can you hear my voice, at 1am?

(title)

remember when thanos said he watched myunggi so much that he saw him in his dreams? yeah...
originally was gonna make this purely thanggi sex but i've never written through thanos' pov so i figured why not do a little character studying, have fun

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

i.

Akin to most of the other problems in Thanos’ life, it all begins with a very sharp, pragmatic discussion about material of refined taste—gold teeth, designer shades, dick-shaped grand pianos and its ilk—or more succinctly put:

“My bitch-ass manager says I gotta start spending more wisely.”

“Ah,” Namgyu simply hums over the pop and sizzles crackling in the air. Or maybe it was an “Oh.” It’s kinda hard to tell when his cheeks are bulging with moksal.

They're sitting in a secluded VIP section of one the hottest BBQ spots in Hongdae. It's high-end—as high-end as a BBQ spot can get—and probably directly interferes with his current issue, but grilled meat is the only thing that can calm Thanos down. That and weed, but that’ll come later in the night.

He watches impatiently as Namgyu takes a long sip of his beer then lets out guttural burp, wet and malty, then swipes another bite from the hotplate and pops it in his mouth. If it was literally anybody else other than him, Thanos would've decked them in the face by now, but it's only Namgyu. Namgyu who eats like he's on death row. Namgyu who treats dining like it's a race and yet still takes his sweet ass time when chewing. Namgyu who, surprisingly, actually happens to be a pretty damn good listener. Besides, he finally comes around and asks, face-stained and marble-mouthed, “What happened?”—but really: “Wuh happ’n?”

“He told me I've been spending too frivolously,” Thanos tells him. “Whatever the fuck that means.”

“How so?”

“He saw that article about me buying that piano and just kept on bitching about it. Like, yeah, no shit I don't know how to play the piano. Yeah, no shit I live in a penthouse and can't play it anyways. But…”

“But…”

“But… it was shaped like a fucking cock. I’d be a dumbass not to buy it.”

“Mm,” Namgyu agrees, wiping his mouth. Or maybe it was “Uh,” or some type of caveman grunt.

Either way, Thanos continues. “Swear my manager is getting on my last fucking nerve. He acts like he's my accountant or something.”

“Remember,” Namgyu says clear as day after finally swallowing, “how you had him fire your old accountant for saying the same thing about your splurging? So he had to take on both roles?”

Namgyu is too good of a listener.

Thanos swipes his own share of moksal, not from the hotplate, but from Namgyu’s plate. “And remember,” he echoes, “who’s paying for this meal,” he crows, a triumphant smirk tilting his lips.

“But remember,” Namgyu returns back, “who’s paying for the weed.”

Thanos scowls at him. “I like you better when your mouth is full.”

Namgyu chuckles. “Not the first time someone’s told me that.”

“Gross,” Thanos gags—towards what Namgyu said and towards the pork that turns bitter in his mouth, as if it decayed into ash. He swallows roughly and sets his chopsticks down, leaning back and peering at the overhead lights dangling from the ceiling. Habitually this is the part where he tells Namgyu to fuck off because he can pay for his own shit, Namgyu says sorry but Thanos still lets him tag along, and everyone’s happy, but—

But that's not the case anymore, because as much as he bitches about manager-nim’s bitching, manager-nim’s bitching may be the righteous type of bitching. He didn't outright say it but the quiet part was ear-splittingly loud—he's losing money. Or more succinctly put—he’s going broke. Manager-nim even said he should sell one of his cars, and the thing is yeah he doesn't drive his Ferrari, but that's only because one of his homies spilled coke in the backseat and cocaine is a really hard smell to get out, but his Ferrari looks better than his BMW and—

“Am I washed up?” Thanos asks out of the blue, both to the lights and to Namgyu. The lights don't answer, but neither does Namgyu, and Namgyu always answers. Thanos sharply glances back and finds Namgyu stuffing his mouth once again. He kicks Namgyu’s leg under the table. “Ya.”

“Huh?” Namgyu says.

“You heard me,” Thanos accuses. He asks again, slower this time, “Am I washed up?”

Namgyu looks away, his chewing slowing down. He grabs his glass of beer, but Thanos grabs his wrist tightly before he can take a sip.

“Am… I… washed… up?” he asks once more, his face clouding darkly.

“No,” Namgyu answers a little too quickly. “Uh, hyung, your nails are digging into my artery.”

“What?” Thanos glances over and notices his knuckles and Namgyu’s wrist are the same color as the foam in their beer, although Namgyu’s arm is sporting faint blue streaks. “Oh,” he wilts with a sigh and lets go, falling back into his chair. “My fault.”

“Why’re you asking anyways? Do you think you're washed up?”

“No,” now Thanos is the one answering too quickly. He coughs and shifts in his seat. “I mean hell nah,” he corrects, a little more bass in his voice. “But my label’s being annoying as hell as usual, they won't even let me record anything new and it's fucking up my cash flow.”

Namgyu is silent for a moment. “You could always try cryptocurrency,” he says finally. “My coworkers got me into it.”

“Crypto?” Thanos snorts. “Isn't that shit for dorks?”

“No, I actually have a few investments myself.”

“Okay,” Thanos says. “So it’s for dorks.”

“Rich dorks,” Namgyu corrects. He takes another bite. “It works, I swear,” he says. “Just buy low, sell high, you're good to go.”

“Alright, moneybags, how much have you made so far?”

“About a couple hundred thousand won,” Namgyu replies. “I know it doesn't sound like much—”

“Because it's not.”

“—but I'm still new at it. Besides, that's how I’m paying for the weed, isn't it?” he laughs.

Thanos muses to himself for a moment then ultimately decides: “Nah.” He shakes his head and grabs his glass of beer, taking a sip. “I’ll just figure something else out,” he wipes his mouth with his forearm. “The whole crypto shit just always sounded too… dweeb-ish to me.”

Namgyu shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

And that very sharp, very pragmatic discussion—about affording dick pianos and what-not—ends there. Namgyu resumes stuffing his face in silence. Thanos can’t help the slight disappointment that dulls in his chest. Namgyu usually has more flair for the algebra of disagreement, that burning bite that Thanos loves to provoke, but it's clear what he's choosing to focus his “bite” on.

Whatever. It doesn't matter because Thanos has his own things to focus on as well. He tries to eat, but just ends up poking around at his food like a snotty little kid. His appetite isn't there anymore for some reason.

ii.

Of course, it turns out Thanos was right all along. This crypto shit is for dweebs.

They're all he sees when he searches up “crypto advice” on YouTube—uptight, uninteresting, dough-faced nerds with stiff necks and limp dicks he would've pushed around in school; it pisses him off the further he scrolls down. It's past midnight and the blue screen of his laptop burns against his eyes in his dark room. He could be asleep right now, but the weed didn't help one bit, his conversation with manager-nim weighed too heavily on his soul.

“It’s okay, Thanos-ssi,” he said. “Everyone can't have longevity. Being a legacy act is alright.”

But it's not okay. It’s not okay now and never will be. Thanos worked hard, so goddamn hard to get to where he is. He worked so hard for his coke-stained Ferrari, his BMW, his penthouse, his gold chains, his designer shoes, his dick-shaped piano. He worked so hard to prove to his mother and his chronically-shitfaced father that he wouldn't be a failure, that he wouldn't just be the troubled, good-for-nothing idiot bum roaming the streets of Jongno-gu like they feared him to be. Shit, he still might be a troubled, good-for-nothing idiot, but he's not a bum. He has the Ferrari, the BMW, the penthouse, and the etcetera and more to prove it. He has the gold, the glitter, the glory, the glamour.

He has the dream.

Thanos has worked too hard to just sell any of that away.

He continues scrolling down YouTube, fishing through the sea of thumbnails with shitty stock graphics and ₩ signs and grown ass dudes making the dumbest faces possible. He yawns into his elbow and considers giving up for the night, until—

Until—he comes across a certain video. He halts his scrolling and leans forward.

What catches his eye first is the title, “Buy Low, Sell High” —what Namgyu told him earlier. But what catches his eye next, and really catches it, is the guy in the thumbnail.

