Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

As he took out what must've been his hundredth bowl to attempt to combine more ingredients, it occurred to Gi-hun to wonder who the hell he thought he was.

Bo-ssam? Really? Granted, he wanted to impress, but why couldn't he have gone for something simpler? He knew In-ho couldn't cook for the life of him, he probably would've been impressed by a hearty soup. Gi-hun could've added extra seasoning to instant ramyeon and he would've been impressed. So why, for the love of fuck, was he slaving over this unnecessarily difficult recipe?

Well, he knew why. There were a few reasons, actually. He had been trying to keep himself occupied, the last week, in an attempt to stop himself from dwelling on any unpleasant topics. When, at the end of the day, the distractions ran out, he had been… Struggling, to say the least. And he liked In-ho, he liked him such a stupid amount. He had nearly passed out when In-ho had mentioned being proud of him, and, shamefully, part of him was desperate to hear it again.

In-ho was strange. He was constantly assuring Gi-hun that he wasn't a person, or that his humanity was too far away to access. His disdain for his fellow man baffled Gi-hun, in part because he was so willing to entertain Gi-hun's perspective. His commendation of whatever goodness he perceived in Gi-hun seemed oppositional to his opinion on the rest of mankind.

Gi-hun's private opinion was that In-ho wanted to be apathetic, that he chose to be distant from humanity because being close to them was painful. There was, Gi-hun could admit, an exchange, there. Gi-hun believed in the good in people, knowing that it opened him up to be hurt by their shortcomings. In-ho chose protection from that hurt, but, in so doing, also forfeited camaraderie and unity with his fellow men. Despite all this, he could feel In-ho's interest in that camaraderie.

Showing human kindness to In-ho was like showing food to a stray cat. No sudden movements, no noise, hell, no looking at him. Just an extended hand full of something satisfying, trying to convince him to take the risk that it might smack him on the head. Gi-hun felt that In-ho wanted to taste that belief in people, but he was unsure that said desire would ever overcome the immense amount of fear inside him, nor the indifference and contempt that it had generated.

In any case, he harbored ridiculous affection for In-ho. Cold though he may have seemed, he had been Gi-hun's only stability for the last few weeks, even before…

Well, anyway.

In-ho had stayed with him, crushed him underneath his weight, comforted him and done things for him and protected him from all of the horrible guilt that threatened to capsize him at any time. And, at work that week, In-ho's dedication to keeping him engaged, keeping him from sinking beneath the waves, was the most striking kindness imaginable.

In the wake of… Everything… Gi-hun had wanted to die. Or, rather, he didn't want to live. Anyone else might've tried to convince him of the worthwhile parts of life, the things that he'd eventually enjoy again, and it might've worked, but it might've hurt worse. In-ho's assertion that to die was equally pointless had resonated more strongly with the state Gi-hun was in.

Stupidly, absurdly, like the fool he'd always been, Gi-hun adored him.

So, here he was, working up a sweat over fancy pork wraps for absolutely no reason, watching the clock like it was his enemy.

After several hours, the bo-ssam were finished, and Gi-hun quickly showered and changed into something more presentable. That left him with twenty minutes to sit anxiously on his couch, accomplishing nothing other than worrying if he smelled like pork, if he looked stupid, if he was stupid, if was going to have a breakdown about his grief and—

Anyway. He stood up, rearranging the plates on the table a few times and then ending up with them in the same position.

He was also unclear regarding the trajectory of the night. Based on the patterns of their past, they would probably put on a movie and then fall asleep together, or one of them would present an excuse to leave. That said, this was a different tone than their usual activities, one that possibly steered the direction of the night differently. His shower had been thorough, to account for this possibility, but he also didn't want to seem presumptuous.

He also knew Hwang In-ho. For all of his distance from humanity, he valued something adjacent to honor. He, likely, would suspect any more amorous moves on Gi-hun's part to be intended as a distraction from his grief, which wasn't altogether out of the question. If he feared that he was taking advantage, Gi-hun would never get him to do anything.

The knock on his door startled him out of his vaguely horny reverie. He jumped up, straightening his clothes and then taking a deep breath as he opened it.

How he, someone as unprofessional and un-put-together as he was, could be so charmed by In-ho, who stood at the doorstep of a mediocre apartment in a charcoal button-down and black trousers, wearing that stupid black trench coat that probably could've bought Gi-hun, was a mystery. He was, though. "Hey."

In-ho seemed to pause a second before answering. "Good evening. You look great."

"Ah, nothing compared to you," Gi-hun said bashfully, leading him inside.

"Whatever you've cooked smells excellent."

Gi-hun smiled to himself, taking the bottle of wine that In-ho proffered. "It's bo-ssam."

In-ho raised his eyebrows. "That's impressive." He hesitated, as though considering adding something else and deciding against it. When he saw the layout of the food on the table, something came over his face that almost looked fond. Whether it made Gi-hun feel treasured or pitied was not yet clear.

"Well, taste it first."

To his surprise, the food was good. He tried not to seem too tremendously relieved, not wanting to give any sign that he had thought it might've been a failure.

They chatted about banality for a while, about work and their coworkers and the people who'd been fired. It always caught Gi-hun off-guard, how at-ease he felt with In-ho. Despite the chasm of intellectual space between them, and their irreconcilable, opposing worldviews, he felt comfortable with him. In-ho treated him like his thoughts mattered, like he was interesting and smart and worth paying attention to.

Gi-hun trusted him, whether he should've or not.

When the meal was over, In-ho bowed his head. "Thank you, Gi-hun, that was incredible."

"Ah, it was nothing," Gi-hun lied modestly.

In-ho chuckled. "What I was going to say earlier is that my stepmother used to make this for special occasions, though yours outperforms hers by a landslide. Having seen her make it, I am well aware that it is not nothing. So thank you. You did a wonderful job."

Gi-hun felt his cheeks heating up, irritatingly, and hid his face by standing to take the dishes to the sink. "Oh. Well… Thanks. I'm glad you liked it."

Nodding, In-ho followed him to the sink and, despite his protestations, assisted with the dishes. "How have you been this week?"

Gi-hun shrugged. "Fine, I guess."

Sensing, apparently, that Gi-hun did not want to discuss how he'd been, In-ho pivoted. "For how long were you a mechanic?"

"A few years," Gi-hun answered absently, more open to discussing this.

"Do you feel unchallenged at OneEarth? I imagine the problems you see day-to-day are fairly mundane."

It was charming, the fact that In-ho thought Gi-hun was much more capable than he actually was. "I'm challenged enough. I wasn't that advanced a mechanic."

"You fixed the car for Dae-ho with no problem."

Gi-hun smiled to himself. "Do you have a car you need fixed?"

"No, why?"

"You're showing a lot of interest in my skills as a mechanic, that's all." He looked over at him. "Unless there's another reason."

In-ho grinned. "What other reason would that be?"

"You tell me, you're the one making out with people in parking garages."

"'People?'" In-ho repeated, barely holding back a laugh.

"Yeah, who knows how many people you've lured down there," Gi-hun said. "They should've warned me about you when I started."

In-ho finished the last dish, then turned to look at him, leaning his hip against the sink. "Need I remind you of the chronology of those events, Gi-hun?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't?"

Gi-hun faced him, trying not to let himself falter. "Nope."

"I see. Well, the way I remember it," In-ho stepped somehow closer to him, his dark, fathomless eyes unblinking. Their faces were so close, then, only centimeters apart. "You kissed me first."

And he was so handsome, and so comfortable, and so close, that Gi-hun couldn't help himself. He pressed their lips together, one hand remaining on the edge of the sink and the other tightening into the front of his shirt.

He felt In-ho smile into the kiss, then felt fingers in his hair, still warm from the dishwater. Overcome by something stronger than himself, he turned, pinning In-ho to the counter. There was a gentle but noticeable tug on his hair, but In-ho otherwise complied.

Wanting to relocate, Gi-hun pulled away from him a little, forcing the first in his shirt to unclench and rest flat over his sternum instead. His heartbeat was incredibly fast, which felt somewhat validating. "Want to move?"

In-ho nodded, swallowing visibly. "Yes."

Gi-hun tugged him over to the couch, feeling like steering him into the bedroom was a step too far. He sat down on it, and, as soon as In-ho did the same, he pushed Gi-hun to lie back, kissing him once again.

It felt like so much, like sinking into a hot bath after a long day, just letting his senses be overcome with him. Gi-hun allowed himself to sink his hands into the dark locks on In-ho's head, which were slightly gelled. It satisfied him to break them up. He felt like a teenager, this soft, unhurried kissing enough to take his breath away.

In-ho had one arm slightly bracing himself, brushing against Gi-hun's ribs, and his other hand was pressed against his heart, just as it used to do so often when they were young. His lips left Gi-hun's and fused to his neck instead. Instinctively, Gi-hun tipped his head up to give him more room.

In-ho's body was between his legs, pressing against him. Gi-hun shifted down a little and grabbed In-ho's shirt, pulling it out of where it was tucked into his pants so that he could feel the skin of his waist, his back, fuck—

"Wait."

Before he could stop himself, half a whine slipped out of Gi-hun's mouth as he felt the lips leave his neck.

Instead, In-ho pressed his nose there, inhaling deeply, and then sighed. "I want to keep going," he said into his throat. "But your mother died last week."

