Archive of Our Own ^beta

It all started with a petty argument.

“Why the fuck would you let Minsu into our team! He’s a fucking wuss!”

“Just drop it, man.”

Thanos snapped.

“Hah! Why are you defending him? What? You like the fucking bitch or something?”

“Maybe I do—!”

Namgyu slapped him. No warning, no words—just the sting of skin against skin. It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t even hate.

It was something crueler, softer—born from the ache of caring too much, from needing too deeply. It was love, disguised in the only way he could survive it.

“Fine then! I never liked your ass anyways! I never needed you!”

Namgyu yelled, aiming for nonchalance, but his voice betrayed him—cracking with something raw, something too human to hide.

Thanos stood there, frozen, feeling the sting of the slap burn across his cheek, a sharp reminder of what just happened. Of what he just said.

…

…?

???

Namgyu doesn't need him?

That’s a lie.

It has to be.

He needs to be what he needs—no one else. Just him.

The thought of Namgyu needing someone who isn’t him feels like surrender, like weakness carved into bone. He needs to be the answer, the cure, the ache and the balm.

If he’s not the only one—if someone else fills that space—then what is he?

It fills him with a gnawing, bitter possessiveness—a hollow, aching rage.

Thanos will prove it.

He will prove that Namgyu wants Thanos. That he needs him.

—

They always had petty arguments, nothing new.

They always acted like nothing happened after. That was just how it is and nobody dared to speak up about it.

Namgyu naively thought this argument was no different.

“Yo, Thano—“

He was stunned when he saw him talking with Minsu—words flowing easy, casual, like it meant nothing.

They never really hung out with each other when eating.

Because that was their thing.

And Thanos knew it.

He had done it on purpose—of course he had. Every word, every laugh with Minsu was calculated, deliberate.

A petty, quiet cruelty.

Just to let him taste a sliver of what he’d felt—

That hollow, aching absence. That sharp sting of bitterness that left an aftertaste.

And it worked. God, it worked.

Because now it was Namgyu’s turn to sit with clenched jaws and a storm churning behind his eyes.

Thanos didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched, tight enough to ache.

A flash of something ugly twisted in Namgyu’s chest—jealousy, betrayal, possession—he couldn’t name it, but it burned all the same.

And Thanos fucking loved it. He loved being needed more than he needed Namgyu.

“Need something, Namsu?”

He said his name wrong—on purpose. Let it slip from his mouth like it meant nothing, like he meant nothing.

A tiny twist of the knife, subtle and cruel. Just enough to set him off.

Because he knew exactly where to press, exactly how to dig under the skin and leave him raw.

And when Namgyu flinched, when the fire sparked behind his eyes—

Thanos smiled.

Because that was the point.

Namgyu feigned indifference—wore it like armor, cold and effortless.

But his fingers twitched, his jaw ticked, and his eyes—his eyes couldn’t lie.

“It’s nothing.”

Namgyu manages to grit out.

And then—he stormed off.

No words, no glance back, just the sharp scrape of his chair against the floor and footsteps heavy with everything he couldn’t say.

It wasn’t grace—it was rupture.

A quiet implosion dressed up as anger, because if he didn’t leave, he’d break.

And he’d rather be gone than seen undone.

—

This went on for days—the silence, the sharp looks, the space between them stretched thin and trembling.

He was unraveling by inches, every moment a quiet war between pride and ache.

He couldn’t keep holding it in, not much longer.
It burned in his chest, swelled in his throat—
grief, jealousy, need—twisting into something feral.

He wanted to scream, to grab him, to say you don’t get to do this to me.

But all he did was clench his fists and keep walking.

Barely.

Namgyu couldn’t deny it anymore.

Namgyu missed Thanos.

But not in the simple, passing way people usually miss someone. No, it was deeper, raw—like an open wound that refused to close.

His heart ached—not with longing, but with a need that burned, twisted, and consumed him.

He couldn’t breathe without him, each moment without their touch felt like suffocating, like being drowned in the weight of his own need.

It wasn’t love—it was a dependency, a craving that was tangled up in pain and obsession. His thoughts were consumed by them, like a poison he couldn’t stop drinking.

The silence between them felt unbearable, like an emptiness he couldn’t fill, and every time he thought he was starting to breathe again, it would swallow him whole.

He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand him—and yet, he couldn’t live without them him.

He know what to do without Thanos.

He didn’t know what to do with himself without Thanos.

His hands twitched, unsure where to put them, they longed to just touch every part of him, to trace every feature of his.

But he couldn’t.

Because he wasn’t his.

Before Namgyu knew it, he was already moving—drawn to Thanos like an addict chasing a high he swore he didn’t need.

It wasn’t just longing—it was dependency, poisonous and thick, clawing at his ribs from the inside out.

He spotted the flash of purple hair in the crowd and it hit him like a wave—familiar, sickening, necessary. Thanos was always the first thing he saw, no matter where he was. Like his eyes were wired to find him, even when he didn’t want to.

He could hear him laughing, low and careless.

Could smell him—god, always that scent.

And worse, he could feel him.

Like his presence lit up some cruel, buried part of him that only existed for Thanos.

