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Nothing had gone as planned. If Seong Gihun lived in another universe he might still be happily married with a daughter, with a stable job and a housing situation that wasn’t threatening to crumble at any moment, teetering dangerously towards homelessness and foreclosure. If Seong Gihun lived in another universe he might not be waking up on an operating table from a back alley organ removal, rather waking up to a fulfilling life that wasn’t wrought with traumatic events and still-healing scars. If Seong Gihun lived in another universe he might not be broke, but rather figuring out what to do with 45.6 billion KRW.
But this was not the case, he’d not been so lucky.
Sangwoo had taken his hand. He’d taken his hand as he lay beaten and muddy in the dirtyard, both of them bleeding from rather profound wounds they’d inflicted on each other in their desperate brawl for survival of the most primal variety. A moment of madness between madmen; that’s what they were, right? Men who had gone mad, men who had pushed aside all morality and friendship in a brawl driven by the festering greed that resigned within them, fed by the possibility of being absolutely filthy rich. Or was it fed by a mere possibility of staying fiscally afloat, rather than greed?
They were bloody and exhausted, having not showered in almost a week and drenched from that cursed rain that only added to the disparity of the moment, added to the feeling of helplessness they were both fully immersed in. Gihun’s wounds stung, his hand so thoroughly fucked that it may mever properly operate again. Sangwoo’s injuries had been more internal, but that did not mean they weren’t as detrimental; he had several fractured ribs and bruises forming on his chest.
Sangwoo had looked so defeated as he laid there, Gihun’s knife sticking out of the gravel next to him and a pink guard’s gun pointed at his heart… just staring up at the crying gray sky. He’d looked so completely kicked down, his skin paling from blood loss while mud and gore clung to his skin. His eyes were blank, his eyelids fluttering uncomfortably as he tried to blink away the rain threatening to mix in with his tears. He was visually hanging on by a thread, his body trembling and seizing in a way that looked most uncomfortable.
Something inside of Gihun snapped upon seeing Sangwoo’s dead soul leak out through his eyes. He just could fucking bear it anymore, he couldn’t bear with seeing any more blood, or injury, or death. He’d already seen exponentially more death than most do in their entire lives.
But not a bit of relief entered Sangwoo’s face when Gihun demanded the game to cease.
This meant immediate loss. Player 456 evoked clause three of the contract they’d signed at the beginning of the game; if the majority of players agreed, the game could end and players would be sent home safely. Gihun counted as that majority, and the game was invalidated, neither of them got the money, and they would be sent home broken men with stolen perseverance.
He stood on an injured leg as blood oozed from his wounded thigh and down his leg, pooling beneath his feet. Gihun bravely glared up at the one piece of the high wall that was made of one-way glass rather than concrete; he knew he was being watched. Someone up there was watching him and Sangwoo fight like rabid dogs tearing each other into pitiful shreds. He cursed them, every fiber of his being trying somehow to make those men understand how fucked this all was. How they’d ruined him, ruined Sangwoo, how the two of them would basically be fucked for life just because some rich money-hogging bastards wanted some enertainment.
Gihun knew why Sangwoo hadn’t been the slightest bit relieved when he was pardoned. This meant they’d be thrown back into the same hell they’d left; Gihun’s ailing mother, Sangwoo’s web of crimes, the insurmountable debt they’d piled up after years of cheating a system meant to step on the poor and keep them down. Which was worse; a painful death or a slow death of entropy and poverty?
Gihun made his choice. A painful immediate death was worse. And Sangwoo’s life was more important to him than billions of won. Even if his friendship with Sangwoo was irrecoverable, he could sleep a little easier knowing there was one less sin on his back. There was already blood on his hands, there would be no reason to coat them with more.
He was having a moment of ascendance and clarity, coming to his senses despite the utter chaos that threatened to choke and drown him.
When player 218 agreed to cease the game as well, when Sangwoo took Gihun’s hand, it was over. Both players had admitted total and complete surrender, cowering with their tails between their legs in total defeat. And with that, they had given up their chance to win a life changing amount of money, choosing each other rather than a gratuitous amount of money.
Gihun’s poor mentality was just clinging to the fact that he had one thing, he didn’t have to see Sangwoo die despite all of the blood that had fallen around him. He had this one person, this one single person that had gone through the same thing that he had, that had made it out with him.
Gihun had fallen to his knees aside Sangwoo, lying beside him underneath a sky of angry charcoal gray clouds that weeped upon them, lying on a bed of jagged rocks and mud that seeped into their clothes.
Gihun took his hand once again, his uninjured hand clinging shakily to Sangwoo’s. He was hurt but unsurprised when Sangwoo didn’t return his embrace or squeeze his hand. A simple embrace would do just fine.
But the second they were thrown out of that van and freed, Sangwoo was gone. They’d been dropped off in front of a 7/11, weak and bleeding and only partially conscious. Sangwoo hadn’t even helped him, just wriggled free and fled. Not a word to Gihun, no “thank you”, he just freed himself and dressed and hurried away with his belongings in his clutches. And Gihun was left to bleed out in the streets. Sangwoo hadn’t even untied him, just left him for dead and for the curious observation of onlookers.
He’d not even noticed Sangwoo had left for a while, he’d been so weak his vision wouldn’t have worked even if he wasn’t blindfolded. His ears felt like cotton had been stuffed in them. He was freezing on the cold, gross ground covered with city dirt and old cigarette butts. He could barely feel the burning of the rope against his ankles and his wrists.
The world he’d returned to was worse than the one he’d left. It was raining, everything drenched and the hard drops irritating his still-bleeding wounds. His gait was interrupted by a limp, gritting his teeth as pain shot up his leg and radiated from his thigh. Sangwoo had stabbed deep, the muscle itself was damaged and would take a long time to heal. He wasn’t able to stitch himself back together, so his rectus femoris would remain torn.
He found his mother’s corpse when he returned home, cold and stiff and shrouded in the darkness that seemed to fill their air like a heavy mustard gas. He didn’t even have any more sorrow to give, no amplification of the jagged sorrow that was tearing through him. The air literally felt like it had weight to it, dust particles hanging in the air illuminated by the small slivers of streetlight that slipped in through the curtains. They illuminated her face, bringing a small twinkle back to her dark brown eyes. If Gihun hadn’t known any better, he’d think she might have just been sleeping when he’d come home. But he was not so lucky, according to the vascular silence he felt beneath his fingers, no pulse in her neck or on her wrist.
