Archive of Our Own ^beta

Eight years.

Debt collection, blackmail, recruitment, stalking, overdoses—eight years, he'd spent, neck-deep in the largest drug trafficking ring in South Korea, taking advantage of those with nothing to lose and nowhere to go.

Finally, he'd done it. The underlings, the dealers, the collectors, the kingpin, taken down at last by a man who'd been undercover so long they didn't remember when they'd met him.

It didn't feel like victory.

Not that he didn't believe in the mission he was on. He had, once. And, in the wake of his wife's death, he hadn't hesitated to take an undercover position across the country. You won't see your loved ones for years, you can't tell them where you're going, they had warned him. In-ho had looked across the precinct at Jun-ho, whose life had been made miserable by attempting to keep his grieving brother afloat, then looked back at his senior officer. That's fine.

Now, here he was, eight years later. Forty-nine, nearly fifty, riding a midnight train back into Seoul with only a busted kneecap and a file of report papers to show for it.

"Excuse me, sir," asked a young man on the train.

In-ho fixed him with the stare that he had honed playing the role of Young-il, drug-running debt collector. Eyes narrow and devoid of emotion, devoid, even, of humanity, the corners of his mouth turned down and every muscle on his face relaxed.

The young man let out a quiet whimper, then stammered out an apology and went back to the other side of the train.

In-ho got off at his stop, forcing himself not to limp. He needed a hospital, he thought. It wasn't a long walk from the train station. He didn't have a wallet, though. He didn't have a place to sleep. If Jun-ho was living in the same place as before, he might've been able to find it, but that wasn't guaranteed.

He stopped himself from going down that route, mentally. Get to the hospital. It was not a long walk. He had endured worse than this. These were the sentences he repeated to himself, trying to persist without showing weakness.

But damn, did it hurt. He was only another kilometer from the hospital, but he needed a moment. Still conditioned not to show weakness in high-traffic areas, he slunk down an alleyway, then another, collapsing onto the back steps of some random building.

He tried to collect himself. So, the leader of the ring, upon finding out that they'd been infiltrated, had shot "Young-il" in the kneecap. That wasn't so bad. He'd been stabbed in the side, once, and still finished his run. There was no reason for him to be so thoroughly stymied by this stupid knee.

At once, a few things happened: a door swung open and clipped him on the top of the head from his place on the bottom stair, a man's voice cursed, startled, and a cat nearby shrieked and ran off behind the dumpster.

In-ho stood, rubbing the back of his head, a little insulted, but not overly frustrated. He wasn't even sure he was capable of frustration, anymore.

"Shit, I'm sorry! Did I hit you? Are you okay? I didn't know anyone was out here."

In-ho turned around, preparing the same lifeless expression he had used on the train, and spotted… A man.

Now, In-ho was no longer overly familiar with modern social customs. His life, for the preceding eight years, had been full up of deplorables—people who were, at best, desperate and, at worst, just plain evil. He had not looked a person in the eyes for a reason not pertaining to intimidation in those entire eight years, and always from behind a figurative mask.

The man standing in front of him was a counterweight to all of that. There was still desperation about him, of course, In-ho could sniff that out like a hound. But, beyond that, there were several unfamiliar qualities that In-ho couldn't even recognize, let alone name.

He had soft, dark eyes, widened in concern that he had clobbered a stranger in the head, apparently. He was wearing an apron and a too-big t-shirt with faded denim pants, a ballcap smashed over apparently uncooperative hair.

In-ho had, in his admittedly now-spotty recollection, never seen anyone like him. "It's fine," he managed to say, swaying on his feet.

Taking the imbalance for something he had caused, the man leaped down the stairs and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Shit, are you… Do you have a concussion, or something? Can you stand? I really, really can't afford a lawsuit right now."

Unused to contact that didn't result in injury, In-ho shied away, stumbling. "It's fine," he repeated.

"You don't seem fine," he said guiltily. "Look, why don't you come inside, I'll make you something to eat. Or, I mean, it's a restaurant. So… There's food. And I'm closed, now, so… Please come in."

In-ho observed him. This was ill-advised. All of the lessons he'd learned in the past eight years about entering strange buildings with strange people had come hard, and he wasn't eager to fall into traps again.

That said, even in his current state, In-ho felt confident that he could overpower this man. And he was hungry, and he wanted to sit down, and there was something intriguing about him. He imagined this was how a lion would feel if ever it encountered a domesticated cat.

With all of that in mind and, still, considerable reluctance, In-ho nodded. He traipsed after the bizarre creature, finding himself in what appeared to be a chicken shop.

"Uh, welcome to Ga-yeong's Chicken," the man chattered. "It's my restaurant. Well, maybe it's not really a restaurant? A chicken shop? I don't know what to call it. Anyway. I've got leftover food from today, and it's actually decent, so let me get you something."

"That's not necessary."

The man waved his hand. "I mean, I attacked you with a door." Then, he disappeared behind the counter.

Mostly desperate just to sit down, In-ho hobbled over to a booth in the corner and fell into it, biting his lip to stop himself from groaning. As this… Chef? Whatever he was, as he puttered about somewhere out of sight, In-ho finally took a moment to roll up his pant leg and examine his knee.

He remembered it looking better. Perhaps it had simply swollen? There was a clear entry and exit for the bullet, but he was fairly certain it needed stitches. Could he do it himself? He wasn't sure he was qualified.

"Fuck, what happened to you?"

In-ho looked up, startled, to see the chef holding a box of fried chicken, staring at his knee in horror. "Nothing," he replied, pulling his pant leg down.

The man bustled over, putting the box on the table and looking at him, appalled. "Hey, man, I think you need a hospital or something."

"I was on my way."

Raising his eyebrows, the man cocked his head sideways. "To where? The nearest one is a twenty minute drive, at least."

In-ho blinked. "I thought there was one about a kilometer from here."

He shook his head, more gentle than In-ho could compute. "It closed a few years ago. I'm sorry. I can take you, in a few minutes, to the other one."

"You don't have to do that."

The man waved him off again. "Don't worry about it."

In-ho stared at him. "It's on your way?"

"Well, no."

He blinked, uncomprehending. "What is your goal?"

The man half-laughed, seeming a little confused. "You need the hospital, so I guess my goal is to get you there." He put the back of his hand against In-ho's forehead. "Are you all right?"

In-ho flinched away immediately. "I am fine."

Hands flying up into a surrender, the man's eyes widened. "Sorry, didn't mean to…" He huffed, sticking one hand out for In-ho to shake. "I'm Seong Gi-hun."

In-ho took it. "Oh Young-il," he said reflexively, then blinked. "I apologize. That's a lie."

"What is?" Gi-hun asked, taking a bite of the chicken.

"That's not my name. My name is Hwang In-ho."

Raising his eyebrows in amusement, Gi-hun smiled. "Well, why lie?"

"Reflex. My apologies."

"What sort of a reflex is that?" He tapped absently at the box in front of them. "Eat your chicken, then we'll go."

In-ho stared at him, mostly confused but partly intrigued, then slowly went back to the chicken. "I cannot pay for this."

"Well… Don't sue me for your concussion, if you have one, that's the payment," Gi-hun said good-naturedly.

Half-heartedly taking a bite, In-ho studied him. He was handsome. Puppy-like, even, with his bright eyes and gentle disposition. The many unnameable emotions and factors affecting his behavior were swirling close to the surface of his expression, a stark contrast to the people In-ho had been surrounded by while he was undercover.

Those people had looked hungry. Not for food, but for satiety—the ache they were attempting to slake varied from person to person, but they all shared that consumptive hunger. In fact, that was the only thing that distinguished them from the corpses he had also seen. Living people, if that was what they were, had hunger. Dead people did not.

Seong Gi-hun did not appear hungry, at least not in the same way. Hunger begot greed, and this man did not possess the telltale signs of greed, with which In-ho was extremely familiar. He made no sense, really. What was his objective? What did he want? Ordinarily, people could best be understood by boiling them down to a sum of their desires. For Gi-hun, those desires were unclear.

Once In-ho had finished the chicken, Gi-hun took his dishes away and then led him back into the alley where they'd met, directing him to a beater car and collapsing into the driver's seat.

They rode in silence for only a few seconds before Gi-hun spoke. "What happened to your leg?"

"It got hurt."

Gi-hun huffed. "You might as well tell me, you know. You'll have to tell them at the hospital."

"How are those statements related?"

"Well, I'll hear, then."

In-ho turned his head to look at him. "Why would you?"

"I'm not just going to drop you at the hospital then drive away, what if something happened? This is sort of my fault."

"It is not."

"I whacked you in the head with a metal door."

In-ho sighed heavily. "That injury is immaterial. The leg will need other intervention, but that has nothing to do with you."

"How would I know that? You won't tell me how it happened."

"It was shot."

Gi-hun's eyes widened. "Shot? By who? Are they still out there? Are you safe?"

"It's fine." It, actually, did not feel fine at all. In fact, it felt horrible. The shock had fully worn off and it now felt like a dull, throbbing agony, his mobility decreasing by the minute.

"Who shot you?" Gi-hun asked, sounding more worried for him than fearful.

What a charming thought. No one had worried about him in years. Nevertheless, In-ho elected not to answer. "How much farther?"

"About fifteen minutes," Gi-hun answered. "Does it hurt?"

"It's fine."

Gi-hun scoffed. "It can't be fine, it got shot!" He turned down a side street. "Do you have anyone you want me to call?"

A long, uncomfortable moment passed between them, suffocating under the weight of what was being brought to light. "No."

"Oh. Well. I'll definitely stay with you, then."

"That is not necessary."

Gi-hun looked at him, with an expression so foreign to In-ho that his face almost didn't seem like a face, at all. Something like gentleness, something like care. Something long-forgotten and deeply-buried. "I don't mind."

In-ho was content to spend the rest of the ride in silence, but Gi-hun, apparently, was not.

"So… What do you do for work?"

He considered feigning sleep, but decided it would be ungrateful. And he liked Gi-hun's voice, the soft emotionality to it. "I am a police officer."

"Wow, an officer. Do you carry a gun?"

"Not right now."

Gi-hun chuckled. "Someone must've, I guess, or you'd still have two good legs."

Startled, In-ho felt something rattle in his chest. He realized, belatedly, that it was amusement. It was so unrecognizable that he worried that it was just an effect of shock. Perhaps getting to the hospital was more urgent than he thought.

"Where do you live?" Gi-hun asked. "I haven't seen you around."

In-ho hummed, trying to think of an honest way to answer that. "I am recently new to the area, I haven't lived here in years."

"Oh! After all this, I can show you around. How long have you been away?"

"Eight years."

"Wow," Gi-hun drew out. "Lots has changed around here in eight years. Eight years ago, I didn't even have my restaurant. And we got a new 7/11, and they just opened up a movie theater a few streets over from me. They closed the little fish market, did you know that? But they put another one in, it's a lot bigger, and it has other stands where they sell other stuff. Actually, my friend's mom—"

He prattled on about… Something, In-ho assumed, for the rest of the car ride. Ordinarily, he would've found it off-putting. Certainly, he would've advised against it from a safety perspective. In this case, however, with his pretty eyes, ostensibly devoid of any of the hateful attributes that In-ho had come to associate with humanity, he found it endearing. Actually, he felt the tension leaching out of his shoulders and neck, his head thunking back against the seat. He wondered if he had passed out, but realized, instead, that he had just relaxed. He had forgotten what relaxation felt like.

He felt the car grind to a halt. "In-ho? We're here, come on," Gi-hun said, voice even softer than before. "Do you need help walking?"

"No," In-ho gritted out, forcing himself to stand and walk, mostly-convincingly, into the hospital, Gi-hun at his side. As he approached the front desk, Gi-hun surged ahead of him.

"My friend, here, has been shot in the knee, it looks really bad. It's been hours, he can barely walk," he said, sounding a little desperate.

The nurse looked from him to In-ho. "Can he not talk?"

"I can," In-ho said. "It's a gunshot wound, I expect it will require surgery. I can show you, if you'd like. My patella is shattered, and I imagine there is damage to the surrounding ligaments. It has been seven hours."

She gestured for him to show her, which, in the middle of the waiting room, seemed a little uncivilized, but In-ho pulled up his pant leg, nonetheless. He saw the color drain from her face, then she nodded seriously and typed something into the computer. "Name, please?"

"Hwang In-ho."

"A doctor will be out in a moment. Please, have a seat and elevate that."

He ambled over to the uncomfortable plastic chairs and sank into one of them, Gi-hun sitting next to him.

"It looks even worse than before," Gi-hun said, voice a little panicky.

"It will be fine."

Gi-hun turned sideways in the chair, folding his knee up against the arm rest to face In-ho. "How are you so calm, huh? Have you been shot a lot?" He said it as though he was joking, but blanched at In-ho's hesitation. "Shit, what kind of life are you living?"

"Perhaps I am difficult to get along with," In-ho said, then looked at Gi-hun, who was staring at him in horror. "That was a joke."

"Oh. Uh… Good one, I guess," Gi-hun said. "Sorry, just… People with a gunshot wound aren't usually cracking little jokes. And I'm sort of worried you're going to bleed out in this waiting room."

"I won't."

"Good, because—"

A detached voice cut him off. "Hwang In-ho?"

He and Gi-hun looked up, where a clearly-disinterested nurse was waving them toward an exam room. Gi-hun stood first, extending a hand and trying to help him up, which In-ho waved off.

In-ho forced all emotion to leave his face, trudging toward the exam room apathetically. Gi-hun fluttered just behind, the nervous energy radiating off of him. Just before they entered, In-ho turned around and faced him. "You can leave at any time. You have fulfilled your obligation."

Gi-hun stared at him, the anxiety briefly overshadowed by determination. "Well… No."

In-ho blinked, then turned around and followed the nurse into the room.

He sat on the stupid paper-lined bed, feeling like a child at a doctor's appointment.

"So," she said lazily. "Your knee hurts?"

A little irked, In-ho stared at her. "Yes."

"How long has it hurt?"

He caught Gi-hun's indignant glare out of the corner of his eye. "About seven hours."

"Have you tried taking Tylenol?"

Gi-hun huffed, standing up from his chair. "He was shot! Why are you acting like he has arthritis, or something? He—"

"Gi-hun," In-ho interrupted sternly, then looked at the nurse and rolled up his pant leg, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, fuck," the nurse said, looking a little pale. "I'll get the surgeon in here to look at it ASAP." She typed something quickly then left the room, seeming like she might vomit.

Eyes fixed on In-ho's knee, Gi-hun spoke. "Look, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"Don't apologize. It was…" It was nice, is what he wanted to say. It was soft and gentle and kind, it made almost no sense to him. But he couldn't say that. "I appreciate your advocacy."

Gi-hun gave him a smile, the same strange one that often spread on his face. "You're welcome." He widened his eyes at In-ho's wound. "It looks really bad."

"It will be all right."

There was a knock on the door, then the surgeon entered. She was a serious-looking woman, her eyes immediately zeroing in on In-ho's knee. "How long ago did this happen?"

"Seven hours."

"You should've called the emergency number," she said, pulling on some gloves and prodding at the wound. Internally, In-ho winced. "This needs surgery immediately. Actually, it needed surgery several hours ago. We're going to have to take a lot of tissue, here, and your mobility will be reduced for months."

In-ho nodded, keeping his face blank.

"You'll need someone to help with recovery, I assume that's you?" She asked, looking at Gi-hun.

"Uh, well," Gi-hun began.

"It is not," In-ho cut in. "It will be my brother, I'll call him in a moment."

She shook her head. "There will not be a moment. I'll give you ten minutes, then we'll take you into surgery." She strode out of the room decisively.

"You said you didn't have any family," Gi-hun mumbled.

In-ho sighed. "I said there wasn't anyone I wanted you to call." He looked at Gi-hun, aware that his expression was a little pathetic. "May I use your phone?"

He hoped Jun-ho hadn't changed his number. It was still programmed into him, automatic, like his hands knew it better than his mind. Distantly, he wished Gi-hun would leave, so that whatever was about to happen wouldn't be witnessed.

"Hello?"

Oh. His voice was so different, he sounded so adult. Not that he had been so young when In-ho had last spoken to him, but he sounded so… Certain. "Jun-ho?"

There was a moment of silence. "Hyung?" He paused. "In-ho, are you okay? Where the fuck have you been?"

"It doesn't matter, it's over now." In-ho dragged his hand across his face. "I'm in the hospital. I won't die or anything, but I have to have surgery, and I have nowhere to stay, afterward."

"What, now?"

"Yes, apparently, in about ten minutes."

Jun-ho huffed. "You can stay with me, but I'm not home. I'm so sorry, I'm on vacation, my ticket back isn't for two more days. I can look for an earlier one, I—"

"Don't apologize," In-ho said sternly. "It's fine. I will figure it out."

"You'll be here, though? When we get back?"

We. Who was we? "I will."

"Is this your number? Can I call you at this number?"

"No, no, this is someone else's phone."

Gi-hun cut in. "Stay with me. Then he can still call you with this phone."

Blinking at him, In-ho considered. "I can't do that."

"I'll pay him," Jun-ho said. "Tell whoever that is that I'll pay for everything, I just… Fuck, how are you alive?"

"He doesn't have to pay me," Gi-hun answered. "He said two days?"

In-ho nodded.

"That's fine. I don't mind."

"Thank you," In-ho answered earnestly. "You'll be well-compensated."

"I want you to tell me as soon as you're out of surgery, okay? I can't believe… Fuck."

For all of the distance between his humanity and his body, In-ho missed his kid brother. "I'll see you soon."

He hung up and handed the phone back to Gi-hun, who stared at it, confused. "How long has it been?"

In-ho glanced at his destroyed knee. "Eight years."

"Eight years? Not talking to—"

A knock at the door interrupted him. "Excuse me, Mr. Hwang? We need to get you prepped, now."

Being dressed in a hospital gown in front of a virtual stranger, let alone a noticeably attractive one, was a low point, for In-ho. Gi-hun was polite, if a little frenetic, as though trying to keep himself calm. In-ho assured him, on several occasions during the prep process, that he was under no obligation, that In-ho was perfectly capable of finding a hotel (a lie), and that Gi-hun had done more than enough. None of these had successfully convinced him, so In-ho let himself be carted off to an operating room and put under with a slightly ominous mask.

When he awoke, to a throbbing headache and a more-throbbing knee, Gi-hun was sitting in a chair at his side, scribbling on some packet of papers. "You're still here."

Gi-hun jumped, a little startled. "Well, yeah, of course, I am. I said I'd be, didn't I?" He scanned In-ho's pitiful form. "How's your leg?"

Sitting up a little, In-ho pulled back the sheet of the bed, observing the bandaged mess beneath it. "Still there."

"That's good, I guess," Gi-hun said. "They said I can take you home in about an hour, once they explain everything."

"You don't have to—"

"I know. You've told me five hundred times." Gi-hun gave him a gentle smile. "I don't mind."

Drug-addled or sober, that made no sense, but In-ho let it go.

The doctor came in, explaining the limitations of his activity, which In-ho fully planned to ignore, and his medication schedule. At the end, she said, "you'll be out of commission for the rest of the day, your partner, here, will have to help you."

In-ho blinked once, then looked at Gi-hun.

"Oh," Gi-hun said, "I'm, um, well…" He shook his head minutely. "I will, of course."

What a bizarre person, In-ho mused internally.

Once the doctor had left and In-ho had given the police station's address as a billing recipient, Gi-hun wheeled him out to his car and then offered to help him into it, which In-ho decisively refused.

He could tell Gi-hun had questions, but was forcing himself to be respectful of In-ho's lack of mental presence. Nevertheless, the man was letting him stay in his home with only a verbal contract of reimbursement, so In-ho decided to enlighten him. "I was undercover," he said, out of nowhere. "I was breaking up a drug ring. I wasn't allowed to speak to anyone I knew from before, including family."

"For eight years?" Gi-hun sounded shocked.

"Yes. I gathered sufficient evidence to call in the rest of the force. Upon finding out my betrayal, the kingpin shot my knee."

Gi-hun breathed out slowly. "Fuck. Did your brother know you were going undercover?"

"Yes. He did not approve, unsurprisingly, but it was for the best."

"Why did you do it?"

In-ho paused. If he wasn't drugged, he might obfuscate, answer the question in a misleading way, but he liked seeing how Gi-hun reacted to the things he said. His responses were so unlike anything In-ho, himself, would've thought. "My wife had just died. I needed purpose, and attempting to comfort me was only making things hard for Jun-ho."

"Wow." He seemed, for the first time, speechless. He turned down a side street, the car making a less-than-assuring grating noise that In-ho politely ignored. "Uh, I should tell you, my place isn't that nice. Actually, it's kind of shit, you might wish you'd gotten a hotel, after all. I don't even have a guest room, but my couch is a futon, which I can take, since your leg is fucked."

"That's not necessary," In-ho said, noticing that his words were a little slurred. "I won't put you out of your bedroom."

"It's no trouble, I—"

"Gi-hun," In-ho said sternly. "I will not."

Gi-hun sighed, pulling into a parking lot and then grimacing and pulling out. "I'll drop you off at the doorstep, then go park and come back."

In-ho would've argued, but the idea of walking was becoming less appealing by the second. Gi-hun directed him to an apartment building and then disappeared for two minutes before bounding back up to him.

"Sorry, it's the second floor. I can help you, if you need."

"I will manage," In-ho promised, though he wondered if he'd be able to keep it.

Gi-hun led him up the stairs to a navy blue door and shouldered it open, reaching around In-ho to flip the light switch.

There were, bizarrely, fairy lights around the door. They illuminated Gi-hun's face in a soft yellow, like candlelight. He suddenly looked almost repulsively charming, and In-ho's painkiller-addled mind said, "pretty."

Gi-hun blinked at him, a light pink spreading over his face. "Oh," he shook his head. "Oh, the lights?"

In-ho stared at him, too bleary to comprehend much. "Sure."

"Let me get you some blankets, that's the couch, there, I'll set it up in a minute."

Too tired to keep standing, he watched Gi-hun bumble off to a room down the hall and leaned against the wall as he kicked off his shoes, more excited to lie down than he had realized, before.

He hurried back into the room, pulling out the sofa bed and putting some sheets and a comforter on it, along with a soft-looking pillow. "Okay, it's all ready. Um, do you want something to eat, or…?"

In-ho shook his head, ambling over to the couch and collapsing onto it. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Gi-hun knelt next to him. "Is there anything else you need?"

"No. Thank you," he repeated, trying to look sincere. It must've alarmed Gi-hun, to see sincerity coming from what had been functioning as a semifunctional corpse since they met.

"Oh. Well… No problem."

In-ho meant to continue thanking him, or reach out to Jun-ho, the way he'd said he would, but he ceased to hold on much longer and drifted off.

When he awoke, it was dark outside, and he had a splitting headache. He attempted to sit up and scan his surroundings, but found himself unable to do so. There were domestic sounds, though, which made him wonder if he was still dreaming.

He had dreamed of it often; his wife, one room over, puttering around in the kitchen or drawing, her pencil scratching at the pages of her sketchbook. Or, even more painful, the soft plinking of the piano under her fingers, intentionally gentle enough to keep the notes quiet. For a few moments, it always comforted him—she was there, just out of sight, existing in their same space, sharing their home, living. But he always realized, minutes later, that she wasn't just out of sight; she was out of reach.

This time, however, the puttering was real, as evidenced by Gi-hun flitting into the room and then widening his eyes when he saw that In-ho was awake. "Shit, did I wake you up?"

"No," In-ho lied. "It was time."

"I made sandwiches. Sorry, I can make better food, as you know, but I just… Didn't want to."

In-ho tried to subtly make another attempt to sit up, to no avail, and Gi-hun darted to his side and helped him. "You didn't have to do that. The food or the help."

"You can stop telling me that I don't have to do stuff. I know, I don't. I'm doing it, anyway."

Why? In-ho wanted to demand. What do you possibly stand to gain from this?

"Your brother says to call," Gi-hun added. "I spoke to him earlier, told him your surgery went well, but he wants to talk to you." He handed In-ho a plate with a pill and a sandwich on it, taking a bite of his own.

"Thank you. Do you mind if I use your phone to make some calls?"

Gi-hun shook his head, passing it over. In-ho noticed, now that he wasn't thinking about getting surgery, his lock screen, a picture of Gi-hun and a young girl.

"Who is this?" He asked absently.

"Oh, that's my daughter. She's eight, I don't…" Gi-hun cast his gaze toward the ground. "I don't see her, anymore. Her mom, my ex-wife moved, so… I miss her." He blinked. "Sorry, that's more than you asked."

"It's all right," In-ho said, dialing the number for the precinct first. He confirmed his identity and promised to be in to submit his full report later in the coming days, then hung up, steeling himself for talking to Jun-ho.

"What are you waiting for?" Gi-hun demanded, seeming quite strict about whether In-ho followed through.

In-ho gritted his teeth and dialed.

"Hyung?" Jun-ho answered on the first ring.

In-ho sighed, leaning back against the couch. "It's me. I'm not dead."

"You were supposed to call earlier."

"I was napping."

There was a tense pause. "You're okay?"

"I'm fine," In-ho said. "Don't worry. I'll see you once you're home."

"Promise?"

For a second, he sounded like a kid; like that scared, wide-eyed seven year-old whom In-ho had taken to a theme park. Distantly, a memory struck In-ho: he used to hold his hand, as they walked around.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge it. Sentiment was not his friend, he'd learned. "I promise."

