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There were signs. Just as with any dream, there were numerous signs pointing to the fact that it wasn't as real as he might have thought, hoped .
Sleep doesn't claim him easily. Nothing does, lately. So it makes sense that Nam-gyu doesn't even consider the fact that the scene in front of him is not reality. That it is only a figment of his disarrayed, overstressed imagination—his acute need for comfort manifesting into something nice and pleasant and easy to process.
Or maybe he does know somewhere deep in his mind that it isn’t real, but he just wants— needs— it to be. Enough to turn a blind eye to all the flaws peeking through the cracks.
There’s many of them.
The two of them are alone. That’s the first sign—telling enough by itself, but much too easy for Nam-gyu to ignore when he's like this , straddling Thanos on his bunk, bouncing on his cock like it’s the only thing he knows how to do.
Thanos lays spread out deliciously on the mattress below him, holding on to his hips with a bruising grip and bringing him down hard onto his cock, making Nam-gyu whine out loud with every thrust, body shuddering violently at the bursts of pleasure springing from his very core. The empty dormitory echoes with their combined sounds, and he can't remember feeling this alive in ages.
Despite the bizarreness of the situation, he doesn't question it. Doesn’t dwell on the fact that he has no memory of what led up to it, no idea of how they had gotten there. He overlooks, glosses over, disregards. Anything to keep the illusion intact.
He is together with Thanos, after all his endless longing, and it’s everything he's ever wanted. Why the hell would he want to spoil it all by entertaining the annoying, meaningless thoughts in the back of his mind?
Thanos sure feels real enough, as he thrusts into him, feverish and hard, hitting his prostate and threatening to make Nam-gyu collapse over him with every perfect, hard jab of his hips. From the fullness of his throbbing, hot cock fucking in and out of him, to the metallic chill of his rings against his flushed skin.
Every part of it feels real .
And in this perfect moment, they're one. None of that corny shit from those cheesy, romantic movies—they really are moving like a singular being. Like they were made for one another. Made for this .
The thin, blue rings of Thanos’ irises are barely visible as his over-dilated eyes rake over Nam-gyu’s body, wild and wanting and brimming with passion. Yet another overlooked sign, because when had Thanos ever looked at him with such affection?
“Shit, you're so pretty like that, you know? Just like a girl. Prettier .” He says between grunts, slowing the movements of his hips down to a slow grind, to simply revel in the moment. The words go straight to Nam-gyu’s cock, and he moans low in his throat, feels it twitch and dribble with another gush of precum as it bounces between them. He meets Thanos’ heavy gaze, curses shakily as he fails to hold it.
Of course, it's exactly the things he wants to hear, the kind of stuff that really gets to him. This Thanos speaks to him perfectly—calls him by the right name, looks at him instead of through him. If Nam-gyu was in his right mind, he might have found it all suspicious.
Below him, Thanos picks up the speed again, and Nam-gyu responds by slamming his hips down hard to match his pace, dutifully as ever. Until the bed is creaking, shrilly and sharp in his ears, and the slapping of their skin grows obnoxiously loud, and he is gasping out Thanos’ name with every slam.
All of it, it’s too much. He's so damn close, pressing his eyes shut tight as the pleasure builds, threatens to push him over the edge. Desperate for leverage, his hands land on Thanos’ flat chest, slide along planes of soft skin overlying hard muscle, creeping gradually toward his delicate collarbones, toward his neck.
His neck.
It’s wet.
Spacey from the fucking, Nam-gyu flutters his eyes open drowsily, looks down at his partner with confusion. Stops mid movement, breath catching in his throat.
The scene in front of him has changed.
He blinks once, twice. Feels the blood slowly drain from his face.
This scene he recognizes all too well—the cold, hard clinker floor under their bodies; Thanos, sprawled out in a pool of dark red; the blood spurting out of his neck in time with the last beats of his heart.
In a split second, it all comes back to him.
And his heart stops. And everything stops.
And the illusion shatters.
-
Nam-gyu startles awake with a choked gurgle, imagining choking on the blood in his throat, pawing at a wound in his neck. For a moment, he thrashes about wildly on his mattress, before it finally dawns on him where he is, and he shoots up on his bed, eyes darting frantically around the dark room, scoping out the area.
His heavy panting turns into quiet, shaky breaths. The dormitory is still. Quiet.
For some reason, he can't even find it in him to feel relieved.
Soaked with cold sweat, he gulps down the bile rising in his throat, brushes the greasy strands of hair from his face vacantly. With a sharp twinge of disgust, he notes how his spent cock throbs inside his pants, in a sticky mess of his own cum.
With his heart still hammering wildly in his chest, he reaches a trembling hand into his pocket, quickly finds the fork and wraps his fingers around it, desperately needing something solid— something real— to assure himself that he is no longer stuck in some depraved dream, that he is back to reality. That he is alive, and Thanos is dead. That it makes no difference to him.
The utensil is cold against his palm, like metallic rings against the flushed skin of his naked hip , sticky with residual blood, like Thanos below him, on the cold, hard floor. It does nothing to soothe him, only makes his head reel.
“Thanos, you fucker.. Just leave me alone already” Nam-gyu mutters into the darkness of the dormitory, staring off blankly into the emptiness as though expecting a response. Of course, there is none.
Cursing himself for even waiting— just like fucking usual, waiting for Thanos like an idiot, long after the man had already left him behind —he swallows down the lump in his throat, bites down on his bottom lip to stop it from trembling. And when his next shaky inhale turns into a sniffle, he rubs his eyes hard, like the forcefulness will somehow make the burning go away.
With his trembling hands over his face, hiding himself from things that aren’t really there, he promises himself to stay awake for the remainder of the night. Dreams on a double dose of pills feel too damn real.