He’d already been ripped to shreds anyways. After so long of being thrown around by those damned VIPs and their wads of cash, he’d adjusted to the pain. It didn’t hurt any less, but he grew to understand that it was still going to be there when he woke up in the morning. But there was a bit of guilt that grew inside of him for a while. Guilt that she’d died alone while he was missing, guilt that he’d spent up all her money then had lost the game, guilt that she’d been sick for so long, guilt that he’d never said goodbye, just, guilt. Even though his mind was wrapped with barbed wire and filled with cotton, he still had the capacity to feel that guilt, digging into his stomach with poisonous dread that threatened to break him. He just didn’t have much empathy left to give.
The apartment felt even worse after his mother was buried in the ground, held in the cheapest coffin Gihun could scrape up and marked by a tombstone made of some rejected granite. It's not what she deserves, it’s not the thank you she’s earned after all she’s done for him, but Gihun thinks she’d understand. It’s the most he can do to respect her after being a subpar son for forty-seven years. Hell, almost forty-eight.
He’d been very quiet as he stood there before her grave, the ground frozen-hard as snowflakes fell around him. Some landed on his head and melted as he just continued to stare at the carved letters, his eyes watering slightly. He’s not sure if it’s from the cold or from the nagging ache that had returned to his chest after a period of radio silence and weak static in his chest. It almost burned, it felt like his chest had been ripped open.
He’d not been the best son, but every son still cares for his mother. Gihun felt like a child again, crying for his mother after scraping his knee on the playground. But she wasn’t here to wipe his tears and give him a bandaid. She was six feet underneath him, the dirt that covered her still fresh, not yet weathered down and flattened from erosion and time.
He wants to speak, but he doesn’t have the words. They die in his throat. He wants to say that he misses her, that he wishes everything had gone differently. But it’s too late, there’s really nothing he can do about it now. He chooses, even if he can’t do anything to bring her back, to honor her best he could. If he couldn’t give her the respect she deserved in life, then maybe he could give it to her in death.
The apartment is silent. Gihun doesn’t speak, and there’s no one else there to coax him into walking. The only sounds that can be heard is the occasional drip of a sink tap or the sounds of Gihun’s limped footsteps pacing around the creaky floors. His phone has been dead for days, but it wasn’t going to ring anyways. The radio in the kitchen hasn’t been touched since he came back, a film of dust covering the tape receiver and the old plastic buttons. There’s no laughter, no yelling, only the pitter-patter of the rain as it comes down. The solitude eats him alive.
Gihun couldn’t tell if he was becoming a shut-in or if he was just going through it. He settled for both, deciding to not be too harsh on himself while heavy trauma was still fresh in his mind. He’d lost so much; friends, his daughter, his best friend, his mother. Gihun knew it would take time for that to heal. He would just be gentle with himself where he could.
After a week and a half of eating like a mouse, scavenging pathetically on leftover rotting greens and dried up stale breads, he leaves the house in search of groceries. The opening of the door brings a spike of anxiety within Gihun, dwelling within him. Despite quite literally finding his dead mother in that place, he’d begun to find safety in it. Opening the door feels like breaking a seal, it feels unsafe, it feels weird and wrong and bad. He’s not ready to face the world again.
But the growling in his poor stomach tells him otherwise. Press on, it says, and he does, stepping onto the dry concrete front step. The hesitancy is fading, the only thing now holding him back is the pain in his thigh. He’s healed slightly, despite only doing the bare minimum to keep himself clean and bandaged. He’d taken a shower this morning and wrapped bandages around his thigh, his abdomen, his hand. They still hurt, they were still agonizing, but the stinging pain of the alcohol he used to treat them was familiar and he knew how to deal with that more. Plus, the warm water of the shower was always good for stress and healing. It cleaned him off. It brought him a much-needed reprieve from the agony his life had become. It gave him something to focus on, something physically pleasant and distracting.
Gihun hangs his head, hides his face in his hoodie as he passes Sangwoo’s mother’s stall, still standing in full operation with a few patrons huddled around waiting for their cuts of fish and seafood. He feels a great swelling of pain when he sees her at first, an angry tidal wave of depression threatening to crash over him as he walks with trembling steps. He doesn’t want her to see him and start talking to him, asking him questions he didn’t have answers for. He keeps his mind clear, not letting any sudden worries or queries interrupt his walk.
He can’t ignore them all. He can’t ignore the image of Sangwoo’s dead eyes as he laid on the ground, he can't ignore the pang of betrayal he felt when he woke up alone, when Sangwoo had abandoned him.
Gihun can’t help but feel frustrated and dumbfounded. He’s mad, he’s mad at Sangwoo for just disappearing off the face of the damn Earth after everything that had happened. He wasn’t expecting a whole friendship, but a “thank you” would have been nice. A “here Gihun-hyung, I’ll untie you” would have been nice. Sangwoo knew what Gihun had given up in exchange for his life, he was just kind of hoping for some gratitude. Instead here he was, twisted intrusive thoughts telling him he should have thought for himself and taken the money.
He wished that they were children again and everything was simple. He wished Sangwoo would come and talk to him and tell him everything is okay, that it will be okay, even if it’s not or it doesn’t seem that it will be. He just wants that company, he wants to just sit with Sangwoo. He wouldn’t have to rehash over his trauma, because Sangwoo already knew it all. They could just sit in mutual understanding.
Gihun pushed the thoughts away. Such thoughts had no place in his life right now. Instead he tried to be understanding. Sangwoo was most likely hurting too, he needed his space. His frustration turned into a fleeting concern.
And then he bumps into someone while he’s waist-deep in thought, someone he had sort of hoped he would never see again. Gihun supposed it was bound to happen one time or another.
It’s the loan sharks. He knows who they are, what they want, where they’ll take him, what they’ll do to him.
He gives up. A kidney and an eye will pay off his debts, it will be one less thing to worry about. No reason to fight, no reason to run and scream and cower.
