Archive of Our Own ^beta

Gihun is green. He always has been, and Sangwoo has never known anything else. Gihun is green - his voice tastes like the florist shop down three or four blocks. His laugh is like honey and cinnamon and freshly cut grass, and he's green. He's always been green. It's hard to explain to other people that Gihun is green, that every single time he speaks he tastes like it, tastes like familiarity and home and safety. Everyone has always laughed it off or made jokes about how Sangwoo just has a crush, and it's bullshit, and even at eight years old, Sangwoo is incredibly aware of how ridiculous it is. He knows better. Just because everyone else can't tell that Gihun is green and feels like cold air hitting his lungs, doesn't mean he's not all those things. 

Gihun loves it. He loves hearing about all the things that he is, that he tastes like and looks like and feels like and is. Sangwoo thinks that it's also ridiculous to sit down and talk about it, it's obvious, but he does anyways, because Gihun likes hearing him talk about it, and Sangwoo likes it when he's listened to. He rambles on and on about Gihun and his voice, how every single thing he does, is green, how he moves, how he talks, how he acts, how he is. He talks about how his mom is yellow, how Gihun's mom is blue, and how he's never met another person who's green like Gihun is. Gihun asks him all sorts of questions - how am I green? Do I look green? Sangwoo laughs, waves a hand, and shrugs. He explains the best he can, and is thankful for the fact that Gihun doesn't tell him he's wrong or interrupts, not even once. 

Sangwoo explains how flashes of green show up around his vision whenever Gihun talks. He explains how the taste of freshly cut grass settles on his tongue when he speaks. He explains how every single time he looks at flowers or takes a breath of freezing air, he thinks of Gihun. And the entire time that he explains, Gihun nods, his eyes huge with awe, jaw practically placed right on the ground. Sangwoo has never seen someone so happy to hear him talk, to hear him explain what they're like. He's eternally thankful for Gihun, for his stupid, awestruck face. For his laugh, for his voice, for him. 

They're only a few years older when Gihun gets in his first fight. The other boy he tackled was red, just like the blood staining Gihun's face and hand. Sangwoo stands in between the two of them, one hand carefully placed on Gihun's back, stupid fucking idiot, as he stares down the other boy. His shoulders are squared, he's about ten times bigger than Gihun could ever hope to be, and he almost definitely has a knife in his back pocket. He's red, tastes like burning trash from the way he yells and tries to pitch down his voice. Sangwoo thinks that he'd hate him even without the fact that he just beat the ever-loving shit out of his best friend. When he's gone, Sangwoo turns back to face Gihun, whose lip is split open. His nose is broken, his knuckles are cracked. Sangwoo blinks a few times, the bitter taste of blood filling his senses. It's uncomfortable to look at Gihun, the person in his life that's always been so green, and see red instead. 

"You're a fucking idiot," Sangwoo tells him. "He had a knife."

"He didn't do a good job of having a knife," Gihun tells him back, a stupid grin cracking his lips. His eyes are soft, the anger and pain in them having been swept away. Sangwoo is mostly convinced it's adrenaline, but he's also certain that at least a part of it is because of Gihun's natural idiocy. "I don't want to go home looking like this," he says, and that's all it takes for Sangwoo to sigh and sit his ass down on the concrete, rushing off with the promise that he'll be back with bandages and gauze and whatever else. The store he goes into is small, cramped. The clerk is the colour of the sky in the morning, which is an entirely new shade of blue altogether for Sangwoo, but he ignores that in favour of getting Gihun the things he needs. It doesn't take long, and Sangwoo is back in front of his best friend, tilting his head up, scowling at him. "Don't look at me like that. You look like my mom when she's pissed off at me."

"I am pissed off at you," Sangwoo mutters, tilting Gihun's head to the side. He winces, and Sangwoo internally does the same. "You could have gotten stabbed. You could have been killed, Gihun. Why would you even risk that? What did he do that made you act like a complete fucking dumbass?" He pauses for a second, running his finger under Gihun's lip, sighing at the blood that stains his thumb. "Do I even want to know?"

"He was making fun of you," Gihun shrugs, saying it so simply, as if it doesn't matter. "Didn't think that his fucking friends would decide to back his ass."

Sangwoo sighs, dabbing at Gihun's lips with the piece of cloth in his hand. "You didn't think at all, which is why you're a fucking idiot," he murmurs, wiping away the blood that's caked on Gihun's nose. "You don't have to get into fights for me. I don't want you to get into fights for me. Especially not if those fights hurt you this badly, idiot. You're lucky that no one else saw it. No teachers, or anything. I wouldn't have waited for you to get out of a detention."

"Okay," Gihun laughs, and Sangwoo really can't help but smile, just a little. Leave it to Gihun, bloody and bruised and stupid, to be laughing and smiling. It really is unbelievable how he can laugh even when he's hurt. "You worry too much, Sangwoo. You should relax more." Gihun gives him a slight shove, and Sangwoo shoves him back, and soon enough, they're both on their asses, because leave it to Gihun to distract the both of them from important things. 

Sangoo takes Gihun back to his house that night, explains to his mother that he fell face first on the concrete and was scared that she would think he got in a fight, and Sangwoo helped clean him up. Gihun's mother, deep blue, roaring thunder, the crashing waves on a beach, only sighs, shaking her head. "You're too kind to that boy," she says, but she's smiling, and Sangwoo entirely disagrees - Gihun is too kind to him. "Thank you for bringing him back home, Sangwoo. Tell your mother I said hello." 

And with a promise that he will, he shoves his idiot best friend into his house and walks back to his own, thinking that red is a horrible colour for Gihun. 

It doesn't take very long for Gihun to get into another fight. And then another. And all of Sangwoo's past promises and threats, I wouldn't have waited for you to get out of a detention, have been completely voided. He sits outside of the room that Gihun happens to be in this time, talks politely to one of the teachers there. Waits a little longer. Hears shuffling in the room. Sighs when he sees Gihun's stupid face, a fondness settling in his chest when Gihun grins at him, offering the sweetest, "Hi, Sangwoo!", and starts for the door. 

"Wherever he is, you're always close by, huh?" The teacher coming out from behind Sangwoo asks. He tastes like lemons. Sangwoo gives him a half-hearted shrug, and goes to follow Gihun out into the darkening night. Gihun already has a cigarette between his lips, and as soon as Sangwoo as at his side, Gihun is offering him one. Sangwoo takes it with another sigh, taking the lighter that Gihun provides for him a second later. 

They're quiet as they walk, and Sangwoo can't help but open his mouth and snap his jaw shut every few minutes. Nothing that he wants to say feels right, and Gihun clearly doesn't want to talk, or else he'd be talking, and he's not. Sangwoo leaves it as best as he can, shuffling awkwardly along the ground, blowing out puffs of smoke every couple of seconds. 

"You know," Gihun very suddenly starts, and Sangwoo jerks his head to look at him, raising both of his eyebrows. He's exhausted from an entire day of studying, waiting about an hour and a half for Gihun, and now walking back home. "I guess I don't really know how to even say this," Gihun sighs, pursing his lips together as he stops in the middle of the sidewalk. Sangwoo stops walking as well, turning to face Gihun fully. "I'm pretty sure that I really, really like you." 

Sangwoo frowns at him. "And I really, really like you too. I guess I'd have to, considering how I waited almost two hours for you to co-"

It's probably only a surprise for about a second when Gihun kisses him. Sangwoo kisses him back, mostly because it feels right, and he can already tell that Gihun has definitely done this before whereas he has not. It's hard for him not to stumble on his own stupid feet, because Gihun's voice tasting like flowers and frost and cinnamon is only amplified by Sangwoo kissing him. Sangwoo kisses him back, his heart doing that ridiculously stupid one-two thing that it does, twisting in his chest the longer that this goes on, the longer that he tastes flowers and cinnamon and sees green streaking his vision, and-

"Yeah," Gihun clears his throat, gently placing his hands on either side of Sangwoo's shoulders. Sangwoo steadies himself fairly quickly, pursing his lips. "That's what I meant when I said really, really like you. I want to do that more often. I want to kiss you a lot more than just once, Sangwoo. That's what I'm getting at. Fuck, man, I don't know if you even feel the same," Gihun laughs, moving one hand to place against his head, the bottom of his palm pressing against his forehead. "I, I don't know. I really can't tell. Do you?"

"Do I?" Sangwoo echoes, tilting his head at the question, a million thoughts whirling through his head, spinning. His head is screaming at him, mind blank, heart pounding, chest tightening. Green scatters across his eyes, and he blinks a few times. It doesn't go away, it never has, it never will. It's almost as if flowers are blooming around Gihun's shoulders, looping around his neck, decorating the sides of his face. "I never thought about it before now," he admits, reaching out to touch the side of Gihun's face, mildly surprised when he doesn't feel the flowers he sees underneath of his hands. They're gone as soon as he moves, and he mentally notes that as something new. "I thought about how I felt, sometimes. How I'd get pissed at you when you'd kill yourself getting into stupid fucking fights," Sangwoo continues, running his tongue along his teeth. The taste of cinnamon lingers on his tongue, settles at the back of his throat. "I figured that was normal. I figured me wanting to take care of you was normal."

And maybe it would be normal, a simple act of friendship. But Sangwoo has had friends, friends that taste like dust and books and grey and the warmth of sunbeams early in the morning, but none of them have ever, and will ever, be anything like Gihun. Gihun, who is green and tastes like cinnamon and frost and feels like freezing cold air pushing against his lungs. Gihun, who is green and has flowers blooming in his hair. Gihun, who is green and feels like home and safety and familiarity, and maybe, if Sangwoo thinks about it, love. 

It would be normal for a friend to take care of their other friends, if they were anyone but Sangwoo. Sangwoo has never cared about the fights that his other friends get into. He ignores the bitter, chill-inducing taste of blood that fills his mouth just by looking at it. He ignores their blackened eyes and broken noses and cracked lips and split knuckles. Why would he? That's none of his business - if they get into fights, that's their own problem. And yet just today he spent nearly two hours waiting for Gihun to get out of his fifth detention in the past two months, because why? Because they're friends? It doesn't make sense. It doesn't add up at all, and Sangwoo prides himself on always being able to figure out patterns and sense when things are different, but it seems like he's taken a page out of Gihun's book, and has decided to be a complete fucking idiot. 

So Sangwoo leans forwards, just a little, and presses a sort-of kiss to Gihun's lips. Gentle, soft. Frost fills his lungs, cinnamon dancing along his tongue, all the way down his throat, settling. Fireworks are set off in his mind, green of all sorts of shades, and when he opens his eyes, there's just a slight haze of green around Gihun, swadling him, and it's perfect, really. It's the best thing in the world, it's the best thing that Sangwoo has ever done, will ever do, and so he kisses him again. And Gihun kisses him back, and they really shouldn't be doing this in the middle of the sidewalk while it's December, because Sangwoo hasn't even bothered to acknowledge the snow falling around them, settling in Gihun's stupidly long hair, falling down onto his shoulders. Sangwoo's hands are going numb, but he's burning hot, burning warmer than the sun, ignited, Gihun's warmth wrapping around him like a blanket, burning, burning, burning. 

Sangwoo lets himself get burnt, and it's the best feeling in the entire world.

But of course, most things in Sangwoo's life don't last. He promises Gihun he'll keep in touch when he goes off to SNU. But he doesn't. He loses contact nearly immediately, stress pressing down on him at all angles, threatening to suffocate him. And once Sangwoo tries to take a breath, it floods his lungs, and he's drowning. It's around that time that he starts to pile up on debt, panicked spending, money flying from hand to hand, disappearing all too quickly. He's burning, and he's burning out, and it's the worst feeling in the entire world. 

Green disappears from his life soon enough, not fading out slowly, but blinking out all together. The taste of frost and cinnamon against his lips has been gone for months now, and Sangwoo really only tastes rubber and ash, coating his tongue, settling down on his chest. He's gasping for air every second of his life, studying harder and harder with every day that passes by. He pushes through, starts ignoring phone calls and texts instead of looking them over. Soon enough, those phone calls and texts stop coming through. It's slow at first, the decline, but it only takes another month or so without any contact with anyone from before, from now even, before they trickle out altogether. 