After hanging up, he slowly continued to eat his sandwich, halfway exhausted again already. He caught his head tipping forward twice before Gi-hun took the plate away from him. "You're still tired," he said gently. "I'll take these in, you go back to sleep. Sorry if I'm noisy, I'll try not to be."

Tongue loosened by drugs and exhaustion, In-ho hummed. "Don't bother, the noise is nice."

The sound Gi-hun made was almost a coo, then In-ho slipped away once more.

When he awoke again, it was to more puttering. He managed to sit up on his own, stretching out his leg and cringing.

"Hey, you're up." Gi-hun trotted over with the pills and a glass of water. "I have to go in to work today, but your pills are on the table. And there's food in the fridge. So… I'll see you tonight, okay? Or, well, if you want, you can come with me. I'm never full, so you can just set up camp at a little table all day, it's up to you."

He wanted to go with him, actually. He would've loved to see Gi-hun interact with the public, particularly the substantial deplorable sect of said public, with which In-ho was so familiar.

But he was so tired. "Thank you. I will stay here."

"All right, that's good, too," Gi-hun said, and In-ho hoped he wasn't imagining the disappointment on his face. "Uh, here's the remote, watch whatever. I'll be home around ten. If you want to leave, there's a key under the doormat."

In-ho nodded, and Gi-hun gave him a smile that he imagined was meant to be reassuring.

Then, he left.

In-ho turned on the TV, mostly for plausible deniability, and lasted approximately ten minutes before he decided to explore the apartment, instead.

There were some framed pictures, particularly in the kitchen. One of Gi-hun and the child from his lockscreen, and one of him and some other men his age standing in front of some casino. He was strikingly pretty, In-ho had to admit, with those soft, dark eyes and his fluffy hair. His smile was charming, wide and bright and a little too honest. It struck In-ho like he was a frayed, exposed nerve.

Nothing about him made any sense. Why had he taken in a stranger? Why was he so willing to empathize with In-ho's plight? And, most perplexing of all, what was he so fucking hopeful about all the time?

Every picture In-ho found in his entire house, there was that glint of hope in Gi-hun's eyes. After cross-referencing all of them, identifying the minor details of his face which gave the hope away, In-ho stepped into the bathroom and stared at his own face in the mirror.

'Dour,' was the word that came to mind. Even 'gloomy' seemed to inaccurately impose upon him a capacity for an emotion like gloom. In-ho's face was devoid of any emotion, devoid, seemingly, of even the ability to convey an emotion. Trying to summon something, though, he was unsure what, he smiled at himself in the mirror.

The sight was so off-putting that he immediately arranged his features back into neutrality, just to make that garish carcass in the glass stop looking at him.

He knew, objectively, that he should not go in Gi-hun's room. And, until about two in the afternoon, that knowledge was a sufficient deterrent. By three, the temptation was too strong, and he walked into the room, making no noise, despite the fact that he knew Gi-hun would be at work for several hours.

His room was small and cluttered, but homey, nonetheless. There was an old laptop on his nightstand, along with three empty glasses and an empty tissue box. In the corner of the room was a full-length mirror, though, interestingly, a sheet was thrown over it. Sunlight filtered through dusty shutters and painted the room in shades of gold. In the corner was a chair, covered in clothes that had been cast there haphazardly. In-ho picked up the top t-shirt and pressed it to his nose, trying to commit the scent to memory, though, why, he couldn't say.

It smelled nice, like deodorant and cheap shower gel and, distantly, something too human for someone like In-ho to understand. He shook himself mentally and placed it back on the chair.

There was murkiness, in the seas of his mind, as he tried to map out the borders of his humanity against the seeming boundlessness of Gi-hun's. Was his own apathy a product of grief, as he had always thought? As he looked at Gi-hun in these photos, In-ho found it hard to believe that he had ever possessed whatever ineffable thing lived behind those soft eyes. Perhaps his distance from personhood was innate.

This distance was only furthered by his eight years behind a mask. He had been pretending to be something else for so long, a machine, goal-oriented to the point of heartlessness, that he was out-of-practice. Maybe therein lay the illiteracy In-ho felt with understanding Gi-hun's actions.

He left Gi-hun's room, giving it one last oddly wistful look before shutting the door behind him and deciding to set about tidying his apartment. Not that it was messy, really, but In-ho washed the dishes, dusted every surface, and vacuumed, his knee beginning to throb halfway through, but he powered on. The idea of sitting idly on the couch, alone, dwelling on the merits and shortcomings of personhood, was anathema to him.

The pain overcame him, after a while, so he sat down on the couch once more, realizing it was time for his painkillers again. He picked one out of the bottle, between his finger and his thumb, and stared at it.

"We get 'em hooked," Dong-yul told him. "Then, the debt isn't just money, is it?"

"It's chemical," In-ho—no, Young-il—had finished tonelessly, and Dong-yul clapped him on the shoulder. "How do you get people to take pills like this? They know they're dangerous."

Dong-yul chuckled, looking around at a few of his many sidekicks amusedly. "Well, that's easy." He gave Young-il an oily smile. "Find people in pain."

In-ho studied the pill for a moment, weighing its implications in his head. To take it would be to bolster the apathy that had done such an excellent job comforting his dying soul. Consequently, he assumed, it meant keeping that glint that burned so unwaveringly in Gi-hun's eyes from ever catching in his own. He smiled, once, in the reflection of the TV, trying to mimic Gi-hun, to channel whatever that was, and, again, found it more eerie than anything else.

He took the pill, burying his face in the throw blanket Gi-hun had given him and drifting back off to sleep.

When he woke up, it was to the sound of a key turning in the door. Eyes wide, he glanced around, looking for any weapon. The kitchen was too far, he'd never get there in time, he'd have to fight this assailant off with his hands, and—

Gi-hun stumbled through the door, carrying a plastic bag full of… Something. "Hey, you're awake."

In-ho blinked at him, trying to relax. He didn't need to fight Gi-hun. "So I am."

"You cleaned," Gi-hun mused. "Damn, you cleaned a lot." He scanned the room. "Did you dust? Who dusts? And you're supposed to stay off your feet!" He set the bag on the table and began unpacking it. "I got takeout, I didn't want to cook any more today."

"Did you have a long day?"

Gi-hun hummed. "Sort of. We were really busy, and one of my employees got overwhelmed, so I sent him on a break, which meant picking up the slack for him."

"This break…" In-ho said slowly. "Improved his productivity?"

Snorting, Gi-hun pulled dishware out of his cupboard. "Not at all."

"Then why would you offer it?"

Gi-hun turned to look at him, a forgiving sort of smile on his face. "He needed it. It made him feel better."

"What a nice boss you must be," In-ho said. Internally, he began to suspect that Gi-hun was sort of a fool, and a pushover, to boot.

Unaware of the scrutiny, Gi-hun's smile widened. "Thanks, I hope so." He looked over the table, then nodded. "Okay, ready to eat? Sorry, it's so late."

"I don't mind." In-ho joined him, helping him set the spread and then sitting across from him. "Thank you for the food. I'll make sure to reimburse you."

"Don't worry about it." Gi-hun took a substantial bite of rice, storing it in his cheeks like a little mouse. "Have you spoken to your brother today?"

"No. I'm planning on going to the precinct tomorrow and getting a temporary phone and a stipend when I make my report."

Gi-hun's brow furrowed, not looking up from his plate. "How will you get there?"

"It isn't far, I'll be able to walk."

"What?" He swallowed all the food in his cheeks. "You can't walk, you have one functioning leg! I can drive you."

In-ho raised an eyebrow. "That's not necessary."

"You're a terrible patient, do you know that? I'm going to tell your brother that you're being difficult."

Despite himself, In-ho felt his lips twitch. "You're going to report me?"

"Yeah, if I have to."

In-ho took a delicate bite of his food. "I suppose I'll have to let you chauffeur me, then." He paused. "Actually, it's closer to your shop. Perhaps I'll come with you tomorrow and go from there?" He was mostly certain that Gi-hun would acquiesce, but, in any case, pressuring him to do so couldn't hurt.

"Sure, of course!"

In-ho bowed his head gratefully. "What else happened in your day?"

And, just as he hoped, Gi-hun launched into story after story of workplace mundanity. He described rude customers, cute children and pets he'd seen, the burgeoning workplace romance between two of his employees.

Gi-hun chattered the way people speak when they're surprised to have to floor, uninterrupted. He rambled on and on, his voice lulling In-ho into something of a trance. He stared at him, endeared by the cadence of his sentences and the whiny timbre that made itself known during retellings of particular frustrations.

In-ho spotted the exact moment when Gi-hun realized he'd been speaking too long. Fortunately, they were an ideal match: In-ho did not want to speak for fear of exposing how unnatural his mannerisms felt, and Gi-hun was desperate to be heard and listened to. In-ho wanted to listen to him, wanted to try to comprehend his perspective and see at what point their paths had diverged.

"Sorry," he said. "I've been talking forever."

"Don't apologize," In-ho said. "I enjoy it."

Gi-hun chuckled wryly. "How could you?"

"I have not known mundanity in eight years, Gi-hun." Nor have I known kindness. "What seems monotonous for you is refreshing, for me." He paused, wondering whether to push, but finding himself unable to resist. "And you have a nice voice."

A pinkish flush swept its way up Gi-hun's neck and into his cheeks. "Oh. Well… Thanks, I guess." An alarm dinged on his phone. "Hey, it's time for your pill, by the way."

In-ho nodded, making to stand before Gi-hun pushed him back down by the shoulder.

"I'll get it, just sit there, you've done enough." He grabbed one of In-ho's pills and brought it back. As In-ho swallowed it, Gi-hun sighed. "I can't believe you cleaned."

"I enjoy cleaning."

Gi-hun doled each of them out some more rice. "I bet you do. Still, you didn't have to."

In-ho couldn't come up with anything appropriate to say. "I like your apartment," he managed, at last.

"No, you don't," Gi-hun said, grinning. "It's tiny, and it's a mess."

"It's very… Homey." He paused, considering said grin and how unachievable it seemed. "May I ask you something?"

Gi-hun nodded.

"Why did you take me in?"

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I am a stranger. I could be dangerous. You know that my situation is not your fault, you are under no obligation to assist me. In taking me in, you have taken a colossal risk that, to your knowledge, could be completely without reward. Why would you do this?"

"It's the right thing to do."

In-ho's eyes narrowed. "Is it? You've put yourself in danger. You were prepared to die on this hill?"

"I didn't think it was likely that you were a murderer," Gi-hun said slowly.

"Why not? I'm desperate, you don't know me at all," In-ho parried, intrigued by watching him reply.

He shrugged. "It's what I would've wanted someone to do for me, if the positions were reversed."

"But they wouldn't have," In-ho insisted. "No one would do that for a stranger."

"Yes, they would," he countered. "Would you? Would you have taken me in?"

"No. In my experience with people, that would be an excellent way to get myself killed."

Gi-hun blinked at him, as though that response surprised him. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Were you always like that? Suspicious of people? Or just after…?" He trailed off in that way that meant, or just after the worst thing that ever happened to you, rewriting your entire sense of self, eating your soul, morphing everything you ever believed into something twisted and nightmarish, distorting the reality of your past to fit reasonably into a world where this horror can occur.

The paths of answers spread out ahead of him. If he knew Gi-hun better, he would've liked to consult him about human nature, about whether he thought a creature like In-ho could be made, or could they just be born like that? To lie also felt violatory, like there was some semblance of truth Gi-hun was owed from him. At last, he decided on the honesty. "I don't remember."

Then, an even more unfamiliar expression blew across Gi-hun's face. It was something In-ho believed himself no longer capable of, it was something he hadn't seen in years. But there it was:

Pity.

No one had cared enough to pity him in as long as he could remember.

"I bet you would've, where the rubber meets the road," Gi-hun concluded.

"I would not. But thank you for believing that of me."

"You just didn't see how pitiful you looked," Gi-hun said, and In-ho was fairly certain he was teasing. "All folded up on my back stoop, you looked like an alley cat. If you'd seen it, you would've taken you in, too."

In-ho huffed. "How fortunate, then."

"Yeah, really. Lucky you." His face was so charming, earnest and impossible in equal measure. "Your brother gets back tomorrow night. You can stay with me another night, if you want, and just go to his place in the morning."

"After tonight?"

"Yeah, so you're not staggering around looking for his apartment at one in the morning."

In-ho smiled. "I've done worse."

"But you don't need to," Gi-hun argued. "I'll drive you over the next morning, it'll be easier."

"I've imposed enough."

Gi-hun waved his hand. "Please, you cleaned everything and planned to pay me for it. I don't really think that's imposing."

In-ho considered that. It certainly felt like he was imposing, perhaps Gi-hun was underestimating just how much delight In-ho was taking from observing him. "I'll speak to Jun-ho and see what he says."

"It's actually sort of nice, having someone else here." Gi-hun took another bite of food, which he squirreled away in his cheeks. "Sometimes it freaks me out, being the only one home."

"How long have you lived alone?"

Gi-hun smiled, a little bitter. "A couple years. I lived with my mother, after my divorce. She died two years ago."

"I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "Not your fault." He shoveled in another spoonful. "Anyway. It feels a little less lonely, you know? Coming home and talking to someone instead of, like… Sitting here silently or talking to a spider or something."

In-ho tried not to take offense that his conversational skills were apparently coplanar with those of a creature that was a cousin to a tick. "Can I use your phone?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course!" Gi-hun dug his phone out of his pocket and passed it over. "I can go in my room so you have some privacy, or—"

"That's not necessary," In-ho interrupted. "I can step outside." Without further ado, he took the phone and stepped into the hall, dialing Jun-ho's number.

"Hello?"

"Hello, how are you?"

There was a wry chuckle on the other line. "You sound like a virtual assistant."

"How is your vacation?"

He heard the sound of a door opening and closing. "Yeah, it's good. We'll be home soon, though."

"Gi-hun has offered to let me stay with him tomorrow night, as well, so that you have time to settle in after landing so late."

"Huh," he paused. "Are you okay with that? Is he weird? What the fuck is he doing, anyway? How much does he think he's getting paid?"

"I don't know," In-ho answered honestly. "He's… Bizarre. He was under the impression, initially, that he was not being paid. He maintains that he was doing this because it was the right thing to do."

"Is he, like… Is there something wrong with him?"

Despite himself, In-ho chuckled. "Maybe. It makes no sense to me, either."

"Is he dangerous?"

"Definitely not."

"If you don't mind staying with him another night, I can come pick you up the next morning, and we'll have prepared a room for you or something."

In-ho pondered that for a moment. "Am I allowed, yet, to ask who else is a part of this 'we'?"

"Not really, no."

"I'll see you soon, then. He's a good host." He cleared his throat. "I can let you get back to your holiday, I simply wanted to check in—"

"Wait, wait. Are you, um…" Jun-ho trailed off, then spoke again. "Are you okay?"

There, it was. Eight years, and Jun-ho's sentimental nature was still a weakness. "I'm fine." And, before Jun-ho could reply, he hung up the phone and crept back inside.

Gi-hun didn't appear to notice his re-entry, singing quietly to himself as he put away dishes. As In-ho studied him, he saw flickers of details he'd missed: the weight across his shoulders, the slump of his posture, like he'd spent a lot of time folding himself up. The knobs of his spine were just visible, and it occurred to In-ho to wonder whether he usually ate well.

Satisfied with his observations and, more prominently, interested to see him startled, In-ho spoke up. "Do you need any help?"

Gi-hun jolted a little, turning around abruptly. "Fuck, your feet are quiet, aren't they? Did you do a lot of sneaking around while you were undercover?"

In-ho shrugged, not committing to an answer.

"You didn't eat very much," Gi-hun mused. "Didn't you like the food?"

I've been living like a dog on the street for eight years. "The painkillers suppress appetite."

"Have you been on them before? I remember them giving me headaches." He finished tidying and sat back down at the table, where In-ho joined him without thinking.

"Yes, once or twice." In-ho scanned the room around them absently. "Why were you prescribed them?"

Gi-hun looked down at the table, oddly pensive. "I was part of a union, a few years ago. We went on strike, they tried to smoke us out, I… Got hurt. Had to have surgery, which was," he tapped his fingers on the table, feigning nonchalance. "Expensive."

"I can imagine." He studied Gi-hun, eyes unblinking, and tried to force himself not to look at him like a lab specimen. "Did the strike work?"

"No, not really. We all got fired, a couple people died. There was supposed to be a lawsuit, but the union voted to settle."

"Is that what you would've chosen?"

Gi-hun picked at something on the wood in front of him. "No. I don't think it's right, even though we got paid for it. Our friends died, and we accepted payment to shut up about it."

In-ho felt his head tip sideways, intrigued. "How does that make you feel?"

"Angry, at first. But I understand, you know. None of us wanted to do it, but I wasn't the only one hurt in the fire, people had hospital bills, they had families to feed, so… I understand why they voted the way they did."

"Didn't you also have hospital bills? And a family to feed? Were you better off than your co-conspirators?"

Gi-hun frowned, keeping his eyes down sheepishly. "I wasn't, no. But I… I can't hate them for it."

"Why?"

He looked up at In-ho at last, brow furrowing. "They did the best they could in a shitty situation. That doesn't make them bad people, it makes them… Well, it doesn't really make them anything, does it? Everyone does the best they can, sometimes that's not very good." He narrowed his eyes. "And what are you asking so many questions for?"

Sensing, for the first time, irritation from Gi-hun, In-ho acquiesced immediately. "I apologize. That was intrusive."

Gi-hun stared at him for a second, then exhaled loudly. "No, it's fine, I was… Snippy."

"You weren't," In-ho assured.

There was a moment of silence, a little tense. "Do you not agree?" Gi-hun asked.

In-ho tipped his head from side to side. "With what?"

"What I said about people. You look like you think something different."

"I do." He did not want to guide Gi-hun toward his own perspective, though, nor did he want to reveal exactly how difficult this charade of normalcy was for In-ho to maintain.

Gi-hun waited for a second, then made a face. "Well? Are you going to, like, explain?"

I hate them. That's what he wanted to say. That was the truth, he thought. They're vermin. "I think you are being too liberal with the grace you give your fellow man," he said slowly.

"Why?"

"Why are you so quick to forgive their shortcomings?"

Gi-hun faltered, and In-ho grimaced internally. Perhaps his worldview was indeed as fragile as suspected. Disappointing, but not surprising. Then, he came back swinging. "Why are you so quick to condemn them? People make mistakes, it doesn't mean they're, um… Irredeemable."

Impressed, In-ho felt the corners of his mouth twitch. "Some are, aren't they?"

"Well, I mean… Some cats have rabies, that doesn't mean you should treat them all like they do."

An interesting point. "Wouldn't it be safer to?"

Gi-hun looked at him for a second, then huffed a laugh. "You're sort of a weird one, you know that?"

In another life, In-ho would've been offended. As it stood, he blinked at him, doing nothing to mitigate the intensity of his gaze. "Does that bother you?"

Cringing under the weight of In-ho's eyes, Gi-hun looked away. "No, I guess not." He paused for a second, then looked back at In-ho with a crooked grin. "Just so you know, I don't have rabies."

In-ho felt the smile attempting to bully its way onto his face, a foreign, shaky thing that he imagined did not suit him at all. Gi-hun would likely cringe away if he saw it, the way In-ho had in the mirror, so he cast his face toward the table to hide it. "No, it seems that you don't." He forced his face back into its default neutrality, then looked at him again. "I might, I'm not sure."

Gi-hun laughed, and In-ho was struck by the thought that it was a pretty sound. Gentle and earnest, gleeful and almost song-like. His whole body moved when he laughed, and he leaned over and elbowed In-ho conspiratorially, as though they were teenagers joking around and not grown men, one hardened into a virtual husk of a person and one, apparently, delusional.

He liked him, though. He liked his laugh, his smile, the brightness of his eyes and the scrunch of his nose. Gi-hun felt like the sort of person In-ho could have fallen in love with, if he was still capable of love. As it stood, he was the sort of person In-ho wanted to study, to orbit around. Something about Gi-hun reminded him of watching a rom-com; unrealistic but uplifting, the sort of thing that defied the truth of mankind for a kinder, gentler plane of existence. In-ho could never join him there, he knew that, but it didn't stop him from wanting to bear witness to him.

"Did you talk very much? Before… Everything?" Gi-hun asked.

In-ho felt his eyebrow twitch. "About what?"

"Anything," Gi-hun said, and his voice was without judgment. "You're not very talkative."

"I like when you talk," In-ho replied easily.

The smile on Gi-hun's face was soft, endeared, almost. "That's nice and all, but you don't have to say it just because I'm letting you stay here."

In-ho hummed noncommittally. To say more would be too expository, and he had already gone farther down that path than he would've liked. He wasn't even sure what the answer was. His wife had always said he was quiet until he got on a roll, then he could lecture for ages.

That was a different man, he reminded himself.

Now, he was quiet in order to minimize the likelihood that his inhumanity become visible. He was just so… Out of practice. And the last time he'd been in practice, he'd been actively falling apart, rended by grief like an animal tearing gristle off bones.

Apparently sensing that a response wasn't on its way, Gi-hun prattled on. "It's all right. I talk enough for five people, my friends say." He glanced around the room, then widened his eyes. "Shit, I needed to offer you a shower! You must feel terrible. I'll get you a towel and some spare clothes, we're close enough sizes, I think. Your bandage isn't supposed to get wet, is it? Or are you just supposed to change it?"

In-ho blinked. A shower did sound nice, but he didn't want to unbandage his knee, and he certainly didn't want to make himself any more vulnerable in front of this insane stranger, however endearing he may have been. "I'd rather not—"

"I know!" Gi-hun rustled through his cupboards and pulled out a trashbag. "When my friend broke his leg, he put a trash bag over his cast to shower. I can cut a hole in the bottom and do the same thing for you!"

"That's not—"

"Necessary, I know," Gi-hun interrupted. He dug a pair of scissors from a junk drawer and cut the trash bag. "The top is draw string, so you can just tighten it over your knee."

In-ho took it reluctantly. "Thank you."

"Come on, I'll show you how to use the shower." He ambled off toward the bathroom, In-ho following behind him. "You don't seem to be in that much pain," Gi-hun observed as he took a clean towel from the closet. "Are you?"

"It's fine."

"You should just record yourself saying 'it's fine' and 'that's not necessary,' it would save you a lot of effort," he teased. "You can limp, you know. I'm not a lion, I'm not going to single out the wounded, or whatever."

In-ho's lips twitched. "I appreciate it."

"Uh, you just pull that to turn it on, left for hot. It, um, takes a few minutes to heat up, so…" He cleared his throat. "I'll leave the clothes right outside the door."

"Thank you, Gi-hun."

Gi-hun's expression softened. "Oh. Well… It's no problem." He gave In-ho a shy grin and then trotted out of the room.

The shower did help, though In-ho resolutely refused to look in the mirror. The shampoo and shower gel smelled like Gi-hun, something that also contributed to overwhelming In-ho. The bag over his knee felt and looked incredibly stupid, but the burn of the water melted the grime away. He didn't let himself luxuriate in it too much, for fear that he'd grow attached to Gi-hun or his cozy little house. Which he was not.

The clothes were close enough to the right size; he assumed Gi-hun had found some things that were oversized so that they'd be more comfortable. When he emerged from the bathroom, Gi-hun was stretching the blankets back over the couch, an action that approximated making the bed in such a distant way that it was charming, if a little sad.

"It's pathetic, isn't it?" Gi-hun said, half-joking. "Turning down a couch like I think you're at a hotel."

"Don't be so critical," In-ho replied sternly. "I'm very grateful."

Gi-hun huffed a laugh. "Yeah, whatever." He looked over the sofa, once more, putting a glass of water next to it. "I'll see you in the morning. Let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks," In-ho said, waiting until Gi-hun left the room and then collapsing onto the couch/bed. He scanned the room intensely, making sure there was no movement, then pressed his nose into the sweatshirt he'd been given. Something about it was comforting, soft and worn like it had been lived in for years. He touched his own arm through the sleeve. Did Gi-hun's arm feel like this, too? Did his sleeves stretch over his hands? Did his head exist along with his body, or was it like In-ho's, lagging five meters behind to watch everything detachedly? If Gi-hun touched his own skin, did it feel like a disembodied hand? Or did it feel like his own?

What was that like?

It's pathetic, isn't it? He had said. In-ho didn't think he was pathetic. Pathetic was the soulless unit he'd stayed in for eight years, a home base to sleep at in between lurking around clubs and dens like a predator, waiting for someone desperate enough to prey upon.

In-ho rubbed his head against the couch, cherishing the feel of the worn fabric against his cheek. He drifted, a little, his thoughts migrating from structured, analytical questions about Gi-hun's experience with personhood to cloudy feelings of hands on In-ho's face, in his hair, on his arms.

A creak of the floor woke him immediately.

In-ho scanned his surroundings, eyes wide, reaching for a weapon that he no longer had, only to see Gi-hun standing in the entryway to the living room.

"Oh! Oh, sorry, did I wake you?" Gi-hun asked, hands twitching and then burying themselves in the pockets of his pajama pants.

"No," In-ho lied, sensing that this would become a pattern for them. "Is everything all right?"

Gi-hun sighed, then smiled, joining In-ho on the couch. "Good. I was worried I woke you up, you know? And then, your recovery, you know, I wouldn't want to ruin your recovery."

"You didn't wake me."

