Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“That loan shark actually lent you 500,000 won?” Jung-bae’s voice dripped in disbelief. “What’d you do?”

In the sky a blanket of dark, heavy clouds stretched out as far as the eye could see. The sound of rain echoes around them, droplets pelting the awning above and the ground around them. It was quiet other than that. Jung-bae’s pub wasn’t on any of the main streets, so when weather like this arose, it made for poor business. Gi-hun grunted. His hands - and the rest of his body - shook as he tried fruitlessly to light the cigarette clenched between his teeth. The damp, ratty jacket he wore did little to actually protect him from the elements.

“Uh - I asked him? Obviously. Stupid piece of shit -,” he muttered, glaring down at his lighter. Occasionally, it managed a flicker of a flame, but nothing strong or lasting enough to light his cigarette.

“You’ve gotta stop that, you know.” Jung-bae chided, elbowing Gi-hun in the side. The jolt startled him enough to drop the lighter. When it clattered to the ground and chipped, Gi-hun rounded on Jung-bae with an incredulous look.

“What’d you do that for eh?! Now it’s broken!”

“It was broken before,” Jung-bae muttered sullenly. His eyes were heavy and disapproving as he looked Gi-hun over. Before Gi-hun could continue laying into him, he fished his own lighter out his back pocket.

“You’re an angel.” Any and all complaints died on his lips as he shuffled forward. The second his cigarette was lit, he took in a deep breath and blew out a puff of smoke. The earthy smell of rain clashed heavily with the sharp scent of tobbacco. Gi-hun found himself quite fond of it. Opposites attract, or something like that. “Now uh. What’re you talking about? Stop what? You’re not going to lecture me about gambling now are you?”

“We’re going to the race track after this, why would I do that?” Jung-bae leaned against the outer wall of the pub and Gi-hun mirrored him. Together they watched the rain from their little bubble of safety. “No, I meant attracting the people you do.”

“You have a habit of drawing in psychos, like moths to a flame.” Jung-bae snatched his fist in the air, as if he was grabbing a handful of bugs. He stared at Gi-hun for emphasis. Not that it helped. Gi-hun stared at him blankly, feeling nothing but a rousing bout of confusion.

“You’re not confessing to a crime are you?” Gi-hun accused. He shook his finger and shuffled a few inches away from Jung-bae. He glanced furtively at the front door to the pub. “Where’s the wife, eh? What’d you do to her you sick -”

Gi-hun yelped as pain blossomed in his shin. He barely managed to keep his cigarette in his mouth as he hopped and clasped his leg. Jung-bae, the culprit, lowered his leg and went back to leaning against the wall. Like he hadn’t just kicked his shin. Asshole.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Amusement lit up in Jung-bae’s eyes as he watched Gi-hun rub his leg. “I’m talking about that loan shark. Sang-woo. Your ex-wife. What’s next, eh? Some questionable business man with a killer smile?”

“Jung-bae, what’re you on about huh?” Gi-hun asked, exasperated. “They’re not psychopaths. And all I did was ask the loan shark nicely, I can be nice, you know.”

“Uh-huh. And what about Sang-woo, hm? All your history and what you did for him and he can’t answer your calls. All that praise about how dutiful and nice he is all while going off to college and leaving you in the dust. Didn’t you say he had some issues in high school too?”

“That’s high school, come on.” Gi-hun scoffed brushing the comments away with his hand. “That’s in the past. And he’s a busy doctor, you know! He talks to his mom, sometimes. Maybe he just doesn’t have the time to talk to me.”

“Sometimes,” Jung-bae parroted. “And a real friend could make a little time to at least send a text. How about your ex-wife then?”

“Watch your words Jung-bae…” It’s true the love was long lost between the two of them, and that Gi-hun wasn’t necessarily the best role model, but he didn’t like speaking ill of his ex-wife. He didn’t want that to rub off on Gayeong in any way.

“I’m just saying, isn’t it a little suspicious how she kept rising up the corporate ladder so quickly? I mean, really, all those higher ups stepping down for one reason or another…“

“She didn’t have a hand in any of that,” Gi-hun muttered, frowning. The cigarette smoke was doing little to raise his mood. The whole conversation was killing any hope of that. Really, what was Jung-bae trying to say, huh? That he had shitty taste in company? That he was a magnet for bad mojo? That he had too much faith in people?

There was no way Jung-bae hadn’t noticed his sullen expression on his face. He heaved a heavy sigh and threw an arm around Gi-hun’s shoulders, jostling him as he pulled him close. “Forget it. Don’t worry, ya? You got me, and I’ll be an asshole to your face. I don’t have time for going behind peoples backs.”

“As if you could, anyway. I’ve seen you playing cards, you’re a shit liar.” Gi-hun bumped shoulders with him. “You get this shifty look in your eyes and stutter over your words.”

“I do not!”

Gi-hun snorted and stepped out of Jung-bae’s grip. He took his cigarette and knocked off some ashes, then used it to gesture to the street. The rain was beginning to clear up. Judging by the look of the clouds it wouldn’t be too long before it stopped entirely.

“Hurry up and see if your wife needs anything. Rains clearing up so I wanna check out the horses.” He only had the bills the loan shark had given him. The date had one of his lucky numbers so he had high hopes for turning a profit today.

The man just muttered something unpleasant under his breath before dropping and stomping out his cigarette. He disappeared into the pub, the bell clinking as it swung shut behind him. As silence descended over him the thoughts of their conversation did as well. Gi-hun took a deep breath, trying to drown it out by imagining the cigarette smoke filling his lungs until there was nothing left. When the smoke cleared all that took it’s place was a fleeting image of Sang-woo and his ex-wife. The crinkle in her eyes when she smiled, before the very act became scarce. Sang-woo during his college years - because Gi hun found it difficult to imagine him past that (when was the last time he’d seen the man face to face? Screw the phone calls.) The exhaustion of classes weighing heavily on his shoulders, and yet he’d still manage a smile when Gi-hun saw him. Gi-hun found it difficult to imagine them doing anything unforgivable.

Or, a tiny part of him whispered, that he’d forgive them no matter what. Even if others didn’t. Was it because he was close to them - or because Gi-hun genuinely thought kindness could never fully flee a human being?

Gi-hun found himself absently pulling his phone out his pocket. He stared down at the screen, thumb hovering over Sang-woo’s contact. At the bottom was a red carpet that mocked him for still trying. Before he could press the button, the door behind him chimed, and Gi-hun was overcome by embarrassment that caused him to quickly shove his phone back where it belonged.

“You’ve got me for four hours max.” Jung-bae said, shaking out his jacket as he walked out. “Let’s go.”

If Jung-bae noticed Gi-hun’s smile was tighter than normal, he, thankfully, didn’t say anything. Instead they started their trek to the horse races. With the rain clearing, more people were slowly filtering out onto the streets. Him and Jung-bae made a few personal bets on which one of them would make more money. Jung-bae had long since lost faith in Gi-hun’s instincts. The horse races were busy as usual and Gi-hun saw his fair share of familiar faces. Gi-hun gave an extra kiss of good luck to his bills before the bets. He won. He lost. Won another. Lost more than he won. In the end his throat hurt from yelling just as bad as his wallet did from being empty.

“Here buddy.” Jung-bae’s smile was smug as he placed a few bills against Gi-hun’s chest, patting them for good measure. “For the good company.”

“Tsk. I don’t need your pity,” Gi-hun snapped. Still, he quickly snatched and pocketed the bills before Jung-bae took them back.

Jung-bae rolled his eyes as he walked away. He waved over his shoulder, “Don’t spend it all in one place Gi-hun! Seriously!”

Gi-hun ignored his stab, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. His brushed against his phone. When he pulls it out, he realized it was dead. Of course. It’d been low battery when they first arrived at the track, so god knew how long it’d been off. A little tendril of worry wormed it’s way into his head.

What if his mom had needed something? What if Gayeong had tried to call? (Not likely.) What - he groaned and slapped himself in the head.

“No use worrying about it,” he tried to tell himself. The words did little to calm himself. Even so there was still a little extra pep in his step as he made his way home. He kept an eye out for any loan sharks along the way. The walk was, thankfully, uneventful. When he saw his house in the distance, he let out a slow breath, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. He climbed the front steps, carefully toeing off his shoes before pushing open the door.

“Mom!” he called out.

No response. That was fine. It was late but maybe the shop was busier than normal. No need to worry.

He was worried.

Gi-hun tried to shake it off, but he couldn’t. Sure, his instincts may be shit but sometimes he was right. Their place was big so there was no way his mom was hiding, why would she be anyway? Nothing seemed out of place. The door had been locked and untouched so there couldn’t have been a break-in. Gi-hun plugged his phone into the charger, then sat on the couch, trying to wait as it powered up. His leg bounced restlessly, and he gnawed at his nails, each second feeling heavier than the last. It got to be too much, so he tried to be busy and feel useful - cleaned up some of the mess in the kitchen, took the trash out, and -

The phone’s screen lit up and Gi-hun stumbled over his own feet rushing for it once he realized.

Two missed calls. One voicemail. Gi-hun clicked on the voicemail.

“Hello, is this the voicemail for Seong Gi-hun?” (He really needed to fully set up his voicemail.) “This is Dobong-gu Community Health Center calling in regards to your mother…”

The words hit him like a freight train - he hardly heard the rest of the phone call. There was a buzzing overtaking his hearing and every breath felt suffocating. His mother had collapsed at work.

They’d taken her to Dobong-gu because it was less expensive, but her condition was still uncertain. They were considering a transfer to Hanil Hospital but needed his permission. She was unconscious, and they needed him. And he hadn’t been there because his phone died while he was fucking gambling -

He couldn’t have known.

It still didn’t stop the nauseating feeling of guilt that rolled through him as he rushed out the house. The voicemail came an hour and a half ago. Not long. It felt like far too long, so much could happen in an hour and a half. His thoughts spiraled.

What if - no. They wouldn’t let her die. They needed permission but they wouldn’t let her die. They were doctors. They couldn’t do that.

They wouldn’t. Would they?

Gi-hun made it to the Center in record time, cutting the usual travel time in half. The travel was a blur. A jumbled collage of star-speckled skies, passing streetlights, and shoving through startled pedestrians. Somewhere along the way he’d lost his jacket. He felt a few pairs of eyes snap to him when he slid in through the front doors. Gi-hun ignored them and zeroed in on the front desk attendant. She watched his approach with tired, nervous eyes.

“Seong Gi-hun,” he blurted, his words tumbling over each other. “My mother was admitted here around two hours ago? I have the voicemail - her name is Mal-soon -” His voice cracked, and he forced himself to slow down, though panic still tinged every syllable.

The attendant stared at him a second longer before her eyes slid to the computer in front her. Her fingers moved across the keys with practiced ease. Whatever she needed to find, she found it. She pushed herself up from the chair, grabbed a clip board and nodded at him curtly. “Follow me.”

Gi-hun fell into step beside her, struggling to keep up with her brisk pace.

“Mal-soon was admitted after collapsing at her shop, one of her regulars apparently accompanied her here.” he attendant explained, her voice even and professional, with just a hint of practiced empathy. Her heels clicked and echoed off the walls around them. A few more nameless doctors and nurses passed them in the halls, a constant distant mummer of conversation filling the air. Gi-hun hunched his shoulders, trying to shrink into himself, his nerves fraying with each step.

“She was conscious for a while,” the attendant continued, her tone neutral. “But she went under before the doctor could fully evaluate her condition. The doctor is with her now, determining the best course of action. Please wait here.”

She stopped abruptly outside a door, gesturing to a row of chairs against the wall. There was a window by the door, but the blinds were drawn, leaving him nothing to focus on but his restless thoughts. Gi-hun nodded mutely, his throat too tight to speak, and sank into one of the seats. He rubbed his sweaty palms against his thighs and glanced up at the attendant. His foot bounced uncontrollably, his thoughts spiraling back into the same anxious refrain.

Gi-hun swallowed dryly. “How long do you think it’ll be?” he asked, his voice barely steady.

“It shouldn’t be too long,” she assured. Then she turned and went back the way they’d come.

Gi-hun watched her retreat, then let his eyes wander. There wasn’t much in the sterile corridor to hold his attention. Watching the staff hurry past only made his chest tighten further, their weary faces a reminder of the constant struggles unfolding here. The ticking clock on the wall opposite him was no better, each second stretching the silence into something unbearable. He was almost glad when a door nearby opened. A little girl shuffled out the room, looking around, before spotting him. She took a seat a little bit away from him. Behind her an older couple stepped out - paying her little mind. They turned to each other, their low voices carrying an edge as they argued in tones meant to be hushed. In the stillness of the hall, however, their words seemed louder than they likely intended. Gi-hun winced and shifted his gaze back to the girl, unwilling to intrude on their dispute.

The girl clutched a doll, absently stroking its hair as she stared into the middle distance. Her eyes, ringed with dark circles, made her look far older than she should. The sight tugged at something in Gi-hun. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but no words came. Comforting people wasn’t his strength. Even with Ga-yeong, he’d mostly relied on hugs or clumsy distractions to help her feel better.

His hand drifted to his pocket, brushing the few crumpled bills he had left. It wasn’t much—barely enough for a vending machine snack—but what good would they do him now? Maybe, just maybe, it could brighten her day, even if only for a moment.

Gi-hun opened his wallet, staring at the few crumpled bills inside. For a moment, doubt gnawed at him—was this enough? But before he could second-guess himself, he grabbed the notes and held them out to the little girl. Her wide eyes flickered between his hand and her parents, who were still embroiled in their quiet argument.

"Here," Gi-hun said, his voice soft but steady. "Why don’t you go get some cookies? And there’s apple juice in there too."

The girl hesitated, glancing nervously at her parents yet again.

"Don’t worry," Gi-hun reassured her, giving her his most confident smile. His eyes flicked briefly to the couple. "If they notice, I’ll distract them, okay?"

“…Thank you,” she whispered. She took the crumpled notes and hopped off the bench, scrambling to the nearest vending machine.

Gi-hun got distracted watching her, smiling softly as he pictured Ga-yeong. They didn’t seem far apart in age. He stayed lost in the moment until the sudden sound of a throat clearing jolted him from his thoughts. He whipped his head around, his gaze locking onto a man who had been standing nearby—watching him for god knows how long.

