Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Y/N, after seven years of dedication to a company that you never wanted to work for anyways and being fired from that very job for seemingly no reason, made your way down the street of Ssangmun-dong, head already aching after two unsatisfying beers, late at night, ready for a long rest upon arrival at home. 

Your peaceable, if slightly pissed off, mood is suddenly altered as you watch a van pull up in front of you, open the door, and toss an unconscious, bound man to the sidewalk before pulling away. 

Shocked and horrified, you freeze. 

What the hell?

You gape at the man's form lying there: helpless and alone. You glanced around quickly- maybe looking for help, maybe just embarrassed to be seen tending a tied up stranger on the street at nearly midnight. 

Then you regain your senses and hurry across the sidewalk and to the man's side. He makes no movement or sound as you kneel down beside him, and finally untied the strap of silk around his skull, covering his eyes. 

With that, he begins to groan slightly, head twitching backwards ever-so slightly as you pull the band from his face and toss it aside. 

Slowly, the man's eyes open, and he blinks into the darkness for a moment before turning to roll onto his stomach fully and wretch weakly. Horrifyingly enough, you watch a yellow card slide from his open mouth and come to land wetly on the concrete before him. The man chokes and coughs and wheezes for a moment, eyeing the object like he had never seen such an invention in his life. 

"S-sir?" You finally croaked, then swallow hard. Your throat had tightened with the alcohol, and your eyes still fail to fully focus on anything but the intensity in the man's eyes. "Are you alright?" you try gently. 

The man pants, looking at you weakly from his spot on the ground, arms bent behind his back uncomfortably, bound by similar straps of silk. Quickly, you set to work pulling the constraints from his hands and finally freeing him. 

But as his hands are released, instead of jumping up and stretching his abused appendages, the man stays where he is, pulling his arms to rest gently in front of him, but remaining a puddle on the ground. Lying limply on his back, he reaches out and plucks his card from the ground between two fingers and studies it carefully. 

You watch him for a moment, curious and confused, before asking, "Do you need help, sir?" 

He seems to swallow, licking his lips and then opening his mouth gently to speak. 

"Thanks so much," he says gently, his face sad and far away. His hands shiver, but seemingly more from fear than cold. 

"Sir-"

"Thank you," he repeats quietly, sitting up. "I'm fine now." 

You can sense the lie on his tongue. 

"But-" you glance down and gasp as you see his left hand, wrapped it a blood-soaked bandage. "You're hurt!" 

The man, almost in a dream-like state, lifts his hand to inspect it. He huffs a sort of laugh through his nose and turns to look at you with a sad smile. 

"I'll be fine," he insists, using his good hand to push himself up from the ground, but staggers sideways in the process, collapsing against you and into your arms. 

He grunts an apology, his forehead bumping against your shoulder as the man pants and blinks and shakes himself awake, and you hold your hands against his shoulders in support. 

He looks at her as he regains balance, and nods weakly, eyes unfocused and heavy-lidded. "Thanks," he whispers once more, before turning and disappearing into the night, dragging one foot and clutching his stomach. 

You stand in shocked silence for a moment as you contemplate what had just occurred. 

The first question you ask yourself is, "Who was that man?" 

And, much to your own chagrin, secondly, "Will I ever see him again?" 

... 

You couldn't sleep. She keep twisting and turning in her bed, sighing harshly as your mind refuses to settle. The alcohol isnt helping you calm down, either, and you get up to brush your teeth for the third time that night in an attempt to get that taste out. 

You glance in the mirror as should rinse your mouth, and stare for a moment. 

What was going to happen to you now that you didn't have a job? How would you make money to pay the bills, especially in this town? You had never worked anywhere else, and had been working in that building since she turned 21 and moved out of your parents' house. 

You thought with a grimace about what your old friend Ae-cha had done to make quick cash in the outskirts of Ssangmun-dong. Sleeping with guys for cash seemed like the absolute worst thing to do to get by, and you almost would rather go broke.

But... it was still an option. 

You shudder at the thought and return to your bedroom, glancing around the small space. You would lose all this. Everything you had worked so hard to keep for so long. 

You sigh. Thinking about it won't help anything, you tell yourself. 

Even after you’re able to put the worries about being cash-strapped in the days to come to rest, you cant stop thinking about the man you had stumbled across that night. Who was he? Where had he come from? Had he been kidnapped? He didn't seem particularly concerned about reporting whoever it was that tossed him from that van. But he seemed scared at the same time...

