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The air stinks of sweat and gunpowder and victory. In-ho revels in it.
He wants to yell out in ecstasy, but resigns himself to clenching his fists and sitting back in his chair, a slightly mad grin twisting its way onto his features. His fingers tremble with barely-contained excitement and he steadies them, reminding himself that it’s not quite over yet.
In-ho takes a deep breath, feeling his shoulders and chest rise slowly, and pulls himself together. He doesn’t smooth his face over, though; He lets himself smile for a few moments longer.
He knows that just a few rooms away, practically next door, his Gi-hun sits, restrained to a chair that In-ho picked out especially for him. It’s wonderful. It’s beyond belief, and In-ho finds himself at a level of excitement he hasn’t felt since he was a child.
He’s constantly having to remind himself that he is The Frontman; cool, calm, and collected. And not trembling with exhilaration. Once again, he smooths himself over, running a hand down his clothes and wiping the smile off his face. It will not do for anyone to see him in such a state.
Speaking of anyone, a square guard suddenly bursts through his door without knocking and stops just short of bumping into him. If he had still been smiling a moment ago, he certainly wouldn’t be now. In-ho always finds that he cannot stand rudeness.
Before the guard can say anything, In-ho silences them with a sharp movement of his hand.
“What,” He starts lowly, “Have I asked you all to do before entering at any time?”
The guard’s chest heaves, as they catch their breath. They must have been running down the hallway.
“Knock, sir, but there’s–” She (a woman, In-ho notes. Not so common in the squares) says, but In-ho cuts her off again.
“Precisely. Knock. So, why, Miss… sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name..?” He pauses, and gestures for her to tell him.
She hesitates, clearly caught off guard by the question. There’s a second before she answers.
“Um.. Y-yoon Hyung-mi, sir. But–”
“So why, Miss Hyung-mi, did you so blatantly ignore one of my rules and barge in here like a runaway freight train?”
Hyung-mi audibly swallows. “Sir, there’s an emergency with the prisoner. It was in our best interests to fetch you quickly. Sorry for the disruption.” She bows towards him.
In-ho can’t deny the dropping feeling in his chest when he hears the word ‘emergency.’ Judging by the way the guard is bouncing on the balls of her feet, it seems that it must be serious. He grinds his molars together.
“The prisoner–”
“Guest.” He corrects. Gi-hun could never be a prisoner as long as he was in In-ho’s care.
“Oh, um.. The guest has been wounded pretty– pretty badly. A bullet struck him in his shoulder.”
In-ho seeths. How many times had he ordered the guards to aim at least a foot wide of Gi-hun?! He’d very specifically said shoot to scare, but not to kill. If he wasn’t wearing gloves he’s sure he would be drawing blood given how tightly his fists are clenched.
“Take me to him.” He orders.
-
Gi-hun looks terrible. In-ho’s heart seems to vibrate in his chest.
(He can’t tell if it’s in fear or excitement. (It’s both.))
It takes all the strength he has in his body for In-ho to steady himself and not throttle everyone in that room. They hurt his darling, and they need to pay.
Not now. He tells himself, and he takes a breath. He steps forwards into the room.
Gi-hun’s head snaps up at the sound. There’s a fire burning in his eyes, and In-ho smiles under his mask. He’s the one that provided the kindling for the flames that shine bright in his pupils. His grin widens as Gi-hun straightens up in the chair he’s shackled to.
The guards file out as In-ho dismisses them with a wave of his hand. When the door shuts behind them, he speaks.
“Is your chair comfy enough?” He asks.
Gi-hun doesn’t answer, and stares up at him stoically. In-hun walks over to the built-in bar and pulls out two whiskey glasses, a set of cooling stones, and a bottle of Yamazaki. He takes his time assembling the drinks.
“It’s hand-carved, you know? Very expensive. I had it imported from India some time ago, but it’s just been collecting dust in a storage room. Nobody has sat on it, until you.”
He walks back to the seats and sets the glasses gently down on the small table. Before he sits down though, he walks over to Gi-hun, and undoes his wrist shackles in one swift movement. Gi-hun doesn’t so much as flinch, and a deep pit of frustration is beginning to build in In-ho’s stomach at the lack of reaction. He settles back down into his seat and takes a sip of his drink. Gi-hun just watches him.
He takes the other glass and offers it to the man. The stones clink quietly in the amber liquid.
“Please, drink.”
Gi-hun roars to life and knocks the glass clean out of In-ho’s hand. The glass, sturdy and expensive, doesn’t break, but the liquid spills onto the floor and is quickly absorbed by the wooden floorboards.
“You killed Jung-bae.” He yells, and his voice cracks.
In-ho can feel his hands start to tremble again at the mention of the other man. Anger will not suffice, but he can’t find it in himself to suppress the steaming emotion. He sniffs.
“I exterminated a threat.” He says slowly.
Gi-hun shakes his head in disbelief, eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Why did you not kill me, then?” He whispers, and In-ho is delighted to hear fury lacing his voice. He wants that anger, that emotion.