The man was a few years older than Gi-hun, though the years had been far kinder to him. His presence was composed, with a pair of dark, heavy set eyes that seemed to look right through him. His hair was neatly trimmed, parted to the side. Gi-hun, who didn’t consider himself unattractive, couldn’t help but feel the stark difference between them.

“Are you okay?”

Gi-hun blinked, realizing the man was speaking directly to him. “Oh—yes—sorry, it’s been a long day, you know?”

The man nodded, his expression unreadable. He sat down beside Gi-hun on the bench, and for a moment, they both found their gazes drawn back to the couple, their voices rising in the quiet hallway.

“…She’ll appreciate it, I’m sure,” the man murmured, voice deep and quiet. Gi-hun followed his gaze to the little girl grabbing a bag of cookies out of the machine. “They’ve been here awhile.”

Gi-hun nodded. He hesitated for a moment before asking, “Are you a doctor, or just visiting?”

“Visiting, not a patient, but a worker.” The man settling back on the bench, clasping his hands in his lap. ““It’s her older sister in there. An attack. Apparently, by a classmate from her college. She’s on life support—fighting, but they don’t have high hopes.”

Gi-hun felt a chill run down his spine. He could hear the grief in the man’s voice, even though his tone remained measured. The words “life support” settled heavily in the air between them.

“Life support…” Gi-hun echoed, wincing. The weight of it hit him harder than expected. He glanced at the door to the room beside him. The doctor was still inside, but the pit of dread in his stomach was already gnawing at him.

The man sighed as if agreeing with his sentiment. “And despite all the evidence, the assailant is apparently getting off scot-free.”

Gi-hun’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

The man looked at him, his eyes hardening with a quiet frustration. “Some police error. They messed up the investigation, and now they can’t hold him.”

“What?” Gi-hun repeated, his mouth going dry as shock flooded his system. “So they’re just… letting him go? After what he’s done to that family?”

“It wouldn’t be just—” The man practically spat, his dark eyes flashing with anger.

“Just?” Gi-hun echoed, his own voice rising in response. “It’s not just to let him go! How is it their fault our police are shit and can’t do their job, huh? Tsk, honestly! At this rate we’re going to have to start taking matters into our hands. How else are we going to keep criminals from flooding the streets -”

The man was staring at him now, his gaze sharp and unreadable. Gi-hun’s words faltered under the weight of that look. He wasn’t sure if it was judgment or something else entirely, but it made him uneasy. His mouth snapped shut, and he cleared his throat, quickly averting his eyes.

The man’s lips twitched upward, barely noticeable, but it caught Gi-hun’s attention.

“Not that I’m implying that… you know…” Gi-hun stumbled over his words, trying to backpedal. “I just mean—”

“No need for excuses.” The man leaned in slightly, his posture casual but imposing. Gi-hun glanced at him, and though the man was a bit shorter, his presence made it feel as though he towered over him. “Say what you mean.”

Gi-hun opened his mouth to respond, but he was saved from further embarrassment by the sudden creak of a door.

“Seong Gi-hun?” A doctor stood in the doorway, clipboard in hand, his gaze sharp.

Gi-hun blinked, relief washing over him. “Excuse me,” he muttered to the man, then quickly shuffled after the doctor.

The door clicked shut behind him with a quiet finality, sealing him into the sterile, hushed space of the hospital room. His eyes immediately found his mother, small and frail beneath the stark white sheets.

A lump rose in his throat. He stumbled forward, his vision blurring with tears, and gently took her hand. His heart pounded painfully in his chest as he pressed her knuckles to his lips

The doctor cleared his throat before speaking gently, “As we discussed with her prior, her diabetes has been worsening—”

“Discussed with her? She knew she had diabetes - how long -” His mom had never told him -

“…Yes, your mother has been seeing us for some time,” the doctor continued, his voice slow and measured. “Her condition has worsened, and despite our recommendations, she denied further appointments at Hanil because of financial concerns. We listened, but unfortunately, there’s nothing more we can do for her now.” The doctor’s voice softened as he prepared to deliver worse news. “Her kidneys are failing.”

Gi-hun’s mind went blank, his gaze frozen on his mother. His eyes traced every detail of her face, every line and every freckle, as if he could imprint them into his memory. The doctor’s words settled like cold stone in his chest, their weight unbearable. Her kidneys were failing. She’d known she had diabetes and hadn’t told him, too worried about finances.

And here he was, a son too distracted by gambling, too wrapped up in his own failures to even notice.

Gi-hun couldn’t even give her his, the last doctor's appointment he’d ever had already talked about how shit his was. A tear slid down his cheek. He shut his eyes and bowed his head.

“…How long?” He whispered. A steely determination fighting to overcome the grief within him. Gi-hun couldn’t just accept this. Gi-hun wouldn’t accept this, not just because she was all he had left, but because she deserved more. She deserved better than this. At her age, she should’ve been relaxing, watching grandchildren play—she should’ve been cared for, not him.

“Sir?”

Gi-hun’s voice was rough, but he pushed through the lump in his throat. “If I agree to transfer her to Hanil so they can monitor her until a kidney transplant—how long can you keep her until I can pay up?

The doctor’s gaze faltered, his eyes lowering as he processed the request. He wet his lips, his fingers tapping nervously on his keyboard. “Normally, we’d give two weeks. But... I know someone. I can extend it to three—”

Gi-hun jumped at the chance, not wasting a second. “That’s all I need.” He turned abruptly, releasing his mother’s hand, and grabbed the doctor’s with both of his. “Please. A month, just a month. I’ll get you the money, whatever you need—please, she’s all I have left.”

The doctor pulled his hands free gently and placed them on Gi-hun’s shoulders, his voice calm but firm. “Calm down. We’ll transfer her. I’ll do what I can. You’ve got a month. Plenty of time.”

Gi-hun nodded quickly, his chest tight with urgency, but his resolve hardening. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The doctor gestured toward the door. “There will be paperwork at the front counter. Make sure it’s handled.”

Gi-hun didn’t need any more direction. He turned on his heel, still clenching his fists as he walked briskly toward the door. He glanced back one last time at his mother, his throat tightening with emotion.

“I love you, Mom. I’ll fix this, okay? I’ll be back.”

With those words, he strode out of the room, his determination only growing. He didn’t notice the man on the bench, eyes following him with quiet interest. The walk down the hall felt like it lasted an eternity, but Gi-hun’s mind was numb, detached from the world around him. The weight of his task, of the stakes, was too much to process.

At the front desk, his hands shook slightly as he signed the papers, his mind moving on autopilot. His actions felt mechanical, his body running on instinct alone.

Every step he took outside felt heavier than the last, each one dragging him further down an uncertain path. He wasn’t sure where he was headed, but the weight of the promise he’d made to his mother was heavier than anything he’d ever carried before.

Chapter Text

Gi-hun wanted to start right away. Adrenaline coursed through him, colliding with the sharp edge of panic. It left his hands trembling as he fished his phone from his pocket. He swiped past the faint reflection of himself that showed on the black screen: wide eyes, pinched face, a look of desperation etched into every line. His thoughts raced as he attempted to categorize his options.

There wasthe loan sharks - would they give him money if he explained? Begged? Maybe. There was Jung-bae. They didn’t discuss their finances with each other, but if he was struggling then Gi-hun would’ve noticed, right? He could put in some extra hours at his job, or try to find a second job, somehow. His gaze flicked to the tiny LED numbers on the corner of his screen. The realization doused him with cold water.

It was too late to do anything tonight.

When had it gotten so late?

The realization that he would have to wait sent a wave of despair clawing at his gut. There was a mental countdown ticking down in his head. Useless - that’s how he felt. He felt like he was teetering on the edge of letting down his mother, again.

Still, he swallowed his disappointment and dragged himself home. The journey back was a crawl, every step heavier than the one before. A stark contrast compared to his pace trying to get to the center. By the time he arried, there was nothing but an oppressive silence that greeted him and pressed down on him.

Gi-hun lingered in the doorway, taking in the oddly clean and orderly space from a few hours ago. Nothing left to tidy, nothing left to distract himself with. His chest tightened as he thought about his mother - about how many years she’d had to carry this sort of burden for him after his divorce. After every mistake he’d made following said divorce.

His stomach growled, but the thought of eating made him nauseous. There was leftovers in the food that he knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch it. Instead his eyes caught on a half empty bottle of soju that sat on the counter. Surely, he could afford himself the little indulgence before tackling the mountain ahead.

Bottle in one hand, he settled at the table and pulled out a pen and paper. If he couldn’t do anything yet, the least he could do was attempt to make a plan. Gi=hun sighed heavily, poured a shot, and downed it. The liquid went down smoothly, just the effect of drinking it calming his nerves a bit already. It steadied him enough for him to begin writing.

Three weeks. That’s what he had.

That night Gi-hun slept the best he had in the past week, if only because of the amount of soju he drank. When he woke up, sluggishness clung to him, but he didn’t let it stop him from getting out of bed at dawn. When he stepped outside it was with hollow determination. An empty gesture of resolve.

It wasn’t confidence. Gi-hun couldn’t really remember the last time he’d felt fully confident about anything.

Gi-hun bit his nails as he boarded the subway, nerves frayed. Cigarettes would’ve been his normal crutch, but they were a luxury he couldn’t afford now. He focused on his phone, deciding to kill two birds with one stone. The subway rattled along its tracks on the way to Jung-bae’s as Gi-hun fired off online job applications, each more desperate than the last. Half of them he didn’t even pay attention to the pay or position. By time it screeched to a stop he’d managed to blindly apply to at least twenty different positions. He was sure he didn’t have the qualifications for even half.

Gi-hun shot Jung-bae a text when he stepped off. Of course, he could’ve just gone inside to fetch him. But, Jung-bae’s wife was rather intimidating and already didn’t like him. God knew how she’d react to him walking in and asking for 3 million won.

Better to wait outside.

“Gi-hunah.”

Jung-bae quickly ushered him to the side of the pub, away from the windows lining the front. His movements were hurried, voice lowered. God knew how long they had before his wife came sniffing.“What is it huh? The wife’s already been on one because of yesterday, you know.”

“Jung-bae.” Gi-hun licked his dry lips, quickly bowing his head. “I uh - Can I…borrow some money?”

Jung-bae blinked at him for a moment, like he was waiting for the punchline. Despite everything, Gi-hun had never asked him for money before. Then his expression shifted, his face settling into a familiar mask of resigned disappointment. “Gi-hun, friends shouldn’t ask each other for money -”

“It’s not for me,” Gi-hun blurted, his words tumbling over each other. “It’s my mom. She’s in the hospital. She needs surgery—her kidneys—it’s diabetes, severe—”

The hard lines of Jung-bae’s face softened. Even so, when he grasped Gi-hun’s shoulder he sensed nothing but oncoming words of rejection.

“Three million won,” Gi-hun added quickly, desperation clinging to every syllable. “That’s all. I’ll pay you back, I swear—”

“I’m sorry.” Jung-bae shook his head. “Really, Gi-hun, but I don’t have that sort of money, look at the business -”

“I can pay you back. I’ll work for you. Delivery driver, full-time, part-time—whatever you need, I’ll do it—”

“It’s not that.” Jung-bae’s grip on his shoulder tightened briefly before dropping away. His voice grew quieter, almost regretful. “We can barely afford the rent, honestly.”

“Honey!”

They both winced when they heard the sound of Jung-bae’s wife, followed by the ringing of the front door’s doorbell. A second later she was rounding the corner. The disappointment radiating from her was palpable, her narrowed eyes locking onto Gi-hun like he was a stain she’d been trying to scrub away for years. It wasn’t unfamiliar—he’d seen that look before, from others. It didn’t sting any less.

Not that it wasn’t for good reason.

Jung-bae sent him an apologetic look and squeezed his arm one last time. “Let’s talk later, eh?”

Gi-hun nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat as he watched his friend retreat.

Failure #1.

Gi-hun’s next plan of action is the loan sharks.

Earlier he’d managed to squeeze onto the subway without paying the fare. This time he walks - it’s not as early and he doesn’t want to risk getting caught. He doesn’t have time for a chat with any security. The loan shark responded rather quickly to his text: a time and location.

That’s how Gi-hun found himself in a dingy club, wedged between a rock and a hard place. TThe loan shark lounged beside him, one hand resting far too comfortably on Gi-hun’s thigh, while one of his lackeys slung an arm around his shoulders, their grip heavy. The music was loud, pounding in time with Gi-hun’s racing heart. It seeped into his bones, a jarring rhythm that made his skin crawl.

Around him, the club throbbed with life—raucous laughter, bodies pressed together on the dance floor, a haze of cigarette smoke swirling in the dim light. Across the table, two more lackeys leaned back in their seats, passing a cigarette between them. Their murmured conversation was punctuated by occasional glances in his direction, eyes sharp and unkind.

Gi-hun sat rigid, hyper-aware of every gaze, every touch. He knew better than to entertain the thought of fighting back. He might be the tallest man there, but he’d never been a strong fighter.

Strangely, an image of Sang-woo surfaces then. Voice soft, disapproving as he bandaged Gi-hun’s hand. “For someone who’s a bad fighter, you sure do fight a lot. Don’t you?”

The loan shark’s hand squeezed his thigh, jolting him back to the present. It moved higher. Gi-hun’s stomach churned.

“Honestly, Gi-hun, I feel for you. I do,” the man said, voice smooth and dripping with mock sympathy. He flicked his cigarette to the ground, leaning closer. “But do you know how many times I’ve helped you already?”

Gi-hun forced himself to meet the man’s gaze as he continued.

“And three million won…sheesh.”

“I know.” Gi-hun bowed his head. The shame burned.

“You do,” the loan shark replied, his tone almost amused. “But you know what, Gi-hun? I like you. You’ve got a good heart.”

Something in the way he said it made Gi-hun’s chest tighten.

“I could lend it to you. For a favor.”