He looks… different from the rest of the other losers. He's not making a stupid face in the thumbnail, he looks young—probably a student, his hair isn't greasy, but it's also not overly done-up like a corporate ass, he looks like a normal person. Then again, normal people don't have perfect skin or facial harmony like that, but still…

Still… Thanos gets a pang in his chest, that same pang he's gotten looking at the other fish in the muddied sea of crypto-dweebs, however this time there's something different. That pang isn't sharp, but more mellow. He doesn't feel irritation or disgust, rather—

(This guy, this glass-skinned, sharp-jawed guy with the most unreasonably girlish lips, doesn't have that frigid, beady-eyed look. Instead, his eyes are wide and round, bright, warm, and an earthy brown.)

—rather he feels comfort. He feels comfortable with whoever this is, as if he can trust him. He sounds out the username.

“M… G… Coin…”

It even feels comfortable on the tongue.

The video is a whopping eleven minutes long, but Thanos doesn't mind, his attention span isn't completely fried, so he's ready to finally give this cryptocurrency bullshit a shot. If it doesn't work then he’ll just clobber Namgyu.

He opens the video and is instantly greeted.

“Hello everyone, The Amazing Myunggi here, better known as MG Coin.”

“Amazing Myunggi,” Thanos mouths to himself. It's an appropriate name, he guesses, cause he is kind of amazed right now.

Times passes by and before he knows it, the video is over, which he doesn't know how the fuck that happened because he stared at MG Coin for the entire eleven minutes, watching him speak (he even has a nice voice), and yet the only thing Thanos can recall was a whole bunch of blah blah blah and something about a coin called Pangea.

So, he opts to replay the video. He watches MG Coin speak again, focusing intently on his mouth, y’know, just to really understand what's being said, and then the eleven minutes fly by once again. Thanos still has no idea what was said. At all.

By the time he's on his seventh watch of the video, he figures he’ll try again tomorrow. But of course, he just has to hit the subscribe button.

After all, that's the only other thing he understood.

iii.

The following day, Thanos makes his investment, his very first investment, and logs on to Instagram, and Twitter, and whatever other social media site he can remember the password to and promotes the hell out of Pangea coin. He hasn't done this much promotion for anything since his last album, and that was damn near ten years ago.

In the beginning there's a few skeptical nay-sayers, but then the usual sea of comments come flooding in. The bots, the hyungs and oppas, the heart emojis that match the color of his nails, the “Where is the album?!” army that grows more aggressive with each passing year, the random heated sixty-comment thread about politics that started out of nowhere. All this time later, Thanos can still pull engagement like this.

He smiles.

Soon after, he pulls up his story and checks the list of viewers, inspecting through an inventory of personas for a certain username he followed last night. Scanning up and down, left and right, trying to find a name. Just that one name. He scrolls further and further, black text and blue check marks flashing aimlessly. A few moments later, he makes it to the bottom of the list and… that’s it. That’s all.

He frowns.

iv.

Namgyu startles him the next day, jumping on his back and curling his arms around his neck. Another one of those if-it-was-anybody-else ordeals. Thanos only knows it's him because he recognizes the scent, distinctive only to the rather primitive Namgyu species, one which Thanos threatens to endanger daily.

He can't see Namgyu, but he can damn sure feel Namgyu's grossly self-satisfied smile against his neck. “I see you took my advice,” he says. “I thought crypto was for dweebs?”

“Man, chill with that shit,” Thanos shoves him off then takes a deep puff from his vape, a hint of raspberry filling the air. “And it's not because of you, so wipe that ugly ass smirk off your face, I only did it because I asked my manager and he said it was a good idea.” Never mind that after he promoted Pangea coin, manager-nim sent him a barrage of wrathful texts, cursing him out in four different languages. Namgyu just has a giant ass head, literally. No reason for it to be ginormous figuratively too.

Namgyu looks at him and does not wipe that ugly ass smirk off his face. “How much have you made so far?”

Thanos thinks for a moment, takes another puff from his vape, and he answers: “A hundred thousand won,” but then he adds hurriedly, a nonchalant: “Just a little bit. Chump change or whatever.”

Namgyu eyes him for a moment then breaks into a grin, a playful, but earnest curve. “Cheers to that.”

Soon, a little bit becomes a little bit more. Then a little bit more becomes even a little bit more. Then even a little bit more becomes a lot. A lot becomes a whole lot. Then a whole lot becomes a party, renting out the entirety of Club Pentagon with two million won champagne bottles, fresh, big-bosomed models, and only the finest of weed, coke, and narcotics imported from Mexico because Namgyu “knows a guy who knows a guy.” And then a whole lot becomes a party that lasts for hours. Hours, days, weeks, months if he's lucky.

Or more succinctly put: Thanos has his life back.

Cheers to that indeed.

v.

Cherish the moment… such an optimistic phrase that floats around all the time. Thanos should know because it’s the name of his twelfth single—it won him a MAMA Award nomination, by the way. He does cherish the moment, indulging the way his newfound financial gains give him that light, dizzying mist in his brain, the same feeling he had when he was eighteen years old, fresh out of high school and the new pretty, shiny thing in the rap scene.

But he's not some bug-eyed, stupid eighteen year old kid anymore, he's a thirty-something year old adult—one that spends his nights dilated with powder hanging off his nose—but an adult nonetheless. He's careful, he's sensible, he's grounded.

All of which is why he tells himself that Pangea coin was merely a fluke. Just a flighty stroke of good luck that will pass. Truthfully, manager-nim is the one that tells him it's a fluke, and Thanos just mentally files it under “Bitching #373” and hangs up on him, but he's seen the stories. Stories of how celebrities, specifically rappers, blow through all of their money and end up destitute and empty. A mansion with no furniture. A German car with no engine. Designer belts to return after leaving the club. No more Bordeaux wine fresh from France, just cheap cherry makgeolli.

So he's gonna calm down all the partying and splurging and start saving, he is, he really, truthfully, honest to God is, but then— but then—

But then: a notification from YouTube.

He only has notifications on for one particular creator. A new video. Something about another coin, something about “GO BIG OR GO HOME” flashing across the thumbnail. Something about that really captivating face, one that screams—no, softly states—intelligence. A face that softly, ever so softly states, “I won't lead you astray.”

Thanos figures, he figures very well, just one more video.

Just one more video turns into two more videos, then two more videos turn into five more videos, then five more videos turn into…

Soon, he moves off of YouTuber and on to Naver.

Who is Lee Myunggi? he searches.

Who is he?

vi.

After dark is pretty much the only time Thanos ever sees Namgyu, which theoretically should mean they have an endless torrent of conversation between them, but more often than not, it just ends up like right now: them silently passing off a hookah between each other. There's only so many stories Thanos can regale about the music industry and its people. At least three times he's already detailed the story about how he fought Eric from Shinhwa, but Namgyu said the story ended differently in every retell.

But shit, it's not like Namgyu is World’s Greatest Conversationalist himself. All of his own anecdotes are tied to his promoting job at Pentagon, which might sound exciting to some pimple-faced, hunched back shut-in, but Thanos has woken up plenty of times in the alleys of Itaewon or Gangnam or Euljiro or wherever—sometimes with vomit of a mystery color on his shirt—with no recollection of the night before, so Namgyu’s stories aren't all that interesting. Besides, the two don't really have much in common anyways, besides drugs or taste in street food except—

Except: Pangea coin. Then Gecko coin. Then Etherworld coin. Then ABRAXAS coin. Then Trojan coin. Then ILOVEYOU coin. Then—

“You've been investing a lot, haven't you?” Namgyu cuts in, wrapping his lips around the shisha in his mouth, exhaling a wispy cloud of smoke into the air.

The private room in the hookah lounge is dimly lit, bar the sparse violet LED lights above and the soft neon-blueish glow that comes from the row of bubbling fish tanks on the wall.

Thanos shrugs. “So?”

“So,” Namgyu says, “I just didn't expect you to get so… into it.” He takes another drag from the hookah and passes it to Thanos. “How much have you made so far?”

“Enough to buy this,” Thanos holds up the six-figure bottle of champagne and takes a drag, apple smoke filling his lungs. Even with glasses on, he’s still blind to Namgyu’s expression in the blue light, something of confusion? Consideration? Constipation?