Gihun lets them take him. The man is surprised at first when Gihun doesn’t protest, but he’s too greedy to care. Organs are organs, and money is money. One less person to chase around, one less unpaid debt. One name to cross off the list of debtors.
The operation was in some back alley hole-in-the-wall office, but it was clean and he was drugged up and he couldn't find the energy to care. It was tiled and rather dark, curtains and blinds drawn tightly while one lone doctor’s office light lit up the metal operating table. The light caught on the shiny operation tools that laid on a table beside the bed, illuminated the cooler in the floor near him, illuminated the small team of masked up surgeons that stood around the table. It was cold when he laid on it. As he faded into the anaesthetic, he couldn’t help but remember that doctor from inside the games. Was this the sort of thing he did? He couldn’t say, but it left him perplexed and curious.
He woke up after not too long, now down a kidney and his left eye. It was covered with some gauze and taped onto his face firmly, slightly soaked with blood. What surprised him more was that the surgeon had had the decency to stitch up not only his surgical incisions, but the wounds on his thigh and abdomen, even his hand… wounds that this surgeon had not been responsible for. The quality of this surgeon was surprising, but Gihun wasn’t about to complain. Maybe the surgeon needed some practice.
The loss of his eye was a more dramatic change than he prepared for. Then again he’d not woken up that day thinking he’d be missing an eye by the time the sun fell. He’d woken up thinking he would just go to get groceries, that he’d just get something to eat then get back some to his warm safe cocoon of an apartment.
Instead, he had his hands on the walls feeling his way around. His remaining eye was wide open, he was trying so hard to navigate his own apartment now that the right side of his vision was gone. His depth perception was thrown off, his remaining eye was growing dry and tired from the panicked and strenuous overuse it had been put through. His saving grace was the subconscious memorization of the apartment’s floorplan after years of living there. That didn’t keep him from bumping into things; stubbing a toe or two, hitting his legs on things as he passed by them. From then on he decided to keep his right arm extended slightly in an attempt to keep himself from running into things.
It was a blessing and a curse. Gihun now couldn’t leave his apartment so dark, he was forced to turn some lights on after living in almost complete darkness since his return. The lights hurt his eye at first when he turned the first bedroom lamp on, and he flinched, but he felt it was a nice change. After all, humans are creatures very associated with light, right?
He was still depressed after that, a simple light wouldn’t fix that, but he supposed he felt a bit more normal once they were on. After all, this is what a home looked like, it was well-lit and warm.
He was able to see things he’d missed in the dark. He’d found a pair of slippers he’d liked, ones his ex-wife had bought him years ago. He glanced over the photos of him and his mother that hung on the walls. It pained him to think of his mother, but seeing her smiling and happy in the pictures brought him a little bit of peace. It reminded him that things hadn’t always been bad. He’d found a shirt he’d liked a lot, tucked away in his closet. He found a few spare KRW bills his mother had left on the kitchen counter.
It brought him a little bit of comfort.
Slowly, slowly, Gihun began to let himself think. After mentally chaining him up so tightly, unintentionally forbidding himself from thinking about certain subjects, he let himself free.
The games; Kang Saebyeok, Ali Abdul, and that Jiyeong girl. Sangwoo. The old man Oh Ilnam. The green jumpsuits and the childhood games. The sound of that big doll, the smell of the dalgona, the dust on his knees from the marble game, everything. He slowly went over all of them in his mind.
Gihun finally let himself cry. He just let himself weep, let himself be sad for a while. He uncorked the bottle that was about to explode anyways. He missed his friends. God, he missed them. He wished that they could be sitting with them now, telling him that it would be okay, that it was all just a bad dream. He had only known them for a short period of time, but they had brought a little bit of familiarity and friendship to a place that had been so cold and barren.
He let himself mourn.
But in the midst of his sorrow, of his sadness, he had one clear, good thought.
They would be happy that you made it out okay.
Gihun’s heaving chest and shaky whimpers quickly stopped. It was the truth. Ali and Saebyeok would be happy to see that he’d made it. They would be happy that he could die as an older man rather than put into a black pink-ribboned box and sent into the sea as burnt ashes.
He had some people cheering him on, even in his lonely exile and his wounded state.
Gihun couldn’t deny the easing feeling of relief. It didn’t erase the gorey images in his head and the choked out words Saebyeok spat at him as she bled out, didn’t erase the feeling of Sangwoo trying to strangle him to death with a suit jacket. It didn’t erase those, but he still felt an odd sort of comfort.
Slowly, he began to make a sort of recovery. As his physical wounds healed, he filed through his tightly-packed mind, trying to make peace with what mental wars he was fighting.
Slowly the apartment was cleaned up and the kitchen radio was playing almost daily, filling the deep silence with music. Gihun had charged his phone and had it running again. He’d been speaking with Gayoung, those little phone messages had brought him little bursts of joy. Even if he wasn't having the best time, he was glad his daughter was doing well.
Most importantly, he’d set up his mother’s stall again but this time, he was the one running it. After all, he needed money and people needed the produce she’d sold. It was a steep learning curve, but it gave him something to do and was something to pay the bills.
He regained the weight he’d lost. Bleeding wounds became little pink scars on his body. He’d gotten his hair cut and styled nicely for the first time in a year. He’d kept his swooshy bangs, they covered his lost eye. It just kind of kept him from looking… scary. He’d always had that little bang swoosh, so it wasn’t so dramatic a change that anyone really noticed.
About five years passed, and by then he was doing much, much better. Gihun had gotten so much better financially, he had his stable income through the produce stall. He wasn’t spending money on smokes, alcohol, or gambling, and his debts were either paid or almost there.
He’d been able to get some help with that money. He was officially diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, as well as anxiety and depression. With his mental illnesses named, he was able to get medications and treatments specific to those disorders. He was seeing a therapist every month and had made slow but good progress, learning coping mechanisms and learning how to quiet that swirling hurricane in his brain.
He was a 52 year old man now. Every birthday he became more grateful to be alive, knowing his 47th birthday could easily have been his last.
