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Everyone in this life wants a life full of success and comfort. Some get it with hard work, some don't try as hard, and some do what they can.
During this search, the potential that others may come to see in their travel companions is very much welcomed, since they're the ones who could be part of the first two privileged groups.
He is fortunate to be one of those very promising people.
And that's the problem.
“Player 218, Cho Sang-woo. Age, 46. Former Supervisor of Team Two at Joy Investment. He embezzled money from his clients, invested in derivatives and futures, and failed,” one of the men says.
Growing up with high expectations from everyone around you can become a double-edged sword. While it can drive you to want to improve yourself, it can also lead you to some alley without an exit.
Pride becomes greed, and in the blink of an eye, Cho Sang-woo loses almost everything, including what he values most.
“Current loss, 650 million won,” the male voice continues to report unequivocally.
That's why he wants to try anything to get out of the alley.
“Do you want to go back and live out your pathetic lives running from creditors? Or will you seize the last opportunity we are offering?”
.
What he needs to do is take advantage of the new path that has been created for him. That is clear from the first game when the infant environment is transformed into shooting, panic, and death.
However, despite everything, he needs to take a bath with the smell of smoke and the taste of alcohol in order to accept that second chances are rare, and third ones do not exist.
Uncertainty turns into survival instinct; makes him take a necessary decision.
In this way, the gloomy tone that surrounds the games in their entirety, and which he can no longer get rid of at the second opportunity, does not affect him. If he wants to win, he needs to stay rational and keep his emotions out of the way like he's used to.
He can definitely do it.
.
The road is covered with problems that have a solution, he overcomes them with feasible calm, there's no rushing to take the next step.
But like everything in life, overcoming each of these games is not as easy as he wants. Meeting stones on the way to his redemption is to be expected.
Some are relatively easy to remove.
“Why would you do that?” He asks out of involuntary genuineness.
“You saved my life today, sir. I wanted to thank you,” Ali says with his typical gentle tone, still handing him the corn.
“There's no need to thank me. I did it to save myself,” Sang-woo answers with raw honesty.
He later sustains himself from that ongoing relationship where, once combined with the despair and brief fear he has for his own life, results in a resolution that he doesn't want to regret.
“I'm sorry, Ali. I mistook you. But I can't die like this,” he practically sobs.
Ali —unlike him— isn't able to close his heart and keep a cool head.
“If you help me, there's a way both of us can make it out alive,” his tongue continues to do its manipulative trick. “You got this far all thanks to me. Please trust me this once and help me. Please?”
That's the last thing Sang-woo needs to notice how the young man melts into sobs and compassion.
“What's your plan?”
He replaces the marbles with stones that, instead of representing obstacles, resemble the false hope that Sang-woo gives him from the beginning when it seems they are becoming close, but in the end they are nothing. And even if they were… even if they were, it wouldn't change things.
Nevertheless, although his heart manages to maintain a normal pulse, he cannot avoid the shudder running through the back of his neck, right when he hears the shot followed by the silence that is filled almost instantly with more shots, snuffles, and screams from the players running the same fate as Ali.
That's all.
There's no room for contrition. In these kinds of circumstances, it's not a good idea to have it.
Stay sane.
.
Other stones, to be honest, are insignificant. Taking them off is not complicated, throwing them away is terrifyingly simple.
If time is against you, if you start to hesitate, you are done.
When his life oscillates in the heights, he perceives the doubt in the man's countenance, he does so long before the other deigns to express his insecurity of not knowing which of the two glasses is the tempered one, and before the problems arise to create unnecessary anguish, Sang-woo makes the decision to get his hands dirty. “Then just go,” he condemns.
His feet touch the safe surface on the other side of the bridge as he hears the sound of glass breaking to injure him. Afterward, the game culminates in a half-rough silence, one that is intensified when his gaze meets Gi-hun's, who is still struggling from the excessive adrenaline running through his veins and the pain from the glass cuts.
Then the realization comes.
There are only three players left.
Among them, in addition to himself, is Seong Gi-hun.