“Didn't know you can make so much that fast,” Namgyu says. “I've been doing it for like four months and haven't even made a quarter of that.”

Thanos sets the hookah down and narrows his eyes, eyeing Namgyu for a brief, intense moment. “That's because you're not business-minded like me, my brother,” he says, poking at his temple. “You gotta go big or go home,” he finishes in grandiose English.

Namgyu cocks his head. “Where did you learn that from?”

Thanos’ entire face lights up. He answers immediately, “It's this guy,” he says, sounding every bit of fourteen. “His name is MG Coin.”

“Oh, him.”

“You watch him too?”

“He's alright,” Namgyu shrugs, indifferent. “Not my favorite though.”

“Huh.” Huh. Thanos hadn't considered that there were other crypto YouTubers that existed. It was a massive market of course, but until now he hasn't remembered all that time spent scrolling through YouTube, Naver, Google, and more finding fruitful, valuable information about crypto. All that time practically wasted until he saw—

“You don't like MG Coin?”

“His content is fine,” Namgyu says. “I just usually get my trading news from other people, I guess.” Suddenly, he snorts, his face twisting into a derisive grin. “Besides, why the fuck would I spend my time listening to some kid?”

“He's not some kid,” Thanos interjects sharply. There's a small prickle of content that pokes him when he sees Namgyu slightly flinch. “He's twenty-nine, actually. Born 1994, first of February.”

“Oh.”

“He does look young as fuck, though. I couldn't believe it. He probably gets that all the time, though. He's like 167 cm.”

“Right.”

“You know what's fucking wild? He lives in Sinchon, so he's really not that far from here. You think one day he’ll probably visit Hongdae and we'll run into him?”

“Uh, I don’t know.”

“One of his friends in his comment section said he wasn't really the clubbing type, though.”

“Hyung.”

“‘Cause he graduated from Seonjang University and apparently that's not really known as a partying type of school.”

“Hyung—”

“But that makes a bunch of sense, right? That he's so successful? He has AB blood so it makes sense, you know people with that type tend to be—”

“Hyung.”

Thanos jumps slightly at the outburst. He slants Namgyu an irritated look. “What?”

Namgyu holds his hand out. “It's my turn.”

Thanos gazes from him to the hookah still in his grip. Although his scowl untwists, his eyebrows are still curled to the fold. “Oh,” he hurriedly hands the hookah back to Namgyu. “My fault, Namsu.”

“It’s—” Namgyu begins, then trails off then sticks the shisha in his mouth.

The last bit of conversation is exchanged through quick glances: Namgyu’s eyes are skeptical, a question burning through retinas. Thanos’ eyes bluntly say “I dare you.” And just like now, then, and probably later, Namgyu does indeed not dare.

Their torrent of conversation ends there, the night continuing with them passing off the hookah and drinks in rather awkward silence. Still, that dull ache of disappointment bubbles in Thanos once again—and this time, it's heavier.

vii.

The Amazing Myunggi has around two hundred videos. By the time the weekend rolls around, Thanos has already burned through about a hundred, some of them being rewatches—he's trying to “savor the advice.”

He takes notes and pays close attention, diligently ~~watching Myunggi’s perfectly-shaped lips~~ listening to every word, every syllable, every simple hum that hangs from the YouTuber’s mouth. Every coin to buy, to avoid, to wait on—Thanos listens and nods dutifully.

He isn't an idiot, he knows the whole thing looks strange, but it's really just aspiration. He was terrible at school, but he's always been an eager scholar; For both music and money. He's read plenty of books about finances, and yet none of them proved to be as fruitful as the advice from this—this… kid.

And that's the craziest part. He's not a kid. He's twenty-fucking-nine.

Pushing thirty but he looks like that? Dude has brains and beau— no. No.

It’s not weird. It's not. How the fuck is it weird? It's not. Everyone has their role models. Thanos had his own growing up, waiting outside the music store in the pouring humid rain after school for the new Cho PD record, or when he almost had a heart attack when Verbal Jint gave him a shoutout on the radio. This is no different.

Thanos just wants nothing more than to meet Lee Myunggi—Amazing Myunggi, MG Coin, whatever the fuck he wants to be called—and pick his brain apart. It's merely a fascination thing. Maybe take him out to dinner, not like the usual BBQ spot, but somewhere more… refined, sophisticated. High-end with class and has a view at least ten stories above Seoul where one can dine eye-level with the lights of the high-rises, Thanos will even pay for the whole meal, as a formality of course. They'll talk—talk about business, investing, buying, selling, trading, stocks, halving, strategy, and then—

And then—they’ll loosen up more after the champagne, and the conversation will move to more casual topics; Myunggi’s likes and dislikes, his anecdotes, his goals for the future. Thanos will regale him with stories about his come-up to the top; The poor, chubby kid with shitty grades and a boozed-out father and a stressed-out married single mother, the poor, chubby kid who still managed to beat the odds and debut with a top ten single. It's a story he's told hundreds of times and it always leaves the audience marveled and rooting for him. He’ll flash a smile, bright and easy enough to contrast his “rough” persona, but still contain that mischievous “bad boy” glint, and it’ll absolutely pull Myunggi in, causing him to return that smile, warm and inviting, just like those eyes of his, reflecting the shine of the chandeliers above.

But, uh, yeah. He admires Lee Myunggi. But just a little bit. Just a little bit.

Soon, a little bit becomes a little more. Then a little more becomes even a little bit more…

viii.

Namgyu calls him around nine o'clock on a Friday night.

“Hyung, where the fuck are you?”

“Y’know, most people usually start with hello.”

The line goes silent on the other end for a moment. After a couple years of knowing him, there’s something strident about Namgyu’s rather quiet irritation. It's soft, but oh it’s there. Thanos can practically hear every scowl, snarl, and curse bubbling inside Namgyu’s chest, mute volume and all. While he waits for Namgyu to get done grumbling, he hears a hefty, aggressive bass in the background. “Yo, where the hell are you? It's all in my fucking ear.”

“My job,” Namgyu’s voice comes out as a crinkly grit through the receiver. “Remember? The place you said you were gonna meet me tonight?”

Thanos muses for a second, and then: “Huh.” Huh. He did say that. “Shit, my fault.”

“The hell are you doing?”

Thanos glances ahead at his laptop screen. MG Coin is hosting a livestream right now, a trading session coupled with real-time news about stocks for different coins, something Thanos has been looking forward to all day. “Stuff came up.”

“What stuff?”

“Stuff,” Thanos repeats sharply, a wintry undercurrent to his tone. “Can you just chill the fuck out or something? I don't fucking harass you about your life.”

Namgyu is silent for a long, fleeting moment. “No,” he finally says, dull and quiet. “No, you don't.”

“You'll be fine without me holding your hand for one little night, Namsu. I promise.” He doesn't wait for Namgyu to answer and abruptly hangs up. Dude is like a gnat sometimes and it's fucking annoying.

Whatever. Thanos turns his attention back to the livestream, watching with youthful eagerness. He doesn't take notes anymore. Anything MG Coin says, he can remember.

There's a chart in the background, blue, streaked with white lines, showing green and red arrows pointing up and down with numbers and the names of various coins. But Thanos’ eyes wander to Lee Myunggi in the forefront. His clothes are always so baggy and casual, and yet his hair, middle-part and all, always looked so nice and neat. That's what Thanos liked the most about MG Coin, he always looked fresh without having to do much. Easy and unadorned, yet a faint spark of style that shines through. It makes Thanos wonder how he himself would look without his tattoos and rings, or the crazy hair and nails, or the contacts or piercings. Thanos has no trouble in attraction whatsoever, but then he wonders could he pull off being handsome with such a plain look? Maybe he can't, just a slight maybe, but MG Coin on the other hand…

It's not like Thanos wants MG Coin’s attributes. MG Coin is short, full-lipped, doe-eyed, and oval-eared with a tiny frame. Thanos is the exact opposite, and he likes it that way, but MG Coin… he looks almost—no, not almost—he does look regal. He's read the articles and magazines, about how women love men with that “prince” aesthetic, so maybe that's all this is. Just another bullet point in the list of why MG Coin is his new role model. He's got brains, he's got beauty, and he's balling.