Gihun was now grateful he’d survived, he’d gotten to a point where he realized he was lucky to be here. He wouldn’t have been able to see his daughter get into the important years of her life, he wouldn’t be honoring his fallen friends, he wouldn’t be able to see Ssangmundong slowly change around him as he aged.
Gihun hadn’t heard from Sangwoo, but at least he knew why now.
One day he’d stopped by his mother’s stall, wanting to buy some fish from her. Of course she’d recognized him, her face immediately falling to disappointment.
“I haven’t seen you in so long, Gihun,” she began, forehead wrinkling as her eyebrows knitted together.
“I’ve been around, just haven’t been feeling too well,” Gihun explained. He slowly lifted his hair, showing both his permanently closed eyelid and the scar Sangwoo had left on his cheek. “I’ve been healing.”
She looked concerned, in a mother sort of way. She’d lost her son somewhat, and Gihun had lost his mother; it was comforting in a way.
“What on Earth happened?” she asked worriedly, coming closer to him and grasping his hands.
“Ah, just an accident. I’m perfectly fine now, no worries,” Gihun explained simply. That was just his scripted line for whenever someone asked him that question. I mean, he couldn’t tell the truth, could he?
“Oh, alright,” she said hesitantly. “What brings you here?”
“I wanted to buy, actually. I’ve been wanting some fish and you always had a good selection,” he replied, a friendly smile on his face. “Whatever’s fresh today.”
Her facial expression lightened a bit, she’d appreciated the compliment and the random normalcy between them. “I can always give you some, no payment required,” she offered.
Gihun shook his head. “No, I insist! I actually have money to pay you in full today,” he insisted. “ I’ve been at my mother’s stall.”
She turned to look at her again. “I heard about your mother, I’m awfully sorry about that,” she said weakly. She and Gihun’s mother had been friends since their sons had been so close, so he knew her passing hadn’t been easy for her either.
“I only wish I had done more,” Gihun muttered, his chest feeling a bit achy. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and began thumbing through a few bills as she collected some fish to give him.
There was a question at the back of his throat, but it was such a heavy one he dared not blurt it out. Gihun looked up to where that one photo should have been, the one of Sangwoo and his mother at college graduation. It was always standing in its frame in the stall. It was still there, but it was face down, almost in a shameful way. God, it worried Gihun and peaked his interest at the same time. He’d tried so desperately to get over the thought of Sangwoo, to forget him, but his heart egged him on, desperate for news.
She followed his eye to the wooden frame, and then sighed as she walked over with a bag of wrapped fish. “You don’t know what happened, do you?”
Gihun’s heart raced, in both anxiety and excitement for the upcoming closure. He shook his head, his eye wide.
“He turned himself in. Appeared out of nowhere, gave me all of the money he had, then marched himself over to the police station. He’s… been serving time for money laundering,” she admitted shamefully.
Gihun knew he was supposed to feel sad, but he now knew a few things. One, Sangwoo was alive. Two, Sangwoo’s mother knew he was alive, she hadn’t been living in this weird agony. Three, there was a damn good reason why Sangwoo had seemed to disappear.
But he quickly straightened himself up. “Ah, I’m sorry to hear about that, I’m sure it was hard to accept,” Gihun replied abruptly. “It’s at least good that he turned him in rather than being taken forcefully.”
“Yes, but it’s just awfully rough to find out your perfect child is actually somewhat of a… scumbag. Taking money from other people, putting the house and my stall in jeopardy, he’s lucky that that money he gave me and my own money was enough to get them back,” she ranted angrily.
Gihun nodded in sympathy.
“Did you know anything about this?” she asked him, anger in her eyes.
He quickly shook his head. “No, not at all. I haven’t heard from him in a long time, you know we haven’t really consistently spoken since a little after he left college. I’d guess that he was just so embarrassed that he didn’t want you to know, didn’t want me to know either,” he quickly explained, not wanting her anger to be directed at him.
“When he gets out, I swear I’ll kill him,” she spat as she handed him the bag.
“When does he get out?” he asked, his head tilted slightly.
“Oh, any day now. But he’s not coming back here, not after what he did. I don’t want to see him for a while.”
“He could live with me if he needed to,” he offered.
“Do whatever you want, Gihun. I’m just worried he’ll commit your apartment for some stupid loan!” she exclaimed rather frustratedly.
“I don’t think he will, Mrs. Cho. Just point him in my direction when he gets out, I’ll figure it out,” Gihun offered once again.
She sighed. “I never understood you, Gihun. You were always so stupidly nice to him, even when he was mean to you.”
“He’s not mean, just grumpy sometimes. He just doesn’t have the best ways of handling stress,” Gihun explained. “I’ll be going now. I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Okay,” she said dismissively. It seemed this conversation had been the wrong thing to talk about at this moment. He quickly hurried away, dodging the puddles that had formed in the street since last night’s rain.
Gihun had a few things to prepare before Sangwoo’s arrival. He’d still been staying in his own bedroom, he hadn’t taken the master. He just couldn’t bring himself to, because he knew he would have to move all of his mother’s items. That was a rather emotionally heavy task.
Yet here he was, vacuuming up the layer of dust on the floor and changing the bedsheets. He supposed it would be okay until he got to the closet and the dresser. He’d already taken any hangin pictures off of the wall and put them up in his room, using one of the nails in the master bedroom to hang a clock. He thought Sangwoo might like the touch.
The closet was harder than he anticipated. He boxed all the clothes up, stuffing them into his closet after deciding that would be another day’s problem. It was the boxed mementos that were in the back of the closet connecting dust bunnies that gave him a real struggle.
Drawings Gihun had drawn, school tests or assignments he’d done well on, pictures of Gihun when he was young. There were even pictures of himself, with a young Sangwoo next to him.
God, how he wished things could be different. He wished he could go back to that time and do everything all over again. He would have kept in contact with Sangwoo when he went off to SNU, he wouldn’t have gotten married or started that piddly failure of a chicken restaurant.
If he could do it again, he wouldn’t have let Sangwoo go. His heart yearned for Sangwoo’s presence, even if it was cold and uncomfortable. He wanted to at least pretend that they were kids again, that everything was about playground games and coloring books and picture books.
It was a kind of yearning he wasn’t quite familiar with, but he’d felt it a few times before.
