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It started as a way to make Myung-gi angry.
Nam-gyu tried to tell himself that’s what it still was, even as he was shakily walking towards the trembling form of Jun-hee, hunched over herself on the bench. There was no way she was surviving this game without someone’s help, and he may not be much, but two was better than one, right? Besides, it would piss off Myung-gi, and that’s all Nam-gyu wants. That’s all he’s ever wanted. To get his comeback on the man who took all his money.
It’s not like Nam-gyu had much before Myung-gi came along with his Dalmatian business, but what he did have was swiped right from under his nose. Anyone would be pissed about it. Nam-gyu thought he had a right to be.
And sure, maybe he’d paired up with Myung-gi during the last game. Maybe, in a small lapse in judgement, Nam-gyu had paired up with him and even so much as confessed to admiring him. However, his words had been untrue. He was playing the games. Regardless of what playing really meant. At first, it had meant sticking with Thanos - A man who didn’t care at all about him, about the fact he was a real human being. That didn’t really matter, though. All Nam-gyu had wanted was the pills. That’s exactly what he’d gotten.
He didn’t want anything else from Thanos. At least, that’s what he told himself.
Nam-gyu was no longer Myung-gi’s partner. They were enemies once more. The anger between them was growing now, the bitterness spreading as Nam-gyu stews on the fact that Myung-gi is the reason Thanos is dead. It grows to a broil underneath Nam-gyu’s skin as he watches Myung-gi interact with his girlfriend, or whatever she was. He tells himself he’s not angry at the idea of Myung-gi talking to her instead of him.
Nam-gyu is not a family man. He’s never been the type to tie himself down. Any relationship he’d had were small, unserious things. Commitments that only lasted a few months before blowing up, either because of his inability to commit or because of his horrible taste in partners.
He could, however, observe Jun-hee’s beauty. Even now, five days into these hellish games, she was pretty. The way her hair falls across her shoulders, the soft way she holds herself. Nam-gyu had always subjected himself to rough love, something that was all passion and hardly any real substance. He probably never would’ve looked her way had he seen her outside of these games. She wasn’t his typical type, wasn’t the lust and anger he looked for in people.
She looked like she’d really care. Like she’d want something real. Something Nam-gyu couldn’t provide.
He finds himself walking towards where the two fight. Even despite the tremble in his legs, the roiling deep in his stomach, he found it within himself to want to pick a fight. Myung-gi was the perfect person to do that with. Min-su was also around, also an option, but he was no fun. He ran off with his tail between his legs before Nam-gyu could even blink. At least Myung-gi could put up a real fight, even if it was a somewhat pathetic one. Even if his typical manner of fighting was typically just rolling his eyes, giving no verbal response, and walking away.
Jun-hee looks up at the approaching figure first, eyes flitting over the shoulder of Myung-gi’s form standing in front of her. Nam-gyu tries to ignore the way he desperately just wants to collapse onto the ground and clutch at his stomach. The clock was ticking behind him, sounds of players struggling to make it echoing across the room. The old man had made it, and while carrying the baby. If he could do that, Nam-gyu is sure he could help Jun-hee across. He’d overheard her talking about her injured ankle to the old man. Even if he hadn’t, it was impossible to miss the swell of it above the white of her shoe.
Jun-hee’s eyebrows furrow, her mouth twisting into a frown to match them. Myung-gi seems to catch the fact her gaze has drifted, as he’s suddenly turning to face Nam-gyu, who’s breathing out a shaky breath. His mouth is so dry. The water he’d downed before the game was basically nothing. He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tracksuit jacket. He’s simultaneously sweating and freezing.
Yeah, he’s definitely not the best person to team up with right now. She seems like she’d be willing to take anyone over Myung-gi, though. Nam-gyu was going to test that theory.
”Señorita.” Nam-gyu can’t help but do it. He keeps finding himself mimicking Thanos, as though he’d absorbed the man’s energy and now can no longer go on without living as both of them at once. These games have caused irreversible damage to him. He’s no longer just Nam-gyu. He’s Nam-gyu and Thanos. He’s what the pills have made him. He’s nothing. He’s everything.
Myung-gi opens his mouth to say something, anger quickly overtaking his face. Nam-gyu preens under the look, so happy and proud of himself for getting him angry. He remembers the confidence Myung-gi had held when promising good fortune to the people investing in Dalmatian. He remembers waking up to his investments in the negatives. He pointedly ignores Myung-gi and the angry look painted on the man’s face.
Jun-hee speaks before Myung-gi can, hands gripping at the edge of the bench so tightly that her knuckles are turning white. Her face is pale, so pale. It’s surely due to having just given birth, trying to continue the games despite it. “What do you want?” It’s said with so much bite, but it’s clear she’s just on high alert. She has no reason to hate Nam-gyu, Jun-hes’s just got her walls built up high.