Every step closer felt like giving in.

But he kept walking.

Because not being near him hurt worse.

He approached him—slow, like his body was moving ahead of his mind, pulled by something deeper, darker.
His eyes burned with everything he couldn’t say—

Look at me. Want me. Need me.

The yearning was carved into his face, raw and open, a wound too proud to scab over.

But Thanos was laughing.

With Minsu. Again.

That same soft laugh he used to save just for him.

It hit him like a slap, sharp and quiet. His throat clenched, tight like invisible hands had wrapped around it, squeezing. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even breathe right. Like the air between them wasn’t his anymore—like Thanos had taken that too.

And still, he stood there.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Breaking.

Thanos finally turned his head, locking eyes with Namgyu.

Namgyu’s breath hitched.

He wished time would have paused at that moment, wish Thanos was staring at him before.

But it wasn’t the stare he was looking for.

God, his stare was cold.

Unrecognisable.

Like he was just some face in the crowd, some stranger brushed by in passing.

No flicker of warmth.

No spark of the fire that used to burn only for him.

It gutted him.

Because there was nothing crueler than being looked at like you didn’t matter—by the one person who once swore you were everything.

The words that haven’t even left his mouth had died on his tongue.

And Thanos saw that coming from a mile away.

He fucking loved it.

Thanos is selfish.

He wants all of it, positive or negative,

He wants all of Namgyu.

All for himself.

A long silence dragged on.

Thanos waited, because he didn’t want to be the one who spoke up first, the one who wanted the other more.

It had to be Namgyu.

And he was right.

“C-can we talk?”

Namgyu’s voice finally broke through the silence—choked, fragile, cracking like glass underfoot.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t angry.

It was desperate.

A quiet plea wrapped in too much pain, too much want.
Like his throat couldn’t decide if it was trying to speak or trying to sob.

Namgyu lifted his head—slow, heavy—eyes searching, clinging to the hope that maybe, maybe there’d be forgiveness in Thanos’s face.

Something soft. Something that said I still see you.

But there was nothing.

Just that unreadable expression—blank, distant, untouched.

—

They stood in the bathroom, swallowed by silence, the walls echoing with things neither of them dared to voice.

Namgyu shifted on his feet, fingers twitching at his sides.

The flickering light cast shadows across the tile, and Namgyu stared at it like it might offer him refuge—like maybe if he looked hard enough, it would speak for him.

“Thanos dosen’t wait around for anyone,”

That was a lie. Thanos would wait centuries, lifetimes—
a thousand empty nights.

As long as it was Namgyu at the end of it.

“so, if you don’t speak up, I’m leaving.”

He turned to the exit.

Namgyu’s eyes widened—panic blooming, quiet but desperate, like a breath caught too late.

“No, wait!”

He turned back, a slow smirk curling at his lips—like he’d been waiting, knowing, hoping he’d break the silence.

He smiled, but it wasn’t fond—it was a mocking one, sharp at the edges, like he was daring him to care, to flinch, to feel anything at all.

His mouth opened, but the words tangled, fragile and trembling on his tongue.

“…Please,”

Namgyu begged.

“Please don’t leave. I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry for everything okay..?! Just—just please don’t leave me. I can’t be on my own.”

He begged, but quieter this time, his voice raw, breaking with every word like glass shattering against the floor.

“You’re the only one I have in this fucking game, I-I dont know what to do without you. I can’t, fuck, I can’t function without you!”

“You said you didn’t need me. You said you hated m—“

“It was just a petty fucking lie! I do NEED you! I-I dont even know how to fucking breathe without you..! I never even hated you..!”

Namgyu finally broke down, the walls he’d so carefully built around himself crumbling into dust. His breath came in sharp, desperate gasps, each one heavier than the last.

The dam he’d held in his chest, the one he thought could hold back the flood of his feelings, burst open, flooding him with a wave of raw emotion he couldn’t control.

Tears blurred his vision, streaking down his face in silent rivulets, each one carrying the weight of everything he hadn’t said, everything he’d kept buried for so long.

“I genuinely don’t know what to do without you.”

The words fell from his lips like a confession, raw and desperate, as though saying them out loud would somehow make the suffocating pressure in his chest ease. But it didn’t.

It only made it worse, each breath feeling heavier than the last. He wasn’t just lost, he was drowning in this tangled web of emotions, caught between need and fear, love and resentment.

Namgyu’s heart beat with a frantic urgency, a relentless craving for something he wasn’t sure he even deserved, something that felt like a poison to him, but still, he couldn’t stop reaching for it.

It was as if he couldn’t exist without Thanos, like every second apart was unbearable, yet he hated himself for feeling that way. His hands shook at his sides, torn between pulling them close and pushing them away.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He wasn’t supposed to need Thanos this much.

But he did.

And it consumed him, this constant ache deep in his bones, this gnawing desperation that made him feel both alive and completely broken at the same time.

Namgyu thought maybe if he just gave in, if he just let himself need them enough, it would fill the emptiness inside him, but it never did.

It never fucking did.

No matter how much he clung to Thanos, how much he tried to bury himself in the safety of his presence, it only hurt more.