"Great." He pulled the blanket that was still covering In-ho's legs over his own so that they were sharing, hands clenching fists into the fabric. "Do you like the beach?"

In-ho blinked, accepting that there was no chance of him going back to sleep any time soon. "I do, to an extent. I'm not a fan of high-tourism areas, though."

"Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense. What do you like better, the beach or the mountains?"

A part of In-ho wanted to snap at him, to demand they forego this inane chatter and actually discuss whatever was keeping Gi-hun, and, now, both of them, awake.

But his hands were obviously shaking, and his eyes were wide as he glanced frenetically around the room. When In-ho paused before answering, Gi-hun looked at him, hopeful and trusting and fucking… Foolish.

In-ho narrowed his eyes for a second, then internally rolled them at himself. "The mountains. They're more remote."

"Do you like hiking? You seem like you'd be good at hiking. I don't really like it, you know. I haven't been to the mountains very much, though, maybe I'd like it more if there was something to see. The beach, I mean… There's lots to see at the beach. Jellyfish, I'm sort of scared of jellyfish. I like to watch the people, though. And there's seashells, crabs, my daughter loves crabs. Are there crabs at the beaches in America?"

"There are crabs at American beaches," In-ho said, before the topic could change again.

"That's good." His foot bounced rapidly against the floor. "Do you like the ocean?"

Scared. In-ho knew what scared looked like, he had given people reasons to look scared for years. And, partially, the expression on Gi-hun was appealing. Fear was an excellent educator, after all, and this childlike naivety would not serve him forever. By frightening him, or, even, refusing to indulge this strange coping mechanism, In-ho would be helping him, in a way. Teach him to stop depending on strangers or assuming that he could, teach him to calcify this vulnerability, build a shell around it and sequester it away, that would be safer. And, in a way, wasn't that kinder?

But the trust was endearing, especially for someone as monstrous as In-ho. The fact that Gi-hun seemed to wholeheartedly believe that he'd play along, just out of the goodness of his heart, was… Disarming.

In-ho rested his head against the back of the couch. "I do. It's said that there are creatures in the ocean so unrecognizable to us that they almost appear alien."

"Yeah! Like those fish with the lanterns on their heads, you know?"

"Anglerfish," In-ho said.

"Exactly!" He nodded enthusiastically at In-ho, brittle smile wide on his face.

He continued to prattle on about a variety of scattered topics, the beach, food, weather, cars, anything. In-ho responded with short, polite answers, allowing him the space to keep talking. Over time, Gi-hun's words slowed, his voice becoming less high and frantic.

In-ho watched, intrigued, as Gi-hun talked himself into a more serene state, until he eventually yawned and gave In-ho a tired smile.

"It's really late now, huh?" He asked, seeming a little sleepy. "I'm going to try to go back to bed."

"Goodnight," In-ho said politely.

Gi-hun stood up, stretching, then looked back on his way out of the room. "In-ho?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for talking to me."

In-ho gave him the gentlest look of which he was capable, which was, presumably, incredibly frightening. "I'll see you in the morning."

Regrettably, he dreamed of listening to him chatter some more, drifting in and out of consciousness to the soundtrack of Gi-hun's mindless rambling.

The next day, In-ho sat in a booth at Gi-hun's restaurant, wearing Gi-hun's clothes, observing Gi-hun's opening routine, and feeling like an imposter.

The persistence of Gi-hun's apparent fondness for mankind was a mystery. People trickled in and trickled out with blank faces and dull eyes, placing orders in monotone voices. No one thanked Gi-hun, no one put anything in his pitiful, empty tip jar, and no one did anything to earn the openness of his expression when he looked at them.

After observing this for a few hours, In-ho rose from his booth and gave Gi-hun a wave, nodding toward the door. Gi-hun faltered a little, but gave him a halfhearted smile.

Time to make his report.

The station was only a kilometer from the shop, though In-ho admitted, retrospectively, that walking a kilometer was a lot less comfortable with only one functional leg. He gritted his teeth and shouldered his way into the precinct.

Most of the employees were people who had been hired in his absence. They did not recognize him, nor did he recognize them. Even from here, his impact had been removed. He had been strategically excised from the world like a foreign body, like a splinter.

"Hwang," the chief said, stopping in his tracks as he saw him.

"Chief," In-ho responded, and the other employees in his periphery stiffened.

He gave him something adjacent to a smile. "Can't believe you're really alive."

"Looks that way."

He tipped his head towards the hall. "Let's go, my office."

In-ho followed him to the little room at the end of the hall, forcing himself not to limp.

"So… Fifteen men in administrative and executive positions for the ring, another twenty runners and recruiters, all put away." The chief leaned back in his chair. "And not one of them ever suspected you."

"No."

"Takes a certain kind of man," he said neutrally, pulling some paperwork out of his desk. "You have notes?"

"No." Initially, he had taken notes. He had discarded them the first time one of the desperate people raided his apartment.

The chief hummed. "Well… Let's get to it."

Getting to it, as In-ho predicted, was uncomfortable. He had taken lives, he had recruited for the drug ring, he had committed many crimes in service of maintaining his cover. The chief remained nonjudgmental, but it was still unsettling. Once the details of the eight years had been sufficiently outlined, the chief tucked the paperwork neatly into the folder and pulled out some other forms.

"What have you been doing the past few days?"

In-ho narrowed his eyes. This was not the chief's business. "I've been staying with a friend."

"Hm. We'll give you a stipend, enough to cover transport and a phone and other expenses until your next paycheck clears, and your hospital bills have been taken care of. You coming back to homicide?"

"Sure."

The chief chuckled. "Would you rather be doing something else?"

In-ho tipped his head sideways. "I'm happy to be wherever I'm needed."

"Great. What I was really asking was, have you talked to Jun-ho?"

"I have. He's out of town."

With a smile, the chief nodded. "I'm aware he's out of town. He must be thrilled that you're back."

In-ho wasn't so sure, but he didn't comment on that.

"Even quieter than before," the chief mused. "How are you," he tapped his head. "Up here? You need access to company resources?"

"No."

He rolled his eyes. "You might as well put them to work, you know."

"Unnecessary."

"Well, Hwang," the chief extended his hand to shake. "I'll be glad to have you back on board. Do you want to come back in Monday?"

In-ho blinked. "That's in a week."

"Thank you, I know."

"I can start back tomorrow, if you want."

The chief huffed. "No. Settle in. Let us get things organized for you. I'll see you Monday."

In-ho forced himself not to scowl, nodding politely and then escorting himself out of the station, armed with a debit card and a loaded T-Money card, which he took advantage of to ride the bus back to Gi-hun's restaurant, stopping at an ATM and taking out twenty thousand won.

He pushed the door open, surprised to find activity had died down, only a few tables filled and no one in line.

"Welco—oh, it's you." Gi-hun's face turned a little sheepish. "Um, so… I have something to talk to you about."

In-ho approached the order counter. "What would that be?" He fished the T-Money card out of his pocket discreetly, then dropped it intentionally on Gi-hun's side. "Sorry, I—"

"It's fine." Gi-hun knelt down, picking up the card, and, as he did so, In-ho stealthily dropped the twenty thousand won into the tip jar. "Here you go," he said, passing the card back over to In-ho. "Anyway, I've thought of how you can repay me for the last few days."

In-ho kept his face blank. "I was going to repay you with money."

"Right, well… So, one of my friends is getting married, and, initially, I was going to go with my friend, Jung-bae, so I have a plus one. But now, Jung-bae's wife has decided she's going to get an invite and come with him, which she never does, I think she's only doing it because she hates me. She's awful, you know, she's got no reason to hate me, she thinks I'm a bad influence, which, whatever. Her husband is a bad influence on me! I didn't—"

"Gi-hun."

"Right, sorry," his expression grew bashful. "Well, so… You should come with me. As my plus one. To this wedding."

In-ho's skin crawled. He would rather get shot again.

And he was beginning to grow concerned with his weakness for this same stupid, hopeful countenance that kept plowing its way onto Gi-hun's face. "You do not want that." I do not want that!

"No, I do! Because, otherwise, I'll have no one to talk to!"

"Surely, you know some people at this wedding. Why are you invited, if not?"

Gi-hun sighed. "Come on, you have to come with me."

"Gi-hun," In-ho complained slowly.

"Right, you're right." He cast his eyes toward the counter. "It's stupid, I know, I just… I hate showing up to things like that alone, you know? And everybody's reminded about my divorce, and my mom, and… But it's not your problem, I know."

Fucking… In-ho hated him. Why should he be moved by this pathetic individual, whose life was, apparently, a real shitshow? He had heard such sob stories every day for eight years, and now, in this miserable little restaurant, facing this downtrodden, ridiculous man, something beat at the inside of his chest.

He should say no. Whatever movement was happening inside him was wrong, was a remnant of something long gone, and it needed to stay that way. The immobility of his heart was an adaptation, it existed for a reason.

There was something to be said, though, about that which he absolutely could not let himself do. More specifically, about the appeal of that thing. It was a principle he had used many times, tell someone, very clearly, everything will be fine if you don't do X. It was strategic. Never, in his eight years undercover, had a person resisted whatever X was.

He told himself that it was a good setting to study humanity, to get back to some approximation of normalcy. He told himself that he owed it to Gi-hun, he told himself that he was intentionally and manipulatively strengthening their relationship. Whatever placation eventually stuck was immaterial.

"I will go with you."

The smile that lit up his face was almost worth the immense internal unrest that would likely plague In-ho for the following days. "Shit, really? Are you serious?"

"If you want."

Gi-hun clapped him on the shoulder. "You're the best, thank you. Can I do something for you? Can I… Do you want some chicken? Or, like, um…"

In-ho forced himself not to stare at the place where Gi-hun's hand had touched him. "You've done more than enough. You'll have given me free lodging, clothes, and food for three nights. I've been given a stipend, I'll take out some money and repay you."

"You don't have to!" Gi-hun said. "The wedding thing is enough. Or, if you want, I can tell you how much the food was, and you can give me half. But it's nice having you there, I don't mind, and it's not like it was five-star accommodation."

"Consider it my brother's payment, then. Like the fee people pay a kennel."

Gi-hun laughed. "A kennel? Are you calling my apartment a kennel, or are you calling yourself a dog?"

Lips twitching a little, In-ho shrugged.

"Do you need something to wear? I have an extra suit, but—"

"My clothing is in storage outside of the city center. I would've gone to retrieve it earlier, but I didn't have a transport card."

"And you only have one working leg."

In-ho huffed. "It works just fine."

"I'm going to take my break, since we're a little slow. Do you want something to eat?"

"If you don't mind." He passed over the card.

Gi-hun stared at it, looking a little torn. "I can't take your money," he said feebly, as though he desperately wanted to take the money.

"It's not mine," In-ho countered. "It's the station's money."

Gi-hun tapped something into the cash register and swiped the card. "No problem, then. Not really a big fan of police, actually."

"Really?"

Looking a little embarrassed, Gi-hun backpedaled. "I mean, not… You're good, of course, I just—"

"It's okay. Me, neither."

Gi-hun blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Some people enter law enforcement to be given incontrovertible, inherent power. It's diametrically opposed to what they're supposed to be doing. Resentment of that behavior is perfectly reasonable."

There was a flicker of relief on his face. "Oh. Well… Okay." He turned his back to In-ho to dig around in the kitchen for something, then produced two plates of food and led him over to a booth, just like the first night In-ho had met him. "How was making your report?"

"It was fine. Awkward. There are… Rules that I broke to accomplish my goal."

"Was your boss mad?"

Charming. He looked like he really cared, like In-ho might've been admonished by the police chief and felt downtrodden about it. "No. But it was uncomfortable to admit."

"Is that common? Breaking laws to do something big?"

"More common than people would like to believe." The food was delicious, he was wolfing it down like a wild animal, then forced himself to slow down. "For better or for worse, law is quite utilitarian."

Gi-hun quirked his head sideways. "What do you mean?"

"The greatest good for the greatest number of people. Often extended to imply that a few may be compromised to improve the lives of many. Can you kill two people to save twenty, and all that."

"How do you feel about that?"

Feel. How did he feel about it? "It's one of many things that should be considered differently on an individual and societal level. Would you hurt one of your friends to help two others? More broadly, would you commit heinous acts against a hundred people for the good of the nation? People's opinions differ, but the two concepts are inextricable. Those hundred people are individuals, they shouldn't be reduced to conceptual statistics just for a cleaner conscience. But, if the nation suffers, that's millions of individuals suffering."

Gi-hun narrowed his eyes at him, then smiled slyly. "You just explained it more, you didn't say how you felt."

In-ho blinked. "I suppose you're right." He took a bite of food. "How do you feel about it?"

"It's not fair," Gi-hun said. "Tormenting a hundred people for the good of a thousand, it's not right."

"What if those hundred people were deplorable? If you could hand-select the people who were sacrificed for the greater good, would you feel differently?"

"Maybe. Yeah, I think so."

In-ho raised an eyebrow. "Then you do believe it, to an extent, you're just moving the goalpost about who it can be applied to."

"I don't think that's true," Gi-hun said slowly.

"Oh?"

"It's a different thing, isn't it? To want someone to be punished for being horrible and to care about your society as a whole, they're different. You're, um…"

In-ho felt his lips twitch. "Conflating them? I am, you're right."

"Why?"

"From what I've seen, there is a greater percentage of people in the population who warrant some punishment. It is easy for me to see this as a society of people who deserve to be sacrificed."

Gi-hun's brow furrowed. "Isn't that, like… Well, isn't…" He groaned, frustrated with himself. "Your sample of people is wrong."

"Elaborate."

"Well, I mean, I don't know very much about your undercover work, but weren't you mainly dealing with, like… Criminals?"

In-ho hummed. "A sample bias? Maybe. But a kingpin is every bit as human as, for example, you."

Gi-hun stared at him for a second, then smiled. "You know, you've said more words in the past three minutes than the last three days."

"No, I haven't."

"You have, listen to you, chatting away." Gi-hun kicked him gently under the table. "All that talking and you never said how you actually felt."

In-ho considered that. "I'm not sure I feel anything about it. Utilitarianism, in every variation, presumes a want for what's best for people."

"Huh." Gi-hun leaned back a little, his cheeks stuffed with food.

"You think I'm wrong."

Gi-hun tipped his head from side to side, swallowing audibly. "Kinda, yeah. But I also think you've been sort of, like, underground for eight years. So I don't blame you."

So ridiculously, unwaveringly charming. "You should be careful. Someone might take advantage of all that forgiveness."

He laughed. "That's kind of what it's there for."

For the briefest of seconds, like movement in the corner of a prey animal's eye, In-ho saw a flash of himself kissing Gi-hun, cupping his soft cheek in his hand and bumping their noses together as he pulled away. It wasn't him, not really. It was some other Hwang In-ho, some still-whole, still-human individual who was not here anymore. In-ho knew that, he did, or, at least, he told himself he did.

The moment flickered away as Gi-hun spoke again. "Hey, someone tipped me!" In-ho watched his features brighten as he spotted the bills in the tip jar. "See? People do good things sometimes."

In-ho kept his eyes on him, interested. "If you say so."

Gi-hun huffed, standing up from the booth and trotting over to investigate the tip jar, ruffling In-ho's hair absently as he walked by. "If you say so, you're like a sulky teenager."

"Sulky?"

"Bratty, even," Gi-hun teased. "Wow, twenty-thousand." He reached his hand into the jar.

"Leave it in there," In-ho said.

Gi-hun looked over at him. "What? Why?"

"If people see money in a tip jar, they're more likely to tip. And, if you're right about the general nature of people, no one ought to take it."

Gi-hun looked at the jar like he wanted to take the money and pocket it, like it was taking a substantial amount of self control not to do so. "I never said all people were trustworthy."

"No, I suppose you didn't." He thought for a moment. "How's this: if no one takes it out of the jar, I'll double it."

"Why would you do that?"

In-ho observed him like a cat would observe an old, sick mouse. "I'm curious."

His face took on a challenging look, like a gambler's often did. "You're on."

Gi-hun went back to working, and In-ho sat at the booth, watching. It took less time than he expected, for their wager to make itself known.

He watched it happen. A young man, with that same desperate look that In-ho knew so well, placed his order, then waited for Gi-hun to turn his back and subtly fished the two bills out of the jar. He turned around, then, and began to walk hastily toward the door.

"Stop," In-ho commanded, before the man—teenager, really—passed his booth. He stood, inserting himself between the boy and the door.

"What's your problem?"

In-ho gave him his patented dead-eyed stare, and the kid's eyes widened. "I think you should put that back."

He watched the kid process, then come to the wrong decision. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"This is your final warning," In-ho said, and he realized that this was the most self-assured he'd felt since he'd been shot. "Put that back now."

"Look, I don't—"

In-ho grabbed his arm and twisted it behind him, forcing him face-down onto the table. "Where is the cash?"

"I don't—"

In-ho tightened his grip meanly, and the kid groaned.

"It's in my jacket pocket, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

In-ho snatched the bills out of the loose jacket pocket. "Were you not going to pay for the food? Just have him make it as a diversion?"

"I, um, I… My card's in my wallet, let me up, I'll pay."

Tightening his grip one last time, In-ho leaned closer to him. "Do not try to flee or you will lose the ability to use this arm." He let go, allowing the kid to stand up and shakily pull out his wallet and approach the counter, eyes cast downward.

Gi-hun stared at In-ho and the kid, apparently flabbergasted. "I, um…"

"Give him your card now." In-ho dropped the two bills back into the tip jar as the kid shamefacedly passed Gi-hun a card, which he scanned wordlessly.

An awkward atmosphere descended over the three of them and, sort of, the other patrons, as Gi-hun packed some food into a to-go bag and handed it to the kid, who took it and left without looking up.

In-ho gave Gi-hun a smile that he imagined was a little sinister. "I win."

"You nearly made that kid piss his pants," Gi-hun mused, face still unreadable.

"I wanted to win the bet," In-ho said. "But you earned those tips, it wasn't right that you should lose them."

Gi-hun blinked, then chuckled incredulously. "Maybe you are rabid. Thanks, though, I guess." His expression still didn't make sense to In-ho.

In-ho hummed. "Put a lid on your tip jar," he said. "I need to go get a cell phone, I'll be back in a few hours."

"Oh," Gi-hun said, and In-ho swore he looked a little disappointed.

Getting the phone was boring. He distracted himself by thinking about Gi-hun. He was being stupid, he knew, spending so much time wondering about him, about his past, his worldview, his friends, his relationships. In-ho both wanted to pull the veil off his head and show him the true nature of mankind and protect his seemingly impossible perspective. In a way, he wanted to be cruel to him, to watch the light leave his eyes, just to confirm what In-ho already knew. In another, he wanted to take care of him, shelter him from the storm and the unkindness, keep him… Pure was the wrong word. Gi-hun was an adult, he had seen the horrors of the world, perhaps he just had a higher threshold for it than In-ho did. Perhaps Gi-hun was not less aware but, in fact, more resilient, more able to withstand the gales of cruelty than In-ho, who had so readily yielded to it. But wasn't it true that oak, which stood, unwavering, against the wind often snapped, while willows bent to its direction and survived?

He sounded like his father. It was not encouraging, to be dredging up old platitudes to defend his stance.

Despite himself, In-ho wanted, distantly, to be soft with him. It wasn't constructive, it wasn't realistic, probably, not with as callous as he'd been for eight years, but he wanted it, nonetheless. He wanted to take care of him, like cupping his hands around a flame. He wanted—

Well, it wasn't time to think about all that.

After sitting quietly in his booth for the rest of Gi-hun's workday, In-ho was relieved to get back to his comforting mess of an apartment. He had intentionally started to wean himself off the painkillers, and was finding the resulting agony a little distracting.

In-ho collapsed onto the couch, knee throbbing. He forced himself not to grimace.

"You look really pale," Gi-hun observed from the kitchen, where he was preparing instant ramyeon for both of them. "Are you in pain?"

"It's fine."

"Do you want some aspirin, or something? You look…" When In-ho looked up, Gi-hun was cringing at the sight of him. "You look horrible, In-ho."

In-ho huffed a laugh. "It's possible I should've changed the bandage by now. Excuse me, I'll be right back." He gritted his teeth as he stood and hauled himself to the bathroom. He shed his trousers and sat clumsily on the toilet. The bandage around his knee was becoming frayed. It needed to be changed, but he had been trying to hold out until he made it to Jun-ho's. The pain was too much, though; leaving it any longer was unwise.

He began unwinding the bandage, then, at last, pulled the strips of gauze off.

It looked… Worse than he'd imagined. Stitches in several places, the surrounding skin more swollen than it should've been. He needed to stop walking on it as much as he was, he knew, and he also needed ice.

There was a gentle knock on the door. "Do you want ice?"

Could Gi-hun read his mind? It would cause trouble, if he could.

"I can help you re-bandage it, too, if you want."

"That's not necessary," In-ho said. "But I would appreciate the ice, if you don't mind."

The door opened immediately, to In-ho's surprise. Gi-hun was holding a big pot full of ice and, on top, a bag full of frozen peas, which he nearly dropped when his eyes fixed on In-ho's knee. "That looks terrible! Do you need to go back to the hospital?" He knelt next to it, touching one of the stitches.

In-ho barely kept himself from flinching away. "It just needs more rest, and the bandages do need re-done, but I can do it. Thank you for the ice." He reached for the pot, which Gi-hun jerked away.

"Look, would you just let me help you? It'll take twenty minutes."

"Your noodles will get cold."

Gi-hun smiled indulgently, like he was dealing with a petulant child instead of a grown man. "I'll heat them up." He produced the bag of peas and put it on top of In-ho's knee. "Hold that there, I'm going to get you some aspirin."

"That's—"

"Not necessary," Gi-hun mocked over his shoulder. "I know." He trotted back into the room with a glass of water and two little pills, which he handed over, then sat down on the bathroom floor, back against the wall. "We can give the peas a minute, let the swelling go down a little."

In-ho hated to admit it, hated to concede that this help had been even a little beneficial to him, but the relief from the peas was so striking that it nearly brought tears to his eyes. He clenched his fist at his side to collect himself.

"You could've told me, you know," Gi-hun said absently, wrapping a cloth around some ice cubes and pressing it to the side of his knee. "Hold this, too."

"Told you what?"

"That it was this bad. I'm obviously not a threat."

In-ho blinked. "Why would that be obvious?"

"Are you kidding? Did you see yourself today? You pinned that kid in a heartbeat and you can barely walk. I couldn't pull something over on you even if my life depended on it."

"People can do lots of things if their lives depend on it," In-ho replied automatically.

Gi-hun chuckled, digging around in the cupboard under the sink. "Yeah? Not to you." He pulled out some gauze, some ointment, and some bandage wrap. "It's weird, right? Like, I knew you were undercover for eight years, I knew you were a cop, but it never occurred to me before that you were… Dangerous."

"Dangerous," In-ho repeated, feeling, just a little, like he'd lost something invaluable.

To his chagrin, Gi-hun seemed to notice the shift in his tone. He leaned back on his heels, looking up at him. "Not in a bad way or anything, I mean, you stopped that kid from robbing me!"

In-ho arranged his face into something approximating understanding. "Of course, I know."

"I feel like you don't," he said, taking the peas from him and flipping them over, then pressing them back to his knee.

"I do. I am." He narrowed his eyes at him. "Does it bother you?"

Gi-hun held his gaze with a level of intensity that rattled even In-ho. He felt like a dog cornered, where eye contact was a danger, a threat, and yet, he found himself unable to look away. "No." His face softened. "Does it bother you?"

Not until now. "No."

"Hm," Gi-hun said, as though he didn't believe him. Again, In-ho felt placated, as though he was being treated with kid gloves. Most of him hated it, hated the implication that he was weak or incapable or whatever else was motivating this mollycoddling.

A minuscule, unrecognizable part of him, though, was delighted that someone cared enough to bother.

"Stop looking like that," Gi-hun scolded, still arranging his bandaging supplies.

"Excuse me?"

"You look like you're going to fall asleep, you're making me tired." He leaned his head back against the wall, staring up at the bathroom ceiling, then laughing to himself and refocusing on In-ho. "My friend used to do that. I would keep him up so late, so he would start yawning and letting his eyes get all glassy and stuff on purpose until it made me sleepy, too."

In-ho felt the corners of his lips twitch, again. "You shouldn't have told me, it sounds like an effective strategy."

"It was!" He stretched, his shoulders popping audibly, then took the peas and the makeshift ice pack from In-ho. "It looks a lot less swollen, how does it feel?"

"Much better, thank you. Will you let me bandage it, or do you also insist on doing that?"

Gi-hun grinned. "I'll do it."

He was shockingly meticulous, for someone so seemingly scatterbrained. He put ointment on each of the rows of stitches, the touch of his thin fingers feather-light. His arrangement of the gauze was strategic and cautious, and he wound the bandage slowly around the joint to give In-ho a reasonable range of motion.

"I can't believe," In-ho had said, just before he started wrapping the bandage, "that you're so skilled at this."

Gently, Gi-hun's fingers traced over the side of his knee, his eyes fixed on them. "Before we got smoked out, on the strike, a couple of my friends got hurt." His voice sounded distant, as though he was recounting a fantasy tale, not a real event from his life. "I got decent at bandaging stuff up."

"It's impressive."

Gi-hun ignored him. "Are you excited to see your brother?"

"I am," In-ho said, taking the pivot for what it was. "He sounds so different on the phone."

"How many years between you?"