And the thing is that Seong Gi-hun ends up being the hardest stone to get out of the way. Worse still, he is the stone that has gotten into his shoe and whose sharp surface is buried more and more in the sole of his foot, which already begins to bleed memories he doesn't need.
Sang-woo hates the feeling of nostalgia that comes with this fact.
It is an incompatible emotion for the situation.
It is the first one he can recognize without doubting it as well.
It reminds him of sunny days when he and Gi-hun played long hours until their bodies couldn't fight anymore. He remembers the smell of childish sweat interspersed with dirt as the most fleeting proof of their easy, full, and fragile friendship.
At that stage of his life, his gentleness was already exhausted, he used it to a large extent with Gi-hun, who did not hesitate to hug or congratulate him with flattery or little pats on the shoulder that caused an irregular rhythm of his heart.
To this day, he doesn't want to question the origin of those irregular rhythms. But somehow, they reappear when Sang-woo sees Gi-hun in the game, with that inappropriate smile that warns him of the bubble of comfort that his ex-friend wants to create among them. They remind him of a dreadful feeling, one that he doesn't intend to indulge because Gi-hun, like the others, has to die.
“Sang-woo, you are great!”
Lub-dub-lub-dub.
“We won again thanks to you!”
Lub-dub-lub-dub.
“What would I do without you?”
Lub-dub-lub-dub.
The strange feeling doesn't have to be a topic of conversation in these twisted games, nor does it have to be affection or minimal respect for others. The same dynamics make him give them up. Besides, it's not like Sang-woo really cares. If he didn't care enough about Gi-hun's failed attempts to prosper or other matters like his marriage, why should his life be any different?
This solution makes sense for him and is the best option to stay focused on his goal.
On the other hand, as expected, there's the naive and confident Gi-hun who speaks to him from day one as if the emotional bond was still there, intact as the years passed and that, despite the lies and inconsistencies, holds longer than necessary.
“It is you, Sang-woo. What happened? Why are you here?” he questions with a tone too concerned and annoying.
Lub-dub-lub-dub-lub-dub.
“Let's talk later.”
But they don't.
Sang-woo doesn't bother to remind Gi-hun either. He prefers it this way.
.
Gi-hun doesn't find out that Sang-woo doesn't have the kindness to tell him not to choose the umbrella in the Dalgona game. It's better that he never knows.
“Sir, he got into Seoul University as the top of his class,” Gi-hun chants, cheerful. “He was a famous prodigy in our neighborhood,” he adds with pride that makes Sang-woo shudder in a way that he doesn't want to inquire.
“Really?” 001 says as he looks at him with a half-smile. “Goodness. Must be a great man!”
Feeling uncomfortable, Sang-woo wants to change the subject.
“Of course! He is,” Gi-hun adds without a doubt as he looks fondly at Sang-woo's eyes.
Lub-dub-lub-dub-lub-dub…
“Gi-hun,” he finds himself calling his childhood friend shortly before starting the game, unsure if he could survive.
“Hmm?” Gi-hun says back, staring at him in the midst of all the sea of people who are as damned as him for choosing wrong and having bad luck.
But all these people aren't important to Sangwoo, and it's not like he's implying Gi-hun is any different. The choice was made. He can't interfere with how things are playing now, even if his odd heart can't stop throbbing.
“Never mind.”
.
Gi-hun also doesn't have to know that he betrayed Ali's trust. That can save them some drama.
“Why did you do it?”
But the latter?
“What are you trying to say?”
How to hide it?
“Why did you push him?”
Why bother making up an excuse to deny that now he is a murderer in the first place?
Oh, right. It must be because the way Gi-hun is judging him with his gaze is uncomfortable and his heart is beating in a way that he describes as unpleasant. It is an even faster pulse unlike the times Gi-hun expresses gratitude or admiration for him.
“If it were me, would you have still pushed?”
Sangwoo feels anger bubbling up inside until it turns to outrage and frustration. “Damn it Gi-hun!”
He runs his hand over his head trying to think, exhales, and responds as sanely as he can without being able to stop his disgust. “Do you know why your life is so pathetic? Because you ask the dumbest questions even in this situation, constantly minding other people's business with that pea brain of yours not knowing your ass from your elbow!”
