Work Text:
An hour after lights-out, Sangwoo is still awake, his eyes wide open. He rolls over from his back onto his side. He closes his eyes, and memories from the last game flood his mind’s eye.
He sees Ali in his head, clear as day, smiling bashfully as he hands Sangwoo some corn he saved.
(He sees Ali in his head, a betrayed expression forever frozen on his face as his blood seeps into the dirt around him.)
His eyes snap back open, feeling a pit open in his stomach.
The man gnashes his teeth a few times, listening to the rustling of sheets coming from around the room. He feels his heart beating in a steady rhythm.
(That’s him. His heart is still beating. He is alive.)
Sangwoo lets out a shaky breath.
(His heart doesn’t beat anymore. He’s dead. But Sangwoo is still alive.)
Sangwoo suddenly sits up in his bed.
(He believed him, and that was his downfall. He gave Sangwoo his heart so his could keep beating.)
He clutches at his chest, right over his heart. It beats in a steady rhythm.
(One, two.)
Gi-hun grunts in his sleep, mumbling something about his ‘ gganbu ’.
(One, two.)
Sangwoo faintly hears a man wailing from the other side of the warehouse.
(Does he truly feel it’s justified? Does he truly feel alive?)
He grabs the scratchy blanket half-covering him and haphazardly tosses it aside. His gaze blank, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and pauses, staring out into the warehouse.
His eyes scan the vicinity, and his gaze pauses on where Ali looked at Gi-hun and him with such hopeful eyes, asking if he could really join them. He shifts his gaze to where Gi-hun is sleeping - in his general area, but turned away from him.
(They were all a team, once.)
It occurs to him that he can’t keep these thoughts in his head, and he gets an idea. Sangwoo abruptly stands up, banging his head on the bed frame, shocking Gi-hun awake with a start.
(He wishes they could be one again.)
Gi-hun stares at him with wide eyes, unblinking. He looks around before leaning towards Sangwoo.
“Oi,” He whispers, quickly glancing around to make sure no one was watching. “The hell are you up for?”
Sangwoo nearly replies that he can’t sleep, but stops himself.
(What a childish reason. A middle-aged man who can’t sleep.)
“... Washroom.” He eventually replies, turning his gaze away from his childhood friend and towards the floor.
(He sees bread crumbs on the ground. His heart aches.)
He can practically feel how little Gi-hun believes him, but the other man sighs and accepts it. Gi-hun gently slaps Sangwoo’s lower back, in a ‘hurry up’ gesture.
“Go along, then,” Gi-hun gives him a little smile, though Sangwoo never sees it. Gi-hun retreats back into his blanket, clutching the old man’s jacket close to his chest. Sangwoo stands motionless until the rustling stops, and he’s fairly sure Gi-hun is knocked out.
Everyone in this room has killed someone, whether they wanted to or not. He’s survived up to now by stepping on other participant’s corpses. It was rational. It was the way to survive.
(So why does he feel guilty? Why did he not want him to die?)
His eyes fixed downward, Sangwoo begins to walk down the stairs, towards the door. His hands feel cold.
(In this hellhole, it’s kill or be killed - so he killed. What was wrong with that?)
He drags himself to the door, and before he knows it, he raises his fist and raps on the door twice. He’s startled out of his thoughts by a soldier opening the door, light flooding out of the hall and into the warehouse.
(He remembers Ali waiting nervously next to him at the end of the dalgona game for Gi-hun and the old man to come through the doors. Sangwoo had awkwardly given him a pat on the head and said, ‘Don’t worry. They’ll be back.’ The happy look he received in response partially made up for the embarrassment he felt from patting Ali’s head like the man was a kindergartner.)
“What do you want?” The soldier asks bluntly. Sangwoo stands there gaping for a moment before coming to his senses. He clears his throat.
“Ah, paper. And… a pencil,” He mutters. “Please,” He tacks onto the end, figuring he may as well be polite to the people who could shoot him at any given moment. The door slams shut in his face, making Sangwoo flinch. Before he can even conjure a complaint, the door slams back open. The soldier holds out a piece of lined paper, with a pencil tucked under his thumb. Sangwoo accepts it hesitantly, bowing to the pink-clad man as the door slams back into place.
(Prick.)