Wincing, Gi-hun groaned. "I know that. Obviously, I know that."

"I can't, in good conscience, push this."

"You think I don't want to?" He asked, squirming underneath him and feeling his face heat up at the feeling.

In-ho hummed, his breath warm against Gi-hun's shoulder. "It's not that. But I don't think it would be right."

"I told you, I'm doing fine."

"You can't even say what happened, you flinch if I mention it."

Gi-hun scowled. "So what? You'd never fuck somebody who wasn't having a good day?"

"It's not just fucking, though, is it?"

It took the wind out of his sails. It was so thoughtful, so founded in In-ho's genuine respect and affection for him. As much as he wanted to have the hurt fucked out of him, he couldn't resent In-ho's attempt at looking out for him. "No, I guess not."

"Can I keep doing this?" In-ho asked, still rubbing his chest.

Gi-hun nodded, hand still on In-ho's bare waist.

There was, despite his initial hopes, something enjoyable about this affection that would decidedly not lead to sex. There was no necessary buildup, just a long, sustained plateau of gentle, deep intimacy. This wasn't just the usual disembodied hands, touching him for their own amusement; this was the man who had held him as he cried, who had treated him like something worthwhile. In-ho's touch felt like something Gi-hun owned, like something he was entitled to.

Part of him wanted to flip them, to pin In-ho to the couch and take control of the situation, to make him feel as overwhelmed as he did.

Instead, he just held onto him tighter, one hand still fidgeting with his hair as the other gently brushed the skin of his back.

After what could've been five minutes or two hours, In-ho pulled away from him, instead resting his head on Gi-hun's shoulder, hand still pressed over his heart.

At peace, toying with In-ho's hair, which was now in complete disarray, Gi-hun put his other hand over In-ho's on his chest. "Why do you always do this, huh?"

"I like your heart. It's like a bird in your chest. It flaps incessantly, even on the worst days of your life."

Gi-hun felt the fondness burgeoning in his chest, so strong that he wondered if In-ho could feel it himself. He pressed his lips to the top of In-ho's head. "Do you want to go to bed?"

In-ho nodded, getting up off the couch and then extending his hand and helping Gi-hun up, pulling him to the bedroom. "I have to apologize, I forgot to bring pajamas."

"Don't worry, you can borrow something." There was something in Gi-hun, something ancient and unrecognizable, that wanted to see him in his clothes, that found the idea of In-ho belonging to him in some way extremely appealing. He gave him the clothes to and, fortunately, had never gotten rid of the spare toothbrush, leaving them both to change and prepare for bed.

When Gi-hun came back from the bathroom, In-ho was sitting up against his headboard, typing on his phone.

He looked up and gave Gi-hun a soft smile. "Thank you for the pajamas."

Gi-hun waved that away, delighted at the sight of it. He was taller than In-ho, so the pants were a little long, but In-ho was broader, so the t-shirt was stretched nicely across his chest. He lay down in the bed next to him, so that his head was in line with In-ho's hip.

Before he had settled, he could feel In-ho's hand on his head, scratching at his scalp affectionately like a dog. He hummed peacefully.

"You really are an outstanding cook," In-ho said.

Gi-hun squirmed, leaning so his temple was against him. "Ah, you're just saying that to be nice."

"No, I'm not."

"You are. Or to embarrass me."

In-ho chuckled, looking down at him. "Why would I want to embarrass you?"

"You're sadistic."

Scooting down the bed, In-ho turned on his side to look at him. "Sadistic, hm?"

Gi-hun nodded, wriggling closer to him.

The smile on In-ho's face was gentle. It appeared almost foreign on him. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Gi-hun's forehead. "Goodnight, Gi-hun." Then he rolled over onto his other side, still close enough to be held.

Gi-hun smiled at the back of his head, his hair still mussed. "Yeah, good night."

When he woke up, they were spooning. Admittedly, Gi-hun wanted to touch him, he loved touching him, but his ability to gravitate in his sleep was becoming problematic.

Gi-hun was curled around In-ho, his arm cast over his waist and nose tucked up against the back of his neck. He was at least slightly hard, which was going to become a problem imminently, but, in the moment, he just held tighter to him. Just for a second.

Briefly, so briefly, he wished to die there.

He kept telling himself to move, but couldn't. To be here, tucked into In-ho, was safe. Safe from the grief, from the obligatory distractions, from the averting his eyes, from the diverting his thoughts, from the face-down pictures that littered the house. She used to dust them religiously, every Thursday. What's the point of having them, Gi-hun, if they're too dusty to see? What's the—

Anyway.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge those memories. Remembering her would hurt and he would come all apart again, so instead he tightened his grip on In-ho, cataloging the different aspects of the way he smelled, the feeling of his belly against Gi-hun's hands, the knobs of his spine at the base of his neck. It didn't matter if he was hard, it didn't matter if he was too hot underneath this blanket, it didn't matter that his arm was stiff from being stuck under the pillow all night—all that mattered was hiding himself in Hwang In-ho.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, drifting in and out of wakefulness, sedated by In-ho's presence. After a while, he felt In-ho stir, his hand coming to drag fingertips over Gi-hun's forearm.

"Are you sleeping?" In-ho asked quietly.

Gi-hun debated refusing to answer, but decided they'd lain in bed long enough. "No."

In-ho rolled onto his back, looking up at Gi-hun. "Good morning, then."

Flipping onto his belly and tucking both arms under his pillow, Gi-hun kept his head turned to face him. "Morning."

"We should get up, it's after ten," In-ho said, sitting up for a moment then leaning down and kissing the side of Gi-hun's head before standing up and wandering to the bathroom.

Gi-hun took a few seconds to bury his head in the pillow where In-ho's head had been, then made himself get out of bed and trudge into the kitchen, opening his fridge to practically forage for breakfast materials.

"Don't make breakfast on my account," In-ho said, and Gi-hun jolted, startled.

"How do you walk so quietly?" He demanded.

In-ho hummed. "I'm sneaky," he said absently. "You've cooked enough in the last twenty-four hours. If you have coffee, that's more than enough. I'll have to leave shortly, anyway."

"Thank fuck," Gi-hun grumbled. "I'm out of… Everything."

He made them each a cup of coffee, then sat down with him at the table.

In-ho downed half of it in one go. "I'm seeing my brother today."

"Oh, really? What are you guys doing?"

"Well, first, he's making me help him paint his kitchen. Then, allegedly, we're going for drinks. Which would be nice, save for the implication that the painting will take from noon until a reasonable drinking time."

Gi-hun laughed. "Have you mentioned to him that we're working together?"

"Working together, yes. Sleeping together, no."

"'Sleeping together' has other connotations, doesn't it?"

In-ho smiled. "I've shared a bed with you three times in the last week. It seems dishonest to say we are not sleeping together."

"It makes it sound like we're fucking." Which, thanks to you, we're not.

Gulping down the rest of his coffee, In-ho stood and cracked his neck, then pressed his lips to the top of Gi-hun's head. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow?"

In-ho raised his eyebrows, amused. "Work, Gi-hun."

"Ah, right, of course, sorry, I—"

Chuckling, In-ho ruffled his hair. "Tomorrow, Gi-hun."

"Yeah, see you tomorrow."

He left, and there was silence. Oppressive, draining silence. Silence that drew attention to his surroundings more quickly than he could knock the train off the tracks.

His mother had purchased this mug from some little girl at the farmer's market who painted them. It was ugly, chipped and faded with a badly-painted chicken on the front. She had cherished it like the finest china. He wouldn't have used something so precious, but all of her mugs were like that. One she got on her first trip to the city, one her best friend had purchased for her at the beach, one with a golden, cracked brim from when Gi-hun had dropped it as a teenager and attempted to repair it with gold paint.

She hated this table. She had always talked about replacing it with something nicer, more suitable for the shape of the room.

He really ought to move out. The apartment had an extra room, it was more expensive than he needed, and the memories were eating him alive. The thought, though, of packing up all her things, of putting all that remained of her in boxes so that he didn't have to look at it, so that he could put her out of his mind forever, seemed so horrific that he couldn't stomach it.

And, with that, he sank. There was nothing to distract himself with, only the oppressive weight of his failures as a son. He missed—

He had stopped himself from finishing the statement all week, he missed—

He knew that, if he did, he would fall apart completely, he missed—

If he could only be strong enough to stop himself from going down this road, to right this ship, but he missed—

He missed his mom.

He had been doing so well, pushing it away, not thinking about it, but he did, he missed her and he didn't want to miss her anymore. He felt like he understood those people in Pet Sematary, desperate to do anything to have something they loved back. This couldn't be real. She couldn't be dead, having died from complications of a surgery he had told her about, because of a condition worsened by the poverty he caused. This was a terrible dream. This didn't make any sense. He had worked extra jobs, lived like he was unemployed, just to afford the surgery that ultimately killed her.

It is uncomfortable to believe that, because it means there's nothing you can do to keep anyone you care about alive. But it also means that it wasn't your fault, In-ho had said, and Gi-hun did believe him, on some level. But it didn't feel true. It felt like being pacified, being told a pretty lie so that he wouldn't throw himself into a river.

He drifted away from the table, leaving his coffee to grow cold. He stepped into the shower, turning it to hot and then stepping in, fully clothed. He let the water soak his shirt and pants, folding up on the ground and letting it pound against his back.