Your mind whirls as you pull the covers up around your neck and shiver. 

You knew you had to forget about what happened. 

You wouldn't be seeing that man again, and you had to accept that. 

So why do I feel like I am?

...

Morning came slowly, like a heavy fog, rolling up to embrace the sunrise with icy wind, creating a grey world. 

Gi-hun groaned as he opened his eyes, one arm still wrapped tightly around the corpse of his mother, locked in a silent sleep on the cold floor. 

He pushed himself up and gently patted his mother's shoulder with his wounded hand. 

"Ma," he whispered, then cleared his throat. "Ma, wake up. S'there breakfast?" He stood and looked down at his mother with wide eyes. "Ma?" His throat constricted and he frowned. Something's wrong...his mind whispered. He turned and walked to the kitchen, snooping through the cupboards to find them empty and cold. Finally he found a bag of old turtle chips and pulled them from the shelf. 

He walked back to his mother's room and sat down on the floor, hissing in pain as he settled his weight on the gouge in his thigh. He patted the wound and could feel the thick layer of bandages beneath his pants. 

"Ma, here," he offered, ripping the bag open and popping a few in his mouth. "Are you hungry?" He held the bag out to her unmoving form. A grin spread across his face and he chuckled. "What? You don't want to share, ah? It's fine, ma, take 'em." He set the bag down on her stomach gently and waited. His smile faded and he adjusted on the floor. 

He pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged himself, tucking his chin against his legs and sighing. 

Maybe it was minutes, but it could easily have been hours that passed before Cha-seon rapped gently on the front door. 

"Come in," Gi-hun called, staying where he was. The next sound was the clattering of Sang-woo's mother's feet across the floor and coming to stop in the doorway before Gi-hun. 

The man turned and blinked at Cha-seon sadly. 

"I don't think she's feeling well," he whispered. Cha-seon smacked a hand over her mouth and sobbed. Gi-hun hugged himself tighter, turning back to look at his mother, heart wrenching in his chest. "She's not feeling well at all." 

...

Chapter Text

…

Gi-hun was not the same man he once was. He no longer lived the same. He no longer spoke the same, hardly at all, in fact. He did not smile or laugh. He felt nothing, anymore. 

And now, as he stood outside the hospital, where Cha-seon, the mother of Gi-hun’s once-closest friend, insisted Gi-hun go to treat his hand, he felt nothing but a steady pulse of fear rocking through him. Like he didn't quite truly believe that the games were over. Because they couldn’t be, could they? Could he really get off that easily? With a shit-load of won in his new account and more than enough memories to constitute ten trips to a madhouse?

It didn’t make sense. Nothing was ever that easy. Not anymore. Gi-hun looked down at his wound and blinked slowly. It wasn't a pretty sight, he was sure, but it looked much nicer with a clean bandage wrapped around it. He was tempted to peer beneath it and see what it really looked like, but he knew what to expect: a clean tear– right through the center, where Sang-woo had shoved his dinner blade through his palm. 

He sighed through his nose and looked back up at the street before starting down towards the liquor shop. He dug the last few won from his pocket– some of the remaining cash won while playing ddakji the first time. Shit, that seemed like ages ago, now. Like a lifetime had passed since he was just a dad who wanted to give his daughter what she deserved. 

He paid the clerk and took his bottle of hard liquor in tow, making his way down to the slums, where he could spend the night in peace. 

Gi-hun’s sighs were ever-so light, as if they were just nearing being complete whimpers of pain and loss, as he huddled on the curb and supped his alcohol. 

His heart nearly rocketed right from his chest at the sound of heels clicking on the pavement, and he tensed, freeing in place with the bottle still clutched between his fingers. 

“Motherfucker…” a voice growled and Gi-hun inched his head to the side ever-so-slightly, eyes wide and bulging from his skull as he spotted a young woman in a trench coat gripping a phone in her hands, perched on the edge of the curb a few feet from him. 

She glanced upwards, noticing him, and taking a speedy double-take, choking on the air as she realized his proximity. “Oh shit, sorry, man,” she said quickly, voice quiet and strained as she swiped at her messy hair. 

Gi-hun blinked, keeping his gaze on her carefully. Who knows what the hell she could do– was probably planning. She could be another salesperson for that sick game. Gi-hun swallowed thickly at the thought and blinked again. 