The hand on his thigh squeezed again, firmer this time. The man leaned in, his breath hot against Gi-hun’s ear. His smile was a sleazy curl, his eyes dark with unspoken intent. Gi-hun froze, his pulse spiking. His gaze darted to the side, to the lackeys watching them like vultures. The arm around his shoulders tightened, trapping him in place. Gi-hun isn’t as stupid as people made him out to believe. There’s no mistaking what the man is insinuating, no mistaking that it would be just the two of them.

Heat rose to his face, a mix of anger, shame, and something far more primal—fear. His throat felt dry, his vision swimming slightly. Pathetically, he shook his head, trying to press himself back, away from the touch that made his skin crawl.

The man’s face twists into one of plain irritation. He leaned back against the seat, taking a slow drag of his cigarette before exhaling the smoke in a long, deliberate stream. “All my good will, and you still deny me? Not smart. Boys, why don’t y'all take care of him.”

Gi-hun barely had time to react before rough hands grabbed him. Panic surged as he was dragged through the noisy club and out the back. He struggled, thrashing against their grip, but there were too many of them. Too strong. What were they going to do to him -

When they finally tossed him against a pile of trash cans, he felt the sharp edge of dread dig into his chest. His mind raced with worst-case scenarios, fear clawing at his throat.

The first punch landed hard against his side, knocking the breath out of him. Then another.

Honestly, Gi-hun felt a twisted sense of relief when the beating began. This, at least, was something he understood, something he could endure. He curled into himself, arms shielding his head, teeth gritted as the blows rained down. Fists, feet—it didn’t matter. It was just pain, and he could take pain. Eventually, they left. The sound of their laughter faded into the night, leaving him crumpled among overturned trash cans and discarded bottles. He didn’t move for a long while, his body humming with the dull, relentless ache of raw nerves.

When he finally forced himself to sit up, a sharp pain flared in his ribs. He winced, pressing a tentative hand to his side. It didn’t feel broken, but he couldn’t be sure. Not that it mattered. He couldn’t afford to get it checked out anyway.

Gi-hun’s walk home was an unconscious haze, his feet carried him wherever they wanted to go. Every step felt like it took too much effort. The pain in his ribs pulsed with every movement, a constant reminder of the club, of the hands, of what had almost happened. He felt like he was sitting back and watching himself go home more than anything. Somewhere deep inside, a small voice told him there was still enough daylight to try something else, to salvage the day. But his body didn’t listen.

The shower water was scalding hot on his skin, but he didn’t turn it down. He could already see the blossoming marks of bruises and swelling cropping up over his form. The heat helped, in a way, though he wasn’t sure if it was soothing the ache or simply overwhelming it. As the water ran over him, he scrubbed his skin harder than necessary, as though trying to erase the feeling of the hand on his thigh. No matter how much he scrubbed, it lingered, phantom and unwelcome.

That night Gi-hun manages to have another dreamless night, courtesy of soju. The morning is slightly better. He still has aches and pains, but he feels more in control of himself than before. Gi-hun resolutely decides to lock away any thoughts about the club. There was no time to think about what’d happened and what had almost happened.

There’s a few bites from the job applications Gi-hun did and he sets up interviews the earliest he can. He’d already asked for more hours from his current boss and the man said he’d see what he could do. But, Gi-hun doesn’t have much hope. Chauffeuring is mostly about the demand and it’s not like he was the only driver around. Still, he goes into work that morning with high hopes.

Between cars, Gi-hun tried Sang-woo’s number one more time.

The familiar tone rang out, each second stretching into a quiet rejection. When the call went unanswered, Gi-hun tried to swallow the bitterness rising in his chest. He told himself it wasn’t about the money—it wasn’t. He just wanted to hear Sang-woo’s voice. It would’ve brought him a sliver of comfort. Instead, he stared at their message thread—one-sided and pitiful. His unanswered texts glared back at him, a quiet mockery. Gi-hun tucked the phone back into his pocket, resisting the urge to send another.

Over the next few days, Gi-hun coudln’t say for certain if things are looking up for him.

Any time he wasn’t working, he was trying to work. His chauffeuring job gave him sporadic hours, and the extra shifts he managed to pick up felt like crumbs. He’d landed a part-time gig at a convenience store down the road, working overnight shifts. It’s not too bad just for the simple fact that it distracts him, and it’s better than nothing. His days blurred into a relentless cycle: waking up early for his first job, driving until his eyes burned, then dragging himself to the convenience store to work through the night.

Between the two, he had a four-hour gap—barely enough time to choose between restless sleep or scouring for more opportunities. Most of the time, he didn’t even bother deciding; he just kept moving, doing anything to avoid the creeping sense of failure nipping at his heels.

Tips from driving were meager. He saved most of them, using only a sliver to buy more soju. If he could stretch it, he might treat himself to a cheap meal. But often, his stomach protested more than his wallet.

Once he’d taken the time to call Ga-yeong. He couldn’t gather the courage to speak after hearing her voice. In the end he hung up without saying anything. The guilty lingered, heavy and suffocating.

During his overnight he’s dealing with the unpleasant people that come out at night. Drunkards. Druggies. It’s his least favorite simply due to the fact he had a bit too much free time to think. Gi-hun could feel the pull of the bottle more acutely during these long hours, especially when the customers taunted him with their own drunk slurs and stumbling antics. It wasn’t even about the escape anymore. It was the ritual—the way it calmed him, dulled his senses just enough to make it through.

When his shift ended, he would drag himself home, drink more to numb the pain, and slip into sleep, only to repeat it all again in the morning. Gi-hun changed his route home to avoid passing the race tracks. Anytime he did, old demons whispered in his ear, tempting him to try just one more time. He could win the money that way, with less work. Then he remembered his mom and that it got him there in the first place. So, Gi-hun changed his route to even avoid the temptation.

Jung-bae’s texts were frequent, his calls persistent. He wanted to talk. He was worried. Gi-hun never responded and ignored him anytime Jung-bae showed up at the door. A talk wouldn’t go over good. He knew if they talked, if Jung-bae saw him or if Gi-hun said the right words, that Jung-bae would find some way to lend him the money. It’d cause more fights with his wife. At worst, it could lead to Jung-bae losing his business. Gi-hun didn’t want that on his shoulders.

Between it all, there’s little time for him to visit his mother. Sometimes he called. Most of the time, she couldn’t answer. On the rare occasions that she was lucid, the conversations were strained, filled with Gi-hun’s pleading for her to have faith in him—for once.

A week is how long he kept the convenience store job. He wasn't too sure why he lost it. But, he vaguely remembered it having to do with his lack of sleep. Gi-hun does know he left out there with a thing of alcohol that he definitely didn’t pay for. Served them right, anyway.

All this adds up to him stumbling down the road at an ungodly hour. The six pack of alcohol had turned into just the one bottle that dangled limply from his grasp. Despite the chilling air, Gi-hun felt quite warm and the most relaxed he’d felt in days. He occasionally stumbled on his own feet. But, he’d only fallen once and at that point he’d been too numb to even feel it - so he considered it a win. His mind was blissfully silent.

“You bitch!”

Or not. Gi-hun froze mid-step, swaying unsteadily. He turned his head and peered blearily down the side alley, the sounds of a scuffle growing more desperate. There were grunts, a woman’s voice, sharp and frantic.

“Let - go of - me!”

The words cut through the air, a cry that stung at something deep inside him. Gi-hun’s head swam. He had no business getting involved. He was drunk, unsteady, not in any shape to fight. He should call the cops, let them handle it. But the thought barely registered. He knew if he was sober, he’d already be down that alley without a second thought. So, he stopped thinking.

Gi-hun downed the tiny bit of alcohol that was left and made his way into the alley. The alley is narrow, the walls covered in various papers, dirt, and a blood stain or two. The scent of trash and rot filled the air, mixing with the acrid smell of urine. It wasn’t the Seoul that tourists saw in their glossy brochures, but it was all too familiar to Gi-hun.

“Hey!” he called as he got closer.

Up ahead, the sight of a man, bulky and threatening, pinned a woman against the wall by her throat. A knife was pressed to her neck, gleaming darkly in the moonlight. At the sound of his voice, his head turned. If it weren’t for the moonlight from above Gi-hun would’ve missed the tattoo of a snake on the side of the man’s face. The girl doesn’t look at him, her eyes trained on the man pinning her to the wall. She had rather curly black hair, and a scar on her neck that seemed older. Despite the fact that man was definitely a gangster and had a weapon, Gi-hun continued to ignore any sense of danger or self preservation he had. Though the alcohol was definitely the cause, he couldn’t blame it fully on that. He figured that if he died saving some girl, maybe it wouldn’t be as bad.

“What’re you doing, huh?!” Gi-hun’s stomach turned as he took another step, mind clouded by the alcohol but his body still pushing forward. He wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t sober enough to think. “You’re not supposed to attack women!”

“This ain’t none of your business old man,” the man spat, sneering. “Walk away before I make you regret it, yeah?”

Already deeming their conversation finished, the man turned back to the girl. Assured Gi-hun would leave like any sane man would - drunk or not. Unfortunately for them both, Sang-woo had been the smart one, not Gi-hun. He took a few great steps forward and swung the glass bottle down on the man's head. The reaction was instant: the bottle shattered, the man’s cursing, and his grip on the girl releasing. She seized the chance to scamper away.

The man’s eyes narrowed as he rounded on Gi-hun, his grip on the blade steady despite the blood dripping from his head. The knife gleamed dangerously in the low light, and Gi-hun couldn’t help but feel a thrill of twisted satisfaction. At least I made him bleed, he thought, barely able to focus.

“You’ve got guts. It’ll be even more satisfying carving you up.” The man’s voice was laden with venom.

Gi-hun gripped the broken half of the bottle, swinging it with sloppy desperation. The movement was clumsy, the alcohol still clouding his judgment, and the gangster easily sidestepped it. The sound of mocking laughter echoed off the alley walls, sending a cold shiver down Gi-hun’s spine. Quickly he closed the distance and drove a knee into Gi-gun’s stomach. The air rushed out him - his ribs screaming in protest. He staggered back, hitting the wall and barely managing to keep his footing.

Still, Gi-hun pushed himself off the wall, barely able to focus. His head spun. The alcohol made everything feel distant, hazy, but he couldn’t give up now. He lunged forward, grabbing at the man’s waist in a desperate attempt to take him down. The struggle was brief. The gangster’s strength was overwhelming, and within seconds, Gi-hun was tossed to the ground with a sickening thud. Gi-hun’s sure if he’d eaten something today, he would’ve thrown it up by now. The gangster wiped some of the blood off his face as he turned toward Gi-hun once again. Rolling over, he tried to crawl away, but his eyes locked on something shining in the dirt—glass, shards from the broken bottle. Get it. He barely had the strength to reach for it, but somehow, his hand closed around the jagged piece of glass. The gangster, oblivious, grabbed Gi-hun’s ankle and yanked him closer, straddling him with sadistic pleasure.

Gi-hun’s heart thundered in his chest as the man’s fists began to rain down on him. The first blow cracked against his nose with a sickening crunch, sending pain shooting through his skull. The next punch snapped his head to the side, and the taste of blood flooded his mouth. The alcohol only did so much to numb the pain. Even now, Gi-hun was only fully realizing he might be in danger. All because he wanted to stop some asshole from possibly killing some girl. Why did he have to do this, huh? Shouldn’t a police officer be taking care of this? Why was someone like this not locked up? There was no way this was the first time.

It was those thoughts that caused him to swing his hand blindly with whatever strength he had. He felt resistance as the shard met something solid. The blows stopped. A ringing silence filled his ears. His breath caught. He dared to look up, slowly, painfully, his heart hammering as his eyes met the gangster’s.

The man’s face froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. His body jerked, and Gi-hun’s hand, trembling in shock, saw blood—rushing from the deep wound in the man’s neck where the shard had embedded itself. Gi-hun yanked the shard out in a frantic panic, the blood splattering across his fingers.

The man staggered, his hands flying to his neck in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding, but it was too late. Blood poured freely, staining the alley floor as he choked and gasped for air. Gi-hun scrambled backward, his body shaking, the adrenaline rushing through him like a flood.

“No…no, no, no—” Gi-hun whispered, his voice strained and shaky, as if his very breath was betraying him. His chest heaved, his body trembling uncontrollably. His eyes remained fixed on the gangster, watching with a sickening sort of detachment as the man hit the wall and slowly slid to the ground, his gaze never leaving Gi-hun’s.

The life in those eyes was fading, replaced with glassy stillness. Gi-hun’s stomach turned at the sight, the weight of what he’d just done crashing into him like a wave. He hadn’t meant to—he hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. All he’d wanted to do was stop the man from hurting her. Just stop him.

And I killed him.

Gi-hun’s throat constricted, and the world tilted around him. Gi-hun did throw up then: A mix of blood, bile, and alcohol that pooled on the ground between him and the body. The nausea didn’t stop, his body wracked with tremors, his mind spiraling. He could feel the last bit of adrenaline draining from him, leaving only the cold embrace of reality. The black spots danced at the edges of his vision, pulling his awareness further from the present. He tried to stand, to pull himself together, but his limbs refused to cooperate. His legs were too weak, his body too broken. He swayed, and then he felt it—someone’s hand on his arm, shaking him gently.

“Old man, old man we have to go.” It was the girl, her voice urgent as she grasped his arm and tried to pull him along. Gi-hun tried to focus, tried to respond, but all he could do was sit there, dead weight in her grasp. His heart pounded erratically in his chest, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

Footsteps. He could hear them, but he couldn’t get himself to move.

“…I’m sorry,” the girl whispered. The words cut through the haze, and Gi-hun barely had the strength to process them. Her hand left his arm, and he heard the sound of her running off, her footsteps fading into the night. She was gone.

That’s good. He thought numbly. He’d helped her. He’d done something right, at least. He hadn’t failed her.

But it didn’t matter now. He could feel the coldness creeping into his bones, the exhaustion, the weight of everything crashing down on him. His eyelids fluttered, heavy with the pull of sleep, and the world around him blurred into something distant, unimportant.

A soft touch on his face brought him back for a moment—a rough hand, warm against his skin. The touch was unfamiliar but comforting in its own strange way. At least I helped her, he thought again as his vision swam. Maybe... maybe it’s not too late to do something good for once...

And then, as his body gave in to the overwhelming exhaustion and his consciousness slipped away, Gi-hun let himself fade into the darkness.