He wanted to drown in here. He was a parentless failure. In-ho could shower him with as much kindness as he wanted, he didn't know the details of it. He didn't see Gi-hun at the track, putting tens of thousands of won on race after race, calling out at horses and jockeys and falling, dismayed, into a plastic chair when they failed. He didn't see Gi-hun asking for loans then squandering them in the same way. He didn't see Gi-hun's mother's obvious limp, the way he had known that something must be off for months, maybe years, before telling her she should see a doctor.

He turned around and lay supine on the shower floor, staring up at the ceiling and letting the water soak his chest. It dripped down his shoulders and splashed onto his face. It felt like tears. After a few minutes, he began to cry, too. Not the great, hiccuping sobs of sadness, but the silent, hot tears of resignation. Resignation to the fact that he despised himself, that he had failed the only person who loved him, that he was a failure, a disappointment, and a stupid one, to boot.

He lay there until the water ran cold, and for hours after. Time slipped away, the world slipped away. He wasn't going to kill himself, but he had no vested interest in survival, either. He began wishing that lightning would strike the building, would course through his old pipes and leave him to be electrocuted here. He wished that his heart would stop, the way that it felt like it already had.

When, finally, he decided that he was tired of this, and that he'd rather just go lie in bed instead of continuning to spike his water bill, he trudged out of the shower, leaving his clothes to sit there and mold, he guessed, and plodded wetly into his bedroom to find new ones.

Absently, he picked up his phone, with only one message from a couple hours prior.

Hwang In-ho: Jun-ho would like me to relay to you that he says 'hi'. Granted, he did not do so until hour seven of painting this kitchen.

Gi-hun wanted to smile. He wanted to respond with something fun or engaging, but he couldn't even comprehend the message. All he felt was tired and pathetic. And hungry, a little.

Actually, he felt extremely hungry, though he had nothing to eat. According to his phone, it was nearly nine o'clock. He battled with himself on whether to drag his carcass to the convenience store four doors down until, eventually, hunger won out.

He looked atrocious. He did not care at all. His hair was still damp, he was wearing his ugliest sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants and, as he walked out the door, he realized his shoes didn't even match. It didn't matter. All he had to do was get to the convenience store and back.

"Mr. Seong?"

Gi-hun startled, eyes focusing, and saw Ali, his coworker, standing in front of him. Gi-hun looked at him, a little blank, then down at himself, then back. "Ah, hi, Ali. I told you, you can call me Gi-hun."

"Right. Sorry, sir."

Gi-hun sighed. "You don't have to call me 'sir,' either."

"Well, Mr. S— Gi-hun, is everything all right?"

Forcing something approximating a smile onto his face, Gi-hun nodded. "I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

"You're lying, sir." Ali looked at him seriously. "Where are you going?"

"Just to buy something instant at the convenience store," Gi-hun mumbled.

"I'll do the same, I'll eat with you."

Sighing, Gi-hun shook his head. "You really don't have to do that."

Ali gave him a smile, earnest and kind and everything that felt so far from Gi-hun's reach, at that moment. "It would be my pleasure." He fell in step with Gi-hun and followed him around the convenience store, each of them procuring some instant noodles and then sitting at the tables in the corner. "I'm sorry about your mother," Ali said, apropos of nothing.

Gi-hun blinked, noodles dangling out of his mouth. "How did you hear about that?"

"I saw a post about her funeral on Facebook, you and I share a mutual friend."

"Oh. Well… Thanks, I guess."

Ali took a bite, then looked back up at him. "I did what you did, too." At Gi-hun's perplexed look, he elaborated. "A couple years ago, a friend of mine died. He was… Anyway. For about five days, I was fine. I decided I wasn't going to think about it, that making myself sad was not going to help anything." He sighed, taking a drink. "Then, on the sixth day, I just… Missed him. I wanted to talk to him, more than anything. And it hurt so bad, it was awful. I begged every god I'd ever heard of to bring him back, and, obviously, they didn't. Then, after a while, I wanted it to hurt."

"Why would anyone want that?"

Ali hummed, tipping his head side to side in thought. "Love is like a song. When someone dies, it ends, and the other person stretches their ears to hear the reverberations of that last note, because it means the song isn't over. Grieving someone is the endurance of love for them, even in their absence. It's the last real connection you have to a person who's gone."

"What does that mean?"

"You shouldn't try to stop yourself from grieving. Grief is part of love."

Gi-hun cast his face downward, feeling tears springing to his eyes. He wanted to speak, but his throat felt full.

"It doesn't stop, you know," Ali said. "I still miss him. I think of him almost every day. I still wish I could talk to him. You just grow around it. So, really, it's like I'm still connected to him."

Gi-hun sniffled wetly, scrubbing at his face with his hands. "I don't know how to keep going without her. I was doing everything to try to make her better, now I feel… Lost."

"That's how I felt, too. My friend, he was really depressed, toward the end. I kept trying different things, but he just… Couldn't take it anymore. When he died, I felt lost." He raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. "You grieve. And, while you grieve, you just… Keep plowing on."

"Why?"

"What's the alternative? Die? Spread the pain around? There's no other choice."

Gi-hun bit back a sob, face hidden in his hands, then he felt Ali come to sit by him and cast an arm over his shoulders.

"It's all right, Mr. Seong," he said quietly, letting Gi-hun cry and taking another drink. "Some days, you make progress, some days, you fall apart. I cried about him a few weeks ago."

"Does it always feel so horrible?"

"It doesn't feel horrible anymore," Ali said. "It feels like love."

He cried there, with his coworker, for about ten minutes, then was overcome by an exhaustion so powerful it was motivating. He thanked Ali profusely, apologizing once and being scolded for it, then went home and collapsed into his bed.

He lay there, imagining the way it had felt to hug his mother, and felt a strange sense of warmth. "Love you," he said quietly to the ceiling, and drifted off to sleep.

Gi-hun went into work the next day, fully aware that he looked like shit. He had made an attempt to put on normal clothes, but his face looked swollen and sad and old and his hair was weird after being subjected to a multiple-hour shower and then no interaction afterward. Nevertheless, he felt better.

Well, he felt different. He felt less like he was going to fall apart, because he was already falling apart. There was something freeing about that.

He stopped at a coffee shop on the way to work and got three coffees, two for himself and one extra, then continued on to the office. He dropped off his own two cups, then sought out the group office for the OneScience employees.

Gi-hun was, admittedly, a little early, so neither Ji-yeong nor Dae-ho were there yet, only Jun-hee and Ali, who were working quietly. When he walked in, both looked up. "Ali," he said pre-emptively, and deposited the coffee on his desk. "Thank you for talking to me yesterday."

Ali looked at the coffee, seeming a little confused, then back up at him, a bright grin on his face. "You don't have to thank me, Mr. Seong."

"You really can call me Gi-hun," he said, smiling, then left and returned to his own office.

He wasted time on his computer until lunch, when he stretched and decided to go down to the cafeteria. To do so, for better or for worse, he had to pass In-ho's office. He stopped, knocking on the closed door and receiving an emotionless, "come in."

When he stepped into the office, In-ho looked up from his computer, his face brightening. "Gi-hun, how are you?"

He looked distractingly handsome. For some reason, he had donned black-rimmed glasses, which made his eyes look all the more intense. It made something crawl up Gi-hun's spine, something like want. He blinked, refocusing. "Good, how are you?"

Seemingly detecting Gi-hun's hesitation, In-ho raised his eyebrows. "I'm doing fine."

"I didn't know you wore lenses."

In-ho sighed. "Ordinarily, I wear contacts, but I forgot to pick up the new box, which means I'm stuck with these until tonight."

"They look good," Gi-hun understated.

"They do not. They make me feel about ten years old, actually. But thank you for saying so."

Gi-hun smiled. He did look young. Cute, even. "Well, I was going to get lunch from the cafeteria, do you want to come with me?"

Behind the glasses, In-ho's eyes widened minutely. "Sure, that sounds great," he said mildly, but the shell of the nonchalance was cracked.

In-ho closed his office door behind them. "Have you been to the cafeteria much?"

"Actually, no. I had never successfully purchased anything until last week."

"There's a faster way to get there, let me…" In-ho took them through an abandoned office with a door behind it leading to a long hallway. Before proceeding, he turned to face Gi-hun. "The man who hired me showed me this, I—"

Gi-hun was half-listening, stepping closer to him, turning so that In-ho's back was facing the wall. With each step he took, In-ho took one back, still rambling about his predecessor, until, eventually, his back hit the plaster behind him, startling him. "Can I?" Gi-hun asked, and, when In-ho nodded, he pressed their lips together, hands cupping In-ho's face.

In-ho hummed against his mouth, hands flying to his waist as though a magnet bound them. It was only a few seconds, then they pulled apart, In-ho leaning forward so their foreheads were against one another. "This is wildly unprofessional," he said, kissing him once more.

Gi-hun smiled. "I like the glasses."

"What?" In-ho's eyes widened. "Oh," a smug expression made its way onto his face. "You like the glasses."

Feeling his face heat up a little, Gi-hun shrugged. "I said I did."

In-ho kissed him once more, then, with a countenance that could only be described as extremely human, took his hand and led him down the hall.

"How was painting?"

