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In war, there are two kinds of men, the quick and the dead. His father always told him to be the quick. Gi-hun wishes semantics like that could really help but the time for words was never really available, were they?
To say all hell broke loose would be a major understatement. If Gi-hun were the religious type, he’d believe that Lucifer himself carved his way out of hell and dug his dagger-shaped claws into this night and wrapped it in his pitchforked tongue.
Semantics, Gi-hun, semantics.
The ground beneath his feet burned, blood and scorching brass following his every step as he endlessly wandered through those blinding halls. His ears rang with each shot and, mindlessly, Gi-hun wondered if the word postbellum held any ground here, wondered if he would ever get to even taste an elixir of justice from the assholes sitting at the top.
Like he said before, Gi-hun isn’t a religious guy, but if this place is hell, then it all makes a little bit more sense.
Gi-hun sits behind a wall of concrete, throat sore as he tries to keep a level head for the others. They all look at him like he’s crazy, like he’s led them straight to the fire and left them there to burn. He tries to give them orders but he can tell there isn’t a shred of faith left in any of them.
Young-il turns to him and nods – like there’s nothing to be afraid of, like he has full confidence in Gi-hun, even as guards fire at their backs behind the stairs.
One more time, Gi-hun thinks as he grabs hold of Young-il’s arm – semantics.
How do you get away from a man who simply won’t let go?
In-ho has been trying to answer this question for the past ten minutes. Gi-hun’s grip hasn’t left him once, not in the metaphorical sense at least. His eyes are like a leash wrapped around In-ho’s throat, tattered and torn yet somehow holding on with bandages and misplaced hope. In-ho has no real idea why Gi-hun decided to take him out of all people, especially when Jung-bae sat right next to them and was practically offering himself up.
The fact is, In-ho is stuck in an endless cycle plunging bullets into his own employees. He has fair enough certainty that he won’t die, but all it takes is one mistake and he’ll be sharing gift-wrapped coffins with the rest of these low-lives.
“How much ammo do you have left?” Gi-hun’s voice is nearly muffled by the gunfire but In-ho follows the pattern of his lips in time.
In-ho shakes his head in faux despair. “I’m out.”
Gi-hun’s chest shakes with each breath as he takes out his radio with clumsy fingers. He’s asking for more ammo but In-ho knows it won’t come. Whichever lamb they sent to do their bidding won’t return at this rate – Gi-hun’s exasperated face only confirms that.
“Do you have enough to cover me?”
In-ho’s shock isn’t faked as he realizes what Gi-hun intends to do – running into the line of fire and using the bodies of soldiers to get a few last magazines. It’s stupid but entirely possible – In-ho bets that’s what Gi-hun thought about this whole operation too.
“You’ll die, Gi-hun,” In-ho says as he shows him his empty mag. Gi-hun looks like a man lost at sea, no liferaft in sight as the tide drags him deeper. In-ho takes a deep breath like he’s thinking at all about the words he says next, “...maybe we should start to consider giving u–”
Again and again, Gi-hun somehow finds a way to impress him.
In a haphazard flash of movements, Gi-hun clasps In-ho’s wrist and pulls him away from the corner, and runs. In-ho realizes they’re not heading back to the others, rather Gi-hun’s just making it as he goes along. He lets go of In-ho’s wrist, trusting him enough to follow behind.
“Gi-hun, what are you-!”
Roughly, In-ho is shoved into a small room, all light disappearing as Gi-hun shuts the door behind them. It’s one of those cramped rooms that lead to nothing…that also keep them panting close enough to breathe each other’s emotions.
Their eyes adjust slowly to the darkness and finally meet. Without the threat of death looming over his shoulders, Gi-hun sighs quietly, still listening for any footsteps that might find their way near their room. There is no illusion of safety, not when they can both hear the sounds of warfare bouncing in the halls.
“We have to get back out there,” Gi-hun whispers. “We’ll wait until they pass. I have enough bullets to get the jump on a few of them but not much more. We can grab the ammo from their pockets and get back to where we were.”
“Are you crazy?” In-ho pants, slightly irritated by Gi-hun’s confused expression. “It’s over, Gi-hun, you saw how many there were. We don’t even know how many others are alive-”
“You want to just stay here? While the rest of them are out there dying?”