“Lemme help you.” It’s uncharacteristic of him to be so kind, and that much is clear with the way both her and Myung-gi’s faces morph into something odd. It’s a mix of surprise and disgust on Myung-gi’s face, exactly what Nam-gyu wanted from all of this. It’s going to be even better when Jun-hee accepts the offer and Nam-gyu gets her across. He’ll leave her, then, but at least he will have achieved something Myung-gi can’t - He’ll have just helped her. He’ll have saved her life.
Jun-hee sits silently for a moment. There’s the distant sound of someone screaming, followed by a thud. She winces at the noise. Myung-gi looks between the two of them with a disbelieving look on his face. “You can’t seriously be thinking about taking his offer?” His words leave his stupid mouth and Nam-gyu seriously thinks about pushing him off this platform right now.
That’s not necessary, though. Jun-hee eyes him for a moment. Unreadable emotions swirl behind her eyes, but her face stays blank. Finally, she nods. She stands from the bench she was sitting on, taking the few slow steps it takes to get over to Nam-gyu. And then she grabs tightly onto the sleeve of his jacket. Nam-gyu tries to ignore the way he genuinely enjoys the grasp she has on him. The way his arm ignites into fire under her fingers.
“If I go down, you’re coming with me.” She says it resolutely, her mind completely made up. The blankness on her face becomes determination. Nam-gyu would be lying if he said the idea of going down with her just to make a guy mad doesn’t make him feel a little queasy. But it’s fine. They’ve got this. A drug addict going through withdrawals and a post-labor girl with a broken ankle. They’ve got this.
They limp together towards the bridge. More and more people are on the bridge now, only a few left on the platform. Even Min-su, the fucker, had made his way across. Nam-gyu was getting his revenge in the next game. Or maybe tonight. It wouldn’t be too hard to suffocate the guy in his sleep, even while going through withdrawals.
Myung-gi shouts after Jun-hee, clearly pissed off. Nam-gyu just prides himself in the fact he’d managed to piss the guy off by doing what he wouldn’t - Offering to help her across the bridge.
He just tries not to look down as they step in behind the person that just stepped onto the bridge. The rope seems to be speeding up, but maybe Nam-gyu is making that up. It’s hard to get even as far as they have, and they’re not even on the bridge yet. Nam-gyu tries not to feel terrified at the prospect of helping this girl across. There’s no way they’re making it.
He thinks about hoisting her onto his back, but there’s no chance of that working either. Even on a good day, he’s not strong enough to lift someone onto his back and jump while doing it. This is not even remotely close to a good day. Maybe Thanos could manage something like that, but not Nam-gyu. They were just going to have to do this the hard way.
Nam-gyu leads the way. He tries not to look down. It’s a chore, trying to jump in time with the rope. Jun-hee tries to practice doing it, hands gripping Nam-gyu’s shoulders as she does so. He tries to be patient, but the clock is ticking. She’s just standing there, practicing jumping on two feet. Then on one. Neither way seems to work all that well. She falls more often than catches herself.
“Just do it, we can’t stand here all day.” He tries not to get mad at her, but it’s fucking hard. The time’s going down, they’re slow already, and he’s seriously regretting making this choice to save her. Nam-gyu is not dying for some pregnant girl he technically just met today.
She almost looks angry at his urging. But she listens. She steps out, and Nam-gyu takes a step forward at the same time. He turns around to face her, holding her as tightly as he can while they jump. It’s terrible. She gasps as she lands, almost goes down. But his grip on her is tight enough to keep her upright. For now, at least.
They continue on like that. Nam-gyu tries not to let the distant sounds of people dying deter him. He tries to forget about the giant hole in the middle of the bridge, the one they will have to jump over alone. It’s too wide to hold onto each other over that thing. Jun-hee’s going to have to do it alone, and so will Nam-gyu.
They reach it far too fast. The sound of the jump rope whizzing past is disorienting as Nam-gyu tries to convince himself he can do it, even on his shaky legs. Jun-hee’s hands fall from his shoulders, and he spins to face the way he’s going. The hole seems impossible to jump over.
He just goes for it. He’s not ready, he never will be. But he jumps.
Time seems to stop for the few seconds Nam-gyu is in the air. And then he lands. On all fours, very embarrassingly, but he lands. He pushes himself to stand instantly, making enough room for Jun-hee to jump and follow after him. When she looks up at him from the other side of the gap, there’s tears pooling in her eyes. Nam-gyu doesn’t know why, but he feels bad. Something about the sight of it sends a pulling at his chest.
He reaches out to her. Her legs shake, balancing precariously on her swollen ankle.
“C’mon, Jun-hee. You can do it.” Why is he encouraging her? He is not like this with anyone. Not kind, not reassuring.
