Chapter Text
Namgyu has never had a headache this awful. His bones ache, he can barely breathe, and he’s nauseous. Again. A hand reaches up to his face, rubbing at his eyes as he slowly forces his body to sit up straight. God, what did he get up to last night? He doesn’t remember drinking, and he definitely didn’t have the money for any heroin, ecstasy or whatever his dealer gave him. So why the fuck does he feel like death itself?
His eyes are still adjusting to his dark room, which is very odd since his curtains had so many cigarette burns in them that it blocked out almost no sunlight. Not that he ever bothered to close his curtains if they’re that useless. Maybe it’s not even the morning, he thinks, maybe he just passed out after work again as usual, if so, it’s probably only 4am-ish, shortly before sunrise.
Or maybe he’s actually still asleep, having a boring fucking dream of waking up with working curtains. He wouldn’t put dreaming about something so mundane past him. Stupid apartment.
Another question pops into his mind as he notices he must’ve fallen asleep with shoes on. Man he must’ve been extremely out of it last night, absolutely zero memories come to mind still. His legs hang off the edge of his bed, scurrying around to find his floorboards. He edges further off the bed to try reach the floor again, because for some reason his fucking floor must’ve moved in the night? He swears once he’s had his morning smoke he’s gonna burn his whole apartment down, it shouldn’t be this hard to just get out of bed?
Finally, his eyes have adjusted to the darkness of his room, allowing him to stop squinting in an attempt to make out his surroundings. A loud yelp escapes his throat as he looks down, he begins scrambling back against his headboard, clinging to his sheets, and immediately yanking his knees to his chest, nails digging against the fabric of the bed.
Beds, upon beds, upon more beds stacked against or on-top one another. Metallic scaffolding holding hundreds of mattresses he could’ve sworn were not there a moment ago, the same moment he nearly fucking plummeted 30ft to the ground. Infront of hundreds of people, mind you. Definitely more embarrassing than scary, he thinks to himself. He’d rather his death not have an audience. Some eyes stared back at him, other bodies stirring in their sleep due to his previous reaction.
The fuck are they looking at? Who do they think they are judging him, they don’t even know him. Pussies.
He opens his mouth to hiss out a response, but was cut off by a graining trumpet melody. Quickly followed by the overhead lights powering on, causing Namgyu to revert back to squinting. The pounding in his head worsens, alongside the pit in his stomach as memories flood back into his mind.
A suited man, ddakji, his face getting slapped… a lot, money, a small card with a number on one side and a circle, square and triangle on the other, a desperate phone call to the same number. Maybe some crying involved. Maybe.
But anyone would’ve called that number. And clearly loads of people did, hence the shared dorm situation he has going on.
Footsteps clang around him as they jump from their beds onto the metal staircases leading to the vinyl flooring, he wonders if anyone would care if his body was splattered on the same spot they’re all walking over. Skull cracked open, bones mangled and twisted soaked in his own blood. Probably not, he settles on.
It’s starting to look suspicious that he isn’t moving now, especially since he’s probably the only one left on a bed. A part from a few stray elderly people on bottom bunks. Lazy fucks.
The metal is cold beneath his feet, despite the free shoes he’s been given they’re the opposite of expensive. Each step is filled with a prick of a crumb, stone or lump in the flooring under his sole. Green sweatpants drape over his legs, matching his jacket in the same bland colour. Sleeves cover his hands as he grasps the cuffs subconsciously, his thumb circling the fabric. Others dressed the same as him. He notices an array of numbers on everyone’s jacket, going up to as high as in the 400’s.
124 his jacket reads.
A scoff leaves his mouth, what a pathetic number. No one’s going to remember that. Not that he plans on staying here long enough for people to notice him, let alone remember him. But still.
Doors shoot open, silencing the muffled voices around him, forcing him to look up from the patch on his jacket showcasing his pathetic number. Masked men storm in, following each other suit, as if rehearsed. The same shapes stain their masks as the ones on the card he received. This is really fucking weird. He’s still not entirely sure he’s awake. Maybe he should just wait this dream out, and he’ll be in his apartment in no time. Or maybe he’ll never see it again. He doesn’t care.
