Chapter Text
Nam-gyu wanted to leave twice.
He forgot one -at least he thought he had- but the other clung to him with claws he couldn’t pry loose. His chest burned -or was it his head pounding? He couldn't decide which was worse. If he could, he'd have reached into his own chest and forced his frantic heart to stop, like the frail heart of a prey who’s run too far, too fast. He could taste the bitterness of the boiled potato they'd given him earlier creeping back up his throat. He wanted to throw up -but couldn’t.
Half of his face was hidden by his hair, the other half caught in the tattooed arms of his. He was shaking on the cold floor, too terrified to look at the gun aimed at his head. If he’d just gone to get that fucking necklace, he could’ve handled it all in five minutes. But all he could do was lay there like a pathetic, trembling in the crosshairs of some masked guard with a twitchy finger on the trigger.
He returned to that bed that wasn’t his -but he used it anyway. The absence of the necklace on his chest made his mouth twitch like there was a pill stuck between his teeth. Myung-gi -who couldn’t give less of a shit about their short-lived alliance -had already forgotten Nam-gyu even existed, or maybe just chose to. The guy stared blankly at the baby in the arms of his ex girlfriend who had given birth in the last round, like it meant nothing to him.
While Nam-gyu struggled through cold sweats and muscles locking in painful spasms, that piece of shit had already erased him. He collapsed onto the bed, trembling, tossing and turning. The scent of the previous owner still lingered in the sheets and pillow, filling his nose and tightening his throat. Everything about that dickhead clung to the bed. Nam-gyu's fragile ego was wrecked by even the smallest trace of him -but the necklace. That necklace was the only exception. But do exceptions break the rule? Of course not, Nam-gyu assumed.
He turned in bed restlessly, clutching the sheets with whitening knuckles. Withdrawals were hitting harder than ever. That arrogant son of a bitch, Thanos, had said he can't handle this. But Nam-gyu has kept going pretty well, hasn’t he? It was Thanos who was pathetic -he couldn’t handle it like Nam-gyu did. He was weak. That’s why he only took one pill at a time.
And stingy, too -if he gave a damn about his “friend,” his “boy,” he would’ve offered more. Would’ve asked if he needed extra to stay calm. But what he excelled at most was using Nam-gyu like his personal bodyguard -someone to lean his arm on while standing, a lackey to keep some asshole upright just so he could throw his punches more easily.
And yet, what truly rattled Nam-gyu to the core was Thanos’s attention -fake, or worse, maybe real -toward that freak Minsu, even though the moron hadn’t done a single one of those things for him. Thanos never once bothered to even try remembering Nam-gyu’s damn name correctly. But the moment that spineless sewer rat tried to scurry past them with his head down and hurried steps, Thanos would abruptly cut off the breathless banter he’d just been having with Nam-gyu -in his own bed, no less -and reel the pathetic loser in, wrapping him in those dazzling, colorful webs of his.
The same colored webs had once wrapped around Nam-gyu as well.
But the only difference between him and Minsu was that his entanglement had been willing -consensual. It wasn’t like he had accidentally stumbled into the trap of a wild spider, left there like some helpless insect awaiting its inevitable death. No -he had been invited. As if the invitation had come from within the cocoon itself -from a caterpillar already curled inside, waiting to become a butterfly in the most breathtaking shades of purple. He wasn’t caught, he was chosen.
When Thanos curled the ends of Nam-gyu’s hair between his brightly painted nails, the club’s flashing neon lights would make sure no one else really saw what was happening. And sometimes, when a friend left the couch, Thanos would beckon Nam-gyu over with a lazy, practiced motion -like he knew he would come and Nam-gyu always did.
When Nam-gyu sat beside him, Thanos would stare at him -really stare -with those damn big brown eyes, like he was trying to burn a hole straight through him. Like he was searching for something he hadn't yet decided to want. Like his whole chest was full of words just banging against his ribs trying to get out. His big brown eyes would linger too long, and Nam-gyu feel that awful twist in his stomach again -hope. Raw, stupid, traitorous hope.
And then, just as quickly, Thanos would break the moment -every single time. He’d tug at his collar like it was choking him, lean toward the nearest girl -some over-perfumed bottle blonde -and whispered God-knows-what into her ear, making her laugh like a fucking idiot. Then he’d start talking -about random shit: the club scene, his latest obsessions, a new tattoo idea that hadn’t left his mind in days. And sometimes, in the middle of it, he’d glance at the tattoos on Nam-gyu’s arms and mutter a compliment and trying to make it look like it didn’t mean anything.
Nam-gyu had way too much fucking time to think about those looks. That expectant kind of silence in Thanos’s eyes, like there was something caught between his teeth he just couldn’t spit out. Or maybe Thanos was just high again. Maybe all he gave a shit about was testing new drugs or waiting on the free drinks Nam-gyu always brought.
But then he'd offer him his vape, whispering softly, "Yo, Nam-su catch it," with a big, stupid grin on his face.
Just a flick of his wrist, like here, take it, like that half-second of skin on skin meant absolutely fucking nothing. And yet -every single time -Nam-gyu would feel it. That flicker of maybe. Maybe tonight. Maybe this look would finally fucking mean something.
But Thanos would just inhale again, eyes drifting away, and Nam-gyu would sit there, next to him, trying to chat with others, acting all nonchalant but heart clenching in silence. Just a warm body Thanos let orbit him. Close enough to feel the burn never close enough to touch the flame. And Nam-gyu would believe -every fucking time -that if he just leaned in a little more, something might finally change.
But Nam-gyu knew better. Thanos never came all the way. Always a little short. Always half a step back. Always half.
And that little fuck kept messing with him like it was a joke. Acting all sweet one minute, then turning cold like he didn’t give a shit the next. Playing with his head just for fun, like it was some sick-ass game he never planned to end. Fucking clown thought he was in control the whole damn time.
After a while, when voting time came up Nam-gyu’s mind was a fucking mess, spiraling in circles as he tried to make sense of the game’s two damn choices -simple on paper, but tearing him up inside. Two simple options glared back at him. Stay, or get the hell out. Above his head, the promise of 45.6 billion won shone like a goddamn beacon, practically screaming his name. Just two fucking games left. Two. He’s made it this far without slipping once, and the money piled up in the pot so far -while not exactly trash -was still pocket change compared to what waited at the end. Honestly, after all this bullshit, walking away now would be fucking pathetic.
And yet he fucking hesitated.
Just because he’s breezed through the previous rounds like pulling a thread from soft butter didn’t mean the same luck would carry him now. Not anymore. Not without him -necklace. Without that fire. Nam-gyu was nothing -weak, incomplete, useless. And now, with the drug haze thinned already, reality came crawling back: every round had only gotten sicker, crueler. Whatever the next game was, he didn't want to imagine it.