She shakes her head. Her lip trembles. She’s struggling to keep up with the swinging of the rope, only managing to do so thanks to the person behind her being kind enough to hold her up. “I can’t do it!” She shouts, fingers shaking as she reaches out to Nam-gyu. He can’t help but think this is weird. Almost intimate. He doesn’t like the implications of that.
“Don’t think. Just jump.” He needs so badly to get her across. Just to make Myung-gi mad. To make him mad that Nam-gyu could do it and he couldn’t. Jun-hee just needs to jump. Nam-gyu is going to try his best to catch her as she lands. Even as his body trembles and sweat drips down his neck and he’s sure he could projectile vomit everywhere at this very moment.
She jumps. It’s more of a stumble, but she gets herself in the air well enough to make it across. Jun-hee gasps as she lands on her ankle, the force of the jump surely sending something unbearable through the broken bone. She collapses onto her knees, breathing heavy and tears flowing from her eyes as she does so. But she makes it across.
Nam-gyu feels only some semblance of relief at that. She’s halfway there. Just need to get to the finish line. At least the old man is yelling for her, trying to spur her on. Trying to get her across, although it’s clear the guy is pissed at her for trying to do this without him. He’ll be fine. He’ll forget about it once she’s safe.
The rope swings down. Jun-hee’s still on her knees. Nam-gyu panics, hands grabbing the shoulders of her shirt and pulling. The force of it is enough to pull her to stand, although she’s clearly in pain. But she gets her head in the game fast enough. She jumps just in time. Thank God.
The rest of it is smooth sailing, compared to what they’d just endured. The rope swings, Jun-hee jumps. Nam-gyu faces her, holds her tightly to prevent her from falling. They make it across with thirty seconds to spare. Jun-hee collapses instantly, clutching at her ankle. The old man brings her baby over, but she shakes her head. She mutters something to him that Nam-gyu can’t hear. Nam-gyu decides that’s the end of it. They’ll move on to the next game. Myung-gi is sufficiently pissed off.
If he finds himself thinking about her when they get back to the bedroom, he tells himself he’s not. He’s thinking about the angry scowl that still paints Myung-gi’s face.
Nam-gyu distracts himself by thinking of what the next game could be. Is it going to be the final one? He hopes tonight, the vote is to leave. He hopes if there is a game tomorrow, it’s the last one. The lack of drugs is really getting to him now. He’s twitching as he changes from his tracksuit and into a proper suit. He can’t stomach anything from the feast presented to him afterwards. The thought of eating is unbearable. He heaves at just the view of the luxurious food in front of him, even though it’s the best meal Nam-gyu’s had in a long time.
He spends the dinner watching the other people. There’s nine of them, including the baby. Jun-hee keeps watching it, keeps looking at it longingly as a guard sits beside its bassinet and feeds it. It’s so clear she wants to be the one to do it, but she can’t. They don’t let her. When she tries to stand, tries to feed the baby, the guards push her back into her seat. They tell her the baby is fine, she needs to enjoy the meal. Every player needs to enjoy their meal.
Nam-gyu can’t bring himself to enjoy it. His head pounds. Bile rises in his throat. He downs all the liquids provided to him, begs the guards for more. They bring it with no complaint. He tries to ignore the way Jun-hee watches him from a few tables down, stares at his clean plate and untouched dishes.
The vote starts. It’s four against four. They don’t let the baby vote - which, really how could it? Nam-gyu’s instantly angry, of course he is. How could he not be? He needs to go home.
He redirects the anger to Min-su. He resolves he’ll kill Min-su tonight, and then tomorrow, the vote will be in his favor. They’ll go home. The guards state the players will have the night to think about their decisions.
Myung-gi stares longingly at Jun-hee and the baby from his bed. Nam-gyu lays in his own bed restlessly, trying not to do the same. His mind keeps wandering back to her. How she might fare tomorrow, in the next game. Whatever the game is going to be, it’s not going to be good. It’s going to be something terrible. Something that is sure to put her at risk. The players only got one hint: Three people had to be voted out. Unanimously. And the others will get out.
She’ll be targeted immediately. Jun-hee is weak. She’s just given birth, has a broken ankle. She had to get the old man to help her to her bed. The baby will be targeted, too. It can’t do anything to defend itself. Nam-gyu tries not to feel even sicker at the premise of that. He never considered himself caring about a baby, some random one at that, but here he is.
He tells himself he’ll protect that baby at all costs.
He doesn’t sleep that night. Tremors wrack his body. The small bit of rest Nam-gyu gets is interrupted by nightmares and cold chills. He clutches at his stomach, tries to ignore the way he feels simultaneously like he’s going to shit himself and blow chunks everywhere. At some point he begs for the bathroom, but the guards don’t budge. He ends up puking next to the bathroom door, giving the last bit of his energy to flip them off. When they come out to clean it up, he can’t help but smile to himself.