There's a couple in the room across from him. He buys her flowers. Sangwoo is taken back to that night in December, snow falling all around them, flowers blooming around Gihun, and it's the first time that he tastes the beginnings of frost and cinnamon on his tongue, his lips burning and tingling. He bites down on his tongue until he tastes blood, bitter, chill-inducing, and he stops thinking so much of green. It's exhausting, every single day of his life is more exhausting than the last, but he keeps going. Sangwoo drags his feet along to the point where he's convinced he's going to fall and never be able to pick himself back up, but he keeps going. Keeps persevering, keeps trading money from hand to hand, keeps asking for more borrowed time, keeps ignoring the texts and calls from every single person he thinks that he's ever loved.

And it works. 

Sort of. 

By the time that he graduates, top of his class, he's millions in debt. He's hidden it well, better than some of his other classmates, who are approached by brokers and lenders in the middle of the street, their slimy grins staining Sangwoo's mind. He swears that every single lender is the same person, because they all have tasted like lead and acid and hate to him, flashes of yellow-orange-red dancing around them when they speak. They move like predators, they are predators, picking off every single person, their goddamn prey, that can't move fast enough anymore. Sangwoo keeps fighting them, false promises leaving his mouth that he'll pay them back soon enough, that he'll give them their money, and they only smile at him with their yellow-stained teeth, tapping a sheathed knife against his cheek, "You better, pretty boy."

Sangwoo works as much as he can, but living requires money, and god knows how good he is with that. He borrows more and more and more, right up until he's burning alive, until he's drowning, until he can't take a breath without water filling his lungs even more. He's a fucking mess, and it's a goddamn miracle that he's somehow alive. Texts and calls flood back in, and this time, Sangwoo makes the mistake of looking. His heart pounds in his chest as he reads Gihun's name, a stupid fucking heart emoji saddled at the side of it, from all those years ago, from before, from when he was still alive. 

I heard you graduated - top of your class ?! From SNU ?!?! I'M SO PROUD OF YOU SANGWOO !! LOVE YOU ALWAYS !! XX

Sangwoo screams until his throat is raw. He screams until he tastes blood, bitter and shaking and his heart is pounding so hard that it hurts. Sangwoo screams until he's coughing and crying, laying on the ground in his apartment that he hasn't cleaned in months, curled up there on the floor, sobbing as he pulls his knees up to his chest. Rage and sadness and hurt and disgust and every single awful emotion fills his mind, twisting around his throat, pulling back. It's a different feeling to drowning - it's worse. His lungs are emptied off all of the water previously in them, and are replaced with air so cold that they freeze over, and he can't cough anymore, because his throat is frozen shut. His hands are numb, his entire body tingles and prickles with the cliche pins and needles feeling. 

Sangwoo pushes himself off of the ground, still gasping and shaking for air, still crying, still hurting to the point that he wishes it would go away forever, and stares at his phone on the ground. He stares at it for longer than he should, hands trembling by his sides. He crouches back down, picking up the stupid fucking piece of plastic, and holds it close to his chest and face, breathing so laboured that it's a goddamn shock that he's still alive. And with his trembling hands, he starts to type out a message, a moissac of apologies and pleading and asking for forgiveness, but he deletes all of that, because Gihun isn't going to care about that. 

He knows Gihun. He knows that there's no way he's changed. Sangwoo knows that, and he knows even better than that that he doesn't deserve to do this. He should put his phone down, throw it at a wall and watch it shatter. But he doesn't do any of that. He backtracks until his fingers are numb from overuse, typing and retyping and deleting and going back again, but he manages. It's not even a paragraph long when he sends it, tears still streaming down his face, burning cyan, digging little scars into his face, choking him from inside of his throat rather than outside. A broken laugh escapes his throat when his message is instantly read, wiping away a few of the tears that stain his face. 

YOU'RE ALIVE !!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

OH MY GOD !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I THOUGHT THAT YOU HAD DIED ON ME, YOU BASTARD !!!!!

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU ???

Sangwoo laughs again, laughs for the first time in years, wiping away his tears more and more as Gihun starts to type again. Even over text, Sangwoo can hear him perfectly well, and there's no sort of anger lingering in his voice. Green dances around his vision, the taste of frost and cinnamon settles on his tongue and deep inside of his chest, and it's warm, he's warm, and he's burning again. But this time, it's the best sort of burning in the entire world. 

Where the hell are you? I'm coming over. You can either give me an address, or I'll find it. Your choice, Sangwoo !! :D

And it's so Gihun, so him, that Sangwoo starts to cry again. He doesn't even consider saying no. He responds with his hands still shaking, sits there in the middle of his floor in his trashed apartment, waiting. He doesn't bother to try and scramble to clean it - Gihun isn't going to care. It's only about thirty minutes before there's a pounding at his door, one that sounds too eerily familiar to the lenders and brokers. 

"Sangwoo! Open this door right now! I will break it down! I swear to god, Sangwoo, I will kick this door down, and I will do it right now if you-" 

Gihun is two seconds away from slamming his fist down against the door again, judging by how his arm is raised back. Sangwoo just stares at him, his stupidly long hair having gotten longer, the beginnings of a beard and mustache on his face. He looks more tired, exhausted in the way that his shoulders slouch, but as soon as Sangwoo sees him again, that's gone in an instant. It's almost as if a bolt of lightning strikes him with how fast he shoots up, his eyes widening, a grin stretching across his face. Every single one of Gihun's features is electrified, excitement so obviously coursing through his veins, and Sangwoo hates himself more than he ever really has in that moment. 

"Hi." Sangwoo says, because it's all that comes to mind. There are a million things that he should say, that should be tumbling off of his lips, but there's nothing. Only a simple greeting that he thinks will never feel like enough. 

"Hi," Gihun says back, and that's really all it takes before Sangwoo is being crushed to death in his arms. He melts against the man in front of him, holding him tightly. He wants to stay there as long as he possibly can. "I missed you so much," Gihun whispers against his ear, squeezing him harder and harder. "I get that you were busy, but I thought, you know. Maybe you stopped wanting to talk to me." 

"No," Sangwoo whispers back, voice cracked and broken. "Never. I...got busy. My phone broke. I couldn't afford a new one." The lies fall out of his mouth with a practiced ease, and his gut twists with each one, aching every single second after. He doesn't know why he's lying to Gihun. Gihun, who spent the past few years hearing nothing about him. Gihun, who kept texting and calling even after years of fuck-all. Gihun, who at the first chance he got came running right back into Sangwoo's life. 

"Clearly you've gotten a new one," Gihun laughs, pulling back enough so that Sangwoo can see his face. "Look at you! You're so...old!" 

Sangwoo laughs, and seeing the way that Gihun's face lights up is enough to bring him back to life.

A few months go by before Sangwoo moves again, debt catching up to him, and he stops talking to Gihun. He disappears without a trace, uprooting his life all over again, and he doesn't bother to feel bad about it. 

Sangwoo finds himself about to get on a train when a man approaches him, a wide smile on his face, clean-cut hair, eyes sparkling. Sangwoo is uncomfortable, but his interest is piqued as soon as the man, a salesman?, offers him money. Just to play some stupid children's game. Sangwoo agrees, because he always used to kick Gihun's ass at ddakji. The salesman is better, though. And when Sangwoo loses, a pit of exhaustion rather than dread settles in the bottom of his stomach, because there's another person who he suddenly owes money. He opens his mouth to offer the same lies he offers everyone else, that he'll pay him back soon, but the salesman just smiles at him, that haunting smile that makes Sangwoo increasingly uncomfortable. 

"You could pay with your body."

Sangwoo is three seconds away from leaving and just not paying, fuck that, but the salesman slaps him. And Sangwoo jerks right back around, fury bubbling up in his chest. He grabs the stupid fucking piece of paper off of the disgusting subway ground, and squares his shoulders, narrowing his eyes sharply right back at the salesman. 

"You go first."

And he loses. 

Again. And again. And again. And again. 

He loses so much that his face burns red, the salesman sickly purple voice dancing around in his mind, an overwhelming scent of lavender flooding his brain and wrapping around his cortex, but Sangwoo keeps playing. Because he's going to have to win eventually, he needs that money, and fuck it if he has to lose all feeling in his face before that happens. 

Sangwoo wins. And in the moment, he's close to raising his own hand and slapping the salesman as hard as he possibly can, but he doesn't. He stands there, face stinging, chest heaving, and waits to be handed his money.

"There are other games," the salesman says, his voice leery and sickeningly sweet. Fake. "Like this, children's games, that you can play to earn even more money." 

Sangwoo doesn't believe him for a second. 

"That's bullshit."

"I can assure you, Cho Sangwoo," the name rolls easily off of his tongue, and Sangwoo feels a rod of electricity go down his spine, his fight or flight instincts kicking in full force. "It isn't bullshit. Here," the salesman hands him a card, one with a number and three shapes - a circle, triangle, and square. "Just think about it, okay? We don't have very many spots left." 

And then he's gone, leaving Sangwoo there with a burning face, the scent of lavender still fresh in his mind, and a card that feels like a million tons in his hands. 

Sangwoo calls nearly a day after the lavender salesman gives him the card. He's given a password, red light, green light, and is told to wait at a specific location. 

He does.

A van pulls up by his side, and Sangwoo provides the password. He's allowed in, and as soon as he gets comfortable, he hears gas hissing from around him. Smoke fills the van, and before Sangwoo can struggle or clamp his hand over his mouth, he's passed out, his last thoughts being of how the hell Gihun is going to find out about his death. 

But Sangwoo wakes up, and when he does, he's not in his own clothes. He's in a green and white tracksuit with the number 218 embroidered onto it. He's up and off his bed in an instant, eyes scanning the room as quickly as he can, falling on a woman and a man in the center of the room. The man is five times the size of the woman, circling her even as she's on the ground. He's shouting something, attracting a crowd, and Sangwoo starts to make his way over there, something metallic settling on his tongue. He quickly puts together the pieces when he sees a deep indigo around the yelling man, his face twisting in disgust. He tastes like burning trash, just like the first boy Gihun got in a fight with. 

"You!" 

And somehow, so suddenly, just in the span of a second, Sangwoo's life gets worse. 

Green dances on the edge of his vision, cinnamon burning down his throat, and he stumbles back as Gihun appears in the circle, grabbing the girl by the collar of her tracksuit. Screams something about her being a pickpocket, about his money, and then he's slammed to the ground with her, the indigo man stalking around both of them now. Sangwoo internally swears, shoulders set back. Every single fight that he's witnessed Gihun get in, he's stopped. Ran right into the middle of it, held his status and favouritism among teachers over their heads. That means nothing here. But that age-old, undying ache to save Gihun settles deep inside of his chest, and it's almost more painful to stay back rather than to jump in.

It doesn't seem like Sangwoo even needs to step in, judging by how Gihun is prancing around like a fucking idiot, shouting about how the indigo man is trying to kill him. Even from his spot as far away from the middle of the ring, Sangwoo can see the glimmer in Gihun's eyes, clear as day. He's a fucking idiot, but he's a smart fucking idiot. Even if right now he seems like he's anything but, Sangwoo knows better. He knows that stupid cleverness that shines bright behind his eyes, the quick thinking that Gihun hides behind a mask of normalcy and averageness. Gihun is a fucking idiot for certain, Sangwoo has never met anyone who lacks so much common sense, but he's smart. 

Smart enough to realize soon enough that he knows someone in here. Gihun's number reads 456, and no matter how hard Sangwoo looks around, he doesn't see a number higher than that. If there's only four hundred and fifty-six people here, there's an excellent chance that Gihun will be able to find him, be able to recognize him. Sangwoo starts to back away even more when the doors slam open, men in pink pouring in. They say nothing for a concerning amount of time, enough time to make anyone uncomfortable. 

The first man, the man who has a square on his helmet rather than a circle like the rest of them, starts to speak. "Hello, players. I would like to extend a welcome to you. Everyone here will all participate in six different games over six days in total. Whoever wins will be rewarded with an incredible sum of money." His voice is obviously masked, and Sangwoo winces at the taste of it. Overwhelmingly bitter, like how the word cyanide tastes, poison pumping through his veins. It's harsh red, burning his eyes, and Sangwoo feels like a million wasps have swarmed his mind, stinging him over and over and over again. 