₩1,724,000,000 per person. That's what it was down to now. Nam-gyu’s own debt hovered somewhere past 300 million won, but he hadn’t set a specific amount as his exit point. The only reason he hadn’t bailed earlier was because someone else -someone who actually needed that billion -had moved him. He’d promised he’d only hit X once Thanos did too. It was a pact. Made just yesterday during the last vote.
He had somehow gotten that pathetic fuckass excuse for a man Minsu to press O with him and Thanos. Of course, the coward couldn’t hold his nerve for shit and turned on them like the gutless worm he was. That little shit was probably lurking in the back now, watching Nam-gyu wrestle with his demons in front of the buttons -hiding, biding his time.
You’re fucking done, man. Can’t even stand straight. Who the fuck are you kidding? You ain't shit without him- necklace. Just press X. Take the money. Get the fuck out before they zip you up like yesterday’s trash.
Nam-gyu tried to silence the venomous voice slithering through his head. He took deep breaths, shook his head violently side to side. And then it hit him -hard. A cruel, undeniable truth clawed at his chest: he didn’t want to die. Fuck no. Not now. Not like this. Not at this age. If he’d wanted to die, he could’ve just overdosed -gotten high as fuck and vanished quietly. He’d done it once, too. But that hadn’t been a real attempt. Just… things getting out of control. Off the rails.
But this? This circus of death disguised as a kids’ show? This wasn't how he wanted go. Fuck no. Nam-gyu had never realized how much he wanted to fucking live until that exact second. Desperately. Like a candle choking on its last gasp. Like a dying flashlight flickering against the dark. Still crawling toward life like it owed him a damn explanation.
His trembling hands clawed at his neck. He slapped his face to keep his eyes open. Ran his fingers through his hair. The last thing he should’ve given a damn about was the crowd behind him, but he still felt their smug, scorching stares on his back, their judgment burning deeper than anything else. The tension inside him built like static, his nerves fried beyond reason.
Nam-gyu considered leaving twice, but he seriously thought about voting the X only once -right after the first round -because the next time, the pills he had taken in a hysterical state didn’t leave him enough time for his grief and fear-filled thoughts to push him toward deciding to vote the X. But back then, Thanos had been there, smiling and unshakable. He’d encouraged Nam-gyu to keep going, swore he’d look out for him, cracked a few dumb jokes. Nam-gyu hadn’t even been high then. The edge was still there, sharp as ever. His head still clear, his mind still his own. And Thanos made it sound so simple.
"Listen up, my boy Namsu. You and me? We’re not exactly glued, but we’re damn close, right? And that 45.6 billion won prize is ours only if we don’t break. So don’t even think twice. Stick with me, stay focused and we’ll stack that cash and live like straight-up money bosses, alright?"
Thanos’s voice echoed in his skull, too vivid, too real. He wanted to hear that voice again. And how he hated admitting it he wanted to believe in it again. Just for a second. Just one more time.
When Nam-gyu’s trembling fingers finally tapped the X, he expected the same familiar blue light he’d seen before.
Instead, red.
Blinding, punishing red washed over his face, searing his eyes. He hissed a sharp breath, eyes stinging, then glanced at the vote count. His feet moved on their own, carrying him away from his usual side among the winners -but across the dorm to a new vantage point. The side that felt wrong. He used to smirk at the cockroachs who stood on this side -the cowards, the quitters, the spineless. But now he stood with them, and he could feel their fear clawing at him like a second skin. The deck has flipped on him. The game has flipped on him. He saw that now. He was the one with no cards left, just making one last doomed move before folding.
Nam-gyu knew he wasn’t getting out of here. Ever since that cracked psycho 456 had rallied the idiots into rebellion, the O’s had gained the upper hand. They’d won the vote by a landslide. Even if every one of those assholes had made enough money to wipe their debts clean, none of them were backing down now. Not one. Not after tasting this sick power. Nam-gyu’s vote was the exception. But do exceptions break the rule? Could an exception change anything? Could it reverse the tide? Could it save him?
No.
He'd hit X knowing damn well he's going to lose. He was desperate. He was terrified. His chest burned with the shame of a defeat he’d always known was coming. But still, he'd hit it. And that meant something.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Cold sweat soaked through Nam-gyu’s hoodie, and he peeled it off with trembling fingers. His hands slid down to his shaking legs, pressing down as if he could quiet the tremors, even punching them a few times in frustration. He hugged his knees to his chest, as if they were the only thing holding him together anymore. Then his hands moved up, fingers tangling into his messy hair, as if trying to disappear inside himself.
His lips and mouth were cracked dry like a desert, left wretched and desperate in the absence of those tiny chemical pills. Every swallow felt like it was tearing through his throat. He took a shaky, deep breath, “Fuck, fuck -what the hell am I supposed to do now? What the fuck am I supposed to -fuck,”
The words didn’t just echo in his head -they clawed at his skull, over and over, louder each time. His blood-crusted fingers trembled as they gripped his hair, pulling like he could rip the panic out by force. His legs twitched, itching to kick something, but the cramps wouldn't let him. Every murmur from the players around him, even the faintest sound, reverberated inside his skull like someone had shoved a speaker into his brain. It felt like his mind was about to leak out through his ears.
Tangled in the sheets from all his thrashing, it was like the bed had shackled him down -like the fabric had turned into a pair of hands trying to pin him in place. Tattooed hands. With painted nails. Were they trying to comfort him, to soothe the pain by holding him close? Or were they just trapping him, making sure he couldn’t move, couldn’t escape, so the agony could feast on him undisturbed? Nam-gyu couldn’t tell anymore.
After a few failed attempts, he managed to grabbed his sweater from the corner of the bed, shoved his arms through the sleeves with clumsy desperation, and forced himself up -because if he stayed there any longer, the marching band in his brain was going to kill him. Brushing his hair out of his face with his forearm, he staggered toward the guards posted at the door.
The moment they recognized the same problematic player approaching, one of them tightened his grip on his weapon, stepping forward to block the path. But just as the gun began to rise, Nam-gyu’s voice cut in, sharp and cracking,
"Hey -no, no, listen! Just -just listen," he raised his hands helplessly as a sign of surrender, "I’m not trying to cause any shit, I just need to use the bathroom, alright? Real quick, five minutes, tops. It's urgent, please."
He blinked his bloodshot eyes hard, forcing them open just enough to look at the guard for a few times, then held up his five fingers like proof -as if showing how urgent it was might make it more real. Nam-gyu couldn’t see it behind the mask, but he felt it -that look of disgust oozing from the red asshole’s whole body. Back at the club, the shitty club owner with those same pitying eyes, losing his patience on those slow nights when the place was dead, would yell in his face, “What’s your fucking problem? Slowing down like a damn snail? Got nothing better to do with your useless ass? Maybe I should just put you on a leash and make sure you actually work for once.”