“If they’re smart, they’ll surrender before they all get killed.”
“What the hell are you saying?” Gi-hun asks with eyes wide. He pushes In-ho against the wall gently enough not to make much noise, but hard enough to make his point. “If we give up now, he’ll just kill us anyway. Is that what you want?”
He being In-ho. “I don’t understand why you’re getting angry at me. This was your plan, Gi-hun, we all followed you.” Gi-hun’s voice gets caught in his throat and finally looks away. He rests his gun against the wall and leans back, palms running across his neck and wiping the sweat and blood with anxious hands. Guilt floods his face, and In-ho sighs. “Gi-hun, I didn’t mean to burden you like that.”
It’s silent. Not only inside their room, but in the halls now too. There aren’t any murmurs from soldiers or gunfire ringing in their ears. It’s completely empty and they both know the promise which follows afterwards means nothing good.
“I don’t…I don’t know how it got like this. I-I thought…do you think maybe they knew before somehow?” Gi-hun stumbles over his words, eyes glazed with a faint coating of tears.
“Are you suggesting there was a mole?”
Gi-hun shakes his head. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I just thought maybe…”
“It would be easier to believe that someone betrayed you rather than it being your fault entirely?”
Slowly, Gi-hun nods. “It just felt like they predicted everything, even down to which guard I wanted to shoot next.”
In-ho thinks as his mouth goes dry, I could have never predicted you.
Gi-hun looks back at him and for a split second and In-ho worries like he might’ve heard his thoughts. There isn’t any solace to give and it certainly isn’t In-ho’s right to hand out. Gi-hun stands in this room with him with blood leaking like a tap, chest closing in like a trap, eyes pleading like In-ho has the key. Something awful is beyond the halls – maybe the blood of the lambs he led to slaughter, or maybe nothing at all.
“I can go out and check if it’s empty if you’d want that.” It’s a weak attempt for them to separate but In-ho is starting to get desperate. Organization is something he relies deeply on and there’s hardly any of that to be found in a game as cutthroat as this. More importantly – being here, with Gi-hun, makes him the most reckless of all.
“No,” Gi-hun said. “I can’t afford to lo-”
“Gi-hun.” In-ho cuts him off promptly, a terrible feeling in his gut starting to churn. “You can’t be rash. If we don’t do anything, we’ll die. You’ve played this game, you know the rules more than any of us do.”
He shouldn’t be doing this – reasoning with Gi-hun. Not because the man is beyond hope but because of how Gi-hun looks at him like he’s the only man left standing on earth, like he’s the raft boat in the middle of the ocean. It was fine being friendly, perfectly okay to celebrate in tandem and talk like maybe there was a human being underneath the surface.
This isn’t like that at all.
It feels like In-ho’s reaching into Gi-hun’s ribs and holding each delicate bone together. In-ho has only heard Gi-hun’s voice speak to him with thorned malice and his eyes look at him with suspicion and base-level affection at best. This is far too intimate to be safe.
They’re both open in a room so small, they’ve got no place to turn but to each other.
Gi-hun nods and In-ho honestly wishes he didn’t. He would rather Gi-hun hit him, shove him, anything but this.
“We need to get back to the others quickly. Maybe we can help them before any others have to die.”
In any other tone, In-ho would be pleased, but one look says Gi-hun’s thoughts haven’t changed in the slightest.
In-ho sighs and sets his gun next to Gi-hun’s on the wall. He can’t think of a single way to separate himself from Gi-hun and give any orders, especially not when the room is this stuffy and there’s hardly any space between them. It feels as if any second now Gi-hun will rip the intentions out of his hand and see him for the first time.
In-ho wonders when he started to wish that thought wasn’t so scary.
Gi-hun steps forward. “I know you don’t think-”
Those footsteps aren’t Gi-hun’s.
Before In-ho has a second to think, he slaps a hand on Gi-hun’s mouth and presses him against the wall. As he thought, the soft sound of boots hitting the concrete floor walks by the room, momentarily blocking the light seeping from underneath the door. The (presumed) guard doesn’t stop for a second and In-ho waits for any other guards to follow before thinking about moving. Gi-hun’s breath is warm against his knuckles, almost painful.