Before he can even say anything, a man who is all too close to him opens his mouth. "How the hell do you expect us to believe you?" He asks. "You fucking kidnapped us, got rid of all of our belongings, and now we're expected to just believe you? How the fuck is that supposed to work?"

"Those procedures were enforced solely to ensure you all safety while being brought here," the square man says, his voice grating against Sangwoo's ears more and more. "Once the games are over, we'll return everything to you, completely intact and unharmed." 

"And why are you wearing masks?" A woman from in front of him asks. Sangwoo tries not to focus too much on her, on anyone. He's lost track of Gihun, and he's mildly terrified that something is going to give him away. Something that'll make Gihun know it's him. 

"We are not disclosing the faces of any of the staff or management here. It's for the sake of security and fairness among everyone." 

Security and fairness.

All of Sangwoo's resolve and fear of being know is out of the window in an instant. "I don't trust a single word you just said," he sneers, pushing his way forwards just a little. "Enticement, abduction, confinement," he lists the words off, ticking off his fingers as he goes. There are definitely more crimes going on here, but he isn't sure if those ones are obvious enough for everyone else to know by heart, not like he does. "After all of that illegal activity, all you have to give us are these shitty excuses. None of this makes sense, and it's all incredibly, without a single doubt, illegal. Give us one good reason why we should trust you." 

The guards say nothing for a long time. Not as long as the first time when they first came in, but still long enough to make Sangwoo shift a little on his feet. 

"Player 218, Cho Sangwoo," the room goes dark, and on the screen at the top of the room, Sangwoo sees himself. Sees himself on his way to SNU, sees himself getting slapped by that fucking salesman. Sees himself slowly dying. "Age forty-six. Former supervisor of team two at Joy Investments. Embezzled money from his clients, invested it in derivatives and futures, and failed. Current loss," the guard with the cyanide voice pauses, as if he's smiling, as if he's enjoying this. "Sixty hundred and fifty million won."

And just like that, the room falls silent. Sangwoo stands there, hands shaking at his sides. 

The guard starts back up again, listing off people in the room, announcing their debts, announcing who they are, what they did, everything about them. When he stops, the room is dead silent, quieter than before, and it's awful. Sangwoo stares firmly down at the ground, stares at the stupid shoes that they've provided him with, and waits for something to happen, for someone to speak, for anything. "All of you are in crippling debt," the guard finally says after a few more seconds of deafening silence. "You are all teetering dangerously close to the edge of bankruptcy. When we first went to you, you didn't trust us. And then we offered to play a game, and we offered money along with that. We gave you the money you won as we promised that we would. And so you trusted us, trusted us enough to come here. You have volunteered to participate out of your own free will. You have one last chance to decide on if you want to go back to your old lives, running away from creditors and lenders. Or will you take this last opportunity?" 

Sangwoo sneers at the guard, rage building right back up in his chest. This isn't free will. By definition, sure. But it's fucking not, because they don't have any other goddamn choices. What are they supposed to do? Go back out onto the streets and get fucking murdered by their debt collectors? Go back home to a family they can't even afford to have, let alone feed? There's no other option than this one. There is no other choice. All of them here have to do this, they have to go through with it, because what the hell else are they supposed to do?

He swallows back his anger, red-hot and tinted orange at the sides, and waits. No one says anything for a long time, longer than the last time, and it's driving him insane. Sangwoo quietly wishes that he hadn't even bothered to speak up, but it's definitely a little too late for that now. He just hopes that out of the four hundred and fifty-six players, he's well hidden enough for Gihun to not be able to locate him.

"What kind of games are we playing?" A man to his right asks, far away enough that Sangwoo can't see him over the crowd of people. He's a deep blue, though. Sangwoo can tell. Calming, crashing waves. Gentle, like the sound of a storm. His voice rumbles, akin to the sound of older trains and railways. His voice tastes like the ocean and feels like winter, everything about him a calming, comforting cold. Despite Gihun's green being the most intense colour and feeling Sangwoo has ever had, this man is a close second. Some stranger, someone he'll never know. 

"For the sake of fairness, we cannot and will not be disclosing the games to players."

"Excuse me," Sangwoo stiffens at the sound of Gihun's voice, sharp yet gentle on his ears, an easy familiarity washing over him. "Just how much is the prize money exactly? How much are we winning?" 

The masked man clicks that stupid remote in his hand, and from above, a golden light shines down. Sangwoo flinches at the brightness, having been in the dark for so long, but he doesn't look away. A piggy-bank comes down on a rope, and he can't help but roll his eyes. How fucking stupid. 

"The prize money will be accumulated throughout the six games. The amount will be revealed to everyone after the first game."

Bullshit. 

"Those who do not wish to participate, please speak up now."

And Sangwoo isn't at all surprised when there's nothing but silence.

They're lined up in four lines to sign a waiver, which Sangwoo expected. He reads over it as soon as he's at the front, carefully making note of the clause that allows them to leave if the majority of players vote to go. 

He signs. 

Sangwoo waits near the back of the room for new instructions, shifting on his feet as he leans against one of the beds, narrowing his eyes as he watches the other people. He keeps a mental note of some of them, like 101, who had been the man at the beginning. There's 67, who was the woman getting thrown around. She looks dangerous, more so than even 101. Less likely to stab him in the throat, probably, but more likely to con him. She's smart, clever, cunning. He can tell just by the way that she walks, how she strides with purpose, but doesn't attract any attention to herself. No wonder she pickpocketed Gihun with such ease. To be fair, Sangwoo thinks that most people could pickpocket Gihun without even trying. 

It only takes another few minutes before they're herded into another four lines, this time with the purpose of having their picture taken. Sangwoo doesn't smile when the mechanical, yellow, chittery voice instructs him to. He spares a look back, and finds that no one else is smiling, either. From there, they're taken up into a colourful, blocky room, filled with doors on the walls and ceilings, stairs leading to dead ends. It makes Sangwoo's heart beat a little faster in his chest as he makes his way through it, the blocky shapes oddly off-putting.

When they finally seem to reach where they'll be playing, Sangwoo can't help but scoff. It's a wide open field with painted walls, and a massive doll about a quarter of a mile ahead of them. There's a large tree from behind said doll, and a clearly painted pink line in the dirt, which Sangoo figures is the finish line. He crosses his arms as he waits, carefully scanning the field for rocks or any sort of dip. He can't see any from here, but he refuses to assume that there aren't any - that would be profoundly stupid, and something that Gihun would do. 

Sangwoo shifts a little more on his feet as he remembers that Gihun is somewhere around here, somewhere in the same space as him. Sangwoo can do his absolute best to avoid him, but there's no guarantee that he'll be able to do that. He's always had a hard time avoiding Gihun, even when he's wanted to. Sangwoo doesn't know if he wants to now or not. He thinks that he does, because there might only be one winner after all of these games, and Sangwoo really, really needs the money, no matter how much it is, it'll help. He thinks that if it's a lot more than what he owes, he'll give some to Gihun. The idiot deserves it. 

The idiot deserves the world, truthfully, but Sangwoo tries his best not to think about how often he declined Gihun a part of his own. He thinks that he had to, that he had to cut Gihun out. Sangwoo was doing awful things to repay every single debt collector and lender he had ever spoken to. If they found Gihun, or, godforbid, his mother, Sangwoo doesn't know what he'd have done. The ones he dealt with weren't violent, not really. Angry, aggressive, always flaunting their status and images. But they wouldn't have killed anyone, including himself. Sangwoo can't help but be unsure about that now, though. 

"Sangwoo!" 

And just like a train slamming into him from behind, Sangwoo staggers forwards, gripping his chest with his hand, heart rate soaring up far faster than it ever should. He closes his eyes, swallowing back his fear and pain, ignoring the red-hot, years-old wounds being ripped open. Ignores himself being ripped open from the seams, ignores the blood that settles at the back of his throat, ignores the metallic, bitter taste. Ignores everything until it's impossible not to, until Gihun's hand is planted firmly down on his shoulder, squeezing, until-

"You know, out of every single place in the entire world, I never thought that I'd find you here," Gihun laughs, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, pulling Sangwoo close to him, as if they're still friends, as if they're still lovers. The word tastes so wrong on Sangwoo's tongue, whereas it used to taste sweet, bubbling over like chai tea. Now it's bitter and full of hurt and anguish, but its stupid pink-tinted-yellow colour is still the same, quietly flashing behind his eyes. He doesn't deserve to even think of the word, not after everything that he did to Gihun. Not after everything that he'll continue to do. Because even if neither of them win, even if they're both let out of here with nothing in their pockets, Sangwoo is just going to go right back to the way things were. "You alright, Sangwoo? You're kind of spacing off. And before the first game, too?" Gihun clicks his tongue a few times. "A shame, really." 

"I'm not spacing off," Sangwoo responds, his hands still shaking. "Just thinking."

"Which is the exact same as spacing off," Gihun grins at him, pulling away his arm after a few seconds. The familiar warmth remains, because of course it does, of course it does. The world is just reminding him yet again of the warmth he left behind. "What do you think this is?" Gihun asks, tilting his head to the side. "I'm kind of thinking that it might be like, you know," he shrugs. "Red light, green light. It looks a lot like it. With the finish line and all that, and the whole," Gihun waves a hand. "Password, thing. Kind of almost seems too obvious for that, you know?"

Sangwoo shrugs, breathing in through his nose. "It might be. Let's talk more after, okay?" 

"Okay," Gihun smiles at him. "But we're going to talk."

That promise rings in Sangwoo's head as the game is announced, as the first man who messes up is shot, as he dies on the floor in front of them all, as dozens of people scream and try to run, as Gihun is paralyzed with fear, as Sangwoo sees his life flash behind his eyes, as a metallic, bitter taste floods his mouth and makes him want to vomit.

And when he finally tumbles across that finish line, terror deep in his chest as he watches Gihun stumble forwards, only to be saved by a man who absolutely didn't have to do that, Sangwoo wonders just what the hell he's going to do now. 

The first thing that Sangwo does when they're all led back to the rooms they started in is find Gihun. He finds him within seconds, grabs him by his stupid tracksuit collar, and holds him tighter than he's ever held anyone in his entire life. Losing means death. There are five more games to go. Five more games, five more chances for Gihun to die. Sangwoo doesn't really care about himself anymore, not after he felt himself die all of those years ago. He wouldn't care if he died for real, if he physically died, but he does care about Gihun.

Sangwoo reminds everyone about the voting clause. The guards let them go, from the highest number to the lowest, which means Gihun is first. And as Sangwoo expected, as he hoped for, Gihun says no to the continuation of the games. The next women votes yes. And so and so forth, over and over again. By the time it's his turn, the votes are tied. Sangwoo's hand hovers over the red 'x', thinly veiled terror gripping him. He needs the money. He really, truly, needs the money. If he goes back out there, if he goes back out onto the streets, he'll just keep adding on more and more debt. 

He doesn't have a choice.

He doesn't think he ever did. 

Sangwoo pushes the green button, and stalks to the other side of the room, his chest heaving as he stares forwards, watching the votes. He wants to stay for himself. He needs to stay for himself. There's nothing that he can do to fix his life other than stay here. But there's a part of him, an arguably bigger part of him, that is desperately wishing that the votes to leave get the majority. For Gihun. 

Sangwoo thinks that it's funny how pressing that green button felt nothing like Gihun. He associates green entirely with that man, to the point where he can't see anything green and not think of Gihun. But for the first time in his entire life, Sangwoo saw something green, truly and utterly green, and felt nothing but disgust and unfamiliarity deep inside of his chest. 

He just hopes that Gihun can forgive him for this. That Gihun can understand. That somehow, someway, Gihun can be aware of the fact that Sangwoo didn't have a choice. 

But deep down, Sangwoo knows that he doesn't deserve that.

And an aching, all-too-loud voice in his head reminds him that he never will. 

Sangwoo is dumped out on the side of the road with the man who saved Gihun's life. 

"Sir, do you possibly have a phone that I could use? I promise that it won't be very long, sir." 

Deep blue floods his mind, the rumbling of a train, distant storming, tastes like the ocean, calming, comforting. Sangwoo doesn't pay much attention to the way that people look or taste or whatever the fuck his mind provides him with, other than the people who he can see and taste strongly. And this man, this stranger, was the second strongest Sangwoo has ever had in his entire life. 