He couldn’t breathe without them, but the weight of it was too much. It was suffocating, but he couldn’t let go. And maybe that’s what scared him most—he didn’t know how to live without them, even if it destroyed him in the process.

The desperation in Namgyu’s eyes were undeniable, a silent plea, a cry for validation, for love, for something to fill the hollow inside of him.

Namgyu knew it wasn’t love. It was a need, a dependency, a dangerous game he couldn’t stop playing no matter how toxic it had become.

Thanos’s breath hitched.

He savoured that confession like it was a forbidden pleasure.

He loved that Namgyu depended on him. It was like a strange, suffocating warmth that wrapped around him—no, it was warmth, but laced with something darker.

Thanos wanted to comfort him—to reach out, wipe away those trembling tears, press his palm to his cheek, and murmur something soft and warm. Something human.

But deeper than that… far deeper, something twisted curled in his chest.

He didn’t move. Not yet.

Because watching him unravel like that—watching him tremble, lost, barely able to hold himself up—it stirred something else. A darker craving. A pull that whispered don’t stop yet. Not until he breaks. Not until he’s nothing but aching hands and shattered breath and eyes that only look for you.

That would be perfect.

Him, undone and crawling back.

All for me.

Suddenly, the door swung open.

Thanos froze.

Namgyu stilled.

They were met face to face with the infamous Myung-gi.

Myung-gi gaze flickered from Thanos to Namgyu teary faced.

It was an expression he’d never seen on Namgyu.

He had a desperate, longing and pathetic look on his face.

The scene left him stunned and his mind reeling.

Had the two fought?

Thanos immediately stepped in front of Namgyu—like instinct, shielding away Namgyu’s exposed vulnerability.

Or maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t protecting it at all.

Maybe he just wanted to keep it for himself.

Namgyu quickly wiped away his tears, as if they were never there.

Myung-gi stared, unblinking, and it wasn’t just a look—it was a weight.

“The fuck are you looking at? Piss off.”

“I need to take a leak.”

Thanos sneers.

“Fuck, fine. Then we’ll leave.”

Thanos left, not bothering to look back—because why would he?

The other always followed.

He always did.

Like it was a rule written between their bones.

Unspoken. Expected.

And somehow, heartbreakingly dependable.

Thanos exited the bathroom, expecting to see Namgyu behind him.

But he wasn’t.

So him and Myung-gi huh?

His eye twitched—just barely, but enough.

Had he not meant a single word he said earlier?

Was it all just smoke and softness?

Just something to get him to stay?

Thanos popped a pill from the hidden compartment in his cross necklace, the cold metal grazing his lips—ritual by now, a quiet attempt to dull the ache blooming in his chest.

Betrayal always tasted bitter, even when it came from something so stupid.

Maybe it wasn’t Namgyu who was dependent on Thanos.

Maybe it was Thanos—Thanos who needed Namgyu to need him.

Maybe Thanos only felt real when he looked broken in my hands.

Maybe that was the only way Thanos knew how to feel wanted.

—

Namgyu followed him—of course he did, like always, like muscle memory laced with longing—but just as his foot crossed the threshold, a hand shot out and yanked him back.

It wasn’t rough. But it was firm.

Namgyu whipped his head around, only to meet Myung-gi’s gaze.

It wasn’t just a fleeting or some idle glance.

It was pity—quiet, condescending, drenched in something he never asked for.

And that—that—lit a fire in his chest hotter than shame ever could.

Namgyu didn’t want to be looked at like that. Like something broken.

He’d rather be hated.

“Get the fuck off me!”

Namgyu shoved him away, the weight of that stare still burning on his skin, and turned sharply toward the door.

“Why were you crying?”

Namgyu froze mid-step.

A pause. A breath too long.

“None of your fucking business,”

Namgyu muttered, voice low and trembling—not with fear, but the kind of fury that comes from being seen too clearly.

He then slammed the door shut, leaving Myung-gi by himself in the bathroom.

Namgyu had hoped—no, expected—to see Thanos waiting outside, arms crossed, scowl on his face, maybe ready to spit out something cruel just to mask the hurt.

He could’ve handled that. He wanted that. Anger was easy. Predictable.

But the hallway was empty. Still. Unforgiving.

And that—that absence screamed louder than anything he could’ve said.

And that was so much fucking worse.

—

The fourth game had officially began.

The rules were simple. Catch or be caught.

But all around him, the frantic scramble of footsteps and nervous glances filled the air. Yet, none of it mattered.

Not the game, not the chaos, not the noise.

He could barely focus, his mind spiraling back to him—to Thanos. Was he still mad? Did he hate him now?

“Player 124!”

The guard repeated for the second time, jolting Namgyu out of his thoughts.

Fuck, he must so fucking out of it.

Namgyu stepped toward, the machine stood there, a bright and nostalgic relic of simpler times.

Its glass globe gleamed under the dim light, filled with a small variety of only two colours.

Red or blue.

Namgyu hoped for red. Maybe to let off some pent up frustration he had been feeling the past few days.

Red was what he needed.

As the ball clinked its way out, he caught it with a swift motion, his fingers barely grazing its smooth surface.