Chapter Text

The first time Gi-hun woke up, it was to the pounding of his head. He was unsure if he was lying down or standing up, because either way the world spun and tilted on it’s axis. His body ached all over, but the worst pain was in his face: a sharp, throbbing agony that forced a moan from his lips. Everything was pitch black, and nausea churned in his stomach, threatening to overflow.

“Your eyes are closed,” a deep voice muttered. “It’s not dark-”

Gi-hun didn’t catch the rest. The nausea surged, and he jolted upright, vomiting off the side of what felt like a bed. Huh. So, he had been lying down. Through blurry vision, he caught sight of an expensive rug beneath a pair of polished, equally expensive shoes—shoes that now bore the brunt of his mess. His gaze climbed up to a man in a sharp suit. The face seemed vaguely familiar, but the pain, exhaustion, and lingering alcohol in his system dragged him down again. Just as quickly as he’d woken, Gi-hun passed back out.

The next time he woke up, he was slightly more lucid. His head and body still hurt like hell, but he could tell he was laying down and his stomach wasn’t nauseous. It took a few times before he could open his eyes without being blinded. Right away, he knew he wasn’t at home, though he couldn’t quite remember why. Bits and pieces came back to him: being fired, drinking too much, wandering aimlessly down the road—but after that, nothing. The pounding in his head deepened as he cautiously sat up.

The room looked like some luxury hotel. TThe queen-sized bed beneath him was made with sleek black and gray linens that screamed high-end. A nearby dresser held the standard hotel amenities—soaps, towels, and other small comforts. Two doors stood on opposite sides of the room: one likely led to the bathroom, the other to the hallway. The interior was tastefully decorated but devoid of any personal touches. Gi-hun looked down and was horrified to realize he’d been changed into some pajamas. Who’d changed him? Ignoring the ache in his ribs, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. The attempt was short-lived; the room spun, and he collapsed back onto the mattress, head pounding in protest.

“It’s unwise to stand up so quickly.”

Gi-hun’s head snapped up at the sound of the voice. Instantly, he regretted the motion, hissing in pain as he shut his eyes. After a moment, he opened them again, more cautiously this time. The man in front him was slightly familiar and he couldn’t figure out why. Standing across the room was the same man from before, his appearance now sharper and more distinct. He wore black slacks and a fitted black t-shirt that Gi-hun couldn’t help but notice flattered him—though he blamed any such thoughts on lingering alcohol. Gi-hun watched as he rounded the bed and set a bottle of pills and a glass of water on the nightstand near him. As he did, Gi-hun got a better look at his face: neatly styled hair, heavy-lidded eyes, and a calm, impassive expression.

“…The man from the hospital?” Gi-hun whispered, brow wrinkling.

The man glanced at him, lips twitching with faint amusement. “So you remembered me. Good.”

Small world. Gi-hun couldn’t decide whether to be astonished or unnerved by their reunion—or by the fact that this man had not only found him but also gone out of his way to bring him here. He didn’t think he’d left that much of an impression during their first meeting. The sharp sound of fingers snapping brought him out of his thoughts.

“Drink up. It’ll help,” he said, gesturing to the pills and the water.

“Oh. Right. Thank you.” Gi-hun bowed his head in appreciation before taking them. He took two pills off the bat, with how he was feeling he was sure they’d still barely make a dent. A silence descended upon them. Gi-hun alternated between sipping on his water and glancing hesitantly at the overbearing man.

The man had taken a seat in a chair facing the bed, one leg crossed casually over the other. He leaned back, watching Gi-hun with an unnerving calmness. “Do you remember how you got here, Gi-hun?”

“No, I—” Gi-hun hesitated, tightening his grip on the glass. A thought struck him, and he looked up sharply. “Wait… Did we ever exchange names?”

The man seemed to enjoy the way Gi-hun slowly grew more tense. He had crows feet in the corner of his eye, and Gi-hun was beginning to think they weren’t just from smiling at joyous moments. “Is it not rude to ask a question without answering one first?”

“That…” Gi-hun trailed off, pressing his lips into a thin line. His gaze shifted away, focusing instead on the wall beside the man’s head. It was frustrating. But, it was kind of important to remember how he’d gotten here. The question lingered, irritating and persistent. Remembering how he’d ended up here felt important, but his memory remained hazy. Slowly, fragments began piecing together. He winced as one came into focus. “…Sorry about your shoes.”

The man waved the apology away with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “You’re not the only drunk I’ve dealt with. Be more apologetic about the rug—it’s the staff who’ll had to deal with that mess. Still,” he continued, his tone steady and unyielding, “that doesn’t answer how you got here, does it? What happened after you drank? Why are you in pain?”

Gi-hun’s eyes flicked to him and away again once he’d seen the man’s gaze had never strayed. “After I drank...”

His hand drifted to his side, fingers pressing gently against his ribs, mapping out the tender points. Pain flared beneath his touch, radiating from his bruised abdomen. His ribs and sides were the worst, but it was his face that bore the brunt of the damage. The pounding ache was constant, and his fingers brushed over his nose, finding it swollen and wrapped.

A memory stirred, vague and disjointed—a man with a snake tattoo, fists crashing into him. The image hit like a lightning strike, and suddenly the floodgates opened. The events of the night came rushing back in jagged, overwhelming pieces.

Gi-hun lurched to his feet, clutching a hand over his mouth as his stomach twisted violently. He stumbled into the bathroom and collapsed in front of the toilet, retching helplessly. Nothing came up but bile, the dry heaving leaving him trembling and weak as he clung to the porcelain.

The image of the man’s lifeless eyes loomed large in his mind, blotting out most of the other memories from the night. The sound of his labored breathing filled the small bathroom until a hand touched his back. Gi-hun flinched, twisting around to stare up at the man with wide, terrified eyes.

“Y-You…”

“I have a name. Why don’t you ask it?”

Gi-hun didn’t open his mouth. Ever since he’d awoken the man had known a lot more about what was going on than he had. The man had to have known, and yet he wasn’t in jail -

The man sighed and crouched down in front of him, meeting his eyes squarely. “It’s In-ho. And don’t worry about your incident—it’s been taken care of.”

Gi-hun swallowed thickly, his gaze darting toward the bathroom door behind In-ho. “T-Taken care of?”

“I haven’t called the cops, if that’s what you’re thinking,” In-ho said, his voice as steady as ever. He tilted his head slightly, studying Gi-hun. “Who would take care of your mother’s medical bills if I did that?”

The weight of those words settled heavily over Gi-hun. He would’ve had to be a fool not to realize that In-ho wanted something in return. He’d taken Gi-hun in, patched him up, apparently disposed of the body, and refrained from calling the authorities. Now, with his mother’s life as leverage, In-ho held all the cards.

Gi-hun clenched his trembling fists, his jaw tightening. “What do you want from me?”

In-ho stood, brushing nonexistent dust from his pants.

“First, clean up.” His tone was matter-of-fact, almost dismissive. Gi-hun watched him warily as his stomach growled audibly, pain rippling through him. In-ho glanced at him and smiled. “I’ll order food while you do.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Gi-hun alone. Shakily, he pushed himself up from the floor, his heart hammering against his ribs. He locked the door, pressing his forehead against the cool wood. The events of the previous night replayed in his mind, each detail sharper than the last. Rage simmered beneath the surface, and he burned with the urge to hit something—anything.

He wondered if his life had been doomed the moment his wife had laid those divorce papers in front of him, or if his downfall had started long before that.

Dragging himself to the sink, Gi-hun leaned heavily on the counter. The mirror offered no comfort. His reflection was a grim testament to the night he’d endured. A deep discoloration surrounded his left eye, explaining the persistent, throbbing pain behind it. It was a small miracle neither of his eyes was swollen shut. His nose was swollen and bandaged, its crooked appearance suggesting it had been broken. Had the gangster done that? And if so, had In-ho reset it? The thought sent a shiver down his spine.Cuts marred his face, shallow but enough to sting when he moved. He pushed up the pajama shirt, revealing a mottled canvas of bruises spreading across his torso. The worst discoloration clustered around his ribs, angry and dark. Gi-hun grimaced and quickly let the shirt fall back into place, deciding he’d seen enough. Dwelling on it wasn’t going to help. Mechanically he grabbed a wrapped toothbrush and carefully brushed his teeth, then washed his face.

It took a few minutes of staring at the door to work up the courage to leave, once he’d cleaned up. It couldn’t have been easy getting him here and taking care of him up until this point. He’d even thrown up on the man’s shoes. All that patience had to add up and Gi-hun was terrified of what the man had planned for him. When Gi-hun finally emerged, the first thing that hit him was the smell. The savory aroma of jigae filled the room, warm and comforting. In-ho sat at the small two-seater table provided by the hotel, his phone in hand and a spread of food set neatly before him. The stew sat steaming in the center alongside a drink.

“Help yourself.” In-ho said, without looking up. “I’ve already eaten, plus you looked far healthier at the hospital. I hope you enjoy Jigae.”

Gi-hun bristled slightly at the comment. It was unsettling how much detail In-ho seemed to remember about him. Had he been watching him more closely than Gi-hun realized? Or worse, had he been following him?

And was his weight loss that obvious? Gi-hun knew he hadn’t been eating much—soju and cheap liquor had become poor substitutes for meals lately—but still…

“Do you not like it?” In-ho’s voice broke his thoughts, his piercing gaze fixed on Gi-hun.

“I’m surprised you don’t already know my food preferences, considering everything else,” Gi-hun muttered, a sharp edge to his tone. He reached for the drink and took a tentative sip. It was tea—light, earthy, and soothing. Before he realized it, he’d downed the entire glass without touching the food. Consequences of a mostly soju or liquor diet recently. The jigae was good. Not the best he’d ever had, but in that moment, it tasted like heaven. Hunger gnawed at him, overriding his caution, and he ate quickly, barely pausing to breathe between bites. By the time he finished, the nausea from eating too much too fast began to creep in, but his body felt more grounded.

Gi-hun sighed and slumped back in his seat. Ready to get things over with, he looked at In-ho expectantly. “…Thank you. But uh - what do you want from me?”

In-ho put his phone away, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table. His sharp, dark eyes bore into Gi-hun, his lips curling into a faint smile. “It would be pointless to say, ‘Nothing,’ wouldn’t it?”

“Maybe if you hadn’t mentioned taking care of..you know, then maybe I could have fooled myself into thinking it was just charity. But yes, it’s useless now.”

In-ho hummed, tapping his finger against the table. “I visit the hospital frequently. But of all the times I’ve stopped by recently, I haven’t seen you once. Given up on your mother?”

"I’ve been working to earn the money for the bills," Gi-hun ground out, his jaw tight. He didn’t like the implication that In-ho had been looking for him—or worse, that he’d abandoned his mother. "It’s left me little time to sleep, let alone visit."

“And how close are you to earning the money for your mother? With..” In-ho glanced at his phone. “A week and a half left?”

“Stop beating around the bush already, would you?!”

“Work for me.”

“..What?”

“Work for me.” In-ho repeated, leaning forward. Before Gi-hun could react, In-ho grabbed his face, his fingers digging into his cheeks. Gi-hun grimaced at the flare of pain as In-ho squeezed his cheeks and turned his face this way and that. "You have a remarkably pathetic face. The kind people either trust, want to take advantage of, or think, 'There’s no way this old man is leading me to danger.'"

“What? Old? How old are you huh?!”

“Forty-six. I’m a year younger than you, still.” In-ho released his face and sat back.

A year younger. No—wait, that wasn’t the point. Focus. Gi-hun rubbed his sore cheeks, brow furrowed. The words ‘work for me’ echoed in his mind, but the more he thought about them, the less sense they made.

“Can you just explain it fully? From step one. I’m lost. A..’pathetic face’? Want to take advantage of it?”

In-ho stood without answering and walked over to the door. He picked up a sleek black briefcase that had been sitting just out of sight. Returning to the table, he opened it and spread a series of folders in front of Gi-hun.The bold letters "PRIVATE" stamped on the covers immediately caught his attention, followed by the emblem of the local crime investigation unit. Gi-hun stiffened. So, In-ho was a cop—or at least something close. A shady one, by the looks of it.

He glanced at In-ho for permission to touch the files. In-ho gave a slight nod, settling back in his chair as if to say, Take your time.

Gi-hun reached out hesitantly and flipped open the first folder.

"Start by looking through these," In-ho said. "Then tell me what you think they all have in common."

Gi-hun flipped open the first file. A young man suspected of sexually harassing multiple women, with several allegations of physical assault. The only victim who’d given a confession fell into a coma shortly afterward. The case was dropped due to a police error during questioning, and the man walked free. Gi-hun scowled. It was a shitty, infuriating mess. How could someone like that slip through the cracks just because of a botched investigation? There was no way the guy was laying low—not with a record like that.

Something tickled at the edges of his memory. He frowned and glanced up at In-ho. "The victim...?"

"The girl’s sister is the one in the hospital," In-ho confirmed, his expression unreadable.

Gi-hun’s stomach twisted, but he forced himself to focus. He moved on to the next file: an abusive employer who preyed on undocumented workers, exploiting their inability—or fear—to report him to the authorities. No solid evidence. No witness testimony. Nothing to pin him down. A corrupt politician who was ‘supposedly’ being paid to sweep things under the rug, and abusing their authority. Without higher ups approval the case couldn’t go any further. Gi-hun’s frustration deepened as he flipped through the rest: a human trafficker, a gang leader, an unlicensed medical broker, a loan shark. It was an endless parade of scum, all walking free for one reason or another. Finally, he slammed the last file shut and glared at In-ho.

"What’s the point of me looking at this? Isn’t this your fault?" he demanded, jabbing a finger at the files. "These are all criminals slipping through because of your division’s failures! Isn’t this supposed to be your job?"

"Exactly," In-ho said quietly.

Gi-hun froze. There was something unsettling in the way In-ho spoke—his usual calm was still there, but darker, colder.

In-ho leaned forward, opening one of the files again. "These are all criminals who’ve escaped justice. And yes, the police aren’t immune to corruption or bureaucracy. I’m not in a high enough position to dictate everything, so I’m stuck getting by."