In-ho studied Gi-hun's face as he tucked a finger under the bandage, apparently checking something. "Fifteen. He was in his twenties, when I left."

"Do you regret leaving?"

"Not at all," In-ho said. "I wish the circumstances which caused me to leave had been different, I wish that I hadn't missed so much of his life. As it was, however, my departure was better for him."

Gi-hun finished his task, putting the peas back on In-ho's now-wrapped knee. "Does he feel that way?"

"I'm not sure," In-ho answered honestly. "I think he would understand the perspective, but he's entitled to some resentment." He cleared his throat. "He was as much my son as my brother, I felt that I raised him, at times. I failed him by leaving, but it would've been a greater failure to stay and make him miserable."

"Why would he have been miserable?"

In-ho sighed. "It sounds self-aggrandizing, I don't mean it to, but he looked up to me. Naturally, just because of our ages. To watch me decompose in real time, to keep trying to stop that decomposition when I knew it was irreversible, I couldn't let him suffer like that. Better for him to believe I abandoned him then to pull him down with me."

"So you ran away from him… For selfless reasons?"

"No," In-ho said. "There were selfish ones, too, ones that had nothing to do with him. I needed purpose. The force needed someone with nothing to leave behind."

Gi-hun cringed. "I wouldn't tell him that."

In-ho rotated his foot in a circle, pleased at the minimal twinging. "Thank you for this."

"You're welcome," Gi-hun replied easily, standing and extending a hand to help him up. "You shouldn't let it get that bad again."

In-ho stood and followed him back into the living room, then Gi-hun put the noodles in the microwave and brought them over for them. He chattered mindlessly throughout the meal, In-ho adding in nods and hums when appropriate. He would miss Gi-hun, he decided, and his seemingly pointless prattling on. Bizarrely, he found himself grateful for this upcoming wedding, as it at least gave him an opportunity to see Gi-hun again.

He managed to eat half of the food before exhaustion won out and his eyelids took on the weight of a thousand tons. Internally, he berated himself for letting his guard down so thoroughly.

"Oh, look at you," Gi-hun said softly. "I almost talked you to sleep."

"I'm awake," In-ho replied.

Gi-hun chuckled, taking the dishes into the kitchen and setting a glass of water on the end table next to In-ho's couch. "I'll see you in the morning. We'll leave here around eight, I'll drop you off at your brother's."

"Hmm," In-ho said intelligently.

He couldn't, of course, fully fall asleep. Deep, satisfying sleep was no longer his nature. Instead, he let his eyes shut and set his mind to wander. At last, he revisited the visions of earlier in the day.

He used to ask people, the desperate people from whom he was trying to elicit favors and funding and loyalty, if you could have anything, what would you want? It was compelling. He asked himself, now. If anything, what?

Firstly, he wanted to go to Gi-hun's bed, sit there, next to him, as he slept, and observe. He wanted to watch the way his chest rose and fell, he wanted to touch his arms, his hands, the corners of his mouth, everywhere that the humanity had slipped out of him throughout the day. He wanted to trace his face, his throat, his collarbones, try to reconcile the fact that this impossible being was supposed to be the same species as In-ho.

Secondly, he wanted to foster indelible intimacy between them. He wanted to thread himself so thoroughly into the fabric of Gi-hun's life that he became inextricable, that he was the sole bearer of witness to his miraculous, disastrous personhood. He wanted to lay on this couch, in this warm, untidy little home, and put his head in Gi-hun's lap. He wanted to feel relaxed enough to drift off while Gi-hun rambled on or watched a movie or scrolled on his phone, he wanted to feel the weight of vigilance and distrust lift off his shoulders.

You are dangerous.

Everyone was dangerous, he told himself, and let himself drift in half-consciousness, imagining Gi-hun carding his tender fingers through his hair.

The drive to Jun-ho's apartment was tense.

In-ho had already agreed to go to dinner with Gi-hun later in the week to catch up and let himself be shown around the newer parts of the neighborhood. Gi-hun was filling the air with more inane chatter, and, for once, it didn't calm In-ho at all.

Jun-ho, he had realized, had every right to hate him. And, despite himself, despite the hardness he had cultivated to endure the preceding eight years, the idea was… Unpleasant.

Gi-hun dropped him off with a gentle wave and a demand that In-ho text him later in the day, and In-ho considered asking to keep staying with him instead.

He forced himself to knock on the door of the apartment, and Jun-ho answered almost immediately.

Suddenly, looking at Jun-ho, In-ho was twenty again, unusual but passably normal, leading his kid brother home from preschool by the hand. The world was daunting and confusing, but not horrible. It wasn't full of garbage and desperation and waste, it was full of all sorts of things and all sorts of people, impossible to generalize. Suddenly, he was getting married, Jun-ho making a speech that perfectly walked the line of earnest and jovial. In-ho was beaming, proud of his brother, proud of his wife, proud of himself for managing to get here. Suddenly, he was locked in his apartment, wearing the same clothes he'd had on for days, refusing to answer the door. Jun-ho was picking the lock and letting himself in. Back then, when In-ho had seen him him, he glimpsed that scared little boy with big, uncertain eyes and a fear of the worst. And In-ho was awful to him, waspish and icy and callous, trying to chase him away and willing to destroy both of them to do it.

That little boy did not stand in front of him now.

"I missed so much," In-ho mused quietly.

Jun-ho's brow tightened. "I missed you."

In-ho shook his head, scoffing. "You should've been relieved," he said, taking a step toward him. "I was trying to relieve you."

With arms that were strong, like an ox, like an adult, Jun-ho caught him, hooking one over his shoulder and the other around his ribs. "I missed you."

Reluctantly, as though he'd forgotten how, In-ho returned the embrace, clenching his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. When he pulled away, after a few seconds, he clasped Jun-ho on the shoulders, examining his face. "You look so old," he said.

Jun-ho slugged him in the bicep. "Yeah, you're a real spring chicken. How many functioning limbs do you have, again?"

"I was shot in one leg."

"Right, but surely arthritis has set in by now. How old are you? Sixty-three? Sixty-four?"

In-ho felt his eyes crinkle, amused. "I'm forty-nine, as I'm sure you know."

Jun-ho grinned. He looked even older when he smiled, more mature, more settled, like he'd become a whole person. "Come in, I made breakfast."

"You?"

"Well, it's complicated," Jun-ho said, sounding a little more uncertain. "I'll tell you in a minute, come in, sit down, get off your leg before people start thinking you're a pirate."

In-ho followed him into the apartment. It was nice, nicer than a police officer should've been able to afford alone. There was a table against the wall with three chairs, and a full-sized kitchen. Jun-ho had set out two plates of kimchi and little pancakes, both of which were covered in plastic cloches to keep them warm. He bustled around, pouring two mugs of coffee, keeping In-ho's black and putting some cream into his own.

"This looks great, Jun-ho."

He gave In-ho a half- smile, then sat down across from him at the table. "I didn't really make it," he confessed.

In-ho, still influenced by his own habits, waited for Jun-ho to take a bite before following suit. "Where is it from?"

Jun-ho put down his chopsticks, hands a little shaky before he hid them under the table. "My partner." He grimaced. "My boyfriend."

Oh. In-ho felt a little guilty. He had always had… Suspicions about Jun-ho's sexuality, but he had certainly never voiced them. "How long have you been together?"

"Four years," he replied, scanning In-ho for disapproval. His hand reappeared on the table, moving his coffee mug to the left side of his plate, then back to the right, then he fidgeted with his chopsticks.

Steeling himself, reminding himself that this was his brother, this was the only person left whom he was even semi-capable of loving, In-ho grabbed his hand on the table. "Jun-ho," he said, voice stern.

Jun-ho met his gaze, a sort of conjured strength in his eyes.

"I'm happy for you," In-ho said.

Eyes widening, Jun-ho's head tipped scrutinizingly.

In-ho squeezed his hand, feeling deeply out of his depth. "I am. What's his name?"

Failure, apparently, this was a colossal failure, as Jun-ho was rolling his lips between his teeth the way he did when he was biting back tears. His grip on In-ho's hand was tight, like he was holding onto him.

Who can blame him? In-ho thought.

"I missed you," Jun-ho said again. "I needed you, I… You were gone, Mom was sick and then she got worse and when she got better her son was a queer and you were gone. How could you do that to me?"

"Jun-ho," In-ho muttered quietly.

"I was worried you were dead. I thought every day, did he die? Did someone shoot and kill him? Is he scared out there, alone, pretending to be someone else? He's only got one kidney, what if someone shoots the good one and he dies out there? I won't even know, I'll just wait here, hoping someday he comes back, but probably not." Jun-ho huffed, picking up speed, apparently. "Eight years is a long fucking time, hyung. Did you even think about me at all?"

In-ho narrowed his eyes. "Not really," he said honestly. "I was someone else. I had no family. I had no brother, no friends, no childhood. I was not myself. I did miss you, when I let myself remember that I was Hwang In-ho. But I tried not to do so, often."

"You left, just like…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

There was a moment of silence, then In-ho spoke. "I was poisoning you."

"What?"

"We both know that's true. I was toxic, I was horrible to you. You were grieving, too, she was your family, too. I knew that. But I was in pain, and I hated that she was gone, and I wanted everyone else to be in as much pain as I was. It wasn't fair that you were being punished for trying to comfort me." In-ho squeezed his hand again, then pulled it away. "I regret that you were made to feel abandoned. But, if I had stayed, I would've put you through hell."

Jun-ho stared at him, then sighed. "I know. I know that, is the thing. It just…" He smiled bitterly. "It just sucked."

Startled, In-ho felt air wheeze out of his chest in something like a laugh. "It sucked," he repeated. "I wouldn't change what I did. But I'm sorry that it hurt you."

"Yeah, well… It is what it is."

"So," In-ho said slowly. "His name?"

Jun-ho chuckled, taking a bite of his food. "Kim Ye-jun. He used to be a mercenary, that's how," he gestured to the apartment around him. "Anyway. Now, he's a bodyguard."

"Yours?" In-ho asked teasingly.

"No, for, like… Minor celebrities and local politicians, and stuff."

In-ho hummed. "Why did he stop his old career? Did you convince him?"

Jun-ho snorted. "No. He got stabbed, so… Decided on something a little more low-risk."

"How did you meet?"

"There was a prolonged report saga about some talk-show host who was being stalked. Ye-jun was his bodyguard, I got assigned to the case, we ended up working together a lot. It's rare to find someone you can go on a stakeout with who doesn't annoy you, you know?"

He seemed so… Proud. The way In-ho had been proud of his wife, proud to even be associated with this person. Grown-up and smart and proud, and In-ho's empty heart swelled, slightly. "You're living together?"

"Yeah, for about two years, now."

"So, I'll get to meet him?"

Jun-ho smiled, the expression more tender than In-ho could remember seeing on his face. "Yeah. He's nervous, apparently."

"Why?"

"I think, mainly, the gay thing? But also the ex-criminal thing, when he was working before. And we didn't know how you'd react, so…"

In-ho tried to reciprocate the gentleness. "I should be nervous. You have every right to be angry with me, and he could easily share that anger on your behalf."

Jun-ho waved his hand nonchalantly. "What's the point of siblings if not to forgive them for the dumb shit they do?"

"In any case," In-ho added, taking another bite of the food. "He's an excellent cook."

"You should tell him, he was all stressed about it. Not just because of you, he hates having people over." Jun-ho paused, looking at In-ho curiously. "Tell me about Seong Gi-hun."

In-ho blinked. "What about him?"

"I like him." Jun-ho drank some of his coffee. "I don't understand him at all."

"Neither do I," In-ho admitted. "He's… He defies logic, really. He doesn't know me at all, just saw me sitting on his stoop and decided to take me to the hospital, then keep me at his apartment for three nights."

Jun-ho's eyes widened. "Wait, you'd never met him before? I thought he was your friend."

"At the time of my call to you, I had known him for approximately two hours."

"Is he, like… A criminal? Is he going to lord this over you, somehow?"

"I don't think so," In-ho replied.

"Well," Jun-ho began, increasingly confused. "Why did he take you in?"

In-ho sighed. "I asked him. He said, 'it was the right thing to do.' That was the only reason he could give."

"Is he stupid?"

"He is either a genuine idiot or just incredibly hardy, though I am inclined to believe the latter. He's very interesting, I've never known anyone like him."

Jun-ho stared at him for a second. "Huh."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't say anything."

In-ho scowled. "You made a noise, you meant something."

"No, I don't think so. Food's good, isn't it?"

"Jun-ho."

"It's just," Jun-ho bit back a chuckle. "Well, you've imprinted on him."

In-ho raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"Like an abandoned puppy or something. You lived eight years of random, needless hardship—"

"It was hardly needless."

"—and now, one random do-gooder was nice to you, and you've imprinted on him. You want to follow him around, protect him from evil, you know," Jun-ho grinned, "curl up in his lap."

"I do not," In-ho lied.

Jun-ho raised his hands in a faux-surrender. "Okay, then, you don't. Whatever. But you do like him. And you don't like anyone."

"I find him intriguing," In-ho defended.

"You haven't found someone intriguing in years." Jun-ho's expression turned sly. "What's he look like?"

"I was under the impression that you were in a committed relationship. He's a little old for you."

Jun-ho took a sip of his coffee. "Snippy about it, aren't you?"

It was both a curse and a privilege to be sitting where he was, being tormented and taunted by his annoying kid brother. In-ho cherished it so deeply his hands shook.

Kim Ye-jun was, first and foremost, serious. If In-ho was anyone else, he would've called him intimidating. He was tall and handsome with an even voice and the sort of stillness that knights had, intentional and dedicated and unflappable.

He was also, as far as In-ho could tell, so deeply in love with Jun-ho that all else fell away. Their familiarity with one another was something In-ho recognized so distantly that it ached. He remembered it, foggily, moving around someone in the kitchen, hand on their shoulder, covering the corners of the cupboard doors with a palm so they wouldn't bump their heads. In-ho was in the living room, re-wrapping his bandaging, and, in the corner of his eye, he saw Jun-ho's soft smile as he took plates from Ye-jun. This, In-ho realized, was a source of Jun-ho's maturity and stability, the presence of this level, intentional, loving person.

The warmth in In-ho's chest was joy, he recognized, for Jun-ho's happiness. The warmth behind his eyes was grief.

The three of them sat down for dinner, another impressive creation of Ye-jun's. When In-ho told him so, the man looked at Jun-ho, as if for guidance, then thanked him politely.

"So," Jun-ho began slowly, "In-ho's got a crush."

In-ho narrowed his eyes at him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything, I thought Ye-jun would want to know that you have a crush."

Kim Ye-jun blinked. "In the future, feel free to apprise me of these developments in private."

Jun-ho grinned. "In-ho doesn't mind. Do you?"

"It's common courtesy to avoid spreading baseless gossip in front of the subject," In-ho deadpanned. "But no, I don't mind."

"So there is someone you're interested in?" Ye-jun asked him.

"No."

Jun-ho shook his head. "There absolutely is, it's Seong Gi-hun."

"The man who took you in?" Ye-jun hummed. "There is a certain intimacy in that, isn't there?"

"Yes, there is," Jun-ho finished proudly. "He even rewrapped his bandage for him, like a wartime romance movie."

In-ho sighed, grateful he hadn't mentioned the wedding. "He's just like that, he's a strangely benevolent person."

"'Strangely benevolent,' you hear that? It's like vows."

Ye-jun chuckled, then elbowed Jun-ho gently. "Let him alone, he's suffered enough."

"Thank you," In-ho said, then stood from the table. "I will leave you two alone, Jun-ho, your mudslinging can continue. Unfortunately, the medication leaves me a little tired, so I'll see you in the morning. Thank you both for having me."

"Our pleasure," Ye-jun said.

"It's not that much of a pleasure," Jun-ho corrected. "I made up a bed for you, first room on the right."

In-ho nodded gratefully, ambling off to the room and collapsing into the bed.

This house was much nicer than In-ho had known to expect. Mr. Kim's previous mercenary life must've been awfully lucrative. He made a mental note to look into him, both for his own curiosity and for Jun-ho's sake.

He made himself get up and brush his teeth and change into pajamas, mind trudging along the entire time.

Poor Jun-ho. In-ho knew, better than anyone, how love worked. One could not know immense grief without having known immense love.

The first time he fell in love had been like summitting a mountain. Every sweet gesture, every charming mannerism, was another step toward a distant summit, and getting higher and higher was more and more thrilling, more and more rewarding, more and more addictive.

Then, she died. The grief from that loss was like throwing himself off the side of that mountain, falling, like an avalanche, the whole way down and watching the memories of that love on his way to the bottom.

Jun-ho was climbing. So was Ye-jun, In-ho believed. There they were, hiking up that mountain, hand-in-hand. The higher they got, the greater the weight of the avalanche, the faster the landslide, the harder the fall.

People so often talked about falling in love. They rarely discussed how it felt to hit the ground.

And yet, despite knowing all this, despite knowing the excruciating pain that awaited Jun-ho when death eventually knocked at his door, some small part of In-ho envied him. What he had was precious, that's why losing it would be so painful. In-ho knew, objectively, that he had it once, too.

He knew, also, that the weight of the avalanche had buried Hwang In-ho, and that he was beyond rescue or recovery. Seeing the light shine through the gaps in the rocks did not negate that fact, no matter how brightly the light shone.

His phone vibrated, startling him out of his maudlin reverie.

Seong Gi-hun: hey! hope you're settling in okay?

Perhaps, In-ho mused tentatively, he had underestimated the Gi-hun's radiance.

Hwang In-ho: Yes, thank you.

Seong Gi-hun: that's good :)

In-ho sighed, knowing he should let it drop off here. Pursuing Gi-hun at all, even as a friend, was too risky, too… Proximity-inducing. He wasn't prepared, he wasn't willing, he wasn't—

A few rooms over, he heard Jun-ho laughing delightedly.

Hwang In-ho: If you're still willing, I'd be interested in your tour of the area. Are you free any evenings this week?

Foolish. Just absolutely, unequivocally stupid.

Seong Gi-hun: great! Thursday work? I can pick you up at your brother's.

In-ho swallowed, ignoring how quick his heartbeat had grown.

Hwang In-ho: Looking forward to it. See you, then.

There was a brief moment, then:

Seong Gi-hun: goodnight !

In-ho tucked himself beneath the blankets, pressing his head back into the pillows.

Don't do it.

Do not do it.

He scowled at himself, then let his mind run away.

He wanted to wind his arms around Gi-hun's waist, tuck his face into his neck. It wasn't even about sex, though In-ho was certainly unopposed to letting himself trudge down that mental avenue, it was about closeness. About verification that he was real, that he was alive, against all odds.

To what end?

The days between In-ho moving into Jun-ho's apartment and his plans with Gi-hun crept by at a glacial pace. In-ho spent most of the time retrieving things from his storage unit, including his now-ancient laptop, and sitting in a cafe, looking online for a place to live.

He tried to spend as much time as possible out of the house, not wanting to inconvenience Jun-ho any more than he already had. Jun-ho had found happiness, however unlikely, and In-ho was unwilling to be an obstacle to it.

Sometimes, at the cafe, his mind would stampede his sense of logic. A barrage of images and memories would attack him, from struggling to wrap a birthday present he'd purchased for his wife to Jun-ho tucking his feet under Ye-jun's thighs on the sofa, from her head on In-ho's shoulder to Gi-hun's soft, tender eyes, the onslaught was varied and endless.

Most of all, it was painful. To In-ho, love and pain were inextricable. To love something was to accept eventual pain because of it.

Why, then, did he feel this distant stirring, a low-level earthquake in his chest, at the thought of it?

On Thursday, he came back from the cafe early to get ready, hoping, desperately, that Jun-ho would still be at work. He was, as usual, not so lucky.

"Why are you back so early?" Jun-ho asked, looking up from his phone quizzically.

In-ho shrugged, toeing off his shoes. "No reason. Why aren't you at work? It's four o'clock."

"I go in early on Thursdays," Jun-ho answered, eyes narrowing. "What's in the backpack?"

"I needed more clothes," In-ho said, trying to bulldoze his way to his assigned bedroom.

Jun-ho jumped up, blocking him easily. "For what?"

"What?"

"What do you need more clothes for? Where are you going?"

In-ho blinked, face carefully neutral. "I'm going out tonight. I assumed you and Ye-jun would appreciate some privacy."

"That's so considerate," Jun-ho said. "And such bullshit." He blocked In-ho from stepping around him. "Going out where, huh?"

"Are you my keeper?"

"Sort of. Can't have you running off again."

In-ho raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You're eager to milk that."

"I've earned it. Where are you going?"

"Just exploring the area."

Jun-ho hummed, pretending to relent. "It's okay, you don't have to tell me. I'll just text Gi-hun, see if he's free tonight."

Sighing, In-ho scowled, glancing off to the side. "He's showing me places that opened while I was away."

"I can't believe this, you're going on a date and you weren't even going to tell me?"

"Ideally, no." In-ho finally shouldered his way around him. "It's not a date."

Jun-ho scoffed. "Of course, it's like the many times I went on platonic strolls around town with my completely hetero friends."

"Exactly." In-ho went into the bedroom and closed the door, setting his backpack on the bed. Before he'd even unzipped it, Jun-ho had thundered in behind him.

"It's a good thing, I don't know why you're being so cagey about it."

In-ho didn't look up. "What are you talking about?"

"You like someone, he likes you, why are you all stormy?"

"I'm not. I don't, and he doesn't. He's nice and he's bored. I'm also bored."

Jun-ho sat down on the bed. "Lie after lie. What's your problem?"

"I do not have a problem."

There was a moment of silence. "Is it because of her?" When In-ho didn't respond, he plowed on. "In-ho, she'd be happy. If there was anything in the world that made you a little less miserable, she'd be fucking thrilled."

"She's not, though, is she?" In-ho replied coldly. "She's not happy, she's not thrilled. She's not anything. She's dead. It doesn't matter what she'd want, how she'd feel, because it's all speculation, it's not real." Distantly, it felt like a bruise. To remind himself how it felt, how badly loss had hurt him, he pushed on it. "She's dead."

"Is it because he's a man?"

In-ho scowled, digging aimlessly through the backpack. "There isn't a problem, I don't know why you're harping on. If there was, it would certainly have nothing to do with any implications about my sexuality."

"What are you, then?" Jun-ho asked. "If it's not a problem. Have you ever even said it out loud?"

"I've never had a reason to say anything about it." In-ho wasn't bothered by this, truly, but he felt that Jun-ho might be, so he made himself look him in the eye, at last. "Gender has never had any bearing on attraction, for me. I'm sure there are labels which encapsulate that, but they've never struck any real chord. And, particularly in the last eight years, attraction has been so far from my grasp that it hasn't mattered enough to consider."

Jun-ho stared at him, seeming a little uncertain once again. "But you are… Like me?"

"I'm queer," In-ho said, because it seemed to be what he needed to hear. "I'm like you."

He watched as Jun-ho processed that, eyes scanning In-ho's face for insincerity and apparently finding none. "But that's not why you're weird about your date," he concluded.

In-ho huffed, almost laughing, now. "It's not a date, I'm not weird about it. I am almost fifty years old, I resent the implication that I'm spiraling about spending time with my friend."

My friend. He liked the way it sounded. My friend. This is my friend, Seong Gi-hun. He's my friend. A friend of mine. Mine.

Childish and pathetic. He should make him a string bracelet and or bashfully hand him a nice rock he'd found on the playground, this was such a pitiful showing.

He wished they were children, a little. He wished that he wasn't so many lightyears from personhood, that everything wasn't shrouded in mystery about whatever horrible things he'd done, that his every thought wasn't plagued by how badly it would eventually hurt to get close to Gi-hun. He wished they could play cards on a park bench and walk home holding hands and fall asleep watching old movies in one another's houses. He wished he was still capable of that sort of trust, that sort of closeness.

He wished he still believed something like that could last forever.

"Well, anyway. Are you going to come home tonight?" Jun-ho asked.

In-ho looked at him, mouth agape. "As opposed to what?"

"I don't know how fast you move in relationships!"

"You think I'm going to fuck him? I have one functional leg."

Jun-ho gave him a sly smile. "There are plenty of ways you can—"

"I do not want to talk about this with you. Actually, you could probably just leave the room at any time."

"Do you want me to draw up some diagrams?"

In-ho cringed. "Jun-ho, go."

He stood, patting In-ho on the shoulder. "I'll leave you to get ready."

The worst part of letting someone drive him someplace, In-ho decided, was waiting to be picked up. He sat on the couch, dressed in an outfit he had contemplated for longer than he would ever admit, scrolling on a phone that had only three contacts and nothing to look at, waiting for Gi-hun to text him that he had arrived. It was tremendously humiliating, especially when Jun-ho kept looking over at him slyly from the kitchen.

He had approximately fifty-three seconds before he was late. In-ho closed the messaging app and re-opened it, becoming more on-edge by the second.

To his immense horror, there was a knock at the door, which Jun-ho jumped to before In-ho could.

"Hello," Jun-ho said, a stupid smile on his face. "You must be Seong Gi-hun. Nice to put a face to the name."

"Hwang Jun-ho, good to meet you," Gi-hun replied easily, though there was visible surprise in his expression. "Is your brother—"

"Yes, coming," In-ho said, trying to subtly shove Jun-ho out of the way. "Good to see you. Let's leave."

Gi-hun raised his eyebrows, doing an abysmal job of biting back a smile. "All right. Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you, too." Jun-ho stumbled out of the way, aided, of course, by In-ho kicking the back of his knee with his bum leg. "Fuck you," he grumbled.