It was red.

Namgyu felt a small satisfaction as the role he got materialized in his hands.

Namgyu was now officially a seeker.

Namgyu lifted his head up, wanting to see a glimpse of Thanos.

Would he be proud? Or would he be chatting with Minsu, uncaring of what role he got?

He found Thanos already staring at him.

Namgyu’s heart skipped a beat.

Their eyes locked for a brief but electrifying moment.

The world seemed to slow, the hum of the surrounding chaos fading into nothingness. It wasn’t just a glance—it was a silent exchange, one that held more weight than words could ever carry.

Thanos turned his head away like it burnt, as if it was unintentional.

As if he can’t help but stare at Namgyu.

That intense energy, that magnetic force, vanished as quickly as it had arrived, leaving behind a strange emptiness Namgyu wasn’t sure how to fill.

Right after Namgyu was Thanos.

Thanos walked up to the machine with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, shoulders squared, chin tilted just slightly upward like he already knew the outcome.

His fingers reached out, slow and deliberate, wrapping around the lever like it was something sacred. With one firm twist, the mechanism groaned to life, and a single ball clattered down with a hollow thunk.

He caught it mid-fall, eyes scanning its color.

Not red.

But blue.

Namgyu’s heart dropped to his fucking ass.

And just like that, Thanos was now officially a hider.

Namgyu was worried—more than he wanted to admit. His fingers twitched restlessly at his sides as he scanned the colour again.

Blue.

A hider.

Something that didn’t suit Thanos at all.

And for the first time, he felt the weight of what that meant. No glances to ground him. No quiet reassurances in the noise.

Just distance, and a gnawing fear that maybe he’d grown too used to having Thanos close. Too dependent.

Too damn fragile without him.

As soon as the guard mentioned switching roles, Namgyu barely had time to process the dread tightening in his chest—because in an instant, they were already at his side.

“Switch with me.”

Namgyu said, voice low but firm, eyes locked onto Thanos’s like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like there wasn’t even a question.

Namgyu didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.

Thanos clenched his fists, scoffing.

“Fuck, you think I want your stupid little role? I’m fine by myself. Why don’t you go to Myung-gi instead and continue kissing his ass?”

“What?”

“Don’t act clueless Namsu. That time at the bathroom.”

“That was—!”

“Namgyu.”

Myung-gi said his name firmly, voice cutting through the noise like a blade, suddenly appearing.

“Oh, good. There he is. Go be with him.”

Thanos said it with jealousy dripping from every syllable, bitter and sharp, like he couldn’t stand the sight of them together anymore.

Then he turned on his heel, storming off without another glance.

“I—, no, wait, fuck!”

Namgyu turned to Myung-gi furious—like he couldn’t believe he had to deal with this again.

“Why the fuck is it always you?!”

Namgyu’s lip curled in frustration, eyes sharp and unforgiving before turning away, ready to chase after Thanos again.

“Let’s team up.”

Namgyu paused, scoffing in disbelief.

“What? You think I want your fucking help?”

Myung-gi just stared at him, expectantly.

“You fucking deaf or something? Fine then. I’ll make it loud and clear. I don’t want your help. Now fuck off.”

“You’re right,”

Myung-gi said, stepping closer, voice low and cutting.

“You need it.”

There was no softness in his tone—just brutal honesty, wrapped in something that almost sounded like care. Almost.

Namgyu was taken off guard by his persistence.

“No I—“

“Do you really think you can make it out on your own?”

Namgyu froze.

“You’ve clung to him like a crutch. You don’t even know how to stand without him anymore.”

Namgyu couldn’t even retort back.

Myung-gi was right and Namgyu knew it. He was weak without Thanos. He was nothing without him.

Myung-gi outstretched his hand.

“Team up with me, and I’ll help you.”

Namgyu gulped.

Thanos watched them from afar, jealousy simmering just beneath the surface, his stare laced with a possessive edge—like Namgyu was something he’d already claimed, something no one else had the right to touch.

Especially not someone like Myung-gi.

He saw it—that hesitant reach, fingers inching toward Myung-gi’s outstretched hand.

Anger flared like fire licking up his spine, hot and merciless. But beneath it—possessiveness, dark and unshakable, rising like a wave ready to drown him.

That hand wasn’t meant for anyone else.

Not to touch. Not to hold. Not to accept.

It was his.

Always his.

And watching Namgyu reach for it—felt like betrayal wrapped in a smile.

Thanos had expected Namgyu to chase after him—like always. To want him. To need him.

But he didn’t.

And deep down, he knew why.

It was because of him.

Again. Always him. Always the same goddamn pattern.

—

Hiders were given keys.

Seekers were given knifes.

Namgyu watched with longing as the hiders were grouped together and released—like lambs set free under the illusion of safety. But Namgyu’s eyes scanned for only one face, one presence.

The once vibrant and hopeful playground had been transformed into a dark and foreboding arena.

Dim lights cast long shadows that twisted unnervingly across the barren space, amplifying the sense of isolation. The game zone itself felt like a labyrinth, where each corner held the possibility of danger or death, and every hiding spot seemed to mock the players’ desperation.

