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Heavy rain pours from the clouded, dark sky, on a day Gi-hun used to hope never came; people talk loudly, yet no sound arrives to his ears; several hands shake his, some rub his shoulders in a sign of comfort; but he feels nothing at all.
The white gloves in his hands feel heavy, and an aching pressure in his chest deepens, tears threaten to fall from his eyes but he holds them in. Instead, he walks the short distance between him and Sang-woo, watching how with trembling hands the younger man tried to adjust his black tie.
“Let me help you,” He says as soon as they are face to face, Cho gasping softly before nodding. Gi-hun raises the collar of Sang-woo’s white shirt, draping the tie around his neck so he can make an easy Windsor knot.
During the entire process, Seong can’t help to notice how his friend seemed to be lost in himself; body completely still and taking short, slow breaths, as he cracked the bones in his hands in a clear anxiety tick he’s had for years.
Gi-hun couldn’t blame him, they were at Sang-woo’s mother’s funeral after all.
Ignoring the stares laid upon them, the older man grabs Sang-woo’s head and tugs it towards him, pressing a kiss against Cho’s head, feeling his slightly shorter body tremble against his.
2 years had passed ever since Gi-hun won the Squid Game against Deok-su, taking home the promised 45.6 billion won on a yellow card he’s kept hidden on a small box. Firstly paying every single one of Sang-woo’s debts without him knowing, bringing him back the peace and confidence he needed to reunite with his mother.
After taking care of everything he had promised, including finding Cheol and Sae-byeok’s mother and Ali’s family as well, he knew his life wasn’t on the streets, wasting money in gambling. It was where his mother and Sang-woo were.
That’s why, after going through his own mother’s passing, he knew there was no other place he should be at that moment but by Sang-woo’s side; be his rock, just like he’d done back in the day.
“Are you okay?” Gi-hun asks after a while, Sang-woo’s arms still hugging him close.
A short nod answers him, Cho’s arms falling to his sides when he looks up to him. “Yes, hyung.” Sang-woo whispers, turning around and walking to a group of his relatives, preparing everything to carry the casket.
Watching Sang-woo’s back fading in the crowd, Gi-hun worries about the mental state of his long-time friend, knowing – due his stubbornness of not leaving Sang-woo alone – not a single tear has fallen from his eyes. He’s been relatively calm through the entire funeral service; perhaps Sang-woo wasn’t known for being open about his feelings, but Gi-hun was aware emotional constipation was a thing and his friend might be suffering from it.
However, Gi-hun gave him the space he needed, avoiding pushing Sang-woo to talk about this when he wasn’t ready yet.
His thoughts are interrupted by a hand shaking his shoulder. Seo-joon, Sang-woo’s younger cousin, is waving his hand at him, trying to catch his attention.
“Gi-hun-hyung, it’s time.” He hurriedly remarks, grabbing his arm and practically dragging him towards the room where Sang-woo’s mother’s casket lay.
Gi-hun sees Sang-woo standing beside the casket, stroking the dark wood with an unreadable expression in his face, the rest of his cousins are waiting patiently at the entrance, Seo-joon joining them instantly.
“He asked for a moment with his mom,” Seo-joon’s older brother informs him, his eyes red and puffy. “Sang-woo talked wonders of her as she was getting prepared, all of us teared at some point yet he…” Young-jae chokes, putting his hand on Gi-hun’s shoulder. “He’s not handling this properly, Gi-hun, he seems lost whenever he’s not talking with someone.”
“I know,” Seong acknowledges, his past worry increasing. “But we can’t do anything but be there for him, whenever he feels ready to open up.”
Young-jae nods, palming his arm before finally adding, “He will come to you, please take care of him.”
“I will.” Gi-hun promises, smiling gently at both brothers. He walks to Sang-woo’s side, wrapping an arm around him. “We have to go now.”
Sang-woo doesn’t mutter a word but follows him silently, holding his mother’s portrait close to his torso and walking towards the waiting car, Gi-hun and his cousins in tow carrying the sickly light casket.
Once they get rid of the gloves and are allowed to get inside the car, Gi-hun allows his family to go first, waiting with a trembling and shocked Sang-woo under his hold. He rubs Sang-woo’s arm up and down, trying to comfort him but no action seemed to reach wherever Cho’s mind was at that moment.
“I’m right here,” Gi-hun whispers to his ear, guiding him inside the vehicle. They sit with their thighs touching, an almost nonexistent distance between their bodies. Seong looks to the opposite side of where Sang-woo was sitting, concentrating on the shining lights of the city; suddenly, he feels a weak tug on his sleeve, making him flinch.
Sang-woo’s still lost, but his hand is wrapped around his wrist without any strength, as if waiting for someone – for Gi-hun to hold it. A small smile tugs the corner of his lips, and without emitting any sound, Gi-hun interlocks their hands, stroking with his thumb the cold skin of his friend for the rest of the drive.