"Have a good night." He pulled the door shut, then looked at Gi-hun. "I'm going to kill him."

Gi-hun laughed, and In-ho felt something punch the inside of his ribcage. "Not enjoying the relocation, then? Is my couch sounding comfortable again?" He led him back down the hall and outside.

"Sleeping on your floor is beginning to sound preferable," In-ho said.

"What's so bad about staying with him? It looks like a really nice place."

In-ho sighed. "It is nice. I don't like intruding on his life."

"Does he mind?"

"He's too busy intruding on mine," In-ho said, just to watch Gi-hun grin. "Have you had a good week?"

Gi-hun let him in the car door and drove them back into his part of town, chattering the whole way. His customers had been good, he said, but things had been a little slow. There were several anecdotes of interactions that he deemed funny or unusual, all of which In-ho listened to happily. His heartrate slowed to something approximating normal, the tension leaving his shoulders once again as his fists unclenched for what felt like the first time in days. He leaned his head back against the seat, turning it slightly so he could look at Gi-hun as he talked. They parked and walked to a row of street vendors, where Gi-hun directed him to one and ordered for both of them, refusing In-ho's attempt to pay and leading him to a table in a crowded pavilion nearby.

He was mid-story about a shipment of ingredients that was two times the size it should've been and how Gi-hun had used the extras to experiment with a new recipe, which had been so atrocious even the alley cats wouldn't eat it, when Gi-hun cut himself off with a huff. "You shouldn't let me do that, you know."

"Do what?" In-ho asked, reveling in the absence of tension at the base of his skull, which he had not noticed until it had disappeared when he got into the car and had not returned since.

"Talk for so long, I've been going on for half an hour, you've hardly said anything."

In-ho took a bite of his fish cake. "I've said it before, I like when you talk."

"Why would you? Nothing interesting happens to me."

He shrugged, offering Gi-hun one of the cakes, which he took without hesitating. "It's relaxing."

"Still, it's not very polite of me, is it?"

"I don't care about that," In-ho told him, grabbing one of Gi-hun's mandu without asking.

Gi-hun chuckled, pushing the bowl toward him in offering. "What's happened in your week?"

"Hm," In-ho said thoughtfully. "Well, initially, things were tense between me and Jun-ho. He was… Angry is too strong a word, but he was hurt. Additionally, he lives with his long-term boyfriend, and he was anxious about telling me this."

For a moment, scrutiny passed over Gi-hun's face. "What did you tell him?"

In-ho paused, wondering which part of what he'd said had raised a flag. "I explained why I left, which he already knew, and apologized for the fact that it hurt him."

Gi-hun appeared unsatisfied. "And?"

Puzzled, In-ho cocked his head sideways. "What are you asking?"

"About him coming out to you? What did you tell him?"

In-ho felt his brow furrowed briefly, then forced his face back into neutrality. "He's my brother. He's happy, he's in love, I told him I was happy for him."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

Gi-hun huffed. "Happy for him?"

For a moment, In-ho pondered that. "I am, in a way. And, in others, I am not."

Gi-hun narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

He still seemed so suspicious, In-ho couldn't quite parse why. "Well, he's in love. Deeply, as it seems, they adore each other." He gave Gi-hun a curious look. "It's going to hurt, eventually."

The wariness had left his gaze, a more familiar confusion taking its place. "You don't have a problem with him being gay, you have a problem with him experiencing grief," Gi-hun concluded.

"Exactly." In-ho blinked, realization dawning on him. "Did you think I was homophobic?"

"No! No, just…" Gi-hun looked around, then smiled at him bashfully. "Well, I wondered, for a second."

In-ho felt the amusement become visible on his face, his lips trying to twitch into that same smile that had given him chills in the mirror. He cast his face downward, trying to hide it.

"Shut up, I didn't know!" Gi-hun said, voice skewing a little whiny. "You're laughing at me, stop it! You can't be too careful these days, I'm just trying to…" He broke, voice shaking as he chuckled. "Fuck you, I was just… Whatever," he said.

At last, In-ho's self-control fractured, and he heard himself let slip a genuine belly-laugh, just once, before he took a sip of his drink to silence it. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to don his usual expression once again. "Hm," he said. "My own nature precludes that sort of belief," he said, catching Gi-hun's eye meaningfully.

Gi-hun's smile turned soft, indulgent, even. "Yeah? Mine, too."

In-ho felt his mouth pull up again and drank once more to bury it.

"You shouldn't do that," Gi-hun told him.

"Do what?"

Gi-hun stole another piece of his food. "Hide your smile. There's no reason to try to seem tough in front of me."

In-ho tipped his head sideways again. "Oh? Why is that?"

He watched the wheels spin in Gi-hun's head, contemplative but not dishonest. "Well, I know all about your ruined leg, so I'm not intimidated by you."

"You watched me pin someone in your restaurant without hesitation. This did not intimidate you?"

Gi-hun grinned at him. "I also watched you almost die in relief over a bag of frozen peas."

"My Achilles heel. Or, I suppose, Achilles knee."

Seeming confused, Gi-hun blinked at him, then huffed. "Was that supposed to be a joke?"

In-ho shrugged.

"Oh, wow, it was." The look with which he fixed In-ho was somewhat pitying, but it was laced with enough endearment that In-ho couldn't quite resent it.

"How are you feeling about this wedding?" In-ho asked, ready to be done with that line of dialogue.

Gi-hun grunted. "It's annoying. My only relief is that you're going, which means I don't have to talk to anyone else."

"That sounds like a campaign promise."

"It's what I'd like to do," Gi-hun defended.

In-ho hummed. "And politicians would like to lower taxes while increasing government spending, that doesn't mean they do it." At Gi-hun's indignant expression, he waved his hand. "I'm not criticizing you, I just don't believe you."

"Why?"

"You're the friendliest person I've ever met," In-ho said. "And you're charming, easy to talk to, every person there will come up to you."

Gi-hun's cheeks tinged pink. In-ho hadn't even meant to compliment him, it was a statement of fact, but he seemed pleased, nonetheless. "I'm not all that charming, you're just out of practice with regular people."

"Maybe," In-ho conceded, knowing it wasn't true. Over the last eight years, he'd had hundreds of people trying to charm him; charm him into leniency, into mercy, into compassion—it had never worked.

'Send in Young-il, they won't get to him.' Dong-yul had said.

'You don't understand, sir,' argued an underling, whose name Young-il didn't bother to learn. 'They convinced the last guy easily, they're—'

Dong-yul laughed. 'They won't get to my Young-il,' he had said, clapping him on the shoulder. 'He's a wild dog. Aren't you?'

With blank, lifeless eyes, Young-il looked from the underling back to Dong-yul. 'Of course.'

"Hey," Gi-hun said, finishing off his drink. "Do you want to go somewhere weird? We can get ice cream on the way."

In-ho nodded, taking both of their trash without thinking and throwing it away, then walking in-step with Gi-hun to the car. They drove for about ten minutes, then stopped in front of an ice cream shop. Once they each had some, Gi-hun led him to a building across the street and pulled a key out of his pocket to open the door.

It was… Dilapidated, was the word that came to mind. Not abandoned, per se, but not appealing in the least. There were several faded titles on the front of it, and it was only a couple stories high. They went in, oddly silent, and In-ho followed Gi-hun up the stairs to the top, and they emerged on the roof.

"This is my old workplace," Gi-hun said, answering an unspoken question. "The building needed renovation after they smoked us out, and they never finished it, just took the money they made by cutting us and moved to a new place."

They couldn't see much of the city, being on a shorter building than most, but it was still quieter, up high. Private. "What is it now?"

"Nothing, really. A little insurance company might buy it, from what I've heard, but they'll still need to do a lot of work on it."

"Do you come here often?"

Gi-hun shrugged, staring out over the streets around them. "No, only when I really need to get away from something. It's quiet, you know?"

"It is," In-ho said. They sat on the wall, side by side, and In-ho considered, briefly, that he could push Gi-hun off. It would certainly kill him. Better yet, he could grab him and throw them both off, die together, negate the importance of all his musings on love and grief and apathy by the ultimate trump card: death.

Perhaps Gi-hun was stupid, to trust someone he knew to be dangerous with such a precarious position.

"I still dream about it sometimes," Gi-hun said conspiratorially, so quiet that In-ho almost thought he wasn't meant to hear.

"That's natural." In-ho looked at him, at his pretty profile as it stared out off the roof. The lights from the bigger buildings around illuminated him like a carnival, reds and greens and oranges. He was, In-ho realized, strikingly beautiful, especially now, with his wet, faraway eyes.

Gi-hun hummed. "How do you sleep?" He turned to face In-ho, expression devoid of judgment. "You've seen some shit, right?"

"I… Have," In-ho said slowly. "I don't sleep much at all. When I do, it's rarely deep enough to dream."

"Why?"

In-ho blinked, a little distracted by the way police lights down below were flashing over his soft features. "Why what?"

"Why don't you sleep?"

He sighed, not wanting to seem too traumatized, but also wanting to be honest. Whatever innate, unstoppable idiot was in his chest desired closeness with Gi-hun more than anything, and honesty was supposed to expedite that. "It's a vulnerable position."

"It comes from when you were undercover?"

Without thinking, he almost answered yes. But, upon any further reflection, that wasn't true. He knew it wasn't, and he didn't want to lie, not when he would inevitably have to lie about so much else. "No," he said. "Not entirely." He cleared his throat. "When my wife was sick, I was afraid she'd just… Stop breathing. No ceremony, no agonal gasp, that she would just stop. I would sleep with a hand on her back so that I'd notice, like I could do something if it happened."

"I'm sorry, that must've been horrible."

"It was illogical. Her liver was failing, her lungs were fine. It was a sad grasp at control. If I could just keep watch over her, I thought, she won't die. I won't let her." He gave Gi-hun a bitter smile, the only kind that he felt looked natural on his face. "Didn't work."

Gi-hun stared at him for a moment, then, without a word, scooted closer to him so that they were pressed against one another and put his head down on In-ho's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be," In-ho said, but his heart was running away from him. He felt like a child, like, on some level, he was hiding his face in Gi-hun's chest and letting himself be held. It was weak, it was ill-advised, it was pitiful, and yet he detected no judgment from Gi-hun.

Someone inside him, someone he had taught himself not to recognize, wanted to scream. He wanted to scream at Gi-hun, please, please touch me, please, don't stop touching me, please let me feel real, even for a second. He wanted Gi-hun to put his hands over his eyes, over his ears, to eliminate his every sense except for whatever detected that Gi-hun was there,that he wasn't going anywhere. He wanted to be lost somewhere, as he so often was, and for Gi-hun to find him, take his hand, and lead him back into the light.

In-ho took this mysterious, internal someone behind the building Young-il had lived in for eight years and strangled him to death, relieved when the light left his eyes.

To want this badly was dangerous. To ache so thoroughly was unacceptable.

"How's the leg?"

In-ho grunted. "Annoying. But less swollen than it was."

"Are you going to go back to work soon?"

"My boss forbade me to return to duty until Monday, when I'm sure he'll assign me to some egregious amount of paperwork."

Gi-hun hummed, squirming a little closer to him, likely taking cover from the cold. "Would you go undercover again?"

"Probably. Better me than anyone else."

"I'd be good at being undercover," Gi-hun said.

It startled a laugh out of In-ho. "Gi-hun, I am very grateful to you, and I enjoy spending time with you, but I will not lie—I cannot think of a person on the planet who would be less convincing than you undercover."

"What?" Gi-hun asked, feigning offense, if the smile on his face was to be believed. "I'd be great! You wouldn't even recognize me, I'd be so good."

"What would your name be?"

"Hwang In-ho," Gi-hun said, seeming ridiculously proud of himself.

In-ho turned his face so Gi-hun wouldn't be struck by his bone-chilling smile. "That's not undercover, that's identity theft. Which is a crime."

"You can't arrest people for crimes they talk about. I haven't done anything yet." Gi-hun bumped their feet together. "Is it weird? Living with your brother and his boyfriend?"

"It is and it isn't. Jun-ho and I get along well, surprisingly, and I like Ye-jun. I am aware, though, of the likelihood that I am dampening their day-to-day life."

"You can come stay with me again, anytime," Gi-hun said easily.

In-ho faced him once again, perplexed. "Why would you offer that?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I liked having you around, it's nicer than the house being empty."

"You just don't stop, do you?" In-ho mused, mostly to himself. "I may take you up on that, just to give them some space, if you really don't mind."

"No, it would be great."

In-ho hummed. "I still don't understand why you took me in at all."

"What's not to understand? You looked pathetic, I wanted to help."

"I'm sure you pass plenty of pathetic people throughout the day, do you help them?"

Gi-hun blinked. "No, I guess not. But I should, or, like, someone should." He appeared to grow bored of that discussion. "So, since you're not working, what have you been doing all day?"

"Mostly looking for apartments, hiding out in a cafe so that Jun-ho has some space."

He brightened. "You should come sit at my shop! I have WiFi, you can mess around on your computer there just as well as some cafe."

"Aren't you going to get tired of me?"

Gi-hun gently slapped his arm. "Don't be stupid, of course not!"

The smile that threatened to strongarm its way across his face was too earnest, too real, too much like something that belonged to that man he no longer recognized. He held it back, staring out at the skyline instead.

"I open at ten," Gi-hun added, a little more tender, now, as though he expected In-ho to flinch away or flee or snap at him.

"I'll consider it." In-ho scanned the buildings around them, not really taking them in. "When is the wedding?"

In his periphery, he caught Gi-hun smiling sheepishly. "About a month from now. On a Thursday."

"Have you told your friends that you're bringing…"

"A guest?"

In-ho almost laughed. "I was going to say, 'a stranger,' but, sure."

"You're not a stranger, we're friends. As far as they're concerned, you're my date."

"Won't they be surprised that you're bringing someone they've never heard of?" Particularly when that someone is a emotionally absent non-person whom you met by discovering like particularly sorry roadkill.

Gi-hun elbowed him. "They've heard of you."

He felt his eyebrows raise. "Why?"

"How interesting do you think my life is that I wasn't going to mention that an injured undercover badass washed up on my back stoop and lived with me for three days?"

Gi-hun chattered, about his friends, about the wedding, about their reactions to his stories, and In-ho couldn't listen to a word he said. All he could think was that he felt the distant sparks of affection in his chest, too small to warrant extinguishing, but they warmed the inside of him. He felt stupid, suddenly, ungainly and awkward and overwhelmed by the existence of this bizarre person, so alive and earnest and needlessly kind. He felt stupider for the fact that he coveted it. He didn't want to be like Gi-hun, not really, but he wanted, for a second, to know what it was like. Moreover, he wanted to understand how a person like Gi-hun existed, how he was persisting, despite the horrors of the world around them. They lived in the same world, walked the same streets, saw the same deplorables cluttering them up like trash. In-ho had seen them, studied them, every day for eight years, people with no motors and no brakes, coasting around aimlessly, senselessly, purposelessly, uncaring of how many others they knocked off course to drift from place to place.

And here was Gi-hun. Baffling, impossible, fascinating Gi-hun, with his foolish wide smile and his useless big heart, bleeding grace for the scum of the earth, hemorrhaging it, actually. He was a gaping, unflagging wound of mercy and empathy, and In-ho couldn't tell whether he wanted to bandage it or press on it to watch it bleed more.

In-ho had always thought the lights of the city were ugly. They made the stars impossible to see, a million similar neon signs, shining harsh, artificial light on the sidewalks, illuminating the people, the industrialism, the pollution like a lighthouse, guiding anyone with any sense up the shore of cynicism and misery.

As they shone on Gi-hun's face, however, as they lit up his dark eyes and his hunched shoulders and his toothy grin, In-ho wondered if the lights of the city were redeemable after all.

Gi-hun drove him back to Jun-ho's, talking the whole way. Intermittently, he would cut himself off and perfunctorily ask In-ho a question, which he always deflected into something else for Gi-hun to talk about.

He just liked the way he talked. He liked his voice, his cadence, his syntax, his word selection, all of it, and the content was much the same. In-ho liked hearing his perspective, no matter how specious and incomprehensible it was.

Son of a bitch, he just liked him. And it had been so long since he had been present enough to like anything that he was busy relishing the sensation of it.

When Gi-hun bade him goodnight, In-ho tried to commit every detail of his face to memory.

As he lay in bed, he reined himself in. Gi-hun was probably going to crash his car on the way home, anyway. That would be appropriate, wouldn't it? The world was not meant to house people like Seong Gi-hun, it was meant to mislead them and build them up and then crush them beneath its feet and grind them into the dirt. And, as his attachment to Gi-hun grew, In-ho was becoming collateral damage.

Again.

His skin felt like a trap, like he couldn't breathe for how tight it was, holding him still. Gi-hun would die. He would be culled from the world like every other good thing was, of course, he would. If he was lucky, it would be quick and random. More likely, it would be slow, targeted, or both. And In-ho would, what? Watch him suffer? Suffer with him? For what? What was there to be gained from letting himself sink, too?

He had sunk before. Arguably, he was still there, a bloated, decomposing corpse at the bottom of the ocean. Why float back to the surface only to be anchored down, once more? Perhaps Gi-hun's foolishness was contagious.

And yet, knowing it was stupid, knowing it was folly, knowing it was like standing still in Pompeii, watching the lava flow, when he pressed his cheek into his pillow, he imagined Gi-hun's chest. His maddeningly unwavering heartbeat, it would probably lull In-ho into a coma. Maybe it would kill him, instead.

In-ho knew that wasn't true. Gi-hun was a lamb up for slaughter, In-ho was a crow, watching it happen. Nobody bothered to kill crows.

Sitting in Gi-hun's restaurant during the day was both a colossal relief and an unbearable burden. It was a relief because he got to be somewhere he was welcome, he got to watch Gi-hun and make sure that nothing was coming for Gi-hun's inevitable reckoning, it was safe.

It was burdensome because he had to deal with this nauseating, imbecilic fondness constantly. He would hear Gi-hun speak to customers, see that bright grin on his face, chat with him when things were slow, and it was simply impossible not to adore him.

My friend. My friend, Gi-hun. This is my friend. He's my friend. He couldn't stop repeating it in his head. He didn't dare replace 'friend' with any other word, though, it was tempting.

He was trying to relax. He was trying to believe that Gi-hun wasn't going to be swiped from him, from the earth, any moment. Still, In-ho sat in a booth facing the door, watching the people who came in, watching Gi-hun in the reflection of the shop window. He wore a mask to avoid recognition, but it wasn't really necessary.

He was safe. They were both safe. In-ho tried to convince himself.

How wrong he was.

In-ho had met Dong-yul's underling, Min-jae, many times, often when he was being reprimanded for his many inadequacies. Squirrel, Dong-yul used to call him, though he had privately called him worse things. In-ho recognized his gait, the second day he spent in Gi-hun's shop, from the moment it entered his field of vision. His eyes widened as the man turned and pushed the door open to the otherwise empty building, approaching the counter.

"Seong Gi-hun," Min-jae said, and In-ho saw, in the reflection, Gi-hun stiffen and turn around to face him. "Bad news."

"Why are you here?" Gi-hun asked, voice so quiet that In-ho had to strain to catch his words.

"New costs, new overhead, means we've had a policy change."

Gi-hun swallowed, eyes wide. "I paid you back. You're supposed to leave me alone. Get out." The words were brave, but his voice shook.

"Sorry, Gi-hun," Min-jae said, and In-ho could vividly picture the oily smile on his face. "We've imposed some interest fees. Your debt is paid, but you never paid me any interest."

Gi-hun blinked. "You can't do that!"

"I think you'll find that I can, hm?" Min-jae said, and In-ho heard the familiar sound of his switchblade.

Well, that was quite enough.

In-ho stood, pulling the medical mask off and clearing his throat. "That's enough." His real mask, the one with no family, no life, no soul, was donned instead. Young-il was, unfortunately, quite easy to re-inhabit.

Min-jae huffed, then turned around and paled terribly. "Oh Young-il." He fiddled with the switch for a second, looking at it, then at In-ho, then shakily extending his hand. "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here, Min-jae? Was my weeding out not thorough enough?"

"You betrayed Dong-yul," Min-jae mumbled. "Why are you still alive? I should kill you. He'd… He'd love for you to die the way you deserve."

In-ho felt a mean smile, more of a smirk, the kind of smug bastardry that belonged on his face, spread across his lips. "You're going to kill me, squirrel? What about your mission, here?"

Min-jae snarled and lunged at In-ho, who felt his eyes widen in morbid delight. Without hesitation, he threw him to the ground, removing the switchblade from his hand easily and kicking him once in the ribs.

He knelt next to him, fisting his hair and leaning down. "What now?" He asked meanly.

"Please, don't kill me, please."

Ugh, tears. In-ho hated when they cried. He tilted his head. "Why shouldn't I? How many more people are you going to coerce into backpayments? You threatened my friend, what is he, your tenth stop, today?"

"No, no, of course not!"

In-ho huffed, slamming his head into the floor, making a note to apologize to Gi-hun for the blood. "Don't forget who you're talking to, squirrel. I used to do what you do, I know how it works. I know how you scan to see if there's someone around to fight back." He chuckled cruelly. "Misread this one, I suppose."

Min-jae whimpered, trying to shake his head. "Please, I won't… I'll stop, I was just trying to garner some goodwill for when Dong-yul gets out."

"You wanted money for yourself." In-ho let go of him and stood up, ignoring the sniveling sobs that he was emitting. He could kill him. He could stomp his skull, he could gut him with his own knife, he could bludgeon him into the floor a few more times, but it would make such trouble for Gi-hun if someone died in his little shop. And In-ho didn't necessarily want Gi-hun to see just how easy killing someone was for him.

You're dangerous, Gi-hun had said, and it still grated on In-ho, like a dog being left at the pound for the power in its jaws. Well, In-ho wouldn't give him any more reason to flee. He kicked his leg. "Get up. Get out."

Min-jae stood up, still crying, his face red and puffy and soaked with tears and blood. "I won't do anything again, I won't, I'm sorry, I promise—"

"Don't bother lying. Just leave Mr. Seong alone," In-ho said, with that same cultivated bored detachment. "Let's leave." He grabbed Min-jae by the elbow and dragged him out, then pulled him close and spoke into his ear. "If I see you again, squirrel, I will put your teeth on the curb of the sidewalk and stomp until I see your brain. Understood?"

Min-jae nodded, then walked a few steps before taking off running away.

Fucking pathetic.

In-ho scowled after him, then turned and went back inside the shop. "Gi-hun?"

"Lock the door," Gi-hun said from the booth In-ho had vacated. "Just… I'm closing early today."

In-ho obeyed, then approached the table, hesitating. "May I sit here?" He asked, gesturing to the space next to Gi-hun.

"Um," Gi-hun said, and In-ho's pitiful, decomposing heart lurched. It was fair, though, he conceded. Gi-hun was frightened of him. At least he was displaying some self-preservation, at last, though In-ho would've preferred it not to come at the cost of their closeness.

He sighed, taking a step away, surprised to see Gi-hun pushing himself out of the booth and standing. "Gi-hun, I—"

Gi-hun wound his arms around him, one over his shoulder and one around his waist, his hands shaking as he did so.

In-ho blinked, taken aback. He was unequipped for this, he imagined, but it felt so good, as foreign as it was. Gi-hun's body was warm and unexpectedly solid, his grip growing stronger with every second. Reluctantly, feeling clumsy, even now, In-ho reciprocated, trying to keep his hold gentle instead of constricting like a snake.

Gi-hun relaxed into his arms, then tension leaching out of him and his breath becoming less noisy.

Desperately, In-ho wanted to console him, but he was underqualified. He flattened his hand against the middle of Gi-hun's back, wondering if he should rub up and down his spine but too uncertain to do so. Instead, he let his thumb drag in little lines, back and forth, unclear how this would possibly have helped anything.

Gi-hun shivered, then pulled away, keeping his hand on In-ho's shoulder. "Fuck, thanks, I just…" He sighed, shaking his head and sitting back in the booth. "You can sit, by the way."

In-ho sat next to him, though he wondered if it would've been less awkward had he sat across the table. Gi-hun's knee was brushing against his, and, at first, In-ho considered it a pleasant accident. After a few seconds, however, he realized that it was likely an intentional grounding measure. "I apologize, I didn't mean to frighten you," In-ho said at last.

Brow furrowing, Gi-hun looked up from where he'd been staring at the table. "You didn't."

In-ho's head tilted sideways. "You're terrified, your hands are still shaking."

"Yeah, but," his expression said that he felt In-ho was being ridiculous. "Not of you."

Understanding, In-ho nodded, letting his knee press more firmly against Gi-hun's.

"I had a loan," Gi-hun confessed. "I paid it off, which… Wasn't easy, but, before I did, he used to come by and try to collect installments." He let their elbows touch. "The last time, he threatened to take my organs, made me sign some stupid document in my own blood."

It was an age-old tactic. Limited violence with the threat of more was arguably more compelling than greater violence; it added a degree of fear, of uncertainty. In-ho, himself, had relied on it once or twice, when he was starting out. "He won't come back here," In-ho said, because there was little else he could say. "I guarantee it."

"No, I bet he won't," Gi-hun said, a funny smile on his face. "I wondered if you were going to kill him."

"You would've been implicated, if I had," In-ho replied, knowing Gi-hun would take it as a joke.