Sang-woo averts his eyes, immersed in the complex emotions he has bottled up and suddenly want to get out. He doubts, for the umpteenth time, if they are legitimate.
There's no way for him to feel regretful or ashamed, it's definitely not the case.
“Sure. It's all my fault that I ended up like this. I'm slow and incompetent. I'm a nosy dimwit who lives off the back of his old mother,” Gi-hun counters, and for the slightest moment, Sang-woo feels a sharp sting of what seems to be envy. “But why is the pride of Ssangmun-dong, the genius Cho Sang-woo of SNU, here? Floundering around in this shithole with a dimwit like me. Is that also my fault?”
He doesn't have an answer to that, his brain stops working properly when he realizes how close they are to each other, with the smell of blood, dirt, and sweat invading his senses, filling him with those endless memories of a friendship that he didn't need to encounter. Not when Gi-hun is so close that if he leaned in, any part of their faces could touch.
Out of inertia, Sang-woo's eyes settle on Gi-hun's lips, and he realizes the mistake too late. His heart pulses with that overwhelming feeling, it makes him believe that he could have a heart attack at any moment. It also makes him forget his anger for a brief moment and it is quite ridiculous. It's almost like being a hormonal teenager again.
He exhales again as the realization that he refuses to accept invades his being, makes him feel like a pathetic child, one who feels his hands sweat with nervousness and wants to hide his flushed face between them.
His lungs release the air, and then he has the good fortune that this moment is interrupted with the arrival of the men in red suits.
The closeness breaks, as does his little instant of weakness.
Stay sane…
.
If he thinks about it more deeply, it's undeniable to admit that his path and Gi-hun's are similar, since both made decisions lacking in morality yet-
We are not the same.
Unlike him and his cold lack of consideration, Seong Gi-hun has the terrible flaw of empathy.
They are total opposites.
It is a nuisance that grows with each step he takes, it reaffirms that no matter how hard he tries, the stone refuses to come out.
Gi-hun's empathy makes him shed tears for each participant who has the slightest touch to tell him about some aspect of their life. It is the same that makes him mourn the death of an old man he barely knew, and it's the same one that makes him hate Sang-woo for deciding to end the shaky life of a very badly injured Kang Sae-byeok.
The last straw is that it turns out to be the same fucking one that, in previous days, made him smile when he found that Sangwoo was still alive through every game, and he hates it. He really hates it.
Sang-woo wants to poke fun at obvious things like the fact that they can change quickly but, the possibility of knowing that Gi-hun might finally decide to cut a tie that is already torn, fills him with pressure in the center of his chest that he wants to define as relief.
In these conditions, his pride and his new opportunity are the two things he wants. He has no time or place to retrieve something that he did not ask for.
Stay sane...
.
The notion that he isn't bothered by the warmth and comfort that Gi-hun offers him is aberrant and impossible. However, the absence of these sensations is even worse, and he doesn't know why.
“Welcome to the final game,” the masked man starts his speech.
Now they are the only two players left.
They are face to face, wrapped in a tense atmosphere, very suitable for the occasion. Sang-woo's great opportunity to reclaim himself is reduced to just one more game that, ironically, also makes him feel the pressure of melancholy.
The commotion engulfs him to the point he hardly perceives the instructions the man gives them to determine their position in the squid game. When it comes time to choose one of the two figures on the coin, his mind doesn't operate as usual.
“Triangle,” Gi-hun, unlike other times, decides almost immediately.
The coin is thrown into the air and the noise of a pair of hands catching it is the next thing to be heard, the sound makes him react.
The shiny golden triangle falls into the black glove and is an impressive turn of events.
He remembers the Dalgona game, he remembers he decided the exact same figure.
Fuck.
Luck is no longer on his side.
“Offense,” his childhood friend requests, and once again, there's no hesitation.
His heart skips a beat, it gives him a bad feeling because Gi-hun doesn't break eye contact and his atypical unusual aura remains, even after crossing the doors that lead them to the field of the first game, with the only difference that this has a drawing on the ground instead of splattered blood. The doll rests calm and still in the tree since it's no longer the threat to overcome.
