gyu barked a laugh, not sure if she was serious or just too drunk to filter. But she kept going.

“Before the music, he was… softer. A little sad, sure. But he wasn’t this. I miss my friend, Nam-gyu-ya.”

He didn’t need to look back to know her expression—he could hear it in the break of her voice. Something about it unsettled him.

“Why do you think he’s changing?” he asked, more careful this time. In no way he was close to Se-mi, but they had moments. What at first looked like a poor attempt at getting the two to talk, turned into them actually being able to have some engaging conversations. Nam-gyu appreciated that, it was nice knowing he wasn’t too much of an outstander in the group.

She scoffed, then snapped, “It’s not thinking. It’s knowing. Those dumb fuckers from the underground scene. It’s their fault. They’re the ones who shoved the pills at him. And look at him now.”

Her hand clutched her black Osoi purse like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Even drunk, even unraveling, Nam-gyu could tell—she really cared about him. Su-bong had someone who’d claw the world apart for him if she had to.

Nam-gyu couldn’t help but notice he didn’t have anyone like that.

He remained quiet. Not everything had to be about him.

Se-mi spat one more line, almost shaking with anger. “They ruined him. And now they’ve got you too. You think it’s fun, but it’s killing him. It’s killing both of you.”

By the time Nam-gyu figured out what to say, the car had already pulled up outside her apartment. She stumbled out without waiting, slamming the door behind her.

He only caught her face for a second as she turned toward the building—mascara running, streaks of black carved down her cheeks. Tears she didn’t want anyone to see.

The image burned into him, refusing to leave.

And Se-mi was right. Because only a few months later—he overdosed on heroin.

It wasn't intentional by any means, he just went a little overboard with the amount. Luckily, Thanos found him passed out in his messed-up bed and drove him to the hospital.

The doctors told him it was truly a miracle the taller man managed to drive them both safely to their destination. Especially considering the panic attack he needed to push through on the way.

And no matter how many times he apologized, it was never enough.

He hated the truth of it: he never really got to meet Su-bong. Not the quiet, kind version Se-mi swore still existed beneath the stage lights. Not the boy with the dog and the soft voice. All Nam-gyu ever got was Thanos—sharp edges, blurred nights, someone already halfway gone.

And maybe that was his fault.

Maybe if he’d pulled harder, begged louder, loved better—Su-bong would’ve stayed. Maybe he wouldn’t have broken things off two days before their anniversary like it meant nothing. Maybe the song would’ve never been written.

The thought knifed through his chest.

“Shit,” he muttered to no one, the word catching on his dry tongue. He pressed his palms over his eyes, digging until spots bloomed behind his lids, as if he could grind the face he never got to fully meet out of existence.

But it clung to him anyway. Su-bong’s smile, Thanos’s smirk. Two ghosts wearing the same skin. And in his darkest corners, Nam-gyu wondered if he was the one who killed Su-bong—by loving the wrong version too much, by feeding the mask until there was nothing left beneath it.

He recalled the day of their breakup—how chaotic it felt, how wrong everything was, how it clung to him, how one thing that once meant everything to him, turned into nothingness in the blink of an eye.

The morning had already started off crooked. Nam-gyu knew it the second his eyes cracked open. The walls of his room pressed too close, claustrophobic, like they were leaning in to watch him fall apart. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

He shuffled to the couch, collapsed into the sagging cushions with a chipped mug of black coffee in hand. The bitter steam hit his face, heavy, suffocating. The smell usually steadied him. That morning, it turned his stomach. He drank anyway, forcing it down like medicine.

The cigarette pack on the table had one left. A small mercy. He pulled it out, only to find the stick cracked clean through, bent and useless. He stared at it, jaw tight, then let out a groan that sounded more like defeat than frustration. He rubbed a hand over his face, fingertips grazing a new pimple on his jaw. Petty, but it made the day feel even more cursed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. Maybe it was just going to be one of those days. The kind that piles weight on your chest for no reason. He tried to shrug it off.

Wrong.

The vibration of his phone snapped through the room. His gaze flicked down to the screen lighting up the coffee table.

Thanos <3 — Incoming Call.

Something in his chest loosened. He reached for it too fast, lips twitching into a small, involuntary smirk. Maybe the day wasn’t completely doomed, after all.

“Hi, jagi!” he answered quickly, brushing his messy hair out of his face. “What’s up with you calling me so early?”

Silence. Not the sweet kind. The heavy kind.

And then, flat.

“I’m sorry, Nam-gyu… but we have to break up.”

The words didn’t land at first. They hovered, like smoke he couldn’t breathe in.

“What?” His voice cracked around the word. His grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles ached. “What do you even mean? Why?”

There was a pause on the other end. He could hear Thanos’s exhale—tired, annoyed, maybe even guilty. It made Nam-gyu’s skin crawl with nausea.

“I just don’t see it anymore. That’s all.”

It. Them. Whatever it was, it meant everything to Nam-gyu.

His throat worked, but no words came. He wanted to scream, to beg, to ask how the hell you could just throw something like this away over the phone, first thing in the morning. But before he could pull a sentence together, the call clicked off.

The silence that followed was worse than screaming ever could.

He stared at the screen until it dimmed, leaving only his reflection in the black glass—messy hair, tired eyes, his own mouth hanging open like he’d been caught mid-word.

The coffee on the table went cold. The broken cigarette sat in his lap mockingly.

And all he could feel was the weight of it—dread, despair, and the bitter taste of being discarded. Thrown away without a bit of closure to hang on.

The feeling gnawed at him.

The week after the breakup blurred into a haze of self-interrogation. He lay awake staring at the ceiling, picking apart every second of their history like it was a crime scene. Every text he sent too fast. Every clingy word. Every night he begged Thanos to stay a little longer 'just because'. Every time he said no to another pill, like that refusal had been a betrayal. His brain replayed the past like a broken tape, looping moments until they curdled. If he could just pinpoint the exact second Thanos decided to stop loving him, maybe the knife in his chest would make sense.

And then came the song.

The day it dropped, clarity burned him alive. Each lyric twisted deeper, each chord was a scar reopened. It didn’t matter if he wanted to argue, to scream that it wasn’t fair. He understood. He saw the mirror Thanos held up to him, ugly and unflinching.

He was the problem.

Too boring. Too needy. Too small and irrelevant for someone like Thanos.

The words branded themselves into his skull until he couldn’t think anything else. He clutched the edges of his notebook like it could anchor him, fingertips denting the cover. But the weight in his chest wouldn’t move. It was crushing.

He grabbed the phone lying crooked on the mattress beside him. Unlocked it. Tried to drown the static in his head before it drowned him. Scrolling, scrolling—anything to escape the echo of that song.

Twitter was the worst mistake.

The trending tab slapped him right in the face.

#NAMfunanymore

His stomach turned cold. Fingers shaking, he tapped the hashtag, hoping maybe it wasn’t what it looked like. His hope died fast.

And then he saw it. 

@thanos_ttt
Due to speculations and rumours going around the internet, I wanted to clear any false information from spreading further and hurting more people.

“You’re No Fun Anymore” is NOT about Kang Dae-ho nor Kang Mi-na, and it most importantly isn’t about my former friend Cho Sang-woo (miss u brother we gotta hangout soon).

I found the speculations hurting my close one’s public images, so as a way of shutting the unnecessary controversies off, I wanted to confirm who the song is about.

He’s not a public figure, so please don’t send any threats towards his personal accounts.

attached: a picture of Su-bong and Nam-gyu sitting next to each other backstage of one of Thanos’s gigs. Nam-gyu is smiling and flashing a peace sign at the camera. Su-bong is holding up his ridiculous, bedazzled purple microphone. 

Nam-gyu’s lungs locked.

What. The. Fuck.

His brain spiraled out of control. Panic smashed against anger, against humiliation, against the sick twist of seeing his face broadcast to millions like a punchline. His throat went dry, chest caving. He couldn’t even look away from the photo—his own stupid grin staring back at him, preserved forever as proof.

His name. His image. His ruin.

Thanos hadn’t just left. He’d weaponized him.

Nam-gyu’s thoughts scattered around the heaviness of his room. He couldn’t gather them. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t decide if he wanted to cry, scream, or laugh until he tore his voice chords out.

All he knew was that the gnawing in his chest had finally swallowed him whole.

He scrolled through the trending hashtag.

At first, he thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe people would just make jokes, let it die in a few hours.

But the timeline was endless. A river of posts, his face dragged through mud he didn’t even know he’d stepped in.

@deathkia 

Imagine being so boring your boyfriend leaves u lmao. 

Attached: a blurry selfie of him half-asleep in a green room chair, head lolled, mouth open. 

Swipe.

A picture of him pressed against Thanos, pupils blown wide, grinning like he belonged.

@bakuyaku
He looked so much happier there. No clue what went wrong later tho. Guess the dude really was dead weight. 

Swipe.

@xxram2diexx 

Bro had one job: keep the hottest rapper happy. Failed spectacularly. 

Swipe.

@daemvn_ 

He should be grateful anyone ever wrote a song about him in the first place. If I was that dull, I’d kill myself. 

Nam-gyu’s chest clenched. He swiped faster, like punishing himself on purpose. The comments blurred together, some cruel, some mocking, some pitying. All of them poisoned.

It was like watching a funeral where he was still alive, hearing strangers pick apart how little he was worth.

He dropped the phone onto the mattress, chest heaving, fingers trembling. His skin itched. His mouth was too dry to swallow.

He stared at the nightstand. The notebook was there, folded open from earlier. Right beside it—his kit. Scattered. Waiting.

The syringe gleamed faintly in the morning light. A little silver promise.

His brain whispered. It would shut them up. All of them. Just one hit. One blackout. You wouldn’t hear shit anymore. 

He sat up too fast, clutching his head. Tears blurred his vision, hot, angry. “Fuck you," he muttered—to the comments, to himself, to the goddamn universe. His voice cracked.

His hand hovered. Just an inch closer and he could grab the tourniquet. Just an inch closer and he wouldn’t feel the hole in his chest.

But his fingertips froze in the air. Trembling.

He wasn’t sure if it was fear or some tiny scrap of survival left in him that stopped him. He pulled back, pressing both hands over his face, sobbing into his palms.

It all hurt. Too much. More than the hashtags, more than the pictures, more than the song.

Because for one awful second—he wanted it. And that terrified him most of all.

Instead of giving in to his destructive habits, he grabbed his hoodie off the bedroom’s floor and headed outside.

🎤🎼🎸

The morning air of Seoul stung more than it soothed. It was early enough that the streets weren’t yet swarming, but there were just enough people passing by—coffee in hand, headphones on, briefcases clutched tight—to remind Nam-gyu that life went on whether he could keep up with its pacing or not.

The breeze brushed over his face, cool but not kind, and the smell of bakery bread wafted across from the corner. His stomach turned at the thought of eating. He shoved both hands into the pocket of his hoodie, walking slow, dragging his feet as if the pavement itself wanted to swallow him whole. His head ached from the last few days. No amount of showers or cigarettes could scrub off the exhaustion clinging tightly to his frail body.

He stopped at the light, waiting to cross, and that’s when he saw him.

Lee Myung-gi.

It wasn’t the first time they’d crossed paths. Nam-gyu remembered the night they met perfectly.