As he returns to the stairs, his eyes lock on the body of player 69, who’s hung himself with a bedsheet.
(That was almost him, once.)
Sae-byeok, who preferred to sleep sitting on the stairs, gives him an unblinking stare as he returns. Sangwoo returns it, which unintentionally locks him into a staring contest with the girl. He begins to say a snarky comment, but instead closes his mouth without saying anything.
(Her partner was the other girl in our group - Jiyeong. They seemed to be close. It was unfair of him to ridicule Sae-byeok.)
His stare breaks. He blinks, tears welling up from how dry his eyes are.
(But since when did he care about being fair?)
Sangwoo turns away from Sae-byeok, and begins to ascend the staircase again, when Sae-byeok says something that makes him pause.
“I think Ali would forgive you,” She mumbles, barely audible. “He trusted you.”
(Sangwoo wishes he hadn’t.)
Sangwoo rushes back up the stairs.
Sae-byeok closes her eyes and imagines sitting by a waterfall, sipping a mojito with the ones she loves.
Sangwoo practically tumbles back into his bed, the paper crinkling loudly. He slaps his hand over his mouth, his eyes welling up with tears. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing the tears back into his body.
He tries not to remember Ali rushing down the stairs, swinging a giant metal beam, all to protect his team.
Their team.
(They were a team, once.)
Sangwoo opens his eyes and stares at the bed next to his, the one where Ali slept. He swears he can almost see the man, a concerned frown on his face at the sight of Sang-woo so disheveled. The last time he was such a mess was during the game.
The game where he lost his composure, lost the mask he so desperately tried to keep on his face. The game where he unjustly became furious at Ali, convinced the other man must have been cheating, because HE was supposed to win, and Ali couldn’t, but he was .
(The game where he manipulated a man who put his trust in him, who believed in him, who thought the best of him-)
He seethes, his heart aching and his brain on fire.
Sangwoo chokes out a broken sob, clenching his teeth until his jaw begins to hurt. His imagined Ali gives him a sad look from the other bed. The image is so real it hurts. He desperately tries to think of something else - what was he doing again? Right, yes. The paper. A classmate at SNU who studied mental health had told him… something about how writing down your feelings makes it hurt less.
(It sounds stupid to him. What is he doing? Journaling? When he should be preparing himself for something much worse than this?)
Screw it. At least it would keep him distracted. He sighs, swings his legs off the side of the bed and sits up. He places the paper on his lap, and spends a moment trying to find the pencil. As he attempts to gather his thoughts, he swears he feels someone sit down next to him, which makes him jump and bang his head on the bed frame again. Sangwoo feels his cheeks burn when Gi-hun essentially falls out of his bed at the sudden bang. To make matters worse, he can practically hear Sae-byeok trying not to laugh at him clear as day.
(Wait, how could he hear her if she was at the bottom of the stairs?)
“Jesus!” Gi-hun exclaims. “What’s up with you today, Sangwoo? Are you trying to make me shit my pants?” The older man grunts indignantly as he scrambles back into his bed.
“No. Why would I do that?” Sangwoo grumbles, roughly scrubbing his eyes with his hands. “It’s dark in here. That’s why.”
“Why are you even still awake?” Gi-hun yawns, scratching his back. “We need all the sleep we can get in… here…” He trails off as his eyes wander down to the paper Sang-woo is clutching like it owes him money. “Oi. What’s that?”
Sangwoo shoves the paper and pencil under his blanket, crumpling it slightly. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Gi-hun raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t believe you when you said you were going to the bathroom, and I still don’t believe you now.” He shimmies out of his blanket, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up properly with a loud ‘oomf!’.
“Come on, Sangwoo. We’ve known each other forever. Just tell me what's wrong.” He looks Sangwoo straight in the eyes, making the younger man uncomfortable.
Gi-hun leans forward, a pleading look in his eyes. “ Please. ”
Sangwoo has half a mind to slap him silly and tell him to mind his own damn business.
Despite that, Sangwoo feels a gentle force encouraging him to talk.
(It reminds him of talking to Ali while they shared the corn the other man had saved just for him. He had wanted to open up to Ali, tell him about his mother, and the investments, and how it all fell apart and made him feel like a shell of the man who graduated from SNU with flying colours, but he didn’t in the end.)