Face brightening, a little, Gi-hun let out a watery laugh. "Well, thanks, then." He gave In-ho a questioning look. "You knew him. He was scared of you."

"He worked for the same man I did, when I was undercover."

"Too bad you weren't the one coming to collect my installments," Gi-hun said.

In-ho blinked at him, silently requesting elaboration.

Gi-hun gave him a tearful grin. "At least then I would've been threatened by someone handsome."

Startled, In-ho laughed, distracted by his own affection and forgetting, for a second, to bite it back. He managed to turn his face away, but couldn't help the sound from slipping out of his mouth. When he had collected himself, he turned back to Gi-hun, who was staring at him with a more sincere smile.

"You laughed," Gi-hun mused, seeming pleased. "You laughed at my joke."

In-ho narrowed his eyes. "I suppose I did."

"You should laugh more, you have a nice laugh. You still hide your smile. Squirrel got more smiles out of you than I do."

Rolling his lips between his teeth to keep his face straight, In-ho huffed. "That's different."

Gi-hun fixed him with an expression that felt fond, then he exhaled heavily, leaning his head on In-ho's shoulder. "Is this okay?"

"Yes," In-ho said, his voice coming out more quietly than he meant it to. He felt his own shoulders ease, his head tipping to rest against the top of Gi-hun's.

"Sorry, I was useless," Gi-hun mumbled after a few minutes.

"You're not useless, don't apologize," In-ho said, more than a little snippy.

Gi-hun hummed. "Well, thanks, anyway. Do I need to file a police report?"

"Don't worry, I'll do it for you."

"You don't have to do that."

In-ho rubbed his cheek against Gi-hun's hair. "I know."

They sat in silence for an indeterminable amount of time, Gi-hun's breath slowing to its normal rate and In-ho feeling himself sink into the sensation.

"What would I have done if you weren't here?" Gi-hun mused, at last.

Pay him, probably, In-ho thought. "Better not to think about it."

"You should move in here," he teased. "Like a guard for my stupid little shop."

In-ho bit back a smile.

He went home that night and ate dinner with Jun-ho and Ye-jun, keeping the details of the day to himself. The way they interacted was sweet, though In-ho suspected they would've liked a night to themselves. To be polite, he retreated to his room and lay on his bed, killing time on his phone and waiting to become tired.

The ringing of said phone surprised him, as two-thirds of his contacts were exactly one room over. He blinked at Gi-hun's name on the screen, then picked up.

"Hello?"

"In-ho?"

Charming. "Yes, is everything all right?"

Gi-hun made a meaningless noise, likely intending to convey something that In-ho was too far removed to pick up on. "Of course, yeah, everything's good. What are you doing?"

His voice, In-ho realized, was familiar. It sounded the way it had when he'd been unable to sleep, had deposited himself next to In-ho on the couch and chattered about mountains or jellyfish or something until he calmed down once more. "Nothing," In-ho answered, trying to decide what to angle for. "I'm hiding out to give Jun-ho some space."

"Really?" Gi-hun asked, and In-ho could picture the way his face brightened. "That's perfect! You should come here!"

"Oh?"

"Yeah, yeah, you really should!" He sounded almost relieved, and In-ho was, briefly, drowning in affection for him. "I'm pretty bored, you know, and I've got beer and snacks, or, well, I can go to the convenience store. We can watch a movie or talk or something, give your brother a night away from you!"

The hope in his voice was so foreign, the idea that someone would be so delighted to spend time with In-ho was unbelievable, but he couldn't make himself acknowledge that. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course! Come over, I'm—" he cut himself off. "Come over."

In-ho touched his knee where it had been pressed to Gi-hun's, earlier. "All right, I'll be there soon."

He could hear the grin on Gi-hun's face so clearly that he could nearly see it. "Great, see you."

When he knocked on the door at Gi-hun's apartment, it was answered almost immediately. It became obvious that something was wrong.

Gi-hun was frenetic, bustling around and pouring snacks needlessly into bowls, setting two beers on his coffee table and then pushing them from side to side slightly, as though trying to line them up with some invisible marker. Even when he sat down on the couch next to In-ho, his fingers tapped relentlessly on his thigh.

In-ho, to his own surprise, knew what Gi-hun needed. He needed to chatter. He needed something, anything, to get started on, and then he'd be off to the races, talking himself to sleep as long as In-ho kept him going. He just had to come up with something.

"It's surprising that you're an only child," he said, at last, and Gi-hun seemed a little startled that he'd spoken.

"Why do you say that?"

In-ho shrugged. "Siblings catalyze development of empathy and loyalty toward people who are obviously flawed. You have this quality despite having no siblings. Why?"

Something blew across Gi-hun's face, something fond and endeared and unfamiliar, then he exhaled loudly. "I grew up with a boy who was like a brother to me. We fought constantly, then we'd just get over it and walk to school together the next day. But people are sort of born with empathy, right? Isn't that what makes them people?"

Intrigued, In-ho raised his eyebrows. "Is it? What, then, are people who are devoid of empathy?"

"They're less human," Gi-hun answered. "But I don't think that's very common."

"Really?"

"No." He gave In-ho a wry smile. "I bet you do, cynical asshole like you. You would've liked Sang-woo, that was my friend. He was a cynic, too." He paused, blushing a little. "Or maybe you wouldn't have."

"Why's that?"

Gi-hun narrowed his eyes. "I don't think you seek out other cynical people. I think the reason you bother hanging around with me is because you want to see what… Un-cynical people are like."

"I find 'un-cynical people' to be something of an endangered species." In-ho leaned back, taking a sip of the beer Gi-hun had given him. "But you're right. I'm not interested in crafting an echochamber of my own perspective."

"Why do you think they're endangered?"

In-ho pondered that for a moment. "I meant it in both ways. 'Endangered,' as in, there aren't many left, and 'endangered,' as in, in danger."

"What do you mean?"

"My wife wasn't like you," In-ho said, then urged himself to shut up. "She wasn't soft and giving or anything like that." He hesitated. "But she believed what you believe—that humanity is not a monolith, that most of them want to be good, do good, whatever it is." He looked down at his hands. "And she died. And I walked around, and all the hateful cynics of the world, the distrustful, the misanthropic, the suspicious, the selfish, they weren't dead. She was buried and there they were, surviving. Her belief, her hope, it marked her for death, in a way. People are quick to brand something 'too pure for this world,' but it's true. This place is polluted, perverted, poisoned, and nothing can survive in it that isn't just as poisonous." He made himself look back up at Gi-hun. "Except, it seems, you."

Gi-hun blinked, seemingly taken aback. "Do you think I am, then? 'Marked for death?'"

"Yes."

"Would it help you to know that I spent a lot of my life being kind of a piece of shit?"

In-ho chuckled, hiding it in the beer. "The redeemed are even more sacred than the unblemished." He watched Gi-hun take that in. "Have you seen The Matrix?"

"No."

"There's a line in it, it says, 'Hope. It is the quintessential human delusion; simultaneously the source of your greatest strength and your greatest weakness.'"

Gi-hun took a handful of chips from the table, chewing them as he thought. "Well, as long as we're commenting on each other," he began, the chips apparently taking up residence in his cheeks like a little chipmunk, "you talk and think an awful lot about hope for someone who has none of it."

Despite himself, before he could hide it or stop it or stuff it down, a soft smile fought its way onto his face. He wondered if the affection was radiating off of him like a nuclear waste site, it felt like it was. As much as he disagreed with Gi-hun, categorically and at every juncture, he was still almost painfully endearing.

"Oh," Gi-hun said. "You should smile more." At In-ho's quirked brow, he amended, "not in, like, a catcalling way, sorry, just that… Your smile's nice, you shouldn't hide it all the time."

In-ho managed to get himself under control, using the beer bottle as a prop, then leaned back. "What's your favorite song?" He asked, remembering his initial goal.

Gi-hun prattled on about some pop song, half-heartedly asking In-ho for an answer and then blowing past it to talk about songs he used to hate, which turned into movies he liked, TV shows he liked, any random pop culture event he could touch on. He would, perfunctorily, ask In-ho a question every so often, but In-ho always deflected so that he could keep listening to him talk.

As he rambled, he settled down, hands stilling and posture becoming lax. His voice softened, becoming less rapid-fire and more rhythmic, like waves on the ocean.

In-ho ached to touch him.

"I was a horrible cook when I started out, you know? I felt like I should have instincts to follow, but I think I was just being impulsive—" Gi-hun cut himself off with a yawn. "Shit, sorry." His eyes drifted to a clock on the wall, then widened minutely. "Wow, it's been hours! You must be exhausted."

"Not really," In-ho replied. "Like I said, I don't sleep much."

Gi-hun hummed. "You're sleeping here, right?"

"I can. I can go back to Jun-ho's, though, if you'd prefer."

He shook his head. "No, stay here." He pushed himself up, hands on his knees. "I'll get you some clothes to borrow."

As Gi-hun ambled off to retrieve the clothes, In-ho tidied up the chips and beer, refusing to let himself think about wearing Gi-hun's things again, about smelling him, smelling like him, being somehow marked as his. He washed the dishes with too-hot water, working to keep himself under control.

Gi-hun returned, setting the clothes on the sofa. "You didn't have to clean, I could've done it." He reached over to take the bowl from In-ho's hands in the sink, then jerked away. "Fuck, that's boiling!" Turning the cold water on, he snatched it away. "Get out of the kitchen, go get changed."

"I don't mind, I can—"

"Go." He softened the command with a gentle expression. "It's bad form for me to let you clean up, you're a guest."

Gi-hun's clothes, like Gi-hun, were soft. They were worn and faded and they carried the sort of comfort that In-ho could hardly recognize anymore, but couldn't quite resist.

He deposited himself on the couch, tucking underneath a blanket he had been given and watching Gi-hun putter around the kitchen for a few minutes, his own eyes growing heavy, as well.

"Thanks for coming over," Gi-hun said, not looking up from the towel he was tucking into the handle of the fridge. "I was…" He wrinkled his nose. "I'm glad you came."

"Me, too. I assume neither of us are as happy as Jun-ho and Ye-jun," In-ho blinked blearily. "Thank you for having me."

Gi-hun glanced at him, then. "You look so tired, did I talk you out?"

"No."

"Did I bore you?" He teased.

In-ho shook his head, reclining on the couch and pressing his head back against the pillow Gi-hun had given him. "Your voice is soothing," he confessed.

"Yeah, right," Gi-hun said, but In-ho swore his cheeks looked a little pink. He stepped into the room with the couch, looking down at In-ho fondly, then sighed. "Goodnight, Hwang In-ho."

"Goodnight," In-ho replied, and, as soon as Gi-hun was gone, he tucked his face into the collar of the shirt.

By his estimation, roughly two hours passed before he detected motion and snapped awake, keeping his eyes closed and body still. There was a person near him, he could hear footsteps, shifting weight,breathing, could sense that evolutionary something that had kept him alive for so long.

He opened his eyes, scanning the room and then relaxing immediately when he saw Gi-hun sitting cross-legged on the floor at the coffee table, staring at it unblinkingly. "What are you doing?" In-ho asked.

Gi-hun jumped, startled, and looked over at him. "Shit, sorry, I—"

"What are you doing?" He repeated.

"I woke up," he sighed. "Couldn't go back to sleep."

In-ho looked at him for a minute, at his again-shaking hands, and tucked his feet up on the couch. "You can sit here."

Without hesitating, Gi-hun took the spot, still keeping his eyes off In-ho. "Thanks. I am sorry I woke you up, I didn't mean to—"

"Don't worry about it." In-ho couldn't make himself resent him, he couldn't make himself feel anything other than delight at the presence of him. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"I don't know. It's stupid." He smiled bitterly. "I know it's stupid."

In-ho waited patiently, sitting up and adjusting the throw blanket so that it was over Gi-hun's legs, too.

"I was really scared," he confessed eventually. "Of that collector, today. I shouldn't have been, I know, because I'd dealt with him before, and I don't think he's that tough, or anything, I just…" He exhaled loudly. "It freaked me out. I thought I was done with all that."

"You are," In-ho said. "He won't come around again."

"I'm not pathetic," Gi-hun continued, as though he didn't hear In-ho. "I don't actually need a guard dog, or whatever, I'm not… I don't know why it's bothering me so much."

In-ho sat up, watching his face. "People who have been in a car accident react badly to reckless driving, even something as mild as speeding. You endured something miserable, there's nothing stupid about wanting to avoid being miserable again."

Gi-hun looked at him, something unfamiliar in his eyes. "Do you believe that?"

"I do." How could he not? He had spent the last week trying not to let himself get close to Gi-hun because he knew how bad the grief would hurt if it progressed too far. "It's natural."

Hesitantly, but with the tentative trust of an alley cat, Gi-hun nodded. "I wasn't going to wake you up, you know. And I wasn't going to do anything weird, like… Stare at you, or something."

"I believe you."

"I just like having someone around. It just… Feels safer, you know?"

In-ho didn't react. "Particularly someone dangerous?"

"No, no, don't… That's not what I mean." Gi-hun rested his elbow on In-ho's knee, body still facing forward but head turned to watch him. "I don't mean because I think you're going to protect me, I don't need protection. I just mean that…" He paused, searching for something. "I just mean that it's nice not to be alone. It's nice to have a friend here."

In-ho was melting. Therein was the sacrifice, wasn't it? To dodge the inevitability of grief was to forfeit that niceness, the sensation of not being alone. Not a protector, it appeared, but a pack, of some sort. He blinked at Gi-hun, trying to formulate some response, something safe but effective, something that would endear Gi-hun to him without endangering his own self-preservation, and he just couldn't. He felt unsteady, unsafe, like he was about to do something to jeopardize his life, like Gi-hun had extended a hand and was going to use it to shove him off a ledge.

"Oh," Gi-hun said, sounding like he pitied In-ho, which, at this point, was ludicrous. He turned, at that point, cross-legged on the couch, facing In-ho, and leaned forward, resting his head on his elbows, which were still on In-ho's knee. "I didn't mean to make you get all… Weird."

He did not sound apologetic.

"I…" In-ho began, ordering his thoughts. "I don't believe I've ever met anyone like you, Gi-hun."

Gi-hun gave him a goofy grin. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Not really," In-ho answered. "It's probably a bad thing. You are probably going to die an extremely painful, futile, unjust death because of the way you are. But it is…"

"What?" Gi-hun teased, seeming unoffended. "Interesting?"

"Well, yes, but that's not what I was going to say." He gritted his teeth, still feeling unmoored, unequipped, childish. "You make it hard not to like you."

Gi-hun paused, then his ears lit up, bright pink, his grin softening into something tender, something In-ho didn't know how to compute. "Are you trying to say that you like me?"

"Actually, I'm trying not to."

A noise escaped Gi-hun that sounded something like a coo, which In-ho wanted to rail against, but he was curling closer to In-ho, his body warm against In-ho's shins. "You should come to bed with me."

"Steep escalation."

"No," Gi-hun laughed. "No, you asshole, I'm sick of sitting on this couch, it'll be warmer, your leg is fucked, just… We're adults, we can share a bed."

In-ho was not sure that was true, but the temptation was too great to resist. "All right."

Gi-hun, for his part, seemed surprised at the acquiescence, which made In-ho wonder if he should've resisted more. Nevertheless, he stood, stretching, and led In-ho down the hallway to his little, cluttered room. In-ho reminded himself to act like he hadn't seen it before, then realized that Gi-hun had tidied it up substantially. He wished, suddenly, that there was any way he could ask if this had been done for his benefit, if he had planned, or even suspected, that In-ho might end this night in his bed, but couldn't come up with one.

Flopping backwards onto the bed, Gi-hun beckoned for In-ho to do the same, leaving them lying on their backs, side by side. Gi-hun heaved a sigh.

In-ho turned his head to look at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain.

He did not. Instead, he waited a few minutes, then sighed again, even louder than before.

Well, In-ho had been married, he'd played this game before. He refused to acknowledge him, staring up at the ceiling.

Gi-hun sighed a third time, and In-ho turned his head to hide the grin that threatened to spread on his face.

When he had schooled his face back into neutrality, he looked at Gi-hun. "I'm sorry, is something wrong?"

"Fucking finally," Gi-hun grumbled. "Nothing, it's just…" He shrugged up at the ceiling. "I'm cold."

"You're cold."

"Yeah. It's freezing in here."

In-ho rolled his lips between his teeth to keep his features sober. "I see. Would you like to turn up the heat? Or, I suppose, I can retrieve that throw blanket from the couch?"

"Can you just fucking comply with what I'm doing here?" He scowled at In-ho.

"Oh," In-ho said, feigning realization. "I understand. This is a ploy."

Gi-hun wrinkled his nose. "Don't call it a ploy—"

In-ho scooted closer to him, leaning his head so that his temple rested on Gi-hun's shoulder, and Gi-hun cut himself off. Like his strings were cut, Gi-hun sank into the pillow beneath him, the tension leaching out of his shoulders, his chest, his legs, every muscle in him appeared to loosen. He grabbed the duvet and pulled it up over their chests.

He wasn't fully tired, In-ho surmised, just relaxed. "Why do you struggle to sleep? Is it because of your nightmares?" In-ho asked.

Gi-hun seemed a little startled. "What do you mean?"

"Gi-hun."

"Yeah, I guess." He paused. "There are a lot of failures in my life, you know?" He said, almost as though he was trying to make it into a joke. "A lot of ways that things would be better if I was… Well, better, I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

Gi-hun huffed. "Jeez. Um, well… Like, my mom was sick for ages, and I could tell she wasn't doing well, but I didn't want to acknowledge it because…" He shrugged the shoulder not under In-ho's head. "I was afraid, I guess. Of what it meant."

"People get sick, Gi-hun. That's what they do."

Something like a laugh, a bitter one, slipped out of his mouth. "I appreciate what you're trying to do. But I knew she needed treatment, I was just scared of being poor, of admitting that we were poor, and that was my fault, too. She didn't choose to have a kid who wasn't that smart, who couldn't keep a job, whose marriage fell apart, I mean, all of that's on me. And I wasn't just neutral, I was a drain, you know? I liked to gamble, I liked to put off my problems 'til the last minute, well, you know the people I took loans from. They weren't exactly dealing with high-value clients."

In-ho blinked, sitting up and turning to look at him. "Dong-yul and his cronies didn't go after people because they were bad. The criteria wasn't failure. It was desperation. And, at the risk of poisoning your worldview, everyone is desperate for something. That's not failure, it's human nature. You aren't worse than anyone else because you were susceptible to unscrupulous forces. In fact, in that way, you're exactly like everyone else."

"So… You think people only do bad things when they're desperate?"

"That's the rub, Gi-hun. Present company excluded, all people are desperate. Poor ones are desperate for money, for food, for shelter. Middle-class ones are desperate for an edge over their peers, for advancement, for power. And rich ones are desperate for entertainment, for untouchability. Best of all is if they can be entertained in some sick, illegal way, at the cost of their fellow man. Best of all is if they can prove that they can do whatever they want to whomever they want, and nothing bad happens because of it." In-ho watched his face as Gi-hun processed that, then added, "desperation is the human condition. To be human is to be desperate. That's what makes you so perplexing."

"Perplexing," Gi-hun repeated. "I'm not perplexing, I'm not anything special. You're just wrong."

In-ho raised his eyebrows, a little impressed. "Maybe."

"You're supposed to argue with me," Gi-hun said, reaching for In-ho's arm to pull him back down on the bed.

"Why? I'm not trying to convince you of anything. Logically, your belief should be eroded by day-to-day life, interacting with people. If it hasn't been, I see no reason to target it." He could tell Gi-hun was not following, so he pivoted. "If I convinced you of what I believe, that would only prove that I was persuasive, not that my beliefs are true. If you came to share my perspective of your own accord, that would be different."

"I'm not going to," Gi-hun said decisively.

In-ho hummed, letting himself be pulled back into a lying position, his head resting on Gi-hun's chest. He liked his heartbeat, so steady, so loud, his pulse never varied. "Good."

For the first time in years, In-ho wanted to sleep. Truly, weakly, drift off to sleep, let himself fall into a vulnerable state and curl up here, like a dog in Gi-hun's lap. He wanted, terribly, to trust him, to believe that if he was here, with this senseless, impossible creature, that he was safe.

And Gi-hun was impossible. Somewhere between an angel and a sacrifice, something gentle and hopeful, with light in its eyes, that ought to be slaughtered on an altar to balance the sins of its peers. Maybe people weren't Gi-hun's peers. Maybe they were simply cohabitants.

In-ho wanted to tuck himself under Gi-hun's wing, hide away from the world and its people but, most of all, from himself, from his own misdeeds. He wanted, instead, to fill his lungs with Gi-hun's goodness, even for a moment, just a gasp of clean air to break up a lifetime of pollution.

How stupid he was being.

He opened his eyes and lay still until Gi-hun drifted off. In-ho was no lap dog. He wasn't even a dog. He was a wild animal, something feral and rabid and out of control, and bringing a coyote into your house with a warm meal didn't turn it into a Yorkie.

But, he decided, there was no harm in a coyote enjoying a soft bed, a soft touch, a soft person. No, he assured himself, there was nothing wrong with luxuriating in that for the night.

When he woke up, it occurred to him that he was, in fact, wrong.

They had shifted in their sleep. Gi-hun's face was now buried in In-ho's neck, his arm thrown around In-ho's waist haphazardly. In-ho had comparatively less culpability, but not none, as he was holding Gi-hun around the shoulders and their legs were distractingly tangled together.

Most horrifying of all was that he'd slept. Really, truly slept, like a child. He had been completely vulnerable, completely unaware of his surroundings, for hours. This was dangerous, this was stupid, this was unlike him, and—

There was a pounding on the door. Gi-hun wasn't stirring quickly, and the knocking was getting more aggressive.

"Let me in, now, or I'm letting myself in!" A voice cried.

Well, that simply wouldn't stand.

In-ho sprung out of the bed, pulling a grumble out of Gi-hun. "Wake up," he hissed, then strode confidently into the living room. He looked around furiously, finding his own jacket and drawing his knife from it.

The door opened as In-ho brandished the knife, his cruel, apathetic persona snugly in place. "Who are you?" He demanded.

The man who had broken in was friendly-looking, as criminals so often were. He was about In-ho's age, with floppy hair and a round, charming face. "Whoa, who the fuck are you?" His eyes fixed on the knife. "Gi-hun! Gi-hun, there's a killer here! Gi-hun, wake up, I'm about to get murdered at your house!"

In-ho blinked impassively. "It doesn't seem like he's coming. Who are you?"

"Look, I'm sorry, I don't want any trouble, I'm his friend, I'm just—"

"A friend?" In-ho tapped his fingers on the knife.

The man held his hands out in something like a surrender. "Look, please, I'm not here to do anything, I'll just, um, I can just go, even. Just—"

"What are you two doing?"

In-ho and the stranger looked at Gi-hun, who was standing in the hallway, rubbing his eyes. His hair was a mess, his shirt was crooked, and he appeared partially irritated.

"Gi-hun, this guy was going to kill me!" The man declared.

In-ho, feeling a little less like he was going to have to kill him, blinked. When Gi-hun looked at him for explanation, In-ho simply said, "he broke in."

Gi-hun raised his eyebrows, then caught sight of the knife. "Fuck, In-ho, put that away! This…" He scrubbed his hands over his face. "This could not be going worse. Could one of you make coffee?"

The stranger made an insulted face, and In-ho strode into the kitchen and began preparing exactly two cups.

Gi-hun sat on one of the stools at the counter. "In-ho, this is Park Jung-bae. Jung-bae, this is my friend, Hwang In-ho." He said it as though he deeply resented having to have this conversation at all.

"You have a lot of friends just sleep over and wear your clothes?" Jung-bae asked.

In-ho bristled, turning to face him again with a cold glare, at which Jung-bae paled.

"Fuck off," Gi-hun said easily, and In-ho went back to coffee preparation.. "He's the one I told you about, who was undercover for a long time."

Jung-bae sat on the adjacent stool. "Wait, really? The one who lived with you for three days?"

"Yeah." Gi-hun yawned.

"Huh. You didn't mention that he was fucking terrifying."

Gi-hun snorted. "Maybe you're just a wimp."

"Not all of us feel like we've got nothing to lose."

In-ho brought over a mug of coffee for Gi-hun and one for himself, standing across the counter from the two of them. At Jung-bae's indignation, In-ho stared at him silently.

"Well," Jung-bae began, sticking his hand out. "Any friend of Gi-hun's is a friend of mine."

In-ho put down his mug and shook the hand reluctantly. "Nice to meet you."

"Great, this is nice," Gi-hun said impatiently. "Why are you here? I was asleep."

"It's nine-thirty," Jung-bae told him.

In-ho blinked, surprised. He had slept until nine something? Real, uninterrupted sleep?

"It's that late?" Gi-hun asked, also seeming shocked. "I usually can't sleep this long."

"Well, whatever. I'm putting together a birthday thing for Dae-ho, you know? My little coworker?"

Gi-hun took a sip of the coffee. "Okay?"

"I was hoping you could make the food."

"Oh. Sure. When is it?"

Jung-bae gave him a sheepish smile. "Tonight?"

Gi-hun scolded him, bickering with him in the way that only old friends could, and then sighed and acquiesced, under the condition that Jung-bae leave right away so he could go back to sleep.

When he was gone, Gi-hun closed the door behind him, then turned to face In-ho, who was watching him over the rim of a coffee mug. "Were you going to kill him?"