Pentagon. Not the fancy kind of club—this one was a hole in the wall, buzzing with broken neon and stinking of sweat, cheap liquor, and cigarette smoke so thick it coated your tongue. Nam-gyu had been leaning at the bar, half-buzzed, half-bored, when he noticed the guy sitting stiff at a corner table, water in hand, looking like he’d walked into the wrong movie.

Black hair neatly gracing his face. Expression too serious. Eyes scanning the room as if waiting for someone to call him out.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Nam-gyu had asked, sliding into the seat across from him without permission.

The guy blinked at him, startled. “I’m… meeting a friend.”

Nam-gyu snorted. “Not here, you’re not. Nobody sane comes to the Pentagon for a friendly catch-up.”

A beat of silence. Then the faintest grin tugged at the stranger’s lips. “Shit. Wrong place, then.”

They both cracked up. The tension broke just like that.

Nam-gyu ended up walking him outside, pointing down the street to where the actual place was—a better-lit bar with live music, where you could hold a conversation without someone trying to sell you pills in the shitty, smelly bathroom. To be fair, the other bar was called “Pentax”, which explained the little mixup.

On the sidewalk, the guy extended his hand. “Myung-gi.”

“Nam-gyu,” he replied, shaking it politely.

From then on, they weren’t close in the day-to-day sense. But they became the kind of friends who could pick up after weeks of silence. The kind who could text at 3 a.m. when the world was crumbling, and the other would at least answer, even if only with a “you good?"

It wasn’t everything. But it was something.

And to Nam-gyu, something felt rare.

He looked the same as always, like he never tried too hard but somehow managed to pull together a look that worked. Black hair, slightly messy, falling into his dark, piercing eyes. A grey zip-up hoodie zipped halfway over a loose, white t-shirt, baggy black jeans that hung casually at his hips. He had a coffee cup in hand, steam curling up faintly into the cool, autumn air.

Nam-gyu’s first instinct was to pivot. Cross the street in the opposite direction. Duck behind a bus stop. Anything to avoid the kind of conversation he knew would follow.

But it was too late.

“Nam-gyu?"

His name hit the air like a brick.

Shit.

He froze, shoulders stiff, then forced himself to turn back around. Myung-gi was already looking at him, surprise painted across his face—not the bad kind, not pity yet. Just pure recognition hinted with a trace of joy.

With a reluctant sigh, Nam-gyu trudged closer, one hand clutched tight inside his hoodie pocket, nails digging crescents into his palm. He hated how defensive his body felt, like Myung-gi was a threat. He wasn’t. Nam-gyu knew this, yet still, the urge to escape was stronger.

“Hi,” Nam-gyu muttered dryly, already preparing to cut this short.

But Myung-gi smiled. A genuine smile that softened the edges of his serious face. “Gosh, I haven’t seen you in so long!”

It was a strange feeling—to be greeted warmly, like someone actually missed him. The words almost bounced off Nam-gyu, too foreign for his brain to fully process.

He swallowed down the instinct to sneer, to brush it off. The silence that followed wasn’t the bad kind. It stretched out between them, something that felt almost… bearable. Almost comforting. For once, the noise in his head shut up long enough for him to notice his lips twitching upward into a faint, reluctant smile. He liked Myung-gi, and having him as a somewhat-friend was one of the nicer things currently going on in his life.

“I know,” he said softly. “It’s good to see you, Myung-gi.”

But it couldn’t last.

He saw the shift in Myung-gi’s eyes—the subtle tilt, the pity sliding in like a blade slipped beneath skin. Here it comes.

“Are you holding up? I know things are probably shit right now, but… don’t beat yourself up. He’s being a total douche.”

Of course. Of course Thanos had to make his way into this moment of peace too.

Nam-gyu’s throat burned. He wanted to roll his eyes, laugh it off, spit something venomous—but all he managed was a small, broken, “Yeah. It’s okay, I guess.” His eyes stayed glued to his sneakers, the dirty Converse scuffed and frayed at the laces. “Just… sucks knowing I was the reason for our breakup.”

Saying it out loud made it worse. Words carried weight when you released them, and now they pressed down on his chest like a stone. His voice cracked at the edges. He sounded pathetic. He knew it.

He remembered telling the shorter man about Thanos through the phone, about their break-up. About pretty much everything that happened over the course of their relationship. And well, saying that Myung-gi wasn’t keen on Thanos was a nice way of putting it into words.

But Myung-gi didn’t flinch.

“Don’t say that,” Myung-gi said firmly, shaking his head. “He’s the one acting unserious, airing this shit in public. That’s on him, not you.”

Nam-gyu wanted to believe him. He did. But guilt chewed through him like rust, and he couldn’t stomach the thought of dragging Myung-gi into his wreckage. He didn’t deserve to be burdened with Nam-gyu’s mess.

So he reached for an excuse—something half-assed about being late, about needing to go. He gave a quick goodbye and turned, walking fast, leaving Myung-gi standing there with his coffee and his lingering concern.

The wind caught his hoodie as he stormed off, but the weight inside him stayed.

And in the last bits of his self-consciousness, he already formed another sentence, ready to be put in the letter of his utter grief and misunderstanding.

But karma’s a bitch to hypocrites who kiss and tell.

🎤🎼🎸

Se-mi was a wreck.

Her nana-themed acrylics — the ones she’d gotten done just yesterday, glossy and cartoon-bright — were chewed to jagged edges. That alone said everything. Her nails weren’t accessories, they were armor. And now the armor was gone.

She couldn’t focus on anything. Not on Gyeong-su bragging about some underground rap festival like he was headlining it. Not on Min-su refreshing Twitter every two seconds to track the fallout of Thanos’s post. Not even on Thanos himself, slouched in his armchair with an empty wine bottle rolling on the floor like it had just given up on everyting.

All she could think about was Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu and Ji-yeong.

Every laugh she forced out at the group’s jokes felt rented, fake. She could tell them right now — spill it all like boiling oil. But something kept her silent.

Thanos.

Even with his newest track exploding, even with the world finally treating him like a star, she knew him too well. She’d known him for quite a while now. She knew the split with Nam-gyu hadn’t been clean. He was wrecked.

And she knew the real reason.

If he’d broken up with Nam-gyu for getting sober? She would’ve ripped him apart herself, no hesitation. But the truth was worse. The truth was tangled.

She remembered that morning — 8 a.m., her doorbell ringing like it was a life or death situation.

She opened the door, and froze.

It wasn’t Thanos standing there. Not the loud, cocky rapper. Not the mask. It was Su-bong. Eyes swollen, face blotched red, shaking violently, only interrupting himself with muffled sobs ripping their way out of his throat.

Her blood iced over. She hadn’t seen him in months.

She let Su-bong enter without a word. He collapsed onto her couch, body folding in on itself, fingers fiddling with the cross pendant hanging loosely from his neck.

“What happened?” she asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.

His voice cracked when it came.
“I broke up with Nam-gyu.”

She felt her throat close around the words.
“What do you mean you broke up with him?”

Su-bong buried his face in his hands. His shoulders trembled. He was small like this, fragile in a way the world never got to see.

“He got clean,” he said, voice raw. “It’s been a month and a half. Off heroin. So I had to let him go, Se-mi-ya."

“No.” Her hands grabbed at his arms, desperate, shaking him like she could rattle sense into him. “No, you didn’t have to. What the fuck have you done?”

His answer was muffled, but it hit her like a knife.

“He makes me see him again.”

And then she understood.

Nam-gyu wasn’t just a boyfriend. Nam-gyu was a mirror. And every time Su-bong looked at him, he saw the version of himself he’d buried — the scared kid clawing for escape, the sad addict, the past he’d sworn never to dig up.

“I can’t stay with him,” he whispered. “As much as I love him, he won’t stay clean with me by his side. He chose to get better. And I can’t… I can’t look at myself like that anymore.”

It all made sense. Too much sense.

She didn’t argue. Not after that. She just sat with him, letting the silence hold the truth neither of them could fix. He stayed for hours, curled up on her couch like a kid. They didn’t talk about it after. What was done was done.

Or so they thought.

Because a few days later, management saw how much the heartbreak clung to him, and they smelled profit. They told him to write about it. To turn it into a trendy track created for echoing off obscure club walls.

And so he did. He wrote a song that turned Nam-gyu into a punchline, a ghost, a boring ex. He poured all the pain into something cruel, because that was the only way to keep himself from breaking apart.

Both of them knew Nam-gyu wouldn’t let Thanos go if he revealed the true reason behind the break-up. Even if it hurt, Thanos believed it was better for the two of them.

But now, Se-mi knew it was much more serious than she had originally thought.

She wanted to tell them the truth, but she couldn’t. Her heart breaking in half seeing her best friend blackout drunk every single day. She knew telling him would end up in a spiral of guilt none of them could stop.

Nam-gyu would be okay. She hoped.

🎤🎼🎸

Nam-gyu could hear them before he even saw them.

Teenagers, huddled on the corner of the street, whispering behind their palms.

“That’s him.”

“Looks worse in real life.”

“Can’t believe Thanos dated that.”

Their laughter wasn’t loud, but it didn’t have to be. He heard it anyway. He felt it — drilling into his skull, pulsing in his veins until his own heartbeat became a deadly weapon against him.

And talk shit about people who only wish him well.

Every step down the street was a spotlight.

Every glance, every double-take, every whisper about how he’d been discarded. How he’d been boring. How he wasn’t enough.

It all hurt.

But the final nail in the coffin came when his phone buzzed.

In-ho.

For a second, he considered not answering. Pretending he’d lost it, dropped it, smashed it against the wall. But he swiped anyway, pressing the phone to his ear as if he was waiting for a lifeline.

Instead, he got a noose.

“Nam-gyu." In-ho’s voice came sharp, cold, already exhausted. “Your personal life can’t bleed into my business anymore. Pentagon’s been flooded with hate comments, kids tagging the walls, people boycotting after your mess with this Thanos guy. It’s bad for the club.”

Nam-gyu opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“I’m sorry,” In-ho continued, but he didn’t sound sorry. He sounded like a man cutting ties to keep his own ship afloat. “You’re good at what you do, but this isn’t sustainable. You’re out. Effective today."

And that was it.

The line went dead before Nam-gyu could even form a word.

He just stood there, phone pressed to his ear, listening to the silence stretching over in a mocking manner.

Fired.

Thrown out.

The Pentagon wasn’t just a job. It was his only routine. The one place he could still pretend he belonged. Where the music was loud enough to drown his thoughts out for even a split second, where the business cards kept his hands busy, where the lights flickered fast enough to trick him into thinking he hadn’t lost everything.

And now even that was gone.

He thought about it all — everything that had collapsed since the breakup.

Thanos leaving with a single phone call.

The trending hashtags dragging his name through the dirt.

Strangers dissecting his face, his voice, his worth.

The song — the fucking song — turning him into a punchline worldwide.

And now, losing the only thing he had left: his place, his paycheck, his distraction.

He was nothing.

No boyfriend. No career. No dignity. No future.

Just Nam-gyu, the ex. Nam-gyu, the loser. Nam-gyu, the junkie who couldn’t even be enough to keep someone he loved.

The ache in his chest burned until it hollowed him out. His legs buckled, and he dropped onto the curb, head in his hands, the world blurring into colorless noise.

He wanted it all to stop. The whispers. The pity. The shame. The endless cycle of being reminded that he wasn’t enough.

And for the first time in weeks, his mind went there without hesitation.