Just as he thought he was going to get some silence from the crowd, everyone starts yelling. Questioning their surroundings, where their belongings are, what time of day it is, who brought them here, who changed everyone’s clothes - okay that’s a fair question which never crossed Namgyu’s mind. Gross. He’s so close to zoning everyone out until a scarily familiar voice booms out.
Namgyu perks up, trying to look over the sea of people. He’s at the back of the crowd, tiptoeing around those in-front of him, balancing himself by clinging to the same scaffolding everyone emerged from just a few moments prior. He really shouldn’t have been the last person to get out of bed, he can barely hear anything that’s going on - especially the dude ranting about the whereabouts of his fucking shoes.
Purple. That’s enough to confirm Namgyu’s suspicions. Out of hundreds of people with the same outfit, same questions, same hair, one person in particular sticks out instantly.
Thanos.
He’s stopped his lecture about his shoes now, yet Namgyu’s eyes linger on him for a little longer. Fried purple hair, sticking out of the collection of brunettes. He’s talking to someone next to him, nudging their shoulders together in an effort to bond. Although the other player takes no shame in shuffling further away from Thanos. And… Namgyu doesn’t blame him.
What’s he doing here? Was he playing ddakji too? Surly not, Thanos is loaded, or at least all his songs claim he is. Well not that Namgyu listens to them or anything. Maybe Namgyu playing ddakji for money was just a form of humiliation. And everyone else here will get to go home to luxury houses, full of as much weed, ecstasy and alcohol they want- whilst Namgyu will be stuck in his stuffy apartment above his stupid place of work with his scuffed curtains. Fuck you club pentagon. Fuck you MGCoin.
The same annoying purple hair pops up before his eyes again, but this time on a large screen, showcasing him with his vape, a godawful jarring outfit followed by him being slapped. Same events that happened to Namgyu. Maybe they are here for the same thing? Cash in hand. Typical of Thanos to want more money.
“Player 230, Choi Subong. ₩1.19 billion”
Debt. They’re talking about debt. Jesus how does someone even get into debt that high? He never once bought a drink at club pentagon, that was partly Namgyu’s doing though. He’s a promoter though..he’s supposed to keep customers coming, especially VIP customers, and there’s no better way to do that than free cocktails all night. Every night. Whatever.
Shit, how long has he been staring? The only reason he snapped out of it was because Thanos was looking right at him. Maybe he didn’t recognise him, after all he’s not in his uniform, and that’s the only time Thanos has ever seen him. In his stupid button up shirt, a waistcoat a size too small for him, an apron draping around his hips, moving with the bagginess of his trousers. And most importantly, a bottle in his hands.
His headache has began to soften, allowing him to focus on the information presented to him. Something about playing a game and earning money. Sounds awfully similar to gambling, he really hopes it isn’t gambling, he’s awful at it. He’s awful at a lot of things really. Muffling voices around him continue to mutter their plans at winning, agree to play a few games and go home with all the money they need. No one seems to want to go home, after all why would you? You’re basically guaranteed free money. You’d have to be an idiot to pass this up.
There’s no way Namgyu isn’t dreaming.
As he’s lead through another set of doors, and a route of winding stairs full of rays of pastels - all screaming at him to wake up - he drags his feet along the sanded ground, he’s met with yet another large room. Everyone pools out the doors, excitedly discussing what the game could be. A large doll stands at the end of the room, glaring at him. The only thing in Namgyu’s mind is how much money do these people have? 400 people get their own clothes, bed each, and now they can afford some fuckass statue? Namgyu was expecting something like ddakji again, just lazily shoving everyone into a room and then sending them home after. However this gives him hope that the money he’s promised is in fact real. Attainable. His.
Red light green light.
That’s the game they’re playing? Easy. Namgyu could do this in his sleep.