He says yes. 

The man stumbles into the store by his side, disappearing down an aisle to call whoever. He speaks in a language Sangwoo doesn't know, but he doesn't bother focusing in on his voice too much, though deep blue edges his vision the entire time. He buys food for the both of them, mostly as a thank you to the man for saving Gihun's life, even though he clearly doesn't seem like he wants anything. The man stumbles out of the store with his phone a few minutes after Sangwoo left, pushed himself up against a wall and lit a cigarette. It's been months since he last smoked, considering how it got too expensive. 

He feels like he definitely deserves a cigarette or two or five for what he's just gone through. 

"Thank you so much, sir! Do you, do you happen to know where we are, sir?" 

Sangwoo rolls his eyes, taking another drag of his cigarette. The man is far too polite, far too kind. Sangwoo looks around, sighing. "We're in Yeouido. Do you live here?" 

"I live in Ansan, sir." The man bows his head again. Sangwoo raises his cigarette up to his lips again.

"You have money for the bus?" 

"What? No, sir, no money."

"Then how are you going to get to Ansan?" Sangwoo asks, turning fully to face him now. 

"I'll walk, sir," the man offers him a smile, jerking his head to the side. "I'll just walk, it's okay, sir." 

Sangwoo breathes out, letting his shoulders slouch back. "No, wait," he holds up a hand, reaching down with his other hand to pull out his wallet. A bus fare isn't going to be much, but god knows how little money the man has on his own. If he had no money on him when he came into the games, Sangwoo doubts he has anything back home. He quietly reminds himself that this is for Gihun, that it's worth it. Being kind isn't something Sangwoo has had time for, not since he started racking up more and more debt. But for Gihun, and for the man who saved Gihun's life, Sangwoo can try. "Here. This should be enough for you to get a bus fare, and a little more. It's not much, but it'll keep you fed for a day or so." 

The man stares at him, his eyes huge. "Oh, no, sir. I can't take this," he shakes his head, holding up both of his hands. Sangwoo makes note of how he's missing a few fingers on one of them. "Truly, I'm so thankful for your offer, but I can't take your money, sir. That's not right."

"You saved my..." Sangwoo swallows. Friend? Best friend? Ex-lover? None of those feel quite right. "You saved my best friend's life. 456, the man who was about to fall. You saved his life, even when you didn't have to. You risked your own life in the process," Sangwoo takes another step towards him, pressing the money into the man's hands. "This is the least that I can do for you."

"Of course, sir," the man beams at him, looking so sincere and genuine. "I would have done it for anyone, sir. No one should ever have to die like that. Thank you so much, sir. Thank you!" The man bows his head again, and Sangwoo just smiles back, looking up at the sky. It's cold tonight, colder than it has been recently. Sangwoo shifts on his feet as he realizes that it's around the time of the year that Gihun and him first kissed. 

He ignores that as best as he can. 

The man is gone soon enough, and Sangwoo begins his walk back to his apartment. It doesn't take him long before he's there, slamming the door shut. He throws his glasses off, sighing when he hears them crack against the wall. He'll buy new ones with borrowed money, just like he always has, and probably always will. 

Sangwoo slips into bed, quietly wishing he had bothered to buy another blanket all those years ago, and closes his eyes. He doesn't sleep, his mind filled with green and red and panic, and his incredibly old thought, all those years ago, of how Gihun looks awful in red, is right back at the forefront of his mind. 

Sangwoo is sat in his bathtub with all of his clothes on, contemplating on if he wants to live another couple of minutes or just give up now, when there's a knock at his door. It takes all of his effort and energy, but he trudges out of the bath, only to find a card being slid under his door. 

Circle, triangle, square. 

From there, it's only about a day before Sangwoo is standing in the exact same location as last time, settling into a van. He doesn't bother to try and stop himself from inhaling the gas this time. 

And just like that, Sangwoo finds himself right back in another kind of hell, rolling off one of the beds, stumbling to his feet. The majority of people are already awake by now, and Sangwoo sighs, hanging his head for a second as he tries to fully wake himself up. His head is foggy, but not foggy enough for him to have any real issues with moving. 

"Gihun," Sangwoo spots him first this time, talking to some old man. He wanders over towards the two of them, trying his best to not drag his feet as he goes. "You came back."

"So did you," Gihun smiles at him, eyes soft despite everything. Despite every single thing that Sangwoo has done, Gihun somehow always manages to look at him with those soft, gentle eyes, unwaveringly kind. "I didn't think I would," he admits, tilting his head to the side. "A lot of other people came back, too. I guess everyone had a hell of a time trying to figure shit out out there, huh?" 

"Yeah," Sangwoo sighs, turning to look up at the board at the top of the room. A hundred and eighty-nine people. "I-"

"Good sirs!" Sangwoo turns to face the man who saved Gihun's life, deep blue clouding around him. "I'm glad to see you again!" He beams, though Sangwoo can tell that he's nervous, just by the way he walks, how he holds himself. Sangwoo understands - he's scared out of his mind, too. Not for himself, obviously. For Gihun. 

"Holy shit," Gihun laughs, a wide grin breaking his face. "It's you! My guardian angel! My savior!" 

"It's good to see you again, sir," the man beams right back at him. "And you, sir," he dips his head when he turns to look at Sangwoo, and Sangwoo quietly sighs. He doesn't need to be addressed as sir every five seconds. "Thank you so much again for the bus fare."

"You gave him money for the bus?" Gihun asks, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. Sangwoo shrugs, shifting uncomfortably on his feet at the sudden amount of attention he's been given. 

"He said he'd walk from Yeouido to Ansan. I figured since you weren't dumped off with him, I'd be the one to thank him for everything that he did for you." For us, Sangwoo adds in the back of his mind.

Gihun's grin fades into a gentle smile as he leans back against the bedpost, crossing his arms against his chest. A mannerism that's never seemed to go away, clearly. "Hey, actually," Gihun pauses, and Sangwoo watches him carefully, sees the gears and cogs inside of his skull turning rapidly. "There's the four of us right now," he starts. "And who knows what we'll be forced into playing? We should form a team. A group, just in case."

"You're right," Sangwoo agrees, dipping his head. "It's better to have a team and be prepared than to not. I suppose we should know each other's names if we're on a team," he sighs, glancing around at the other three. "Cho Sangwoo." 

"Seong Gihun," Gihun introduces himself, bowing a little as he does so. "And you?" 

The man, deep blue, crashing waves, calm, gentle, smiles. "Ali Abdul, sir." 

Ali, Sangwoo thinks, is blue. Even his goddamn name is blue. He looks towards the old man, who struggles, opening and closing his mouth for a few moments before Gihun assures him that it's okay, and that they'll come back to that later. They're instructed to get lunch, and as soon as they're back from the lines and at their beds, Gihun starts rambling about how the rice is cold, how he remembers his school's stove, and Sangwoo tries his best not to choke. 

He remembers the stove, too. Gihun burnt his fucking hand on it every single time, because he's a fucking idiot. He got in his first fight the day after his hand had finally healed up from burning it so badly. 

"You remember that too, don't you, Sangwoo?"

"Of course," Sangwoo agrees, glancing towards the other groups that have slowly started to form. There's a pack of men far too close to them, one that has 101 in the midst. The pickpocket, 67, is close by, though she's clearly alone and lurking around 101 for whatever reason. They obviously have a history, but Sangwoo isn't going to bother interfering with it. "We should be trying to figure out what the next games are," he says as he picks at the rice in the tin container, stomach still twisting from how much he drank only a few nights or so ago. "So we can prepare."

"There's no way of knowing," Gihun sighs. "I'm assuming they're all children's games, since the last two that we played were. But there are way too many to even try and pick from," he sighs again, pursing his lips together in a way that sends Sangwoo straight back to that night in December. "I mean, that's only a few of them," Sangwoo frowns, realizing that he's been spacing off for the past few seconds. "And for the girls, I don't know. Elastics? That's the only one I remember. Most of the girls played with us."

"Kicked your ass, too," Sangwoo smiles. "You were shit at most of the games we played."

"I don't know any of those games," Ali murmurs, his eyebrows creased together. "I've never heard of them or played them before." 

Sangwoo stares down at his rice for a few seconds. "That's fine. They're all children's games, so they're simple. If you don't know a game or don't know what to do, we'll tell you the rules. Don't worry about it too much." 

He doesn't know when he started to be more kind, but he assumes that it has something to do with Gihun, because of course it has something to do with Gihun.

It always does.

It always will. 

Sangwoo stands in front of four options - circle, square, triangle, and an umbrella. 

In the middle of the night, he had been woken up by 212 refusing to leave 67 alone, begging for information on what she saw "up there", and Sangwoo was quick to pounce on the opportunity. Judging by the smell of sugar and mixing of yellow liquid, Sangwoo is pretty goddamn certain that it's dalgona. 

Gihun is asking him what one to pick. Sangwoo closes his eyes, quietly thinking. If it is dalgona, circle or triangle would be the best. Umbrella would be the absolute worst. He opens his mouth, and-

"I think we all should pick one," the old man says, voice scratchy, orange, harsh. Sangwoo hates listening to him. "I'll pick the star."

"Okay," Ali nods his agreement, pointing to the circle. "I'll take that one." 

Fuck. 

Sangwoo can't pick umbrella. He'll fucking die. But Gihun can't pick that one either, or else he'll die, and Sangwoo can't let that happen, he's promised to not let that happen, but-

"I'll take umbrella, then?" Gihun offers, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, I don't see why not. Bit of an odd shape to be put with three normal ones, but whatever. Is that okay with you, Sangwoo?" 

It isn't. It's not okay, not even in the slightest. 

Sangwoo nods. "I guess I'll take triangle." 

And then they're all gone, wandering off to their shapes, and Sangwoo is left standing there, his heart racing. He should have told Gihun. He should have told Gihun. God, he's a piece of fucking shit. Pathetic, useless. Sangwoo makes his way to the triangle, body heavy, hard to move. He never should have let Gihun take umbrella. He should have offered up himself, he should have made the old man trade with him. Sangwoo should have done a million things, but he didn't, and now he's going to be the one who has to live with the consequences. Sangwoo takes his triangle and sits himself down at the wall farthest away from the guards, opening his tin. 

He spots Gihun close to the slide, and desperately wishes that he'll make it through. Sangwoo isn't sure what he'll do if Gihun doesn't survive. 

Gunshots fill the air, and Sangwoo keeps a close eye on Gihun the entire time. He watches him carefully, and when he raises the hardened sugar up to his mouth and starts to fucking lick it, Sangwoo is pretty sure that he'll be okay. He finishes his triangle, holds it up to a guard, and is let through. 

It's music to his ears, a phrase which he fucking hates, when he hears, "Player 456, pass."

Five meals go missing in the middle of their next mealtime. Sangwoo is convinced there'll be a fight. Gihun, of course, picks up another stray - 67. Offers her a spot in their team, tells them all to meet up at his bed if anything happens. 

And something does happen. Sangwoo knew it would. A woman screams, but that's cut out shortly after, replaced with gurgling. Then panic really starts to set in, with everyone else shrieking and screaming and running, and it's horrible. Bitterness fills his mouth, and Sangwoo is shaking before he knows it, shivering as the taste of blood goes down his throat. Sangwoo is up and off his bed in an instant, the lights flashing all around him, He hears screaming from all angles, but none of it is familiar, not-

Gihun's scream pierces the air. Sangwoo starts to run. 

The lights flashing suddenly become his biggest ally in this entire fucking hellhole. He spots Gihun just a few feet away from him, a man with a metal bar standing right in front of him, about to hit him directly on the back. Sangwoo runs as fast as he can, slamming into the man as hard as possible. The man drops the metal beam, and Sangwoo is quick to grab it, raises it over his head, and slams it down on the man's shoulder. A cry of pain escapes the man's lips, and Sangwoo hits him again, just to make sure he's not going to try and get back up to chase them.

"Sangwoo!"

"Gihun!" He whirls back around, slamming the metal beam into another man's face, watching as he tumbles to the ground. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Gihun breathes out, nodding rapidly. "I'm okay. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," Sangwoo confirms, pressing himself close to Gihun for a second, eyes quickly scanning the area. "Have you seen Ali or the old man?"