Heroin.

The thought wasn’t abstract anymore. It was sharp. Precise. Like a hand reaching out, promising silence, promising relief.

He almost laughed at how easy it was — how quickly everything lined up to lead him back to the one thing he swore he’d left behind.

He was tired of swearing.

🎤🎼🎸

Chapter Text

🎤🎼🎸

So if you wanna chat, just stick to the facts and get at me.

Thursday business meetings were the bane of Myung-gi’s existence.

And after all those years, he remembered the pattern. A sterile boardroom, investors in perfectly tailored suits lined neatly around a glossy wooden table, murmuring about numbers and stocks with pure desperation. A freshly-founded cryptocurrency was the star of today’s meeting — the kind of project promising a ‘changed life’ yet destined to rise fast and crash even faster.

Still, Myung-gi played his role. He smiled with a practiced smile, polite and sharp enough to cut glass, nodding through presentations he swore he could recite in his sleep. His pen scratched over notes he’d never read again.

It was exhausting. Always had been.

The only redeeming part of Thursdays was the fifteen-minute coffee break with his assistant, Yong-sik. Without him, Myung-gi would have drowned long ago in this corporate swamp. The younger man kept him somewhat afloat, always attentive, always eager, always catching the small things before they slipped. Myung-gi made sure he was paid generously for it — extra bonuses, paid days off, a sudden rise here and there, even if nothing huge happened. It wasn’t about necessity. It was gratitude. A silent way of saying ‘thank you’ after all those years.

When the meeting finally wrapped, investors buzzing with excitement about their next big ‘investment’, Myung-gi excused himself with a polite bow and slipped out of the suffocating room. His mask dropped the moment he stepped into the staff kitchen, where Yong-sik was already waiting, two steaming mugs of black coffee sitting on the table.

“How was the meeting?” Yong-sik asked with a grin, sipping from his ridiculous white mug that read I <3 my mom on the side.

Myung-gi groaned, slumping into the chair across from him. “For the love of God, don’t make me relive it. Not on Thursdays.”

They both laughed, tension dissolving for a moment. The conversation turned casual, weaving between small confessions and harmless gossip, simple things that left them both relishing in a moment of well-deserved peace.

Until Yong-sik said it.

“Oh, and did you hear? Thanos dropped a new track. A banger if you ask me. He’s roasting his ex like crazy. Everyone’s losing their minds.”

Myung-gi froze.

His hand stiffened on the coffee mug. “What did you just say?”

The air shifted. What had been easy banter only seconds before—now carried weight.

“Relax, boss.” Yong-sik chuckled, oblivious. “I mean, I saw Nam-gyu the other day. Guy looked wrecked. But who wouldn’t be after that?”

A pulse hit Myung-gi’s temple. “Yong-sik—”

But the younger man kept going, unknowing of the fragility of the topic.

“Actually, I even saw him on Twitter yesterday. Someone caught him breaking down on the street. Went viral as hell. #NAMfunanymore.” He snickered, setting his mug down with a careless clink. “People are brutal, man.”

Something snapped in Myung-gi.

“Show me,” he demanded. His voice was low, harsh, startling enough that Yong-sik faltered, fumbling for his phone.

The photo came up instantly — it was everywhere, already at two-hundred-thirty thousand likes and climbing. A grainy shot of Nam-gyu on his knees, palms pressed to the pavement, shoulders drawn in as though the weight of the entire city was breaking him down. His face wasn’t visible, but it didn’t matter. The posture said enough.

Shit.

Myung-gi’s throat tightened. He wasn’t even that close to Nam-gyu — not really. Acquaintances, friends by accident more than intent. But he knew him well enough to understand one thing: Nam-gyu wasn’t the type of guy to fall apart in public. He didn’t hand his pain over to strangers.

Which meant this wasn’t just a bad day.

It was worse.

He shoved back his chair without another word. Yong-sik blinked, startled, but didn’t follow. Myung-gi left the office in silence, the taste of burnt coffee lingering bitter on his tongue.

By the time he made it home, Seoul’s sky had turned to ink. The clock struck ten as he shut his apartment door behind him, finally being able to take off his blazer, his tie, his whole suffocating uniform. He collapsed onto his narrow bed, muscles aching, mind spiraling.

He told himself it wasn’t his business. That Nam-gyu wasn’t his responsibility. That people had breakdowns all the time and got back up.

“He’s fine,” Myung-gi muttered into the darkness, tugging the blanket over his head. “Just a rough day. That’s all.”

And just like that he let the sleep pull him in.

🎤🎼🎸

Min-su was restless, his knee bouncing against the edge of Se-mi’s coffee table as the glow from his phone screen lit the room. The infamous picture of Nam-gyu, hollow-eyed and slumped, captured in a split-second of vulnerability—was already plastered across every corner of the internet. Viral. Meme material. A public breakdown turned entertainment.

It didn’t sit right with him. He’d got to know Nam-gyu on some level, enough to know the guy wasn’t the type to fall apart where people could see. If anything, Nam-gyu was too careful, too put-together, too proud. That’s what made the photo sting.

That’s why he called Se-mi.

Now they sat in her cramped living room, the stale smell of coffee and tobacco clinging to the air. The silence was suffocating, heavier than the sound of his phone buzzing with notifications, more comments he was too afraid to read. Se-mi hadn’t said a word since he showed her the picture—she just sat curled on the couch, long-forgotten acrylics bitten off her slender fingers, her jaw clenched so hard it looked like it might crack at any second. Everything seemed to shift permanently, making the both of them afraid to speak.

Min-su shifted in his seat, glancing at her. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” His voice cracked around the edges.

Se-mi blinked, finally tearing her eyes away from the floor. The smile she forced made his lungs lose oxygen for a second. “It’s worse than bad. People are doxxing him. Laughing at him. Calling him a failed junkie.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. “Please, tell me you’ve been reporting the comments. Because it’s getting out of hand.”

Min-su hesitated. He felt guilt crawling under his skin, every bit of flesh stinging with something unexplainable. “I didn’t think it’d blow up like this.” He rubbed his palms together, as if heat could make the shame feel less relevant. “I swear I didn’t.”

Se-mi’s eyes narrowed. “Then who thought it was a good idea to basically put his personal info out there for people to feast on? Wasn’t the song petty enough?” She leaned forward, her voice sharp, the edge of panic breaking through. “Are you all out of your fucking minds?”

Min-su exhaled shakily. “It wasn’t… It wasn’t us deciding. Management forced it. Dae-ho’s first serious drama series is coming out next month—rumors like this would’ve ruined the publicity. Mi-na just debuted, the company didn’t want her dragged into Thanos’s mess. And Sang-woo—” His voice faltered, guilt seeping deeper with every syllable. “Sang-woo just wanted to stay out of the spotlight. Nobody wanted their names tied to this. Nam-gyu was… the easiest option.”

For a moment, the only sound was the quiet hum of Se-mi’s fridge in the kitchen. She pressed her fingers to her temples, fingertips scraping weakly against her scalp. The remnants of chipped acrylics getting tangled in some loose hair strands, occasionally making her wince in discomfort.

“He didn’t ask for any of this,” she muttered. “And you guys just threw him to the media.”

Min-su didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The silence said everything.

Finally, Se-mi grabbed her phone from the armrest. Her hands were trembling, but she still typed quickly, as if action—even the smallest—might relieve the gnawing guilt twisting in her gut.

Nam-gyu

Hi. Wanna meet up?

She stared at the words before pressing send, the screen’s glow reflecting in her tired eyes. She didn’t even know if he’d reply. She just knew sharing the truth about Thanos’s break-up reasoning might change Nam-gyu’s perspective, even if the damage was already done.

With a silent acknowledgement from both sides, Se-mi decided to let Min-su stay over for the night, and without a word she headed to her room.

🎤🎼🎸

Saturdays were for Jun-hee.

It had become a ritual without ever needing to be spoken—a small moment to breathe in both their busy, messy lives. No matter how the week went, Saturday meant a café table, two mugs, and the kind of conversation that reminded Myung-gi that he wasn’t completely alone in the world.

Today, though, he was late. That almost never happened. By the time he pushed through the glass door, the small bell above it chiming overhead, he already felt the faint sting of guilt creeping in. He scanned the café quickly, the low hum of chatter and the hiss of an espresso machine filling the air. There she was, tucked neatly by the big window, sunlight spilling across her hair as if the day itself was intent on making her glow.

He walked over, muttering a clumsy apology before sinking into the chair opposite her.

“I already ordered for us,” Jun-hee said lightly, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. “So don’t worry about it.”

Her voice, soft and steady, worked on him like a balm. He managed a smile. He almost forgot about his lateness due to her easy-going personality. It was nice to be able to talk to someone as introverted and peaceful as him.

The conversation began the way it always did—small stories, little complaints, half-serious jokes about work and the obligations of the next week. They laughed about mundane things, about neighbors and office mishaps, about the café’s obnoxious new seasonal latte names. With Jun-hee, everything had a way of feeling lighter.

It wasn’t romantic, never had been. She was already wrapped up in a happy relationship with a girlfriend Myung-gi still hadn’t met, though he was glad for her in a way that ran deeper than words. He even remembered the day she first told him, her voice trembling with fear that he might harbor feelings she couldn’t return. He had only laughed back then, because truthfully, he had nothing to give. Relationships had never interested him, he poured himself into work, into numbers, into endless projects. Safer that way. Cleaner.

Their friendship was uncomplicated, and that was precisely why it mattered as much as it did.

But today, no amount of her cheerful stories could pry him out of the spiral in his own head. He nodded when she spoke, but his mind wasn’t following the words. His hand fidgeted with the napkin, twisting it into tighter and tighter knots.

Jun-hee noticed. She always noticed.

“You okay?” she asked finally, tilting her head and peering at him over the rim of her now-empty mug. Her latte had left a faint ring at the bottom of the glass, cookie-dough flavored foam clinging to its edges. “You seem… I don’t know. Out of it today.”

For a moment he wanted to lie, to wave it away with a joke about deadlines or stress. But something in her look—the softness, the patience—unraveled him. His shoulders slumped, and before he could stop himself, the truth slipped out.

“It’s Nam-gyu.”

Her expression shifted instantly. A flicker of something he couldn’t place—concern, yes, but also an edge of knowing something. Almost like she had been waiting for this.

And before he could press her, Jun-hee exhaled sharply and cut him off.

“He relapsed.”

The words hit him harder than a crash.

Myung-gi froze, every sound in the café suddenly warped and distant. The clatter of cups, the chatter of strangers, even the hum of the espresso machine—all of it muffled under the roar building in his ears.

“What?” His voice cracked. His foot began tapping against the tiled floor, restless, nervous, uncontrollable. “What do you mean—when?”

Jun-hee’s gaze faltered, drifting down to the table. Her hands wrapped around her empty cup as if she could squeeze her emotions out of the porcelain. Seconds stretched. Then, finally, she looked back at him.

“A couple days ago. He called Ji-yeong—you remember, my friend, the one who… deals?” She swallowed, words heavy in her throat. “She told her girlfriend he bought heroin again. After being clean for—what, a month? Two?”

Her voice softened as she said it, but the weight lingering in the air between them didn’t lessen.

