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The warning dies before it escapes his lips.
Thinking back, that was the moment Sang-woo made the silent declaration of Gi-hun’s death. His ears ring as he steps out of the room, shots punctuating the clarion call.
As the others fade away and the room is filled with deafening darkness, he swears he can hear sniffling. How strange that a man who has spent his entire life as walking caricature, as the fool, seems to fold in on himself at that moment. Sang-woo has never seen this Gi-hun, the one who confesses to the old man, the one who hides away. Not out of cowardice or shame, but by an intangible weight. Like a house of cards slowly caving in on itself.
Since they were kids, shoving each other in the sand, he's always had that crooked smile. Walking around with no regard for manners. There was a magnetic quality about him that gave Sang-woo the patience to endure his long pointless rants as they walked to school. Maybe it was the way he always brushed the dust off his pants and crawled back up, no matter how many times he was beaten. Maybe it was the way he made a simple victory on the playground feel like the peak of everyone’s lives. Maybe it was coincidence, or childish admiration.
Either way, Gi-hun made the alleyway bright. He made it home.
Now the man curls up on the bed, staring at the wall in the same blank way as the old man. Pathetic. He's sure if he peeled off one of the coffin lids, loosening the pink ribbon, he would be faced with a corpse with that very same expression. The only light he offers now is the gleam of tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.
He tells himself that he doesn’t care. It’s a familiar line. The mantra of his life, one could say. It’s the anchor that keeps him from falling completely as he watches stars shatter before his eyes. It’s his fault, but it wouldn’t ruin him. Even if the man suffocating in the bathtub said otherwise. Sang-woo has always been a good liar. You have to be, when everything good in your life is made of early morning reassurances and run down motel rooms. Running and running until the mist closes in. But his years of experience can’t hide the sneer that catches his mouth when Gi-hun showers him with shallow praise.
It isn’t because of his naivete. It isn’t even because he hates him. It’s the same reason he can’t look his mother in the eye. How terrible is it to be loved as someone you’re not? Gi-hun offers his hand and smiles just like before, like he’s congratulating a performance well done.
Sometimes when his eyes shutter close he feels the water adhering his suit to his skin. He was supposed to die that day. The same way he was supposed to be the prodigal son, the one who made it out. Sang-woo loses count of all of his broken promises.
It's easier with Ali. Every compliment that slips from his tongue has a weight. It's been so long since he has been relied on like this. Trusted like this. It doesn't feel like mockery. Desperation wraps around Ali. A serpent, warm, almost friendly. It’s not the first time he’s seen this expression. There’s surrender in his eyes, in the name of compassion. Sang-woo offers his hand. In the light of the afternoon sun, he must look like an old friend.
All he can do now is move forward. Glass suspended in the air, the world is cut through a kaleidoscope before it all comes crashing down. The whole world is falling. But this isn’t a myth, and there’s no one to catch them as they tumble into the darkness. Sang-woo laughs, a cruel, sharp sound that cuts through the tense standstill the three of them have made. He savors a murderer’s dinner.
His friend is a fool. Why reach out to a world that offers nothing? She grasps her side as her breaths grow shallow. He slides the knife across her throat. It’s as easy as slicing apart the steak. The children on the walls stare, bear witness to his silence. Better than living in denial, trading lies back and forth as if it would save anyone.
Sang-woo repeats his lines as intended as he rips into him, for once seeing him for who he is. Pain that scorches through his chest, filling his voice with fire. Isn’t it ironic that his self righteous fury is what brings Gi-hun back to himself? Newly haunted, breaking that shallow false optimism. In the end, he’ll die knowing that he isn’t alone in his sin.
His hand trembles. What a tragedy it is to be seen.
Sang-woo remembers the old fig tree by the corner store. He remembers climbing to the very top, laughing at Gi-hun all the while. His books are momentarily forgotten as he indulges their little game. Pointing out the plastic bags that catch in the branches. Ghosts clinging onto the past. There is nothing on his shoulders now. Nothing but his friendship and the solemn sky.
But it isn’t long before the rain makes him lose his grip. He remembers the distilled panic that sharpens his vision until all he sees is his own hand, reaching out even when he knew no one would catch him. It looks tiny against the vast gray of the storm clouds.
The fall knocks the wind out of him, he blinks the tears out of his eyes as he pushes himself back up. The pebbles on the road brush against his scrapped hands as he coughs. Sang-woo rubs at his bloody bruises, bubbling with embarrassment and fear. Yet Gi-hun only smiles, cutting his palm across the bark without hesitation. They exchange nods, a childish promise warming between them.
They clasp their hands together, and the world is made small in the face of their oath.
When there is no one else by your side, I’ll be there to catch you.
As they wrestle in the sand, painted red as the rain drags the water across their skin, Sang-woo traces his thumb over the cut on Gi-hun’s cheek before his fingers wrap around the knife. All of his pleas, justification, and broken promises, mean nothing in the face of his resolution. He’s been dead for years now, now he had a chance of making his end mean something. Anything.
If Sang-woo had the time to think, he would wonder if this was his greatest act of selfishness- he would stare into Gi-hun’s eyes. Worn, remade into someone he wasn't meant to be. He would take a deep breath and-
The confession dies before it escapes his lips.