"Horrible. He's horrible at it, I get angry with him for doing such an unimpressive job, then he gets angry at me because I care about generating a quality result," In-ho scowled. "And he didn't even take me to drinks afterward." He shook his head. "I must've done a terrible job raising that heathen."

Gi-hun smiled, endeared. "You love him."

"I'd love to swing one of those paint cans into his head," In-ho grumbled. "How was your day, yesterday?"

To lie, or not to lie? In-ho had been there for him in every step of his grief thus far, but it had been so embarrassing to break down in front of him so many days in a row. Gi-hun didn't want to lie, though, not about something this inconsequential. "I sort of… Had a rough day, after you left, actually." At In-ho's concerned expression, he waved his hand. "Ah, I'm fine now. But I just… I got sad about her. I actually," he huffed a laugh. "I went to the convenience store at night to get something to eat and I ran into Ali, who helped me a lot."

For a reason Gi-hun could not fathom, In-ho's eye twitched. "You could've called me, I would've been happy to talk things out with you."

Gi-hun shook his head. "I would've been too embarrassed. I'm embarrassed now, honestly. I looked horrible and it didn't make any sense, I just… Let myself fall apart. It was stupid. I didn't try to reach out to anyone, I was only trying to go to 7/11. He just happened to be there." They reached the end of the hallway, In-ho opening the door and following him through it. "Plus, you've done way too much for me already."

"I haven't done enough," In-ho said, seemingly to himself, then regained his immaculate composure. "In any case, I'm glad you weren't alone. That said, as I've told you in the past, if you ever want help, even if it's just to talk, you're welcome to call me."

Gi-hun scanned the area around them, finding it empty, and then pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I know."

To his immense delight, a slight blush crept up In-ho's cheeks.

They went through the line and got their food, then took a seat in the canteen. "Jun-ho wants to meet you," In-ho said once Gi-hun sat down.

He raised his eyebrows, shoveling rice into his mouth. "Oh? What do you think about that?"

"I'd be happy to introduce the two of you, he's certainly heard about you enough."

Gi-hun tried hard to wipe all expression off his face. "You wouldn't be embarrassed?"

The amusement dropped out of In-ho's eyes. "Embarrassed."

"Yeah, you know. I'm like, a mess, and everything. And I had an addiction, and I'm poor, and I'm not that smart… I'm not complaining or anything, just… None of that would embarrass you?"

In-ho's face became almost scowly. "You know what I think of you. You know that I don't consider you something to be derided or scrutinized."

"Right. Sorry." Gi-hun ignored the warmth in his chest.

"I'm not asking for an apology. I wish you didn't think of yourself that way at all, but, since you do, I'm asking instead that you don't project those thoughts onto me." He punctuated his scolding with another bite of his food.

Gi-hun nodded, giving him a bashful smile. "I would be happy to meet your brother. Maybe he'll tell me something embarrassing about you."

In-ho's seriousness relented slightly. "There's nothing to tell. I was an extremely normal child."

Gi-hun laughed. "I don't believe that for a minute. I'll bet you've felt like an adult since you were about twelve years old, the kind of kid who wears elbow patches or something."

"I was not," he said, taking a delicate sip of his drink. "It is hard to style elbow patches with a sweater vest."

Gi-hun almost choked on his food, delighted. "Sweater vest?" He repeated, completely endeared.

"They're appropriate and comfortable."

Gi-hun teased him for the remainder of their meal, then they walked back up together, hands and elbows bumping the whole way.

When Gi-hun returned to his own office, he was in a much better mood. He sat at his desk for a bit before being retrieved by Dae-ho to go fix another one of the appliances, which he begged Gi-hun to keep from In-ho. Frankly, Gi-hun doubted In-ho actually expected him to rat on his own coworkers, so he acquiesced without fighting it.

He was packing up his things when Ji-yeong stopped by his office and sat down in the other chair at his desk. "I'm torn, boss."

Gi-hun sat back down, trying to look serious. "All right."

"See, we're going for drinks in a few days. As always. And some of us want to invite your man."

"My man."

"Mr. Hwang, obviously."

Gi-hun blinked. "Okay?"

Ji-yeong continued, "but some of us don't want to invite him."

"Why?"

"Well, we want to be able to talk about him. About you guys, your whole… Whatever's going on there. We want the scoop."

"What's your vote?"

She smiled slyly. "I said we should let you decide. Of course, if he comes, we're still going to talk about you. Just… With him."

Gi-hun groaned. "Can't you guys just decide? Or I could just not go?"

"Oh, you're coming," she said. "When it was me and Sae-byeok, we had to hear about this shit from everyone. All the time."

He buried his head in his hands. "When is it?"

"Thursday."

"I'll think about it."

She slapped both hands on the desk, standing up with a smile on her face. "Let me know what you decide. I'll see you tomorrow, sir."

Whatever. Ji-yeong left, Gi-hun following her a few minutes later, still feeling lighter than he had the previous few days.

When he got home, he changed immediately and lay in bed. If he pressed his face into his pillow, he could still smell In-ho. He wondered what it would feel like, to bury In-ho in gentleness. Of course, Gi-hun was capable of being rough, but he felt that In-ho was too familiar with that. If anything, that's what he would've expected.

What he wanted was to make him feel human, to make him feel as undeniably, unavoidably human as Gi-hun felt.

He wanted to lay him out. He wanted In-ho stretched out beneath him, his dark eyes looking up at Gi-hun through his lashes. He would squirm, Gi-hun expected, thinking that it would lead to a reprimand. Instead, in his mind, Gi-hun would kiss him, would say, lie still for me, and wait until he complied.

He wanted to mouth along every part of him, his chest, the hollows of his collarbones, his thighs, every area of his body that came to mind, Gi-hun wanted to taste. Not for his own pleasure, really, but to let In-ho feel cherished. To let him feel broken open.

He wanted to make him cry. Not from pain or from overstimulation but from overwhelm at the sheer prolonged tenderness Gi-hun would exact upon him. It would be so slow, so absurdly unhurried, and when In-ho did cry Gi-hun would kiss the tears from his cheeks and settle him and then start again. Over and over until the tenderness became the only thing he remembered, the only thing he could conceive.

He considered In-ho's jealousy when he mentioned he'd been comforted by Ali. He considered his indignation at the implication that he might be embarrassed of Gi-hun. He considered the fact that In-ho, despite his allegedly absent respect for his fellow man, had refused to take advantage of Gi-hun in a vulnerable state.

Gi-hun wished they were younger. He wished he was at a point in his life where he could get drunk and send In-ho an ill-advised text saying something incredibly stupid like I want you or Come over, please. He wished he was less cautious, that he could show up at his house and grab him and suck bruises into his neck. He felt so… Full up. Of want, of ache, of desperation.

He wanted to hear from him. He wanted to talk to him, he wanted to bury his face in his neck.

Seong Gi-hun: do I need to get a sweater vest if I'm going to meet your brother?

It was stupid. An obvious ploy for connection because he was bored and horny and emotional.

Hwang In-ho: Yes. Unless you do want to truly embarrass me.

Gi-hun smiled stupidly at his phone, feeling both humiliated by how juvenile he was being and delighted that In-ho had responded so quickly.

He went about the rest of the night as normal, procuring some groceries and then making a simple dinner, taking a normal length shower, and then deciding to put on his pajamas and go to bed early. He stopped in his tracks, eyeing the clothes he had leant In-ho.

The scent of him was just so distractingly comforting, it was… Was it creepy for him to wear them? They were his own clothes, after all. He hadn't done laundry in days, he didn't have that many options.

Despite his better judgment, he put on the shirt and pants, immediately burying his nose in the collar and inhaling. Something about it was so familiar, so soothing, that he felt himself growing tired immediately. He curled up in the bed, on the side where In-ho had slept, and let the feel of him drown out the waves of grief lapping at the shores of his mind.

The next day, In-ho stormed into Gi-hun's office at eleven. Or, rather, whatever the extraordinarily-composed, Hwang In-ho version of storming was. He sat delicately in the chair across from Gi-hun, frustration simmering deep beneath the surface of his skin.

Gi-hun looked up from his computer, where he was, admittedly, playing a game, and smiled at him politely. "Hello, Mr. Hwang. Is everything all right?"

He stared thoughtfully at Gi-hun, then sighed. "I am going to destroy a few select members of the finance board," he said slowly.

"Oh?"

In-ho's eye twitched. "We had a meeting today about a specific grant which I thought we should apply for. I delegated presenting that grant and the requirements thereof to Jun-hee, who did an excellent job."

"What's so bad about that?"

"The board tore her apart. Her presentation was methodical and orderly, she followed a format of one that I used a few months ago, which they received very well."

Gi-hun's heart fractured. "What happened?"

"They were just derisive. Unfairly derisive. They were initially wary of my insistence upon hiring her, but this is simple prejudice."

"Is she okay?"

In-ho looked off to the side. "I'm not sure. I attempted to defend her in the meeting and told her afterward that they had been unfair, but she wanted to be alone for a while." His eyes refocused on Gi-hun.

"That's horrible, I'll check on her later, too."

He hummed, pensive. "I have ammunition to ruin their lives. One of the board members is cheating on his wife, one has a bastard child who doesn't know his father's identity, one has a history of embezzlement."

Gi-hun blinked. "Okay?"