"Probably not." He cocked his head sideways. "I was concerned that he was a threat to your safety, related to the loan collectors. Or some other criminal. Would you like me to go? I don't mind, if you're going back to sleep."

He did mind. He minded horribly.

Gi-hun waved his hand. "No, I'm not, I just wanted him to leave." He looked at In-ho, a little cautious.

"I apologize," In-ho said, which was, ultimately, a lie. "I didn't want to frighten you." That was true, at least.

"I'm not frightened, don't talk about me like I'm some delicate princess. I just…" He frowned. "I'm trying to decide how to react."

In-ho hummed, sipping his own coffee. "What are the choices?"

"Well, you can't kill my friends just because you think they might be dangerous," Gi-hun said. "That seemed self-explanatory."

"I would probably have incapacitated him, if it's any consolation."

Gi-hun huffed. "Barely any. Part of me is… Flattered, maybe? Assured, I guess, that someone cares enough to try to protect me, even though I don't need it." He approached In-ho, leaning back against the counter beside him. "Part of me is worried for you."

"You don't need to be."

"I don't?"

"No."

Sighing, Gi-hun leaned closer to him, pressing his ear to In-ho's shoulder. "Don't be so reckless."

"Why? If people are not inherently bad, shouldn't I be able to get away with recklessness?"

"That's not what this is about."

In-ho paused. "What, then?"

"I actually like having you around. I don't want you to get arrested, or killed, or to sink back into whatever you had to be to survive undercover."

Oh. Had he been gutted? Had Gi-hun taken his knife and carved up his midline, let his viscera spill out onto the creaky floor? Had he reached in and grabbed In-ho's heart in his hand and squeezed it, trying to force it back to life, trying to influence it with the rhythm of his own? He felt like he was a thousand degrees, or, possibly, like he was going into shock.

Without his permission, his hand tightened into a fist in the fabric of Gi-hun's shirt.

Gi-hun chuckled, turning and pulling In-ho into his arms. He couldn't reciprocate, not correctly, anyway, only holding onto Gi-hun's shirt with one hand as Gi-hun squeezed him like a snake, one hand slipping through his hair, and then pulled away, letting it clasp his shoulder instead. "Thanks for the coffee. Even if you were petty about it."

"I was not."

"You were. And thanks for staying, I haven't slept that well in forever."

In-ho hesitated. "No, me neither."

"I need to go to work and start making all this extra food," Gi-hun said. "Unless you want to help me?"

"I would be more of a hindrance."

Gi-hun gave him a soft smile. "If you say so."

In-ho changed into his own clothes, then bade Gi-hun a good day and took a bus back to Jun-ho's. What a horrible day of realizations this was.

The next day, as it turned out, was worse.

In the morning, he went into the station to make Gi-hun's police report. Upon informing the police chief that an associate of Dong-yul was still acting in his name, the chief paled, sitting In-ho down and reluctantly informing him of a few members of the ring who had managed to avoid capture; satellite affiliates who hadn't been present at the time of In-ho's shakedown. They had people on the case, including, at that point, the chief, himself, but, for the next week or two, they were 'recommending' In-ho go on a witness protection retreat.

In-ho, knowing what that entailed, had fought the idea from the start. He argued that they wouldn't come after him, that they weren't powerful enough to overtake him anyway, that he'd stay in a hotel—all to no avail. The chief informed him, point-blank, that, should he wish to remain employed, he would be leaving that afternoon to an undisclosed location for as little as five days, but as long as two weeks. He would not be allowed contact with anyone for that amount of time, would simply remain a prisoner in some house outside the city.

He was then given an hour to collect his necessary effects and return to the station.

He'd say good-bye to Jun-ho at the station, he decided, as he threw some random clothes into a bag. This temporary relocation, he imagined, would not be a popular decision.

"What are you doing?"

In-ho turned from his duffel bag to see Ye-jun, standing in the doorway. "I've been commanded to enter witness protection for a few weeks."

His brow furrowed minutely. "Why?"

"A few outliers in the ring I busted are making a last stand, I…" He huffed, cutting himself off.

"Jun-ho will be devastated."

In-ho grabbed some socks and jammed them into the bag. "I'm not thrilled myself. I'm going to tell him at the station." He paused, facing Ye-jun head-on. "You'll take care of him?"

"He's an adult, he doesn't need a caretaker, and he didn't have one for years," Ye-jun said, voice nonjudgmental but also unforgiving. After a moment, he added, "of course, I will."

In-ho nodded. "Good." He tossed the bag over his shoulder. "I'll see you in a few weeks."

He made for the door, then Ye-jun called, "In-ho." When he turned back, the other man said, "you don't have to worry about him. I promise."

You cannot keep that promise. "Thank you."

It was too early for Gi-hun's restaurant to be open, so In-ho permitted himself to stop at his apartment. If he wasn't there, he reasoned, then In-ho would take that as a sign and go to the station.

Alas, when he knocked, there was an audible groan from inside, then the door opened. "Haven't I done enough—oh, it's you." Gi-hun looked tired, back in a too-big sweater and pajama pants. He scanned In-ho, eyes fixing on his duffel bag. "Where are you going?"

"I have to enter witness protection for a couple weeks. Don't worry, you aren't in any danger, they've already taken Squirrel in and they've got the other ones on watch, they're just waiting to capture them."

"Weeks? Witness protection, what's that mean?"

In-ho sighed. "Basically, hiding. I don't know where, they won't tell me, they're just going to drop me off somewhere. It shouldn't be more than a week, but it could be up to two."

"Can I text you? Call?"

"No, they'll take my phone so it can't be tracked." Gi-hun's face fell. "I asked them to keep an eye on your shop, though, to make sure no one comes around, I—"

"That's not what I'm worried about," Gi-hun corrected. "I'm worried you're fucking off to the middle of nowhere and no one's going to know if anything happened to you."

In-ho blinked, taken aback. "Nothing's going to happen to me."

"You don't know that." He shook his head. "Is that really safer, if none of your friends know where you are? Don't do it."

"I don't have a choice." In-ho shivered, realizing, stupidly, that he hadn't packed his coat. It didn't entirely matter, since he would spend most of the time confined to a nondescript apartment like a prisoner, but it was irritating, now.

Gi-hun huffed. "Do you even have a coat?"

"I packed in a hurry. I won't need it, though, I'll—"

Gi-hun had reached for the coat rack next to the door and handed him a zip-up jacket. "Here, just take this."

In-ho held it in his hand, staring at it for a moment, then back at Gi-hun.

Something deep within him, something childish and buried and stupid, preened at it. He liked the idea of wearing Gi-hun's things, of Gi-hun having some form of proprietary right over him, of tangible proof of their relationship, whatever it was. He blinked, feeling unsteady on his feet, then let the corners of his mouth quirk up. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, you'll need it, it's supposed to be freezing."

In-ho felt his eyebrows pinch together, failing to keep the fondness off his face. "Thank you, Gi-hun." And he wanted Gi-hun to miss him, he liked the feeling of Gi-hun bothering to worry about him, so he added, "and, if anything happens, thank you for the last couple weeks."

Gi-hun's eyes widened. "What do you mean, 'if anything happens?'"

"Just in case." But he looked so soft, and so worried, like In-ho was a person, like In-ho was worth worrying about, like In-ho was human enough to be harmed in the first place, and he couldn't resist any longer. In-ho stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, cataloging the feeling of his body to think about and pick through over the next few weeks.

Gi-hun reciprocated immediately, hands winding around his waist and holding onto him, tipping his head so that their temples pressed against one another.

In-ho began to withdraw from him, keeping his hand on Gi-hun's right shoulder, and, steeling himself, pressed a kiss to Gi-hun's cheek as he pulled away. "Thank you, Gi-hun," he repeated.

"Yeah, whatever," Gi-hun replied quietly. "Wear the jacket. And be safe."

In-ho nodded. "I will. You, too."

"Tell me as soon as you're back, okay?"

"Yes." In-ho smiled, hoping it wasn't as awkward and unfamiliar as it felt. "Goodbye, Gi-hun."

And, without further ado, he turned on his heel and left.

"He doesn't need to go, he's safer with me! I live with a bodyguard!"

In-ho entered the station to the sound of arguing. Specifically, Jun-ho arguing with the chief of police.

"Hwang, you know that WP is safer, he'll be completely untraceable."

"Or he'll get found and no one will know!"

The chief shook his head. "You know that we assign people to keep watch on officers on retreat, if anything happened, we'd know immediately."

"Not as immediately as if it was in my fucking house," Jun-ho hissed, then spotted In-ho. "In-ho, don't do this."

"I don't have a choice," In-ho said levelly, internally aching to express how little he wanted to do this. He didn't want to leave Gi-hun, he didn't want to leave Jun-ho and his little family, not when he had felt so present, the past few days.

Jun-ho harrumphed. "But you don't want to, right?"

"Nobody ever wants to," the chief interjected.

"May I speak with Jun-ho for a moment?"

The chief waved toward his office, which Jun-ho stormed into indignantly and In-ho trudged into with resignation.

"You're not fucking going," Jun-ho said.

"I am." In-ho stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "I have to."

"You don't, since when are you this meek? You just follow what he says blindly? You know who we're dealing with more than he does!"

In-ho exhaled loudly. "He'll fire me."

"He won't! You know he won't, if we just—"

"If I stayed, you would be in danger. Do you understand that? Do you think, after everything I did to try to let you have a good life, I would jeopardize it over two weeks of inconvenience?"

Jun-ho scowled, the fight leaving him. In its place was something settled, the sort of deep-seated, simmering anger that could survive a long time, a smoldering flame. "Yes. Thank you so much. My life was so good, because of what you did." He took a step toward In-ho. "I was alone. She was my family, too, and I lost her, and then I lost you. Mom was falling apart, you had to know she was, and I was just trying to get through the day without picturing all the different ways you might've been killed." He paused, laughing bitterly. "You don't even know the half of it. I started seeing you everywhere, you know, I thought I saw you around every corner. I would chase down strangers, thinking they were you. I lost whole nights, blacking out in clubs, trying to stop worrying so much about you."

"Jun-ho, I—"

"I tracked down Dad. Did you know that? I found him. You remember the serial abuser who abandoned his family, leaving a sick kid in the care of a twenty-year old boy, that guy? I found him, talked to him, because I was so desperate to have someone. And I did all of that because the only person I actually needed, the only person I actually wanted to talk to, who would've understood everything falling apart, had fucked off to nowhere for hell-knows how long."

Whatever parasite In-ho had where his heart was supposed to be curled up into a pained ball, aching. "I'm sorry," In-ho said, softly.

"I forgive you," Jun-ho replied easily. "But I don't trust you. I don't trust you not to run off again. You say it'll be a week, two weeks, whatever. What about when it becomes three weeks? A month? A year? How much of our lives are we going to spend separated because you're a coward?"

"I was trying to help you."

"Right. I know that. But I don't want your help. I don't want you making decisions to protect me, I don't want you sacrificing things because you think you know what's best for me, I don't want any of that." He took a shaky breath, and something innate inside In-ho cried out in protest at the sight of his kid brother in pain. "I just want my brother."

In-ho hugged him. Not, to be clear, the way he hugged Gi-hun. In fact there were very few similarities between the embraces. This one, In-ho knew how to do. In-ho knew how to comfort his brother, his charge, his kid, even if he hadn't done it in years. It was innate, to him, like an instinct that he was born with, that he couldn't have excised, even if he tried to.

He felt Jun-ho's hand tighten into a fist in the shirt on his back. "You're going to leave," Jun-ho muttered into his shoulder.

In-ho pulled away, grasping his shoulders the way he had upon their reunion. "Fourteen days. Then, I'll find a way to contact you."

"You promise?"

"Yes."

"Swear on her grave," Jun-ho demanded, and In-ho flinched. "Do it."

In-ho scanned him, noted the fear in his eyes, how young he suddenly looked, how damn desperate he seemed. "I swear on her grave," he said.

Jun-ho studied him for a moment, then nodded tentatively. "Fourteen days."

The WP house was horrible. In-ho had not been expecting a mansion, but he had been expecting something with at least some art on the walls, or even a hotel-level of hominess. Instead, he was trapped in what felt like a cell, or, possibly, a padded room. Four gray walls. Kitchen, desk with chair, bed. One dark gray door into a bathroom with a shower. In-ho would've preferred a bathtub, but he imagined that would've tempted inhabitants to drown themselves just to have something to fill the time.

They had taken his phone and laptop, leaving him an unattached debit card, a few bottles of water, and a list of approved convenience stores in the area. There was a TV which could only stream on a limited, ad-filled subscription, and a scratchy throw blanket that In-ho suspected was going to give him ringworm.

The days passed in a haze. He remembered, then, what it meant to stop being human. He didn't eat, didn't read, didn't write, didn't do anything except veg out in front of the TV, letting shows play without registering them.

The only thing that tethered him to his own existence was Gi-hun's jacket.

Initially, he had thrown it on backwards, like a blanket, doing everything in his power to avoid the provided one. He would shrug his shoulders into it, tuck his nose into the hood when he got chilly, and rub the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. As he did, he felt… Something. Or, rather, he felt like something, like he had ever been something, or ever could be again.

It was purgatorial. Occasionally, he would summon enough humanity to think of Gi-hun, to get lost in fanciful, impossible ideas about being with him, being touched by him, burned by him, engulfed in him. He considered touching himself, partly just to pass the hours, but couldn't muster the energy.

He wasn't hungry. He wasn't bored. He wasn't even lonely. He wasn't present enough to be hungry or bored or lonely. All he was was there.

He was nothing. He was nothing. He was nothing. He had never been anything, he never would be again. He had no purpose, no livelihood, no family, no friends, no hunger, no satiation, no warmth, no cold, no feeling, no senses, he wasn't even dead; death was predicated on a history of being alive, and he was realizing that he never had been. Or, if he had, he couldn't remember it now.

What had he been, until now? Who was he? What did he do, before he was there, in the liminal space of the WP house? Did he do anything? Did he impact… Anyone? The world? Had he ever helped anyone? Hurt anyone? Had he ever moved from this cushion, staring at this TV, droning on in incomprehensible nothingness?

What was his purpose? What was his personality?

Fuck, what was his name?

In-ho blinked, eyes painfully dry. Whose coat was this? Seong Gi-hun's.

Who was Seong Gi-hun? His friend.

He had a friend. Clearly, at one point, he had been enough of a something to make a friend.

He didn't know how many days it had been. He didn't know whether it was day or night, whether his headache came from his own mental decomposition or dehydration, whether he had done anything deplorable that day or whether he had even left that damn couch. All he knew was that he was once Seong Gi-hun's friend, and he was wearing Seong Gi-hun's jacket, and that he would not be taking it off without a fight.

For the first time in what must've been decades, centuries, even, there was a knock at the door.

He stared at it irritably, then dragged himself over to answer, expecting to either say it was the wrong door or kill whoever was on the other side.

He pulled it open to see Jun-ho, staring back at him nervously.

"In-ho?"

In-ho's eyes widened, personhood dripping back into him too slowly, like a percolator trying to fill a trough. "Why are you here?"

"It's been thirteen days, they caught the rest of the people, I asked the chief if I could be the one to come get you." He gave him a meaningful look, but In-ho couldn't understand it. "In-ho, you're done here, you can come back."

In-ho blinked at him. "Come… Back."

"Yeah, dipshit, it's time to come home." There was an emotion on his face, one that was familiar and unwelcome, but it was unidentifiable to In-ho in his current state. "Let me help you pack up your shit."

It was easy, apparently, based on what little Jun-ho said. In-ho had hardly unpacked. When they got in the car, Jun-ho scanned him for a moment. "You look terrible."

In-ho didn't reply.

"Let's drive through somewhere, okay? Or, hey, should we go to Gi-hun's?"

"What?"

Jun-ho shrugged. "He's got that little chicken shop, right? I haven't eaten the food, but let's go there, he'll be glad to see you."

Hm. That sounded… Nice. "All right."

"Great." Jun-ho drove the hour and a half back into the city, intermittently chatting, telling little stories that didn't require much response.

"Jun-ho," In-ho interrupted. When his brother paused, In-ho said, "thank you for coming to get me."

Jun-ho narrowed his eyes at the road in front of him. "You seem kinda out of it."

"Do I?"

"Yeah, and you look like shit. You look like I just picked you up from the humane society."

A rattling laugh fell out of In-ho's mouth. "Thirteen days, you said?"

"Yeah."

"I assume you've called off the search parties you'd readied?" He asked raspily.

A faint smile stretched across Jun-ho's face. "Yeah, the huge search party of me, Ye-jun, and the guy you're obsessed with, I've managed to get all of us to stand down."

When they parked near Gi-hun's shop, In-ho felt a pang of something, of presence, really, and found himself a little dizzy at the sensation. Jun-ho led him over to the shop, locking the car door behind them.

"Have you been here before?" In-ho asked, trying to get his vision to focus.

"Yeah, twice. To talk to him about you." Jun-ho opened the door for him.

Gi-hun had his back to the counter and, by extension, them. "Welcome in, what can I—oh, fuck!" When he turned around, spotting them, his eyes widened. He trotted over to them and flung himself at In-ho, who swayed at the weight of him but steadied himself quickly. Gi-hun's arms were tight around him, over his shoulder on one side and around his waist on the other. "You're back," he said softly.

In-ho tentatively reciprocated, his hold weaker than Gi-hun's.

With a huff, Jun-ho excused himself, grumbling about grabbing a drink from the convenience store, then left them alone in the shop.

Gi-hun pulled away from him slightly, leaving his hands on him as he did so. "You look thin."

"Oh?" In-ho felt a little behind. "Thanks, I guess."

"No, I wasn't being nice," Gi-hun said seriously. "You look sick, I don't like this, In-ho, are you okay?"

His heart dropped through his stomach. He knew how this felt, from the opposite perspective. She had gotten thin, too, Initially, people had complimented her. 'How have you lost all this weight?' They asked, and In-ho had scowled at them and she had told them that she was very sick. One person had joked, 'I need to get what you have,' and In-ho had snapped at them and said 'I wish you would.'

He refocused. Too much was too close to the surface and yet too far for him to fully access. "It was a long thirteen days."

Gi-hun's hand cupped his face. "You look really sick, not just the weight, your eyes," he rubbed his thumb against the soft skin under In-ho's eye. "Oh, what have you done?"

In-ho blinked again. "What's wrong with them?"

"They're all empty." He sighed. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," In-ho replied quietly.

Gi-hun hummed. "Maybe that's the problem." He shook his head. "Well, come on, look at the menu, order whatever you want, it's on the house."

"I'll pay."

"You came back," Gi-hun said easily, as though he wasn't actively shattering In-ho's fragile earth. "That's payment enough."

In-ho followed him to the counter and Gi-hun handed him a menu, pointing out a few things that he was especially proud of and then staring at In-ho expectantly.

He tried to force himself to read the menu, he really did, but he couldn't make himself focus, and he couldn't make his mind center on anything other than Gi-hun's soft eyes, the concern in his gaze. "I'll eat whatever you make for me, Gi-hun."

Gi-hun faltered. "Oh. Well, okay, give me a few minutes, then." He turned to go back to the kitchen, then paused. "Actually, come back with me? You can help me."

"I won't be any good at that."

"Surely you can crack an egg into a bowl."

In-ho traipsed after him into the kitchen, where he was given a bowl and two eggs and then stationed next to Gi-hun. "What do I do?"

"What? Just crack them."

"Then what?"

"Then give them to me." Gi-hun looked at him, giving him the sort of teasing smile In-ho imagined people gave to infants. "Don't worry, it's the only job I'm giving you."

In-ho followed his orders, letting Gi-hun's chattering wash over him. He described some customers he'd had in In-ho's absence, the stray cat he had taken to feeding, the breakdown he'd fixed in his car. As he spoke, In-ho felt his shoulders loosening, felt his personhood settling back into where it belonged, far from the surface but still appropriately accessible.

"How was it? Where you were?" Gi-hun asked him, at last.

"Boring," In-ho answered immediately, not wanting to elaborate.

Gi-hun smiled down at the chicken he was frying. "You're wearing my jacket."

In-ho didn't answer, eyes fixed on Gi-hun's hands.

"Did it come in handy?" He asked, and there was a glint in his eyes, as if In-ho was missing a joke.

"It was cold, you were right," In-ho said absently.

"Your brother came and talked to me." Gi-hun prodded the chicken as it fried. "He was trying to be calm, but he seemed worried."

"What did you tell him?"

Gi-hun huffed. "I was useless. I was as worried as he was, and he knew more than I did, so… It wasn't that helpful, probably."

"I'm sure having a confidante was beneficial to him," In-ho said, but something in him bristled at the idea of Gi-hun comforting other people.

Gi-hun pulled the chicken out of the fryer, putting what appeared to be enough for several people onto a plate and carrying it back into the dining room, sitting down across from In-ho and pushing it toward him expectantly.

In-ho took a bite, then, realizing how hungry he was, focused on eating. "You really are an excellent cook."

"Ah, I'm okay," Gi-hun demurred, but the pink of his cheeks and the smile on his face said he appreciated the praise. "You know, if you get sick of third-wheeling at your brother's, you can stay with me. Until you get a place, or… Whatever."

In-ho kept his eyes on his plate. "You can't want that."

"I do, actually. It helps me sleep, having you there. And, from the looks of you, you could use some help sleeping, too."

At last, In-ho looked up at him. "Did you miss me, Gi-hun?" He asked, failing to fully keep the smugness off his face.

"Don't be stupid," Gi-hun flushed and looked away, then scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I mean, of course, I did. And I was worried about you. And, now that I see you, it seems like I was right to be."

"I'm fine."

"You're on the upswing, but you're not fine." Gi-hun bumped their ankles together under the table. "You probably spent the whole week brooding on how much you hate people. I'm surprised you can even stand to be in this closed restaurant." When In-ho didn't reply, Gi-hun pushed further. "What did you do?"

In-ho paused, putting down his piece of chicken and looking off into the distance, then meeting Gi-hun's eyes. "I don't remember."

Jun-ho came back into the shop, then, and joined Gi-hun on one side of the table, watching In-ho carefully. "You ought to finish that."

"I am, actually, forty-nine years old. I can handle eating some chicken."

Gi-hun grinned at him, kicking his shin playfully, and Jun-ho made a face.

"Can I get you anything, Jun-ho?" Gi-hun asked.

"No, thanks. Ye-jun's a good cook, he'll have something to eat at home."

Gi-hun's brow furrowed. "Why'd you stop here, then?"

Jun-ho just looked at him meaningfully, then nodded toward In-ho, and Gi-hun hummed as though he'd said something important.

In-ho ignored the interaction, focusing, instead, on the fact that they were there. He felt, strangely, comforted, surrounded, even, by people who cared about him. Granted, they were operating under delusions about his humanity, but that couldn't be helped.

He listened, increasingly soothed, to the sounds of their voices, his other senses zeroed in on the warmth of the food in front of him, the gentle press of Gi-hun's ankle against his own, the soft, yellow lighting of the restaurant as the sun went down outside.

"In-ho?" Gi-hun's voice startled him out of his peaceful reverie. "You look tired, you should go to sleep."

"I'm awake," he defended, but it was unconvincing, even to his own ears.

Jun-ho chuckled. "I'll go bring the car around, since you've still got a bum leg." On his way out the door, Jun-ho detoured to the counter and dropped a couple tens of thousands of won into Gi-hun's tip jar.

Once he was gone, In-ho forced himself to stand, moving to take the plate up to the counter and then finding his hands batted away.

"Leave it," Gi-hun said, having stood, as well. "I don't mind cleaning it up after you leave."

In-ho nodded, wanting, somewhere deep within, to collapse into Gi-hun. "I can come stay with you tomorrow night?"

Gi-hun smiled. "Yeah, definitely." He stepped closer to In-ho, eyes darting around shyly. "You kissed me. Before you left."

"I did."

"Was that, like… Well, what did that mean?"

In-ho stared at him, uncomprehending.

Gi-hun blushed, shuffling his feet. "Just, like… You weren't doing some kind of brotherly kiss, or something, right?"

"A brotherly kiss."

"I don't know, I'm just checking. It was just my cheek, so I didn't know if you were trying to treat me like your brother or your grandmother or… Something else."

In-ho felt, distantly, the urge to laugh. Gi-hun's self-consciousness was charming, if misplaced. "Gi-hun, you can't be serious."

"Can I kiss you, then?" He asked, as though there was any chance in whatever was left of In-ho's soul that he would be denied.

In-ho nodded slightly, then stood completely still, curious to see how this would progress.

Gi-hun was… Chaste, in In-ho's opinion. He took a step closer to In-ho and gently pressed their lips together, brief and tentative, the kind of kiss that happens under bleachers or over a sedan center console. His hands stayed at his sides, then one hesitantly reached up and grabbed the fabric of the jacket. "Did you wear this the whole time?"

"I did."

"Was it that cold?"

"I don't remember. It made me think of you." It made me think of something, anything at all.

Gi-hun's features softened further, and he tightened his grip and kissed In-ho once more, a little less nervous, a little more sure. It was still short, though, and he pulled away quickly. "I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"Yes."

"Do you have your phone back? If I need to reach you?"

In-ho could sense his anxiety, could see it in the wideness of his eyes. "Yes."

"Good." Gi-hun gave him a bashful grin. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

Gi-hun waved at Jun-ho over his shoulder. "I'll see you then."

For as safe as In-ho felt with his brother, for as intrinsic as Jun-ho's presence was to whatever was left of his personhood, In-ho could tell he was intruding.