He tries to study to see how fast he’d have to move or who he could outrun until-
Damn, the purple is back in his vision again. Is he trying to impress some girl right now? Really? That’s all he’d do at the club, stumbling in with multiple women, mind you, draped off his shoulder, or clinging to his biceps. He has plenty of time to do that outside of this. He really is just as desperate as Namgyu thought. There’s no way he actually cares for all the girls he goes after right? Right? Whatever. They don’t give him free drinks anyway. He never sees him with the same woman, everyone seems to be a one night stand to him, hookups, record labels, friends. All ditched the moment he gets bored. Namgyu tries to recall a moment where Thanos isn’t introducing himself to whoever’s he’s with. He wonders if it’s Thanos’ choice that no one sticks around. You can only buyyour way into relationships for so long until they realise you’re a piece of shit.
How do you even win? Namgyu wonders, focussing back on the game. Surly everyone will just make it across, is it first one across gets the most money? He really wishes he paid attention back in the dorm room. He really needs that ₩45.6 billion, the only thing he actually remembers. The only thing he’s been thinking about since he lost all his fucking money was somehow getting it all back.
A throbbing sensation runs up his arm as someone, everyone, shoves past him. He didn’t even hearthe game start. He really needs to get used to being sober. He swiftly joins in, running with the crowd, pausing when the doll turns to them, running again, pausing again. Repeat. Easy.
He continues running, ignoring how each step he takes he somehow lands on a sharp piece of the ground. Something is urging him to turn around, to look for that familiar face again. He knows Thanos must be behind him somewhere, he would’ve noticed him run past with his smug face. Maybe when everyone starts running again he will sneak a glance behind him, just to see how far he’s gotten.
Footsteps sound around him, now’s his chance. He slowly moves with the crowd while simultaneously peering over his shoulder. Of course, Thanos is still talking to that same girl. Namgyu honestly feels bad for her he can tell she wants nothing to do with him. This time instead of some fuckass rap or dance he’s made up, he seems to be eyeing a bee following her, probably preparing himself to make a stupid joke. Namgyu kind of wishes he never turned around since he’s now stuck in this same position, staring at them like a creep, until it’s time to move again. Maybe it’s worth losing the money if it means he can stop watching this awful display-
Or maybe not. He instantly takes back his last thought when the girl, immediately drops to the floor with a thud after a sharp bang pierces through the air, lifeless on the floor, her veins draining themselves of all her blood. Her glassy eyes unblinking, heart without a beat. Splatters of crimson cover the surrounding people’s shoes as her blood pools out even further, thicker and thicker.
Namgyu doesn’t necessarily feel any sympathy towards her. He’s more bothered by how that was almost him bleeding out on the floor. He trembles at the thought. Eyes blinking away any tears building up, perhaps from staring for too long they started to dry up, perhaps he’s actually crying again, the second time in two days.
Fuck. So thats what player 456 meant? He really should’ve been listening. He vaguely remembers him ranting about how they’re going to kill them all or whatever, but he sort of ignored him after that. It kind of made him wish he was high again. Because seriously who the fuck says that kind of stuff if they’re not on drugs? Ugh. Namgyu’s utterly fucked.
He grasps at his sleeves again, preparing himself for any panic in which he’s sure will break out any second now. He was so close to the finish line as well, but now he physically can’t move. Instead he forces his eyes shut. Pushing away the sounds of screams, pleads of mercy, arguing, gunshots, and splutters of blood spraying everywhere. The panic never really dies down, just sort of manifests itself into other types of chaos. Everyone is either breathing heavily, shaking, ugly crying, or in utter shock. Or obviously, dead.
He partly hopes he’s the only one left when he opens his eyes again. He hopes no one will watch him die. At least then there’s an excuse if no one cares, because no one can argue with an empty room.
*
Fucking hell. Namgyu mutters to himself, he’s currently experiencing the worst hangover of his life, while working. With alcohol. At his job. Which he hates. Only 5 minutes ago he was throwing up in the staff bathroom on his break, massaging his temples to soothe his growing migraine. Now he’s back behind the bar in the VIP section, suffering as the speakers blast out awful remixes straight into his eardrums. The smell of alcohol alone is enough to make him throw up again. Doesn’t stop him from pouring himself a drink, may as well get through the shift tipsy than depressed. If he can’t have weed on shift then he’s definitely getting tipsy, hungover or not.