“..Getting by doing what?” Gi-hun asked, voice low and wary.

"That’s where you come in," In-ho continued, shutting the file with a snap. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. The contrast between his pleasant expression and their grim topic made Gi-hun’s skin crawl.

"You’ll approach people I can’t, given my position. Lead them somewhere more... secluded." In-ho’s smile widened slightly, but it only made him seem more sinister. "From there, I’ll take care of the rest. In return, you’ll receive more than enough compensation—enough to cover your mother’s bills and then some."

“...”

In-ho’s smile dropped. “Gi-hun. Aren’t you tired of criminals like this wasting resources that should go to those who deserve them? Think. That rapist, running free, when your mother is suffering in a hospital bed from working herself to the bone. Don’t you want to help her, instead of gambling your life away like you’ve been so far?”

Gi-hun’s breath hitched. He stared at the wooden grains of the table, unable to meet In-ho’s eyes. If he did, he was afraid he’d give in. His debts were crushing, his mother’s bills piling up—he was running out of time, and he knew it. But what In-ho was suggesting…

"How much did you really dig into my past?" Gi-hun whispered, his voice barely audible.

In-ho leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady. "Enough."

A cold silence fell over the room before Gi-hun spoke again, his voice trembling. "What do you do? I mean, what would you do… with them?"

In-ho’s eyes darkened. "I—"

"No," Gi-hun interrupted sharply. "Never mind. I don’t want to know." He ran a hand through his hair. "Obliviousness is peace, or something like that. If I agreed, I’d need to stay as detached as possible—

“Of course,” In-ho agreed smoothly.

And, for a moment, that was that.In-ho packed his files back into the briefcase, then calmly called for room service to remove the trash from the table. He discussed payment details with them, all while Gi-hun sat, lost in thought. His mind raced with images of the mounting debts, his mother growing weaker each day, the little girl in the hospital, the criminal in the file, the gangster in the alley.

In-ho placed two items in front of him: a sleek business card and his phone.

"Think about it," In-ho said softly. His breath brushed against Gi-hun’s ear as he leaned in from behind, his presence almost suffocating. "Give me a call. You’ve done nothing wrong, per se, but remember this: if a word of this reaches my colleagues…"

Gi-hun’s heart skipped a beat. There was a video of Gi-hun killing the gangster on the phone. Gi-hun felt a familiar nausea building and quickly looked away. He grit his teeth and nodded.

In-ho’s voice was a whisper in his ear. "Looking forward to your phone call, Gi-hun." Gi-hun felt him grab the phone, pat Gi-hun’s shoulder, and heard the door click shut as he left.

Gi-hun didn’t stay long. The walls of the room seemed to close in on him, the air growing thin and suffocating. His clothes from the night before were neatly folded on the edge of the bed, his phone resting on top. When he changed into them, they felt wrong against his skin, like a reminder of the choices he’d made. Stepping outside the room did nothing to ease the discomfort. He felt like eyes were on him—like every stranger passing by could see what he’d done. What he and In-ho had discussed. His hands were stuffed deep into his pockets, his posture hunched as he walked, his steps aimless.

What In-ho was asking of him—Gi-hun couldn’t shake the knowledge that it was a crime. The man had taken him to a hotel, taken care of the crime scene, and waited for him to wake up. Gi-hun found himself on the subway, staring blankly at his reflection in the window as it moved through the dark tunnels. He didn’t know exactly what In-ho was doing with the criminals he got his hands on, just that they weren’t returning. Simple murder? Torture? Something else, a mix of the two? The subway stopped, Gi-hun passed by a police station, stared, remembered the video, and moved on. It didn’t really matter, did it? Gi-hun’s job would be simple, bring them to him, leave, and get paid without too much hassle it seemed. But, could it be that easy?

He stepped into the hospital, his feet heavy with uncertainty. His mind kept spiraling back to the bills piling up, to his mother’s condition. He hadn’t even earned half of what was needed, even after starving himself and working himself to the bone. In a week and a half, the doctors would have to make a decision. They’d have to let her go. It’d leave him alone, and wasn’t that selfish of him to think about? At least this way he’d finally be able to take care of his mother. As he walked through the sterile hallways, a window caught his eye. The blinds were open, revealing a pale, sickly woman lying in bed, motionless. It hit him like a punch to the gut. He turned away, his heart twisting. It wasn’t fair, was it? Those people—his mother, the girl’s sister, the countless others—were suffering, while the criminals went free.

Gi-hun didn’t make it to his mother’s room. He doubted she’d be conscious anyway. Instead, his fingers drifted to the business card in his pocket, and, before he could stop himself, he found himself dialing the number as he stepped outside into the cold night. For awhile, it rung - once, then twice - , and Gi-hun wondered if this was it. The man was some sort of sick fuck that got off on messing with people like him, and he’d be left with nothing but a police warrant come the morning time.

Then someone picked up.

Chapter Text

The next day saw Gi-standing outside of Dong Jeok Bulgogi, roughly ten minutes before their designated meet up time. Normally, he was late to just about everything—important or not. His ex-wife had reminded him of that countless times, usually during heated arguments. But, this meeting was with his mother’s life on the line, and possibly his own considering the ominous vibe surrounding In-ho.. He actually would’ve been here earlier. However, Dong Jeok Bulgogi was a rather nice restaurant and so Gi-hun wanted to look the part. He didn’t want In-ho to look down on him more than he probably already did.

Not that he knew how successful he was. Little money made for little to spare for clothes shopping, and Gi-hun had never been the most stylish person. So, despite the fact he’d chosen his best clothes they still paled in comparison to others.

The sun was beginning to set, bathing everything in a warm, golden hue. Any other day, Gi-hun might have taken a moment to appreciate it. As it was, he instead triple checked his appearance in the window of the restaurant. In a way he was heading into a very important job interview. Whatever the man wanted from him, it was to help his mother. He smoothed his hair, adjusted his collar, and took a deep breath before stepping into the restaurant. Gi-hun comforted himself with the fact that, whatever the man was doing to them, it was to criminals.

It was little comfort.

A wave of warmth greeted him, easing some of his tension. The soft hum of conversation, barely audible music, and dim lighting made the restaurant feel calm. Professional. Private. This wasn’t his kind of place, and he knew it. Still, he walked up to the hostess, bowing slightly.

“I’m here to meet someone…? Uh- my name is Gi-hun-”

“Meeting In-ho, right?” she asked, not looking up from her tablet. She messed around with it for a moment before nodding. “Follow me.”

She led him to a table in the farthest corner of the restaurant, away from the music and other diners. The quieter it got, the more the weight in Gi-hun’s chest grew, especially once he spotted In-ho at the table. As expected, Gi-hun’s ‘best’ wasn’t the best compared to In-ho’s. The man had been upstaging Gi-hun from the minute they’d first met in the hospital. He was a picture of ease and confidence.

Sliding into the seat across from him, Gi-hun waited. In-ho’s eyes never left the menu in his hands. The silence stretched on, and with each passing second, Gi-hun’s anxiety climbed. His hands fidgeted beneath the table, his gaze darting between the decor, the other diners, and the man seated across from him. In-ho, meanwhile, seemed utterly unaffected.

Finally, when Gi-hun was near his breaking point, In-ho spoke, “Have you decided what you wanted already?”

“What?” Gi-hun blinked, caught off guard.

In-ho finally lifted his eyes from the menu and fixed Gi-hun with a measured stare. “The menu. Have you decided what you’re going to order?”

“Uhm. No..,” Gi-hun muttered. He hadn’t honestly expected a meal. He hadn’t expected to actually eat. The meal felt like a pretense, just a front for whatever shady conversation they were about to have. Hesitating, he reached for the menu in front of him, glancing at it as though it might bite. “I -”

“I know what we're here to discuss. So, obviously, the check isn’t yours to worry about,” In-ho stated. A different way of saying ‘I know you’re poor. I’m buying.’.

Gi-hun’s stomach twisted as he slumped further into his seat, the weight of those unspoken words pressing on him. Resentment flared, small but sharp. He flipped through the menu with little care and, out of pure spite, blindly picked the most expensive item he could find. In-ho raised an eyebrow but called the waitress over and ordered for them nonetheless.

Once she left, In-ho set the menu aside and leaned back in his seat, his posture shifting into something more upright and commanding. Gi-hun unconsciously mimicked him, straightening in his own chair, though his discomfort was clear. The silence that followed felt like a deliberate test. In-ho’s gaze bore into him, calm yet unnervingly penetrating, as though he were cataloging every twitch and hesitation. Gi-hun lasted only a few seconds before his eyes darted away, landing somewhere over In-ho’s shoulder. There was something about the man’s stare that felt like it stripped away every defense Gi-hun had, leaving him raw and exposed. He wasn’t sure yet if that was entirely a bad thing.

“What made you accept my offer?”

Jesus. It really was a job interview. If he failed did In-ho just automatically arrest him, being a police officer and all? His words wouldn’t compare to his. Gi-hun’s hands were clammy as he wrung them together beneath the table. He thought back to the previous night, before the phone call. The knowledge of what those people had gotten away with, then going to the hospital and seeing the people suffering. The crushing weight of guilt, the anger at the injustice of it all. He wet his lips nervously, unaware of the brief flicker in In-ho’s gaze as he did.

“...I’m out of options,” Gi-hun admitted quietly. His voice was almost drowned out by the low murmur of the restaurant. “Even if I worked myself to death and didn’t spend a single won, I’d never afford what the hospital wants from me.” He swallowed hard, his eyes lowering to the table. “I’ve already let her down so much. I want to prove I can be reliable, for once. It’s not fair.”

In-ho tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady. “What’s not fair?”

“That -,” Gi-hun hesitated. The words that had been on the tip of his tongue felt wrong now, crude and bitter. The thought that those people were running loose while people like his mother suffered. Dehumanizing, almost. It wasn’t their fault—not entirely. It was his fault she’d gotten this bad.

“That my mother is suffering when she should be enjoying the later years of her life,” he said finally, the words tasting hollow as they left his mouth.

In-ho looked oddly disappointed and Gi-hun felt his heart stutter. If he denied him -

“Very well.”

Gi-hun blinked. “What?”

“I said, ‘Very well,’” In-ho repeated, his tone unbothered. The waitress reappeared just then, setting their drinks on the table. “Thank you,” he said, briefly acknowledging her before taking a slow sip.

As the waitress left, he leaned back, setting his glass down with a faint clink. “You remember everything from the hotel, right?”

“Yes?” Gi-hun replied, though it sounded more like a question than an answer. His hands wrapped around his drink, but he didn’t take a sip. Even in the relative privacy of their corner, the idea of discussing something so delicate in a public setting made him uneasy. Meanwhile, In-ho seemed completely at ease, his posture loose and self-assured.

“Are you sure we should talk about this here?” Gi-hun asked, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“We’d look far more suspicious talking about it somewhere else,” In-ho replied, his tone matter-of-fact. He shrugged lightly and looked at Gi-hun over the rim of his glass. “People here know to mind their business. Have you seen a single person look over here since you’ve entered?”

Gi-hun hesitated. He hadn’t paid attention to anyone except In-ho since stepping into the restaurant. But now that it was mentioned, he realized he hadn’t felt the weight of anyone’s eyes on him. Glancing around, he saw the other diners immersed in their own conversations, their focus far from the two of them. Though he was still nervous, he still found himself relaxing at the confidence In-ho gave off. It reminded him of high school, oddly enough—of how Sang-woo’s quiet composure used to ground him. Back then, Gi-hun had always been seen as the extroverted one, brash and bold. But it was Sang-woo’s steady presence that often gave him the courage to play that role. If he was unbothered, Gi-hun had no reason to be bothered.

“Should we sign like - a contract? Or something?”

“Why? Contracts aren’t legally binding for things like this.”

“They aren’t?”

“…No, it’s only for legal things.” In-ho’s lips twitched and Gi-hun wasn’t sure if he wanted to frown or smile at the fact Gi-hun didn’t know that.Shaking his head slightly, In-ho set his glass down and leaned forward, his voice lowering just enough to make the conversation feel more intimate.

“I’ll restate it, just to be clear,” In-ho said, his tone calm but firm. “We’ll meet up. I’ll give you the information and tell you what needs to be done. You’ll do it. Afterward, I’ll pay you.”

Gi-hun nodded quickly, his fingers tapping lightly against his glass. “I have a week and a half to pay the hospital.”

“You’ll have the full amount by then,” In-ho replied without hesitation, his voice carrying the kind of certainty that left no room for doubt.

“And-”

The waitress returned, cutting Gi-hun off mid-sentence. She carefully set their food on the table, arranging the dishes with practiced efficiency. Both men shifted slightly to make room. Once she ensured they didn’t need anything else, she gave a polite nod and left them alone. Gi-hun stared down at his plate, the rich aroma making his stomach growl audibly. Embarrassed, he glanced at In-ho, who, unsurprisingly, didn’t seem fazed. Since meeting In-ho yesterday, Gi-hun had eaten more than he had in weeks. Part of him wondered if the man was doing it intentionally—after all, he had made that comment about Gi-hun’s weight. But why would he care?

Pushing the thought aside, Gi-hun cleared his throat and looked up at In-ho. There was one last thing he needed to know before he could eat in peace.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t,” In-ho replied bluntly. He placed his phone on the table and slid it to the center, his fingers deftly unlocking it. “But, if it’ll ease your mind a little—”

Gi-hun watched as In-ho pulled up the video from the alley. Without hesitation, he selected it and deleted it, the confirmation screen flashing briefly before disappearing. Then, just as calmly, he retrieved his phone and raised a brow at Gi-hun, as if challenging him to question further.

“Thank you,” Gi-hun said, his voice tinged with cautious relief. He smiled faintly and, finally allowing himself to relax, took a bite of his food. The moment the flavors hit his tongue, his eyes widened. A low, involuntary groan escaped him.

“I could always have a copy of the video,” In-ho remarked casually.

Gi-hun choked. He hit his chest repeatedly until he coughed up the little bit of food. In-ho watched the entire display, entirely unbothered, calmly taking a bite of his own meal.

“D-Do you -?” Gi-hun stammered, still wheezing.

“No.”