"Convince me not to do it."

"Don't do it," Gi-hun said easily.

In-ho chuckled, a little bitter. "You'll have to do better than that."

"They did a shitty thing, but don't… Don't be the one to spread the pain around."

"Shouldn't someone? Shouldn't there be some form of repercussions for their cruelty?"

Gi-hun shrugged. "I mean… Yes. But it shouldn't come from you. And that's just going to hurt more people. Maybe you should talk to them, tell them that you don't approve of the way they treated her. If you explained that it was a big deal for her and that it hurt her feelings—"

"They wouldn't care," In-ho said. "It would make them feel powerful. It would please them, to know that they'd impacted this young girl, just for their own egos."

"Then you should tell the higherups, or something. Don't detonate and ruin their lives, though."

"Why not?"

Gi-hun tapped his fingers on his desk, feeling a little stupid. "I don't know, okay? Maybe they're bad people, maybe they deserve bad things, but it's not worth it to cause pain to their spouses or kids or whatever."

"Wouldn't it serve them right?"

"This isn't working," Gi-hun grumbled. "Don't do it, all right? I'm asking you not to, for your sake, for Jun-hee's, for mine, whatever."

In-ho raised his eyebrows. "Very interesting, Gi-hun." He tipped his head sideways. "If you're asking me not to, I'll acquiesce. Know that, if you weren't here, I would have already ruined their families and careers. I have done it in the past."

"Why did you come talk to me, then? If you knew it would mean you didn't get to do what you wanted?"

"I was curious," he said. "I was interested in what you'd say, how your perspective applies to a situation like this."

Gi-hun stared at him for a minute. "You're so weird," he said at last.

In-ho gave him a sly smile. "Perhaps."

There was a knock at the door, and they both looked to see Ji-yeong. "Hey, boss. Make a decision about Thursday?"

"No, Ji-yeong," Gi-hun grumbled.

"I can go, if you need to discuss—" In-ho began.

Ji-yeong shook her head. "No, no, it's fine! Just checking in." And she darted away, leaving Gi-hun to drop his head into his hands.

"What's that about?" In-ho asked, seeming a little more at ease.

Gi-hun leaned back. "Our coworkers are debating whether to ask you to come with them to the bar on Thursday, because they can't decide if they'd rather gossip about you or embarrass me." He groaned. "It's not fair, they're making me decide just because I like you."

"You like me?" In-ho repeated, and Gi-hun swore his cheeks were the slightest bit pink.

He raised one eyebrow, unimpressed. "Seriously?" In-ho kept just looking at him, interest piqued, so Gi-hun huffed. "Of course, I like you."

On the surface, In-ho's face remained respectably neutral. Beneath it, though, Gi-hun could see it. Shock, delight, affection, humanity, all stewing there underneath. "I see."

Gi-hun chuckled. "Do you?"

"And what have you decided?"

"About what?"

In-ho gave him a teasing smile. "Well, the status of my invite lies in your hands."

"Do you want to come?" Gi-hun asked, sitting forward and putting his chin in his hand.

"Well, I'll let you decide for me."

He looked so soft, in that moment. So open and familiar and real, Gi-hun felt warmth pound at the inside of his chest. His eyes, still so serious and dark, were now warm, ever-attentive. "I want you to come," Gi-hun said quietly.

"Then I'll be there." In-ho sighed, rising from his chair. "Thank you for this consult, Mr. Seong, it has been very enlightening."

"It absolutely was not," Gi-hun said, grinning. "But I enjoyed it, nonetheless."

In-ho pushed the chair in behind him. "Me, too."

On Thursday, Gi-hun went to In-ho's office to retrieve him at 5:15. They had agreed to arrive slightly after their coworkers in order to give them some time without their current favorite topic of discussion.

When he arrived at In-ho's door, he was packing up his things methodically, as though worried he'd forget something.

"Ready to go?" Gi-hun asked, mostly just to announce his presence.

"Yes, almost," In-ho replied, digging through the closet in the corner and pulling out two coats.

Gi-hun chuckled. "It's not that cold."

"I know," In-ho said, putting on one and then pulling his messenger bag over it. He stretched out his hand, passing the other coat to Gi-hun. "This one's for you."

Reluctantly, Gi-hun took it. The coat was nice, wool, he thought, though he wouldn't know. It was a trench coat he had seen In-ho wear a few times, though not his go-to. It was thicker than anything Gi-hun had ever owned. "I don't need this," Gi-hun said.

"You do. And I'm not wearing it."

"I'm a grown man, I don't need to be swaddled," Gi-hun grumbled.

In-ho huffed, seeming a little irritated, and circled around the desk to face him, grabbing his upper arms. "Gi-hun. I don't want you to be cold. I'm not going to wear the coat. Perhaps, if neither of those reasons are compelling to you, consider the fact that I might like seeing you in the coat."

Aware of the manipulation but still charmed, Gi-hun narrowed his eyes at him teasingly. "So, you want me to wear this for selfish reasons?"

"Maybe."

Gi-hun sighed, pulling it on. It was warm, and nice, and it smelled so good. When he looked at In-ho again, he received a fond smile. "What's that face for?"

In-ho stepped closer to him, looking around and then pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Nothing. Shall we go?"

They walked out side-by-side, knuckles brushing against one another. Gi-hun couldn't deny that the December air was more bearable with In-ho's thick coat, though the sleeves were a little short on him. Chattering absently the whole way, they made it to the bar in what seemed to be very little time, and were welcomed excitedly when they walked in.

Ji-yeong had saved two seats between her and Ali, which Gi-hun and In-ho took after stopping at the bar. "So?" She asked when they sat down. "What's the sitch?"

Gi-hun took a long pull off his drink. "What is a sitch?"

"The situation," she clarified irritably. "Between the two of you, what's going on?"

Tensing, despite having expected the question, Gi-hun couldn't decide how to answer. They weren't dating, really, but they certainly weren't anything platonic.

"Wouldn't it be more fun to place bets?" In-ho asked, and Gi-hun was struck by the fact that he was brilliant. "Watch us interact for the remainder of the evening, place your bets, and then make it part of your pool."

Ji-yeong narrowed her eyes. "You just want to get out of telling us things."

"Maybe," In-ho acquiesced. "But it would still have greater entertainment value, don't you think?"

"You'll try to mislead us," Sae-byeok pointed out.

"We won't," Gi-hun assured them. "Trust me, we'll be just like we normally are."

After a brief discussion, Ji-yeong announced their agreement, much to Gi-hun's relief, and they began debriefing on their wagers for the past week.

Gi-hun and In-ho watched in silent intrigue, their knees bumping under the table. As they settled in, gradually, Gi-hun scooted his chair closer to In-ho's, leaning towards him as though they were little kids.

An argument began, a playful one, but an argument nonetheless. Surprisingly, Sae-byeok and Ji-yeong ended up on opposite sides of it.

"Nothing else matters. We won," Sae-byeok told her calmly.

Ji-yeong grinned. "Babe, you can't believe that counts! It was rigged in your favor!"

Gi-hun and In-ho looked at each other at the same time, Gi-hun mouthing, Babe, amusedly.

"That wasn't clarified beforehand," Sae-byeok said.

"I know it wasn't, but babe, it's the spirit of the game."

A genuine grin spread over In-ho's face, and Gi-hun mirrored it. "We'll get the next round," In-ho said. "Gi-hun, help me carry?"

Gi-hun nodded, following him up to the bar, then quietly saying, "sure thing, babe."

"I had nearly forgotten about that entire thing," In-ho mused. "Who knew that such a powerful legacy could stem from overuse of an embarrassing word?"

"It's been ten years, I still wonder who had to replace that scarf," Gi-hun said.

They stayed for two more rounds, listening to the younger employees' bets and theories about their more distant coworkers, but Gi-hun was getting restless. He wanted to be with In-ho. The urge wasn't specifically to fuck him, though Gi-hun was pretty sure that would've sated it, it was more just to touch him. To move him, really, to bring that humanity that he had glimpsed more irrevocably to the surface.

While Dae-ho and Ali were bickering, Gi-hun leaned over to In-ho. "Do you want to leave?"

Without questioning any part of the offer, In-ho nodded. They excused themselves and walked out of the bar, and Gi-hun felt a strong sense of relief to be outside, on the more quiet, less claustrophobic streets.

"So," In-ho began slowly. "What now?"

"I didn't have a plan," Gi-hun confessed. "Want to get food from the 7/11 and come to my place?"

With a strange expression of immense relief, In-ho agreed. They walked to the convenience store in comfortable silence, Gi-hun feeling bizarrely safe in his coat, then back to Gi-hun's apartment. When they walked through the door, Gi-hun set his noodles on the counter, looking over at In-ho, who did the same.

"You know," In-ho rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "I don't feel that hungry."

"Me, neither," Gi-hun said. "What's in your backpack?"

In-ho gave him a coy look. "What are you asking?"

"I'm asking if you brought pajamas."

"I did."

Gi-hun smiled. "You assumed I'd offer you to stay the night?"

"It wasn't an assumption, so much as a possibility that I prepared for."

"Ah… I don't want to fuck," Gi-hun said, surprising even himself. "Well, not tonight. But I do want… You to stay."

In-ho nodded. "I am happy to do whatever you want," he said, and it seemed earnest.