It’s 1:05am, the usual time the VIPs come flooding in, they’re too obnoxious to show up before 11pm but they still don’t have anywhere better to be after 12am, so they end up here. At club pentagon.
Familiar faces appear in his section, immediately overcrowding the dance floor, booths and seats at the bar. Only 3 hours left, Namgyu reminisces clocking out at 4am and passing out on his bed. He turns around to start preparing the spirits and mixers for orders he knows will come flooding in any second.
“Hey señorita” a voice coos behind him.
Namgyu dismisses this, assuming the customer is trying to talk to his female coworker, she probably just clocked in early he thinks, as he’s meant to be the only bartender until 2am. He continues arranging the most popular spirits behind the bar, some loser has moved these around on Namgyu’s day off clearly.
“Hellooo señorita?” The deep voiced customer asks again.
Where is this bitch he’s meant to be working with? Well not until 2am but still. Why isn’t she answering him?
Namgyu peers over his shoulder to try tell his coworker that clearly someone is talking to her, deaf bitch, but his gaze meets no one. It really is just him behind the bar.
“Señorita finally! Man I’ve been waiting ages to order a drink girl”
Namgyu’s gaze shoots to the man speaking before him with utter confusion. He’s sat at the bar, elbows resting on the counter top, one hand playing with one of his piercings on his ear, the other holding an incredulous amount of cash. How much does he think one drink is? Namgyu’s eyes land on his hair. A dark purple, his roots still a natural brown similar to his own. This dudes hair flicks up on itself, creating two smallish curls at each side of his head, similar to little devil horns. It would be endearing if he wasn’t talking to Namgyu as if he was a woman.
“Damn girl you have an evil stare, Thanos likes that” he says followed by a wink.
Thanos.
“Uh sorry dude I’m not a girl” is all Namgyu can muster up the courage to say. He can’t decide if he wants to throw a drink at Thanos or suddenly shave all his hair off. Both would make his headache worse.
Thanos looks mortified. Mouth opening and closing as he tries to think of something to say. For some reason he settles on scoffing? As if it’s Namgyu’s fault he can’t fucking see he’s not a woman.
“How high are you that you think I’m a fucking girl?” Namgyu spits. Probably shouldn’t be talking to a customer this way but he’s the only one here so he doesn’t even stutter.
“Dude chill you just have long hair and a thin waist, nothing to be ashamed of man” The rapper replies, stuffing his money back in his pocket. Aw man. No tips for Namgyu then.
“And I’m not high dude, that’s why I’m here” he continues. Not discretely at all either. This genuinely must be his first time outside.
Namgyu stares at him for a few seconds, he could make a lot of money dealing to someone like Thanos. Mainly because he’s loaded, but also he will definitely come back. He’s annoying but loyal, one of Club Pentagons first customers. Namgyu just had the luxury of never running into him. Until now, obviously.
“What are you after?” Namgyu asks softy, switching from his bitter tone. He really wants a good tip tonight.
*
He doesn’t remember when he started running again, but he’s only a few steps away from the finish line, with Thanos of all people beside him, grinning widely as he jumps in the air and clicks his heels. How is he still alive?
The doll has turned again, forcing everyone to halt in their place. With thirty seconds left, Namgyu contemplates not moving and just letting the guards drag his body away, the idea of being back in his apartment is suddenly feeling too real. A location he was just hoping to be back in this morning, he now hopes to never see again.
He’s realised something. He’s never felt more alive until now. Running for his life, his adrenaline running under his skin, lungs filling with oxygen as he gasps for air. Biting his lips and holding back a smile. It’s a different high.
He needs to find Thanos.
He throws himself past the finish line, rolling onto his back as he pants through his grin, eyes darting around to see where the purple haired idiot landed.