MG Coin, he’s also got a mouth, a total fucking chatterbox. It's around midnight when Thanos is still watching the stream in his room, moved from the laptop to his phone as he lays in bed under the covers. The stream is three hours in and has no sign of stopping soon. He yawns once, then twice, and his lashes begin to flutter as his vision blurs.

As his eyelids grow heavier and heavier, those eyes—those big, honest, beautiful brown eyes—are the last thing he sees before everything fades to black.

ix.

Located in the heart of Seoul is a lake tucked in the quiet, timbered corner of the city, away from the action and excitement. The water is clear and crystal, allowing the midsummer sun to mirror its shine against jagged waves and the air has a reassuring pine scent. The trees are lush and green, providing shade from the heat and a home for the birds and cicadas that click and buzz into the sky. Occasionally, Thanos likes to lay down in the grassy bank and simply listen. Listen to what the birds are saying, or what the water says, what the trees say, or what the clouds and sun have to offer. They don't say much, but there's a million words in their silence.

Thanos actually has no idea where the lake is or how he even found it, but somehow he always makes his way back here. He's a homegrown city boy after all, he’s naturally gifted with the talent of direction, even in uncharted territories like the woods.

But: the grove does bear a striking resemblance to Ikseon-dong, and his grandma happened to live there before she passed. He does remember one day, when he was a young kid with natural energy, running around and playing through the village, passing by the identical row of hanoks and friendly faces, neighbors and street vendors all around, and getting lost. Although he doesn't remember finding this lake nor how he found his way home. Maybe he took a shortcut through an ahjumma’s garden or fell through a well and bumped his head like that Wonderland chick.

Whatever, he thinks. It doesn't matter, the who’s, what’s, and where’s. The lake is here. He's here. The birds, cicadas, grass, and sun—they're all here. Everyone is here. He is here, just how he likes it: Alone.

At least, he thinks he's alone.

He's sitting up, throwing stones in the lake and awkwardly failing at making them skip, when suddenly his vision goes to black and a pair of hands burn against his skin.

“Ya!” he growls, thrashing around. It can't be Namgyu. There isn't that Namgyu scent. Whoever it is has a different smell. A nice smell. Something earthy and calm—eucalyptus, probably? Whoever this is smells really fucking nice. Whoever this is—is a stranger regardless. One that he's about to knock the fuck out. He rips the hands away and sharply turns, cranking up his fist for action until—until…

“Holy shit…”

Those eyes. Those bright, brown eyes.

He scrambles to get up, almost stumbling over himself as he stands tall and erect, posture completely stiff, the most perfect it's ever been in years. His heart skips a beat, maybe two or three, battering against his rib cage. He clears his throat. Then a cough. Then a sniff. Then a slight bow.

“MG Coin.”

Myunggi returns the bow with a smile. “Thanos.”

For a moment, Thanos forgets how to speak, or how to even think. Even his thoughts are garbled alphabet soup. “Uh, uh,” he stammers. Myunggi raises an eyebrow and that's when Thanos resets. Subong might stammer, but Thanos doesn't. He clears his throat again with one forceful grunt. “My bad, bro. What I meant to say was ‘what the hell are you doing here?’”

Gently, Myunggi offers a humored huff. “I saw a speck of purple in the grass and thought some freakish, mutated plant was growing from the ground,” he says. “I got the freakish and mutated part right, though.”

“Oh,” Thanos breathes. And then: Oh. A joke. “Oh!” he repeats with a burnished glow. He breaks into a crooked, throaty laugh. “Shit, I mean I've been told before that I'm an invasive species,” he shrugs.

In response, Myunggi laughs, a real, earnest laugh, and Thanos cringes at how satisfied that makes him feel. Their laughter dies down soon, and while the moment passes, Thanos’ gaze on Myunggi’s upturned mouth doesn't. He lingers until Myunggi is the one that has to clear his throat. “Uh.”

“Huh?” Thanos says. “Oh, uh, shit, my fault.” He gestures towards where he was sitting. “Do you wanna…?”

“Of course,” Myunggi accepts and settles down next to him on the grass.

Of course. He said of course he wants to sit next to him, Thanos thinks. He feels the world around him muddying and graying and quickly calms himself down, not wanting to get too excited, and turns to Myunggi. “So, how did you find this place?”

Myunggi shrugs. “I just did.”

“Ah,” Thanos hums. Normally he'd curse someone for such a dumb answer, but this wasn't just a “someone.” It was the “someone.” He adjusts himself, fully facing Myunggi. “I thought you didn't live in this neighborhood.”

“I don't.”

“So you're visiting?”

“I'm not.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I just am,” Myunggi shrugs again. He scans Thanos up and down with his eyes. “You're taller in person.”

“And you're shorter.”

“I was complimenting you.”

“So was I.”

For one terrifying moment, Myunggi stares at him, long and vacant, with slow, inconsistent blinks. Thanos doesn't break the contact, but the longer Myunggi eyeballs him, the more Thanos shrinks, wondering if he said the wrong thing.

After several moments—“Funny,” Myunggi huffs, breaking away his gaze. “You're a lyricist, of course you have wit.”

Relief washes over Thanos, but relief turns into surprise. “Hold up, you know my work?”

“Duh,” Myunggi scoffs, as if it's the dumbest question ever. “You didn't realize it when I said your name earlier? Without the introduction?”

“Huh.” Huh. No. No, he didn't. “Shit, either way this is crazy.”

“You're telling me, I'm sitting with the Choi Subong,” Myunggi marvels.

Thanos looks away. The red on his face better be a goddamn sunburn. He huffs a smile, so subtle, so small, so… not like him. “Appreciate it.”

“Ah, I still remember the day I stood out in the pouring rain after school because I wanted to be the first in line to listen to your CD,” Myunggi recalls to the blue sky. Thanos feels like he's heard this somewhere, but he doesn't say anything. “I ended up getting sick and missing a week of school. My parents were so upset,” Myunggi chuckles. “‘Eh, Myunggi-yah, why would you do such a stupid thing?’” He mimics with a high-pitched voice. “But I didn't feel bad about it, because while I was at home coughing my lungs out and throwing up my insides, I was listening to Thanos The Great. So, in the end, it’s one of those childhood memories that I look back on fondly with pride.” He finishes his story and turns to Thanos with a smile warmer than the summer air that surrounds them. Thanos just might melt.

“Thanos The Great? Holy shit, it's been forever since I released that one. That had to have been like what? Almost twenty years ago? That was my first EP before I blew up,” Thanos says. “That makes you an OG.”

“I guess so,” Myunggi responds.

Thanos doesn't say anything back, too astonished to find words. He had used so much of free time practicing, envisioning, fantasizing about the conversations he'd have with the man sitting right next to him. The business ideas, the stock trades, the crypto do’s and due’s, and yet—and yet… here they were—here, sitting in this quiet, still grove—here, conversing so honestly and casually, so familiar and nostalgic, as if they had been friends their entire lives—here, next to each other, laughing and grinning as if they're the only two people in the world.

Thanos, he doesn't reject it. Not immediately, he won't. Cherish the moment, he's said on paper, on the stage, in the booth, in life. Cherish the fucking moment . He sucks in a breath, utterly speechless. He takes a minute to gather his thoughts and grandly comes up with: “Damn.” One word can mean so much, after all. “This is fucking insane. You've been a fan of me all this time and to think for the past month I've been looking up to you.”

“Mm, seems like you're looking down to me,” Myunggi hovers a hand over Thanos’ head, earning another laugh from Thanos. “Uh, Thanos-ssi—”

“Relax,” Thanos holds up a hand. “You don't gotta do all of that. Just call me Thanos. Or hyung.”

“Ah, okay. Hyung,” Myunggi tries.

Thanos’ entire body rouses. He leans in with an elvish grin. “Shit, if you're good, I’ll even let you call me Subongie.”

Myunggi slants him an unimpressed look.

He plays hard to get. Thanos likes that. “Alright, my bad.”

They electrify into another round of grinning, their laughter echoing through the branches of the tree.

Once they calm down, Myunggi stands up and dusts himself off. “Well, this has been fun.”