Myung-gi’s chest tightened, anxiety seizing him by the throat. Images flashed behind his eyes, Nam-gyu’s thin wrists, his restless hands, his smile that never reached his eyes. The thought of him alone, needles, shadows—it made the floor tilt under Myung-gi’s feet. He gripped the edge of the table just to stay steady. Sure, they weren’t close, but Myung-gi knew Nam-gyu, knew about pretty much everything going on in his life. Knew about his family, his addiction problems and his ex-relationship with Thanos. All of this combined with their weird kind-of bond made him care deeply about the other, they didn’t need to talk to be close in their own way, it was nice. Myung-gi cared about Nam-gyu, they didn’t need to meet up daily and act like best friends for him to feel that way, he just did.

Jun-hee must’ve noticed, because she reached across, her hand brushing his wrist. “Hey. Listen. It happened before, right? Remember? He just needed space, time to sort out his head. Se-mi told me that. He pulled through then. He will pull through now.”

Her words should’ve soothed him. They almost did. Almost. But the image of Nam-gyu on the pavement, the one everyone had seen—kept clawing its way back. That kind of breakdown wasn’t the same as 'just space.' That was something deeper, something silently breaking apart, even if Myung-gi couldn’t properly pinpoint what.

The rest of the afternoon felt muted, both of them slipping into quieter conversations until there was nothing left to say. After barely another hour, they parted ways.

But as Myung-gi walked home through the thinning Saturday crowds, the words replayed over and over in his head.

“He relapsed.”

By the time he reached his apartment door, the phrase felt carved into his bones.

🎤🎼🎸

Sunday night bled neon over Hongdae, painting the wet pavement outside in streaks of pink and electric blue. The bar Ji-yeong had picked was one of those half-hidden places you only knew about if a friend dragged you there once, sticky wooden floors, graffiti scrawled across the bathroom doors, and a jukebox that seemed permanently stuck between 2000s K-pop and half-decent indie.

Their booth was squeezed up against the wall, sticky table crowded with half-empty cocktails and beer bottles, condensation running down their sides. Sae-byeok had ordered a round of soju bombs that no one was touching yet, claiming they were for 'later, when the gossip gets juicy.'

Normally, this was Se-mi’s favorite kind of night. All-girl chaos. Ji-yeong cackling at her own jokes, Hyun-ju pretending to be the responsible one, Sae-byeok alternating between sappy kisses and savage burns, and Jun-hee—Jun-hee usually steady, calm, the one who kept conversations flowing whenever silence threatened to seep in.

But tonight, something was off.

Jun-hee sat tucked against the wall, her cardigan sliding off one shoulder, hands folded too neatly around a glass of her Tequila Sunrise she hadn’t sipped in fifteen minutes. She smiled when someone looked at her, laughed politely at Ji-yeong’s exaggerated story about her running away from the police, but it never reached her eyes.

Se-mi noticed. She noticed everything tonight — the tremor in her own hands, the tightness in her chest, the way the bass from the bar’s speakers seemed to crawl under her skin instead of hyping her up like usual.

Finally, when Ji-yeong launched into a dramatic rant about how nobody respected her 'artistry' when she posted drunk TikToks, Se-mi couldn’t take it anymore.

“Um… I don’t know how to say this but…”

Her voice cut across the laughter. The table fell quiet instantly, all four pairs of eyes landing on her. Se-mi’s throat tightened. She stared down at her own untouched Mojito, the mint leaves already wilted.

“I’m worried about Nam-gyu. I texted him a few days ago and he didn’t respond.”

The words hung heavily in the air.

Ji-yeong was the first to break the silence. She snorted, leaning back so far her chair creaked. “I thought you two weren’t close. Why are you all over his ass now? He’s a big boy, Se-mi. He can handle his needles.”

Se-mi’s head snapped up, heat rising to her face. “Can you please shut up? I don’t need to be his friend to care, okay?” Her tone was sharper than she’d planned it to be, but she wasn’t planning on taking it back.

Ji-yeong’s smirk faltered. Hyun-ju immediately tried to smooth out the tension lingering in the air, reaching across the table with her palms raised. “Hey, hey. Let’s calm down, okay? Se-mi, you said it yourself — he relapsed before. He knows what’s best for him at the moment.”

But Se-mi’s fists were already clenched under the table. Yeah, I said that. But this time is different. This is worse. Last time his popstar boyfriend wasn't being an asshole. Hell—last time the entire internet wasn’t dissecting alive his every move.

Ji-yeong sighed and stirred the ice in her glass, her earlier smugness returning like armor. “Fine, sorry. But hey! I saw him y’know. Shaken, yeah, but Thanos is there, right? If something goes sideways, he’ll deal with it.”

Silence.

Even the jukebox blasting 'A Boy' by G-Dragon seemed to skip.

Jun-hee’s hand tightened around her glass. Her thumb rubbed the condensation up and down in a nervous rhythm. Her gaze stayed fixed firmly on the table, lashes low, lips pressed tight.

Finally, her voice slipped out. Low. Careful. “You don’t know?”

Ji-yeong frowned. “Know what?”

Jun-hee hesitated. The pause stretched so long Se-mi’s heart started pounding. Then, finally, Jun-hee shook her head. “Thanos broke up with Nam-gyu.”

The table went dead still.

“What?” Ji-yeong blurted. “When? Why am I the last to—Sae-byeok, you traitor!”

Sae-byeok only chuckled weakly, tugging her closer with an apologetic squeeze.

“Yeah.” Se-mi’s voice was small, her eyes fixed on the drink in front of her. “And Thanos… might’ve put out a whole diss track about him.”

The awkwardness was suffocating now. Even Ji-yeong, usually incapable of shutting up, went silent.

Hyun-ju cleared her throat, trying too hard to sound upbeat in the awkwardness of the situation. “Well, hey, don’t worry too much. He still has Myung-gi, doesn’t he?”

The thought jolted Se-mi upright. Of course. Myung-gi.

“Shit! Right, Jun-hee!” she burst out, leaning halfway across the table. “Can you give me his number? Please?”

Jun-hee’s fingers froze around her glass. Her shoulders went stiff, eyes flicking up just once before darting back down. Slowly, like she was moving underwater, she pulled out her phone, tapped the screen, and slid it across the table without a word.

Se-mi scribbled the digits onto a napkin, heart racing with relief. “Thank you.” She slid the phone back, not noticing how heavy Jun-hee’s hand felt when she took it back.

Not noticing the way her friend hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words all night.

Jun-hee sat back, lips pressed tight. Like she knew something the rest of them weren’t ready to hear.

Because the realization of the situation seemed to finally dawn on her.

Her fingers traced slow, nervous circles around the rim of her glass, but her eyes never lifted. The resumed laughter and chatter around their booth blurred into background noise — the clinking of bottles, the bass from the speakers, even Ji-yeong’s half-hearted complaint about being 'the last to know anything.'

Jun-hee wasn’t really there anymore.

Talking to both Se-mi and Myung-gi seemed to make her be able to see something no one else was able to yet.

For the first time all night, Se-mi really noticed how absent her friend had been. The hesitant smiles, the distracted nods, the way she’d been shrinking into herself while the rest of them fought and teased and tried to laugh the previous tension all away.

Jun-hee realized something.

And that knowledge sat between them, heavy and unspoken, more suffocating than anything else in the room.

🎤🎼🎸

A new week had started, and still there was no answer from Nam-gyu.

It was as if he had been wiped off the face of the earth. No accidental sightings on the streets of Hongdae, no blurry twitter photos of him slipping into convenience stores, no Pentagon updates on Instagram with him in the background. No replies. No typing bubbles. Nothing.

Se-mi’s gut twisted every time she refreshed her phone. Every hour that passed with no word from him made her pulse crawl a little faster.

So finally, she called Myung-gi.

Now he sat on her couch, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, foot tapping the wooden floor like he was trying to dig a hole straight through it. His black hair hung messily over his eyes, and he looked like he hadn’t slept since Friday. Which wasn’t too far from the truth.

Se-mi couldn’t sit down at all. She paced the cluttered living room, the hem of her oversized sweatshirt brushing against her thighs, her socks picking up dust and dirt with every restless step. The table was stacked with takeout boxes she hadn’t thrown out, coffee cups with lipstick stains, ashtrays with half-burnt cigarettes. She was slowly unraveling, and she knew it.

“He hasn’t replied since Friday.” Her voice cracked when she said it, as if repeating the fact made it worse. “And that’s a lot for him. Especially when it’s a message. Nam-gyu doesn’t—” She stopped, shook her head, her hands tugging at her sleeves. “He doesn’t just… vanish.”

Myung-gi exhaled through his nose, a sharp, frustrated sound. He rubbed his palms over his thighs, like he was trying to warm himself up. “Hey, Se-mi. We’re worrying, I know. But let’s not jump ahead. Don’t panic yet.” His voice was firm, but his eyes betrayed him—restless, unfocused, like he was half here and half in some darker place.

She stopped pacing long enough to look at him. “Not panic? What do you call this, Myung-gi? He’s gone. No posts. No cocky responses. No texts. Nothing.”

“I remember his schedule,” he cut in quickly, like he needed to grab onto some rational thought before it slipped away. “He’s a creature of habit. He never skips work, ever. It’s like… it’s a second nature to him. If we can’t reach him, then we go to Pentagon. That’ll tell us everything.”

Something in his certainty steadied her, if only for a moment. She let out a breath, managed a tiny, fragile smile. “Okay. Pentagon. Fine. When does his shift start?”

Myung-gi furrowed his brows, thinking. His fingers tapped against his knee, counting off the days, the times. Then he nodded to himself, firm. “Ten. He starts at ten sharp.” His head whipped toward the clock on her wall. “It’s nine fifty already. We need to move.”

Se-mi didn’t even argue. She was already tugging her worn out Doc Martens on, her fingers fumbling with the laces. Her stomach was turning. Something was wrong. She could feel it clawing at her chest, whispering that tonight wasn’t going to give them the reassurance they wanted.

They left the apartment in a rush, barely locking the door behind them, and slid into Se-mi’s beat-up but somewhat tidy car.

The silence in the car was suffocating. Myung-gi stared out the window, jaw clenched, while Se-mi gripped the steering wheel like her life depended on it. The only sounds were the rattle of the old engine and the occasional honk of a horn when she drifted too close to the wrong lane.

Halfway there, she couldn’t take it anymore.

“I really need to tell him,” she whispered, so low that for a moment Myung-gi didn’t know if she was talking to herself.

He turned his head. “Tell him what?”

“The truth. About Thanos. About why he—” She cut herself off, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood.

Myung-gi blinked at her, his face tightening, but he didn’t press. The car rolled on through neon lights and crowded intersections, carrying them closer and closer to Pentagon.

Neither of them said it out loud, but both of them knew that tonight could change everything.

Arriving at Pentagon made both of them spring out of the car faster than they meant to, nerves boiling under their skin. Se-mi slammed the door shut with shaky hands, fumbling with the lock, while Myung-gi shoved his own hands deep into his jacket pockets as if that alone would keep them from excessive trembling.

The club pulsed from the inside, bass thudding so loud it rattled in their ribs even before they got to the door. A line of partygoers snaked around the block, cigarette and vape smoke clouding in the damp air, the glow of neon signs painting their faces in washed-out pinks and blues. Everyone seemed careless, drunk already, buzzing for a night they wouldn’t remember. But Se-mi and Myung-gi felt like they were walking into a battlefield.