He’d felt it when he saw Sangwoo get his first girlfriend, he’d felt it when he looked out upon the people that had congregated for his wedding and noticed Sangwoo in the third row, he’d felt it when he watched Sangwoo drive away for college in Seoul, he’d felt it when Sangwoo was underneath him at the Games, his cheek cut open and leaking blood.
Gihun couldn’t put a name to it just yet, but he could try to label it, explain how it made him feel the best he could. It was some sort of longing for Sangwoo’s presence, a longing for Sangwoo to be happy and by his side. It had slumbered for almost twenty-five years, only to wake once Sangwoo suddenly popped into his life again.
Dammit, Gihun realized what it was. It was some twisted sort of love that he only seemed to acknowledge or realize at the most inconvenient of times. Who looks out at somebody at their own wedding and realizes they’re not marrying the person they actually love?
He suspected that when Sangwoo was by his side, that need within him was sated and didn’t feel the need to cry out. But when Sangwoo was gone, he yearned. He’d just gotten used to yearning over the years, it became so normal that he’d forgotten about it.
Gihun had just gotten so used to having Sangwoo around when he was younger that he became intoxicated, addicted, to a point where Sangwoo’s absence brought with it a melancholy feeling.
Gihun sighed, holding an old polaroid in his hands. He and Sangwoo were at the beach, both covered in sand and holding popsicles. They couldn’t have been older than eight, sitting there in the sun with dripping wet hair and sun-kissed cheeks. There were other photos, some when they were older.
His mother had taken a candid photo of the two of them, she had suddenly opened Gihun’s bedroom door. Sangwoo had been laying on Gihun’s chest as they hung out his bed, both lying on their backs. Their eyes were wide, clearly embarrassed. Gihun was even trying to cover his face.
Gihun remembered that, his mother had laughed. She always found their close friendship to be cute, nothing abnormal despite the fact that when the lights turned off and she was in bed, they were kissing like each other’s lips were life support.
While Gihun’s mother snoozed in her bed the next room over, the two of them were exploring each other, desperate to get their hands on each other. Everything they did was with such excessive passion, like they were dying tomorrow and this was the last chance they would have together.
They really were just on limited time. They couldn’t linger in these moments too long in fear of discovery, in fear of humiliation or a most brutal shunning from their own homes.
Gihun wished they’d had more time. It was never enough, they never had enough time to really let themselves feel. It was just sex, and desperate words, and choked whispers, never the “I love you” or the “stay with me”. Those words had lain unspoken behind their lips, sealed within their eyes.
As he continued to flip through these photos he gave a heavy sigh. He’d not lost that love, it had lingered in the deep end of his heart, filed away in the mack of his mind. Hidden, but still there when called forward. He still longed, he still longed to kiss those lips and hold the hands of the man he had once loved so dearly.
But Gihun feared what time had done to them. They were old, broken, and scarred. Would Sangwoo even be the same man he sent off to SNU? Would there still be that twinkle in his eyes, so small that you could only see it if you looked hard enough? Or would his eyes remain coldly dead, his heart calloused and locked away?
Would they revolve around each other like dead planets and rocky moons? Would they wander amongst Ssangmundong like zombies threatening an epidemic?
No, Gihun had to have hope. Even if Sangwoo had changed, he was still Sangwoo. The boy he’d become friends with, the teenager he’d fallen in love with, the adult he’d missed dearly, was still there, they lie sleeping but not dead. It would be okay if it took Sangwoo a while to let his walls down, to fall into the familiar once again.
If it took a while for gravity’s pull to tug their hearts together again, then Gihun didn’t mind. It would take Sangwoo a while to let anyone back in, and he was ready to be supportive no matter what their relationship status was. Even if they were merely acquaintances now, Gihun was still ready to begin with ease and gentleness.
He’d just finished preparing when there was a rapping on his door. Gihun had dug up his mother’s old recipe book, electing to (attempt to) cook up a warm soup he thought Sangwoo might like. It was a bit nippy that day and Gihun thought a good warm meal would be a nice welcome home meal. Even if it was a little weird when he turned the stove off, Gihun supposed it was still better than jail cafeteria slop.
Gihun quickly took the pot off the stove and set it aside as he approached the door. He took a quick breath before slowly opening it.
There he was.
Cho Sangwoo, in the flesh, after almost five years of waiting. He gave a very curt but polite bow, a simple routine bow of greeting.
Gihun couldn’t help but beam, a bit emotionally overwhelmed. “I’m glad you made it here alright,” he said simply, despite wanting to say so much more. He kept the words dead on his tongue.
Sangwoo simply nodded. His shirt was dampened by a sprinkling of random raindrops the cloud had squeezed out before vaporizing away. He didn’t seem too visually different; his hair still neatly trimmed, his white button up shirt crisply ironed, his face shaved, his face stern. There was a scar on his upper cheek, one not dissimilar to his own. Their scars mirrored in an odd way, somewhat of an allegory as to how they did seem to reflect each other; similar traumas, similar memories, similar struggles and mournings.
There was a look of understanding that was shared between them, even if no words were spoken. Sangwoo was welcome, despite what they’d gone through.
Gihun had come to terms with the sixth game a while ago. At first he’d been a bit hurt when Sangwoo had fought with him so ruthlessly, but then he realized that he had fought back, and just as hard. They were not to blame, but rather the games that had driven them mad and warped their minds into brainless gladiators born purely for entertainment and the satisfaction of the accursed wealthy.
“I’ve made some soup, I figured you’d be hungry. Come in, let’s get you out of the rain,” Gihun offered, stepping aside so Sangwoo could enter. He noted that Sangwoo was only holding one small suitcase, and he pursed his lips. Sangwoo’s mother had told him that Sangwoo’s apartment and most of the things inside of it were sold to cover funds and debts.
Sangwoo stepped inside, toeing his shoes off silently. He placed his suitcase down by the door, glancing around a little bit. He’d never been to this apartment before, it wasn’t Gihun’s childhood home so it was unfamiliar. His eyes fell on the soup, still steaming hot.
Gihun followed his gaze and hurried over to the pot, quickly beginning to spoon the warm soup into a few bowls. The side dishes had already been prepared and set on the table.