Thanos jolts up, grabbing Myunggi by the wrist. “Hold up, where are you going?”

“I'm leaving,” Myunggi says, blunt.

“Yeah, but can't you stay a little longer?” Thanos asks. God, he sounds like a whiny bitch right now, it horrifically reminds him of Namgyu, but he can't help it. They can't part ways. At least not now. There's so much to talk about, that endless torrent they can float on for years.

Myunggi, however, creases his lips. “It's not about me. You can't stay any longer.”

Thanos’s eyebrows furrow deep into the crease. “Huh? The fuck are you talking about?”

Myunggi huffs a small chuckle, something that rouses Thanos’ body even more. “I have to go.”

“Will I see you again?”

“Of course,” Myunggi nods. “What's today?”

Thanos ponders for a second. “Uh, Saturday?”

“And what’s on Saturdays?”

Thanos ponders for another second, this time the lightning bulb shines. “Stock Watch Saturdays.”

Myunggi grabs both of Thanos’ hands and brings them to his lips, lightly tracing the tattoos then finishing with a soft kiss to his knuckles. “Exactly.” He drops his hands and bows with a lazy smile. “I’ll see you later, hyung.”

Before Thanos can respond, he feels a light gust, a wisp of sorts, slightly blinding him. When he rubs his eyes and adjusts, Myunggi is suddenly gone.

“What the—” he looks around confused, but there's no sign of Myunggi.

He bounds forward to start running after Myunggi, but then one of the birds high up in the trees, away from where Thanos can see, begins to chirp. Loud. Then really loud. Then really fucking loud. Horribly loud. The chirps raise decibels with each round, like a warning bell, to the point that it becomes ear-splitting and unbearable. Thanos looks around, eyes scanning the grove, but his ear drums are shattering.

“Fuck, God-fucking-fuck!” He covers his ears, but it's not enough, the bird’s chirp is screaming into his ear. He kneels to the ground and hunches over, trying to get that damn bird out of his head. It won't go away. It won't go away. Goddamnit, this fucking bird won't fucking go aw—

His eyes rip open and he lurches forward. He rubs his eyes then blinks away the crust, clearing his vision. He's in his room.

He's in his room. That means…

“Shit,” he sighs. “Shit.”

He looks over at his phone, thumbing it to silence and grazing over notifications from Namgyu and emails from certain brands. He also sees the notification from YouTube. The one that says “NEW VIDEO — STOCK WATCH SATURDAYS.”

“Shit,” he curses again, raking an inked hand through disheveled hair. He should change that alarm.

x.

Memory is a tricky thing for Thanos. It always has been and he's known this since as far back as elementary school when he was at the bottom of his class. His dad was pissed over having a dumb son, (“Why are you so stupid? What the hell is wrong with you?”) His mom tried to rationalize why she had a dumb son, (“I didn't eat enough rice when I was pregnant with him.”) His sister was embarrassed to have a dumb kid brother, (“Walk ahead of me so I can see you. Don't go too far, but don’t get too close.”) Either way, they all accepted that he was dumb and left it at that, the “slow one” of the Choi family. That was Thanos.

Except Thanos isn't slow. He knows damn well he isn't. He just can't, like, remember everything, alright? Is that such a fucking crime?

However, to be fair, he does tend to be forgetful. Sometimes he forgets his clothes are in the washing machine, so now he pays someone to get his laundry done. Sometimes he forgets his ID when going to a club, but everybody knows who he is, so it doesn't matter. Sometimes, he gets on stage, in front of hundreds of eyes, staring him down, watching and judging, picking apart every move for ridicule, like when he participated on Rap Battlegrounds, and sometimes he… he…

He kicks the nearest trash can with his barefoot, a slice of blood drawing in the center of his big toe.

Sometimes he wishes his memory was truly that shitty.

But then there's other times, like last night, where it's not about “to forget or to not forget”, but rather “Did this happen? Or did it not?” because he remembers MG Coin sitting next to him at that lake, he remembers it so fucking well, down to each vivid detail, from the way the birds chirped to the homey blue shirt that MG Coin wore. Thanos remembers it. He absolutely fucking remembers it.

But then he woke up.

The weeks pass by and he continues to watch MG Coin, trading sites open in another tab next to his face and his bank account continuing to grow. Thanos chalks it up to a simple dream and moves on, because it's just a dream and dreams don't mean anything. He had a dream about Namgyu growing tentacles and attacking Shanghai once, but that doesn't mean Namgyu is some rage-induced, horrifying freak of nature (Or is he?)

But—but—Thanos watches one of MG Coin’s videos one night, late and pitch-black, an old video about coin halving or some shit, and his gaze settles on those girlish lips once again. He lifts his hands in front of his face and closely inspects them, every callous, scratch, dab of ink, and twinkle from his ring. Then he looks back at MG Coin’s lips.

He felt them, right? He totally felt them grazing his knuckles, brushing over his tattoo with such aching tenderness. He felt that, right? Right?

“Aish,” he groans and promptly slams his laptop shut. It's getting too late and he's spent more than enough time trying to figure this out. Maybe his memory really does suck. Maybe he took a dab of LSD with Namgyu and hallucinated him and MG Coin talking and laughing together as if they were old childhood friends catching up. Maybe he hallucinated that cheesy-ass drama setting and he just needs to take a break from it all.

There's reality and then there's… that. Thanos, he's built his entire career off of being “real.” He tells it like it is, he doesn't sugarcoat shit for anyone or anything, the truth will set you free and that's why he's able to live the way he does, not boxed in by cordial “politeness” or false pretenses. That's what's wrong with the world now, everyone is too fucking fake.

Not him. Not Thanos. That will never be Thanos. He hasn't played that bullshit, doesn't play it now, and never will. Always.

He takes a nice hot shower, slips on a t-shirt and boxers, and dutifully goes to bed, the mystery still heavy on his mind.

xi.

Thanos remembers a music video he had once. It was about sixteen years ago, when he was still that overly-energetic, unconventional, bright-eyed kid fresh on the scene.

It was his third or fourth single, he can't remember and he doesn't give a shit to ‘cause it charted horribly, plus the actual video was pretty generic itself. He was in a dark alley somewhere in Hongdae, surrounded by brick walls with graffiti scribbled all over and a sleek blue Rolls-Royce.

The video vixens dancing around him all had on the same outfit, a white tank top and tight jeans.

God, Myunggi would look so fucking good with that on.

Thanos remembers his own outfit—tight black jeans and an unbuttoned fur coat with nothing under it, exposing his bare chest. He remembers, remembers so vividly, one the vixens shoves him against the hood of the car, he remembers—

Myunggi—in his tank top and tight jeans—stares at him blankly in the eye then leans down and presses a light kiss to Thanos’ chest. He doesn't break eye contact once as he slowly grazes those lips, those soft, full, rosy pink lips, over his chest and soon makes their way to Thanos’ nipple. Myunggi swipes his tongue quickly against the nub, just a quick taste, and it's enough for Thanos to throw his head back, a low groan escaping his lips.

He coils his hand through Myunggi’s hair and with sudden force grabs a fistful, fingers curling tighter and tighter around soft midnight locks as Myunggi’s tongue laps the erect nub with such eager determination, but light tenderness and his thumb traces patterns over the other nipple with the same vigor.

Thanos chances a look and finds himself throbbing against his jeans harder when he sees the way his hand—calloused, inked, nails colored, adorned with rings—falls against Myunggi’s rather blank face. Myunggi doesn't have any blemishes, or scars, no bruises or creases, nothing on his face that can tell a story. He was essentially unmarked and the thought of being the one that can ruin that elegant, graceful face sculpted by God himself with tears, with red and purple blotches, or paint this blank canvas with white made Thanos’ blood run hotly.

They're on the same wavelength, he thinks, as Myunggi begins to travel south, leaving a train of light, delicate kisses against Thanos’ abdomen, grazing over his belly button piercing then his happy trail. Fuck, he's so good. Thanos likes them just like this—all cute and dainty. He likes a total slut, yes, but he loves a slut that’s willing to pretend innocence. And Myunggi—bright, doe-eyed Myunggi—and the devastatingly beautiful slight pensive, melancholic frown of his lush lips—was more than perfect for the role.