Small steps, Gi-hun reminded himself.
Hours later at the comfort of their shared apartment, both are sitting on the floor, empty bags of fried chicken on the small table before them. After the burial, Gi-hun drove to a nearby restaurant, buying what Sang-woo once catalogued ‘his comfort food’, in an attempt to be of aid.
Even so, Sang-woo hasn’t said a word.
Regretting his decision, but tired of running out of options, Gi-hun retreats two bottles of Soju from the fridge, opening one and handing it to Sang-woo.
“No, thanks,” He says under his breath, looking at his folded hands on his lap. “I don’t want to drink.”
That’s it, he couldn’t hold it anymore.
Crawling to Sang-woo’s side, Gi-hun sets a hand on the other’s knee, feeling a knot forming on his throat. “Sang-woo-ah, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”
Shaking his head, he finally sees the façade Sang-woo has kept all day starting to shatter, “Nothing’s wrong, hyung,”
“Stop lying to me!” Gi-hun explodes, the rage in his system not allowing him to see the fear and vulnerability in the younger’s eyes.
“Gi-hun –“ Cho weakly tries to interrupt, only to be silenced by Seong’s annoyed reprimand.
“Don’t ‘Gi-hun’ me, Sang-woo!” The older man shouts, running a hand through his hair clearly frustrated. “I’ve seen the way you’ve neglected your feelings all day, are you trying to play macho on me? Because if you are, I’ll be delighted to slap that dumb shit out of your –”
“Hyung…” Sang-woo’s broken voice brings him back to reality.
In his five senses, Gi-hun finally sees the river of tears streaming down Sang-woo’s beautiful eyes, bottom lip wobbling as he tries to breathe regularly; feeling the grief and trauma wash over his anatomy ever since he found out about his mother’s death.
Choking down a sob, Sang-woo looks him in the eye, and Gi-hun’s heart breaks in a million pieces. “Hyung, please I–“ Before he can even finish his sentence, the older man cradles him in his arms, Sang-woo’s face pressed to his chest.
Though expected, Gi-hun feels like dying when Sang-woo finally starts sobbing; horrible, heart-wrenching sobs that make every fiber in his body tremble. His sweater slowly started getting wet but he couldn’t care less, stroking Sang-woo’s soft hair with his right hand as the left rubbed small circles on his back.
“I know, I know,” Gi-hun reassures him when Sang-woo begins mumbling things he can’t fully understand, but knows what he means. “I’m right here with you, not letting you go…”
“My mom…” Gi-hun manages to understand between sobs and whimpers; he tightens his hold around Sang-woo’s vulnerable form.
Minutes – hours probably – pass by, Sang-woo’s sobbing gradually easing until he’s left hiccupping and softly groaning, still hidden on Gi-hun’s safe chest. I must look disgusting, and that simple thought makes him cringe and quickly separate from his friend, trying to wipe the tears and snot off his face.
“Hey, Sang-woo-ah,” Gi-hun says in the loveliest tone he’s ever used, grabbing Sang-woo’s arm. “Come back here, I want to hold you.”
Shaking his head, Sang-woo shrinks away from Seong’s touch, no matter if deep down that’s all he needed for the rest of his life, at least. How can he face Gi-hun again after what he just saw, heard, felt?
Taking advantage of Sang-woo spacing out, Gi-hun lifts him onto his lap, holding his waist so the younger man couldn’t escape. “You don’t disgust me, Sang-woo,” Gi-hun assures, and Sang-woo’s eyes widen at the ability of the older man to read his mind. “You’ve seen me at my worst, too. Do I disgust you?”
“No!” Cho abruptly answers, blushing at the quickness in which he answered Gi-hun’s question.
Gi-hun smiles, cupping Sang-woo’s reddened cheek on his calloused palm. “If you disgust me, would I do this?” The younger man frowns, do what–
Gi-hun’s lips cover his instantly, and the motion is enough for him to break once more, tears spill off his eyes without control as the older man kisses him slowly; Sang-woo whole-heartedly ignores the salty taste of the kiss, because Gi-hun’s scent fulfills his nose and that’s all he can care about.
He ignores the way his hands shake when he cups Gi-hun’s face as well. “I’ve loved you for years, Sang-woo,” Seong whispers between kisses, aware of the cold drops falling on his skin. “I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Sang-woo shakily declares, resting his forehead against Gi-hun’s. “J-Just–“ The younger man whimpers when Gi-hun starts kissing every faction of his face with devotion. “Stay with me, I couldn’t bear to lose you too.”
Pressing a final kiss to the top of his nose, Gi-hun promises as he gently lays Sang-woo’s head on his shoulder, “I’m not going anywhere.”
And Sang-woo believed him.