Gihun shakes his head, and Sangwoo doesn't have enough time to raise his bar to hit the man speeding full force at them. He braces himself, putting himself in front of Gihun, but the man is tackled to the ground the next second. Sangwoo can't help but smile a little at the sight of Ali, pulling the man back up to his feet and throwing him practically halfway across the room. "Sir! Are you okay?"

"We're alright, Ali," Sangwoo confirms, his chest heaving. "Are you?"

"Yes, sir, I'm okay," Ali confirms, gripping Sangwoo's arm tightly. "I couldn't find the old man, I'm sorry, sir."

"It's fine," Gihun nods at him, starting to move again. "We'll find him when we reach where we said we'd meet up. Let's go."

Sangwoo grabs Gihun by the arm and starts to drag him, fairly certain that Ali isn't going to have a hard time keeping up with the two of them whatsoever. He keeps moving until he's face to face with another man, swinging his metal beam back, connecting it with the man's face. He drops, and Sangwoo keeps moving, Gihun's arm still in his hand, Ali still right behind them. He reaches the old man's bed, heaving a sigh when he sees that there's no one there. 

"Fuck," Sangwoo whispers, turning back to face Gihun and Ali. "He's not here. I don't know where else he'd have gone to."

"That's...okay," Gihun nods, and despite the bitter taste of blood flooding his mouth and throat, cinnamon starts to spread across his tongue. "We'll find him when the lights are turned back on, okay? For now, we just, we just gotta survive until then. Ali, there's a metal bar right by your foot. You can probably use it better than I can."

"That's bullshit and you know it, Gihun," Sangwoo scoffs. "I didn't spend years of my life sitting outside of your detentions for you to claim to not be able to use something in a fight." 

Gihun just grins at him, his eyes alight with something. "I stopped getting into fights when you stopped showing up to save my ass, Sangwoo. I've been pretty goddamn clean for the past couple of years. Hey-" Sangwoo stiffens when someone runs towards them, prepared to start swinging, but Gihun raises a hand at him. "You're here." 

67, the pickpocket. Of course. Sangwoo is surprised that she even bothered to come. 

"You told me to," she mutters. "Figured it would be better than dying."

"Sir, miss, watch out!" Ali shouts, and Sangwoo barely has any time to react as Gihun shoves 67 to the side, dropping to the ground immediately after. 101 comes barreling forwards, his shoulder slamming into the bedpost instead of Gihun, like it would have if he hadn't dropped. Sangwoo swings at 101, but feels an arm wrapping around his throat, tugging him back. He struggles, kicking as hard as he can to get out of being strangled. 67 shouts out next to him, he hears Gihun yelling, and Ali is screaming something, but he can't focus, because he's dying. 

Sangwoo gasps for air as soon as the pressure is off of his throat, directing a quick glance over to 67, who's throwing a man to the ground. She gives him a look, nodding her head once, and Sangwoo dips his own in return, a silent thank you passing between them. The peace doesn't last for very long, and Sangwoo is back to slamming his metal beam into another man's shoulder, watching him crumple to the ground. Ali is doing the same, bashing his own bar down on someone's back. Sangwoo has lost track of 101, but judging by how everyone else he cares about is in the same vicinity of him, he thinks 101 is gone. For now, at least. 

Ali is at the front of them, and Sangwoo glances to his right, seeing Gihun and 67 side by side, Gihun supporting her. He focuses his gaze back ahead, gripping the metal beam in his hand even harder, staring down 101 and the other four people that stand behind him. 

"What's the problem, Ssangmundong?" 101 sneers, his lip curling upwards. "Fewer people is good for you too, dumbass." 

"She's on our side," Gihun snarls right back at him. "Idiot." 

Sangwoo jerks his head to the side when he hears the old man's grating voice against his ears, orange, bitter, disgusting. He's begging everyone to stop, screaming from his place on the top of an unfallen mattress stack. His shouting and screaming only goes on for another couple of seconds before the doors are being flung open, guards storming into the place, guns drawn. 

Exhaustion floods Sangwoo's body, and he slowly drops the metal beam to the ground, wondering if it would have been better for him to be just another body. Silently, he's resentful now for 67 saving his life. Sangwoo doesn't want to die, not really. He doesn't want to be murdered, he doesn't want to die from something completely out of his control. But dying in general, dying to his own hands, he'd be fine with that. It would make everything so much easier. 

But Sangwoo isn't dead, and he doesn't have a reason to be dead, so he holds himself together the best that he can, even when they're all being searched and sent off to bed, to lay on broken mattresses stained with blood. 

Sangwoo doesn't think he's ever been more thankful for Gihun's green in a sea of red.

67's name is Saebyeok. Gihun pushes them all into introducing themselves again the next morning, and Sangwoo obliges without arguing too much about it. 

They're led out again after eating breakfast, and his body aches so badly that he's half-convinced he's not going to be able to play whatever game they'll be throwing at them. But Sangwoo knows that he has to, so he perseveres, walking through the halls with Gihun by his side, Ali and the old man trailing after them, Saebyeok bringing up the end. In the next area, they're instructed to get into teams of ten. Sangwoo instructs everyone to bring back at least one person, since that'll make five. He adds on to bring men, purely because he doubts needing ten players is going to be for something relaxing, and he also hasn't seen very many women other than 212. Sangwoo really, really does not want to have to deal with 212 on his team. 

Gihun disappears first, and then Ali, and Sangwoo stalks the area out, trying his best to find someone who isn't taken. He brings back one man, smiles when he sees that Ali has done the same. Gihun comes back eventually with another person, and then Saebyeok is there, quiet as ever, with a short woman by her side. Sangwoo reminds her of his incredibly clear instructions, only hesitating when the woman that Saebyeok brought back threatens to leave. Sangwoo doesn't miss the way that Saebyeok grabs 240 by the arm, pulling her back down. 

"Come on, Sangwoo. Let's just get to ten."

"No one is going to want to volunteer to join us," Sangwoo shoots back at Gihun. "The teams are all going to be made up in a few minutes, and we'll have to take whoever's been left ov-"

"I am not a left over! Boys, let me grace you with my presence, okay?" 

And there's 212, right on fucking time. 

Sangwoo closes his eyes, and wills Gihun to be able to deal with this for him, because he's not sure he can do it without committing a couple crimes. God so help him from brutally murdering their only option of a teammate before the goddamn game even starts. 

The clock strikes zero, and they're led into a different room, one with two raised platforms in the sky, a rope between them. It becomes glaringly obvious what game they'll be playing, tug-of-war, and Sangwoo feels all of the oxygen leave his lungs. 

Fucking excellent. Fucking great. Maybe he'll spend the entire fucking game pushing 212 off of the platform instead of trying to win, because there's no goddamn way in hell that they'll be winning this. He reaches out, planting his hand down on Gihun's shoulder, staring up ahead at the stupid platforms in the air. Gihun looks at him, and Sangwoo feels a warmth over his own hand a second later, jerking his head back down, staring firmly at the yellow lines painted on the black floor. 

"Hey. We'll be okay. We've got this, okay?"

"We don't," Sangwoo scoffs, scuffing his feet against the floor. "We're going to lose."

"With that mindset?" Gihun clicks his tongue, shaking his head a few times. "Absolutely. You need to think like a winner, Sangwoo. What's the point in getting this far if we're only going to lose now? Let's get that money and get the hell out of here, alright? Stop being a bitch," Gihun's tone turns sharp, and Sangwoo stiffens, dropping his gaze again. "I'm serious, Sangwoo. If you think that we've lost already, then we have. Stop it."

"Okay," Sangwoo murmurs, holding up his hands in defeat. "I'm sorry."

"Good," Gihun nudges him with his shoulder. "You should be. Now, I want to hear your real thoughts. About how we're going to win, 'cause we're the best team here."

"Gihun. I'm not fucking doing that."

"Uh, yes, you are. Positive thoughts, Sangwoo. Or else I won't believe you."

"Gihun." 

Gihun grins at him, his eyes bright. "Come on. It's either that, or you tell me all about how I'm green, like we did when we were kids, in front of everyone. Unless that changed?"

Sangwoo is going to kill him. "It doesn't change, idiot. You're still green. And fine," he breathes out, looking at the platforms again. "We're going to win. We'll be fine. We're a good team." 

"There we go," Gihun gives him a wide smile, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. Sangwoo lets him, crossing his arm against his chest as he stares ahead. There are a few teams that Sangwoo thinks they can take out. He stares at 101's team, silently hoping that they don't have to face off with them. Sangwoo knows that Ali and Gihun are strong, and he's seen Saebyeok throw a man halfway across a room, but that was after the fighting had been going on for a while. They were all high on adrenaline, and while Sangwoo also knows that he's going to have adrenaline coursing through his veins in only a few minutes, he's still nervous. "Hey. Stop spacing off," Gihun murmurs. "You need to be present."

"I am present," Sangwoo shoots back, irritation pooling in his chest. Gihun isn't taking this seriously, which is ridiculous, because they need to be taking this seriously. If they don't, they'll fucking die. It's almost as if Gihun doesn't understand the consequences of losing, and it's pissing Sangwoo off, because how the fuck can he be so calm about this? Sangwoo has done nothing but stress over Gihun and how to keep him alive, he's done nothing but be terrified that Gihun will die. He's done nothing but try his best to keep Gihun alive, even ever since they were kids. The honeycombs were just a mistake, he couldn't...he couldn't have done anything there. "101's team is going to win this one." Sangwoo says, mostly as a distraction. 

"Yeah," Gihun agrees. "At least we didn't get paired up with them, right? That's good. That's always a good sign," Gihun takes a step back, leaning on his heels, arms crossed against his chest. Sangwoo stares at him for a few seconds, taking in everything about him. He's taller than he had been back when Sangwoo was still drowning and dying at SNU. His hair is longer, the longest that Sangwoo has ever seen it. His eyes are a little sharper, a little more narrowed, but they're still trusting. Even Gihun's goddamn body language is trusting, other than his arms against his chest, and Sangwoo doesn't understand it in the slightest. Gihun has never made sense to him, but especially not right now. "Hey, old man. Do you have any words of wisdom before it's our turn?" 

The old man smiles, his eyes sparkling just a little, and citrus floods into Sangwoo's mouth as soon as the old man opens his own. "Strategy and teamwork," he starts. "It isn't at all just about strength. If you go in there thinking that it is, you'll lose no matter how strong you are. You need good teamwork, good communication. You have to cooperate with your teammates and listen to them. You have to work together. I always won tug-of-war when I was younger," he pauses, taking in a low, shaky breath. "You need a leader. Someone at the front of everything, someone you can trust, someone who will listen to his team. If the leader looks like he's giving up, or if he feels weak, then the game is lost." 

"And who should be the leader, then, sir?" Ali asks from behind him. "I don't think that I'd do a very good job of it." Sangwoo thinks that Ali would do perfectly fine, he's arguably one of the strongest people here, given how he supported Gihun's entire weight with just one hand, but he doesn't argue against it. If Ali doesn't think he can do it, then he won't be able to. If he's already thinking that he'll fuck up, then he will, since the thought is already in his mind. 

It's something Sangwoo is intimately familiar with. 

"Gihun," Sangwoo offers. "I think it should be Gihun." 

"Me?" Gihun stares at him, eyes widening ever so slightly. "Are you sure? I mean, I, I'll do it. I'll do it, but if there's someone better than me..." 

Sangwoo rolls his eyes. "There isn't. Gihun's our leader. What next, old man?"

"Well, at the end of the rope, you'll need someone strong, someone dependable. Like an anchor on a ship," Sangwoo immediately looks to Ali, crashing waves, and Ali seems to understand what he's saying. He nods, offering a silent smile. "You need to place people right, too. One on the left and one on the right, with the rope in the middle. If you stand in a straight line, you won't get anywhere. You have to place both of your feet parallel from each other, one on either side of the rope. Hold the rope under your arm, so you'll be putting all of your strength into it. And, most importantly," the old man leans forwards. "You need to hold for ten seconds."

"Hold? Isn't that what we're doing already?" 240 asks, raising an eyebrow. Sangwoo nods, staring at the old man, waiting for him to keep talking. As much as he hates the taste of citrus in the back of his throat and orange dancing along the edges of his vision, he needs the old man to keep talking, to finish what he started saying. 