Jun-ho and Ye-jun included him, of course, in conversation, in dinner, in more, frankly, than he would've liked. But he could still sense the relief when he retreated to the guest room and they could be themselves, be free and in love without the detached but watchful eye of an older, traumatized stranger.

Jun-ho would've argued with that, In-ho knew. He would've flown off the handle if he heard In-ho refer to himself as a stranger, would've taken serious offense to another instance of forsaking their relationship. It wasn't about that. He wasn't a stranger to Jun-ho, not entirely, but he was a stranger to this Jun-ho. And he was holding him back.

He went to bed early, that night, tucking his nose into Gi-hun's jacket, still. It didn't even smell like him, anymore, it just… Served as a reminder.

In-ho found a few apartments on his phone to tour over the coming days.

He listened to Jun-ho and Ye-jun in the other room, to the soft, unintelligible conversations they were having, and felt two distinct thoughts push to the front of his mind. The first was that this was going to hurt, when it fell apart; the grief of losing one another would destroy them, destroy Jun-ho, who didn't deserve it. The summit of affection was too high, a fall was not going to be surviveable. The safe thing to do would be to end it all now, cauterize this pain while he still could, if he still could.

The other was that, on some level, In-ho was proud of him.

He stood outside Gi-hun's front door, holding his newly-laundered jacket and a store-bought pastry in a bag and feeling incredibly stupid.

Gi-hun opened the door and visibly suppressed the urge to coo at him, which In-ho didn't particularly care for, then ushered him inside.

"I left early to get you that little cake," In-ho said, because there was a tension in the air, something oppressive and thick and unfamiliar to him. "I wasn't sure if you liked ginger, so—"

He was interrupted by Gi-hun's mouth on his, hands cupping his cheeks gently, but without any inclination to yield. In-ho wanted to do anything other than stand there and let himself be kissed within an inch of his life, but he was holding that fucking jacket and pastry and he didn't want to just throw them on the floor, so he tried to lean into Gi-hun, communicate his enthusiasm any way he could.

Gi-hun, he found, kissed like he was relieved. He kissed as though he had been wanting something, hungry for something, and was finally holding it in his grasp. When he pulled away slightly, he pressed his forehead to In-ho's, eyes remaining closed for a second and then opening to meet In-ho's gaze.

In-ho blinked at him, stunned into silence, his mouth still parted as he stared at him.

Something about his shock seemed to please Gi-hun, who gave him an amused smile and then snatched the bag out of his hand, pulling away completely and ambling into the kitchen. "Ginger?"

In-ho internally shook himself, trying to regain some sense of presence. "I wasn't sure if you liked ginger, so I got red bean."

"Good. I hate ginger. Do you want anything to drink?"

"Whatever you're having."

Gi-hun nodded, pouring two glasses of water and handing one to In-ho. "I didn't cook anything. I can, but I didn't know what you wanted, or we can go out, if you like."

"You cook all day," In-ho said absently. "Is there a takeout place you like? That's fine with me."

Gi-hun rustled around in what must've been a junk drawer, for all of the random envelopes and pencils with no erasers inside, and produced a folded menu, which he passed to In-ho. "How was your day?" He asked, as he took a bite of the pastry.

"Uneventful. And I've unnerved Jun-ho, I believe; he spent half the day watching me out of the corner of his eye." In-ho perfunctorily perused the menu, then slid it back across the table. "I'll just get whatever you do."

Gi-hun took out his phone, presumably placing an order as he spoke. "What's he unnerved for? Because you're acting weird?"

"Am I?"

"Well, not to me, but you were weird when I met you."

In-ho hummed, unsure how to respond to that. "In any case, I believe it's more to do with my history of unplanned departures."

Chuckling, Gi-hun tapped a few more things into his phone. "Yeah, I'm not a fan of that, either."

"It's not an especially appealing trait." In-ho put the jacket on one of the stools at the counter, feeling a little like a child for how reluctant he was to set it down. "Did you have a nice day?"

Gi-hun pocketed his phone and guided him toward the door, herding him out and then setting off down the street. "It was fine. Boring. My shop got a recommendation online, though, so business is picking up."

His face was so bright, so radiant and entrancing in the glow of the streetlights. "Congratulations, that's wonderful."

"It kind of is, isn't it? I don't know why, it's not that great."

"You're an incredible cook," In-ho countered, forever irked at Gi-hun's tendency to belittle his own accomplishments.

Gi-hun grinned at him, affectionate and familiar. "Half the times you've had my cooking, you've been starving. But thanks." He bumped their shoulders together. "The shop is just here," he said, directing In-ho down a side street and into a small, somewhat unimpressive takeout. They waited outside, Gi-hun leaning against the wall of the building and In-ho staring at him, hypnotized. "I used to come to a place like this when I was a kid. Some old man ran it, he would always sneak me free stuff. They found out later it was a front for a money laundering scheme."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, and they wanted to call me as a character witness, to try to lessen his sentence. I was an adult, by then, you know. And I was going to do it, because he'd always been so nice to me, but then, outside the courtroom, a few of the witnesses for the other side talked to me, and…" He widened his eyes, puffing air out of his cheeks. "The things that man had done, I couldn't… I ran away, I didn't show up to the trial."

Fascinated, In-ho's interest mutated, focus draping over him more easily, now. "Why? It didn't change the way he treated you."

"No, I guess not." Gi-hun's eyes darted over In-ho's shoulder to watch one teenage boy chase another down the street, howling with laughter. They landed on In-ho again with a sad smile. "But he didn't deserve for me to go in there and say he was a good person."

"But, from your perspective, he was. It was his actions that led you to that conclusion, so why wouldn't he deserve that?"

Gi-hun shook his head. "Fine. But they, the people he hurt, they didn't deserve to have me raving about how great he was. They would've heard me, some random kid who he had given a few free side dishes, saying he was so generous, so kind, while they were just campaigning for some kind of compensation for all the horrible things he did to them."

"You didn't know these people, did you?"

"No."

In-ho studied him like a lab specimen. "And you knew the old man?"

"Yeah."

"Then why do you care how he made them feel? You know how he made you feel."

Gi-hun stared at him, his expression hard to discern. At first, his eyes narrowed, almost frustrated, like In-ho was pushing farther than he would've liked. Then, it softened, cooling from vexation to something closer to pity. "I didn't know them, but they still matter. They still deserve a chance to get justice, and I didn't want to be what stood in the way of that."

"What if they were wrong? What if they were horrible?"

"What if they were kind?" Gi-hun countered easily. "Does that seem stupid, to you?"

In-ho's brow furrowed, startled out of the debate. "Stupid? No. Unlikely, maybe."

"You're funny," Gi-hun said, seemingly apropos of nothing. "Why do you like arguing with me so much, huh? Is it just entertaining? Or are you hoping I'll prove you wrong?"

In-ho huffed a laugh. "I enjoy it in the way that I enjoy sci-fi films. I don't believe The Matrix is a true story, but I am compelled by its story and setting."

Half-indignant, Gi-hun laughed incredulously. "So, what? You think I live in a fantasy?"

He was, In-ho thought, the most beautiful thing on earth. "Maybe," In-ho replied honestly. "But I like learning about your world. And, if it is a fantasy, I'm interested in how it persists, how you persist, in spite of…" He waved his hand at the world around them. "All this."

"'In spite of all this,'" Gi-hun repeated thoughtfully. "Hm." He paused. "I don't know if the bad things in the world really rattle my beliefs. I believe what I do, I just find ways to… Make it fit, I guess."

"What does that mean?" In-ho asked, and, for the first time, his heart felt like a heart, like a real, beating muscle, not some long-lasting stand-in. It was not like Gi-hun's, it was not steady or strong, but it was a heart, nonetheless.

"My beliefs are shaped by… 'All this,' as you said. But not in the way you mean. You see bad people doing bad things because that's who they are. I see bad circumstances forcing people to be something they're not. Or, maybe, forcing them to be something they might not be."

"Again, I question the boundlessness of the grace you extend them."

Gi-hun chuckled. "Yeah, I bet you do. But I think you're too hard on them."

"People do horrible things, Gi-hun," In-ho argued. "They assault and aggrieve and attack, they commit unspeakable atrocities and brag about them over expensive liquor and white veal."

"I know that," Gi-hun said. "But, for example, you like jazz, don't you?" At In-ho's nod, he continued. "Well, people came up with jazz, didn't they? And a person wrote the movies you like, and all those beautiful temples across the country, those were built by people, too. Do we get any credit for that? Or just for the worst things we've ever done?"

In-ho bit back a smile, but pressed on. "'Fly Me to the Moon' can hardly make up for dropping bombs on civilians."

"I guess it can't. But people are more than just the worst things they've ever done, just like they're more than the best."

His argument was specious. In-ho could've refuted it, could've pushed harder, could've done something. But his voice was so certain, and his face so assured and proud and heartfelt, In-ho had to focus his energy, instead, on forcing the dumb smile away from his mouth, for fear that it would be too much. "I missed you, Gi-hun," he said at last.

Gi-hun laughed, full-throated and free. "You're so weird," he declared, without venom. "Most people don't like arguing."

"Does it bother you?"

"No," he said, a begrudging smile on his face. "No, I guess, it doesn't." He looked down at his phone, then back at In-ho. "Food's ready."

They retrieved a big, brown paper bag full of food and then walked back to Gi-hun's, Gi-hun chattering all the way. He mentioned the different items he'd tried on the menu, the way the main cook there used to dislike him, the other places he'd gone to instead.

In-ho didn't listen. Couldn't, really, because all he could think about was how enchanting he found him. He could hear half of himself screaming, protesting about how badly this would hurt when it ended, how foolish he was being, but Gi-hun drowned it out with his banal stories about nothing.

They ate on the floor at the coffee table in Gi-hun's living room, talking amicably for a while about their respective plans for the coming week and other trivial matters, before Gi-hun sighed deeply, poking at his food. "Was it okay? When you got here, that I kissed you?"

In-ho forced his face to remain serious. "Yes, of course."

Gi-hun flushed. "I missed you, you know. Which is sort of stupid, 'cause…" He shook his head, seeming a little embarrassed. "Anyway. I did, though."

"Why would that be stupid?" In-ho watched his face, curious. "You know that I felt the same way. You scrutinize yourself too harshly, but do not pretend that scrutiny is coming from me." He wondered, then, if he had been too earnest, as Gi-hun seemed a little stunned.

He stared at In-ho for a moment, then looked back at his food. "Your brother said you've imprinted on me."

In-ho scowled. "Great."

"I didn't know what it meant, but he said it's something baby ducks do." Gi-hun was doing an abysmal job at biting back a laugh. "He was just trying to embarrass you because you pissed him off."

"He didn't need to be bothering you, I apologize."

Gi-hun huffed. "I didn't mind. I don't think it's true. I think it's supposed to be something when you're very young, and we are… Not."

"Some people would find both of these options insulting." There was no response, for a few moments, so In-ho looked up, only to find Gi-hun staring at him, his expression unbelievably fond. Tender, almost, as though In-ho was something fragile, something worthy of gentleness. "What?"

"Nothing," he said, but the look was still there, still burning into In-ho like a hot brand. "I just never see you embarrassed, it's…"

In-ho raised his eyebrows.

Gi-hun gave him a soft smile. "It's very human. It's sweet."

It was the cruelest thing he could possibly have said. Not because it was untrue, unfortunately, but because it eliminated In-ho's plausible deniability. He had to admit it, now, he was exposing his own soft underbelly, removing the armor that had protected him from the ache of grief, shedding it and becoming vulnerable. How idiotic did a person have to be to enable the same knife to cut them twice?

Even more shameful was that the realization was not enough to prompt change. He knew it was foolish, he knew it was ill-advised, hell, he knew how it ended, and he still couldn't make himself stop. He still, at the thought of extricating himself from Gi-hun, felt a palpable devastation.

"'Human,'" In-ho repeated, trying not to acknowledge the terrified swooping of his stomach.

Gi-hun sighed, putting his chopsticks down, then leaned over and pressed his lips to In-ho's temple. "Ah, don't worry," he said, and In-ho stared at him, perplexed. "You might get shot again, then you won't have to grieve anything."

In-ho ignored the fact that his concern was apparently so predictable. "But you would," In-ho countered. "I wouldn't want that for you, either."

"Yeah, that'll be pretty painful." He patted In-ho's knee, equal parts comfort and mockery. "Not much to be done about it, though, is there?"

In-ho scoffed, incredulous. "I will never understand you."

Gi-hun went back to his food, the corners of his lips quirking up in a private sort of grin. "You might. Eat your food."

They chatted a bit longer, while they ate, growing more and more tired by the minute. In-ho was surprised at himself for his own weakness to the exhaustion, but Gi-hun's presence was lulling him into something, as it so often did. They tidied up the table together, falling into a sort of mutually-agreed-upon silence, and then made their way to Gi-hun's bedroom.

In-ho had, admittedly, brought pajamas of his own, but did not mention this when Gi-hun rustled through his drawers and gave him clothes to borrow. Gi-hun brushed his teeth while In-ho changed, then they switched. When In-ho came into the room, which, observed, was the neatest he'd ever seen it, Gi-hun was sitting with his back against the headboard, poking at his phone.

"Your room is neater than last time," In-ho told him, joining him in the bed and trying to be subtle about inhaling the warmth of him.

"Is it?" Gi-hun asked, with the least-convincing display of nonchalance In-ho had witnessed in his life.

In-ho tried to appear innocent. "I believe so, yes."

"That's weird, I didn't notice."

"I see."

Gi-hun huffed, putting the phone down and looking at In-ho, who was fully reclined on his back. "Don't be so smug, you would've done the same thing."

"Well, I couldn't, because I don't have a room or a house."

With a quiet laugh, Gi-hun sank down on the bed to be next to him. "How is staying at your brother's?"

In-ho found himself a little distracted, entranced by the softness of Gi-hun's features. "It's not terrible. His home is very nice, but I can tell that I'm encroaching."

"What do you mean?"

"He has formed a life for himself. A good one, too, a happy one. I should let him have it, I don't belong there." He thought for a moment. "I've never been displaced for so long, belonging is beginning to feel quite elusive."

"Belong here."

In-ho blinked. "What?"

Shrugging, as though the invitation wasn't turning In-ho into something unrecognizable, Gi-hun said, "belong here. With me."

In-ho stared at him, truly stared, the way people stared at things too small to quite see. "Fuck," he said, and then he grabbed onto the front of Gi-hun's shirt and pulled him into a kiss.

He felt out of control, like he was floating, drifting in the ocean, or possibly coasting down a hill in a car with the brakes cut. His hand clenched too tightly in the fabric of the shirt as he sat up a little, orienting himself so that he was partially on top of Gi-hun, who seemed decidedly amenable.

Gi-hun's hands were on his face, cupping his jaw, steadying him as the kiss went on. He moaned quietly into it, taking In-ho's hand from his shirt and guiding it underneath, to the soft skin of his waist.

In-ho took the guidance easily, taking advantage of the access to feel the curve of his side, the flat plane of his belly, the smooth skin of his sternum, and then back down to where it began, sliding underneath him to touch the knobs of his spine. He wished his other hand could do something other than support him, but his leg was not in a condition to hold his position by itself.

With that in mind, he knew this couldn't go too far, and he didn't necessarily want it to. He had imagined touching Gi-hun, in every sense of the word, for weeks, now, but he wanted them to be closer, first. He wanted the comfort between them to be easy, natural, instinctual, before factoring sex into the equation. And this bizarre gentleness was so foreign, so unfamiliar to him, he needed to adjust to it, remember what it was like.

He just wanted to curl up inside him, pry open his ribs or his skull or his hipbones and bury himself there, die inside him. The affection, the want, was eating him alive, he wondered if he might pass out from the dizziness in his head.

In-ho pulled away, just barely, and buried his face in Gi-hun's neck, chest heaving. The beating of his heart was still a novelty, irregular though it was, especially when In-ho could feel Gi-hun's against his chest, steadfast and unflinching like an old carthorse.

Gi-hun's hand was in his hair, carding through it and occasionally scratching against his scalp, his other one around In-ho's shoulders. He wanted to say something, In-ho could sense, but decided against it, instead just sighing and rubbing his fingertips up and down In-ho's back.

In-ho breathed him in, there, at the nape of his neck, feeling like he was gulping the air down, like some consumptive tragedy who had been sent to the countryside for fresh oxygen as a curative measure. Or, more likely, palliative care.

There were, suddenly, lips pressed to the top of his head, then one hand pulled a blanket over both of them. "Goodnight, Hwang In-ho."

In-ho squirmed, pressing his eyes and nose more tightly into Gi-hun, and let himself drift off.

When he woke up, he felt like a child.

His cheeks were warm, pink, he could tell, in that sleepy way that can't be replicated. His eyelids were heavy, his nose a little cold, and the blanket around them was creating a pocket of heat that he couldn't fathom leaving.

Gi-hun was next to him, as he'd hoped, though they'd drifted a little in their sleep. Gi-hun's knee was hooked around In-ho's, and his hand was on In-ho's arm, the other tucked underneath the pillow. His hair was a wavy mess, creating, on the fabric, a halo around him. The sun crept tentatively through the curtains, as though it, too, was reluctant.

He couldn't remember waking up like this since the first few years of his marriage, before the sickness and the hospital and the petrifying, all-consuming terror. He'd forgotten how nice it was to be contained, cocooned in the heat of another person. Inhaling the scent of Gi-hun, drowning in the incredible warmth of him, In-ho felt his every limb relax. Within the blanket, he lifted his hand and rested it over Gi-hun's sternum, the steady heartbeat lulling him back into a syrupy half-sleep.

An unknowable amount of time later, he stirred at the feeling of Gi-hun's finger tracing his eyebrows, which was strange enough to get him to open his eyes.

Gi-hun smiled at him. "Hey, you're awake."

"I am," In-ho said. "What are you doing?"

He kept doing it, and it didn't feel bad, just unexpected, so In-ho made himself stay still. "Your face looked so relaxed." He stopped, and In-ho found himself a little disappointed, but managed to hide it successfully. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," In-ho answered, and, to his immense surprise, he meant it.

"Look at your little smile," Gi-hun said, and he touched the corner of In-ho's mouth, then let his hand fall.

In-ho caught himself, schooling his features. "What time is it?"

Seemingly detecting his discomfort, Gi-hun allowed the pivot. "About half past ten." At In-ho's incredulity, he chuckled. "I know, I couldn't believe it, either."

"How long have you been awake?"

"Not long," Gi-hun mumbled, rolling onto his back. "About ten minutes."

The morning was slow, sleepy and unhurried in that domestic way that he had forgotten to miss. Quiet conversations over too-warm coffee, socked feet bumping under the table, it left In-ho feeling both comforted and flayed open.

Unfortunately, he had an apartment to tour that afternoon. He spent a gentle, sunny hour in Gi-hun's cozy apartment, then left him to his day off with a kiss to his cheek and a promise to talk soon.

A few days later, In-ho was walking. He wasn't entirely sure where he was going. His plan had been to go back to Jun-ho's, to debrief about what he'd said, what he'd done, what it meant. At a certain point, though, he realized he had gone the wrong way, had gone toward Gi-hun's apartment.

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, letting people irritably brush past him. Was Gi-hun even home? Could In-ho talk to him about this?

Was he sure?

Hwang In-ho: Hello, are you still at work?

He stared at the phone impatiently, accusingly. What had he become? What was he doing, yearning for a response, he was nearly fifty. Why did he care what Gi-hun thought? Why did he care what Jun-ho thought? Why did he care what anyone thought?

Unless, beneath it all, he knew he was making a mistake. He was, wasn't he? Changing behavior that had armored him, sheltered him from the storms of grief and torment and pain, why was he possibly shedding something so—

Seong Gi-hun: hey! I'm home, not closing tonight. is everything okay?

In-ho tried to breathe, tried to remind himself that it was his decision, he had chosen this.

Seong Gi-hun: do you want to come over?

The affection pounded at the inside of his chest, briefly outcompeting the spiraling anxiety.

Hwang In-ho: Yes. 10 min.

He shook himself, striding with forced calm to Gi-hun's apartment, ignoring the fact that he knew his way without thinking, by this point. When he made it to Gi-hun's door, he tried to don something less frenetic than he felt, squaring his shoulders and putting a neutral expression on his face, then knocking politely.

Gi-hun pulled the door open, scanning him with something In-ho recognized as concern. "Hey, what happened? You seem kinda weird."

In-ho blinked at him, feeling his mask start to fracture and then trying to reinforce it. "May I come in?"

Stepping aside, Gi-hun nodded and let In-ho thunder lamely past him, just to pace impotently in his kitchen for a minute before catching himself and standing very still, instead. He noticed his own hands shaking and jammed them into his coat pockets.

"In-ho, what's wrong? You're freaking me out."

In-ho stared at him for a moment, trying to think of how to begin.

"In-ho, tell me! You can't just storm into somebody's house and run around in their kitchen and then stand there like a statue, it's… It's impolite, for one thing, and… Look, just tell me what happened."

In-ho sighed, trying to stop seeming so panicked. He wasn't panicked. This was fine.

It was a disaster.

He swallowed audibly, turning away from Gi-hun and fidgeting with the magnets on his fridge. "They asked me to go undercover again."

There was a moment of silence. In-ho couldn't make himself turn around, couldn't let himself look at Gi-hun's face.

"What?" Gi-hun said, his voice hoarse.

"In Incheon. Another trafficking ring. He said, 'shorter, this time; probably only a couple years.'"

He heard Gi-hun take a step closer to him. "In-ho—" he began, a brittleness to his tone.

"I said no." At last, he forced himself to turn around. "I told him I wouldn't do it."

The emotion that washed over Gi-hun's face was palpable. He approached In-ho, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You said no?"

In-ho nodded, looking at him tentatively. They were too close, now, to the point where their height difference was leaving In-ho to stare up at him through his eyelashes, feeling more vulnerable than he'd like.

"What did he say?"

In-ho huffed. "Well, he tried to convince me, sort of. Said I'd done such a good job last time, they needed that kind of initiative, blatant flattery."

"And you told him…?"

"I said I couldn't. Actually," In-ho chuckled. "I told him I had a wedding to go to."

Gi-hun's face slackened for a second, then lit up in a brilliant grin. "A wedding to go to. That's…" He laughed, somewhat incredulous, and pulled In-ho into an embrace.

Right. That was why he'd said no. For as much as he'd spun his wheels on the way over, now, here, in Gi-hun's surprisingly tight hold, In-ho couldn't imagine willingly leaving. He felt his body slacken, trusting Gi-hun more than it trusted In-ho, himself.

Gi-hun's arms around him tightened, then pulled away, hands staying on his shoulders. "You were so worried, though, on the way over, do you feel like you made the wrong decision?"

"I don't believe so." In-ho sighed. "I went undercover the first time because I had nothing to lose. Nothing to live for, really. That's not really true, anymore."

"Are you doing this for me?"

In-ho thought for a moment. "No. Not entirely. But you're certainly part of it. More than that, though, you've illuminated things I don't want to leave behind, things that I wasn't cognizant of… The first time."

Gi-hun kissed his forehead. "I didn't illuminate anything you didn't already want to see."

"I didn't know there were things there to want. I didn't know I still wanted at all."

Gi-hun hummed, pleased, distractedly carding his hand through In-ho's hair.

"I want to be clear, I'm still not like you," In-ho said, leaning into the touch nonetheless. "I can't live in your world. But I'd like to be in your orbit."

With a bright laugh, Gi-hun led him to the couch, sitting him down and then flopping down on the cushion next to him. "Is it frustrating you? To be here, opening yourself up, even a little, to the possibility of grief?"

"Hugely, yes."

"I'm surprised at you," Gi-hun confessed. "I'm happy, obviously, but, knowing how much it hurt you… Loss, that is… I can't believe you're taking this risk."

In-ho shook his head, staring at his hands. "It's not something I did today. It's something I did, or, arguably, you did, weeks ago. It wasn't dichotomous anymore; the idea of leaving you, leaving the life you've helped me orient, that was almost as agonizing as the idea of your death. Denying the job wasn't the mistake, it was the symptom. The cause was allowing this attachment."

"Do you resent it?"

"Sometimes," In-ho confessed honestly. "And I am skeptical of it, of whether it can last. But, when I am… Present, I know that I can't renounce it. Or you, for that matter. And something about that…" He trailed off, looking for words and finding that he was out of his depth, not for the first time. "It feels good," he said at last. "Which is hard to comprehend, when nothing felt like anything for so long."

Gi-hun looked at him, that same unplaceable tenderness on his face. "You're so soft with me, you know. You're so hard on everyone else, you've beaten up two people in my shop, alone, and you never even flinched. And then, on the same day, you put money in my tip jar, or, a few nights ago, you let me win an argument. Why?"

"I am appreciative of the perspective you've shown me. I used to believe that everyone was the same. Equally predictable, equally desperate, equally undeserving."

Eyebrows raising, Gi-hun took his hand, tracing his knuckles gently. "And now you don't?"

"I do. But I know there's at least one exception." He gave Gi-hun a wry look. "I suppose you believe there are more."

"Of course. And there are shitty ones, too." He brought In-ho's hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his wrist. "They're just… They're people. And, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, it's starting to look like you're a person, too."

And, for as much as that statement burned In-ho, for as much fear as it struck in him, as In-ho looked at Gi-hun's earnest, affectionate face, he wasn't completely disgusted by the idea.