Not that he wasn’t used to those damn pitying eyes. Hell, he’d seen that bullshit look more times than he could count. But if things had been different, if he wasn’t so damn trapped in that fucked-up mess, Nam-gyu might’ve emptied that bastard’s gun right into his chest just for looking at him like that.
After a few seconds that dragged like hours, the guard stepped aside and opened the door. Nam-gyu slipped out without a second thought, the guard’s gaze burning into his back for just a few moments longer.
He burst through the pink door like a grenade had gone off behind him, stumbling into the bathroom. His vision swam -blurred and useless -until he blinked hard. The nearest stall sharpened just in time for him to lurch forward, barely keeping himself upright. There was no chance in hell he’d waste a second locking the door. He dropped to his knees and fucking emptied himself into the toilet. His stomach clenched like it wanted to tear itself apart. Air tore from his lungs, his throat burned, and tears poured down his face -hot, involuntary, and humiliating. His hair stuck to his sweat-slicked skin like it was mocking him, suffocating him with every breath. At least it hadn’t gotten in the mess, small fucking miracles.
He kept puking. Each wave slammed into him like his body was trying to eject his soul. His hands were shaking like hell, legs twitching under him. He was freezing, soaked in sweat, and burning from the inside out. When his body finally gave him a break, he slid down to the floor, spine hitting the cold pink wall behind him. He sat there coughing, wheezing, barely able to breathe -like he’d just been dragged out of a fucking lake face-first. With trembling hands, Nam-gyu pushed his hair back and rubbed at his eyes, trying to wipe away the tears. The puking had helped. Kind of. He didn’t feel better -just less like he was about to die on the floor of a piss-smelling stall. Eventually, he forced himself up. Flushed. Stumbled out.
The world tilted the moment he stepped forward. The ground felt like it was fucking floating. He paused, bent down, waited for the spin to slow before dragging himself to the sinks. He splashed cold water on his face -sharp, biting, the kind of real that hurt. Then turned it off. His hands gripped the edge of the sink like it was the last solid thing in the world. Head down. Breath ragged. Soaked in sweat and fear. And for a long, brutal moment, he just stood there -fucked up, drenched, and still tasting acid in his mouth -like if he stayed still long enough, maybe the world would finally stop kicking him while he was down.
But suddenly a sly, venomous fog fucking slithered into his head -like it owned the place, like it had just been waiting for a weak moment to strike. It coiled around his chest, choking him slow, poisoning everything it touched. And before he could even stop himself, Nam-gyu turned his head like his body was dragging him back whether he liked it or not. His eyes landed on the white tiles in front of the pink stall. Too fucking clean. Too white. Too perfect. As if nothing had happened.
But he knew. It hadn’t even been a full goddamn day. Just last night. That fucking asshole Thanos had been lying right there. Sprawled out like a broken doll, blood gushing out of him like the floor was trying to drink it. That shit had spread fast -slick and dark, soaking into the tiles like the room itself was complicit. Nam-gyu still felt his blood, under his hands. Same bathroom. Same fucking pink. Same air trying to pretend it didn’t reek of death. Nam-gyu wasn’t the same anymore though.
The memory hit like a punch to the chest, no warning, no mercy. He felt again the weight of that moment, collapsing beside Thanos, knees shattering the quiet with every hard hit against the cold floor. Their shoulders met -a fleeting touch, a whisper of life in the stillness. He’s still warm, he thought. But warmth is a ghost now, fading slow into the void -swallowed whole by silence, leaving only the hollow ache of what once was.
His body trembled. His jaw clenched. His eyes burned so bad it felt like they might fucking melt -and he hated it. Nam-gyu hated that the tears said everything he couldn’t bring himself to. Like grief had cracked his ribs open and reached in with both hands. His tears spilled out in silence, exposing every crack he tried to hide ever since Thanos died. Each drop was a confession, a weakness he refused to own, yet couldn’t stop betraying. No matter how hard he clenched his fists or shut his mouth, the truth slipped through. Last night, Nam-gyu had looked into those big brown eyes one last time -eyes that couldn't even looking at him anymore, that never would again. Those purple strands of Thanos' hair had shimmered one final time before dimming for good, catching the light like they always did, like they’d been made to shine even in death.
And the blood… Oh, the blood.
It even had soaked deep into Thanos’s nails. Those dumb, fucking colorful nails. Red smeared all over them like someone had spit on the very idea of happiness. That was the moment Nam-gyu stopped being whole. Not shattered -no, that would've implied he had enough left to break. This was different. This was silence swallowing him from the inside out, a slow freeze that started in his chest and didn’t stop until even his thoughts felt numb. That blood under Thanos’s nails and mouth wasn’t just blood. It was a quiet verdict. A sentence passed. A cold reminder that he was too late, too small, too fucking useless to stop any of it. No screams, no cries -just the unbearable stillness of failure hanging in the air like smoke.
And in that stillness, time didn’t move. It just… lingered. Mocking him. The warmth was gone. Not just Thanos’s -but his own. Stripped down from him like the fucking world had taken a breath, decided he wasn’t worth the fight, and exhaled without him.
When the tears started to sting like fucking shards of glass drilling into his eyeballs, Nam-gyu clenched his lids shut with a hiss, jaw tight, then snapped his gaze back to the sink. This time, his bloodshot eyes locked onto the pathetic mess staring back from the mirror. Nothing but a corpse on legs anymore. Greasy hair slicked tight, lips cracked like old weathered scars, eyes heavy and half-closed, black shadows blooming beneath like bruises carved deep into his skin, throat twitching with dry swallows, hands shaking like a beaten dog about to snap. He looked like shit. Like human fucking garbage tossed onto the curb.
With whatever flicker of strength he had left, he muttered a half-dead “fuck you” at the mirror, voice cracking like it hated him too. His glare slid down to the crusted blood he’d scraped off his face, now flaking across his shirt like some badge of madness. How long has he been stumbling around looking like a butchered freak? Nam-gyu wiped at the stains, as if his hand could erase the chaos bleeding through the cotton. Then it drifted to the back of his neck, fingers digging into the sweat-matted hair, before falling limply back onto the cracked edge of the sink.
His own reflection made him sick. It didn’t just piss him off—it made him feel. And that was worse. His eyes dropped to his chest. There should’ve been a cross swinging there. Wasn’t that fucking thing supposed to belong to someone else? Someone with purple hair and stupidest grin, almost cute, sometimes? Hadn’t he ripped the necklace off of him, greedy as hell, like it was his fucking birthright? Whatever. Fuck it. That damn necklace -and the shit inside it -was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He needed it more than he needed the oxygen.