As Myung-gi had said, tonight should’ve been Nam-gyu’s VIP babysitting shift. That thought alone kept them moving, kept the panic from swallowing them whole. All they had to do was see him. Just see him. That was enough.

They showed their IDs at the front, ignoring the bored bouncer’s glance, and slipped inside.

The heat hit them instantly. The air smelled like spilled alcohol, sweat, and too much cologne. Lights flashed across the dance floor in harsh strobes, chopping the room into fragments—faces, arms, glittering bottles, half-empty glasses. The music swallowed every other sound, vibrating through their bones, making it hard to even think straight.

But they weren’t here to drink or dance. They weren’t here to laugh with the clusters of strangers pressed together in the booths. They were here for one thing.

They hurried to the VIP area. Se-mi’s heart pounded so loud it was almost louder than the music. Her eyes scanned the space, desperate, skipping over every unfamiliar face, every idle bouncer in a black shirt, every party girl waving a champagne glass.

And then—

The realization hit.

Nam-gyu wasn’t there.

Not boredly slouched in the corner on his phone. Not leaning against the railing pretending to care about the clients. Not anywhere.

Myung-gi froze. He felt it first as a drop, a cold, heavy pool spreading in his stomach, then crawling up into his throat. He couldn’t breathe properly. Still—still—he forced himself to sound steady.

“The guy at the bar,” he said quickly, turning to Se-mi with an urgency that betrayed his previous efforts of sounding put together. “He’ll know. Come on.”

They pushed through the bodies crowding the dance floor, the smell of sweat and perfume choking them with every step. The closer they got to the bar, the harder it was to shake the feeling that the walls were slowly closing in on them.

Ali, the bartender—Myung-gi recognized him instantly—was swamped, moving in sharp, practiced motions, pouring shots, sliding beers, laughing with customers. To Se-mi and Myung-gi, every second felt like a lifetime. Finally, Ali looked up and spotted them, flashing them his usual smile.

“Hi! What’s it gonna be for you guys?” he asked, voice warm, a soft trace of his accent cutting through the noise.

Neither of them cared. They weren’t here for drinks.

“Where’s Nam-gyu?” Se-mi blurted, her voice too sharp, too raw. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms.

Ali blinked, taken off guard. His smile faltered. He hesitated, glanced down at the counter, then back at them. His voice slowed, words sticking like he was trying not to say them at all.

“He got fired. Almost a week ago.”

For a moment, neither Se-mi nor Myung-gi spoke. The words just hung there, louder than the music, louder than the pounding bass.

Se-mi felt her stomach drop. Her skin went cold, vision blurring at the edges. Myung-gi stood frozen, as if the floor had been yanked out from under him.

A week ago.

A whole week.

And neither of them knew.

Ali was already moving back to serve other customers, the conversation dismissed, leaving them stranded in the noise. They didn’t even say goodbye.

They stumbled out of the club in silence, the neon lights now harsh, nauseating. The world felt unreal, warped. Outside, the cool air didn’t help. It only made Se-mi realize how much she was shaking.

It wasn’t just a 'he needs space' situation anymore.

This was something else. Something darker.

Something screaming that Nam-gyu wasn’t safe.

The two of them practically ran back to the car, hearts hammering, dread curling deep in their guts. They didn’t need to speak. They both knew the truth now.

Nam-gyu needed help.

🎤🎼🎸

When they got into the car, everything felt heavier than they wanted it to be.

Se-mi’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel, uneven, anxious. The headlights washed over cracked pavement as they passed the same row of stores for what had to be the third time.

Myung-gi finally exhaled, a sound halfway between frustration and disbelief.

“So you’re telling me you have no idea where he lives?”

Se-mi’s grip on the wheel tightened. “I told you already, no. He never invited me over.”

“But you were close to him.”

She shot him a look. “No, Thanos was close to him. I was just… there.”

He turned away, jaw tightening. “Figures.”

“Figures what?”

“That you’d be defending him. Again.”

Se-mi’s knuckles went white around the wheel. “I’m not defending him, I’m just—” she stopped, biting the inside of her cheek. “It’s complicated, okay?”

The car rolled to a stop at a red light. The heater hummed softly, filling the gaps between their words.

Myung-gi leaned his head against the window, eyes fixed on the wet reflection of streetlights. “Complicated. That’s what you call it when someone writes a song that ruins someone’s life?”

“You don’t know the whole story,” she muttered.

He let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, no one ever does, right? Except Thanos. He’s the tortured genius. Everyone else is just collateral.”

The light turned green, but Se-mi didn’t move. Her foot hovered above the pedal shakily.

“You think I don’t feel sick about it?” she said, finally. “You think I don’t replay everything I could’ve done? I knew Nam-gyu wasn’t okay. I saw it.”

Myung-gi turned toward her, voice quieter now. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

She looked down, then started driving again. “Because it wasn’t my business. Because I thought he’d be fine. Because I didn’t want to piss Thanos off.

The truth shot through the both of them, partially unpacking the lingering tension.

They didn’t talk for a while after that. Just the road, the dim lights passing too slow, too fast, too everything.

Myung-gi stared out the window again. “You know,” he said softly, trying not to get too offensive. “I don’t think Nam-gyu hates Thanos. Not even after everything. He seemed angry, sure, but.. not towards Thanos.”

Se-mi swallowed, eyes focusing on the road ahead. “What are you pointing at?”

“Nam-gyu is mad on himself.” Myung-gi answered. “He thinks this is all his fault.”

She nodded slowly. “Thanos wasn’t trying to hurt him, you know. He just… didn’t know how to love him without breaking him.”

The words hung there for a long time.

They turned onto Thanos’s street. A medium-sized house greeting their vision. Se-mi parked too fast, tires squealing against the curb.

They both sat there for a second, staring at the house. Neither moved.

“You think he’s here?” Myung-gi asked.

“I don’t know.”

They got out without a word, the gravel crunching under their shoes. The house looked like it hadn’t been touched in days — mail piled near the steps, a half-empty energy drink still sitting on the porch railing, long since gone flat.

Myung-gi stared at the door for a moment before knocking, his hand shaking more than he wanted to admit outloud.

No answer.

He knocked again, harder.

Still nothing.

“Of course he’s not home,” Se-mi muttered, pressing her palm against the door. Her voice cracked around the words. “Of course he isn’t.”

Myung-gi shoved his hands in his pockets, pacing the small, wooden space. “What now?”

Se-mi exhaled shakily, various scenarios rushing through her head. “I don’t know.”

The quiet stretched between them — every second making the draining tension even worse. The air smelled like rain, and somewhere far off a dog barked, the noise sharp in the suffocating distance.

Myung-gi sat down on the edge of the porch, Se-mi following right after, pulling her knees up to rest her chin on them. 

“You think Thanos even knows?” he asked softly.

Se-mi hesitated. “About what?”

He met her eyes. “How much hurt did Nam-gyu go through?”

She didn’t answer right away, eyes locking onto the pavement ahead of them. “Yeah. I’m sure he knows. He just doesn’t know what to do with it.” Se-mi looked down at her phone. No messages. No calls. Just the empty screen reflecting her face right back at her — tired, uncertain, scared.

And for a moment, neither of them could tell if they were worried for Nam-gyu or just terrified of what they’d find if they kept looking.

The night hung heavy over the neighborhood. Rain had stopped hours ago, leaving the streets slick and reflective under the dim streetlamps. Se-mi and Myung-gi lingered on the wooden porch of Thanos’s house, the atmosphere thick and cold, damp creeping through the soles of their shoes.

Se-mi shifted in her spot, exhaustion written all over her face. Her fingers dug into the back pocket of her shorts, searching for the crumpled cigarette pack she always carried on her. When she pulled one free, it bent slightly between her trembling fingers. She hurriedly flicked her lighter, urgent to feel even a slight sense of composure.

Click.

The tiny sound cracked through the silence.

Myung-gi flinched. His breath caught somewhere in his throat, heart stuttering. For a split second, the sound didn’t belong to Se-mi’s lighter—it belonged to him. To Nam-gyu.

His mind flooded instantly with the memory—the one he hated to recollect. Nam-gyu’s voice, quiet and distant, the way he’d once told him about the night he overdosed. The way his hands shook as he described it, not from fear but from muscle memory. The bitter tang of the word heroin hanging in the air between them.

He could still hear him and his gut-wrenching, shaken voice. “You don’t even notice how quiet it gets before you black out. It’s not peaceful—it’s just empty.”

The words played in his head now, looping over the faint crackle of Se-mi’s lighter. Myung-gi’s chest tightened painfully. His mind got flooded with questions, the ones he was too scared to get answers to.

Was Nam-gyu sitting in that silence again right now?

Was he crouched in the corner of his room, trembling hands hovering above a spoon, a flame flickering underneath, the faint click-click-click of a lighter echoing off the walls?

Or maybe—

Maybe it was worse.

Maybe there was no lighter. No trembling hands. No noise at all.

Myung-gi’s breath hitched. The thought wrapped around his ribs painfully.

Se-mi exhaled a thin stream of smoke, unaware of the panic clawing at him from the inside out. The sharp scent of tobacco filled the space between them, mixing with the stale air, thick enough to choke on.

Myung-gi swallowed hard, trying to steady himself. He forced his gaze forward, at the blur of flickering streetlights, trying to anchor himself to something slightly less cruel than the dark corners of his imagination.

He wanted to say it out loud—that horrible possibility lurking behind his tongue—but his voice failed him. The words wouldn’t come out no matter how hard he tried.

Forcing himself to redirect his thoughts, he swallowed, quickly bringing up the topic they discussed on their way.

“Seriously,” he muttered silently. “how do you not know where he lives? You’ve known him for—what? Almost a year?”

Se-mi’s eyes didn’t leave the cigarette hanging lazily from her parted lips. She took another drag before answering, the smoke catching in her throat. “He’s a private person,” she said softly. “Too private, maybe. He always came here—to Thanos’s. It was his… safe place.” She exhaled, the smoke curling through the porch light in tiny clouds. “None of us ever asked for more. I don’t think he wanted us to.”

The wind carried her words away, leaving behind only the faint crackle of the cigarette paper.

Myung-gi stared down at his shoes, jaw tightening. “Right,” he said, after a pause that stretched too long. “So we’re just… sitting here? Waiting for Thanos to show up?”

Se-mi didn’t answer right away. The cigarette’s ember burned low, half-finished, clinging to the filter. “I guess,” she murmured finally. “Until he does, we’re… thinking. Trying to make sense of what the hell is really going on.”

Myung-gi’s leg started bouncing. He couldn’t keep still. “Then explain it to me,” he said, his voice breaking the silence like glass. “Because from the outside, it looks like Thanos just—just dropped him. No warning, no reason. And Nam-gyu’s—” He stopped, swallowing harshly. Nam-gyu’s name seemed dangerous to even mention now, making the two of them shift uncomfortably in their seats.

Se-mi looked up at him, eyes shadowed in the dim porch light. “Thanos didn’t want to break up,” she said, her tone low but steady. “Not really. Not the way everyone thinks.”

Myung-gi frowned. “Then why?”