The threat has taken on a new face, it is one of compact and tough external features that protect a sensitive and delicate interior.
Or so Sang-woo thinks.
.
This is how everything ends in the same place it begins.
A cycle that urgently needs to close.
An inevitable confrontation that can be summarized with the remembrance of childhood, the thirst to win an infant game that lacks innocence, and the reward that is not a group hug.
Bright childhood is contrasted with hazy adulthood.
Therefore, Sang-woo is unfazed, not by the raindrops that gradually turn thicker and thicker, but Gi-hun's indecipherable attitude.
The squid game doesn't quite comply with being harmless. It is a brutal game, has simple rules where the absence of violence is not prohibited, and for that very reason, Sang-woo doesn't contain himself.
The surprising thing here is that Gi-hun decides to do the same.
“We played this pretty often as kids. Do you remember what we used to say when we crossed this?” he exclaims with a neutral voice drowning in the rain.
His tone creates the necessary effect to evoke the anger of Sang-woo, whose rationality hangs by a thread that is no stronger than the compromised bond with Gi-hun.
“Cut the crap and—”
His sentence is not finished because Gi-hun throws wet dust into his eyes. A dirty reliable trick.
Sang-woo complains and although his vision is obstructed, the hand that is firmly holding the knife moves in the air, hoping to cut any trace of skin.
“The secret inspector. We said the secret inspector.”
"She was going to die anyway, I just ended her pain quickly,” Sang-woo counterattacks when his vision is restored, letting himself be carried away by the courage to see that Gi-hun has crossed the squid's neck.
“Don't give me that bullshit,” his friend replies without raising his voice, still looking at him as if he is some common scum. “She was alive, and she could've been saved.”
In this way, Sang-woo takes another step closer to sentimentality and irrationality. Manipulation is no longer so subtle and judging from Gi-hun's unchanging attitude, it won't be effective if he tries to use it.
Sang-woo hates that, he hates that as much as he hates Gi-hun's unconscious ability to break down his impenetrable walls.
“That's why I killed her. Because I know how you are,” he spats, still trying to turn the tables. “Because you would've given everything up just to save her.”
When questioned, Gi-hun shows a bit of his true personality, unfurrowing his brows and sounding like he still believes there is some good in him. “Was that it?”
Sang-woo's throat goes dry, his hands tremble slightly before answering. “That's right! Because if you two gave up, it would've been all over!” He justifies without a second thought, even if his chest tightens strangely. “I'd have to leave here without a penny!” and this is very true.
His nervousness can be offset by how close he is to getting what he worked so hard for. That must be why he feels so anxious. He is impatient to get his hands on the prize.
“If it hadn't been for her, I would've killed you with this knife,” Gi-hun states then, taking the item out of his pocket.
And Sang-woo's seething fury rises because maybe —just maybe— he feels the slight annoyance that comes with discovering that Gi-hun really considered killing him.
“You... will never leave here with that money,” his childhood friend decides, sealing their fates, pushing their friendship to some random edge of a cliff.
Sang-woo wants to do so many things to him for that bold statement though, and he's too immersed to care and deny every single one of them. His emotions have already clouded his judgment.
In this bliss, small, insignificant time of weakness, he admits that he wants to punch him as much as he wants to kiss him, only to punch him over and over again until his mouth bleeds and his lungs and heart start to fail like his own because everything he's feeling now is Gi-hun's fault.
And he deserves to die for it.
Yes, he absolutely deserves it.
Fuck sanity.
.
The playground becomes a fighting area.
The smell of blood intermingled with sweat is overshadowed by the smell of petrichor.
Sang-woo is a gory, filthy mess, lacking in morality and fighting skills.
And for the first particular time, Gi-hun isn't any different. They're behaving as equals.
Both have been reduced to a pair of wayward children who strike at every opportunity until their desperation to win deprives them of planning combat strategies. There is no place for that here.
At some point, he can hear himself screaming, “You bastard! Die! Die!” as he keeps attacking, using all his force to push Gi-hun out of the picture with no success.