“Please, have a seat. Get comfortable,” Gihun insisted as he continued to serve the soup.
Sangwoo looked at the table that had been set up in the middle of the front room floor. He hesitantly sat down, his lips still tightly sealed.
Gihun couldn’t quite get a read on him yet. He couldn’t perceive how Sangwoo was feeling, but he could give it a bit of a guess. The look on Sangwoo’s face was that of a man with his tail between his legs. There was shame, there was embarrassment, there was humiliation, and it wasn’t hard to guess why. The pride of Ssangmundong had really fallen all the way from grace, rather than the pedestal he had once perched on.
Gihun seated himself, placing the bowls on the table for them. “Help yourself, eat as much as you’d like. I intentionally made extra, leftovers are always nice,” he explained, albeit a bit nervously.
Sangwoo met his gaze and simply nodded, picking up the chopsticks that had been laid out for him. He began eating wordlessly, seemingly afraid to make eye contact with Gihun.
It took a while before Gihun could figure out what to say. He decided to start easy, talk about something neutral and not too distressing.
“I’m glad you made it alright. I’ve prepared the master bedroom for you, the bed sheets have been changed and everything is cleared out,” Gihun began, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie’s sleeves.
Sangwoo looked up to him for a moment, an eyebrow cocked slightly. His gaze was almost piercing, it made him shudder a little bit the way he could barely see Sangwoo’s eyes through his gaze.
“Why didn’t you take the master?” Sangwoo asked simply, sitting up straight. “It’s your apartment.”
Gihun bit his lip for a moment before responding. “It’s been a few years but I… don’t like going in there. It reminds me a little bit too much of my mother,” he explained, his smile fading.
Sangwoo hadn’t heard that Gihun’s mother had died, but he immediately understood. “I understand,” he replied curtly.
Gihun realized something, and he reached for his pocket. He dug around in it for a moment before pulling an object out. “Your mother told me what was done with your apartment, and I requested that this be given to you,” he began. He slowly held up the object: Sangwoo’s glasses, still in their case.
Sangwoo blinked for a moment, seemingly rather surprised to be seeing these again. He slowly took them, giving a nodding bow. He opened the case, Gihun had even had them cleaned for him. Slowly he put them on, his eyes adjusting to finally having clarity. Not a single spot on the lens.
Sangwoo didn’t quite know what to do or say. Why was Gihun being so nice to him? Wasn’t he disappointed in him? Only a few years ago they’d tried to kill each other, for god’s sake. Yet here Gihun was, offering him soup and a warm bed and his glasses.
Sangwoo could see Gihun clearly now that he had his glasses. Gihun had aged, but he looked as you’d expect for a 52 year old man. A few stray white hairs, a few more spare wrinkles.
And then Sangwoo noticed it. Gihun’s eye. His eyes widened a bit, he quickly leaned forward and pushed Gihun’s bangs out of the way. There was Gihun’s missing eye, the eyelid permanently closed and a little discolored.
“What..?” Sangwoo whispered.
“The day I was recruited, the loan sharks I was indebted to forced me into a contract, I would have to give up an eye and a kidney to repay my debts. They found me when I came home,” Gihun explained, replacing his hair over his eye. He wasn’t usually ashamed of it, as it wasn’t his fault he’d lost the eye, but he was afraid it would scare Sangwoo off or enrage him.
Sangwoo sighed. He would complain or protest, but he knew it had been something out of Gihun’s control.
Now that it seemed that sensitive topics were on the table for discussion, Gihun spoke up.
“I think it’s respectable that you’d turned yourself in, but I wish you had at least told me,” Gihun began, feeling a bit irritated. “I thought you had died, or you’d just completely abandoned me.”
Sangwoo squinted his eyes in confusion and disbelief. “I left because I thought you’d be mad at me for trying to kill you!” he exclaimed.
“You left me tied up on the street by myself because you thought I’d be mad at you?” Gihun yelled back. “Sangwoo, I’m not stupid. I may not be smart like you, but I’m not dumb. I know what happened wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t my fault either. If the games hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t have ever tried to kill me, right?”
Sangwoo paused, slowly lowering his head. “No…” he muttered.
“Exactly. You are not a monster, Cho Sangwoo. I know that what you did in there was purely circumstantial. I know that if you really wanted me dead you would have killed me at the front door,” Gihun argued, standing now. He wasn’t angry, but more bewildered and slightly frustrated at Sangwoo’s stubbornness.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Sangwoo blurted out, the sentence quickly slipping through his filter. He’d stood up as well.
“I’m being nice to you because when it really mattered you chose to end it, you made the choice to take my hand and end the games before any more blood was shed. I’m being nice to you because you’re my friend, because you are still worthy of kindness and redemption despite your errors,” Gihun’s eyebrows furrowed as he spoke. “I’m being nice to you because I want to.”
Sangwoo was utterly confused. His anger was deflating slowly, becoming more sorrowful than infuriated. “I just don’t understand,” he admitted.
Gihun took a step closer to him. “You don’t always have to understand everything, Sangwoo. Sometimes you just need to accept them,” he explained. “You are welcome here and I am not going to hold a grudge and deem you a monster.”
“How did you do all this?” Sangwoo asked, still surprised by how seemingly well Gihun was doing.
“It took a lot of time, a lot of crying, and a lot of therapy. I didn’t patch myself up in a day, I spent years thinking and reflecting,” Gihun said, gently putting a hand on Sangwoo’s shoulder. “You can do it too, and I’m willing to help you. I can give you space, or I can be by your side.”
Sangwoo thought for a moment, just looking Gihun in the eyes. Slowly, the edges of his lips curled up for a moment. This had all just been a pleasant surprise he wasn’t ready for. He was still uneasy, but now that he had someone in his corner, it felt somewhat better.
It took Sangwoo a while to adjust. He’d been used to locked metal doors and numbered jumpsuits and repulsive food. Now, he had this huge bed, an apartment to roam freely, and a kitchen that had actual real food in it. And a roommate.
Sangwoo found Gihun to be puzzling. Why did Gihun always seem so happy to see him? He thought the reason was somewhat amusing; Gihun was an extrovert and he finally had someone to talk to on the regular.