“Oh, it’s you,” she breathed after a moment, shocked. “Hey…” 

He stared. Who was this girl? And how did she know him? For a split second, Sae-byeok racked Gi-hun’s mind, flashes of old memories flitting past his vision. He jerked backwards and sucked in a breath. 

“We don’t know each other,” he huffed, turning away again. Well, if she wanted to kill him, he’d gladly welcome a bullet to the back of his skull. He pulled the bottle back up to his lips and took a long swig. 

“I just–” the girl stared, then stopped. “Are you okay?” 

Gi-hun’s shoulders sank and he closed his eyes, breathing out slowly through his nose. He just wanted it to be silent. What did this girl want? 

“Do I look okay, miss?” he hummed, squeezing his eyes tighter as he spoke. 

The girl’s voice seemed to hitch before she answered with, “I only asked because you seemed like you were in danger that night.”  

Gi-hun froze. “What night?” he hissed, turning to stare at her again. 

“I–” The girl grimaced. “Somebody tossed you out of a van, and I helped untie you… It was like… a week and a half ago,” she breathed, blinking her eyes hard. 

“Shit,” Gi-hun muttered, looking down and remembering that horrible return to his home town of Ssangmun-dong. “Yeah, I– I didn’t realize that was you. I’m– I’m sorry.” He looked back up to study her and indeed recognized her sweet face and worried eyes. That night had been so terrifying, though, it all felt like a dream when Gi-hun thought back to it. 

“Don’t, um–” She wrung her hands. “Don’t be sorry. I mean, I just wanted to make sure–” She shook her head. “I sound like an idiot, sorry. Just– I hope you’re doing okay.” 

He nodded meaninglessly, drinking again. “M’not. But thanks for the sentiment.” 

The girl wrinkled her nose but her eyes stayed sad and far away. Gi-hun held the bottle up to her and raised his brows. “Would you like a drink, miss?” 

“I, um…” She looked at it with wide eyes and an unreadable expression. Gi-hun’s face flamed and he yanked it back. 

“Shit, sorry, are you a minor?” he said quickly, suddenly wondering just how old this girl really was. She looked no more than 20 years old, when he really looked. 

Now it was her turn to blush. She shook her head wildly and lifted her hands. “No, no, goodness– I’m 28, sir. I just– I don’t drink.” 

The way her tongue poked from her mouth as she bit her lip told Gi-hun that she was a terrible liar, and he sipped from the glass again, eyes heavily lidded as he turned away. 

“Oh,” he hummed, going back to staring out at the street silently. 

The girl stayed quiet beside him, but stayed nonetheless. But after two minutes of Gi-hun supping his alcohol, the girl finally spoke again. 

“Sir, may– May I ask your name?” she said quietly, swallowing audibly as he turned to look at her. He blinked, tears springing into his eyes. His mind muttered things he never wanted to hear: “Sae-byeok was your fault. This will end up just like the games. If you feel anything again, they’ll take it all from you. ” 

It was why he refused to even call his daughter since his return. If they had anything to manipulate him with, they would. And if they had anything he loved in their sights– they would kill it, too. 

Gi-hun shook his head. 

“You don’t want to know me,” he muttered sadly. The girl choked. 

“All I wanted was–” she started, indignant, before shutting her mouth and huffing. “Sorry to bother you, then, sir. Have a good night.” 

She started in the opposite direction, and Gi-hun’s heart stuttered. 

“Ah– wait,” he said, reaching out one hand as he felt all hope slipping from him. Why the hell was he doing this? The girl turned. “Seong Gi-hun,” he murmured. “From Ssangmun-dong.”

The girl’s face didn’t light up, or anything, but her eyes widened with a hopeful glint that Gi-hun couldn’t remember ever having. 

She nodded, dipping her head and saying, “I’m L/N, Y/N.” 

Gi-hun let himself nod slowly. “Y/N,” he purred, blinking. “Nice to meet you, miss.” 

She nodded, smiling microscopically. “Likewise.” 

…

Chapter Text

…

The sight of him from afar is heart-breaking. He looks lost. His hair falls in tangled clumps around his sunken eyes and hollow cheeks as he sucks on a cigarette like his life depends on it. A bottle of alcohol makes its home in his clenched fist, and you can tell he is in no mood to let it go. 