Nam-gyu gets tired of the restlessness quickly. He tosses and turns, mulls over the anger he holds deep inside him. The anger at Thanos, for getting himself killed. For acting like Nam-gyu was nothing. The anger at Myung-gi, for killing Thanos. For fucking Nam-gyu over before these games. For being the reason he’s even here. The anger at Min-su, for being so resolute in his vendetta against Nam-gyu that he’s fucking everyone else over and voting to stay.
At some point, the old man gets taken away. Nam-gyu shivers in his bunk, wipes the sweat from his forehead, and stares holes into Min-su’s trembling form across the room from him. When he’s sure everyone is asleep, he crawls from his bed and tiptoes over to Min-su’s bed.
Wrapping his hands around Min-su’s throat is easy. It’s so easy. It’s the easiest thing Nam-gyu has ever done.
Even as Min-su’s eyes shoot open and he begins to claw desperately at the hands around his throat. Even as he gasps painfully, just for nothing to enter his lungs. Even as the lights fade from his eyes and his hands fall to his sides. It’s the easiest thing Nam-gyu has done as he removes his hands from Min-su’s throat, eyes the body he left behind.
And then he goes back to his bunk.
Morning comes. The feminine voice over the speaker announces player 125 eliminated before she announces the upcoming vote. Guards remove the body. Nam-gyu tries to ignore the fact everyone is staring at him. They know it was him that did it. But it doesn’t matter. He’s going to go home, and Min-su is with Se-mi. Like he always wanted. It’s a win-win.
The vote comes. It’s 4-3. They’re going home. Nam-gyu can’t help but smile, even with how terrible he feels.
The time between the vote and waking up on cooling concrete is lost to him. All he knows is he hears the distinct sound of someone struggling behind him, a baby crying. He hopes to God, if there’s one up there, that the baby did not just get dumped on him. Why the hell would they abandon it rather than give it to its mom? He has no clue. He just hopes desperately that that is not the case.
Nam-gyu tries to turn over. He hisses at a distinct stinging in his shoulder, his cheek, his thigh. He comes to realize he’s in nothing but his boxers. That thought, paired with the fact there’s definitely someone else here who’s not a baby, is enough to send a heat to his cheeks. The person behind him is groaning now, and clearly struggling. They’re probably tied up - Nam-gyu is. He’s blindfolded and completely bound, although as he wiggles his wrists around in the bondage he realizes it’s meant to be temporary. Just enough to distract. Probably so no one can chase down whoever dropped these two off on a road in God knows where.
“Hello?” The other person calls out before Nam-gyu can. He pushes himself to sit up, although it’s a feat with the bindings on his arms and legs. He’s working his wrists back and forth, trying to get the one around them to loosen. It’s working, although very slowly. Unfortunately for Nam-gyu, he’s never quite had patience. He gets fed up with trying to work his way out quickly, and his movements rapidly descend into quick motions that result in what’s sure to be something akin to carpet burn along his skin.
The voice now beside him is distinctly feminine. He knows who it is in an instant, and questions God why it had to be her. Why, out of all the other survivors, did she have to be the one dropped off alongside him?
“Jun-hee?” Something tugs at his heart as he hears her fumbling around beside him. Nam-gyu doesn’t know why he feels the way he does towards her, or what it even is that he feels. From the moment he’d first seen her in the games, he pitied her. Poor little pregnant girl, stuck competing in these death games. That pity devolved into resentment fairly quickly when he learned that she was associated in some way with MGCoin.
Somehow, it’s molded itself into something else. What he feels isn’t hatred or anger or resentment. Nam-gyu feels something he’d never felt before. An innate urge to keep her close and protect.
He tells himself it’s because of the baby. Not because of her.
“Nam-gyu? What the fuck is going on?” As if he’s supposed to know. His hands finally come loose, and his first instinct is to rub at the raw skin of his wrists as the bindings fall to the concrete below him. “I guess we’re not in the games anymore.” Is what he chooses to respond with, because what else does he say? He has no clue what the fuck is happening, or where they’re at. The baby starts to wail, then, and it’s also in that moment that he realizes his head is pounded. The stinging in his sides and the pain in his head paired together gives him the idea fairly quickly that they must’ve been tossed out of a car. For some reason, he finds himself hoping Jun-hee landed easier than he did. He also finds himself hoping the guards, or whoever delivered them back, had enough humanity to not throw the baby out of a car.
Nam-gyu groans at the pounding in his head. He lifts his hands to grab the blindfold and pull it off.