He tries his best, one failure after another failure that costs him the loss of shoes and clothing, as well as unnecessary blows. But luckily, he gets his hands on one of the coveted knives again.
Gi-hun yells with pain when he gets stabbed in his left thigh and Sang-woo takes the momentary lead to punch him as he wanted earlier, right in the mouth that spits out fresh blood.
He feels the sudden blast of satisfaction only to be overshadowed by the feeling of… fear?
“Remember this place? We played Red Light, Green light here,” he points to the tree with the doll, ignoring the new rush of emotions that are trying to poison his determination to succeed. “They're all dead. Everyone who was here back then, except for you and me,” he acknowledges, and his heavy heart feels like an affirmation of the whole situation.
Gi-hun is still gasping on the ground, incapable of responding. Sang-woo refuses to stop his viciousness to finish what he started. He can't. This is his last chance to win and get rid of the pesky stone that has hurt him for years. Deep down, he doesn't even know why he should be reminding himself of this.
One of his feet slides under Gi-hun's body, whose face is framed in pain from the stabbing and the beating.
It is there that Sang-woo feels a stinging emotion, the same as always.
“We've... come too far to go back,” he finally grumbles, only to be surprised with the slim hint of broken voice he lets out.
He's been through so much, he's allowed selfishness to guide him, and he can't afford the change of heart.
His hand squeezes the knife and directs it to the face of Gi-hun who, surprisingly, recovers the fighting spirit and manages to put his hand before him to prevent a fatal death.
Sang-woo hisses out of frustration, his hand still trying to push, driving the blade further into the skin and bone. Gi-hun growls as blood keeps pouring on his face.
They stay like that for a couple more seconds, before Gi-hun's savagery manifests.
He feels the vicious bite in his ankle, and he's the one crying out in pain this time.
Sang-woo barely has time to regain consciousness when he feels the direct hit to the face and his awareness is compromised. For a mild moment of panic, he thinks he may lose consciousness, but the sensation of the opposing body crawling on top of his keeps him awake.
His handicap has increased to a worrying degree, the strength in his arms and legs is absent.
Because of this, the next blow feels as light as raindrops falling on his face. Although that doesn't mean that his ears ignore Gi-hun's sharp statements.
“You killed them,” the next fist isn't as unnoticed as the first one. “You killed them,” the third one starts to actually hurt.
His friend gasps above him, saying the same thing over and over, like some kind of datum that needs to be reiterated in order to truly believe in it.
But Sang-woo doesn't need the information, he perfectly knows what he's done.
The fourth blow goes to his left cheek, and the fifth one isn't an actual hit. It's more like—
Huh?
“You killed them... and still I...” Gi-hun soughs, stopping his trembling hand on his lips, whose fingers aren't curled up anymore.
Sang-woo exhales, feeling the watery air around him, it’s a peculiar sensation of calm mixed with the taste of blood and Gi-hun's warmth.
Another perfect chance to deprive himself of the reality and the whole situation he's involved with.
“Still I...” Gi-hun says again, without finishing his train of messy thoughts.
Sang-woo hands start to recover their sensitivity, and he should try to move them, he really should, but his friend is —for the second time, in the same day— faster. He breaks the physical contact in order to retract the wedged knife in his hand.
Oh.
That's how he becomes aware.
He should have known better.
Apparently, Gi-hun resorted to methods that not even the great Cho Sang-woo could foresee.
He definitely feels like a dumb teenager.
It's so pathetic.
He is going to be defeated.
This is the way he's going to die.
It is as if a simple touch from Gi-hun is appropriate to soothe his emotions, leaving the only one that fills his lungs with a long and deep sigh.
His heart is reduced to a racing cardiovascular disaster, and the characteristic lub-dub is revealing the emotion that has affected him more than he can acknowledge.
Gi-hun trembles as he screams for the next time, aiming the knife at him from his current position.
Sang-woo can't help but close his eyes.
And waits.
And keeps waiting until his left ear picks up the noise of the earth catching the pointed tip of a threatening blade.