People had already formed groups, their frantic footsteps echoing as they scattered—running, shouting, disappearing behind walls and shadows. But Thanos walked leisurely, like none of it mattered.

Like he had all the time in the world.

Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. Not about the game, not about winning—

Not when the only person he wanted to run with was with someone else.

All he could think about was them.

Were they laughing together?

Were they sticking close, whispering plans like they used to do with him?

Was he smiling—really smiling—in a way he hadn’t in a while?

Was he enjoying his presence more than mine?

The questions dug deep, raw and restless.

—

“So, here’s the plan, we team up and help each other kill a person then we go find Junhe—“

“No. We go find Thanos first.”

Myung-gi clicked his tongue.

“What? If you don’t like it then forget about teaming up.”

“How about, whoever we find first, we stick with them until we find the next person?”

“…Fine. But no promises.”

As soon as the timer hit zero, a deafening silence shattered, followed by the heavy pounding of footsteps against the ground.

Seekers darted in every direction, their movements sharp, urgent, and relentless. The sound of their shoes echoed through the empty halls, reverberating off the cold walls, creating a tension that clung to the air.

Namgyu bolted forward without hesitation, eyes scanning sharply for his first target. Every movement was calculated, swift, desperate—not for survival, not even for the thrill.

He just wanted it done.

Kill quick. Get it over with. Leave the blood behind.

Because the only thing that mattered was finding Thanos. Making sure he was alright. Making sure they both made it out from this game safe.

Namgyu and Myung-gi had been searching for a few minutes, the air thick with tension, not a single hider in sight.

“No one here…”

Namgyu muttered, calling out absently to his partner, frustration curling in his tone.

But just as he turned away—
A sound.

Soft. Barely there.

A sigh of relief, shaky and too hopeful.

His eyes sharpened, the silence suddenly too loud.

Namgyu turned his head slowly, gaze falling on the door tucked slightly ajar.

Behind it, a shadow stilled—

A hider.

Pressed against the wall, hand clamped tightly over their mouth, eyes wide and glistening with fear.

He smiled.

They always gave themselves away eventually.

“Myung-gi! I found oneeee!”

Namgyu said sweetly, voice dipped in honey, laced with false security—like a lullaby before the strike.

Just as he Namgyu neared closer, the hider bolted, panic clawing up their throat, limbs trembling with pure instinct.

Namgyu let out mocking gasp, feigning surprise.

“Where ya going? Don’t be so scaredddd! I just need to stab you!”

He strolled after them, unhurried, like a predator indulging the thrill of the chase.

Each step was deliberate, almost mocking, as if he already knew they’d trip, fall, and beg—because fear always made people clumsy.

Fear had taken full control—raw, choking, desperate. Their breath hitched, feet stumbling over each other as they tried to outrun what they knew was already too close.

Right.

He was already close anyways.

The hider slowed their running until they just stood there, unmoving.

Namgyu tilted his head, confused.

Had they finally given up? Had they finally realised that their death was inevitable?

They turned around, whipping a knife.

Not just any knife.

A seekers knife.

That means he didn’t just survive—he overpowered.

No weapon, just sheer instinct and will. Flesh against steel. Knuckles bloodied, adrenaline roaring. The kind of fight you win not because you’re stronger, but because you refuse to lose.

And now he’s got a knife.

Which means this is going to be a fair fight.

Uh-oh, this guy just might be a little dangerous.

Just as Namgyu was prepared to take a step back, they had lunged at Namgyu.

They slammed him to the ground with a brutal thud. The cold blade hovered over his throat, trembling in their hands from the sheer pressure, from adrenaline and fear colliding.

“Fuck..! You—!”

Namgyu gritted his teeth, muscles straining as he fought back, his hands locked with theirs, trying to force the knife away.

But the other was stronger—bigger, heavier. The knife inched closer, steel biting skin. A thin line of crimson welled at his neck, warm against the chill of the moment.

And then it pierced him.

Not Namgyu.

But the hider.

It was Myung-gi who had saved Namgyu.

Namgyu had hoped it was a certain someone else who had saved him.

Myung-gi’s knife pierced deep into the hider, a sickening sound splitting the air, all while locking eyes with a shocked Namgyu.

The body above Namgyu him jolted, then went still. Blood poured out fast—too fast—pooling around them, seeping into the cracks of the floor.

“Player 333, pass.”

Namgyu then turned his head to meet the now dead hider’s eyes.

Those once-lively eyes—so full of raw, human emotions:

desperation, fear, hope—had gone still.

Lifeless.

Like doll eyes.

Not a flicker of emotion, not a trace of soul behind them. Just a cold, hollow sheen that mirrored nothing back.

And somehow, it was fascinating.

The way all that fire had finally burned out.The way he looked untouchable now—emptied, broken, beautiful in ruin.

He then tilted his head up to meet Myung-gi’s eyes once again—and his eyes were alive.

Disgust.
Concern.
Fear.

All tangled together in that one, fleeting glance. They burned with it—messy, human, real.

So full of life.

So painfully different from the empty shell standing just feet away.