But this time, he did.
(Because what if he nevers gets the chance again?)
“... Gi-hun.” Sang-woo finally utters. Said man raises his eyebrows, leaning forward encouragingly. “Did that old man deserve to die?”
Gi-hun’s eyes fly open in response. “What?! Of course not!” He barks angrily, much too loud, which makes Sangwoo wince. He imagines at this point, they’ve woken up not only Sae-byeok but also the rest of the damn warehouse too. Gi-hun at least has the courtesy to seem embarrassed and lower his volume when he continues speaking.
“No, no he didn’t deserve to die. Why are you asking me this?!” He furiously whisper-yells. Sangwoo scoffs and fixes his gaze on the floor.
“Seriously. Why would you ask that?” Gi-hun tries after a moment of silence between the two men.
Sangwoo clenches his fists and feels a few joints pop.
He feels that encouraging presence again. What the hell, did he have a guardian angel?
(Ali was like one.)
“Because Ali didn’t.” Sangwoo spits out, almost like it burned him to say. All of a sudden, it all tumbles out.
“Ali was a good man,” He chokes out, much to the shock of Gi-hun. “He was a good man, with a family, with a son . His son was one year old. He told me that, when we were on lookout together. He told me that, and- and I knew that. And I still killed him. He trusted us- he trusted me, wholeheartedly. He trusted me. He put his life in my hands and I crushed it. I killed him. But when I said we’d get out together, I- I said yes . And I meant it, and I- I--”
Sangwoo holds his head in his hands, trying and trying not to sob like a newborn. Gi-hun tries to speak, but Sangwoo holds a hand up without looking up.
“Stop. Wait. Please. I just--” He chokes, sniffling and heaving. He feels a comforting aura around him, like a warm hug. He glances up, tears in his eyes.
Gi-hun is still sitting there, but there’s significantly more pity in his gaze.
Fucking hell.
(But wait, if he’s not the one hugging him, then why does he feel like this?)
“I’m a monster, Gi-hun. I took an innocent man’s life. I wasn’t- I didn’t even give him a fair chance. At first- At first, he was winning. But- But- But if he won, then he… then I would die. And I couldn’t die. But I don’t- I don’t deserve to live. Ali deserved to live. He had a child, he had family still in Pakistan, he told me all about himself and he trusted me and put his life in my hands even though I’m a monster ,” Sangwoo coughs, weeping at this point.
“And- And I would do it again. Because I’m not like Ali. I’m not merciful , or kind , or humane , like he is- was. ” He chokes on the last word, saying it with more force than necessary. “I’m scared. I’m scared of myself, the me who has killed a man intentionally, the me who betrayed him even when he believed in me, the me who would probably kill anyone in this room just for that fucking prize money--”
Sangwoo is cut off by Gi-hun throwing himself onto him, knocking them both backwards onto the bed. The older man’s arms wrap around Sangwoo and only then is it that he realizes he’s being hugged.
(He had never gotten to hug Ali.)
“Sangwoo,” Gi-hun starts, his head wedged in the crook of Sangwoo’s neck. “First of all, you talk way too fucking fast.” Gi-hun chuckles a bit, causing Sangwoo to feel a little bit of a childish kind of annoyance. He can feel Sae-byeok laughing at him as if she was right next to them.
(Why does the laughter feel so familiar?)
“Second,” Gi-hun squeezes Sangwoo tighter, and the younger man is somewhat tempted to tell him off for crushing his organs. “You aren’t what this game made you. Nobody is. The fact that our situations are so shit is what got us here. Sometimes it’s not our fault, Sangwoo.” Unbelievably, Gi-hun tightens his hold even more. Sangwoo feels like his eyes should be popping out of his head by now. “You had a choice to make, and I’m sure it was hard.”
What was funny was that it wasn’t that hard. Sangwoo was a naturally manipulative person. You had to be if you worked in business, to make sure you got the best return on your investments. You had to be manipulative and cutthroat here, to make sure you won the grand prize. And Sangwoo fit that bill perfectly. But Ali didn’t, so Sangwoo stole the opportunity from him.
(And worst of all, Sangwoo has a strong feeling that Ali let him steal it.)