"Change clothes," Gi-hun told him.

After they had both changed into pajamas, they lay side-by-side on their backs in the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Distantly, Gi-hun remembered lying like this with him after his mother had died, though the picture was foggy in his head. Wondering if In-ho was similarly reminiscing, Gi-hun turned his head to look at In-ho.

To his surprise, the corners of his lips were quirked up, eyes fixed resolutely on the ceiling fan.

"What?" Gi-hun demanded.

In-ho blinked, still staring up toward the sky. "What?"

Gi-hun elbowed him gently, scooting slightly closer to him. "What's that look mean?"

In-ho shrugged, feigning coyness, a real smile spreading on his face. After a few moments, he spoke, humor in his voice. "You like me," he teased.

Blushing furiously, Gi-hun turned his head so that he was no longer subject to that smug fucking face. "Shut up."

Without looking, he felt In-ho move slightly to rest his head on Gi-hun's shoulder. Despite himself, Gi-hun sighed and pressed his lips to the top of his head. "What ended up happening? With Jun-hee, and the men from your presentation?"

"I reported them to HR, but they're too high-ranking for much more than a slap on the wrist." In-ho exhaled, sounding tired. "She was very apologetic to me."

"Poor kid. She did her best."

"She needs to learn to be more cutthroat," In-ho said. "This place is full of cruel people."

"'This place?' OneEarth?"

In-ho paused. "The world, Gi-hun."

"Oh." Gi-hun wondered how deep it ran, In-ho's loathing for his fellow man. He wondered, briefly, if there was any amount of tenderness which could overpower it.

"I shouldn't—"

"No, it's not that," Gi-hun said. "I know that our beliefs are different, hearing yours doesn't bother me or whatever, don't get all weird."

In-ho huffed a laugh. "I'll do my best."

When Gi-hun woke up, they had migrated much closer to one another. In-ho's leg was hooked around Gi-hun's, his head tucked into Gi-hun's chest. His arm was cast around Gi-hun's waist.

Pleased, Gi-hun nuzzled the top of his head. Out the window, he could see the sun beginning to rise over In-ho's shoulder.

In-ho hummed lowly, rubbing his nose against his chest and pressing his ear to Gi-hun's sternum.

They lay like that for a while, Gi-hun feeling more at peace than he had in weeks. His heart jolted painfully at the sound of In-ho's alarm.

In-ho groaned, rolling over and pawing blindly for his phone until he shut it off. "Time for work," he grumbled, carding his fingers through Gi-hun's hair once and then leaving the bed to prepare for work.

They got ready together and walked to the office side-by-side, chatting the whole way. For a second, Gi-hun felt like they were married, like they were just going through daily domesticity together.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Gi-hun thought about In-ho, about his disdain for mankind, about his desire to protect Jun-hee, about how he tried to comfort Gi-hun.

At the end of the day, In-ho had still not come to collect his coat, and, possibly against his better judgment, Gi-hun wore it home. He made dinner, watched TV, wondered if he should text In-ho, and ultimately decided against it. Instead, he elected to organize his mother's things.

It was an emotional weekend. He missed his mom. He cried several times, but it felt nice. Ali was right, it felt like a connection to her, however painful it may have been.

At night, he lay on the couch, trying not to sink too far into despair. He struggled, though. Walking the line between sitting in his grief and intentionally making himself sad just to have that connection was challenging. He woke up from confusing dreams with tears streaming down his face.

His mother would be happy, he thought, at the developments between In-ho and him. She would like that he was being taken care of, or that someone was at least making an attempt to care for him. Perhaps she would be a little less thrilled at the prospect of the caretaker in question being a cold-blooded manipulator whose humanity was buried so deeply and inextricably that it was almost invisible, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

There was something about him, though, about the way light occasionally shone through the cracks of his hardened carapace, often easily-missed and ephemeral, that was enticing to Gi-hun. For as certain as In-ho was that he would not spot goodness in mankind, he was still searching for it. Or, maybe that wasn't true. He, himself, was not searching, but he was invested in Gi-hun's search. That might've been more impressive; to stay invested in a cause one believed to be futile.

Gi-hun, despite what many people thought, wasn't naive. He was well aware of the mountains of evidence for In-ho's opinions of humanity. He had been smoked out of a building by people whose primary drive was greed. There was enough support for In-ho's claims that humanity was cruel and selfish and unworthy to bury Gi-hun, to bury both of them, really. It wasn't that Gi-hun didn't understand his perspective.

But what the hell was the point, if all that was true?

Going through the world, through life, believing that his fellow man was intrinsically and willfully hateful felt bad. That was the whole of it. To look around himself and see walking garbage was discouraging, and it was hard to find a reason to keep going, in the absence of hope. So, whether it made him seem gullible or not, whether it set him up for consistent, repeated disappointment or not, Gi-hun chose to believe that people were people. That, on some level, they wanted to do good, to band together and look out for one another. That, were their circumstances less tragic, they would do the right thing.

It was a challenging belief to hold onto. But to let go of it would be to die, in Gi-hun's mind. He would not sacrifice his personhood, nor his belief in his fellow man. Would he ever convince In-ho of the validity of that perspective? Probably not. But he could show him that it existed, and that might be something, too.

Gi-hun was not panicking.

He wasn't. So, what? In-ho had asked him out to dinner for Wednesday night. When Gi-hun had looked up the restaurant, he had realized it was far nicer than any place he'd ever been. Upon inspecting his closet, he realized he had absolutely nothing to wear, he had woken up that morning with a cowlick he couldn't quite tame, and In-ho would be arriving to pick him up in half an hour.

He knew how he came across: disorganized, unprofessional, stupid, even, at times. He really didn't want to prove any of those assumptions correct, but as he looked at himself in the mirror, hair completely disregarding the gel he had put in it, in a blazer with too-big shoulders and slightly too-short sleeves over a shirt that was missing a button, it began to seem like an inevitability.

In-ho wouldn't change his opinion of him based on something like this, Gi-hun knew that. But, on some level, it just felt like there was something different about this night. He had no clue what it was. They were sort of dating, so it wasn't a matter of clarifying that. That said, things had not been going on long enough to make some sort of grand statement about exclusivity, so he felt certain it wasn't that, either. If the end of the night was going to lead to fucking, Gi-hun would really have preferred something more low-key, but he wasn't opposed to a development of that nature.

If it was love… Well, that was complicated.

Did he love Hwang In-ho? It felt too early. They'd kissed, they'd spent what felt like countless nights together, he thought about him all the time. It wasn't solely infatuation, either; In-ho had held him when his mother died, had given him immeasurable comfort in the weeks since. And it wasn't as though they'd been starting from ground zero, they'd known each other before. Hell, he'd been half in love with him when they were young.

In all honesty, he did love In-ho. And he was completely certain that In-ho loved him. Surely, though, they weren't ready for that or even any diluted version of it. Fuck, maybe they were. He wanted him to know, he wanted to see how he'd react, but they had yet to be so overt about the nature of their relationship.

A knock on the door startled him, then he jumped up to answer it.

In-ho looked… The way he always did. Immaculately put-together, like a doll someone had designed to be perfect, like one of the Men in Black. He looked frighteningly well-assembled, flawless to the point of being disarming. None of that should've been surprising, though it often set Gi-hun on edge. The unexpected thing was the way he was looking at Gi-hun, scanning him in something like scrutiny.

Gi-hun felt his heart stutter. "H-hi… Do you… Why are you looking at me like that?"

In-ho's apparent analysis did not end. "Like what?" He replied tonelessly.

"I don't know, like you hate what I'm wearing. Do you? I didn't feel like it was right, it looks stupid, doesn't it? It does. I could tell it did, I just… The other option I had was too small, and then I have one with a hole in the armpit, which seemed—"

"You look wonderful," In-ho said, and Gi-hun found only sincerity in his eyes.

"Oh. Well, uh… Thanks. You, too."

In-ho hummed. "I wanted to see you in formal attire, it was my primary incentive for the venue I sent you. That said, you seem… Uncomfortable."

Gi-hun flushed, gaze cast toward their feet. "No, it's just, um…"

"I want to offer you a change of plans." At Gi-hun's instinctive excitement, In-ho half-smiled. "You'll be uneasy in that setting, I'm not married to it."

"I don't want to ruin your whole plan, I'll be fine. I can handle a nice restaurant," Gi-hun said, aware that he sounded a little defensive.

"There's no need to. Why don't we go back to that restaurant where I used to take Jun-ho? Near the bar where we got drinks with everyone."

That did sound like a colossal improvement, but Gi-hun hated to have thrown a wrench in something In-ho had put together. "Are you sure? We can go to the fancy place, I'll be fine."

"I have utmost confidence that you could handle it. But why should we, when I don't care about it and you'll be on edge?"

"If you're sure, that sounds good to me. Should I change?"

In-ho smiled slyly. "No, there's no time, you'll just have to stay in what you have on."

Rolling his eyes, Gi-hun followed him out of the apartment, still wearing his stupid suit. "How long had you been planning to offer an alternative?"

"The whole time," In-ho said. "But I did want to see you all dressed up."

"I'm dressed up at work."

In-ho chuckled. "Hardly."

"I am!" Gi-hun elbowed him. "I try to be, anyway."

"It's different."