That contrast—it gripped him. Hooked its claws into his spine and held.

Because that’s what made it interesting.

The shift.

The transformation.

How eyes that once begged, pleaded, ached—could go dead in an instant. Like something sacred had been switched off.

And fuck, he’d never understand it.

How someone could carry the universe in their gaze one moment, and the next—be nothing but a corpse still pretending to live.

It was too fascinating.

Too sickly beautiful.

Too goddamn human.

Namgyu lit up—eyes wide, smile twitching, breath shaky. There was something unhinged in the way he grinned, like the violence had ignited something feral inside him.

He looked deranged, sick with satisfaction, like the chaos was the only thing keeping him alive.

Blood was smeared across his skin, warm and vivid, painting him in chaos. It clung to his hands, soaked into his clothes, dripped from his chin.

And he loved it.

The weight of it. The proof of it.

The proof that he wasn’t just Thanos’s bitch, his dog, his shadow.

He could be independent too.

He could live without Thanos.

Right?

“Myung-gi! My boy! You’re fucking amazing! You just swooped in and saved me!”

Namgyu said it with joy, voice bright and careless, springing to his feet.

He wrapped a hand around Myung-gi’s shoulder—too quickly, too eagerly.

“I-its nothing….”

Myung-gi avoided his gaze, turning his head away, a light pink blush dusting his cheeks.

But Namgyu didn’t notice.

Because the joy was forced.
And worse—he wasn’t really looking at him.

Because in his head, he was pretending. Pretending that the one under his arm was someone else.

Thanos.

The laughter was fake, the warmth borrowed.

Every movement a performance—a cruel little play where he could rewrite the moment, just for a second,
just enough to feel.

But Namgyu couldn’t fool his own heart.

Because no matter how hard he smiled,

He still ached for Thanos.

What?

No he didn’t. Thanos meant nothing to him. He was just a bastard who couldn’t even bother to remember his name.

Namgyu let go off Myung-gi.

He tilted his head toward the lifeless body, eyes gleaming with something far too twisted to be called joy.

He crouched down slowly, clutching the knife so tightly his knuckles turned white—then drove it into the corpse again. And again. And again.

His laughter spilled out—crooked, broken, unhinged—rising over the wet, sick sound of blade meeting flesh. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t fear.

It was pleasure. Pure, deranged satisfaction.

“Fucking asshole thoight he could kill me?”

Stab.

“Ha! In his dreams!”

Another stab.

“Rot in hell motherfucker!”

A final stab.

—

Thanos sat beside the mangled corpse, the blood warm and sticky against his hands, but it did nothing to settle the cold storm in his chest. His breaths were shallow, uneven. The chaos inside him was louder than the screams had been.

His mind wouldn’t shut up. Not even the high of the kill could drown it out this time.

Namgyu, smiling at Myung-gi.

Namgyu, choosing him.

Namgyu, leaving.

That image looped in his head like a curse, and when he caught sight of the seeker—unlucky, unfamiliar, but hauntingly similar in build and smirk—he snapped.

His vision blurred with rage and ache. He pounced, the knife plunging over and over again, each thrust fueled not by malice but heartbreak. Each stab deep, messy, frantic.

He wasn’t killing a man.

He was trying to kill the thought.

He knew it. Deep down, he always did. Of course he’d choose Myung-gi.

The easy choice. The safer one. The one who wasn’t fucked up.

The one who didn’t unravel at the seams when left alone too long.

And still—knowing didn’t soften the sting. It just made it ache more.

Like a wound you keep pressing on just to feel something.

His heart ached—slow and heavy—with sadness that settled in his chest like ash. But beneath it, bitter jealousy curled like smoke, burning hotter with every thought of them together.

It wasn’t just not being with him.

It was knowing someone else got to keep him.

Thanos yanked the knife from the corpse, the sound sickeningly wet in the silence. And then, with a trembling hand, he pressed the blade to his own skin—just enough to break it, to bleed, to sting. Not enough to die. Just enough to call Namgyu. To make him come running like he always did.

Or maybe he wouldn’t.

Maybe he never really cared.

Maybe he didn’t know him at all.

Maybe he never did.

But the blood kept dripping. And all he could do now… was wait.

—

Namgyu plunged the knife deep into another hider’s chest—probably the third one already. Their body collapsed with a dull thud, blood spilling out like spilled wine. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

Because the thoughts of Thanos still clawed at his mind, gnawing at the corners of his sanity.

So he gripped the knife tighter.

He needed more.

More blood.

More distraction.

More noise to drown out the silence that was left behind.

“Haha! This is so much fun! She died so quick!”

Namgyu exclaimed, trailing behind Myung-gi who was so clearly done with him—shoulders tense, steps fast, like he couldn’t get away quick enough.

He hugged him from behind, arms slung around his shoulders as he jumped up, light and full of a joy that sounded almost real.

“This game is so much fun! Right, Tha—”

Namgyu froze mid-word.
Just for a heartbeat.
But it was enough.

His brain caught up with his mouth, and the smile faltered—only for a second.

Then, like nothing happened, he recovered.

“The amazing Myung-gi! You’re pretty good for someone who says they don’t like killing!”