She hesitated, thumb brushing away some stray ash from her leg. The glow at the end of the cigarette died, she relit it, the click of the lighter startlingly loud in the still air. “Because he couldn’t stand watching Nam-gyu suffer,” she said. “Couldn’t stand knowing that he was a part of the reason why. You know how Thanos is—cold, careful, always pretending he’s fine? He built that version of himself to survive. Management molded him, squeezed every weakness out until nothing human was left. But Nam-gyu…”

Her voice cracked slightly. “Nam-gyu reminded him of the person he used to be. Fragile. Messy. Real. And that scared him. So he pushed him away before he could fall apart again.”

Myung-gi’s stomach turned. The porch light flickered above them, briefly plunging the steps into darkness before buzzing back to life. “So the song,” he whispered. “It wasn’t revenge?”

“Not revenge,” Se-mi said quickly, shaking her head. “It was more of a.. desperation disguised as art kind-of-situation. Management saw his pain and turned it into marketing. They told him to sing about it—make it catchy, make it clean, make it emotional just enough to sell.” She laughed under her breath, but there was no humor in it. “And he did. Because it was the only way he could scream without losing everything he’d built.”

She paused, exhaling a shaky breath. “But it cost Nam-gyu everything. It made him the villain in a story he never agreed to be part of. Everyone thinks he’s the problem now. The lame-ass ex. The one who ruined Thanos. No one cares about what it did to him.”

Myung-gi said nothing. The lighter clicked again, a sharp, hollow sound that seemed to echo forever. His body tensed at the noise. It pulled him backward—to every moment he’d seen Nam-gyu shaking, pale, desperately clinging to the edge of sobriety. The way his hands used to tremble when he lit a cigarette, the way his lips shivered when he swore he’d stay clean this time.

Se-mi’s voice broke the memory, making Myung-gi internally thank her. “The worst part is, Thanos isn’t doing any better. He’s locked himself away. Won’t answer calls. Management’s pretending everything’s fine, but they’re just hiding him until the negative shit dies down.”

She took another long drag, lungs slightly clenching. “They both fell apart. Just in different rooms.”

Myung-gi buried his face in his hands, elbows pressing into his knees. The porch suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier.

“So what now?” he whispered.

Se-mi didn’t look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the stretch of road that disappeared into the dark. The cigarette had burned down to its filter, a thin trail of smoke fading into nothing. “I don’t know,” she said finally, voice fragile and small. “I really don’t.”

A long silence followed.

Myung-gi exhaled slowly, the sound shaky and uneven, before letting his shoulders slump against the porch railing. The wood creaked beneath him. “So he… loved him,” he said at last. His voice unusually quiet. “And still… still did all that?”

Se-mi’s lips tightened, her eyes flickering briefly toward him. “He loved him,” she murmured, her tone carrying both bitterness and ache. “He still does. In his own way.”

She hesitated, fingers curling against her sides. “But love doesn’t fix people. It’s not enough when fear gets bigger than hope. And for Thanos… it did. Fear of seeing Nam-gyu slip again. Fear of being the reason. Fear of remembering what he used to be.” She paused, swallowing hard, as though the next words burned going down. “He broke up with him to protect him — or at least that’s what he told himself. But really, he just couldn’t stand seeing his reflection in someone else’s pain.”

The cigarette between her fingers trembled, the ember flaring one last time before she crushed it out on the wooden step beside her.

Myung-gi didn’t move. His gaze stayed glued to the darkened house before them, the outline of its windows reflecting faint slices of the streetlights. From here, the place looked lifeless. Hollow. Like a stage long abandoned after the show ended.

A gust of cold air swept through the porch, rattling the railing. Myung-gi shivered but didn’t pull away. He was too deep in it now — the what-ifs, the images crowding his head. Nam-gyu’s face. The way he smiled when he was clean. The way he laughed when he still believed things could get better. The way he used to talk about Thanos — with a kind of naive faith that terrified anyone who saw it.

And now… nothing. Silence.

Se-mi rubbed her hands together, trying to warm them, but they kept shaking. “That’s why he shut everyone out,” she said finally, voice low. “That’s why no one’s heard from him since last week. No posts. No statements. No word from management.” She looked toward the house again, the darkness inside the windows thick and unmoving. “He’s hiding somewhere, and I don’t even know if he’s living or just existing.”

Myung-gi swallowed hard. The knot in his throat felt heavy, hot. “And Nam-gyu?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Se-mi looked at him — really looked — and for a second, all the tension, exhaustion, and dread etched across her face made her look years older. “If he’s still…” she cut herself off, head shaking sideways, “I just hope he’s not alone.”

The lighter clicked one last time, though there was no flame left to catch. And just when Se-mi was about to stand up, ready to suggest they check Thanos’s recording studio themselves, the low hum of an engine rolled down the street. Headlights cut through the fog of the quiet neighborhood.

A sleek black car slowed to a stop in front of the house. The kind used for PR rides — tinted windows, spotless paint, every inch screaming “management.”

The doors stayed shut for a few seconds too long. Then the driver’s side opened, and out stepped a man Se-mi recognized immediately — Thanos’s manager.

He looked exhausted but sharp, dressed in a perfectly pressed suit despite the late hour. His expression, however, was something between annoyance and forced composure. He muttered something under his breath, circled around the car, and yanked open the back door.

At first, all they saw was a figure slumped inside, barely moving.

Then — Thanos.

His hair was disheveled, a purple mess flattened under a hood that shadowed most of his face. He didn’t look up, didn’t move. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his hoodie, his body heavy, as if he’d been carved out of lead.

“Out,” the manager said sharply. His voice carried that practiced, empty politeness used in interviews — but this time it was thinner, cracking around the edges.

Thanos didn’t budge.

“I said out, Su-bong,” the man hissed this time, voice low but cutting. “You’ve wasted enough of everyone’s time tonight.”

Se-mi’s heart dropped. Myung-gi straightened on the porch, watching in silence as the manager leaned in, grabbed Thanos’s arm, and tried to pull him out. Thanos resisted — jerking his arm back, shoulders stiffening, his voice hoarse and tired.

“Get off me, I can walk.”

“Then walk faster,” the man snapped, tugging again. “I don’t have time for this bullsh—”

The car’s interior light spilled over them as Thanos stumbled out, almost losing his balance. His hoodie slipped off his shoulder for a moment, exposing the bruised skin along the side of his neck — faint, but visible enough to make Se-mi’s stomach twist.

Thanos blinked at the sudden brightness, squinting as he adjusted to the outside. He looked wrecked. Paler than usual, his eyes ringed with dark shadows, his lips cracked. He didn’t even have his usual jewelry on — just the hoodie, baggy cargo pants that hung off his overly-thin frame, and bright purple sneakers that looked too clean in the absurdity of the situation.

Then his eyes lifted — and froze.

He saw them.

Se-mi standing stiffly by the porch steps, cigarette long gone beneath her feet, and Myung-gi right behind her, tense, unsure what to do.

The moment stretched. Thanos didn’t say a word, but his whole body went still.

The manager, noticing the sudden shift, turned. His irritated expression morphed instantly into something smooth, professional — a fake smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, Se-mi! Glad to see you here.” His tone flipped so fast it made Myung-gi flinch. He kept one hand on Thanos’s shoulder, gripping a little too tightly. “You gave us quite the scare tonight,” he said lightly, almost joking, as if the last thirty seconds hadn’t happened.

Thanos didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“Hello,” Se-mi said slowly, eyes darting between them. “I thought Thanos had a week off?”

The manager’s hand slipped from Thanos’s shoulder, smoothing down his tie. His face twitched — just slightly — before settling back into his PR smile. “Oh, he does,” he replied quickly. “I was just driving him back home from the Han River’s bridge.”

Wait.

What?

Se-mi’s eyes widened. Myung-gi’s breath caught. The Han River’s bridge. 

The manager said it so casually, like it was nothing — like that wasn’t the kind of place people went to when they had nowhere else to go. When they had nothing to fight for anymore.

Thanos’s head snapped toward him, a scowl breaking through the blankness. “You didn’t have to say that,” he muttered, voice hoarse as if he’d been crying for the last days.

The manager ignored him, tightening his jaw. “Anyway,” he said briskly, brushing imaginary dust away from his perfectly tailored sleeve, “he’s fine now. Just… needs some rest. You know how artists are — emotional types.”

He tried to laugh at his own words. It came out dry and wrong.

Thanos stepped away from the car, pushing the man’s hand off his shoulder with a small, deliberate shove. He didn’t say a word as he brushed past them, heading straight for the front door. The sound of his sneakers against the wooden porch echoed like small, sharp heartbeats.

Se-mi wanted to call after him, to ask if he was okay, but the look on his face stopped her. His eyes were hollow — a flat, empty kind of exhaustion that made her throat tighten.

The manager straightened, already backing toward the car. “Well,” he said brightly, “I should get going. You’ll look after him, won’t you, Se-mi? Just make sure he doesn’t… overthink things.” He chuckled again, too quickly. “Anyway, have a great night!”

He didn’t wait for a response.

The car door slammed, the engine roared back to life, and the black vehicle rolled down the street until its headlights disappeared completely.

Silence.

She heard Myung-gi mumble under his breath, barely audible over the wind. “A bridge?”

The word hung there, awful and echoing, and before Se-mi could even process it, Thanos had already reached the porch steps. His movements were slow — sluggish — as if the air itself was heavier around him.

He fumbled with his pockets, pulling his house keys out, the metal glinting faintly under the yellow porch light. That’s when Se-mi noticed it.

At first, it was just a dark stain. Small. Harmless-looking.

Then her eyes focused.

The entire sleeve of his hoodie — the left one — was soaked. Not just damp, but heavy, the fabric clinging to his wrist like a second skin. And beneath that, spreading like ink through paper, was red.

Not mud. Not wine.

Blood.

Her breath hitched.

For a moment she couldn’t even speak. The world felt narrowed into that single point on his arm — that terrible patch of darkness.

“Myung-gi,” she whispered, her voice barely holding.

But he was already watching. Already standing, eyes wide, face draining of color.

Thanos moved to fit the key into the lock, but his hand trembled so badly that the key scraped uselessly against the metal. He muttered a curse under his breath.

That was when Se-mi moved.

She grabbed his arm, her fingers closing around the soaked fabric.

He gasped — a sound sharp and involuntary — and tried to yank his arm away, but she held on, knuckles whitening. The sleeve was slick beneath her fingers, and when she looked down, her stomach dropped further. Her fingertips came away stained with crimson.

“What the fuck is that, Thanos?”

Her voice cracked on his name. Not out of anger — not yet — but out of disbelief, horror, the realization that she might already be too late to stop whatever this was.

Thanos flinched back, shoulders hunching dismissively. “Let go,” he hissed through his teeth, voice raw.

She didn’t. She couldn’t.

Her eyes darted up to his face — pale, hollowed out, streaked with rain and sweat. His lips trembled. His pupils were blown wide, unfocused. He looked gone.

“Thanos, your sleeve—”

“Let. Go.”

He tore his arm from her grasp with a violent jerk. The sound it made — fabric peeling away from skin — made her stomach twist. For a split second, the motion pulled his sleeve higher up his wrist.

That’s when she saw it.

The gauze. Sloppy. Rushed. Already seeping through.

Her throat closed up. “Oh my god,” she whispered.

Myung-gi was already stepping forward, his breath uneven. “What the hell did you do to yourself?”

Thanos didn’t answer. He just kept staring at the lock, key still shaking in his hand. His face was a mask — emotionless, empty — but his silence said everything.