Gihun talked a lot to Sangwoo, and Sangwoo would listen quietly. Gihun would chatter on about almost anything; updates with Gayoung, how the stall’s sales were doing, how cool this new shirt he’d bought for Sangwoo was, how it was getting colder, and how much he’d missed Sangwoo.
They would sometimes sit and have morning coffee together in the mornings before Gihun would hurry off to the stall with his produce basket. Sangwoo thought it somewhat endearing how Gihun seemed to greet each day with this seemingly unlimited and elastic-y optimism.
Sangwoo was to start helping Gihun with the stall in not too long, but Gihun wasn’t going to be pushy. He knew Sangwoo needed time to adjust still. Sangwoo was like a recently adopted cat that was still getting used to being a house cat rather than an alley cat.
While Sangwoo thought Gihun’s optimism to be entertaining, Gihun was taking note of Sangwoo as well. Sangwoo was catching up on the things he’d missed in four years; technology, music, pop culture, everything. Whenever he found something new, he would sit and research it, completely hyper-focused and fully intent on learning all he could about it.
Gihun adored this, for one specific reason: it was something he’d done as a child as well. Sangwoo would run up to Gihun when they were in school and talk his ear off about something new he’d learned and almost become an expert on. He would blabber on about the new knowledge, whether it be a recently discovered star or an animal he’d read about in his fancy encyclopedia set.
It was slightly different now. Sangwoo would sometimes come up to Gihun and ask what something was. It always pleased Gihun; Sangwoo was regaining his yearning for knowledge, his curiosity.
“Hyung, what is this?” Sangwoo asked, walking over to Gihun who’d been folding some dry laundry. He showed his phone screen to Gihun, displaying an ad for a new smart watch.
“Oh, it’s one of those smart watches, they’ve got thumbprint and facial ID now, you can pay with them and everything, they can read your heartbeat and track stress, all that cool stuff. The only thing new about this one is that it has a camera in it, so you can video call right from your wrist,” Gihun explained, continuing his folding.
Sangwoo nodded, looking at his phone. “That sounds nice, but they’re kind of expensive,” he mumbled, seeming a bit disappointed.
Gihun took a mental note of that disappointment. “Well, your birthday is coming up in not too long. I wouldn’t be able to get you that watch specifically, but I could get you one specifically,” he offered, smiling. “After all, a well-dressed man needs a watch.”
Sangwoo’s lips curled up, flashing that rare tiny smile. God, it made Gihun’s heart flutter. He was so happy seeing Sangwoo showing signs of recovery and healing. Seeing Sangwoo become slightly happier every day.
“Those are awfully expensive even without the new features, hyung, you should save it,” Sangwoo insisted, shaking his head. He stuck his phone in his back pocket. “Don’t get anything for me.”
Gihun had a very mischievous smirk on his face, almost a shit-eating grin.
Sangwoo almost laughed. “Hyung,” he begged, crossing his arms.
“Oh, alright. We’ll just get chicken or something,” Gihun suggested, earning a satisfied nod from Sangwoo, who then hurried off to read up on those watches.
Gihun really felt himself falling in love with Sangwoo a little bit more each day, his rusty old heart firing back up after years of inactivity.
See, Sangwoo kept himself busy when he was at home and Gihun was at work. Gihun would come home to something being cleaned, or some piece of laundry being folded. Gihun even noticed some holes from his shirts and socks began disappearing; Sangwoo had purchased a sewing kit and had been learning the basics of mending.
He was becoming a very reliable roommate. Sangwoo had begun managing Gihun’s funds, keeping his checkbook and making sure bills were paid. He was an economics major, he liked numbers and budgeting. It was just how his brain was wired. Sangwoo was surprisingly good at getting groceries, he was good at picking good produce and finding deals. The second part wasn’t much of a shock, he was a bit of an insane couponer and bargain hunter.
But every so often the two of them would be painfully reminded that their domestic life had come at great consequence.
Sangwoo was having nightmares, nightmares so bad he was thrashing and shaking his poor bed. Though it was good they didn’t have downstairs neighbors, it was hard for Gihun to sleep through it. He would quickly brew up a cup of calming tea and he would try to soothe poor Sangwoo.
It had gotten bad one night. Sangwoo had been in so much distress that he’d knocked one of the slats that held his mattress up out of the bed frame, and the mattress had collapsed in a loud heap. Nothing had been damaged, but it woke Gihun up in a blind panic.
Gihun rushed into the room and hurried over to the poor man, who was still thrashing miserably. He gently shook Sangwoo, holding his head so he wouldn’t hurt himself.
“Sangwoo,” he called gently, trying to keep his voice steady. “Sangwoo, you’re dreaming, it’s time to wake up before you hurt yourself.”
It took a few moments for the shaking to stop, for Sangwoo to finally open his eyes. Gihun quickly put Sangwoo’s glasses on him and turned the lamp on. “You’re okay Sangwoo, you were having a dream, you’re at home and you’re safe,” he whispered, just trying to ground Sangwoo.
Sangwoo looked up to Gihun, eyes wide. He was clearly still freaked out, he was trembling and gripping Gihun’s shirt tightly. He slowly pulled Gihun into his arms, his chest moving quickly with panicked breaths.
Gihun gently stroked his hair. “Everything is okay, Sangwoo. You’re in Ssangmundong, you’re in bed and you’re safe,” he cooed. He held Sangwoo so gently, like he was a most precious crystal that would break at almost anything.
“Please… stay, Gihun-hyung. You’re safe,” Sangwoo muttered, continuing to hold him.
Gihun’s eyes widened. What did Sangwoo mean by that? He made Sangwoo feel safe? “I’m not going anywhere, Sangwoo. I’m staying right here, no matter what,” he said, almost singing. He didn’t dare move, he wanted his precious Sangwoo to be safe and comfortable. Plus, there was something reassuring about being held by Sangwoo.
It reminded him of when they were young teenagers in love, no scars on their bodies or plaguing their hearts.
But maybe, just maybe, those scars could fade.