Braving the small chance he would tell her to fuck off, you grip the to-go boxes in your hands and start forward, towards the bench Gi-hun is slumped over on. You stop when you’re a few feet away, blinking in confusion when he startles and leaps back, nearly throwing himself completely off of the bench and to the ground. He shakes quietly as he stares at you and contemplates what the hell is happening. His eyes are thick with fear before they cleared slightly and he seems to recognize you. 

“Oh,” he breathes out, his chest shrinking as his shoulders slump in some kind of relief as he clears his throat and pushes himself further back against the seat. “Shit, it’s you.” 

“Shit?” you ask teasingly, careful not to anger him. It had been only two days since you last saw him, but the feeling of him being so alone made your heart ache, and before you knew it, you were using the last bits of your savings to buy a meal for the two of you to share. “That wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for.” But really, what did I expect? 

He balks, blinking his red-rimmed eyes and tightening his nervous grip on the bottleneck in his hand. 

“I didn’t mean– shit, sorry–” his voice pinched as he blinks hard, dipping his head and sucking in a deep breath. You wince. 

“No, no, it’s alright,” you say quickly. “I wasn’t– I was joking. I’m just fucking awkward.” 

Gi-hun pants, looking back up at you with wide, understanding eyes. “Ah,” he breathes. “Me too.” 

You offer a small smile, holding up your gift rather pathetically. “I… brought food. In case you’re hungry.” 

Gi-hun’s eyes flash with something far away and hopeful before it’s gone again, leaving an empty gaze at the boxes in your hands. 

“I–” he starts, gaping at you before shutting his mouth and shifting backwards. He shakes his head silently, and your heart squeezes in disappointment that you try and fail to hide. 

“It’s no problem,” you insist, gently approaching him. He flinches hard, as if you’re about to throw the food in his face. Goodness, what happened to you? “Please, I– I wanted to–” You stop, unable to put the words together. You let out a deep sigh and hang your head. 

Gi-hun tensed at the sight of her limp form, he could feel the dejection and sorrow coming off of the girl in waves, and his heart throbbed in his cold chest. He choked on his next drag of the cigarette and finally cleared his throat, saying, “You– ah… you can sit. If you– um, if you want.” 

You look up at him slowly, suddenly considering the possibility that this man could be a serial killer or sexual predator and you remind yourself that a young, broke, 28 year-old homeless girl made for a sickeningly perfect victim. So you hesitate. Staring at him for a moment longer. And decide no, he’s not some kind of predator. Because, you reason, if anything, he is the prey. 

… 

The food was warm and delicious, but each bite made Gi-hun’s stomach turn. He tried to force down more than two bites, but even with the girl’s desperately hopeful gaze pinned on him, he couldn’t bring himself to eat more. He stopped after a long moment, his hands shaking violently as he set down his chopsticks and groped the bottle beside him again; if even just to have it against his skin. It was a small comfort in this broken world.

He looked up when he finally noticed her staring intently at his bandaged hand, eyes wide and fearful but overall curious. He held it up to her and she jumped slightly, as if surprised by his sudden movement. 

“Does it–” She swallowed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Does it hurt?” 

Gi-hun snorted, “Like hell.” 

The girl winced as if she could feel it: a small gesture that actually managed to comfort Gi-hun, however microscopically. 

She opened her mouth smally, about to speak, before shutting it again and blinking pityingly in his direction. Gi-hun couldn’t blame her. He didn’t know what to say about it, either. He looked down at the dirt-smeared bandage and swallowed thickly, bile rising bitterly in his throat. Memories surged at the very sight: Sangwoo slamming his arm downwards, the knife glistening with rain and his own blood– Gi-hun raising his hand to stop it– the blood, so much fucking blood– and finally the moment that his best friend killed himself. In the most horrifying and cruel way possible. At that point, Gi-hun had wanted to die instead. 

Oh fuck, oh God, help me, his mind begged as he slammed his eyes shut and forced in deep lungfuls of air. Don’t remember, don’t think about it– 

“You okay?” the sound of that girl’s voice– who was she, again? –broke into Gi-hun’s panicked state. His eyes flew open, but the sight of Y/N in front of him only served as a sickening reminder of what happened to Sae-byeok. She was so young, so innocent. So helpless. 