“Gimme a second. I’ll help you. Just stop moving.” Jun-hee does not listen to his words. She’s far too stubborn. She’s still struggling as Nam-gyu bends to untie his ankles, trying to take in their surroundings as he does so. It’s pretty impossible to do, though. They’re clearly on a backroad. Hopefully in Seoul, but there’s no way to know for sure. The moon shines down on them from its place in the sky, stars sparkling from behind the clouds. There’s not even a streetlight on the road.
Once he’s untied himself, he goes for her. The baby is laying safely beside Jun-hee’s struggling body, wrapped carefully in a blanket. All evidence of the games has been wiped clean, including the jackets it had been swaddled in.
“Seriously, stop moving. Jesus. You’re gonna hit the kid.” She’s not. The baby’s safely placed about a foot from her face, but he knows it’ll get her to stop moving. And she does. Almost immediately, her body goes almost limp. She’s still trying frantically to look around, though, as Nam-gyu tries to keep his hands respectful in untying her wrists. She’s similarly in nothing but underwear, something Nam-gyu would have normally utilized quickly.
His mind is more focused on about a million things right now, though. He needs drugs, first of all. Where they are, second of all. If they got their money, third of all. Whether the baby’s okay.
No. He doesn’t care about this random fucking kid.
Nam-gyu continues to survey his surroundings, backing away from Jun-hee once she’s untied. She’s in a frenzy as she yanks the blindfold from her face, head immediately darting around to look for the kid. She seems to have forgotten completely about the rope around her ankles as she reaches for the crying baby, motherly instincts taking over.
“Don’t forget your ankles.” Why is he reminding her? That question becomes even more pertinent when she whips around to eye him angrily. As if this situation is his fault.
His eyes land on a duffel bag a few feet away from the two. Nam-gyu stands, approaches it. He’s almost afraid it’s a bomb, but he kneels to unzip it anyways. He’s very happy to see it’s not a bomb, or anything of the sort. It’s their things from before the games. Two stacks of clothes, topped with wallets and cellphones, shoes shoved in between the stacks. Jun-hee’s stack also has a plastic bag of pills on top, which Nam-gyu has to physically stop himself from grabbing.
It takes all his energy to keep his hands to his own things. He tugs out his pile of clothes, cursing to himself as his phone goes sliding off of it and onto the concrete.
“You a junkie, pregnant girl?” He needs to know if those pills are anything good. He hopes so desperately that they are.
Silence surrounds the two as Nam-gyu dresses. His clothes shuffle in the quiet. He’s just thankful she got the baby to stop screaming. One of many reasons he’s not a family man - He could never handle the screaming. Especially not when his head is pounding.
He’s dressed when she finally speaks up to answer his question. “Excuse me?” That’s all she responds with, clearly very offended at the pure implication. Nam-gyu digs his shoes from the bag, grunting as he goes to fully sit to put them on. He just shrugs, although he’s not sure she’s even looking at him.
“No judgement.”
He wants to just ask if there’s anything good in there. Jun-hee clears her throat, as though she has something she wants to say, but she doesn’t respond for a long moment. Nam-gyu ties his shoes, pushes himself to stand again. He fishes his wallet out of the bag and swoops down to grab his phone off the road, eyeing it for fresh cracks. Somehow, there’s none. Whatever. He needs a new phone regardless.
He flips his wallet open, brain having convinced him that those guards took everything he had. Not that he really had anything. All they would be taking is debt.
Nam-gyu is pleasantly surprised to see a gold debit card nestled right into one of the card pockets. He hopes with all hope that it’s what he was promised. The money that will change his life. The money Thanos died for.
He tries not to feel upset at the mere thought of Thanos.
“Hey, we got the money.”
“Can you hold- Oh.”
They speak at once. Nam-gyu turns on his heel to face Jun-hee, hands suddenly trembling. Was she seriously just about to ask if he would hold the kid? His eyes go wide as he sees that yes, she was, because she’s holding the kid out to him. Her eyes are just as wide as his, teeth biting at her lip. She’s clearly second-guessing her question.
Nam-gyu doesn’t verbally respond. He slips his phone and wallet into the back pocket of his jeans, and then he hesitates. Only for a moment, but the hesitation is there. Jun-hee’s withdrawing back now, pulling the baby back towards her. She looks a mess - Nam-gyu can see it even though he’s trying to keep his eyes respectful. Bags under her eyes, hands shaking, hair greasy and messy, scrapes along her left side - Mirroring the ones on his right side. Her ankle’s still purple and swollen. Blood coats her inner thighs.
Right. She literally just gave birth.
He approaches her, crouches down beside her. Wordlessly, he holds his arms out for the baby. He’s shaking, and it’s obvious. Nam-gyu tells himself it’s because he needs drugs, not because he’s nervous to hold a baby.
Jun-hee stares at him for a moment. And then, gently, the baby is placed in his arms.