Sangwoo’s birthday was there faster than the two of them realized. Sangwoo was now working at the stall with Gihun. Since people around Ssangmundong were still hesitant to speak to Sangwoo, Gihun still handled the customer service aspect. Sangwoo’s job was to make sure all their produce was clean, organized, and ready to sell.
They’d gone home that night like it was any other night, Sangwoo carrying the money box and Gihun carrying any leftover produce. They were trudging through a bit of fallen February snow, on their way back to the warm comfort of the apartment.
“I know you told me not to get you anything for your birthday, but-” Gihun started.
“But you got me something, didn’t you?” Sangwoo interrupted, an eyebrow raised at Gihun.
“You’ve been doing so well and I’m proud of you, I wanted to celebrate your first birthday here at home,” Gihun said with a smile. “I even got your mom’s cake recipe.”
Sangwoo smiled, that cute little smile that most people didn’t even notice. Gihun thought it was the cutest damn smile in the world. “Well, what did you get me?” he asked, looking at Gihun fondly.
“Well, I can't tell you!” Gihun exclaimed with a pout, almost dropping a basket of cabbage leaves. He’d stepped on a patch of ice hidden under a pile of shoveled snow and he’d almost lost his balance.
Sangwoo quickly reached towards Gihun and wrapped an arm around his waist, stabilizing him so he wouldn’t fall and hurt himself. He was leaning forward, bent over to support Gihun’s weight. To a bystander, their position looked somewhat romantic, the two of them embracing each other and holding each other close.
Sangwoo was embarrassed, but his embarrassment was pushed aside when he saw Gihun smile, a laugh escaping his lips. God, that laugh, that infectious laugh that had Sangwoo’s heart pounding. He’d forgotten how powerful Gihun’s smile was, how quickly that grin could make any of his troubles simply melt away.
Sangwoo was staring, his lips slightly parted and his eyes wide. Gihun found it cute.
Gihun slowly leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to Sangwoo’s cheek. “Let’s go home, before I break my ass on some ice,” he joked. He stood back up, gently taking Sangwoo’s slightly shaking hand.
Sangwoo was having a bit of an internal homosexual crisis. Deep inside of him there was a teenage version of himself that was waking up, that teenager that had spent his afternoons in Seong Gihun’s arms, stealing his shirts from his closet, kissing him until his lips were swollen. He wasn’t that kid anymore, but there was an opportunity to heal.
Sangwoo was very impressed and pleased by the cake Gihun had prepared for him. The letters written in icing were wobbly and a little off, the icing was patchy, and the little flowers Gihun had attempted to make with a piping bag were misshapen. But Sangwoo loved it.
Before blowing the candles out, he even took a photo of it.
“Make a wish!” Gihun said as he lit the candles, shaking the match to put it out.
Sangwoo closed his eyes and put his hands together.
I wish for Gihun-hyung to kiss me again. I wish for Gihun-hyung to show me how to love again.
Sangwoo blew out the candles, opening his eyes.
“What did you wish for?” Gihun asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Well, if you say a wish out loud, it won’t come true,” Sangwoo explained, his eyes smiling. “My wish is far too precious to take such a risk.”
Gihun grinned, standing up quickly. He hurried off and retrieved a present, sitting next to Sangwoo when he came back. “Here, I got this for you,” he said, handing the gift to Sangwoo. It wasn’t perfectly wrapped, but it seemed Gihun had done it with great care.
Sangwoo took it, smiling slightly. “I told you not to-”
Gihun put a finger to his lips. “But I wanted to anyway. Your silly extreme couponing has saved us a good amount of money,” he laughed, sitting so close to Sangwoo that their thighs were touching as they sat on the ground.
Sangwoo looked down at the little blue present with a golden bow. He began carefully ripping off the wrapping paper, not wanting to make a mess. Inside was a smart watch, one not dissimilar to the one Sangwoo had been interested in a while ago.
“You remembered?” Sangwoo asked, looking a bit surprised.
“Of course I did. I thought it could be helpful. You can read messages and stuff, play music, and it has a heart rate monitor! I was thinking it could be helpful for anxiety, it notifies you if your heartbeat gets weird,” Gihun explained, smiling. “You like technology, and it could help a little bit medically.”
Sangwoo was touched. Gihun had remembered the watch, the conversation they’d had, from a few months ago? And Gihun was thinking about how it could help him, being caring just like he always was.
Dammit, Gihun was wearing down his facade. His selfless caring nature was so soothing, having someone there to just be beside him as he healed and dealt with assimilation to the outside world had been so helpful.
“Gihun, can I tell you something?” Sangwoo asked, fidgeting with the box in his hands.
“Go ahead,” Gihun replied, leaning against Sangwoo.
“Living here, with you, has been… so much better than I thought it would be. I thought I was going to get here and you were going to hate me, you would give me harsh eyes and the cold shoulder the whole time I lived here. But it hasn't been like that at all,” Sangwoo began, looking at Gihun now. “You’ve fed me and bought me clothes, you’ve helped me through anxiety attacks and night terrors, you’ve given me a home and a job. Not being alone, being in a safe place for the first time in a while, being with someone who understands my trauma exactly, it’s given me a head start towards getting better.”
Gihun smiled gently. “I don’t mind. I care for you a lot, I want you to be happy and safe, even if we’ve had a rocky past. You’re a good man deserving of a safe life, even if you don’t think you’re worthy because of the mistakes you’ve made. I’ve given you the bare minimum, really,” he insisted.
“You’ve given me more than the bare minimum, Gihun,” Sangwoo piped up. He was coming to a point, feeling daring as adrenaline rushed through him. “You… Gihun, I… I love you, dammit, I love you and I’m very grateful that you’ve given me this chance to love you again.”
Gihun’s eyes widened. Whatever he was expecting Sangwoo to say, it most certainly wasn’t this. His shock soon melted into an almost overwhelming burst of joy, he felt himself tearing up. “You’re so precious, Sangwoo. So, so precious. And I would be stupid to say I don’t love you just as hard,” he confessed, taking Sangwoo’s hand. “We may be much older now, but I know you’re still that cute smart boy I kissed all those years ago.”
Sangwoo’s cold demeanor had melted away completely. “You’d really be willing to love me again?”
“Again? I don’t think I ever really stopped.”