Gi-hun eyed him suspiciously. “Are you sure?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was?”

“..Yes? Maybe?”

In-ho smirked faintly. “Eat up, Gi-hun. It’d be rude to let the food get cold,” he said, turning his attention back to his plate.

Gi-hun stared at him for a moment longer, searching for any hint of sincerity in the man’s expression. He sighed, defeated. Even if In-ho was lying, what choice did he have? The man clearly knew it too—he was probably toying with him just for fun. For his own peace of mind, Gi-hun decided to believe that In-ho had deleted the only copy of the video. The thought, flimsy as it was, offered a sliver of comfort. This time, when Gi-hun returned to his food, he allowed himself to truly enjoy it. The flavors, the warmth, the texture—it was a luxury he hadn’t indulged in for a long time. He’d intended to save some for later, but before he realized it, his plate was completely empty.

“Do you want to order more?”

Gi-hun looked up, startled, to see In-ho had also finished his meal. Somehow, that made him feel a little less self-conscious. He flushed slightly and shook his head. “No—no, I’m fine. Thank you.”

In-ho nodded, stacking their empty bowls to the side. Then, without a word, he placed his phone on the table and slid it back toward Gi-hun. The screen displayed the photo of a man with short, slicked-back black hair, sharp beady eyes, and a rectangular face. Gi-hun recognized it immediately—it was the same photo from the file In-ho had shown him before. The sexual harasser.

“Nam-gyu,” In-ho began, his tone taking on a businesslike edge. “Twenty-eight years old. Works at a local club. There are multiple allegations against him—women being physically assaulted or worse. It gives him both an easy alibi and easy access to victims. The most recent one is the young woman in the hospital. Remember her?”

“I do,” Gi-hun said. How could he not?

“We’ll-”

A sudden shrill noise cut through the conversation. Gi-hun winced at the abruptness, his shoulders tensing instinctively. The Caller ID on In-ho’s phone flashed the name ‘Jun-ho.’ In-ho’s expression flickered with a rare hint of emotion—exasperation. It was the most unguarded he’d looked since they’d met. He reached across the table, snatched the phone back, and answered the call.

“Brother,” he said curtly, placing his free hand on the table. His fingers tapped against the wood in a steady, almost mechanical rhythm.

Gi-hun glanced around the room nervously, noticing a few other diners glancing their way, no doubt drawn by the sudden noise. He cursed his height again, wishing he could shrink into the seat and disappear. He turned his attention back to In-ho.

“No, I haven’t,” In-ho said into the phone, his tone clipped.

“…Maybe.”

“Not right now.”

“I’ve been busy.”

In-ho’s eyes met his, his finger stopped. “Fine.”

He hung up without another word, his expression unreadable as he waved the waitress over. “Check, please,” he said simply, handing her his card. Gi-hun watched the exchange warily, his unease creeping back in.

“We’re leaving?” Gi-hun asked cautiously.

“I am. My brother wants to discuss a case we’ve been working on,” In-ho replied, accepting his card back and slipping it into his wallet. “Thank you,” he said curtly to the waitress as she walked away.

Before Gi-hun could process the abrupt change, In-ho reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and produced a plain white envelope. He slid it across the table. Gi-hun, curious but cautious, quickly sat up and peeked inside. His eyes widened as he saw the neatly stacked bundle of bills inside.

“What—” Gi-hun stammered, glancing between the envelope and In-ho, who was now standing and straightening his jacket as though this were a routine interaction.

“Wait—” Gi-hun scrambled to his feet, grabbing In-ho’s arm before he could leave. The gesture was instinctive, and when In-ho’s gaze dropped to the hand on his arm, Gi-hun quickly let go, flushing with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” he said, forcing a smile as he thrust the envelope toward In-ho. “I can’t just take this. I mean—we haven’t even done a job yet, so—”

“It’s fine.” In-ho reached out, grabbed Gi-hun’s wrist, and firmly pressed the envelope back against his chest. His grip was surprisingly steady, his gaze unwavering. “Take it as a show of good faith.”

“But-“

“It’s not much anyway. Take it.” In-ho released his hold, straightened his cuffs, and glanced at Gi-hun one last time. “I’ll contact you later about the job.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Gi-hun standing in the quiet corner of the restaurant, the envelope clutched awkwardly in his hands. Okay. Well. Gi-hun watched him leave before turning his attention back to the envelope. He wasn’t used to being given things without asking, let alone money—and certainly not without strings attached. And, honestly, the conversation hadn’t been as bad as he was expecting. Considering the context he thought it was going to be a lot like conversations he saw in movies between some gangster and a victim.

In-ho might be right that it wasn’t a lot, but to Gi-hun, it felt like hitting the jackpot. His steps carried a bit more spring as he left the restaurant, clutching the envelope securely under his jacket. And his first stop? The nearest convenience store. It was one he’d been frequenting lately, to the point that the cashier barely glanced up from their magazine when he entered. As Gi-hun wandered the aisles, his gaze lingered on the liquor section. He hadn’t planned on buying any after the mess the other night, but…

What harm would it do?

He was in a good mood, wasn’t he? And he’d be going straight home this time. If anyone was going to get hurt, it’d only be him. That thought made it feel less heavy. Reaching out, he grabbed the cheapest pack on the shelf and added it to his basket, along with a few packets of instant noodles. The rest of the cash would go toward his mother’s hospital bills.

“How old are you, mister?”

“Huh? Me? Why?” Gi-hun asked, pulling out some bills as they scanned his items.

“You just seem a little too old to be getting into drunk fistfights, that’s all,” he said. He popped some gum, gaze lingering on Gi-hun’s face.

Gi-hun frowned and covered his nose self consciously. Most the pains had gone - except for his nose - but as a result it left his face a mass of ugly bruises. Hardly the prettiest thing to look at. He snatched the change back from the cashier and gave them a dirty look.

“It wasn’t a drunk fist fight!”

His eyes glanced at the collection of bottles on the counter doubtful. Gi-hun scowled, snatched them up, and stomped away.

“See you in a day or two old man!”

Gi-hun ignored him. The other night was because of the build up of stress and losing his job, is all. He was good at knowing when to stop. Even if he went over that line he was always home and couldn’t blame anyone but himself for the ensuing mess he had to clean up come morning. So, it was fine. The walk home was uneventful, though he couldn’t help the furtive glances he cast over his shoulder every few minutes. By the time he reached his door, his neck ached from the tension. Still, no one had followed him, and no trouble had found him.

A win was a win.

When Gi-hun got home, he made quick work of undressing, tossing his clothes onto the nearest chair. The earlier call with the hospital played back in his mind, brief and uncomfortable. He’d kept it short, knowing the longer the conversation dragged on, the more they’d circle back to payments. Just the thought made him sigh loudly as he flopped onto the couch.

He grabbed the remote and flicked through TV channels mindlessly, occasionally sipping from the bottle in his hand. The alcohol worked quickly, spreading a familiar warmth through his chest and loosening the knot of anxiety in his stomach. It was one of the rare times he didn’t feel completely on edge.

Then his phone rang.

He groaned, ready to ignore it like all the others, but a glance at the screen made him pause. It was Jung-bae. Again.

Maybe it was the combination of pleasant events that day or the buzz from the alcohol, but this time, he finally answered.

“Gi-hunah!” Jung-bae’s voice exploded into his ear, loud and tinged with equal parts relief and exasperation. Gi-hun could practically see his friend’s face: pinched brows, tight lips, and the perpetual look of disapproval.

“Jung-bae,” Gi-hun said weakly, leaning back on the couch and staring up at the ceiling. He felt kind of bad. Okay, very bad.

“...”

“....”

“‘Jung-bae’? That’s it?” his friend snapped, the frustration practically crackling through the line. “You can do better than that, Gi-hunah. I know you’ve been seeing my calls and texts! You didn’t even bother to turn your read receipts off. I’ve been worried sick, and you don’t answer the door when I come by—”

“I’m-”

“I thought you were dead!” Jung-bae cut him off, his voice rising. “Between your mom and the loan sharks, I thought one of them had gotten you. And you know the police are useless—”

“I’m sorry!”

The words came out louder than he intended, and the line went quiet.

Gi-hun sighed, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. The clock on the wall ticked, the sound unbearably loud in the silence that followed. He glanced at his drink, swirled the liquid idly, and took one more sip before setting it down.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he said again, quieter this time. “I just… I’ve been doing a lot to get the money for my mom. I haven’t had much free time…”

There was a pause on the other end, and then Jung-bae spoke, his tone softer now. “You could’ve texted me back once, you know.”

“…I was embarrassed,” Gi-hun muttered, kicking one of the empty bottles. He watched it roll across the floor, thumping softly against the wall. “I didn’t like having to ask you for money in the first place. And to be honest, I—I don’t… look too good, Jung-bae. I didn’t want you to see me like this and get more worried. You’ve got your wife and business to focus on.”

“Gi-hun,” Jung-bae replied, his tone steady. “That’s for me to worry about, okay? You’re my friend. You’re on my list of people to worry about, too.”

Gi-hun disagreed, but the sentiment still brought a smile to his face. “Still -”

“No ‘still,’ no more worrying about my stuff, alright?” Jung-bae cut in. “Come on, give me some news while I’ve got you here, alive.”

“I’m not going anywhere anytime soon,” Gi-hun muttered, rolling his eyes. “I’m fine now. Got a job that’ll help cover the rest of my mom’s bills. I start in a day or two. And she’s doing better. Not completely there yet, but it’s an improvement.”

“That’s good, what’s the job?”

“Just..an assistant. Nothing big. I got a recommendation from one of the people I drove so.” Gi-hun’s voice was clipped. He’d never been the best liar.

“So when can we meet up, hm? Don’t think you’re talking your way out of this one.”

“Can’t I get settled into my new job first?”

“Hm. Fine, BUT,” Jung-bae stressed. “If you ignore my texts again I’ll come over there and sleep outside if I have to. Don’t make me. We’re not exactly at the age where we can afford to sleep on the ground, think of my poor back Gi-hunah.”

“I won’t ignore your text’s Jung-bae,” Gihun said, scoffing. “The last thing I need is your wife talking about how I made you blow your back out or something.”

“Good. Smart Idea.”

“Night, Jung-bae.”

“Night, Gi-hun.”

Gi-hun hung up, staring at his phone for a moment. All this time, he’d been dreading talking to Jung-bae after their last meet-up. Every time a text or call came through, his anxiety would spike, and his mind would race with different scenarios. But there it was: a simple conversation that left him feeling strangely content and at ease, far from the tension he’d imagined. (Of course, without the job from In-ho, things might’ve gone differently.) He found himself missing his friend’s company more than ever. Sighing, he laid back and hugged the nearest pillow to his chest. The exhaustion, mixed with the alcohol, pulled him into a deep, dreamless sleep in just a few minutes.

Chapter Text

‘I’ll be there soon.’

That was the only message Gi-hun saw when he woke up that evening. It had been sent ten minutes ago, with a few other messages before it—messages he hadn't been able to read before his phone died. He barely had time to register the hour before blanching at how long he'd slept. A dull ache throbbed in his head as he stared at the black screen, still slumped on his ratty old couch. The TV was barely audible, some cartoon flickering on the screen. Empty bottles littered the floor around him, remnants of the night before. His shirt bore an unidentified stain, and his boxers had at least one hole too many.

All this and apparently In-ho was coming to his apartment soon? For the job, Gi-hun assumed, though he hadn’t read the other messages. He wasn’t even surprised that In-ho knew where he lived.

“Dammit!”

Gi-hun quickly stood up, barely managing not to slip on one of the discarded bottles. He should clean up. No - he should get ready first. "Soon" probably meant soon, and if this was about the job, he should at least look presentable, right? It had been a long time since he’d had ‘first day at work’ jitters, but here they were, settling in like an old habit.

After plugging in his phone, brushing his teeth, and making a half-hearted attempt to tame his hair, Gi-hun stood in front of his tiny closet. He remembered most of everything In-ho had told him yesterday. Unfortunately, he still didn’t know the full plan. If he was supposed to lead the target to In-ho, were they heading to the source? A club? The last time he’d been to a club was sometime after high school. Some friends had convinced him to go, and he'd managed to rope Sang-woo into coming along before college whisked him away. He remembered clinging to Sang-woo drunkenly the entire night. Gi-hun winced at the memory. It hurt, but sometimes he thought he realized why Sang-woo stopped talking to him.

Shaking off the thought, he muttered to himself, “What do people even wear to clubs these days?”

Whatever it was, he was pretty sure his wardrobe wouldn’t do him any favors. He was in his forties, for crying out loud. If a cop wasn’t the one sending him into a club, he’d be worried about someone calling the cops on him just for being there.

Gi-hun ended up choosing the tightest shirt he had - a regular t-shirt he’d out grown ages ago. There was a pair of slightly oversized pants in his closet he pulled on right after. He didn’t remember owning a pair like it, but he wasn’t going to look a gifted horse in it’s mouth. Or whatever the saying was. In the end, if you squinted, Gi-hun didn’t think he looked too bad. In the end, if you squinted, he didn’t think he looked too bad. Just like a man going through a midlife crisis—which, honestly, fit the story for why he’d be going to a club in the first place.

A sharp knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Gi-hun braced himself for the inevitable judgment.

Which In-ho delivered. The first thing In-ho did when Gi-hun opened the door was drag his gaze over him—slowly, from head to toe, and then back up again. Gi-hun shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny, flashing a nervous smile when their eyes finally met - In-ho’s remarkable blank and unimpressed. There were bags under his eyes, Gi-hun realized. Was it his brother that’d kept him up, or the case?

“Did you read my messages?”

Gi-hun tore his gaze away and scratched the back of his neck. “About that… When I woke up, my phone was dead. I only caught the last one saying you’d be here soon, so, uh… I made a few assumptions?”

“Like?” In-ho’s eyes flicked to his outfit again.

“That..it was for work, and we’d be going to that club..?” Gi-hun answered hesitantly.

“Your assumptions weren’t wrong, at least. Stay here,” he commanded. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and disappeared around the corner. Gi-hun shifted anxiously, casting a quick, regretful glance over his shoulder at the state of his apartment. If In-ho had to come inside, hopefully, he wouldn’t comment on the mess…

“Your bathroom.”