"Yes, but not like this. Every single person on your team will lean back, like you're almost laying down. Bend your head back, almost so you can see the person behind you. It's going to be almost impossible to get pulled like that. Hold that position for ten seconds, and that's when your opponent will start to get flustered, angry. They're going to be confused, upset. They're going to slip up in that ten seconds, because they're pulling and pulling and pulling, and you're not moving. And as soon as they do slip up, you surge forwards, give it all of your strength, and start pulling. That's how I won every single game of tug-of-war I played when I was younger." 

Sangwoo stares at him. The advice seems sound enough, but there's only one way to know for sure. There's only one way to be entirely certain, and that's by doing it. Sangwoo nods, and marches into the elevator when their team number is called out. He gets a look at the other team, scanning over all of them. They're nothing special, not really. Just people. Just enemies. Sangwoo thinks that if he keeps thinking of everyone in here as other people, if he reminds himself that they have families and friends and homes, he'll never win. 

They're not people anymore - they're enemies. Opponents. Prey. 

Sangwoo isn't a person anymore, either. He can't be if he wants to survive. He needs to survive. The other team is composed of other players, and that's all they are. They're not people, they're players, just like him. They're players who are hoping that he'll die so they can move on and succeed. They're players who would do anything to kill him. They're players who have to die. They're players who Sangwoo has to kill. 

When the elevator finally stops, Sangwoo is right behind Gihun, getting his arms shackled to the rope. He lets out a low sigh, swallowing back the bitter taste of blood that wafts up from under the platforms, from the previous losing team. Sangwoo isn't going to be just a body. He's going to win. 

Gihun gets himself in place, and Sangwoo does the same. He hears the others shifting and shuffling behind him, and he waits until they're all silent before he lets out another breath. He watches the other team carefully, sees how they're all in a line, how they already look like they're ready to start pulling. Sangwoo tightens his grip on the rope, squares his shoulders, and waits for the gun to fire. 

And it does.

Sangwoo launches himself back, digging his heels into the ground. He feels Gihun's head barely hovering over his stomach, and he doesn't feel anything else other than his muscles straining to hold the rope. There's no movement, he isn't slipping at all. The other team is screaming, angry flashes of red and purple and white, but Sangwoo ignores all of them, keeps himself focused, keeps staring up at the ceiling above him. It's been five seconds, six, seven. 

It's nine when Gihun screams at them to start pulling, and it's ten when Sangwoo does. He jerks the rope back, standing up like he had been, and starts to pull. Gihun is doing the same, tugging on the rope with all of his strength, and Sangwoo doesn't have time to admire how Gihun really only seems to have gotten stronger since the last time that they really spoke. He keeps pulling, keeps going, his hands aching from the scratchy rope against his palms, but he keeps moving. 

But the other team is doing better now, they're getting their shit together. They're pulling back harder, and Gihun starts to move forwards, and so does Sangwoo. They're too close to the edge for his liking, too close to dying, and Sangwoo desperately works his mind for any sense of a plan. 

Moving forwards is a death sentence, but not if they do it fast. Moving forwards, giving the enemy team no resistance, will send them flying back. 

"When I say go, take three steps forwards!" Sangwoo screams, his throat already feeling raw and bloody. 

"Are you fucking insane?" 212 screams back, her voice directly in Sangwoo's ear. 

"We have to make them trip!" He shouts, panic flaring up in his chest. "Just fucking do it! Do you want to live? Then listen to me!"

"Sangwoo graduated top of his class, business, at SNU!" Gihun adds on, ever so helpfully. "If he says to do something, you do it! I'm the leader, and I'm telling you to listen to Sangwoo! No matter what he says!" 

Sangwoo is unbelievably thankful for Gihun in that moment. "Now!" He screams, taking three steps forward, watches as Gihun does the same. Gihun's foot goes over the edge, and Sangwoo feels a spike of terror go through his body. But Gihun hasn't fallen, he's just hovering right over death. The other team has fallen to their asses, and Sangwoo realizes that they're not quite getting back up yet. "Pull back!" He shouts, and he starts pulling. Sangwoo doesn't focus on getting the other team off of the platform - they've definitely already won in that aspect. He focuses on pulling Gihun back, pulls him right off of the edge, and only starts to breathe again when both of Gihun's feet are firmly planted back on the platform. 

The other team falls off of the edge, screaming and pleading, but as soon as they do, the rope surges forwards. Sangwoo shouts, desperately trying to pull back, but this is exactly what he did to the other team. How the fuck is he supposed to survive that? The edge gets closer and closer, even with all of them pulling, but Sangwoo's adrenaline was fading out as soon as the other team fell, and dear god, he's going to lose despite all of that, and he can't lose, not now. 

The rope is cut.

Sangwoo falls, head hitting the ground underneath of him harder than he'd like. Gihun is on top of him, head resting directly on Sangwoo's chest. He stares up at the ceiling, his head pounding, blood pumping through his veins and pounding in his ears. He gasps for breath, shaking so hard that he's convinced he might never stop. Everyone else around him is doing the same, desperately trying to breathe and get oxygen back into their burning lungs. 

"We did it," Gihun whispers, his voice creaking on the words. "We won."

"We did," Sangwoo whispers back, throat raw, painful. "We did."

By the next game, Sangwoo is less exhausted. His chest still hurts, his hands burn, and his body is tired, but overall, he isn't as exhausted as he had been. They're led out into another room, a lot like the last one, and are instructed to get into pairs of two. Judging by how the last game was pitting people against each other, Sangwoo wouldn't be surprised if it was the same again. He also wouldn't be surprised if they were pairing them up, only to have one of them die. 

Because of that, that brief, fleeting thought, Sangwoo turns to Ali immediately. He doesn't even look at Gihun. He sticks out his hand, and Ali shakes it, and they're partners. Gihun looks at him with a look of pure confusion and betrayal, and Sangwoo can't hold his gaze. He sits with Ali in silence, watches as Saebyeok immediately goes up to 240, watches as they're paired up. 101 is talking to someone, and they shake hands. Everyone is getting together, shaking hands and claiming their partners, and Gihun is left alone. Sangwoo watches as he approaches the old man, his shoulders slouched, watches as they shake hands. 

At least he has a partner. 

Unlike someone. 

212 is screaming as she's dragged out of the room, begging for them to give her a chance, to let her go into a group, that they can't do this to her. Sangwoo quietly hopes that she'll be eliminated on the basis of not being able to find a partner, just so he doesn't have to deal with hearing her ear-splitting shrieking voice every couple of minutes. He trails after Ali as they're led out into the playing field, one that has broken down brick walls, houses, stairs, and a red and orange sky above them. It's warm in a way that it shouldn't be, the air feeling sticky. Sangwoo takes a bag from one of the guards, watching as Ali does the same. As soon as he finds a spot, he sits down, motioning for Ali to do the same. 

Sangwoo opens his bag, and sighs at the sight of marbles. He stares up at the sky when the intercom announces that they'll be playing against each other. When he looks back at Ali, Ali is staring right back at him, his eyes huge. 

"Sangwoo, sir, we're..." he trails off, looking like he's on the verge of tears. "We have to play against each other? I don't know any games for this, sir." 

Something deep inside of Sangwoo's chest stirs, shifting. Ali isn't a person anymore. He stopped being a person as soon as they shook hands and walked out into the playing field. Ali is an enemy. Ali is someone who would do anything to get Sangwoo to die. Ali is just another person who has to die for Sangwoo to keep living. 

The deep blue of Ali's voice is still calming, still comforting. Just like a blanket. Sangwoo ignores it the best that he can, quietly explaining how to play one of the games. He dumps four marbles into his hand, and closes it into a fist, bumping his knuckles against Ali's. 

Ali claims even. 

Sangwoo is tempted to lie, but he doesn't. Something inside of him is telling him not to, so he doesn't. He gives Ali his marbles, and puts three in his hand the next time. 

Ali claims odd.

And Ali just keeps winning. For someone who's never played a game of marbles in their entire life, Ali is doing really fucking well. Sangwoo assumes that it's just beginner's luck, but it might not be. Ali is clever, he's smart. He might have never really announced it, since he didn't have to. He could be cheating. Sangwoo doesn't know how he'd be cheating, but if he is, Sangwoo isn't going to stand that. He can't lose.

He can't lose.

Sangwoo stands, grabbing Ali by the collar of his tracksuit, screams right in his face. Snarls at him for cheating, right up until a gun is placed directly at his temple. His mind clears, just a little, but not enough to keep himself from coming up with another plan. He apologizes, asks Ali for his bag. Says how the other teams are probably figuring out ways that they can both win, says that they're probably going to have to face off against each other in the end. Takes Ali's bag, and when his back is turned, dumps the marbles into his hands. 

Fills the bag with rocks.

Sangwoo smiles at him, placing the back around Ali's throat, claiming that it'll be safer like that. 

Ali smiles right back at him, nodding once, and then he's off doing what Sangwoo said to do, looking for other groups, for weak groups. 

Sangwoo deposits the marbles into his bag, strides over to the guard that was two seconds away from shooting him. 

"I have all of my opponent's marbles," Sangwoo tells him. "I didn't use any sort of violence. You never specified if I had to win in a traditional game." 

The guard doesn't say anything for a long time. He eventually nods, taking Sangwoo's bag from him. Sangwoo starts to move towards the exit he's directed to, but Ali's voice stops him dead in his tracks. Sangwoo stops moving entirely, doesn't even breathe. A gun clicks. 

"Sangwoo," Ali's voice is barely a whisper, barely anything. Ali isn't a person, Ali isn't a person, Ali isn't a person, Ali isn't a person, Ali isn't a person. "Sangwoo. Why?" He asks, and Sangwoo says nothing, staring down at the ground. He can't say anything. Not now. "I...I see. Thank you for, for being...for being my friend, sir."

Sangwoo chokes. He's about to turn around when the gunshot goes off. 

"Player 199, eliminated."

Sangwoo is eternally thankful for the fact that he didn't choose Gihun as his partner. He's even more thankful for the fact that Gihun went with the old man, who isn't here. Gihun is, though. Gihun lived. He isn't saying much, mostly trapped inside of his own head it seems, and Sangwoo is okay with that. Saebyeok hasn't said anything, either. She's kept to herself on a bed far away from everyone else, and Sangwoo is fairly certain that she's been crying. Out of all of the people here that he expected to cry, he didn't expect Saebyeok to be one of them.

Sangwoo quietly sits down next to Gihun, offering a sort-of support. Gihun doesn't say anything, only shifts a little closer to him, and Sangwoo is fine with that. He sits there in silence, his hands folded in his lap, and thinks about everything that he's done, all of the things he's had to do, the people he's killed, both voluntarily and involuntarily. All of those people in tug-of-war, he had to do that. He didn't have a choice. He isn't sure if he had a choice with Ali, either. He's not sure. Sangwoo doesn't think that he did. Nothing that he does here is really up to him, it's up to the guards and to the people running everything. He can't stop playing, or else he dies. He can't refuse to participate in the games, or else he'll die. Ali had to die for him to win. 

But Ali didn't have to die like that.

Sangwoo very quickly purges those thoughts, replacing them with his old ones, just before Ali's death. Ali isn't a person, no one in here is a person, they're just players. Just enemies, just players who want him dead, just players who are trying to kill him. Sangwoo breathes out, dipping his head. 

"His name was Oh Ilnam," Gihun whispers, voice so quiet that Sangwoo barely can hear it. "The old man. His name was Oh Ilnam."

Sangwoo nods, not sure what to say to that. Gihun shouldn't remember that. He shouldn't be carrying the old man's name with him. Gihun won, he did whatever he had to to win, and that's all there is to it. He shouldn't be hanging onto memories and ideas of what could have been, what had been. Sangwoo thinks that he should stop thinking of Ali altogether, that he should entirely erase the man's name inside of his head. 

But he knows that no matter how much he tries to erase Ali's name, he'll never look at a shade of blue the same way again. Every time he hears a train's rumble, he'll be reminded. He'll hear the beginnings of a storm, and he'll never be able to forget. That sense of calmness he always felt with Ali by his side is never going to go away, no matter how much he tries to get rid of it. 