Weary and broken, Nam-gyu lifted his trembling hand toward the faucet, dragging it as though it weighed a thousand tons. He turned the handle, and as the water cascaded down in a crystalline stream, he cupped his palms beneath it, waiting for them to fill, desperate for the fragile mercy of something so simple, so ordinary as a sip of water. Yet just as the liquid began to pool, a sudden intrusion shattered the fragile moment -a pair of fingers snapped the faucet shut with merciless precision, jolting Nam-gyu as though struck by lightning.
The sharp interruption froze him in place, terror widening his eyes. His gaze snapped upward, and in that breathless instant, he found himself staring at someone he had thought he wouldn't see again-someone who, impossibly, stood there in the flesh and the water he had gathered spilled uselessly through his fingers, dripping onto the tiles. Thanos. Alive. Real. Or at least, real enough to tear the ground from beneath Nam-gyu’s sanity.
But Thanos’s piercing eyes weren’t even focused on him. Instead, they were locked on the crimson patch that stained Nam-gyu’s chest. With a deep, guttural exhale, his brows knitted, his expression darkened, and his chest rose and fell as if with a suppressed fury. Nam-gyu had no time to adjust, no second chance to absorb the horror unraveling before him, before the same hand that had cut off his water seized the patch on his chest and tugged it with a ruthless, dismissive violence. His eyes then cut to Nam-gyu’s, sharp, unflinching, venomous. “Nice patch, you fucking traitor,”
“Think you can just take a whole shower after the shit you pulled?” Thanos sneered, his eyes flickering between Nam-gyu and the patch he still held with contempt. “You seriously tried to get out of here?” His grip only faltered when Nam-gyu managed to smacked his hand away, but even then he simply leaned back against the mirror, tilting his head until it rested lazily against the mirror, as though comfort was his birthright, as though the bathroom were his throne. He continued with venom wrapped in casualness, “What were you gonna do with 1.7 billion? That’s not enough money to cover our debts. Or at the very least, you could use it to clear what I owe to my mom. Seems fair, right? I mean, as your so-called friend, I deserve that much, don’t I?"
Tilting his head to the side "Plus,” he added, lifting his hand to make a dismissive, accusing gesture that cut off the words struggling on Nam-gyu’s lips, “If I could... I’d want compensation for the emotional and physical damage your lying ass did,"
After a pause his eyes glinted cruelly as he pressed his fingers to his own throat, face contorting into a mask of mock agony. With grotesque theatrics, he mimed blood spurting from his neck, groaning, wincing, “When you yanked that fork out, shit hurt worse than when that bastard shoved it in," and added with a bitter laugh, "I was shaking like crazy from the pain, man. Fuck, never thought you’d actually go through with that.”
Nam-gyu felt as if boiling water had been poured over his skull. He froze -unable to move his mouth, unable to lift his hands, unable even to summon the strength to curse. Every neuron in his brain mutinied, refusing to work, collapsing under the overwhelming weight of the sight before him. It wasn’t possible. Couldn’t be real. He knew it with every rational scrap of thought he had left. And yet Thanos stood there, as undeniable as gravity, as real as breath, and Nam-gyu’s body ached with the reality of him.His eyes, alight with sparks, seemed to scream my heart still beats. His voice, bursting from an unmarred throat, rang with a vitality that declared air still fills my lungs. His hair gleamed beneath the bathroom light as though mocking death itself, whispering seductively into Nam-gyu’s mind, I’m still here, more alive than I’ve ever been.
Nam-gyu’s skull throbbed, his thoughts crashing against themselves like waves in a storm. His ears rang, his heartbeat slowed, and time itself fractured like a broken cassette tape, caught on repeat. He tried to avert his eyes, to dismiss Thanos as illusion, but his gaze was shackled. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t turn his back, couldn’t muster the courage to stand against or the cowardice to retreat. He was stranded -caught in the limbo between truth and falsehood, longing and loathing, guilt and fury.
His trembling hands dropped helplessly to his sides. It’s not real. That bastard is fucking with your mind. You’re losing it. It’s not fucking real. His breath tore out of him in harsh exhales as he tried to ground himself, but when Thanos looked at him with that knowing, predatory gleam -as though he could read his very thoughts -it was like claws sinking into the marrow of his bones. Thanos bore the cruel poise of a predator playing with its prey, savoring the terror before the kill, like a cheetah toying with a cornered deer, or a fisherman dangling a lure concealing a razor hook, watching the fish writhe.
And Nam-gyu hated -hated with every ounce of stubbornness in him -that he was the weak one here, the prey. If only those little pills were coursing through his system, he might’ve had the fortitude to fight back, to stay grounded. But naked against the piercing storm of Thanos’s gaze, every second was another lash against his sanity.
He knew the rational choice was to ignore this phantom. But since when had Nam-gyu ever been rational? When two of them entered the bathroom and only one emerged, he wasn’t rational as he cursed Thanos between salt-stained tears. Or Thanos’ killer, the bastard Myung-gi -the one who was the main reason both of them were even here -while Nam-gyu treating him like they’d been old friends for years, told him how fucking “amazing” it was when he stabbed his purple-haired hyung in the throat with a fork to get him to accept his damn alliance offer, pretending the act was some kind of strategy, he was not rational. It was plain as day that he wasn’t rational at all.
No -Nam-gyu had never been rational, and yet he still clung to the illusion of control, the ragged strings of the puppet he refused to release.
Thanos folded his arms across his chest again, but then lazily broke the pose, extending his hand until two fingers flicked against Nam-gyu’s forehead. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re stuck in these games,” He drew his hand back to his chest and smiled, cruel but amused.
“Don’t look at me like that, Nam-su. You’re creeping me out. You’re not going anywhere, and I’m just telling you to brace yourself," He stopped for a moment to lazily study Nam-gyu's face and continued with a half grin, "Hell, maybe you’ll get lucky, and they’ll let you team up with those coward scammer bastards again.”
“Dickhead, you don't know shit," Nam-gyu’s reply came out harsher than he intended. "If you were in my place, you would’ve done the same for damn sure," his own voice startling him, though he masked it with anger, "You always need a fucking right-hand man, a goddamn lackey at your side, especially in a game like this. Don’t you fucking lie to me,”
He wasn’t even sure what he was furious at -the hallucination itself, the accusation of betrayal, the fact that Thanos had dragged words out of him at all, or the unbearable weight of realizing he’d disappointed him. Whatever it was, it boiled in his blood.
Thanos mused, “Oh, if I were in your place, huh?” brows knitting as his eyes drifted upward to the bathroom ceiling, as though entertaining the thought with theatrical patience. “ Hmm… I mean, if the one who got a fork jammed into his throat by that bastard had been Namsu instead…”
His mispronunciation made Nam-gyu grit his teeth, resisting the urge to correct him, desperate instead to hear where this shit was going.