Gi-hun huffed. "Whatever. Like you're so much better, you look like a mannequin. If I didn't know you, I'd be afraid to speak to you."

"That's the idea."

"Well, it's a horrible idea. What's the point in being there if you're going to be unapproachable?"

In-ho grinned. "To avoid being approached."

"Then why do you reward your employees for meeting with you?"

"I still want to increase productivity, it's got nothing to do with friendliness."

Gi-hun smiled knowingly. "Of course, it doesn't."

In-ho held the door open for the restaurant, which Gi-hun found both charming and emasculating, but he couldn't really make himself care. They sat in the same booth as before, the restaurant mostly empty. As they surveyed the menus, In-ho stopped and looked around, then focused on Gi-hun. "I'm glad we came here instead."

"What? Just because of me?"

He hummed. "As interesting as it is to see you play dress-up, I prefer seeing you like this."

"How's that?"

"Confident. It suits you." He smiled. "Get it? 'Suits.' Because—"

"Yeah, I get it, thanks."

In-ho seemed even more pleased with Gi-hun's disapproval. Fortunately, the waiter came and took their orders, then departed.

That was when Gi-hun noticed it. Deep beneath the surface of In-ho's face, there was a shadow. Something like dread, like apprehension, it lurked there, waiting.

Waiting for Gi-hun.

Before Gi-hun could decipher anything further, In-ho sequestered it. "How has your week been?"

They chatted easily until the food came, then the shadow became visible once again. In-ho waited for Gi-hun to take a bite, then sighed, apparently steeling himself. "I have to speak with you about something. It's… Unpleasant."

Gi-hun blinked. "Okay."

"Frankly," In-ho added, a little critically, "it's presumptuous. But I want to be clear." When Gi-hun just looked at him, he sighed. "Are you listening? I only want to say this once."

A little irritated at the reprimand, Gi-hun huffed. "Ugh, yes."

In-ho nodded slowly, gritting his teeth. "I… Want to pursue this with you. I want it more than you can fathom. If you were anyone else, I wouldn't bother doing this. Saying this, I mean. I would just keep it to myself and let us be happy. Normal." He chuckled, a little bitterly. "But then, if you were anyone else, I wouldn't care to be with you in the first place."

What the fuck was he talking about? In-ho seemed, suddenly, like that eighteen year-old boy he'd known, intense and unsteady, like he didn't know what he was doing and was ashamed of how hard he was trying. For a moment, Gi-hun saw that boy, his dark, serious eyes, the way his every word was filtered and carefully selected, as though these emotions were a foreign language and he was translating them into something comprehensible.

Gi-hun's heart stung in sympathy, in age-old affection that had been in him so long he'd grown around it like scar tissue. "In-ho, that's—"

"I'm not a good person, Gi-hun," In-ho interrupted, his voice devoid of emotion. "I'm not even a person. I'm not saying this because I want to be consoled. I'm saying it because it's true, and because the idea of being with you from behind a mask it… Not enough." He paused, scanning Gi-hun coldly. "There are things I've done that are horrible, that would make you hate me. I'll tell you, if you want. I'm not like you. I would never even aspire to be like you; I never could be. Some transformations are irreversible, and I've been this for a long time. I want to be around you, in whatever capacity you'll have me. But I want it to be true."

Oh. He did recognize this. He recognized this defeatist tone of voice, it sounded like, this world is not fit for someone like you. It sounded like, do not misread my deeds, Gi-hun, I am still not you. It sounded, most of all, like, you are searching for some semblance of good in me. What will happen when you decide you can't find it? This same confession, this same attempt to seal Gi-hun off from whatever perceived poison was inside him, it was painful in its familiarity. "I know you," Gi-hun said at last, trying to sound as certain as he felt. "And I think you're a person."

"You're projecting," In-ho replied instantly.

Giving him a sad smile, Gi-hun shrugged. "Maybe. But you're the one who's always saying that seeing the good in people is what makes me good. Doesn't it mean something that you see good in me?"

"It means that the good in you is irrefutable, even to its most staunch opposition," he said, unwavering.

Gi-hun looked at him, feeling something like affection, but also like pity. And also, distantly, like hope. "I think, if I were you, it would be hard to be human. I think it's uncomfortable, after all you've seen or done or… Whatever. And I think it's easier to deny it, to pretend you aren't a person and you never were and you never will be. Maybe you're right, and I've got it all wrong. But seeking out the light, even if you know it's going to burn you, that means something, too, doesn't it?"

"It means that I'm selfish. Which is true."

"I don't think so," Gi-hun said. "But even if you are, even if I'm wrong, and you're really not a person, and you've done all these alleged horrible things…" He gave him a wry smile. "Well, it seems like I still kind of love you, doesn't it?"

He wondered if that was unkind. It didn't seem unkind, but the look on In-ho's face begged to differ. His expression was broken open, an unfamiliar vulnerability carving its way out of him. He stared at Gi-hun, eyes wet, and, just as Gi-hun noticed the tremors of In-ho's hands, he folded them on his lap underneath the table. He swallowed wetly, visibly forcing the emotion away. "What if I taint you? There's so much coldness inside of me. What if it spreads?"

"What if the warmth or hope or whatever you think is inside me taints you, and you come out of this just like me?"

"That won't happen."

"Really?" Gi-hun hummed. "I think it might. I think good wins out, in the end."

In-ho stared at him, seeming shocked. "You really believe that." He looked down at his plate, incredulous. "How can you believe that and purport to 'kind of love' someone who doesn't?"

"I don't know. It's not that hard." Gi-hun pointed at his plate with his chopsticks. "Eat up."

On autopilot, In-ho obeyed, taking another bite of his food. "You know that I…"

"Ah, yeah," he said nonchalantly. "I know."

"Good." In-ho paused, chewing thoughtfully. "You know, before you worked at OneEarth, I hoped I'd never see you again."

Gi-hun frowned. "Well… Well… You're kind of an asshole, then, aren't you?"

Startled, In-ho laughed. "I thought I had mysticized you in my head. You were so… Deific, to me. And yet so extraordinarily human. And, as time passed, humanity seemed less and less real to me. So, eventually, you were as much a symbol as you were a person. I thought, if I encountered you, it would shatter this illusion. Despite everything, the idea of that was unappealing, I'm not sure why." His smile faded into something gentler, fonder. "How fortunate am I that you managed to preserve yourself."

"Don't say it like that, it sounds like you think I'm one of your specimens," Gi-hun teased, trying to memorize every word he'd said to analyze later.

As they finished their meals, chat deteriorating into something lighter and kinder, Gi-hun pressed his foot against In-ho's, who jolted a little, then pressed back. In-ho insisted on paying, to Gi-hun's chagrin. They stepped out of the restaurant at eight, and Gi-hun steeled himself, then turned to In-ho. "Come back to my place."

"Oh?" There was, somehow, a glint of nervousness in his eyes.

"I don't care if we have sex," he said, surprised to find that he meant it. "I just want to be with you."

In-ho nodded slowly. "I'm not opposed, to be clear," he said, as though it was normal, public, streetlamp conversation.

Gi-hun huffed. "We'll see where it goes. I want to…" Well, how was he supposed to explain it? "I have some ideas."

"Ideas? When did you cook up these ideas?"

"Don't worry about that."

In-ho smiled, a little more smug than Gi-hun would've liked. "Oh? Was it at an inappropriate time? Do you squander your time at work, having ideas?"

"Yeah, I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Gi-hun grumbled, deciding he had patience for exactly one more little prod before he turned the tables.

"How many ideas are there? How much brainpower was diverted from company work to occupy your dirty little mind?"

All right, that was enough. If In-ho was trying to fluster him, he should've kept in mind the trump card in Gi-hun's pocket: earnest, human emotion. He forced himself to look bashful. "I'm sorry, I just… I like you. I like thinking about spending time with you. It's stupid, I know, I—"

"Stop, stop." In-ho's voice was stern, all humor having evaporated. When Gi-hun looked at him, his cheeks were pink, his eyes fixed on Gi-hun as though he was forcing them to stay there, as though they'd rather be darting around. "It's not stupid, don't apologize, I'm—"

Gi-hun lost control of his face, just barely, lips quirking up at the corners in delight at his victory.

Incredulous, In-ho huffed. "You manipulated me."

"I did?"

"You manipulated me with… Weaponized gentleness." He seemed more impressed than offended.

Gi-hun grinned, more than a little proud. "Get used to it."

"Oh, God." In what appeared to be a last attempt at brutal honesty, In-ho stared straight ahead. "Do you want me to tell you? All these things I've done? I will, if you want."

"Don't you remember what I said on that stupid company retreat? I'm not going to make you tell me. If you want to, if it would help you, of course, I want to know. But you don't owe me a confession."

In-ho scowled into the distance. "It's not nothing, Gi-hun. I didn't shoplift."

Gi-hun bumped their hands together. "You're more than the worst thing you've ever done. We all are."

In-ho looked back at him, at last. "How fortunate I am to be with someone who believes that."

When they got back to Gi-hun's apartment, he directed In-ho to the bedroom, offering him a sleep shirt. Of course, he did plan for that to be discarded almost immediately, but he wanted them to start comfortably.

They found themselves lying in the bed, in sweaters and boxers and, stupidly, socks. In-ho was on his back, head turned to look at Gi-hun, who was on his belly, propped up on his elbows, looking over at him.