"We can buy a headstone for him, if you want. Send some of the money off to his children if we have enough left over," Sangwoo murmurs. Gihun only hums his agreement, and Sangwoo feels Gihun rest his head on his shoulder, shifting closer to him. Sangwoo feels a wave of disgust wash over him, because Gihun would never be doing that if he understood what Sangwoo did. But he has to understand, surely. Sangwoo did what he had to do to stay alive. Ali stopped being his teammate the moment that they were pitted against each other. "You should rest."

"I guess," Gihun whispers. "I don't want to do this anymore, Sangwoo. I don't want to be here anymore. I thought I wouldn't make it every single round, and I'm still here. I don't know what that means. Why am I here when half of our goddamn team has died? We were forced to make a team, we got close, and then we were forced to kill them. To choose who lives, to choose who dies. How is any of that fair?"

"You're here because you keep winning," Sangwoo mutters. "You're here because you survived, you're strong. You deserve to be here. If they can't figure out how to win, if they lose, that's their fault, not ours. We're only doing what we have to do to survive. So are they. We're just better at it." 

Gihun lets out a long sigh. "That's not true. They deserve to be here as much as we do. They just got unlucky."

"Then you're lucky, idiot. Why are you so hellbent on thinking you should be the one dead?" Sangwoo moves away from him, pushing himself off of the bed. "What's the point in thinking about the past right now? You're alive, Gihun. You're living. You are breathing. You're breathing, you're alive, and you're fucking lucky that you are. Stop acting like you shouldn't be." 

"It's just not fair, Sangwoo," Gihun moves off of the bed, stalking to stand in front of him. "Why the hell are you acting like it's okay? None of this is okay! Ali is dead, Sangwoo! Ilnam is dead! That girl that Saebyeok paired up with, 240? She's dead, too. Everyone is dying, people we care about are dying, and it doesn't make you upset? Not at all, not even a fucking little bit? Sangwoo, what the hell is going on with you?" 

Sangwoo turns away, giving him a half-hearted shrug. "That was...that was the past, Gihun. We have to move on. We have to keep going. What good does it do for me to be upset?"

"It makes you a fucking person, for one," Gihun sneers at him. "God, Sangwoo, I know that this place is awful, but there's no way that you're just...deciding to not feel anything. You can't do that. You stop being a person when you start doing that. Sangwoo, come on. What's wrong with you?" 

"I'm fine, Gihun," Sangwoo snaps at him, irritation pulsing in his veins. "So what if I'm not upset? I had to win. We stopped being teammates the moment that the rules were announced for that game. I had to win. He was trying to win, and so was I, and I just ended up winning, Gihun. I won, he didn't. So what? So what? Me wanting to survive makes me less of a person?"

"No," Gihun starts, his voice dropping. "You know what makes you less of a person, Sangwoo? The fact that you won't even say Ali's fucking name."

Sangwoo breathes in, turning his head to the side. Gihun just scoffs, and then he's walking off, disappearing up to Saebyeok's bed. Sangwoo stays standing there until the lights turn off, and he wonders if Gihun hates him. 

He wonders when he stopped caring if he did. 

Sangwoo is behind a man who claims to be able to see the difference between tempered glass and normal glass. He gets down on his knees, points to the left, and says that it's that one. The man jumps, doesn't die, and crouches back to his knees. Just minutes before that man took the lead, 101 and 212 were on the same piece of glass, right up until 212 wrapped her arms around 101's waist, and moved to the edge. Sangwoo thinks that he should be thankful for that, that she ended up taking care of the problem, that she got rid of 101, who was easily one of the biggest threats, but he's not. 

Sangwoo is just tired. Tired of the games, tired of arguing with Gihun, tired of hopping from glass tile to glass tile. 

The lights suddenly go off, and the man in front of him starts to panic, Sangwoo can tell. He asks for something to throw, and Saebyeok taps him on the shoulder, depositing a marble in his hand. Sangwoo takes it, passing it off to the man, and they all move forwards. They're only one away from the finish, and the time is less than thirty seconds. The man can't see in the dark, they have nothing to throw, and the time is running out. 

There's fifteen seconds, now. 

Sangwoo isn't going to die. The man can't tell, and Sangwoo isn't going to die. 

"I guess there's one other way of finding out." Sangwoo murmurs, shoving the man as hard as he can. He crashes through the glass with a scream, and Sangwoo moves to the unbroken last tile, racing up to the end. Saebyeok is there next, with Gihun following. 

"Sangwoo-" 

Sangwoo snaps his head back to the beginning of the glass tiles, eyes widening when he sees that the glass is exploding. He jerks his body back, but not before a piece of glass slashes his cheek, another piece getting stuck in his forearm. He hisses out in pain, hand rushing up to wipe at the blood on his face, that bitter taste flooding his mouth again. He pulls back his hand, staring at his bloodied fingers, and feels his chest heaving. The lights flicker back on, and they're all instructed to go back to the room between the games. 

He starts to walk, ignoring the silence that follows him as Saebyeok and Gihun trail after. He's the first in the room, but Gihun is quick to catch up to him, grabbing him by the shoulder, whirling him around. Sangwoo lets him, shoulders slouching as he stares at Gihun. He has a cut under his cheek, just like Sangwoo. He's got a piece of glass in his leg, but it isn't deep, not really. The one thing that really strikes Sangwoo is the way that Gihun is looking at him, disgust so evident on his face, eyes narrowed sharply in anger. 

"Why the fuck did you do that, Sangwoo? What the hell was that for? He could have lived!"

"He was taking too much time," Sangwoo murmurs, dropping his gaze for a second. Gihun speaking still leaves green at the edge of his vision. Still makes him taste cinnamon on his tongue and frost at the back of his throat. Still reminds him of that florist shop three or four blocks down from where he used to live. Still reminds him of flowers. "You chose the last number, out of what? Luck? Does that make you feel generous, Gihun?" Sangwoo sneers, leaning closer. "If you were in my position, would you have just let him sit there and wait? He was never going to move."

"He would have!" Gihun shouts, moving closer and closer until Sangwoo takes an involuntary step back. "It was the last fucking tile," Gihun snarls. "He was clearly about to move."

"Oh, and how can you be so fucking sure?" Sangwoo shouts back, pushing back against Gihun. "He could tell the difference from the beginning, but he just sat back and watched people die," he scoffs. "What do you make of him now, Gihun?"

"In the end," Gihun starts, "he was the only goddamn reason you and I made it across. He's the only reason that we survived. I don't know why he didn't say anything. But when he did say something, it helped us. He helped us. He did that. He didn't have to, and yet he did. He helped us, and you killed him."

"That's fucking bullshit, Gihun," Sangwoo snarls at him, grabbing Gihun by the collar of his shirt. "I don't know about you, but I didn't survive because of him. Maybe you did, but I didn't. I didn't survive because of anyone. I've survived all on my own."

Gihun scoffs, shoving him back so hard that Sangwoo stumbles. Gihun is still strong, strong as he ever was. "You're a fucking liar, Sangwoo. You're a fucking liar, and I..." he scoffs again, shaking his head. "Whatever excuses you have are unimportant. Either way, you killed an innocent man. You murdered someone today, Sangwoo. I can't believe you're okay with that." 

"How about you get a fucking grip, Gihun?" Sangwoo throws a hand up, motioning to the money. "We have to kill everyone else to get out of here. Shouldn't you be thankful that I'm the one actually doing it so you can sit on your fucking throne and come up with moral arguments? So you can feel like a good person?"

"We?" Gihun takes another step forwards. "There's no we in this, Sangwoo. If it were me," he pauses. "Would you still have pushed?"

Sangwoo stares at him, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. If it were Gihun, would he have done the same? He would have had to. "Goddammit, Gihun!" Sangwoo jerks his head to the side, turning around so he doesn't have to look at him. "Do you know why your entire life has always been so goddamn fucking pathetic? Why you're so goddamn fucking pathetic? Because you ask the dumbest fucking questions in situations like these. All you ever do is get in the way of other people's business, 'cause you're too fucking stupid to stay away." 

Gihun grabs him again, whirling him right back around, his hand tightly gripping Sangwoo's shirt collar. "Sure," he agrees, and Sangwoo doesn't know if the look in Gihun's eyes is anger anymore. "I'm too fucking stupid to do anything right. It's my fault I'm here. All of this is my fault. I'm a fucking idiot, and I know I am. But you know what I'm not, Sangwoo? I'm not a monster. I'm not like you. I'm a real human being, a person. And isn't it hilarious," Gihun sneers at him, "that the pride of Ssangmundong, genius who graduated at the top of his class from SNU, is here with me? Tell me, Sangwoo. Is that my fault, too?"

Sangwoo is only a second away from screaming at him when the doors open, four guards stalking into the room with boxes in their hands. 

They announce that they're going to have a reward, and they've been instructed to put on the outfits provided with them. Sangwoo is the first to take his box, disappearing into the bathroom without saying another word to Gihun, to anyone. He gets into the bathroom and stumbles to the mirror, looking himself in the eyes.

His reflection doesn't look anything like him. His hair is fucked, he's bleeding out of a cut on his face. His eyes are fucking crazy, wild. 

Sangwoo looks in the mirror, and a monster looks right back at him.

At the end of dinner, Sangwoo pockets the knife that's placed in front of him. 

It's so obviously just a part of their games, but he does it anyways. He takes it, and he watches as Gihun does the same, sees that Saebyeok's knife is already gone. 

Sangwoo has a plan in mind, and he thinks that it should make him sick. That he shouldn't be able to keep the steak he was given down. That he should be throwing up, that he should feel awful even thinking about it. But he doesn't. Sangwoo doesn't feel a single goddamn thing, and he's going to make the most out of that. They're led out of the room, right back to where they had been, and Sangwoo immediately goes to his bed. Saebyeok is on another bed a little far away from him, but he can still get to it faster than Gihun would be able to stop him.

But of fucking course, Gihun goes over to Saebyeok's bed and sits there. Their voices are too quiet for Sangwoo to hear, but he assumes that they're talking about him or what the next game is. It's not even a surprise when Gihun races towards the door, screaming that Saebyeok is hurt, that she needs medical treatment, that she's dying.

Sangwoo moves. 

It doesn't take him very long to get to Saebyeok's bed, and when he does, he finds that she's already staring at him. She doesn't say anything. He doesn't, either. 

There isn't anything to say. 

He lifts up her head, pulls the knife out of his pocket, and slits her throat. 

It's easy. It isn't hard at all. She doesn't fight, she doesn't do anything. Saebyeok is dead, and Sangwoo is the one who killed her. 

The lights flash on, he hears Gihun's screaming stop. The guards flood in, holding one of the boxes that they always do when someone dies. 

Gihun runs right past him, hopping onto the bed, cradling Saebyeok's head in his hands. He's crying, begging, pleading. Desperately trying to bring someone back to life, someone who was going to die anyways. He's screaming again now, his head pressed against hers. 

Sangwoo can't find it in him to look away. He doesn't deserve that luxury. He did this. This was him. He killed someone, plotted it out beforehand, and now Saebyeok is dead. Because of him. 

When Gihun turns back to look at him, his hands and face are covered in blood. It's almost a sort-of relief when Gihun picks up Saebyeok's knife and charges at him. Sangwoo doesn't move, waiting for the blow, but it never comes. One of the guards has Gihun pinned to the ground, and he's screaming, shouting. His voice is thick with anger, and something else that Sangwoo can't quite pick up on. Something worse.

And just like when they were kids, Sangwoo thinks that red still doesn't fit Gihun's green. Not at all.

The final game is squid game. 

They flip a coin, and Gihun wins the toss. He takes offence. His eyes never leave Sangwoo's, and it's more sad than it is uncomfortable. Sangwoo has figured out the other emotion that Gihun has been looking at him with, screaming at him with. 

Hatred.

Sangwoo thinks that he deserves it. He knows that he does. He doesn't say anything when they're led out into the playing field, his hands still soaked with blood, clothes stained with it. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to wash out all the blood on his hands and on his clothes. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to scrub the blood out from under his nails, wipe it off of his lips. 