Myunggi worms his way down further, now kneeling eye-level with Thanos’ crotch. He unzips Thanos’ jeans and peels them down, revealing a plaid, overly pitched tent. He gives Thanos one last look before burying his face into the bulge, mouthing Thanos through fabric. Thanos rolls his hips forward, biting his lip as he tries not to moan too loud over the music. Were the other vixens still there? Was everyone watching? He couldn't give less of a shit right now as he felt the tip of his length rub against the friction of fabric and Myunggi’s velvet tongue.

After a minute, Myunggi finally pulls away and lightly bites the hem of the boxers and drags them down. The sudden cool air was cathartic to Thanos.

Myunggi’s nimble fingers gently curl around Thanos, but he stills for a moment, his cozy breath lingering against Thanos. He stares at it with wide, curious eyes, considering it, studying it. Thanos twitches against the sleek, warm touch and hisses. Fuck, he should've known Myunggi was a tease. The pretty ones are always a tease. Thanos… he likes it. He likes the idea of it. He's worked hard for so many things in his life, and despite the record deals, the penthouse, the luxury cars, and designer clothes… the feeling of emptying himself down Myunggi’s long, humid throat and watching Myunggi’s wet, diligent eyes as he swallows every drop was the best reward he's dreamed of.

But—but: He likes the idea of it. Not the practice.

Fuck “working hard,” he needs Myunggi now. He bucks his hips forward, trying to get some movement, but Myunggi’s grip moves with him, canceling any friction.

“The fuck,” Thanos grunts, trying to catch his breath. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Just looking,” Myunggi says placidly, still eyeing the length in front of him. “Ah, hyung, you’re so thick.”

“I… I know,” Thanos reddens. He's been complimented plenty of times before about his size, but something about this… still—he says: “Quit fucking around or I’ll—”

Myunggi leans forward and purses his mouth above Thanos’ cock, the muscles of his cheeks flexing. In an instance, a thick drop of saliva hangs from Myunggi’s lips and slowly pools onto Thanos like honey, thick and steady, some of it dribbling on his chin. Once all of the spit falls on, Myunggi takes his hand and slickly rubs all along the length, coating Thanos’ cock in a sheen of his saliva.

Thanos bites into his knuckle, a muffled scream directed towards the night sky above. “God-fucking-dammit, MG Coin,” he pants. “Oh shit, oh shit.”

Myunggi’s face doesn't change. He doesn't respond to praise or degradation, his melancholic facade remains intact even with the spit-slick cock in front of him. He pressed a small peck to the tip. Twitch. He pressed another peck. Twitch. A third peck. Twitch. And then, a tiny flick of the tongue against Thanos’ slit, already leaking. Myunggi leans back, the bridge of pre-cum connecting to his bottom lip. Twitch, twitch, twitch.

Thanos isn't an idiot, he knows what's going on. Myunggi isn't just being a tease, he's challenging him. He wants Thanos to curse, to cry, to yell out in impatience. He wants to test how far he can go before he breaks Thanos.

And… well? This was the one time that Thanos was more than willing to lose.

He roughly palms the back of Myunggi’s head and forcefully pushes himself into Myunggi’s tiny mouth. Of course Myunggi’s mouth feels heavenly, but it's the faint, surprised whimper Myunggi squeaks out that jolts electricity throughout Thanos’ entire body, his eyelids fluttering and his face twisting as he groans loudly, not giving a shit anymore about the music or vixens or whoever. He could get arrested right now and he wouldn't have a single regret.

This is all he's ever wanted, to have Myunggi just like this, in his control, squirming under him, pushing in and out of him, taking care of him. Ever since that first day he laid eyes on that thumbnail, seeing those beautiful brown eyes, a gift from Heaven, this is all he's ever wanted. Those eyes looking up at him with tears, plump lips wrapped around him, cheeks hollowing as Myunggi swallowed him whole.

Myunggi was perfect. So, so perfect. He was too perfect, though. What Thanos hated the most was perfect. What he loved the most was destroying it.

He yanks tightly on Myunggi’s coils and pushes him even further, the responding whining and gagging from Myunggi sounded better than any song Thanos could even dream of. After a moment of struggling, Myunggi breaks free and pants for a short rest. Thanos sees the way his cheeks are crimson and stained with tears and feels he's earned it.

Not for too long, though. He bucks his hips forward and shoves himself back in. “You like the way I taste, baby?”

Myunggi nods, humming a faint “mhm”, the vibrations of his voice soaring through Thanos.

“Yeah,” Thanos sucks in a sharp breath, voice rasping as he guides Myunggi up and down his shaft. “Yeah you do. I know you fucking do.” He begins to speed up. “You think about me when you're doing your little videos?”

“Mhm,” Myunggi nods.

“Yeah,” Thanos groans, “you think about throating me when you're at your desk looking at all those numbers?”

Another nod.

“Oh, God— fuck,” Thanos grits. “That's all you can think about huh? Sucking my dick while you get your money? You're a prostitute,” he spits. “You're a cryptowhore. Say it,” he yanks on Myunggi’s hair, “Say you're a cryptowhore.”

Myunggi breaks away, his chest rising and falling laboriously. “I’m,” he breathes, voice small and frail, “I’m… I’m a cryptowhore.”

Thanos grins, a satisfied hum easing from his lips as Myunggi swallows him once more. Myunggi’s hands creep upwards, caressing Thanos’ sides, then settling on the V of his abdomen. Thanos’ free hand grabs Myunggi’s hand, holding on for dear life. “Say my name.”

He slips himself out for the answer, the bridge of spit building back. Myunggi takes a short breath. “Thanos.”

Thanos yanks his hair again, a high-pitched hiss escaping from Myunggi. “Wrong,” Thanos growls, low and brutish. His gaze darkens menacingly. “Say my name, cryptowhore.”

“It's… Thanos—”

Another yank. “Not…” Thanos breathes, “not that one.”

A beat passes and Thanos can see the lightbulb turn on in Myunggi’s face. Myunggi leans in closer to his cock, as if it was a microphone. “Su… bong?”

A wide, easy smile spreads across Thanos’ face. “Good boy,” he purrs, gently cupping Myunggi’s cheeks and stroking it with his thumb. He doesn't allow many people to call him his real name, but it just sounds so right coming from Myunggi’s mouth. It's as if he and Myunggi have known each other forever. It's almost difficult to remember a time that Thanos didn't know him.

As a reward, this time he doesn't force himself in, but rather lets Myunggi ease his way down, pace slow and steady. Thanos hates to admit how much better it feels. The sensual, sultry way Myunggi gazes at him while bobbing his head up and down at the leisurely place. “It's not a race,” Myunggi is saying with his eyes.

Thanos slinks his hands in Myunggi’s hair once more and pulls again, a violent force. “It’s a race now,” his abrasive fingers say. Whether you like it or not.

But Lee Myunggi? He's a cryptowhore. A slut. An angel-faced dirty slut that will like it.

Thanos picks up the pace again, Myunggi is now sputtering a sloppy, garbled mess all over his cock, his spit dribbling down the underside and hanging off Thanos’ balls. The sound tightens everything in Thanos, his abdomen clutching, his toes and fist curling, his jaw grinding and locking as the heat rises further and further, threatening to explode. He loses himself in the moment, slamming against Myunggi for everybody to watch and hear, song be damned. He pulls Myunggi back a second and spits directly in his face, the watery splash hitting Myunggi’s left eye and trickling down. Myunggi dives back in, gazing at Thanos with determination, one eye squeezed shut, the other side open. The yell Thanos bellows in the night air crackles.

“You're so fucking good at this,” he moans softly. “Ditch YouTube, do porn,” he breathes airy, and lightheaded. Myunggi hums into his dick and it brings him closer to the light. “Lee Myunggi, say my name.”

Myunggi, face-stained and marble-mouthed, hums, “Subong.”

“Say my name, baby.”

“Subong.”

Oh God, he's getting closer. He doesn't know whether to shoot inside Myunggi or paint Myunggi’s face.

“Say my name.”

“Subong.”

“Ah, ah—say my name.”

“Subong.”