Gi-hun jumped, whipping his head around so fast he pulled something in his neck. He grimaced in pain as In-ho raised an unimpressed brow and nodded toward the open door.

“Come on, we don’t have time.”

Gi-hun decided to take the initiative and ask for forgiveness later. All he could think about was how much In-ho already knew about him—had seen—but he did not need the man staring at his filthy house on top of everything else. Sue him. HWithout a second thought, he rounded In-ho, placed his hands firmly on his shoulders, and shoved him through the front door. He moved fast—fast enough that In-ho barely had time to glance around before Gi-hun steered him straight to the bathroom. Honestly, he was both relieved and shocked that In-ho allowed himself to be manhandled. He’d half-expected at least some retaliation for his touchiness.

When he shut the bathroom door behind them, all he got was a questioning look.

Gi-hun’s bathroom was cramped, even more so with two grown men inside. There was just enough space for a sink, a toilet, and what had to be the smallest shower known to man. He pressed himself against the door, trying to create what little distance he could.

In-ho, unfazed, set a bag on the closed toilet lid and unzipped it.

“You don’t have any more bodies you’re trying to hide, do you?” he asked casually, pulling out a bundle of clothes.

“What? No - actually yes! Yes I do!” Gi-hun found himself agreeing, rather than confessing the real reason. He frowned when In-ho turned around, glancing at the bundle of clothes in his arms. “..What’re those for?”

“After yesterday, I figured you’d be lacking in the clothing department. Try these on.”

In-ho passed the clothes to Gi-hun. Well, it wasn’t mortifying in the least that In-ho saw it upon himself to bring Gi-hun clothes. Not at all. He sighed, shoulders slumping as he decided to take a closer look at the articles of clothing In-ho brought. If he wasn’t mortified before now he was. Because apparently infiltrating a club meant he should be rocking: a tight cropped tank top, dark baggy jeans, a jacket, boots, and a chain? His eyes flickered between the clothes and In-ho in disbelief.

“Well?”

“Do—do you really expect me to wear this? Really?” Gi-hun asked, shaking the bundle for emphasis. “I’ll look ridiculous! Aish, come on—”

“You think I go clubbing?” In-ho sighed and returned to digging in his bag, back turned to Gi-hun. “Apparently, that’s what young people wear to clubs nowadays so just put it on.”

Gi-hun groaned. He could not believe this man was actually making him wear this. “Can I at least have, you know… privacy?”

“I have my back to you, don’t I? I won’t look. Pinky promise.”

There was silence. No sounds of clothes rustling, movement, or any complaints. In-ho frowned and glanced over his shoulder. What he saw was Gi-hun standing there, pinky held out expectantly while staring at him. He opened his mouth and shut it again. Sighing, In-ho turned around and locked his pinky with Gi-hun’s while staring up at the man.

“Happy? Now change.”

This time, Gi-hun actually did start changing. Not without struggle, though—the tiny space made it near impossible to move properly. More than once, he bumped into In-ho’s back, stumbling through apologies as he wrestled with the unfamiliar clothes. There was some grunting. Some hopping. A lot of regret.Finally, he finished. He hoped he didn’t look as stupid as he felt.

““How do I look?” Gi-hun asked, holding his arms out as if to present himself. He held his breath as In-ho turned and gave him a once-over.

A beat of silence. Then, a nod. “Had we been in our prime, I’d say attractive. Now sit down.”

“In our prime? I’ll have you know I still am-” Before he could finish, In-ho was already herding him toward the toilet lid. Gi-hun let himself be shuffled around until he plopped down.

“Didn’t say you weren’t. Hold still.” In-ho grabbed Gi-hun’s jaw. He winced at the aches that flared from his fingers pressing harshly against bruises. Gi-hun watched as he popped open a bottle of concealer. He braced himself, squeezing his eyes shut in preparation for pain. But it never came. In-ho’s touch was… surprisingly gentle. The concealer dabbed softly against the discoloration, carefully blended in. Gi-hun breathed out slowly and allowed himself to relax under the touch.

“We’ll keep the stubble for now,” In-ho murmured.

Gi-hun’s eyes fluttered open, drawn to the little details up close—the sharp angles of In-ho’s face, the way his brow furrowed in thought. He really does have pretty eyes, he found himself thinking.

Almost as if on cue, In-ho’s gaze flicked up, locking onto his. “But we’ll think about shaving it later.”

“Hah? We? What’s wrong with my facial hair?” Gi-hun grumbled, rubbing his jaw as In-ho pulled away.

“That pathetic excuse for facial hair? Just give it up, Gi-hun.”

Ignoring the ridiculous outfit he refused to admit looked decent, he didn’t look half-bad. The concealer had done its job—his face was no longer a canvas of bruises, and the dark circles under his eyes weren’t as pronounced. Somehow, somehow, In-ho had even tamed his hair without him noticing. He still didn’t look like he belonged in a club, but at least he didn’t look completely out of place.

Not that he’d give In-ho the pleasure of admitting that.

“Are you ready to guide me back to the front door now?”

Gi-hun glanced back, catching the dry amusement in In-ho’s expression. He chuckled. “Right this way.”

This time, his guiding was less forceful, though In-ho didn’t seem to care either way. Whatever small traces of gentleness the man had shown earlier disappeared the moment they stepped outside. By the time Gi-hun locked the door behind them, In-ho was back to his usual calm, unreadable self. The shift made Gi-hun straighten instinctively, mind switching to work mode.

In-ho led him around to the front, where a black, inconspicuous car was parked. Common. Unassuming. Just like everything else about him. Gi-hun raised a brow when In-ho opened the passenger door for him. He didn’t comment, though—just took it at face value and slipped inside. The door shut. In-ho slid into the driver’s seat. Five minutes into the drive, he finally spoke.

“Club FF,” he started, not even giving Gi-hun a glance, fully confident he was listening. Which, he was. Instead, he kept his eyes on the road and passed a file over with one hand.

“It’s popular with both locals and foreigners, wide crowd variety. You shouldn’t stand out too much,” he continued. “There’s an alley nearby—both shops there shut down a while ago for various reasons. I’ll point it out when we get there, but once you locate Nam-gyu, you bring him there. Understand? Your methods don’t matter, as long as you don’t draw too much attention.”

“Okay, got it,” Gi-hun didn’t sound confident. At all. He traced his eyes over the picture inside, committing Nam-gyu’s face to memory. The guy looked like a punk. And apparently, he had a habit of harassing women.

How the hell was he supposed to get him to follow him willingly? Without making a scene?

“No problem. I got this.”

Gi-hun felt eyes on him but absolutely refused to look over and acknowledge In-ho’s gaze.

“Try starting a fight.”

“Hah?” Gi-hun turned his head toward him, staring like he’d lost his mind. GWhich, considering what they were doing, he supposed wasn’t entirely off the mark. He jabbed a finger into Nam-gyu’s smug-looking face in the file. “You want me to start a fight? With him? Didn’t you just tell me not to draw too much attention?”

In-ho’s eyes returned to the road. “Attention that warrants cops? Or people remembering your face up close? Yes. But this is a club, and he’s a punk. Do you know how often guys get kicked out for fighting? Security doesn’t want to deal with it. The drunks inside won’t remember. Start a little argument, get thrown out together, and well…”

Gi-hun groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “How did you handle this before you got me on board?”

For the first time that night, he saw In-ho’s lips twitch into something that almost resembled a grin. “Do you really want to know?”

“Actually—no.” Gi-hun held his hands up immediately, sensing he was walking into dangerous territory. “Scratch that. I’ll just…try your idea. Worst case scenario, I get my ass kicked.”

“There’s always worse,” In-ho mused. “But sure. Let’s go with that being the worst case scenario.”

“You’re not inspiring any confidence.”

“Was I meant to?”

Personal Reminder: you are currently working under an unstable individual that takes criminals (humans) and does god knew what with them. Gi-hun jotted down that mental note and pinned it to his ever-growing board of warnings. He decided—reluctantly—to let the conversation die. Not that he particularly wanted to continue it, but silence had always been an adversary of his. It gnawed at him, prodding him to fill the void with words, any words. He jiggled his leg, staring out at the passing scenery as the car moved.

In-ho seemed to lack the inclination for conversation that Gi-hun did. Or any sort of needed stimulation as he drove - he didn’t even have the radio on. The absence of sound made Gi-hun painfully aware of his own presence: the way his breath sounded too loud, the way every movement felt exaggerated.

“Gi-hun.”

"Yes!" He sat up too quickly, answering far too loudly.

In-ho paid it little mind, nodding outside the window. “This alley.”

GGi-hun almost missed it. A narrow, one-way path wedged between two abandoned buildings, its entrance marked by a rusted gate. Just a few steps beyond it stood the club—a stark contrast with its neon lights, pulsing music, and a line of patrons half his age. He cast a forlorn glance over his shoulder at In-ho who paid him no attention, simply stopping the car in the middle of the street.

The doors unlocked. Message received: Get out.

He couldn’t stall without holding up the street or drawing the attention of the people in line either. Gi-hun cursed under his breath and stumbled onto the pavement just as In-ho pulled away without hesitation.

The chill bit at his exposed skin. The night had deepened, and the cold felt sharper, sinking into his bones. He wondered how the others—some wearing little more than scraps of fabric—managed to endure it. Thankfully no one in lined really paid him any mind. No one in line paid him much attention, which was a relief, but also a reminder of how out of place he felt. Confidence would help him, he knew, but even so, he couldn't shake the itch of unease. He shifted from foot to foot, kicking absently at the ground. Time dragged on. The line was slow-moving, but the crowd never seemed to thin. The later it got, the more people arrived—stragglers stumbling in, tipsy and eager for another drink. By the time he reached the front, the night felt fully settled, thick and humming with energy. He handed his ID to the bouncer, who barely spared him a glance before waving him through.

Stepping inside was like breaching another world.

A wave of noise washed over Gi-hun, engulfing him. It was far worse than the club the loan shark had taken him to. It was worse than the club the loan shark had taken him to—much worse. The music wasn’t just loud; it was a force, a pounding, all-consuming beat that rattled his ribs and made his pulse jump erratically to keep up. He didn’t recognize the song, but it didn’t matter. No one was here to appreciate the music. The air was thick, heavy with the smell of sweat, liquor, and something sharp and chemical that clung to his throat.

Everywhere, people pressed in. Bodies moved in chaotic unison, a writhing sea of motion. Strobe lights cut through the darkness in disorienting bursts—blue, purple, red—flashing so fast that shadows jumped and twisted, warping his vision. It was hard to focus on anything. The faces around him blurred into indistinct shapes, mouths moving in shouts he couldn’t hear, laughter and conversation crashing together into one deafening roar. He tried to breathe, but the air was too thick. The heat, the noise, the press of too many people—it felt like the walls were closing in. A body pressed against him. Someone laughed too close to his ear. A hand brushed his arm—

His breath hitched, then stuttered, caught somewhere in his throat. The cotton-stuffed sensation in his ears got worse, muting everything, distorting sound into a strange, distant echo.

His skin crawled, every touch magnified, foreign, suffocating. A hand grabbed his and Gi-hun lashed out, or well, tried to. The person grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

“Woah!” The grip loosened immediately, and the hands lifted in surrender.

A younger face came into focus, watching him with careful concern. Messy, half-bundled hair framed his features, stray strands falling loose over his forehead. He was smiling, but it was a nervous thing, the edges twitching, not quite sure if it belonged. His eyes—wide, assessing—searched Gi-hun’s face, waiting, watching. A completely different image of the loan sharks weathered face with his sleezy grin.

He stared at the kid blanky, seeing and comprehending somewhere that he didn’t mean any harm. But Gi-hun’s lungs hadn’t gotten the memo. His body still felt like it was drowning, and the room kept spinning. The man’s hand returned, light on his arm, guiding, not restraining. Step by step, Gi-hun let himself be led away from the suffocating crowd, through shifting bodies and swirling lights, until finally, they reached the outskirts of the club near the bar.

The moment he felt the solid wall at his back, Gi-hun pressed against it like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Copy me!” The voice barely cut through the noise, but Gi-hun registered movement—the man covering his ears, taking deep, exaggerated breaths. His shoulders rose and fell dramatically, making it impossible to ignore.

Gi-hun hesitated. His hands shook as he brought them up to his ears, his breathing still ragged. He tried to follow. His first attempts were shaky, uneven, but little by little, his breath started to sync with the stranger’s. The cotton in his ears faded slightly. His heart was still racing, but at least it wasn’t trying to escape his chest anymore. The club didn’t disappear—the flashing lights, the music, the heat of bodies all around—but little by little, he felt less like he was drowning.

A club like this wouldn’t be the loan sharks type of party anyway, Gi-hun wasn’t sure why he reacted like that. His hands dropped to his sides, his fingers still tingling. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus on the present. The stranger was still there, watching him closely. And when Gi-hun finally met his eyes again, the man beamed and threw up two enthusiastic thumbs up.

“Better?”

“Yeah… thanks.” Gi-hun dragged a hand through his hair and groaned. “This is embarrassing.”

“Happens to everyone!” The stranger clapped him on the shoulder. “Name’s Dae-ho. If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you here? Doesn’t seem like you’re having much fun.”

“Gi-hun, and I’m not. I’m looking for someone.”

“Shoot.”

After helping him out, Dae-ho seemed trustworthy enough. So, Gi-hun figured there was no harm in asking. (Later, In-ho would nearly strangle him for it.)

“Name’s Nam-gyu, black hair, beady eyes, and uh a womanizer?”

If you could call it that.

Dae-ho blinked, scratching his chin. After a moment, he sighed and shook his head. “Sorry, not ringing a bell. Oh! But, if he’s a womanizer, I’d try the bar or those booths. Other dudes are always trying to pick up girls over there.”

“Not you?”

“I’m actually here because my sisters dragged me along. Designated driver, among other things,” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. Then, as if remembering something, he suddenly snapped to attention. His head swiveled around. “Ah, shit. Speaking of which, gotta go Gi-hun! Nice to meet you, good luck, and remember that exercise if you need it again!”