Se-mi felt her heart pounding against her ribs. “We need to talk,” she said, voice breaking, stepping closer until her reflection swam in his glassy eyes. “Please don’t shut us off, not again. Not now.”

The key finally slipped into the lock with a metallic click.

He twisted it slowly.

“Thanos,” she said again, reaching out.

He turned.

For a moment, he just looked at her. His purple hair hung damp over his forehead, strands sticking to the side of his face. The porch light caught the sheen of wetness streaking down his cheeks. His lips parted slightly, but no words ever came.

Then, as if something inside him snapped, he pushed the door open.

And when Se-mi moved forward, he started to close it.

“Don’t,” she said sharply, shoving her hand against the frame. The door stopped, the sound echoing through the quiet street.

Myung-gi’s voice came next — low, trembling, but cutting through the air like glass.

“Nam-gyu relapsed.”

The world went silent.

Even the hum of the streetlight above them seemed to die.

Thanos froze. The door halfway closed. His fingers still gripping the doorknob.

He didn’t turn around. Didn’t breathe. Just… stopped.

Myung-gi swallowed, forcing himself to keep speaking, each word making his voice break down even more. “He’s nowhere to be found. We don’t know where he lives. We don’t know if he’s even alive.” His jaw clenched, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes. “So can you please, for once in your fucking life, stop acting like a kid and own up to what you’ve done?”

A pause.

A long, suffocating pause.

Thanos’s hand slipped from the doorknob. His shoulders sagged.

When he finally turned, the expression on his face was unrecognizable. Confusion, fear, guilt — they all fought for space in his eyes. His lips trembled, parting like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the fitting words.

Then the fight drained out of him completely.

He stepped aside. Silent. Pale.

And with a small, broken motion, he gestured for them to come in.

The door creaked open fully. A wave of damp, metallic air rolled out to meet them.

The faint smell of iron hit first — sharp, unmistakable, like rust and old blood. It clung to the back of Se-mi’s throat before she even crossed the threshold.

Thanos stood there, motionless, his fingers tugging at the hem of his hoodie, pulling it down to hide his wrists. His movements were jittery, too quick — like a reflex born of shame.

Then they stepped inside.

The air was heavy, wet with humidity and neglect. It felt thick, almost greasy. The stench hit next — sour alcohol, stale smoke, and something faintly sweet but rotten underneath.

The living room looked like a war zone. Empty wine bottles littered the floor, some upright, some fallen, one knocked over and bleeding a dark red stain into the carpet that had once been white. The stain spread like a wound, the fibers sticky under Se-mi’s shoes when she accidentally stepped too close to it.

Ash was everywhere — layered on the coffee table, smeared into the couch cushions, scattered across the floor like gray snow. The table itself was buried beneath chaos, a cracked phone screen, cigarette butts mashed into an old plate, an uncapped lighter resting in a puddle of cheap whiskey.

And then she saw it.

A needle.

It sat on a crumpled paper towel like an artifact — its tip still glistening brown, the liquid residue tacky under the faint lamp light. The sight made Se-mi’s chest lock up, her stomach turn cold.

“Myung-gi…” she whispered, but the name barely escaped her lips.

Before she could say more, a sound cut through the thick silence — a sharp, wet sob, torn from somewhere deep.

Thanos.

He stood in the center of the living room, surrounded by the wreckage, his hands trembling violently at his sides. His head hung low, hair clinging to his face, shoulders shaking as he tried — and failed — to breathe through the wave of sadness.

The sleeves of his hoodie were even worse in the light. The once-gray fabric was darkened in patches, stiff in some places and glistening fresh in others. Blood had soaked through both arms — one worse than the other. Droplets traced down his slender fingers, slow and deliberate, hitting the stained carpet with quiet, rhythmic taps.

He looked like something hollowed out and left behind.

Se-mi’s throat closed around his name, but it was Myung-gi who spoke first.

His voice came out flat — the kind of forced calm that only barely held panic at bay. “Nam-gyu called Ji-yeong,” he said, eyes locked on Thanos, voice sharp and fraying at the edges. “Bought a shit ton of heroin from her. Then he lost his job. Then he disappeared.”

He took a step closer, jaw tightening, fury barely masking the fear in his voice. “So just give us the fucking address, Thanos. Where the fuck is he?”

Thanos didn’t look up. Didn’t even flinch. He just stood there, shoulders hunched, staring at the floor as though he could make himself disappear into it.

The silence that followed felt unbearable.

When he finally spoke, it was so quiet that Se-mi almost thought she’d imagined it. “He called me.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest with a hint of hope. “What?”

Thanos blinked slowly, eyes unfocused. His lips trembled before the words stumbled out again, barely audible. “A week ago. Wednesday night.”

When he finally lifted his gaze, Se-mi felt her stomach twist. His eyes were red and swollen, the whites streaked with pink. His pupils were huge — he looked half-dazed, half-sick. Tears clung to his lashes, slipping down slowly, cutting clean paths through the grime on his cheeks.

“He called me,” he repeated, voice splintering on the last word. “And I—”

He swallowed hard. The words broke apart, shaking.

“I didn’t pick up.”

The sentence dropped like a bomb in the middle of the room.

Everything stopped.

The wind outside seemed to fade, leaving only the faint buzz of the fridge and the wet, quiet sound of Thanos’s blood hitting the floor.

Se-mi’s hand flew to her mouth. Her vision blurred. She wanted to scream, but no sound came.

Myung-gi’s face broke entirely. He looked like he wanted to hit something, wanted to grab Thanos and shake him, but all he could do was stand there, trembling.

Thanos’s chest hitched, once, twice. Then the dam broke.

He let out a sound — part sob, part scream — that didn’t sound human. His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the floor, hands pressing against his face, smearing blood across his fair skin. His voice came out raw, guttural, like it was tearing its way out of him forcefully.

“I couldn’t,” he gasped, over and over, the words dissolving into broken sobs. “I couldn’t even end it without someone stopping me, Se-mi—”

He dragged in a breath that sounded more like a choke, then looked up at her through wet, red eyes, his face a wreck of tears, blood and rain. 

“I’m utterly fucked up.”

And there it was — the thing they’d all been avoiding, the truth sitting in the middle of that ruined room.

The blood on the carpet kept spreading, slow and steady. Myung-gi moved before he even realized it. One second Thanos was crumbling on the floor, half-folded into himself, and the next Myung-gi was on him—hands clutching the front of his hoodie, dragging him upright.

“Stop it!” Se-mi gasped, but he didn’t. His grip tightened, the fabric bunching in his clenched fists.

Thanos didn’t fight back—not at first. His body was limp, heavy with exhaustion. But when Myung-gi shook him once, hard enough for his head to snap forward, the air filled with the sound of raw, broken breath.

“Man, I fucking know you fucked up,” Myung-gi shouted, voice cracking in the middle. The veins in his neck were showing. “We all know this, okay? But for the love of god, just give us the address!”

He shoved Thanos backward, not meaning to throw him but too far gone to control it. The back of Thanos’s knees hit the edge of the couch, and he collapsed into it, breath violently knocked out of him. His head lolled to the side, purple hair sticking to the blood drying on his neck.

Se-mi stood frozen for a second, staring. She’d never thought Myung-gi could act like this—his face red, tears cutting tracks through the sweat on his cheeks, every movement wild with fear.

“Jesus, Myung-gi!” she finally yelled, rushing forward, gripping his arm. “You’re hurting him!”

But Myung-gi only turned to her, eyes wild. “He deserves to hurt right now!” he snapped. His voice broke again, softer this time, pleading. “Because if he doesn’t talk, Se-mi—if he doesn’t say something—we’re gonna lose Nam-gyu for real.”

Thanos’s body folded in on itself, both arms pressed tight to his chest. He was shaking violently, but he still wouldn’t meet their eyes. Blood was seeping through his sleeves again, darker now against the gray fabric, staining the couch beneath him.

“Thanos, please,” Se-mi said, crouching in front of him. Her voice trembled with every word. “We’re not here to blame you, okay? We’re worried something bad happened. Ji-yeong told me—”

That caught him.

His head jerked up sharply, eyes blazing through the tears.

“She what?” His voice came out ragged, sharp-edged. “Ji-yeong told you?”

Se-mi froze, the words caught in her throat.

“She told me a week ago, but she didn’t know you two broke up—”

Thanos’s expression snapped from broken to furious in a heartbeat. The sudden change made Se-mi’s breath hitch.

“A week?” His voice dropped, cold and quiet—too quiet. “You’ve known about it for a week and didn’t tell me?”

“Yes—but I didn’t want you to blame yourself!” Se-mi said quickly, voice high and shaking. “You were already falling apart, Thanos, I just—”

He stood so suddenly the couch creaked under the motion.

“Are you fucking dumb?” he spat, his voice echoing through the room. His hands curled into fists at his sides, trembling. “You think hiding shit helps? You think pretending everything’s fine fixes any of this?”

Se-mi reached for him instinctively, but he flinched away like her touch burned.

“Fuck this,” he said, the words trembling with rage and grief. “Fuck all of this.”

He stormed toward the door, the soles of his sneakers sticking faintly to the blood-spotted floor. The door slammed open so hard it rattled the frame, and then he was gone—vanishing into the cold night.

“Myung-gi!” Se-mi yelled, spinning around.

But Myung-gi was already moving, stumbling over empty bottles as he sprinted after Thanos. The front door banged again, and Se-mi followed, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

They burst out onto the porch just in time to see headlights flare down the street. Thanos’s car roared to life, tires screeching against the wet pavement as he sped toward the end of the block.

“Fuck!” Myung-gi shouted, slamming his hand against the side of Se-mi’s car. “Get in!”

The rain came down harder now, pelting against the windshield as she fumbled with the keys, fingers shaking. The tires spun in a puddle before catching traction, and they tore down the street after him.

🎤🎼🎸

Inside the car, the silence was brutal. Only the sound of the once-again beginning rain slapping against the windshield filled the air — steady, violent, relentless. The wipers struggled to keep up, each swipe revealing Thanos’s taillights ahead of them — two trembling red dots cutting through the storm.

Se-mi’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Her heartbeat matched the rhythm of the engine, fast and uneven. She didn’t dare blink. Every corner he took too fast, every sudden brake — it made her stomach twist tighter.

Thanos wasn’t driving like himself.

He was driving like someone running out of time.

“Jesus Christ,” Myung-gi muttered under his breath, leaning forward, one hand braced against the dashboard. “He’s gonna kill himself before we even get there.”

His voice cracked — not with anger, but terror.

“Isn’t he high?” he snapped suddenly, slamming his hand against his thigh. “Why the fuck would he decide to drive like that!”

The words hit Se-mi like a slap. Her chest constricted.

The image of the needle — the glint of it under the light, the dried blood, the paper towel — flashed across her mind so vividly she nearly swerved.

She clenched her jaw, eyes fixed on the road.

“Don’t say that,” she hissed, more to herself than him. “Don’t even fucking say that.”

But Myung-gi didn’t stop. He was spiraling too, voice rising with panic. “If he’s high, he’s not thinking straight. He could crash, or—”

“Stop!” she shouted, the word ripping from her throat.

And then Thanos took a sudden turn.

Hard. Sharp.

Se-mi barely managed to follow, tires skidding against the slick asphalt. The car tilted, throwing both of them sideways. Her shoulder slammed against the window, Myung-gi’s curse cutting through the chaos.