“Say my name, cryptowhore.”

“Subong.”

“Say my fucking name, damn it.”

“Subong!”

All of Thanos’ muscles tense, he goes blind for a minute, bright colors flashing intensely in his vision. His entire body seizes, through grunting, yelling, panting, moans, groans, he wants the entirety of Seoul to hear him his scream, he wants the entirety of Seoul to hear him brand Myunggi, he wants the entirety of Seoul to hear him and him only as he—

Riiiiiiiiiiiiing.

Thanos’ eyes jolt open, sweat beading down his face. He sits up and blinks, rubbing his eyes once. Twice. He scans around and sees it's just his room. Not a music video. Not some dark alley in Hongdae surrounded by a giant ass car and a bunch of dancing, big-bosomed video vixens. Not surrounded by Myunggi.

He's just in his typical, regular, empty, boring ass room.

Aish.

After he thumbs his alarm off, he feels something warm and sticky pooling his crotch and quickly pulls off the cover.

“Aish,” he curses sharply, pulling out the box of tissues from underneath his bed. Aish.

xii.

Days go by and he tries to ignore it.

He doesn't think about it. He doesn't even name it. It will be its only name. In fact, it shouldn't even be called that because it shouldn't exist, both in reality and the deepest closet of his mind. Just by calling it “it” would dignify it into existence. So it's not even “it.” Stop fucking calling it “it.”

Times like this is when he wishes his memory really did suck. He wishes he really was a scatterbrained, useless skid mark of society (as told by his dad.) At least the skid marks wouldn't have to face this. But there's nothing to face, right? There's nothing to face.

That's why he tells Namgyu he's “holding off” on K, because there's nothing to face and he wants to “sober up.” Namgyu laughs in his face and he promptly swings a fist in Namgyu’s, but there's nothing to face. There Is Nothing To Face.

And because there's nothing to face, that's why he continues to watch MG Coin, because there's no reason not to. Thanos has actually taken a great liking to crypto, so why would he stop trading? MG Coin is a smart guy, he leads the way as always, which is why Thanos will continue watching his content, because there's no reason not to.

And because there's no reason not to watch MG Coin, that's why he's watching a video late at night in his room all alone in the dark, no light except for the streets of Hongdae and the blue screen that shows MG Coin’s pale face. His voice fills out the penthouse, satin and calm, talking about liquidation or some shit, Thanos doesn't know, he stopped listening five minutes ago.

Because there's Nothing To Face, that's why Thanos’ gaze flickers down to MG Coin’s lips as they always do, because there's no reason for him not to look. Those lips on his hands never happened. Those lips wrapped around his…

“Fuck,” he shakes his head.

It never happened. None of that happened, so it's not weird for him to look at those lips and mentally count every time MG Coin swipes his tongue at licks them, the same way he licked—

“Ugh,” Thanos shakes his head again.

And since none of that ever happened, it won't be weird for Thanos’ hand to travel down to his sweatpants and settle there. It's not weird at all. It's not weird how his hands slowly snake its way under the hem, resting on top of his boxers. He doesn't know why his boxers are so painful all of a sudden, but they're suffocating. A tight, warm uncomfortable feeling that he can't stand, and honestly who the fuck wants to be uncomfortable in their own home, right? That's why it's not weird when he peels his sweatpants off, his eyes still intently on the screen as the overhead fan air breezes against his bare thigh.

It's not weird, Thanos thinks. None of this is weird. It's not weird when his hand coils its way to his underwear and curls around his junk. Lots of guys do this when they're bored, it's no big deal.

And because it's no big deal, it doesn't matter when he slips his fingers inside the opening and a deep shudder rattled through his bones. MG Coin… MG Coin and that smooth, rich voice of his, is still talking, Thanos doesn't know what it's about, he can't really hear that well right now, but whatever MG Coin is talking about must be good, that's why Thanos keeps listening, yeah?

He continues watching MG Coin —because there's no reason not to, because there is nothing to face— while rubbing himself. Again, this is what men do. It's the same as when he'd watch a soccer game in his living room with his hands in his pants because it's just… comfortable. That's all. He likes to be comfortable when watching MG Coin.

And because he wants to be comfortable, it's not wrong when he fishes himself out of his boxers, spilling out of the opening like a snake from a jar. The way the cool air from above feels is amazing. Nothing wrong with any of this at all.

And because there's nothing wrong with any of this, that's why it's only right that he brings his hand to his face and spits into his palm, rubbing the saliva in then sliding back down to his crotch—because there's nothing to face, and there's no reason not to, and because it's not wrong to be comfortable. That's it. That's all.

The video continues on, Thanos watching intently at that… numbers in the background. He focuses on the chart hard. The graphs are rising really fucking fast. He hears a—sound effect? Like a groan, maybe? MG Coin’s never had that before. The numbers are starting to look rough, Thanos thinks the economy has been so bad, so dirty that bites his lip. His dart away from the charts and back to MG Coin himself, his eyes, his nose, his lips. He listens to how soft, how quiet, how sensual MG Coin’s voice is. It's so sleep-inducing that Thanos flutters his eyes shut for a moment, biting his knuckle as he blocks a yawn from coming out. He's getting close, really close to sleep. So fucking close. His vision is getting blurry, his eyes can't stay awake. He's almost there.

And then… And then…

By the time the video is over, Thanos finds himself looking down, the white trail spilling out all over his fingers, warm and runny.

He slams his laptop shut and throws it across the room, the device shattering into a million pieces as it hits the wall.

xiii.

Choi Subong is not gay.

Rappers aren't gay, they just aren't. If one of those skinny, wiry, fluffy-haired pop idols that cake themselves in bright makeup and twirl their hips everyday were gay, that would make sense, but rappers are not gay. You don't survive the streets of Seoul—not certain streets—by being gay. Frogs aren't reptiles, fish aren't mammals, birds aren't insects. It defies the law of nature, not being gay itself, but a rapper being gay. Is a samurai Korean? Is hwarang Japanese? Rappers just aren't gay.

And even if they were, Thanos isn't. He’s been with way too many women for that. Women whose names and faces he doesn't remember, women who've tried to extort him with a pregnancy scare, women who were some of the top models in the country at the time. He’s been with so many women that he can spot the users from the genuine, the ones who might be actually fans versus the ones who just want a shoutout and a couple hundred thousand won. Would a gay man threaten to overdose when his first girlfriend broke up with him? Hell no. Thanos isn't gay.

But then MG Coin… MG Coin… MG Fucking Coin.

Thanos isn’t gay, but he finds himself staring at MG Coin’s lips, counting how many times he licks them in a video and wonders how soft they are. Thanos isn't gay, but he finds himself absentmindedly tracing MG Coin’s face, taking note of each detail he can find through pixels. Thanos isn't gay, but he finds himself noting the way MG Coin’s voice lilts when he talks about profit, how sparkly his eyes get when he's behind that camera, helping thousands of lost souls reach their financial dreams.

Thanos isn't gay, he's just observant.

He observes how tight his chest gets every time he sees MG Coin smiles; how tight his throat gets when MG Coin jokes; how tight his pants get every time MG Coin smirks. He observes the ungodly amount of time he spends thinking about MG Coin even when he's not watching a video, or how pissed he was the few days that MG Coin doesn't upload a video.

He observes the way he goes to sleep not wishing for those dreams to reoccur, but he wouldn't be upset or anything if they did. He observes how he still doesn't quite know if those really were dreams.

He observes that low, guttural simmering at the bottom of his stomach that painfully reminds him that he's thirty-six, not sixteen.

He observes that MG Coin has a lot of feminine features, so it's okay. It's okay. The plump lips, round, glazed eyes, soft face, high voice. MG Coin sort of looks like a woman, so Thanos isn't gay. He's not. Never that.

Some random Friday, he opens up his (new) laptop to YouTube to watch the new Freefall Friday video, and Thanos observes the way he simply observes MG Coin—no—Lee Myunggi.

On a lively Hongdae Friday night where everyone finds themselves at the club, or the bar, or the lounge, or wherever there's vices and prices to be had, Thanos sits alone in his penthouse, his giant, empty, adorned penthouse, and observes Lee Myunggi.