Thanos’s eyes snapped back to his, his lips parting, deliberate and heavy with meaning, “Ah, no. Not a chance, man," he looked quite offended at the thought. "I wouldn’t have been that low. Wouldn’t just let my boy’s blood spill and then act like a traitor. If that prick had killed you," He raised his voice progressively and eyebrows curling up with concern while his eyes darting between Nam-gyu's, "If he’d torn his buddy away from the Legendary Thanos, I’d have made him pay back every fucking bit of it, with interest. An eye for an eye."
The threat, spat with venom, hit Nam-gyu like a strike across the face. That last English phrase lingered in Nam-gyu’s mind like a fog. It wasn’t in his active vocabulary -it remained an untranslatable question mark, but it was nonetheless heavy with menace.
“You’re the traitor, you damn pig. Don’t you get it through your thick skull?" Nam-gyu involuntarily practically shouted, spitting out his words in a rush of self-defense, finding the accusations against him utterly unfair, "You think I teamed up for fun? He was strong, for fuck's sake,"
His mouth opened and closed, his eyes darting rapidly between Thanos', as he fumbled for words that could make his actions seem even remotely reasonable, each syllable slipping away before he could grasp it, "and I used him for my own advantage,” Nam-gyu’s voice lowered, cracking at first but growing louder, more frantic.
But the words that clung to him weren’t the accusations, weren’t the venom. It was the confession, buried in the threat. If that prick had killed you, if he’d torn his buddy away from the Legendary Thanos, I’d have made him pay back every fucking bit of it.
Nam-gyu chose, for a fleeting moment, to hear the indirect, unfair insults directed at him and not to trust in Thanos’s honesty, allowing himself to soften, even though what he had just heard seemed almost impossible to believe. Yet, when those words fell from Thanos’s mouth like seals into the air, the part of Nam-gyu that longed to believe him weighed so heavily that his eyes, which until that moment had been sharp and piercing like bullets, softened for an instant.
The words didn’t sound carefully picked, like sorting grains of rice; they weren’t hollow sentences spoken out of obligation or necessity to avoid causing offense. They were honest and pure, a glimpse of Thanos’ very essence, a confession stripped down to his most sincere, genuine, and heartfelt thoughts. And Nam-gyu wanted to believe he didn’t need a hypothetical scenario in which he had to die instead of Thanos in order to believe what he just said.
But then, his inner voice spat like acid, Nam-gyu, you crazy fuck, are you seriously trying to comfort yourself by believing your own hallucination? Quit acting like a pathetic, helpless freak before you lose it completely.
“Wow! Such a brilliant fucking strategy, dude,” Thanos burst out, clapping a few sharp echoing beats, his hands meeting with the shallow enthusiasm of a cheerleader at her boyfriend’s high school soccer match, celebrating a goal like it was the climax of her universe. His lips curled with playful approval as he delivered the punchline, “You’ve got a hell of a brain on you,” and with that, he slapped Nam-gyu’s shoulder a couple of times in a mock-friendly fashion.
Nam-gyu caught off guard, stumbled slightly under the blow, masking his unexplainable embarrassment beneath a hardened expression, trying desperately to bury the vulnerability rising in his chest. Yet even through the fabric of his cardigan, the warmth of Thanos’s hand seeped into his skin like a fever, sending a shiver racing up his spine. Compared to the last time he had truly touched Thanos, this fleeting contact was searing -hotter, sharper, almost unbearable. And then, like a fool, Nam-gyu found himself briefly longing -longing to lean into that heat, to press his trembling body against Thanos’s and steal warmth he had no right to crave.
His shoulder throbbed where Thanos’s hand had been, aching as if branded by that phantom warmth, his eyes trailing the retreat of Thanos’s hand until it returned to its former position. And as soon as he realized the indecent thoughts running rampant in his head, shame tore through him, folding him inward. He swallowed the humiliation like a bitter pill and allowed the wild, raw temper that always lurked within him to surge back up and devour the shame. But Thanos, with his taunting tongue, ensured that fragile shield did not last long.
“Ever been to the theater, bro? Or thought about acting? Stand-up comedy, maybe?” Thanos asked, adopting a mock-serious tone, “Those gigs can make serious money. I know from my wide circle -hell, if you’re good, you’ll make more than you ever did as a club promoter.” He punctuated the jab with a wink, clearly savoring the way Nam-gyu wrinkled his nose in confusion. Like some sleazy street vendor overselling his wares, Thanos piled it on, “You’ve got hidden talent, my boy. Forget gestures -you even nailed my voice tone, hit the octave just right. No wonder that asshole scammer thought I’d possessed you.” Spreading his arms theatrically, he narrowed his eyes, pointing directly at Nam-gyu with an almost reverent finger. “You know what they say: don’t deny a man his due, even if you’ve killed him.”
But Nam-gyu’s patience cracked. Grabbing at the outstretched finger with violent intent, he snarled, his voice a weapon, “Does this look funny to you, you fucking son of a bitch?” And when Thanos’s face twisted with a grimace of genuine pain, when his groans escaped between his teeth, Nam-gyu’s rage only ignited hotter. “Did you enjoy it, huh? Watching like some perverted creep? Did you fucking like that-?”
"Hey -hey, alright, alright, chill! I was only joking, really, calm the fuck down!" Thanos choked out, gripping Nam-gyu's arm painfully with his other hand. "Come on, let go, man, I’m sorry, seriously."
Nam-gyu, eyes glinting cruelly, held on for a few precious seconds longer, savoring the contorted mask of pain stretched across Thanos’s face. And then, reluctantly, his grip faltered and released. He expected to feel crushed, defeated, for letting go, for yielding to a flimsy apology. But instead, something inexplicable bloomed within him -some forbidden warmth that spread like fire across his chest. He had forced an apology out of Thanos. Forced him to yield, even if only for a moment. And though it was hollow, though it came from pain, though it meant almost nothing -Nam-gyu felt the strange, guilty sweetness of victory.
His chest ached, his thoughts blurred, and everything outside of Thanos dissolved into static. His eyes locked onto him as the purple-haired boy nursed his injured finger, blowing and rubbing it with a mixture of irritation and worry. And Nam-gyu thought bitterly -thought of every time Thanos had mispronounced his name, every time he had carved new wounds into him with careless syllables, never once sparing him even a half-hearted “Sorry, bro, my mistake.” No. Thanos never gave him that much. Instead, he layered fresh mispronunciations on top of old ones like salt on an open wound. And yet, only now, after death, even with reasons skewed and motivations twisted, had Nam-gyu finally forced a single apology out of him.