They’re too close, tucked into the corner with In-ho trapping him against the wall. Gi-hun’s eyes waver, seemingly undecided on which part of In-ho’s face to stare at. He practically melts into his grip, letting In-ho push him into any way he wants. It’s pathetic and In-ho imagines this moment will haunt Gi-hun if he were to ever find out.
Whether or not Gi-hun will find out always tends to come as an afterthought lately. Maybe he’s played the part of Young-il too well, maybe Gi-hun somehow scraped the little pieces of In-ho left and made Young-il real. This is unbecoming – In-ho should have stayed on his leather sofa with a brandy in his grip, the glints of hope in Gi-hun’s eyes nothing but a speck on a screen. Here, it’s everything but – here, Gi-hun’s heart hums beneath his chest and lets In-ho have every part of it.
In-ho nearly laughs, between the two of them, Gi-hun is the one more likely for semantics.
There isn’t any reason for them to remain so close, the threat had long passed minutes ago and Gi-hun’s breathing continues unpredictable with In-ho’s palm over his mouth. They had been close times before – during the mingle game and in celebration of their other players, In-ho just needs to tell himself it’s similar to that.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” In-no asks without much thought, his voice soft in fear of being caught and wouldn’t that be a strange situation to catch your boss in.
Gi-hun tries to speak which suddenly reminds In-ho where his hand is placed. He tries to reel back but Gi-hun’s hands are suddenly fixed to his hips, stopping In-ho from moving any further.
“Gi-hun, what are you doing?” You’re not dead yet, is what he would like to follow up with but bites his tongue.
“Young-il.” His voice stutters and why wouldn’t it? He’s at the bottom of the barrel and he doesn’t even have the assurance of his own life, all he has is In-ho. But In-ho’s the one ready to light the matchstick on fire and let it smelt into the barrel, not the one helping Gi-hun to his feet. “Young-il.”
It takes seconds before Gi-hun’s lips meet his yet somehow it shocks him like lightning.
In-ho tries to remember what the point of going undercover is.
Gi-hun is desperate as they kiss, hands running from In-ho’s waist to his back then down to his hips, fingers hooking into the flimsy jacket trying to pull him impossibly closer. Their hips meet but for a moment In-ho doesn’t care, his own hands on Gi-hun’s neck in a grip too kind to call his own. Gi-hun lets out soft sighs every time they part, mindful of any sound he makes. And when they do part, it isn’t merely to get breath for their next kiss. They stop as if to think about what to say next even though they know there aren’t any words left to be said, so they just look. Gi-hun must be searching his eyes for love that isn’t there or comfort that In-ho can’t give.
In-ho can feel the tremor of Gi-hun’s lips as they kiss again, even tastes the fear and trust when he opens his mouth and gasps as In-ho slides his tongue in.
They either need to stop or speed things up. In-ho should be the one to stop this but his body can’t help grinding into Gi-hun’s, thrilled at the total belief Gi-hun surrenders into him.
Guilt is making Gi-hun’s fingers tremble as he palms the front of In-ho’s green sweats. In-ho nearly groans, hips grinding into Gi-hun’s grip as he starts rubbing his palm up and down.
“Gi-hun, let me touch you, please.” In-ho’s voice feels wrecked waiting for Gi-hun to just say yes.
Gi-hun nodded quickly as if he were praying to give up control of the situation, letting In-ho push his hands out of the way and slip out both of their cocks.
In-ho is embarrassingly hard but Gi-hun is another story entirely – red at the tip and leaking pre-cum like a faucet, cock twitching in desperation. God, Gi-hun must really have it bad for him.
“Please, Young-il,” Gi-hun begs, his voice quiet. He leaves his hands on In-ho’s shoulders and tries to bite his lip to stop himself from making any more humiliating demands. Keyword – tries. “Young-il, please, I want this.”
“I should have done this sooner.” In-ho’s words come out like a confession to both of them. He grabs both of their cocks in his hand and strokes them, arousal jolting his stomach almost violently.