The headlights caught brief flashes of the street — blurred signs, puddles exploding under the tires, the edge of the curb inches away.

Then, finally, the road straightened out.

Through the blur of rain, an apartment complex loomed ahead — old, gray, its windows glowing faintly.

Thanos’s car screeched to a stop right in front of it.

Before Se-mi could even hit the brakes fully, his door was already open. He stumbled out, barely closing it behind him, and took off toward one of the buildings — running like someone who’d been holding his breath for too long.

Se-mi slammed her car into park. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Myung-gi was already unbuckling his seatbelt, fumbling for the door handle.

🎤🎼🎸

Thanos ran up the familiar staircase, each step rattling underfoot as if warning him to stop. His chest felt tight, throat swollen, stomach twisting into knots that refused to untangle. Every second stretched endlessly, his legs shaking, betraying him like his own body knew what was waiting at the top.

Finally, he reached the door — Nam-gyu’s door. He froze for a moment, hand hovering over the knob. Heart hammering so violently it drowned out everything else. He gripped it.

Unlocked.

A dry, hollow click.

The first thing that hit him wasn’t sight. It was the smell.

Rotten, sour, thick — not overpowering, but unmistakable, like a pile of old takeout boxes had been left to fester for weeks. Mixed beneath it was a tang of sweat, cigarettes, and something coppery that made his stomach lurch. He gagged, eyes watering instinctively.

The living room was a battlefield of misery, empty Styrofoam containers littered the floor, crushed soda cans teetered on the edge of tables, ash from countless cigarettes dusted every surface. Piles of dirty clothes sprawled across chairs and the couch, and the faint smear of something sticky and dark clung to the carpet. No sign of Nam-gyu anywhere.

He moved forward, each step cautious, careful not to make a sound, yet aware that even his own breathing felt loud in the stifling air.

The hallway stretched before him, darker than he remembered. And then — the smell only grew.

Stronger. Clinging. Sweet, sickly, metallic. He froze, stomach turning over itself. The faint hint of food rot from earlier was gone. This was… different. Worse.

He reached Nam-gyu’s door.

Without any further thoughts, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

A beat.

The first thing that hit him was not a smell nor a visualization.

It was a realization.

The suffocating stench lingering through the house was not a usual, rotten food stench.

It was something far worse, the unmistakable, sickly, metallic tang of a rotting body.

The air was thick, almost wet, pressing against his lungs with each shallow, panicked breath.

And there, on the mattress Thanos used to rest on, sprawled like he owned the place, lay Nam-gyu.

His skin had dulled into a greenish-gray, bloated in a grotesque mockery of life. His limbs were horrifyingly stiff, unnaturally splayed, and every inch of his body radiated the oppressive smell — a mixture of decay, sweat, and something acidic and oily that made Thanos gag.

The walls of the room were coated with it too, sticky patches of congealed fluids, faint streaks of vomit, and smears of what could have once been food or drink, now rancid and crawling with the weight of neglect. The mattress sagged under the corpse’s unnatural weight, creaking faintly as if mourning its occupant.

Thanos froze mid-step, fingers twitching at his sides. His heart pounded violently, a deafening drum in his chest. His mouth went dry, his stomach convulsing as bile rose up his throat. Every instinct screamed to turn away, to run, to scream — but his legs refused to obey.

He wanted to blink, to shake off the image, to tell himself it wasn’t real.

But it was.

The body stared blankly at nothing. The sight burned into him, relentless, bloated face slack, eyes sunken and lifeless, skin mottled and waxy under the dim light. The faint sheen of dampness and vomit on the sheets glistened with a sickly reflection, echoing the horror of what had happened in Nam-gyu’s final moments.

Thanos’s chest tightened, a strangled sound caught in his throat. His hands shook violently as he reached forward, unable to stop himself. Every step closer made the stench stronger, more suffocating, more nauseating.

“No… this can’t be… Nam-gyu…” The words were almost swallowed by the heavy air. His knees buckled, and he leaned against the doorframe for support, stomach twisting, mind spinning in disbelief and dread.

The room felt alive with death. The smell pressed on him, the sight paralyzed him, and the realization clawed through every nerve.

Nam-gyu was gone.

Gone.

It wasn’t real, Thanos needed an out.

What. The. Fuck.

He stumbled out of the bedroom, his lungs burning, stomach twisting violently. His foot caught on something soft—a neatly folded piece of paper—but he didn’t register it. It slid across the worn floorboards, landing near the cracked seam of the panels. Slowly, silently, it disappeared into the gap, swallowed by the floor, getting lost under its grip forever.

He lurched into the hallway, knees threatening to give up on him, bile surging up his throat. His hand clutched the hem of his hoodie, pressed against his mouth to hold back the heaving, but it was no use. The stench of Nam-gyu, of decay, of sweat and vomit and rot, filled his nostrils, thick and choking, making his vision swim.

He pressed his face against the wall, gasping, hearing only the pounding of his own heart, the ragged hiss of his breath, the quiet squelch of the mattress in the room behind him. Each sound became unbearable, amplified in the silence of the apartment. He thought of Nam-gyu’s laughter, the small sound that used to echo in these rooms, soft and fragile. Now it is gone. And in its place remained this smell, this death, this impossible finality.

Swallowing another round of vomit that rose in his throat, Thanos forced himself to look. He stumbled back into the room, eyes wide and unblinking. Nam-gyu’s body lay sprawled across the mattress, his body fragile in a way he’d never seen it before, skin not resembling a human anymore, lips dark, eyes half-lidded and hollow. The faint light from the street filtered in through the blinds, catching on the crawling maggots that feasted openly on his flesh. Each movement made Thanos gag, but he could not look away.

Everything he had loved about Nam-gyu—the soft curve of his smile, the warmth of his hand in his own, the small, stubborn way he had clung to life—was gone, replaced by this grotesque mockery of a boy he had once known.

His hands shook violently as he reached for Nam-gyu, curling around him instinctively. The stench, the insects, the cold, the wet darkness of the mattress pressed against him, but he could not let go. Could not abandon him now.

Not in the final moments.

Tears streamed freely down his face, soaking the black hoodie Nam-gyu wore, it was always his favorite. Thanos’s lips pressed lightly to his forehead, fragile and trembling. His mind flickered—memories he couldn’t suppress. Nam-gyu laughing as they walked down the Han River, the soft warmth of his shoulder under Thanos’s cheek, the small, playful argument over coffee that ended in quiet laughter. Each memory was a dagger, each one sharper than the last.

He noticed the needle, abandoned, glinting faintly beside the bed. The empty baggie, the bloodied tissues. His stomach twisted again, bile clawing its way up again, but he refused to move. His fingers dug into the mattress, knuckles white, nails scratching the sheets. He could feel every small detail—the damp stickiness of the sheets, the faint stick of blood on Nam-gyu’s skin, the small tremble of the body even in death, the sharp odor of decay.

The room seemed to close in on him. The walls loomed, the ceiling pressed down. He could hear the faint hum of the city outside, cars passing, someone laughing somewhere far away. The normalcy of the world was unbearable. How could it exist when Nam-gyu was gone?

A raw, ragged sob tore from Thanos’s throat, loud, animalistic, unrestrained. His knees hit the floor, and he pressed his face into Nam-gyu’s shoulder, the weight of his grief crushing him. Every heartbeat was agony, every breath a reminder of the life that had been lost. He shook violently, rocking back and forth, unable to stop.

And all the while, the letter Nam-gyu poured his entire heart into lay hidden beneath the wooden panels, trapped in a place Thanos would never see, a piece of Nam-gyu’s soul erased from the world without his knowledge. The permanence of it, unseen and unknowable, pressed invisibly against the chaos in Thanos’s chest.

He whispered, brokenly, “I can’t… I can’t…” His voice faded, swallowed by the room, by the stench, by the silence that had replaced the warmth, the laughter, the life. He could only hold, only weep, only feel the crushing, raw, unspeakable weight of what had been done—and what he could never undo.

And finally, his eyes landed on an open notebook, lying carelessly on the floor. He crawled toward it, fingers trembling as he grasped the cover. But when he flipped it open… the last page was gone. Torn out. Vanished. He didn’t notice how long he just stared at the empty space.

He wasn’t sobbing anymore. He was howling, guttural and animalistic, a sound that clawed its way out of his chest and echoed through the apartment in violent waves. His hands moved before thought could even form—they went to Nam-gyu, shaking, desperate, pressing against the lifeless form, pushing, shaking, trying to force something impossible. Air. Breath. Life. None came back.

Six days. Six days he had been lying here, alone, and he hadn’t known. Six days of silence, of absence, of nothing. The realization hit harder than any blow, and he screamed again, a raw, splintering sound that rattled the walls.

Six days passed since Nam-gyu called him.

“FUCK!” His voice cracked and broke, pulsing through the empty apartment, a hollow echo of rage and guilt.

He looked at Nam-gyu’s face—once so full of warmth, the skin pale but glowing with life, the eyes always flickering with quiet mischief, now frozen, bloated, unresponsive, a mockery of the boy he had loved.

“Thanos, the paramedics are here. You have to—let go of him!” Myung-gi’s voice cut through the haze, distant and unreal, like it belonged to someone else. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t. He wrapped himself around Nam-gyu’s body again, burying his face into the collar of the hoodie, trying desperately to inhale what was left of the boy’s presence. The stench hit him, overwhelming, the urge to puke stronger than ever, but he didn’t care. Couldn’t.

Hands grabbed him, pulling him back. They were lifting him, and he clawed, kicking, screaming, trying to resist—but it was impossible. Nam-gyu was gone. Forever. He remembered them taking the body away, the paramedics moving carefully, solemnly. He didn’t move. He didn’t blink. The floor, the mattress, the spot where Nam-gyu had chosen to rest for the last time—it became the center of a world that had ended.

The center of where Thanos’s world ended.

No.

The center of where Su-bong’s world ended.

Se-mi was near him, talking, pleading, tears streaking her cheeks, voice breaking, but her words were just noise. He couldn’t hear. Couldn’t process. Couldn’t let them in.

He saw Myung-gi grab Nam-gyu’s phone. Empty. No messages, no notifications, nothing to anchor the world that had fallen apart. No one who cared enough to text him in the last six days. The mattress sagged where Nam-gyu had lain. The room smelled like despair, rot, and something far more final—death.

Minutes stretched into hours. Or maybe it was seconds. Time had no meaning for Su-bong anymore. He stayed there, anchored to Nam-gyu’s final resting place, his body trembling, his chest heaving, the weight of what had been lost pressing down until every bone was weighing him down.

“Thanos, we have to go,” Se-mi said again. Police. Questions. The investigation. The world outside. And yet, he refused. He would not leave. Not yet.

They lifted him again, stronger this time, forcing him out of the room, dragging him past the debris, the chaos, the smell. He punched, he screamed, he fought, but every movement felt distant, like moving underwater, every sound muffled by the roar in his own head.

Once outside, the exhaustion took him. Every muscle betrayed him, collapsing beneath the crushing grief. He fell forward into Se-mi’s arms, shaking, broken, and the streetlights above blurred into streaks of gold and white. The world moved around him, but he didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Nam-gyu was gone, and nothing—no tears, no screams, no memories—could ever bring him back.

And for the first time in his life, Su-bong understood what it truly meant to be empty.

From boredom with hate

— Nam-gyu

🎤🎼🎸