Half of his body isn't getting soaked since Gi-hun has leaned impossibly closer to the place where he can listen to the chaos inside Sang-woo's rib cage.
An event that goes beyond the limits of predictability.
Wet bangs caress the nasty shirt, injured hands wrap around the paralyzed ones.
“You're an asshole, Cho Sang-woo,” Gi-hun practically cries out as his face repositions. “You're a complete asshole,” he repeats with a loaded voice.
Tears and raindrops are falling right on Sang-woo's wrecked face, their gazes meet like two pairs of black holes wanting to devour each other.
The tension is excruciating, and the expectation of another hit, or the fear of a sudden stab, are the two options left.
Nonetheless, a third one comes out of nowhere.
It tastes like rain, blood, sweat, and dirt.
Sang-woo sighs out of habit to relish the unexpected feeling of wet, chapped lips over his own. A sensation he wants to dislike so bad, an action that needs to be interrupted at all costs, but Gi-hun's clumsy mouth doesn't recede, it continues to explore without daring to reach more despite having the opportunity to do so.
An expected attitude, one that strengthens Sang-woo's loose emotions and convinces him to kiss back, equally bumbling and slow because moving too much hurts.
The hatred and parsimony unravel to give way to the feeling that has always been there, creeping out at every opportunity.
It is the same dangerous feeling that makes him forget everything and anything that isn't about Seong Gi-hun.
Seong Gi-hun, his childhood friend.
Seong Gi-hun, the damn stone in his shoe.
Seong Gi-hun, the only person who actually gave praises and genuine concern without expecting something in return.
Seong Gi-hun, who's way too stupid and benevolent for his own good.
Seong Gi-hun, who's merely kissing his crass lips until he obligates him to realize the undeniable truth, right before breaking the contact to whisper, “I'm done. I quit.”
To prove it, his right hand untangles from the other to grasp the forgotten knife for a brief moment, just enough time to show Sang-woo how the weapon is tossed far away.
The auction comes with Gi-hun's outstretched hand, the same that bears the absent knife wound and is addressed to Sang-woo as a sincere invitation.
The survival instinct is gone, the feeling of security floods his senses.
All thanks to Gi-hun, who has done nothing but show infinite patience and compassion for him, no matter how much he doesn't deserve it.
It's tempting.
.
“You told me I've killed everyone,” Sang-woo says hoarsely as the moving car continues its journey.
Both are tied hand and foot, blindfolded. They wear their old clothes and the wounds from the last game have been taken care of.
“You hate me,” he adds without thinking, only to meet silence.
His eagerness to continue pointing out his mistakes is motivated by the relentless wave of irrepressible emotions inside his chest. Suddenly it's guilt, but then it changes to denial or happiness.
It doesn't make sense.
“I killed that girl,” his voice keeps mumbling.
It's the first time that he can feel properly, without pretending. It doesn't have to do with the games they played before or the whole coexistence in a threatening place, no, it's something that is ingrained in his personality, something he genuinely wants to overcome.
It's liberating.
“I also betrayed Ali.”
The weight on his chest dissipates when he confesses.
His reward is Gi-hun's anticipated response.
“I figured out.”
Now it's his turn to remain silent.
“When I played with the mist—Il-nam— I tried to deceive him to give me all his marbles. He knew I did, but that doesn't change the fact that I tried to cheat,” Gi-hun continues speaking. “I was willing to win at any cost, even if that went against my principles… because I didn't want to die,” he says with a severe voice. “Money aside, you did what you did for the same exact thing, right?”
His heart thumps uncontrollably.
“I also think you knew about the Dalgona game.”
His mind is empty.
“You tried to tell me before the game began.”
He can't rely on statistics to deny those statements.
“You may think I don't know you Sang-woo, but as you can see, I'm aware.”
He feels so exposed.
“You're not as heartless as you want to be.”
Gi-hun knows him as much as Sang-woo knows Gi-hun.
“After all, you accepted to give up.”
Sang-woo exhales loudly and his voice shakes from the excess of realization that floods his chest without feeling afflicted.
“You're always too forgiving.”