Nam-gyu tries to do what he’s seen on TV. He’s never held a baby before, but he’s seen how other people hold them. He saw the way his parents held his little sister when she was born. He had never been allowed to hold her, but he’d wanted to. He’d spent so much time just watching his parents hold her, trying to remember how to do it so that he could do it one day, too.
When the time comes for him to actually hold a baby, the memories of his parents holding his little sister seem to completely dissipate. Nam-gyu tries to model what he’s seen, though. He cradles her to his chest, supports her head, and stares at Jun-hee for assurance. She nods, eyes racing between his face and the baby in his arms.
He doesn’t know why, but he feels like crying.
Jun-hee unties her ankles. She makes her way over to the duffle bag, urges Nam-gyu not to watch as she gets dressed. He doesn’t know why it matters - He’s seen her in her underwear now - But he listens anyway. He watches the baby’s face, the way she watches his.
It’s only a few minutes before Jun-hee comes back over to him. He hands the baby over even though something within him is telling him not to.
“Any idea where we are? My phone’s dead.” Jun-hee takes in her surroundings as she waits on Nam-gyu’s response, easily rocking the baby in her arms. He can’t help but think she shouldn’t be holding the baby. Maybe it’s just his selfishness, his want to hold the baby now, but she’s standing very haphazardly on one leg. The other is rendered practically useless by now. With the adrenaline of the games wearing off, the weakness in her is showing. She’s barely functioning.
Nam-gyu shakes his head.
“I have no clue. I think my phone’s dead, too. But we should find a hospital for you.”
He’s shocked at the fact he’s thinking of her before himself. She eyes him for a moment, seeming to be just as shocked at his selflessness. Jun-hee almost seems like she wants to say no, but she doesn’t. She nods. She agrees with him.
“Yeah.” She breathes out her response, going to take a step almost as soon as she does so. The process of her walking is slow, though. And dangerous, especially with the baby in her arms. She’s unsteady on her feet, limping as she tries to walk towards where she seems to think civilization may be. Nam-gyu reaches out to grab her arm, fingers wrapping around the sleeve of her sweater. It’s oversized on her now that the baby bump is gone.
“Jun-hee,” Nam-gyu’s speaking before he can stop himself. He tells himself he doesn’t care about her or the baby, but he’s still reaching his arms out to the bundle in her arms. She stops moving, but doesn’t turn to face him. “Let me carry her. If you trip…”
She hangs her head, breathes out a shaky sigh. Jun-hee seems to fight with herself for a moment. It’s a long moment, the air between the two in limbo as Nam-gyu waits for a response. It seems to last forever, the silence and the waiting, before she’s nodding to agree with him. And then the baby’s back in his arms.
With baby safe, the two finally depart from where they were left. They head in a random direction, no clue where they’re going, just hoping there’s a hospital in that direction.
They seem to walk forever along roads before they reach a city, and most importantly, a hospital. Nam-gyu doesn’t know whether to be grateful over the fact it’s the middle of the night in Seoul. Wherever they are isn’t a very popular partying area, so there’s very few people on the streets. That doesn’t stop the people who are on the streets from eyeing them warily, taking in the way Jun-hee limps and the way Nam-gyu tries to hold the baby as close to himself as he can. They’ve got targets on their backs that any criminal would see from a mile away.
Nam-gyu is only semi-experienced in crime. He mostly kept to illegal gambling and drugs. Gang activity was his biggest worry in the middle of the night in Seoul, and something he was extremely inexperienced with. Even Jun-hee seemed worried as they slowly walked through the streets towards the looming hospital. She hovers closely beside Nam-gyu, hand hovering close to his arm, as though she wants to grab it. He wants to tell her to do it. Hold onto him. He’ll try to keep her safe, even in his own condition.
He doesn’t tell her that.
They get to the hospital. Jun-hee is groaning with every step, pale and clearly in pain. When they step up to the receptionist’s desk, Nam-gyu doesn’t know what to say to the poor woman behind the counter, to her wide-eyed stare. The woman seems to completely freeze as she takes in the condition of the two, the messy state of each of them. Nam-gyu then realizes he’s still covered in blood. They must look like hell.
Jun-hee’s hands leverage themselves against the receptionist counter, body trying desperately to keep her up. She explains, shakily, a very omitted version of the events that led to her condition. It’s more lie than truth, but she lies so easily that Nam-gyu almost finds himself believing it. Between her smooth lie and his blurry memories and the lack of evidence of the games, he almost finds himself believing that she really did give birth at home a few days ago, only to realize she was in a bad condition and needed to come to the hospital.
She provides no explanation for her ankle. The receptionist doesn’t ask. The baby is taken away from Nam-gyu. Jun-hee is loaded onto a hospital bed. Nam-gyu fights with himself between following after her and the appropriate choice - Staying behind in the waiting room.