But Myung-gi heard it. Clear as day.

That slip.

Thanos.

He didn’t say anything.Didn’t even flinch.
Just clenched his fists at his sides, the knife creaking in his grip.

Of course he noticed.
Of course he knew.

Namgyu wasn’t here.Not really.

He was somewhere else—chasing a name that wasn’t his.

And still, Myung-gi forced a poker face, put it all behind him like it didn’t matter.

Like it didn’t carve him open.

He told himself he didn’t care.

But god, the lie was getting harder to hold.

Suddenly, a loud and piercing scream tore through the air.

They didn’t flinch. Screams were background noise by now—just another layer of the game.

But then—
a name.

Thanos.

It slammed into Namgyu like ice water down his spine. His bloodlust, once burning hot, sputtered out in an instant.

Everything stopped.

There was no thought, no hesitation.

Only motion.

His feet were already pounding against the ground, sprinting toward the sound like instinct—
like need.

What had happened to Thanos?

Had he gotten hurt?

Or worse—dead?

The thought clawed at him, sinking deep into his chest—a fear so raw it left his stomach in knots, his lungs tight.

It wasn’t just panic. It was terror, primal and suffocating, like something heavy pressing down on his ribs, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. His hands shook. His vision blurred. Every inch of him felt it—bone-deep and merciless.

He was there in an instant, and what he saw made his heart drop straight through the floor.

Thanos was bleeding. Soaked in red. Shaking. Pale.

Fuckfuckfuck.

His lungs forgot how to breathe.

Why does this always happen? Why does everything he hopes for twist into something cruel?

The knife—still gripped in Thanos’ trembling hand—was slick with blood.

Namgyu’s eyes snapped to the seeker nearby, frozen with fear.

“It wasn’t me! He stabbed hi—”

Namgyu didn’t give a shit.

Whether they did it or not didn’t matter. He needed something—someone—to unleash everything on. The rage. The guilt. The gnawing scream in his head telling him he left Thanos. That he got distracted by Myung-gi, by the game, by the fucking thrill of blood, and left the one thing he actually needed alone.

He always lies.

Said he didn’t care.

But he needs Thanos like lungs need air, like bones need marrow. And seeing him like this—hurt, vulnerable, bleeding—was like being gutted from the inside out.

He clenched his fists, body shaking.

No one gets to hurt him.

Thanos felt that twisted, breathless kind of relief when Namgyu came barreling in.

He came. For him.

Through the haze of pain and blood and blurred noise, he could see it—on Namgyu’s face. The guilt that carved deep into his expression. The fury in his clenched fists. The desperation in his eyes. It said more than Namgyu ever did out loud.

He still needed him.

Of course he did.

A dog never strays too far from its owner—never for long.

But then—

“What the fuck happened?”

Not from Namgyu. From him.

Myung-gi.

Thanos’ breath caught like ice down his spine.

So they were together.

So all this time—while he was spiraling, aching, bleeding out in more ways than one—they were with each other.

Teaming up. Fighting side by side.

And him?

He was left to rot with his thoughts and this relentless addiction to Namgyu’s attention. To the feeling of being needed, being wanted—no, required.

It was pathetic, wasn’t it?

He kept thinking, hoping, clinging to the idea that Namgyu was finally his. That maybe, just maybe, Namgyu chose him.

But Myung-gi always showed up in the cracks.
Always there to prove him wrong.
Every. Fucking. Time.

A sick bitterness crept into Thanos’ chest. Not just hurt—but jealousy, corrosive and raw. It clawed its way up his throat and burned behind his eyes.

“Myung-gi, hold that fucker. Don’t do anything, I’ll kill them with my own bare hands, I’ll rip their damm face to pieces.”

He said it through barely controlled breaths, each word trembling with restrained fury.

Myung-gi did as Namgyu said, holding the innocent seeker accountable for no reason.

“W-wait, please..! We’re on the same team! We can’t kill each other!”

“Shu—“

“He’s right.”

Thanos said, cutting through the argument like a blade—sharp, cold, and final.

“T-Thanos! I’m sorry, I-I’m—“

“Leave it, Namgyu. Come with me.”

Namgyu nodded, quickly hurrying towards Thanos when Myung-gi suddenly grabbed him.

“What the fuck dude? Why are you holding onto me?”

Myung-gi didn’t know why. His body just moved—like instinct. Like breathing.

And Myung-gi? He wasn’t thinking either. He just couldn’t let Namgyu slip through his fingers. Not like this. Not without trying. Not without fighting.

Just once—just this once—he wanted to be selfish. To reach out and say, “Stay. Choose me.” Even if it was ugly. Even if it was clear who really owned Namgyu.

Thanos felt an overwhelming surge of jealousy—sharp, hot, and blinding—as Myung-gi dared to lay a hand on Namgyu.

As if he had the right.

As if he could just step in and claim something that was never his to begin with.

Namgyu was his.

His to break. His to mend. His to ruin and love and destroy and hold.

And seeing someone else try to take that away—it burned through him like wildfire, possessive and feral.

“Namgyu. Here. Now.”