That bitter taste, the chill-inducing one, hasn't gone away for days now. Sangwoo doesn't think that it ever will. It's mixed with cinnamon, and he wants to throw up every single time it comes crashing down on him harder than usual, metallic, cinnamon waves of hurt, hatred, agony. The rules are explained to them, as if they didn't grow up playing it, and Sangwoo goes to take his position. Gihun does the same, crouching down to tie his shoes. 

Sangwoo stares at him, eyes never leaving him, even when he stands up and starts to hop. Sangwoo moves in front of him, knife held up in the air. 

At some point between then and now, Gihun's life has become something futile. Sangwoo doesn't know when he stopped trying to save it. He doesn't know if he ever tried to do that in the first place.

"We played this all the time as kids," Gihun tells him, voice low, deep with hatred, tinted with fury. "Do you remember what we used to say when we crossed here?" 

"Shut the fuck up and-"

Sangwoo shouts when sand is suddenly thrown in his face, stumbling back as soon as it starts to burn his eyes. He reaches up with his empty hand, desperately scrubbing away the sand, trying his best to keep his eyes open to keep track of Gihun, but that only hurts more. By the time he's whirled back around and gotten most of the sand off of his face and out of his eyes, Gihun is past the line, standing only a few feet in front of him.

"The secret inspector," Gihun says, not looking at him. "We said the secret inspector."

Sangwoo opens his mouth to tell Gihun to shut the hell up again, but the distant roaring of thunder snaps him back. He stiffens, his heart slamming in his chest as rain starts to fall. The sky is a deep blue. Sangwoo bites down on his tongue as hard as he possibly can to stop the thoughts rushing to the forefront of his mind, but it's already too late.

Images of Ali flash behind his eyes. Ali laughing, Ali sitting with them while they ate, talking about his wife and his son, about everything. Ali, his laugh, his warm smile, his gentle eyes. The way he saved Gihun's life without even knowing him. 

He shakes his head, biting down on his lip. Fuck. Gihun moves to stand in front of him, and Sangwoo maintains eye contact the best that he can. It hurts more than he thinks that it should. Gihun is so angry, it's written in every single bone of his body. His face is etched with anger and disgust, his hatred so obviously shining through him.

"She was going to die anyways, you know," Sangwoo tells him. "I just ended her pain. Quicker than if she'd have just waited it out."

"Shut the fuck up," Gihun snarls at him. "Don't give me that bullshit, Sangwoo. Don't even try. She was alive. She could have been saved. She could have been saved."

"That's why I killed her, idiot," Sangwoo snarls back, pointing his knife at him. "Because I know how you are. You'd have tried to vote and get out of this place. You and her, you'd have voted against me. I'd have to fucking leave here with nothing!" 

"She's the only reason you're alive," Gihun whispers. "I was going to kill you. When you weren't looking, when you were getting close to falling asleep. I was going to kill you. I was about to do it. You're never going to leave here with that money, Sangwoo."

Sangwoo scoffs, gripping his knife a little harder. Gihun wouldn't kill him. He wouldn't. 

But that was before. That was before Sangwoo turned into this, before he killed Ali and the man on the bridge and then Saebyeok. That was before everything. That was back when Gihun would sit next to him and fuck with his books and ask Sangwoo to tell him all about the colour green. That was back when Gihun stopped him on the sidewalk in the middle of December and kissed him. That was back when Sangwoo kissed him back.

That was back when Sangwoo was a person. 

Gihun races forwards, knife in his hand, and Sangwoo grabs him. He grabs his arm, trying desperately to pull Gihun's back against his chest, to be able to kill him like that. 

To be able to kill him.

Sangwoo ignores the way that he gags, tastes metal sliding down his throat, tastes blood and bitterness staining every single inch of his mouth. He ignores that, ignores the sharp tints of green whenever Gihun shouts or curses at him. Ignores all of that. Sangwoo screams when Gihun slits open the back of his hand, slashing at his face next. Sangwoo scrambles back, drops his knife, and rips off his jacket. He doesn't have a knife anymore, and Gihun does. He has to get creative, has to rely on his survival instincts kicking in to keep him alive. 

Gihun charges him again, and Sangwoo grabs his hand with his coat, tightening his grip around Gihun's wrist, trying his best to get the knife away from him. He shouts out a cry of pain when Gihun slams his fist into his abdomen, then into the side of his head, dancing away from him with ease. 

Sangwoo thinks he should have remembered that Gihun was the one who got into all of the fights when they were kids. Sure, he lost most of them, but he learnt from them. Sangwoo never did. But Gihun's dropped his knife, so Sangwoo charges at him, grabbing him by the throat, shoving him back and back and back. He's close to getting over the line when Gihun slams his head against Sangwoo's, sending Sangwoo tumbling back, clutching his head in his hand. 

"You fucking asshole!" Sangwoo shouts, throwing his coat at Gihun, as if that's going to do anything. He stumbles forwards, punching Gihun in the cheek, hitting him again and again. Gihun doesn't stay there not doing anything for long, not long enough for Sangwoo to hit him enough, and he slams his fist into Sangwoo's abdomen again, then again, and again. Sangwoo screams when he kicks out with his legs, trying to get Gihun to the ground, because at least then that might give him enough time to get a knife, and...

Kill Gihun. 

The thought makes him choke, blood pounding in his ears. 

That seems to give Gihun enough time to body them both onto the ground, and Sangwoo's body is screaming at him to get back up, because if he doesn't, he'll die. He pushes himself up, but not in time before Gihun is slamming his fist against his face, sending him right back down. Sangwoo grabs his coat, and uses as much energy he can into launching up, wrapping it around Gihun's throat, pulling him down to the ground. He falls on his own ass, scrambling back towards the line, just in case strangling him doesn't work. 

Sangwoo chokes again, tears forming in his eyes, and he's suddenly thankful for the fact that it's raining. He sobs as he tries to strangle Gihun, tries to kill him. As he fucking tries to murder his best friend, his only friend, someone who he used to love more than the world itself, someone who was always there, the only goddamn person in his pathetic as fuck life who never left him, not even once. 

Gihun gets free from his grasp, and as soon as he does, Sangwoo feels a sharp pain in his nose. He tries to get up, and he's knocked right back to the ground. No matter how hard he tries to move or to get up, Gihun is there, shoving him back down, punching him, kicking him, doing every single possible thing that he can to keep him down. Sangwoo grasps at the ground, and his mind blanks when he feels metal underneath of his hand. He grabs the knife, and stabs it as hard as he can into Gihun's leg. Gihun screams, scrambling back, and Sangwoo stabs him again, right in the stomach. 

Sangwoo gasps for air, standing up when he's certain that Gihun isn't going to get back up. "Remember this place?" He hisses out. "We played red light, green light here. Do you remember everyone there? Every single person from that game, they're, they're dead. All of them. Every single one of them is dead. Except for you and me. We've..." he breathes out as he straddles Gihun's hips, raising the knife up. "We've come too far to go back."

He brings the knife down, and Gihun raises his hand, just in time. Gihun screams, and Sangwoo sobs just a little harder, his vision so stained with red that he barely can even see green anymore. He keeps pushing, watches as the blade goes further and further into Gihun's hand, but it doesn't reach his throat. Sangwoo keeps pushing, tries his hardest to make it just go through, but it won't. Gihun turns his head, and a splitting pain shoots through Sangwoo's body, starting in his ankle and radiating up. He stumbles back, but the pain in his foot is enough to bring him to the ground. Gihun is getting up, standing now, and Sangwoo thinks that that's it.

Gihun is going to kill him.

There's no way that Sangwoo can get up, not after whatever the hell Gihun did to his foot. He can't. So he watches as Gihun straddles him this time, staring down at him. 

And when he looks up into Gihun's eyes, he doesn't even see hatred or anger. Just exhaustion. Just hurt, just pain. 

"You killed them," Gihun whispers, right before his fist makes contact with Sangwoo's face. Sangwoo doesn't try to fight it, the pain already becoming numb. "You killed everyone. You killed them, you killed them all." With every single sentence, Gihun hits him again and again. Gihun screams, standing up. Sangwoo watches through lidded eyes as he pulls the knife out of his hand, and he waits. Waits for the final blow, waits to choke on his own blood, waits to die. 

Gihun screams again, and moves his hand, the one with the knife, down. Sangwoo closes his eyes, bracing himself for the impact, but it never comes. When he opens his eyes again, Gihun is standing over him, the knife buried in the sand right next to his throat. Gihun stares at him for a few seconds, and Sangwoo does the same. 

There are a million things that pass between them. Hundreds of questions, only a dozen of answers. Memories filled with love and pain and hurt, never offering any comfort. Sangwoo looks up at Gihun and sees the face of that idiot teenage boy who he fell in love with. He sees his stupidly bright smile, his twinkling eyes. Hears the way he laughed. 

His memories are tinged green, flowers scattered over them. Cinnamon and frost fill his lungs, and that florist shop from three or four blocks down settles at the back of his throat. 

Gihun pushes off of him, walking towards the squid's head. Sangwoo stares up at the sky as he listens to his receding footsteps, doesn't even acknowledge the guard that points a gun to his head. 

Sangwoo thinks that this is right. This is the right way to end it all. This is how he's supposed to die, how he's supposed to die so Gihun can keep living. 

Sangwoo is okay with that. He thinks that this is the only way it's supposed to go.

"I'm done." 

No.

"I quit," Gihun announces, and his footsteps are getting closer and closer. Sangwoo squeezes his eyes shut, a choked cry escaping his lips. "I'm done. I'm not playing anymore. Clause three of the agreement. If a majority of players want to end the game, you have to let us go. I want to end the game." 

Sangwoo stares up at the sky, his shoulders shaking. He can't let Gihun lose everything, not because of him. 

Sangwoo, for the first time since this entire fucking nightmare started, is thinking clearly. He thinks about all the god-awful things he'd done. All the people he's killed. Everyone who he tricked and deceived and lied to. Every single innocent person that died because of him, due to him. If they quit the games, Sangwoo will have nothing, but even worse than that, he'll be alive. He'll have to live with every single sick and twisted thing he's done. Sangwoo will have to go about living his life as if he isn't a fucking monster. As if he's not a disgusting, twisted excuse of a human being. 

And even worse than that, Gihun will go right back to living in debt. He won't ever get out of it. 

Sangwoo sees the knife by his side, sees it right by his throat, and he knows what he has to do. 

"Sangwoo. Let's go," Gihun whispers. "Let's go home." 

Gihun's arm is extending out, hand right in front of him. Sangwoo could take it. He could pull himself up. He could go home. Go somewhere else, go live a life of misery and debt, but at least he'd live that life with Gihun. 

But his mind has already been made up. He knows what he has to do.

"Gihun," Sangwoo chokes out, his tears falling faster now. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He grabs the knife and jams it into the side of his neck. 

"No!" Gihun shouts, collapsing down on top of him, hands cupping the sides of his face. "No, no, no, Sangwoo! Sangwoo, no, why did you...Sangwoo, no! No, Sangwoo, please, please! We could have gone home together, we could have, we could have...Sangwoo," Gihun sobs, clutching his face in his hands, and Sangwoo lets him. "Sangwoo, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Gihun," he whispers, pain ebbing in and out of his mind. Black dances around the edge of his vision. "I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry."

"No, no, no, Sangwoo, please. I'm sorry, Sangwoo, I don't...Sangwoo, I..." he trails off. "I love you, Sangwoo. I love you, I love you, Sangwoo, I love you, too. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm..."

Sangwoo closes his eyes, and green flashes behind his eyes, even as Gihun's voice fades. It stays there, and it isn't supposed to. It never has before. But it does, and Sangwoo keeps his eyes shut, ignores the pain, and focuses on the frost swirling in his lungs, the taste of cinnamon on his tongue, the smell of that stupid florist shop three or four blocks down. Focuses on green, on flowers, on Gihun. 

Gihun is green, and it's never changed. He's like home and safety and familiarity, and he's green. 

Sangwoo feels himself take his last, shaky breath, feels all of the air leave his frost-filled lungs. 

How am I green? Do I look green?

No, idiot. When you talk, I see green, right? Like, sort of around you. It doesn't last for very long, but it's there. 

That's so cool! Do you think that'll ever change? Does it change?

No, it doesn't change. You'll be green until the day I die. 

Let's try and postpone that, Sangwoo. 

Good idea, Gihun. Good idea.