He follows her. The doctors don’t try to split them, at least. They must assume the two are together. Nam-gyu can’t find it within himself to deny that assumption, even to his own mind.
She’s thoroughly analyzed by the doctors rushing around her. All the tests are done on her and the baby. She’s asked about her ankle, but Jun-hee has nothing to say. Nam-gyu pipes up, voice wavering as he lies, says that she tripped down the stairs when they were leaving the house to come to the hospital. The doctors stare at him oddly, ask him if he’s okay as well. No, he’s not, he feels like shit, but the last thing he wants is to be taken away from Jun-hee. So he just nods and says he’s fine, just worried about her.
That probably really sealed the assumption of the two being together, but whatever. What these doctors think doesn’t really matter.
They ask him why he’s covered in blood. He has no answer.
Hours pass of Nam-gyu pacing about Jun-hee’s room in the ER while she fights off sleep. He tells her so many times to just sleep, the baby will be fine, but she doesn’t. She fights and fights until she can’t anymore.
Nam-gyu stirs not long after the sun comes up. Jun-hee is already awake, staring off into the distance. He hadn’t even registered himself falling asleep in the uncomfortable chair beside her bed. A cast rests on her ankle now. She tells him the doctors are preparing to discharge her - Both her and the baby are fine.
Nam-gyu’s fingers tap anxiously at his legs, which are trembling, as they wait for her to be discharged. He doesn’t know why he sticks around, and she doesn’t ask.
She’s discharged, although stuck with crutches. Nam-gyu holds the baby close to him, the one that now has a name. She’d found it within herself to give it a name when the doctors made the birth certificate last night.
Hyun-ju.
The weight of the name is not lost to Nam-gyu, even if he didn’t know the woman it had once belonged to.
They call a taxi. They go to Jun-hee’s apartment. Nam-gyu doesn’t leave, even once the baby is safely in her crib. Jun-hee makes them food with what little she has in her apartment. Nam-gyu tries to ignore the domesticity of it all.
“I can stay until your ankle’s healed. You won’t be able to carry her while you’re on crutches.” Jun-hee, in the way that he’s started to see that she does when she doesn’t want to accept help, just sighs. Hangs her head. Mulls over the idea of it for a while. Nam-gyu, uncharacteristically, gives her the time to think about it. He eats the food she made and he lets her think about it. He doesn’t know if the offer is coming from the good of his heart, the fact he has nowhere else to really go, or something that is far too scary for him to admit.
“Fine. But only until my ankle is healed.” He nods at the answer, accepts it. He can find somewhere to stay by then.
Nam-gyu brings what little he has to his name to her apartment. He takes over her couch, something he’s not unfamiliar with. Before the games, he was couch surfing. Even with his debts paid off, he’s still doing it. Now it’s for a good cause, though.
He falls into a role caring for baby Hyun-ju easily. Too easily for his liking, but he tries not to dwell on it. Nam-gyu learns quickly how to make a bottle, how to feed her, how to change her diaper. The things that get her to sleep easier. She likes to be sung to, and he finds himself doing it. He tries to ignore the fact Jun-hee has caught him singing to the baby many times.
They find a routine. Nam-gyu finds out many things about Jun-hee. He finds out what her favorite foods are. She likes the color purple. She loves drama movies and shows.
He also finds she cries often, in the middle of the night, when she thinks no one can hear.
He finds that very fact makes his heart pang sharply.
Nam-gyu stops doing drugs. He doesn’t know why, but he does. His withdrawals stop and he fights the urge every day that he wakes up with the vision of Thanos’ body behind his eyelids. The knowledge that he killed people, he has blood on his hands. Jun-hee’s ankle heals, but she doesn’t try to kick him out. He finds a home there, on her couch.
Six months following the games, he feels like this is the most at home he’s ever been in his life. Hyun-ju plays on the living room floor at his feet, and Jun-hee is sitting beside him. There’s a decent amount of space between them, but something has been budding there. Something has planted itself between the two, in the arms-length of space they hold between each other. It grows every day that Nam-gyu wakes up to breakfast, every time he finds himself on the floor in front of Hyun-ju as she babbles at him and he tries to talk back.
She looks more and more like her mom every day. Myung-gi tries to call, but Jun-hee never answers. She tells Nam-gyu one night, when they’re both drunk off of too much soju, that she doesn’t think she’ll ever stop loving him. She doesn’t think she can ever block him.
That same night, she tells Nam-gyu that she thinks she loves someone else, but she doesn’t know if he’ll ever love her.
Nam-gyu thinks about it now, as he listens to her laugh at something on the TV. In all honesty, he’d stopped paying attention to the show she’d put on about ten minutes ago. He’s just been thinking. Thinking about the way Hyun-ju looks up at him like he’s her dad. Thinking about the way Jun-hee holds him at arms length, but still has a distinct look in her eyes. One that’s terrifying to him. One that keeps him up at night, because he thinks he might have that same look in his eyes when he looks at her.