"Are you going to tell me your ideas, now?"

Gi-hun hummed noncommittally. "Why should I?"

"You expect me to just acquiesce, with no further information?"

Gi-hun shifted, leaning over him and kissing him softly, more tenderly than he had in the past. "I expect you to trust me." He kissed him again. "Do you?"

"As much as I am able."

"Hm," Gi-hun sat up, placing himself between In-ho's legs, which he spread compliantly. "Shirt off, please."

In-ho looked at him for a moment, sitting up a little to shed the shirt and then throwing it on the ground and lying back down.

A part of Gi-hun wanted to lean over him immediately, press their lips together or suck bruises into his neck and grind against him. The bigger part, however, was dedicated to his mission.

He remained seated, softly touching the scar along his side. He kept his fingertips featherlight, looking up at In-ho questioningly. "What's this?"

"Kidney removal," In-ho said, suspicion on his face as though he expected Gi-hun to turn at any moment.

"What do you think I'm going to do?" Gi-hun asked, continuing to brush over the scar.

In-ho narrowed his eyes. "I don't know. This is uncharted territory, for us."

"It is, isn't it?" Gi-hun mused. "Guess."

"I don't want to guess."

Gi-hun yielded, deciding not to push him. "Why is your kidney removed?"

"Jun-ho needed it." In-ho blinked, seeming confused. "Is that arousing, for you?"

Chuckling, Gi-hun shrugged. "No. It's nice, though. You're nice."

"I am not."

"Okay," he moved his hand, reaching for In-ho's instead. "These scars," he said, brushing his knuckles. "Are they from one of these horrible things you've done?"

In-ho's eyes shuttered closed. "They are."

Gi-hun brought the hand to his mouth, kissing the scars and then depositing it gently back on the bed.

"What," In-ho gritted out. "Are you doing?"

"Trust me." Gi-hun caressed the soft skin of his neck, still using only his fingertips.

In-ho raised his eyebrows, a distant disappointment on his face. "Is this it? Do you want to choke me?"

Gi-hun shook his head, petting his throat gently for a little longer, tracing his Adam's apple and touching his pulse point. "Your heartbeat is very strong, here," he observed.

When he looked up from his tracing back at In-ho's face, he saw disbelief. Gi-hun smiled at him softly, hand trailing down over his collarbones, over his chest. He switched focuses, running it over the soft skin under his eyes, down the hollows of his cheeks, then over to the area just behind his ears.

"I don't understand."

"I don't care." Gi-hun leaned forward, pressing his lips to his forehead and carding his fingers through his hair a few times.

He moved downward, kissing his neck gently, not leaving marks, not sinking teath in. As he did so, his hand went back to brushing over the scar on his side, tender, as though it was a familiar path. He kissed his shoulders, muscled like Atlas's, from the weight of holding up this protective shell. He scooted down farther, kissing the scar, then the slightly-visible bones of his hips.

In-ho squirmed, likely thinking he knew where this was going. He did not. Gi-hun stopped there, resting his head just over his navel, then turning to look up at him.

What he saw was what he'd hoped for. In-ho was watching him with rapt attention, his breaths coming quickly, as evidenced by the heaving of his chest. His hands were shaking where they lay at his sides, his pupils blown and fixed on Gi-hun's every movement.

"You don't have to be like this," In-ho said quietly, tentatively, as if he was making himself say it.

"I want to."

In-ho chuckled, his voice a little tight. "What is your goal?"

"I want to make you remember what it feels like to be human."

Raising an eyebrow, a little more the smug man that Gi-hun had become familiar with, In-ho reached for his hand, guiding it to his cheek. "If you want me to feel human, you should slap me." At the lack of motion, he moved his hand down, stretching it out over his throat, unkindly, this time. "Or choke me." He guided it down further, back to the scar on his side. "The human thing to do would be to tear this open, wouldn't it? See if there's anything else in there worth taking?"

Gently, tenderly, as though he was made of porcelain, Gi-hun pulled his hand away, then went back to touching him. He touched his chest, then, dragging his hand across the planes of his muscle, the dip of his sternum. "I don't agree," he said, leaning up and kissing the skin over his heart. "I'm not doing any of that."

In-ho squirmed beneath him, watching him expectantly, just as Gi-hun knew he would.

"Lie still for me," Gi-hun said gently, cupping his cheek and then pressing their lips together.

"Or what?"

Gi-hun played with his hair again. "Or nothing. I'm just asking you to do it." He brushed their noses together, then resumed his mission, targeting his thighs next.

He continued that way for nearly two hours, fascinated both by every detail of In-ho's body and of the slow degradation of his mask. The entire time, he remained tender, delicate, trying to drown him in the sensation of being adored.

In-ho didn't cry, not really, but his eyes became wet and his hands shook so terribly that he grabbed Gi-hun's shoulders and pulled him closer until he was steady again. Eventually, In-ho drifted off into a syrupy half-sleep, overwhelmed and exhausted by the success of Gi-hun's mission.

Gi-hun stopped once In-ho fell asleep, pressing one last kiss to his cheek and then resting his head on In-ho's bare chest. He found himself floating into sleep, too, then felt In-ho stir.

Gi-hun kept his eyes closed, feeling In-ho rub his back and then kiss his forehead.

"You bizarre, senseless person," In-ho muttered, and Gi-hun could vividly picture the amusement on his face. "I kind of love you, too."

It was a few weeks later, just after they'd reported their relationship to HR, that Gi-hun was making his way to In-ho's office for lunch. He had taken to, every Tuesday night, cooking food for both of them and bringing it to work the following day. As payback, In-ho would bring takeaway to his apartment every Thursday night, then they'd watch a movie and go to bed.

The domesticity was comforting. Sometimes, Gi-hun felt that his mother would be pleased. The grief was omnipresent, but it was no longer all-consuming. He missed his mother, he still cried for her at least once a week, but it felt less like the engine had been taken out of him. More like a noticeable, irreparable dent. It would always be there, he would often notice it, but it wasn't stealing his ability to survive.

He made to knock on In-ho's office door, then paused, hearing quiet sniffling.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Hwang," Jun-hee was saying, her voice shaky.

There was a pause, presumably In-ho passing her a tissue or a candy. "Don't apologize, Jun-hee. You haven't done anything wrong."

"He hates me! Every time I present something, he shoots it down," she sniffled again. "You should stop letting me present, Mr. Hwang, I can't… I just make him reject every proposal."

The pause was longer this time, and, when he spoke again, In-ho sounded strange. "He doesn't hate you, Jun-hee. He's hard on you for the same reason that I have you do the presentations: he sees your potential."

Gi-hun raised his eyebrows.

"That's not true," she said.

"It is," In-ho countered, an unfamiliar certainty in his voice. "Your presentations have been excellent. If I was to guess, I would posit that he's considering you for a higher position and wants to make sure you can handle it. And you can."

"Really? Do you think so?"

"Of course. He was awful to me, too, when I first started."

Gi-hun heard the chair push out from the desk. "Thanks, Mr. Hwang. Sorry for—"

"There's nothing to apologize for."

The door opened, Jun-hee stepping out and then jumping at the sight of Gi-hun. "Oh! Mr. Seong, how long have you been there?"

"Ah, uh, well… I just got here," Gi-hun said, looking behind her at In-ho, who was decidedly not looking at him.

"Oh. Okay. Well, have a good day."

After she left, Gi-hun let himself in, shutting the door behind himself, and sat in the chair, staring at In-ho, who was pretending to write something down. "What sort of optimistic, benefit-of-the-doubt explanation was that, huh?" Gi-hun asked at last. "Have I rubbed off on you?"

"You certainly have," In-ho deflected tauntingly, then looked up at him in time to catch Gi-hun's eyeroll.

"'He's hard on you because he sees your potential,'" Gi-hun repeated skeptically.

In-ho leaned back in his chair, watching Gi-hun critically. "I lied."

"You did. Why?"

"Just because I know that that man is a despicable piece of garbage, that he is hateful and cruel just because it makes him feel good, that he deserves to burn in hell or, even better, burn here with the rest of the trash…" He sighed. "She doesn't need to know all that. It would make her miserable. I like working with her."

Gi-hun smiled, not convinced. "So, you're trying to tell me that you did this to preserve her employment here?"

"It was a factor."

"Hmm…" Gi-hun handed him his lunch. "What were the other factors?"

In-ho took the food, opening it up and digging in immediately. "Do you want me to say that I'm a reformed citizen? That I think she should maintain a favorable view of her coworkers and, better yet, her fellow man?"

"Is that true?"

"It is not."

Gi-hun took a bite of his own lunch. "Then, no. What were the other factors?"

In-ho kept his eyes fixed on the rice in front of him. "You."

"Me? I've reprogrammed you?"

Despite himself, In-ho chuckled. "No, of course not. But I knew that you'd find out, and I knew it'd make you happy, so… It's your fault, really." He looked up, certain in what he was saying but gentle, nonetheless. "And it'll be your fault when that foolish faith and hope and optimism breaks her heart."

Gi-hun smiled at him, feeling the affection shining through his face like the sun. He didn't believe that was the whole reason, but he was willing to let In-ho's humanity move at its own glacial fucking pace. He caught his eye, feeling more consumed with adoration for him then ever. "If you say so."