Just like you. This girl could die, his mind hummed wildly as he heaved for air, his eyes stinging with unshed tears and lungs burning. And it would be my fault. It didn’t matter how. It would be his fault, always, it was all his fault. 

“Hey,” she continued, reaching out one comforting hand. But it looked so threatening to Gi-hun. He couldn’t help the strangled whimper he let out as he ducked away from her touch and landed flat on his backside on the ground, crying out as his spine cracked against the concrete. The alcohol bottle flew and shattered some feet away, scattering small bits of green glass and foamy drops of liquor. Y/N shot up, hand on her chest and face contorted in fear. 

She called out worriedly, but Gi-hun didn’t hear her. He slammed his palms over his ears and cried, willing away the blood and the screams and the gunshots. Feeling a soft hand against his shoulder, he lashed out, eyes flying open as he wrenched the gun-lighter from his pocket and held it upwards threateningly, his chest rising and falling erratically as he gazed forward blindly. It took a few moments for his vision to clear– for the ringing to leave his ears –but when it did, he was horrified at the sight of that girl cowering a few feet from him. Her eyes were bright with tears and flashed with betrayal, her arms wrapped around herself like a tight hug. 

“Are you–” She choked and started over. “Should I call someone?” 

The man on the ground panted, his hand still clutching the fake gun helplessly, his arms shuddering wildly as he held it up at her. Her eyes were drawn back to the weapon, or so she assumed it really was one, tears brimming at the edge of her vision. 

She asked, then, quietly, “If you shoot, will you aim for my head?” She shut her sparkling eyes tight. “I don’t want to feel it.” 

Gi-hun looked down at his hand in confusion, quickly tucking the object back in his pocket and choking down cold air, shaking his head. “Ah shit, fuck, I’m– I’m sorry, I–” He swiped at his stinging eyes harshly. “I’m not gonna– no, I’m– I’m sorry… I won’t hurt you,” he promised gently. As gently as he could, given how his mind worked anymore. He stammered, “I– I thought you were–” 

“Gonna hurt you?” she asked softly, her eyes drenched in compassion. Gi-hun shook his head again, gulping. 

“Just– someone else,” he whispered, still shaking fearfully on the ground, shards of glass littering the space around him. 

The girl nodded, slowly, as if trying to reassure him of her kindness. Why the fuck does she care? Why is she being so nice when I am the reason all those people are dead?
“I’m sorry,” he said again, standing up on shivering legs. “I need to– you shouldn’t be here,” he said quickly, brushing himself off and scrambling to pick up the shards of glass from below him. Y/N gaped at him, blinking. 

“But– I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly, rushing to his side to help him, ignoring the way he flinched away from her form. “I didn’t mean to– I don’t know what I did, but whatever it is, I’m sorry, sir–” 

“Don’t–” Gi-hun interrupted, his heart wrenching. “Don’t call me that.”

“Sir–?” The girl repeated the dreaded word unknowingly, straightening. Gi-hun choked, the bittersweet memories of Sae-byeok’s innocent kindness palpable and bloody behind his eyes. 

He shook his head silently. “Nevermind,” he panted. “I’m– I’m sorry. I need to go. I can’t– I just can’t.” 

“Can’t what?” The girl insisted, hurt. “I just wanted to help you–” 

“You can’t!” Gi-hun snapped, his heart jackhammering against his ribs as he stepped away from the girl, his injured leg adding a wretched lurch to his gait. She recoiled, eyes wide and offended. 

“Well, I thought I could try,” she whispered finally, biting at her lip abashedly, ducking her head to hide her welling tears. 

Gi-hun couldn’t comfort her. He didn’t have it in him. 

Instead, he said softly, “Don’t come back here. I’m– I’m ruined.” 

“What the fuck does that even mean?” The girl growled, hiding her broken heart behind an angry voice. Gi-hun blinked sadly. 

“I’ll ruin you, too,” he croaked cryptically. “I always do.” 

Y/N stared at him in wonder and deep sadness as he turned and limped painfully away, his breaths tight and raspy with emotion. She could see a faint bloody stain in the back of the man’s pant leg, on the leg that he dragged behind him, and she thought about how on earth he could have been so destroyed. An accident, perhaps? Maybe some criminal activity, and that’s why he thought no young girl shouldn't be around him. Whatever it was, you were drawn to him and his great sorrow. You wanted desperately to heal that part of him: whatever piece was broken. 

You just didn’t know how. 

…