“I could never kill you.” he admits, truthfully.
There’s a beat. In-ho must have let too much slip because Gi-hun regards him with a look he’s never seen before.
“Why?” He asks, and the unsaid answer lingers in the air.
This time, In-ho doesn’t respond. Both men look at each other for a few, achingly long moments.
“Let me look at your shoulder.” In-ho says instead and walks over to the other man.
“I don’t want you to touch me.” Gi-hun says, and In-ho’s breath catches in his throat.
In-ho pauses.
“Fine.” He says after a second, hating how his voice wavers like a child. “Maybe you’ll bleed out and you won’t be a problem anymore.”
“Jung-bae wasn’t a problem, and you still killed him.”
In-ho forces down the incredulous laughter threatening to burst out of him.
“Of course he was a problem! He killed my guards, and was a part of your little ‘uprising.’”
“He only did that because I told him to. And I think you know that. Why did you kill him and not me?”
The question that Gi-hun is asking is not in the words that he says. In-hun walks back over, and after a second of contemplation, he kneels down and undoes the shackles holding the other man’s ankles to the chair. Gi-hun stands up so quickly it almost pushes In-ho back.
They’re standing almost nose-to-nose and In-ho fights down the urge to take off his mask and kiss the other man’s chapped lips with every fibre of his being. Instead, he pulls off his gloves and gently takes Gi-hun’s face in his hands, wiping away the stray tears that escaped with his thumbs.
“I killed him because he got in the way.”
“In the way of what?” Gi-hun whispers, gaze still locked on the man in front of him.
His cheeks are warm beneath In-ho’s fingers and his skin is soft. He has the urge to cut it off with his knife and sew it into a handkerchief so he can feel it whenever he wants.
“He got in the way of us.” He admits. It’s the cold hard truth.
Gi-hun swallows.
“Who are you?” He asks, and In-ho knows that this is it.
There is no scenario where he would not take his mask off after this last minute.
He takes his hands off Gi-hun’s face, and they feel cold. He reaches up and slowly, so slowly removes the barrier between the two of them. He looks up.
For a split second, something flashes in Gi-Hun’s eyes. And then it is quickly replaced by something different. His face morphs into an expression that no one emotion can possibly describe. Gi-hun steps backwards and stumbles over the chair leg.
“Young-il?” He says, and his voice is laced with something unmistakable. Betrayal.
“Call me In-ho.” In-ho says, and his hands shake.
“You…” Gi-hun’s voice trembles. And then it doesn’t. And the betrayal is replaced by the hard glare of fury. “You.”
“Me.” In-ho confirms, a soft smile on his face, undeterred by the anger cast his way. “It’s always been me, darling.”
The pet name feels unfamiliar on his tongue, but it feels right. Gi-hun will always be his darling, nobody else's. And he’s already killed to make sure that stays true.
Gi-hun snarls, and leaps forwards. In-ho opens his arms with a smile as they both go tumbling down to the ground. He’s pinned down to the floor, and when Gi-hun’s hands wrap around his neck, he almost moans.
In-ho knows Gi-hun isn’t angry. This is love, mistaken for something else. He’ll figure it out in a minute. So, he doesn’t struggle. He looks longingly into his darling’s eyes and smiles widely. In-ho reaches up and strokes the other man’s cheek.
“Darling, you’re hurting me.” He wheezes.
And then Gi-hun slaps him across his face, and that time he does moan. Only quietly, and he’s sure Gi-hun doesn’t hear.
“I’m not your darling, and I never will be.” His darling says as he hauls him up and pushes him against the wall.
“Of course you are. Why do you think I let you in the games again?”
“For your sick, twisted fantasy.” Gi-hun growls, and their faces are inches apart.
So In-ho does the only sensible thing in that situation. He leans forwards and kisses him.
For a second, Gi-hun freezes. He doesn’t reject the kiss. For a moment, his eyes flutter shut and he leans into it, before rearing back and slapping In-ho square across his face again. His cheek stings.
His eyes water. It’s not because of the pain.
“But–” He starts, but he’s cut off.
“If we were the last two people on earth, I would kill myself. And if I reincarnated I would kill myself a million more times if it meant I wouldn’t have to see your face. I don’t want anything to do with you.” Gi-hun spits, and In-ho feels his heart shatter into pieces.
“Darling..” He whispers, reaching over with a shaking hand. Gi-hun smacks it away.
“I am not, and never will be your darling.” Gi-hun says, and In-ho knows then that it’s true.
For a second, he trembles. And then he takes a breath. And In-ho pulls himself back together.
“Fine.” He says. And he pulls his gun out of his pocket. He points at it.
“Let's see how your friends like this.” He says icily, and backs out the door.
Gi-hun’s screams follow him down the hallway.
In-ho pulls his magazine out of his pocket and locks the door to his office behind him.
His hands tremble as he pulls one bullet out of it.
If In-ho can’t have his darling, no-one can have him.