At the end of the video, or the night, or the end of the fucking world, Thanos observes, certainly and ultimately—he’s at peace.

xiv.

Time passes by idly for Thanos. He still fights routinely with his label and manager-nim, he still goes out to the club and accepts free drinks from Namgyu as his mind floats away aimlessly, he still has the occasional phone call with his mother, sending her a considerable sum of won so she can live comfortably with her bills, he also calls his sister too, which always ends in an argument—he warns her to stop messing with that married lawyer, she warns him to stop “injecting poison into his blood” every day. All of it grows boring after a while, but it's okay, because Thanos has a new hobby. Not cryptocurrency, but rather…

Nowadays, MG Coin became Thanos’ source for everything: stocks, news, background noise, ASMR, porn, inspiration, consolation. He'd spend his free time searching Naver for any new information about MG Coin and his background, his story, his likes, his dislikes, what made MG Coin into MG Coin. Many people ask him to start a vlog channel, interested in his thoughts about topics other than crypto and the country’s economy, maybe wanting to see cozy little videos about his daily life and what's his favorite flavor of soju or the type of manhwa he's reading at the moment, and Thanos feels his soul dampen every time MG Coin rejects the idea.

Lee Myunggi just seems like such an interesting guy, the type you'd want to sit down and have a sip of makgeolli with and just shoot the shit, laughing endlessly as he regales some story about how he almost got hit by a car while drunk.

Thanos remembers standing outside the music store in the rain for his Cho PD record and seeing all the posters and merch for sale. It creeped him the fuck out. Why would girls, or anyone, for that matter, be so obsessed with one person? It's the main reason why he never got into religion despite his parents being devout Christians. Giving up your life to one guy that you don't know at all just sounded painful and stupid.

But then Thanos signed his record deal. He saw it. He saw the prints of his handsome ass face on posters, on billboards, on CDs, on magazines, and those little photocards. He saw the way women flocked to him, wanting to get with him. He saw the way men flocked to him, wanting to be him. The mobs, the praises, the paparazzi flashes. Thanos felt good. He made people feel good. So he gets it, he really does.

Still, there's that itch in the back of his mind, the one that reminds him that he's a thirty-six year old man, and a teenage girl in high school. He shouldn't be acting like this, it's not wrong but it's… it's fucking weird. If a fifty year old dude tried to message him every day, he'd be creeped out.

Oh, fuck. Is MG Coin creeped about him? Is Thanos the creep? Is he the weird fifty year old? Shit, it’s not like people can't like these idols and celebrities after a certain age. His sister went to a Super Junior concert a few years ago. Granted, he kept making fun of her for it, but it's not weird, he thinks.

It can't be.

xv.

“Your sister was an idol fan, right?” Thanos suddenly asks Namgyu one night, taking a bite of risotto. They're at an Italian restaurant, authentic and expensive, high in class, low in lighting. From fine wine, rich and dark, to the tall windows that show the nighttime bustle of the streets, to the hushed orchestra of strings in the background, there's an air of romance to the area.

But of course Namgyu, tacky, grungy Namgyu, and his fucking whalish appetite, have to pollute that air. “You're asking about my sister?” he asks, the bemused lilt of his voice pushing through a mouthful of panzerotti.

Thanos rolls his eyes. Having older sisters is the other thing he and Namgyu have in common. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” Namgyu swallows. “You actually remember my sister?”

“I wouldn't be asking if I didn't.”

“I’m shocked you remembered, that's all. I haven't even spoken to her in a while.”

Thanos hums. “They're weird like that.”

Namgyu cocks his head. “Why are you asking about her though?” He takes a sip of wine. “She's still seeing that doctor guy so—”

“Shut up,” Thanos groans. “Fuck’s sake, I can't just make conversation at dinner?”

“About my sister liking idols?”

“We've talked about stranger shit before,” Thanos points out. He remembers the story Namgyu told him about some article where a guy got electrocuted to death from taking a piss on an electrical wire. Maybe that's why they don't talk much during dinner. “It's like… getting to know more about you, y’know? Your biography. The Kim Namsu Story, a best-seller. The trials and tribulations of what makes you… you.”

It's hard to read in the restaurant lighting, but he thinks he can see Namgyu’s face brighten, an excited crinkle in his cheeks, his eyes curving upwards. “Well when you put it that way,” Namgyu smiles sheepishly, a slight bounce to his movement now. He gazes at the ceiling and considers an answer. “Ah, my sister… was basically a crazy bitch.”

Thanos almost chokes on his wine glass. He barks out a cough and strikes his chest with a fist. “Goddamn, Namsu,” he rasps. “I didn't know you didn't fuck with your sister like that.”

“No, it's not like that,” Namgyu replies. “Shit, that's how she’d say it.”

“Then how is she a crazy bitch?”

Namgyu leans back and looks down to the floor. “She was just so fucking annoying about it,” he tells. “At first she liked Super Junior but then she moved on to TVXQ. She had all of their posters and photo cards or whatever and would write those gross ass stories about the members fucking each other. It was so stupid.”

“Huh,” Thanos hums.

“She'd be on Cyworld all the time or in those internet forums talking about them throughout the whole night, it was so fucking weird,” Namgyu continues. “I remember she'd stand outside a record store after school waiting for their album to be released. So dumb.”

“No, it's not,” Thanos snaps. He sees Namgyu’s startled expression and calms down. “My fault, but that's not dumb it's called dedication.”

“Dedication to the wrong shit,” Namgyu snorts. “But then again she still became a nurse so it worked.”

“How the fuck does any of that make her crazy?”

“Oh, none of that does,” Namgyu answers blankly. “What does make her crazy is that she was one of those obsessed stalker fans. Uh, what was it, sasaeng?”

Thanos leans in with a sudden interest. “She was a sasaeng?”

“Mm,” Namgyu nods. “You ever watched that Reply 1997 drama? The one with the girl who likes H.O.T. and her teacher falls in love with her or whatever?”

“Do I fucking look like I would watch that?” Thanos glares blackly.

“Sorry,” Namgyu mutters, looking away. “But when I watched it, the lead reminded me of my sister. Going to the idol’s homes, getting into fist fights with other fans, sending them her hair and blood, all of that.”

“Holy shit,” Thanos breathes.

“Yeah,” Namgyu chuckles. “When I saw that video of that guy from TVXQ dragging the fan out of a taxi I called my sister and asked if it was her and she cursed the fuck out of me.” He laughs, soft and warm, but also kind of… sad. There's a wistful, nostalgic glint in his eye, one that Thanos has never seen before. Namgyu doesn't talk about his family much. Thanos doesn't usually ask, but still—

Still—Thanos muses out loud: “I wonder why I don't have a sasaeng.”

Namgyu raises an eyebrow. “Isn't that a good thing?”

“Shit, I guess,” Thanos mutters, rough bitterness spilling out. “But I’m me. I’m Thanos. I got six top-ten hits and all of my albums are certified gold, hell, I should have people obsessed with me.” He wilts in his seat with a slight scowl. “I should have weird bitches sending me their hair and blood or whatever.”

The table goes quiet for a moment until Thanos hears a harsh hiss coming from Namgyu. He looks up and sees Namgyu dropping off a black wisp to his side of the table.

Thanos stares at it, his face twisting. “The fuck is this?”

“My hair,” Namgyu answers casually. He takes the knife on the table and swiftly presses it to his wrist. “Now for the blood—”

“Ya,” Thanos reaches over and plucks the knife from his hand. “Quit fucking around, I'm not trying to get kicked out.”

There's an impish curve to Namgyu’s grin. “So if we weren't in some fancy restaurant you were gonna let me cut myself?”

Thanos scoffs. “You can do whatever you want when you pay.”

Namgyu considers it. “Fair enough,” he says before taking a sip from his glass of wine. “Still, I just don't get it.”

“Get what?”

“The way some fans act,” Namgyu says. “Do they really think they can fall in love with someone they've never met?” He snorts, loud, snobbish, and ugly. “Bunch of dumbasses.”

Thanos grabs his glass of wine and takes a sip, a long, long sip, hiding behind the pool of bordeaux. “Yeah,” he says into the glass, muffled. “Dumbasses.”