He thinks about her saying she loves someone.
He thinks that he wishes that someone was him.
“Jun-hee,”
He speaks before he can stop himself. Hyun-ju even looks at him, drops her little baby toy to look up at him with an amount of love and adoration that no one ever has. Nam-gyu’s heart hurts at just the way that baby is looking at him. The pain intensifies when Jun-hee turns away from the TV to face him. He doesn’t face her, though. He stares down at the baby, the one he finds himself loving and caring for, even though he told himself he would never be a family man.
He starts the conversation he is sure is going to ruin everything.
“Do you remember a few weeks ago, when you said you loved someone?”
Nam-gyu is not good with feelings. He does not talk about feelings. Not with anyone. But he’s sitting here, on a woman’s couch, staring at her baby who thinks he’s her dad, and he’s asking about her feelings.
Jun-hee pauses. He’s not looking at her, but he still sees the way her body tenses in his peripherals. He hangs his head, hair creating something almost like a curtain around his face. Nam-gyu appreciates that small hiding place he creates for himself as Jun-hee hums as a way to say yes.
“Who is the person?”
Jun-hee takes a deep breath. Nam-gyu finds himself mirroring her, doing the very same. His hands ball into fists against the softness of the couch cushion. His leg bounces anxiously. Nam-gyu feels almost like a teenage boy trying to profess his feelings for the pretty girl at school, the one who always called him frog-face. The one who rejected him and told everyone about his miserable feelings on her. How pathetic he was.
“Do we have to talk about this right now?” Jun-hee goes to turn back to the TV, seeming to think the conversation is over once she’s asked the question. Nam-gyu shakes his head. She takes that as his answer, but he’s actually shaking away the memories of the pretty girl at school who rejected him. He’s shaking away the rejection that’s sure to come. He’s shaking away his anxieties about what he’s doing. And he responds. “Yeah, actually.”
Jun-hee turns to face him again. Nam-gyu can see it through the small breaks in his hair. He takes in how pretty she looks right now, even in her pajamas. The way her hair fans across her shoulders. The glint of her eyes in the light of the room. Myung-gi never deserved her. Nam-gyu probably doesn’t, either.
“...If you’re asking that, you probably know the answer.”
Does he, though? Is it him, like he wants it to be?
Nam-gyu looks up at her then. She looks almost terrified. He doesn’t know why she looks that way, but he does know he probably looks the same. He just points to himself, silently. And she does that thing she does. She takes a deep breath, hangs her head, thinks for a moment.
And then she nods.
Nam-gyu’s heart practically does a backflip in his chest. He’s in disbelief, even at her admittance. There’s no way it’s him.
But it is, because she’s shaking as she looks back up at him. Her voice trembles when she speaks.
“I don’t know why. I hated you. But then you helped me in jump rope, and maybe it was only to make Myung-gi mad, but I couldn’t hate you anymore when you did that.” Her palms rub over her pajama pants. Hyun-ju coos up at the two, watching it all go down. An unsteady smile takes over both adult’s faces, an unconscious motion at the sound of Hyun-ju. “And then you kept helping me. I hate accepting help, but you kept offering. You helped me when I needed it. When no one else would, except Gi-hun.”
Gi-hun. The old man. He’s been MIA ever since the games. Jun-hee’s tried all she can to find him, but nothing has come back to her. She’s practically killing herself trying to find the guy, but she’s not giving up. Jun-hee is perseverent. She’s stubborn. She’ll find Gi-hun or die trying.
Nam-gyu doesn’t know how to take in this information. Jun-hee doesn’t seem to mind, she keeps explaining herself. She takes the lead. She speaks for him, even if she doesn’t realize it.
“You came to stay with me and I just got used to having you here. I got used to not being alone. I guess some part of me also got used to having a family, a real one. At some point I started to realize I wanted you to stay forever.”
Jun-hee breathes out a shuddering breath, clearly trying to seem as confident as she can. She’s always done that. Tried to stay strong, tough, confident. Even when she’s terrified. And she seems to be terrified right now. Probably for the same reason Nam-gyu is - The prospect of losing someone.
It takes a minute for Nam-gyu to respond. He’s not good with words, not good with feelings. He’s not good at opening up.
“I want to stay forever.”
It’s a lot more domestic of a statement than he would usually make. Nam-gyu has never said anything quite so meaningful, he thinks. Jun-hee stares at him, so surprised. But she nods even still, and a smile spreads onto her face. A real smile. Something happy.
“Then stay forever.”
Nam-gyu nods as well. He thinks he can manage that. Maybe he is a family man after all.