And with just those words—that name—Namgyu slipped free of Myung-gi’s grip like he’d never belonged there in the first place.

No hesitation. No apology.

Just a straight line to Thanos.

Of course he would.

Because Namgyu was never really his.

Just a fleeting warmth in a cold room, a one-night stand stretched too thin across too many days. Myung-gi was just a placeholder. A distraction.

Myung-gi didn’t follow.

Didn’t call out.

He just stood there, watching the space Namgyu left behind, bitter sadness blooming in his chest—sharp, but not surprising.

He reached out, reflexively, for the hand that was already gone. Fingers closed around empty air.

“I saved you,”

he muttered, the words cracked and low.

“You fucking inconsiderate prick. You always run back to him in the end.”

And with that, he turned. Shoulders stiff, heart heavy,
walking off with the kind of bitterness that settles deep in the bones—not loud, not dramatic.

Just tired.

So goddamn tired.

The other seeker also took the opportunity to slip out of that situation, leaving just the two of them together.

“T-Thanos, your hand, it’s—“

“Shut the fuck up.”

He slammed Namgyu against the wall, the impact cracking through the silence like lightning. Fingers closed around his throat, tight, trembling with fury.

“So he fucking saved you?”

Thanos snarled, his voice shaking with something far worse than rage.

“You teamed up with him and left me? You fucking slut!”

Namgyu clawed at his wrists, gasping, choking—
his head shaking frantically, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“Is he better than me?”

His grip tightened.

“Does he make you happier than I do? Tell me!”

His voice cracked, splintered.

“Say that you need me! Say it—say it—”

But Namgyu couldn’t speak. His lips parted, but nothing came out—only broken wheezes, his vision swimming in blurs and shadows, the world closing in around the edges.

And still, Thanos didn’t let go.

Because this wasn’t about love anymore—this was about desperation.

About needing to be needed so badly it twisted into something monstrous.

“I… n-need… you…”

The words scraped out of Namgyu’s throat like glass, broken and breathless, barely more than a whisper.

And that was all it took.

Thanos loosened his grip—just enough—and then pulled him in, crashing their mouths together in a kiss that wasn’t soft, wasn’t kind.

It was savage. Claiming.

Like he needed to remind him, you’re mine—not with words, but with force, with hunger, with teeth.

Namgyu froze for a heartbeat—shocked, gasping for air—but then he kissed back.

Not because it was romantic.
Not because it was right.
But because it hurt in the way he was used to.

Because pain, in Thanos’s hands, almost felt like love.

It wasn’t a kiss like the ones you see in slow-burning dramas. It was desperate, messy, violent with need.
Mouths clashing, breath hitching, hands clawing—
like if they could just tear into each other deep enough, the emptiness might stop echoing.

Thanos dragged him down to the floor, never breaking away—the air thick with everything unsaid, everything toxic and tethered and impossible to leave behind.

Their bodies tangled, not with tenderness, but with
possession.

And somewhere, buried under it all, was the cruel, aching truth—neither of them knew how to love without destroying each other.

Thanos rutted against him—rough, frantic—like something inside him had snapped and there was no going back.

It wasn’t about desire.

It was about control.

About erasing the space between them, devouring the distance, proving that no one else could ever touch him like this.

That no one else owned him.

Namgyu whimpered, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation.

Thanos’s hand came down hard—a sharp crack as his palm met Namgyu’s cheek.

The slap left a red mark that bloomed across his face.

“Shut up! You don’t get to enjoy this! You’re just a slut for whatever attention, huh?!”

“No! I-I only want your attention! I only want you!”

Thanos cock stirred to life.

“Prove it. Beg for me to continue. Beg for me.”

“P-please, Thanos, please, I only want you..! Please, please, please I can’t, I-i need it so bad!”

He relished it—every trembling word, every shattered breath spilling from Namgyu’s lips. The way he begged—voice cracked, eyes wide and wet—it wasn’t just desperation.

It was submission.
And it was his.

Only he could do this to him.

Only he could tear Namgyu down until he was nothing but need and shaking hands.

It wasn’t about comfort, or closeness.It was about power—that twisted satisfaction of knowing he could unravel him, ruin him, and still have Namgyu reaching for more.

It felt good.

Good in a way that sank teeth into the back of his mind,
that whispered he was needed,wanted in a way that went deeper than love—something feral, obsessive.
Possessive.

Because no one else got to see Namgyu like this.
No one else could.

That wrecked voice, the trembling lips—they all belonged to him.

And he wore that truth like a crown made of ash and bone.

Thanos palmed Namgyu’s clothed erection. He was rock hard.

Namgyu groaned at the sensation, buckling his hips, desperate for more of that delicious friction.

“You like this, dont you? You like getting degraded huh?”

“Yes, please, fuck, more please..!”

“Fine then. I’ll give you what you want.”

Thanos pulled Namgyu’s pants and boxers in one swift motion, the cold air kissed his bare skin, a sharp reminder of how exposed—how powerless—he really was.

“Fuck, you’re leaking all over already. Your disgusting. Such a whore.”

But he fucking loved how disgusting Namgyu was for him. It was a forbidden pleasure saved for Thanos.