He doesn't expect an answer, much less a laugh that ends up becoming a mild sob.
“Yes, yes I am.”
Sang-woo doesn't dislike the emotive tone.
Their bond isn't broken, and he finds it… so comforting.
.
Cho Sang-woo has never understood people who say their significant other get the best of them.
He doesn't understand it, just as he doesn't understand what he's currently doing, living in a place too small and cramped that doesn't belong to him in order to stay hidden, huddled under the covers like some jobless twentysomething, unwilling to get up, and completely dependent on someone else.
What kind of karma is this?
He had a chance of winning millions of won to start anew. He got really close to the point where he could almost touch the money with his bare, bloody hands.
Yet the material loss doesn't feel so bad, not like he thought at first. Hell, he doesn't feel mad even if he wants to.
It's not the best scenery, but it isn't the worse either. He's sowing what he has reaped, what he can do at the moment.
His eyes spare a glance to the laying person next to him, still sound asleep, with the calmest expression Sang-woo has ever seen in days, and the shudder appearing in his back is just as soothing.
The authentic relief is still an alien feeling to him, but he doesn't try to deny it anymore.
After a one and half month, Gi-hun has finally calmed down a bit after discovering his mother's death, followed shortly by a funeral Sang-woo can't attend because it’s dangerous and he can’t show up to his own mother. Not yet. He still has to find a way to fix his life.
“Sang-woo, if we both give up, the game ends here.”
He should be angry.
“Let's go together. Please... let's go home.”
Maybe he should have killed himself instead of trampling on his own pride.
“I told you, didn't I? I can't leave this place without—”
He shouldn't have fallen in love with Seong Gi-hun. Things could have been easier.
“You don't have to leave this place empty-handed.”
But when he saw the way those eyes looked at him —like he was the only thing that mattered— he really wanted to indulge and take his hand.
“What do you mean?”
For the first time in his life —as his heart went crazy and his whole body ached and his bruised lips tickled— he felt important to someone who is not just anyone, but Seong Gi-hun.
That hasn't changed, not even now. His emotions are out, and he no longer has the mental strength to lock them in again. They're getting stronger with every day he passes here.
“Just come with me,” Gi-hun said with overwhelming conviction.
And that's what he did.
He allowed his sentimentality to rule him in a crucial decision… and it felt good.
This is irrationality at his finest.
His hand reaches the matted hair to caress it softly as a form to console himself.
He accompanies the idea by thinking about what Gihun told him the night before when his arms found their place around his chest and his face was resting on his right shoulder.
“I hope you don't feel pressured by anything, Sang-woo,” he started. “I brought you back here, but it is you who gets to decide what you want,” persisted while his arms tightened. “If you want to leave, I won't stop you. The only thing I want now is for you to make your life the right way.”
His fingers stop temporarily to check if Gihun's awake, but he only finds serenity in his face, right when he reminisces his bright, uplifting smile.
“I used to admire you a lot, I was really confident that you would get far, no—I still believe you can. You're the pride of Ssangmun-dong, the genius Cho Sang-woo of SNU. I know you can. I might not know how to do all these crazy things you do with numbers and probability but I'm sure—”
The uncertainty of not knowing what to do next terrifies him, he won't deny that.
“Gi-hun.”
But one thing is for sure.
“Hmm?”
He is back at the beginning of a new path that does not involve dirty money, but honesty and rightfulness.
“Thank you.”
He still has not left the alley, but apparently, he can already visualize the true exit of it.
“Sang-woo?”
His hand stops as his eyes immediately meet sleepy ones.
“Go back to sleep,” he says simply, unperturbed.
“Are you okay?” Gi-hun insists with his characteristic concern.
Instead of giving a short answer, he decides to offer a long, lazy kiss, as fatigue is slowly taking over his senses as well.
“Go back to sleep,” he repeats for the last time, before settling on his respective side of the bed.
After examining him for a fleeting moment, Gi-hun listens to him.
Unconsciousness finally affects him at once.
And the last thing he thinks is that maybe —just maybe— he's starting to understand what those people say about the right person taking out the best of you.
Although clearly, he still has a long way to go.