It felt too late. He had no idea what exactly he was late for, but the weight of lateness crushed him nonetheless. The regret wasn’t his to bear, not truly -it was Thanos’s. Thanos should have begged for forgiveness countless times. Thanos should have confessed guilt, admitted fault, apologized for the neglect, the cruelty, the indifference. For choosing Min-su’s company over his. For treating Nam-gyu like some replaceable pawn when he should have been cherished, valued, placed on a pedestal. And yet here was Nam-gyu, shaken to his core by a single forced “sorry” born out of pain. He knew better. He knew that apology was meaningless, that it wasn’t the one that mattered. And yet he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t stop the way it settled in his heart like stolen treasure, like the one thing he had always deserved but never been given. He wanted more. He wanted compensation for every fractured moment, every chance stolen by fate.
Not just apologies, but restitution for every ruined second, for every possibility crushed before it could bloom. He wanted to fix not only Thanos’s wrongs, but his own too -every swallowed word, every silenced confession, every diverted gaze, every trembling hand that had reached out only to retreat. He realized, too late, that he had always waited for Thanos to change things, to be the one to move. But hadn't Nam-gyu made himself clear enough? Words weren’t always necessary -sometimes it was the touches, the stolen glances, the tiny gestures, the free drinks, the pills washed down between locked eyes. That should have been enough for someone willing to understand. But was Nam-gyu ever that easy to understand? Could anyone have read him properly? Could Thanos? Judging by his mocking tone, by his cruel laughter, it seems like he couldn't.
If Su-bong were really here, would he be mocking me like this?
Su-bong. What a strange name to call him now. Nam-gyu rarely said it aloud, reserving it for the rare, private moments they shared. Just thinking of speaking it again now made his heart race. He always preferred to call him “hyung,” though in truth, he adored both. Each name -each way of speaking- felt deliberate, charged, like a melody only his voice could unlock. But Thanos? He had never even bothered to pronounce Nam-gyu’s name correctly. Not once. He had ignored every correction, slicing him apart with his indifference. And here Nam-gyu was, still harboring such thoughts, still holding on to such tenderness. Pathetic. So fucking pathetic he could barely stand himself.
Nam-gyu swallowed hard, fighting the knot in his throat. Thanos turned his head toward him, whining like a scolded child caught by his mother. “You’re getting all sentimental, man. You think it’s got something to do with me, huh?” He forced a crooked, bitter half-smile, adding in a low murmur, “I’ll add the assault report to the compensation claim.” He massaged his finger one last time as he murmured.
Nam-gyu ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face before tucking it absentmindedly behind his ears. “Why,” he asked hesitantly, voice tight, “why didn’t you come to me then? If you were there -why didn’t you?”
Thanos’s face crumpled into mock hurt, eyebrows lifting in exaggerated sorrow. “I was there. You just didn’t want to see me.” His voice grew sharper, more petulant. “You talk like you never turned your head away every time you noticed me.” He pouted like someone genuinely wounded, no sarcasm dripping from his tone this time. No, this was something else -a raw, childlike disappointment, the sting of being ignored, the bitterness of being left in the background.
Nam-gyu froze. Was this some cruel game his mind was playing? Hadn’t he convinced himself that the flashes of purple he’d glimpsed -the streaks among the ceiling of maze’s stars, the fleeting glimpses of purple hair -had been nothing more than tricks of light, illusions painted by stress and exhaustion? When his pupils locked onto the purple head and he attempted to leap onto its back, only to be shoved aside like trash by Myung-gi and flung away in disgust, the realization that the person he had just clung to wasn’t Thanos struck him. Yet, caught in the rush of adrenaline and action, it manifested only as a brief pounding in his chest and a throbbing in his head, which faded once he rubbed his eyes so hard it felt like they might pop out of their sockets. He had convinced himself Thanos hadn’t been there. But what if he had? What if Thanos had been watching all along, choosing silence, choosing absence?
Nam-gyu’s stomach twisted. He was either oblivious to Thanos watching him from there, or he simply chose to act as if he was. If his conscience and guilt had dared to interfere, there was no guarantee he would have been able to kill not multiple people with a twisted thrill but even that single soul he needed to erase in order to clear the game. With every step he took, with every breath he drew, with every curse that slipped past his lips drenched in hot, salty tears, with every knife he plunged into his cross, every time he smiled at that bastard Myung-gi's face Thanos was always there, watching him.
And Nam-gyu couldn’t stop himself from imagining it, from slipping into his place, from wearing his pain like a second skin. Did it hurt him? Did that strange, suffocating lump swell in his throat, uninvited and incomprehensible? Did rage flare within him, driving his hands to itch for Myung-gi’s throat, desperate to finish what had been left incomplete, this time with a more vengeance? Or perhaps the betrayal, the hypocrisy, the sheer treachery Nam-gyu had stained him with burned so deep that Thanos had never hated anyone more -that he couldn’t even stand the sight of him, that he must have longed to see the blade Nam-gyu swung flash forward and finally sink into his flesh.
But if his disgust, his hatred, his venom ran that deep, then would he really be standing here now, casually bantering with him, masking himself in an attitude that carried no trace of fury? Nam-gyu assumed not, he wouldn't have. And yet, when his eyes betrayed a flicker of heartbreak, when the disappointment bled through, it was as though molten lava rained down upon the glaciers that had long been frozen inside him -burning, searing, devouring him alive, melting him from the core of every cell. The barbed wires of remorse coiled tight around his neck, chaining him, knotting themselves into a noose of shame, until the iron-like lump in his throat forced his mind to conjure a sentence he had never thought possible. You should tell him you’re sorry-
Poor Nam-gyu. Weakening by the second, straying down the wrong path, brainless fool. Instead of clawing your way out of this shit, you’re actually considering apologizing to him? If he had the chance, he’d fucking drown you in a spoonful of water for what you did. Don’t even think about it.
Thanos’s eyes fixed on Nam-gyu’s lips, as if waiting, demanding a reply he believed was his right to claim. And at last, Nam-gyu’s lips parted, reluctant, trembling with the weight of something unspoken, and he whispered, almost against his own will, “I -I didn’t realize.”
“Didn’t realize what?”
“That you were there.”
“No,” Thanos pressed, his voice sharp, accusing, almost mocking in its certainty, “you knew perfectly well, Nam-su. Somewhere inside that high and scrambled brain of yours, you knew I was with you-”
And then it snapped. The dam broke. The venom, the bile, the pain he’d buried, it clawed its way up from the pit of his lungs until it scorched his throat raw. Nam-gyu exploded, his voice like shards of glass tearing out of his mouth, every syllable soaked in grief and fury, every word barbed and merciless. “You piece of shit. Fucking motherfucker. For fuck's sake, how many fucking times do I have to hammer a single syllable into that empty skull of yours before it sticks, huh? How many millions of times, you bastard?”