“We all lost people who we cared about,” Gi-hun lowers his voice to a whisper. Sangwoo bites his lower lip to keep from crying. “But we all had one goal. Get out of here alive. ” Sangwoo feels a wet patch on his shoulder, and slowly realizes his childhood friend is crying on his shoulder. It’s like a scene right out of a drama movie. It reminds him of when Ali named that western movie, and Mi-nyeo insulted him.
(Did Ali enjoy that movie? How many movies did he geto to watch?)
Sangwoo drags himself out of his thoughts.
“... So,” Embarrassingly, his voice cracks. He gives up on maintaining his composure and allows himself to cry. “What… what do we do with that?”
Even though Gi-hun doesn’t seem to physically squeeze tighter, it still feels like he’s being hugged by two people instead of one gangly, middle aged man.
Not to mention there’s no way Gi-hun is that strong.
“We live. ” Gi-hun finally replies after a long bout of the two of them silently sobbing on each other like they were school children again. “Our goal is still the same. We survive and win together. You, me, and Sae-byeok. We’ll all get out of here together and filthy rich.” Gi-hun barks out a teary laugh. “And then we’ll make amends with their families. And we’ll hold funerals for them, and hold them in our hearts forever--”
“How grossly cheesy,” Sangwoo interrupts, a sad smile on his face.
“Shut up, asshole,” Gi-hun chuckles. “Point is, stop being sad, because the others wouldn’t want us to be. They’re probably cheering for us in the afterlife.”
The idea of that sends a shiver down Sangwoo’s spine - the idea of Ali and the old man and the girl Sae-byeok brought into their group - Jiyeong, Jiyeong was her name - all cheering for them to win the game. He already knows what Ali would say - ‘You can do it, sirs! I believe in you three!’
Sangwoo gulps, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, I believe you,” He replies, finally wrapping his arms around Gi-hun to return the hug. He can feel Gi-hun grin right before he slaps Sangwoo on the back twice and finally releases him from the vice grip he had on him.
“Go to sleep, okay, Sangwoo?” Gi-hun raises himself off the bed so he’s above Sangwoo, with a sad smile on his face. Sangwoo sniffles, wipes his eyes and nods.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, and for the record,” Sangwoo glances at Gi-hun. “I think Ali would forgive you if he heard all that.”
“Shut up.” Sangwoo smiles at his childhood friend.
They hug, one last time, before Gi-hun returns to his bed and Sangwoo lays down in his own bed.
The last thought he has is the old man, Ji-yeong and Ali, energetically cheering from a stadium’s sideline.
Classical music fills the air, gently waking Sangwoo from his slumber. He sits up, blearily, rubbing his eyes and stretching the knots out of his back. He notices a piece of paper folded in half on his lap - the same type of paper that he brought back to his bed last night, only it seems to have been ripped from a sheet. He looks around, and catches Gi-hun’s eyes. He’s sat on his bed, and has clearly been awake longer than Sangwoo. Sae-byeok is stood next to him, looking as unreadable as ever.
“Hey. You got one, too?” Gi-hun holds up a piece of paper very similar to his, only differing very slightly in size. Sae-byeok holds up another similar paper. Sangwoo pauses for a moment before nodding.
“We haven’t opened them yet - we wanted to wait until you were awake,” Gi-hun explains, scooching forward slightly. “You wanna open them now, Sangwoo?”
Dread crawled up Sangwoo’s back, mentally questioning the contents of the note. Regardless, he nods, and shuffles out of his blanket to instead sit on the side of the bed.
“Alright, then,” Gi-hun clears his throat.
“Three, two, one - now!”
Sangwoo flips open the carefully folded paper to discover a simple drawing of two people, one with glasses and neat, black hair and the other one with curly, black hair, with doodled hearts, flowers and smiley faces bordering it. He studies it for a moment before it suddenly dawns on him that the drawing is of him and Ali, with their arms around each other. Before he knows it, his eyes swell with tears as his gaze falls onto a message written messily at the bottom.
‘Dear Sangwoo- hyung ,
If my trust in you was what allowed you to live, I would allow you to use me over and over again.
I forgive you.
- your dongsaeng, Ali’
Sangwoo feels his heart heal, just a little, as he feels a hug-like warmth surround him.