“Ungh-” Gi-hun throws his face into In-ho’s shoulder, letting out tiny whimpers as he ruts into In-ho’s grip. “Young-il, Young-il, fuck.”
Their combined pre-cum provides enough lube for In-ho’s hand, soft slick sounds becoming increasingly louder as the wetness from Gi-hun starts to become too much.
“You’re so desperate, Gi-hun. Have you imagined this before?” In-ho asks into his ear, lip twitching as he sees Gi-hun’s whole body twitch in shame. “Did you want me to pull you to the bathroom and fuck you against the wall? I bet you thought about the way you’d scream into your jacket as my cock stretched you with your own pre-cum as lube.”
Gi-hun tremors as In-ho increases the pace, the wet sounds becoming audible to anyone who would walk by.
Much to In-ho’s amusement, Gi-hun shakes his head.
“No?” In-ho asks with a grin.
“N-No,” Gi-hun repeats. “Just thought about you.”
In-ho’s breath hitches, his pace faltering for a second. In return, he lets go of his own cock and chooses to instead focus on Gi-hun’s entirely.
“The promise of death makes you rather romantic, doesn’t it?”
In-ho doesn’t give Gi-hun time to respond, thumb rubbing the slit of his head in a linear motion.
Gi-hun nearly sobs. “Fuck, please, Young-il, Young-il.”
He throws his head against the wall and begs In-ho with his eyes and with a look far too trusting. In-ho has to stop himself from grinding into Gi-hun’s leg, instead decorating Gi-hun’s collarbone with bites. Fuck, Gi-hun is far too much for him. If they had more time, In-ho would take him apart slowly and make Gi-hun cry just for his cock alone. But they don’t have any time at all so messy handjobs in a seedy dark room will have to do for now.
“Do you want to fuck my mouth?” In-ho asks bluntly.
Gi-hun seems to jolt with arousal at the question, panting heavily as sweat runs down his worn-down face. He swallows and slowly replies, “no. This is enough.”
In-ho wishes he had said yes but nods nonetheless and continues.
It’s obvious Gi-hun is starting to get close, biting down his moans and gyrating his hips with each stroke, showing his neck to In-ho like a sacrifice. In-ho’s head sweeps down again and licks the skin of his neck, teeth aching to bite down and bruise him so that even as the Frontman, his mark is there.
“Young-il.”
A part of In-ho hates hearing him use that name, but that feeling is washed over with the gluttonous pleasure of Gi-hun’s innocence.
“Young-il, I’m gonna- fuck.”
In-ho puts both of their cocks together in his grip again and forgets about pace, his hand becoming a quick wet blur as he strokes the both of them to climax.
Gi-hun moans loudly into his shoulder, body tremoring when he comes over In-ho’s knuckles and dribbles onto the floor. In-ho follows soon afterward, panting as he watches Gi-hun cry with overstimulation.
They both breathe heavily into the room and In-ho suddenly realizes how sweaty he’s become. Gi-hun is completely disheveled, back against the wall as he slides to the floor and tucks himself back into his pants. He invites In-ho to join him on the floor by moving over.
In-ho doesn’t even weigh the options before sitting down, their legs and shoulders pressed against one another as they sit in silence.
Somehow this is the most intimate they’ve been yet – fully clothed but sitting so close. In-ho tries to not let the pride get to him when he sees Gi-hun’s face slowly return back to its aggravated state, as if remembering where he is and what he’s doing.
“We’re going to go back out there, Young-il,” Gi-hun states. “I’m going to stare that bastard in the eyes as I kill him.” And without a second doubt, Gi-hun turns to him like he’s the world. “I need you, Young-il.”
In-ho stares at him.
Gi-hun’s lost and more importantly alone. For the past few years, In-ho has watched him struggle to get here, onto this island, trapped between these halls again. He must have thought about this day more than In-ho could imagine yet somehow they’re both in this room, skin to skin, heart to heart.
In-ho swallows and thinks please let this be nothing but lust.
“Okay,” In-ho said and tried to ignore the churn in his chest as Gi-hun’s expression slightly slackened. “I’ll follow you one more time, Gi-hun.”
Finally, Gi-hun smiles.