His voice cracked under the strain, anguish lacing each outburst, but he left nothing unspoken, no sentence trapped in the prison of his chest. His eyes burned until they stung, and when he swallowed, it was as if shards of rusted metal tore down his throat, his mouth filling with words he could no longer hold back, words he spat again and again like a curse he wanted seared into the air itself. “I told you a million fucking times- it's Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu. Gyu. Nam-gyu, I said." His head dropped forward, shadowing his face, and he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice collapsing into a broken whisper that was sharper than any scream, “brainless bastard.”
The sudden eruption of sound rattled the air so violently that Thanos instinctively reached to his own ears, half-expecting them to bleed, his fingers brushing his skin in search of blood. But as the echo faded, what struck him more than the sting in his eardrums was the sight of Nam-gyu’s devastation, the rawness of his grief, the bitterness so deep it looked like it had calcified in his bones. That pain, unmistakable, undeniable, was etched into his face, and Thanos, though baffled, could not pretend he hadn’t seen it. He listened, with an uneasy stillness, as Nam-gyu’s broken voice cut through the silence again.
“I was never as important to you as that spineless bastard Min-su, or that idiot Gyeong-su trailing at your heels like a goddamn mutt, was I?” His voice trembled, then sharpened into knives. “For fuck’s sake, after everything I did, after all the good I ever gave you, you couldn’t even try for one single moment to say it correctly,” Slowly, he turned his head toward Thanos, eyes glistening but merciless.
“While I was drowning in debts, tell me, when the hell did I ever once ask you to pay me back for all the drinks you swallowed at the club? Huh? Never. Not once. Fucking dickhead. And you can’t even remember my fucking name. I was nothing, nonexistent in your world,” His chest heaved, his voice splintering into sarcasm so bitter it could strip flesh from bone. “I bet you even enjoyed humiliating me, didn’t you? Arrogant fuck. Amazing. Really, just fucking brilliant. You know what? I don’t need your half-assed apology or your worthless thanks anymore. I know I’m better than you. And nothing you say, will ever make me feel otherwise. Do you hear me?”
Thanos’s brows shot upward, his expression laced with genuine confusion, like a child caught in a lie he didn’t realize he’d told. “What the hell are you talking about? I thought you just felt left out, man. I mean, come on -we all share the same syllable, don’t we? Su-bong, Gyeong-su, Min-su -I only wanted to include you in that, too. That’s it. I didn’t know I was striking a nerve. And hell, even for myself I used it; Thanos-su and Nam-su. It sounded good, didn’t it?”
Nam-gyu let out a hollow laugh, the kind of sound that wasn’t laughter at all but the carcass of it, rotting in his throat. His lips twisted into something that mimicked a smile but carried no joy, only pain. He rubbed at his eye lazily with his palm, as though too weary to wipe the tears properly. “You know, I realized how good you were at bullshitting back when you managed to fool that pathetic excuse of a man, Min-su,” he muttered, his fragile grin trembling until it nearly collapsed.
“I’m not lying, my boy,” Thanos said, placing his hands firmly on Nam-gyu’s shoulders, his tone filled with something rawer than Nam-gyu had ever heard, genuine regret, the kind of sorrow that stank of a king who had gambled away everything and was now left clutching only ashes. “Just once -just once -why won’t you fucking believe me? Do I mean so little to you that there’s no trust left at all?”
“I already believed you enough, -more than enough.”
Thanos’s mouth opened, then closed, words stuttering into silence, his lips trembling as though searching for the perfect phrase, the one golden thread that could stitch up the wound he himself had carved. But nothing came. Only silence, heavy and aching. His grip on Nam-gyu’s shoulders tightened, not possessive, but desperate, the way a man clings to something already slipping through his fingers. “At the club -I always called you right, didn’t I? You remember that, don’t you?”
“Do you even remember? Did you ever?”
Nam-gyu's lashes fluttered rapidly, a frantic defense against the tears threatening to break free, a futile attempt to dam the flood that surged against his eyes. But his vision blurred anyway, eyes darting between Thanos’s, unable to settle, unable to decide whether to seek proof or punishment in their depths. The truth, bare and ruthless, hovered between them like a ghost neither could exorcise. Both of them waited, breath caught in their throats, for the next wound, the inevitable strike, that one of them would have to deliver.
Thanos swallowed hard, his gaze screaming I remember, I remember everything, but his lips betrayed him, sealing themselves shut, refusing to shape the words. Deep down, he seemed to know it wouldn’t matter, that no matter what he said, Nam-gyu wouldn’t believe him anymore. And yet, the way he leaned forward, the way his silence trembled with need, screamed that he still hoped, still ached, for a chance to prove otherwise. Thanos seemed to assume that no matter what he said, he would never be able to convince Nam-gyu. On the other hand, Nam-gyu was ready -ready to hang on to every word that might spill from his lips, ready for even the smallest effort at self-justification, ready to hear him confess that every mistake, every cruel misstep had been nothing but a childish prank born from affection -that all along, Nam-gyu had been unforgettable, irreplaceable, a figure carved into his very marrow.
He was ready to listen that conversation. But when the nauseating possibility dawned on him -that maybe it had all been nothing more than his own delusion, his own rose-tinted lies clouding him so thoroughly he mistook fantasy for truth -the weight of it made him want to vomit. It was nothing but the fever dream of his foolish imagination, and no matter how long he waited in that moment, the words he longed for would never ever come-
Thanos’s hands on his shoulders pulled Nam-gyu into a crushing embrace. One arm circled around his back, the other looped over his shoulder, his fingers threading into Nam-gyu’s hair. He pressed his head against his, eyes squeezed shut, brows drawn tight. He held him close, as if to make sure he couldn’t slip away, couldn’t tear himself free -whether with a delicate push or, far more likely, with rough violence. Thanos bound him tight. Once again, he wound Nam-gyu into his colored webs, spun a cocoon around him -not to imprison, but to hide him. Maybe from the predators of the outside world, maybe from the greedy hunters, maybe from the merciless infantry with their machine guns, maybe from the tiny rats waiting, eager, to gnaw at his corpse or maybe from Nam-gyu himself.
This time, it wasn’t a casual, inviting hug meant to comfort or charm. Instead, it was two people tangled together, clinging with a fierce, almost savage urgency, driven by the ache of a bond that had been torn apart, stretched thin, and left aching in the corner. Every shared breath, every desperate press of bodies against one another, was an attempt to reclaim what had been ripped away, to soothe the hollow ache of separation, to feel whole even if only for a fleeting moment. They weren’t embracing out of choice -they were locked in a tangle of need, of longing, of the inescapable desire to hold onto what had nearly been lost, a quiet rebellion against a world that had tried to pull them apart.
Two bodies tangled, sharing breath, and within the cocoon they melted into a single form. Thanos’s arms began like thin threads, wrapping Nam-gyu inescapably, helplessly -yet strangely, with his own surrender woven inside. The first touch was like a single filament. Then more webs came, thicker, tighter, each breath, each tremor binding them closer. The cocoon seemed to expand for him, making room for two, sheltering them inside that narrow refuge from the rotten world beyond. Nam-gyu couldn’t summon the strength or the will to resist Thanos; he was caught in his spell or maybe he needed it.
The salty, bitter tears he fought so hard to contain finally broke free. His fists had stayed clenched at his sides, his arms trembling as he tried to keep control. But when at last they wrapped around Thanos, unwillingly, freely, the tears spilled from their nests, streaming down his cheeks, warming, wetting, burning everywhere they touched.
Nam-gyu pressed his chin to Thanos’s shoulder first, then lazily tilted his head, resting his forehead there. Between the trembling breaths and the tears, "Asshole, goddamn bastard," he muttered hoarsely, “... son of a bitch.”
And then, when he suddenly felt Thanos’s hand stroking his hair -he knew he had reached his breaking point. It felt like his knees, which had carried him so clumsily all this time, dragging him like a heap of trash from one place to another, would finally give way and let him collapse, crushed. That hand, moving gently over his aching head, was like a balm against the pounding pain, a quiet plea for him to rest against his chest, a stubborn insistence on making space for him there. He bit his lower lip so hard he tasted iron flooding his mouth. He wanted to ask him why -why, with a thousand chances before, had he never done this? He wanted to curse him, no matter the answer. He wanted to shove him away, break free.
He feared being caught in those same webs again, only to be left stranded when the threads inevitably tore, abandoned once more to face the silence alone. Was it solitude he dreaded or the thought of solitude without him? Those hands that bound him now, tattooed and colored nails, once held him like shackles, pinning him down only to make him suffer, to crucify him on his own helplessness.
But now… now he could almost believe they no longer held him down to torment him; they stroked, they soothed, they wrapped and shielded him like silken ropes drawn by a gentler spider. Yet the bitterness was there, festering under his ribs like a parasite. He hated Thanos, hated him with every shred of fury left in his exhausted body, hated him for being the architect of this labyrinth of twisted feelings, for being the goddamn bastard who had wrung him dry and then smiled as if it were all a game. That piece of shit had never wasted an opportunity to treat him like garbage, never missed a chance to sneer or to use him, and then afterward on some ordinary night at the club they’d laugh as if they were the best fucking duo in the world. He'd feast on every drink and drug Nam-gyu offered, sneaking into bathrooms and private rooms for quick handjobs, until those fleeting habits became their only routine.
Their chaotic lives had found one anchor: each other’s bodies, each other’s company, however poisonous it was. And Thanos, when he’d sometimes come into the club darker than usual, money problems bleeding through his fake shine they still clung to their ritual. Their talks varied -sometimes shallow, meaningless chatter, sometimes so raw and unfiltered that shameful secrets spilled between them like drunken confessions whispered at dawn. Secrets no one else in the world had heard. Ugly little truths, tender little pieces of themselves. And though the frequency of those talks dwindled, though the weight of their fucked-up lives pressed heavier with time, those moments, those conversations, those sins, left both men feeling a little less shitty, a little more seen.
Nam-gyu hated that wannabe rapper so much that he was allowing those tattooed hands to hold him right now. He hated Thanos so fiercely that even as his tears soaked into the bastard’s shoulder, even as every slow, tender slide of his hand through Nam-gyu’s hair made him weaker, more vulnerable, more starved for comfort, he loathed him all the more, loathed that this weakness was the part of himself he had fought so desperately to keep buried. Nam-gyu hated Su-bong so fucking much that when his trembling fingers clutched the hem of Thanos’s cardigan so tightly his knuckles turned white, when a broken sob tore up from his throat despite him, he wanted to scream. How hard could it fucking be, huh?
And then softly, haltingly, Thanos’s voice cracked through the suffocating silence that Nam-gyu’s whispered sobs had filled, “You know how hard I racked my brain coming up with that nickname for you?” His words stumbled, each one delivered like it weighed a thousand pounds, shame leaking from the tone. “Hanja, you know it, right? In it, ‘Su’ means beauty. And Nam is south—you’d know that, it’s your own damn name... Put them together and it means Southern Beauty. I saw it when I was digging through words, researching for... for my addictive, magnificent lyrics,” -his lips twitched in a bitter smile- “ran into it somewhere. That’s where it came from.”
Nam-gyu knew damn well he’d paid armies of ghostwriters for most of his lyrics. Still -credit where it was due- one or two of his songs had his fingerprints on them. And maybe, just maybe, this story wasn’t one of his casual lies. Against his better judgment, Nam-gyu felt his grip loosen; his hands fell limp from their strangling hold. The back of that purple-topped head wasn’t as hollow as he had always thought. This wasn’t one of those cheap fabrications. He was sure of it. Something inside him cracked open like ice giving way underfoot. A wave of realization smacked him in the face, sharp as a slap.
His name, it didn’t matter as much as he’d always believed all of a sudden. No need to clutch it like some sacred relic anymore. The nickname Thanos had given him transformed; no longer a mangled mispronunciation, no longer a cruel reminder that he was insignificant enough to be forgotten -it became a scar, stripped of meaning but heavy with memory. It touched him so deeply he thought, Call me that until my real name feels foreign on my own tongue. The identity once attached to the word, he realized, had been nothing more than his own warped imagination. Did he truly deserve to be called beautiful? He couldn’t answer. But Thanos, fuck, Thanos surely thought so. Over and over again.
"Hyung-"
A quick, almost tender kiss brushed his forehead, featherlight and mocking at once. “Ah, no, no, my mistake- I didn’t realize your vocabulary wasn’t that wide. My bad,” Thanos muttered with a few patronizing pats on his back. “Forgive me.”
"Hyung," Nam-gyu said again, this time lifting his head from Thanos’s shoulder, eyes seeking his. His hands had slipped from his back to clutch at Thanos’s collar, gripping tight like a man clinging to the edge of a cliff. His brows pinched faintly, teeth biting into his lower lip. He tried to meet those eyes but faltered, letting his gaze skitter away for a heartbeat before dragging it back with effort. Words swirled inside him like smoke, impossible to catch. His feelings were a lighthouse urging his mouth open, but his tongue tripped, tangled in the storm. Finally, with a shaky exhale, he forced the words: “You… ah -what is your point?” His lashes fluttered, blinking hard, as if the act of speaking itself burned.
Blink. Open. Blink. Open. Blink.
"Where’s my necklace?"
The world shifted in an instant. A breath ago the room was hushed, fragile. Now Nam-gyu froze, staring wide-eyed at a scene unrecognizable from the one that had existed mere seconds before. A cold sweat trickled down his temple, his knees betraying him, buckling beneath the weight of dread. “What?” was all that stumbled past his lips.