Ti-hun was alone again. He waited, expecting that creeping feeling from earlier to return. It lingered—an itch at the back of his mind—but didn’t take hold. The bar or the booths, Dae-ho had said. Gi-hun found himself going to the bar since it was the closest. He had enough forethought to find a seat that allowed him to survey the rest of the bar and the collection of booths in the corner as well. Mentally, he pat himself on the back. No one at the bar fit the image, nor did anyone he spotted at the booths, so he decided to linger.

“Drink?”

It took Gi-hun a moment to realize the bartender was talking to him.

He shouldn’t. He needed to stay sharp.

But a drink would help him blend in.

Gi-hun pat himself down desperately, realizing with dread that these weren’t his clothes…just as he found a small bundle of bills. He had no idea if In-ho had put them there or if they belonged to the original owner. Either way, he shoved them at the bartender without a second thought.

“Whatever this can get me.”

The man licked his fingers, counted the bills, and shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

A minute later, Gi-hun was nursing something that burned like hell—an American-style drink with a cruel bite. The first sip scorched his throat, but it made him feel alive. He exhaled, slumping into his seat as his gaze drifted across the bar. For a moment, the job slipped from his mind. The music dulled into the background.

Jung-bae would probably have a heart attack if he saw Gi-hun right now. He snorted around the rim of his glass - especially if he saw Gi-hun’s outfit. Gi-hun snorted into his glass—especially if he saw his outfit. And Sang-woo? He’d wrinkle his nose, push up his glasses, and have some thinly veiled insult ready. Or just an outright one. He never held back, but there was always something in his eyes that kept Gi-hun from taking it personally. Worry. Once again his mind slipped to his phone and -

A sleazy grin. A hand creeping along a bare waist. A giggle as fingers slipped something into a drink—

“What the fucks your problem geezer?”

Gi-hun hadn’t even realized he moved. His hand was wrapped around a wrist and his gaze met the man’s. Nam-gyu’s face twisted into a glare over a woman’s shoulder. He looked exactly like his photo, save for a pair of stupid hairpins. TThe woman glanced between them, her expression shifting from surprise to unease. Gi-hun knew he was trapping her between them, but in the end, he was helping.

To be honest, In-ho’s orders weren’t even on his mind. He was just picturing what could’ve happened if he hadn’t been there. Maybe someone would’ve noticed. But, considering Nam-gyu’s track record? Probably not. She would’ve been led away. And then—

The thought made Gi-hun sick. And furious. The bastard hadn’t even been that slick. So how the hell had he gotten away with this before?

Did people just not care?

“I saw you, you know!” Gi-hun wasn’t mindful enough to keep his voice down. All he felt was the bubbling feeling of anger that had him clenching his teeth. He yanked his hand away and gestured wildly to the woman and her drink, uncaring of the attention he was drawing. “Look! You poured something into that girls drink! Pervert! Freak! What was your plan huh?!”

A few heads turned their way. Not from the dance floor, but at the bar, people were starting to tune in. Nam-gyu noticed too. His face reddened, eyes narrowing as he clenched his fists and pulled away from the woman. She looked frozen, her eyes wide, brow furrowing as she stared at her drink—searching for some visible proof of what had been done to it. Even if she didn’t fully believe Gi-hun, the seed of doubt had already been planted.

“I didn’t do anything, old man,” Nam-gyu snapped. “What’s someone like you even doing here?”

“First of all, you don’t know my age. Second of all, is it illegal for me to be here? No. But do you know what IS illegal?“

“I didn’t do anything.” Nam-gyu’s gaze flicked toward the bartender, who had started making his way over. “Who’s to say you didn’t do something, huh?”

“Classic bait and switch!”

“What does that even mean?!”

“Not whatever you two think it means,” the bartender cut in. He was still wiping down a glass, expression tired but unfazed—like he was used to dealing with this kind of trouble. His eyes settled on Nam-gyu. “Now, what’s going on here? You causing problems again? You remember what the boss said, right?”

Nam-gyu scowled, shoving his hands into his pockets. But at the mention of his boss, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly.

“I didn’t do anything. This old guy’s accusing me of messing with the girl’s drink.”

“Accusing?” Gi-hun scoffed. “You did it! Why don’t you take a sip if you’re so sure, huh?”

The bartender raised a brow, looking at Nam-gyu expectantly. It was such a simple way to prove his innocence, but he made no move to grab the drink. His face was tight, his posture stiff, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of the stares. Shady. And the woman he’d been sweet-talking knew it. Her expression flickered from uncertainty to quiet alarm before she quickly slid from her seat and disappeared into the crowd without another word. With his audience gone and all attention now turned to him, Nam-gyu looked cornered. His face twisted in anger, and in one sharp motion, he grabbed Gi-hun by the collar, yanking him close.

“Why didn’t you mind your fucking business huh -”

“There is no way you’re blaming me -”

“Stop it!”

A sharp clink cut through their shouting as the bartender slammed a glass onto the counter. "You’re both done. Get out."

“No!”

“No!”

“Not until I show -”

“ - a lesson -”

Their voices crashed over each other, overlapping in heated chaos before they both fell silent, locked in a furious glare. Gi-hun’s fingers dug into Nam-gyu’s wrist, his grip iron-tight. He was confident he could take him—whether it was liquid courage or just his usual reckless bravery, who knew? Either way, he wasn’t backing down.

Neither of them noticed the bartender had moved until he was suddenly between them, his arms shoving them apart with surprising force. Gi-hun let out a sharp hiss at the firm grip on the back of his neck, Nam-gyu struggling under a similar hold. The bartender wasn’t some bouncer, but he carried the weight of someone who had broken up more than a few drunken fights in his time.

"Listen," he said, voice low, even, but firm enough to cut through their rage. "Either I walk you both out, or I call security and they’ll physically throw you out—got it? Then you," he turned his head toward Nam-gyu, "will definitely be out of a job." His gaze shifted to Gi-hun. "And you will be personally banned from ever coming back." His fingers dug in just enough to make his point.

"But if you listen to me, that won’t happen. You two are free to beat the shit out of each other—just do it off property."

“He shouldn’t keep his job anyway!” Gi-hun grumbled as they were dragged away from the bar. He struggled against the bartender’s grip, wriggling like a fish on a line, but the man didn’t loosen his hold. Skirting around the dance floor, he pulled them along effortlessly, despite Gi-hun’s resistance. “You guys are really keeping him after that?! Seriously?”

“That ain’t up to me, mister,” the bartender said, barely sparing him a glance. “He’s buddy-buddy with the boss’s son. You got a problem? Take it up with them.”

The bouncers at the front spotted them from a mile away. They made quite the spectacle, being dragged around as they were. Heads turned as they passed, whispers bubbling up from the crowd, a few amused giggles slipping through. The humiliation made Gi-hun’s face burn, but he still made a show of dragging his feet, jerking against the bartender’s hold every few steps. Meanwhile, Nam-gyu barely put up a fight, taking it all like a cat forced into a bath—sullen, silent, but definitely pissed. That was fine. Gi-hun would deal with him outside.

The moment they reached the doors, the bouncers didn’t hesitate. They swung them open, and in one swift motion, both men were tossed onto the street.

Gi-hun hit the pavement hard, stumbling forward as his balance wavered. He barely managed to stop himself from face-planting into the concrete. A snicker from the left caught his attention, and when he turned, he saw the line of people waiting to get in, their expressions amused, grins stretching across their faces as they watched the spectacle. His mouth opened, ready to snap at them, to ask what the hell was so funny—

Then his collar was yanked again.

The familiar tug made him groan. Of all the places to grab, why was it always his damn collar? It was starting to get old. He huffed, turning with an irritated glare to find Nam-gyu sneering up at him.

“You’ve got something else coming if you think I’m done with you old man.”

Gi-hun scoffed. “You say that like I was running away.” He pried Nam-gyu’s grip off, shoving his hand aside. “Someone like you shouldn’t be let off the hook. You’d just go after another girl, wouldn’t you?”

Nam-gyu let out a sharp laugh. “What? You think you’re the law?” He took a step back, eyes gleaming, then tipped his chin toward the road. “Let’s settle this, then.”

Though he’d deny it later, Gi-hun meant every word. He was too pissed off to let this slide, too riled up to think about walking away. So, he followed. There was a voice whispering in his head, calling him stupid, reckless—telling him to think of the consequences. But he couldn’t place whose voice it was. Maybe his own. Maybe someone else’s. Either way, he ignored it. This wasn’t like that night with the thug, when he had acted purely on drunken impulse. He was mostly sober now—just fueled by the angry pounding in his chest and the fractured images of what could have happened if he hadn’t stepped in. Still, as prepared as he felt, he wasn’t prepared for the level of fight that Nam-gyu portrayed.

The second they stepped into the alleyway—and wasn’t Gi-hun supposed to do something with an alley?—Nam-gyu lunged.

GGi-hun barely had time to react before he was slammed against the wall, the impact rattling his bones. Nam-gyu scrambled to get a hold of him, fingers clawing at his clothes. Gi-hun managed to throw up his forearm just in time to block, but the other man pressed forward, shoving against him with wild desperation. It was a messy, undignified struggle—less like a proper fight and more like a back-alley scuffle between two guys who had no business throwing punches.

Nam-gyu used every dirty trick in the book. Nails raked across Gi-hun’s skin, teeth bit down wherever they could land, and more than a few strands of his hair were yanked free. Welts would bloom across his body later, but for now, the adrenaline dulled the sting.

The difference between them was striking.

Gi-hun wasn’t a good fighter—he knew that. But he also knew what it was like to fight for his life. This? This felt more like a catfight.

That thought made him slip, just for a second. His grip loosened, his focus wavered—just enough for Nam-gyu to take advantage. HGi-hun hit the ground hard, breath leaving him in a wheeze. Before he could scramble up, hands wrapped around his throat, fingers pressing down, crushing his airway. His pulse pounded in his skull, and a disgusting sense of déjà vu washed over him.

Then, a shadow loomed over them.

Gi-hun’s hazy vision caught the figure stepping behind Nam-gyu, face hidden in the darkness of nightfall. Nam-gyu must have sensed something, too, because he hesitated, starting to turn—

But he never got the chance.

The needle slid into his neck effortlessly. His body jerked, grip loosening as his arm swung weakly behind him, as if trying to fight off something he couldn’t see. Then, with a quiet gasp, he collapsed. Air flooded Gi-hun’s lungs in a painful rush. He coughed, rolling onto his side as he sucked in greedy breaths.

“Gi-hun.”

The voice was low. Cold.

Gi-hun froze. Even without seeing his face, he felt the weight of In-ho’s gaze—sharp, dissecting, skin-prickling in its intensity. The kind of look that could strip a man down to the bone. Slowly, Gi-hun forced a smile, nervous and thin, as he looked up. The shadows still hid In-ho’s expression, but the pressure of his presence was unmistakable.

“Is this the alley I showed you?”

Alley he showed him? GGi-hun frowned, glancing at the entrance behind In-ho. Oh—right. The mission. The plan. The details of the plan trickled back to him. Details trickled back, piecing together like a puzzle he’d nearly forgotten. He was supposed to bring Nam-gyu to a specific alleyway, not just any alley, so In-ho could handle things smoothly. Instead, the second he’d laid eyes on Nam-gyu’s actions, everything else had slipped from his mind. He'd followed instinct more than strategy, letting anger drive him rather than logic.

And yet he’d still managed to follow the plan,

Mostly.

His smile turned sheepish as he met In-ho’s gaze, shifting like a schoolboy caught misbehaving.

“...Sorry. I, uh—” He started, stopped, then sighed. There wasn’t really an excuse that would cut it, so he opted for the truth. “He made me angry. I caught him drugging a girl’s drink. And no one in the bar gave a shit. So, I got distracted.”

“You wanted to show him a lesson.”

“Yes. But then I got distracted by how... well, not good at fighting he was.” Gi-hun huffed, rubbing at his throat where Nam-gyu’s hands had been. “The police really let someone like that get away with this?”

In-ho didn’t respond right away. Instead, he leaned down, extending a hand toward Gi-hun. But, then he was leaning over and offering Gi-hun a hand. Now bathed in moonlight, his features lost their earlier severity. His sharp eyes seemed softer, almost amused. Was he smiling? It was barely there, just a small quirk of the lips, but Gi-hun was sure he was.

“You’re not exactly the best fighter either, Gi-hun,” In-ho mused as he hauled him to his feet with ease. “We may have to fix that in the future.”

“Probably.” The absurdity of it all made Gi-hun chuckle. He let go of In-ho’s hand and rubbed the back of his neck, still catching his breath. “Thanks. How did you find me, anyway? Weren’t you waiting in the other alley?”

“I was.” In-ho turned his attention to Nam-gyu’s unconscious body, crouching down to remove the syringe from his neck. The way he did it—quick, practiced, unbothered—sent a shiver down Gi-hun’s spine. He looked away.

“But if I told you how I found you,” In-ho added, slipping the syringe into his pocket, “you’d probably try to get rid of it.”

"? Remove it? Do you have a tracker on me or something?" Gi-hun joked, expecting a scoff or at least a roll of the eyes.

In-ho gave him nothing.

Not a word. Not even the slightest twitch of amusement.

Gi-hun let out a nervous laugh, shifting awkwardly in place as the silence stretched too long for comfort. "Y-you, uh… don’t, right?"

“Stay here while I grab the car.”

AAnd just like that, In-ho was gone, disappearing into the night and leaving Gi-hun alone with Nam-gyu’s unconscious form—and an unsettling certainty that, yeah, he probably did have a tracker on him somewhere. He groaned, dropping into a crouch with his head in his hands.

What the hell was he doing?

Forgetting the plan, jumping into action like he could handle things himself—was he an idiot? No, he knew the answer to that. Stupid. Reckless. As if just being part of this whole operation wasn’t bad enough, now he was making it harder for himself. With a frustrated sigh, he smacked himself lightly on the forehead before glaring at Nam-gyu. This was his fault. Him, and the cops, too. If they’d done their damn jobs, this scumbag would already be locked up where he belonged.

Something silver caught his eye—a small cross dangling from Nam-gyu’s neck.

Gi-hun frowned. The kid didn’t seem like the religious type. He reached over, turning the pendant between his fingers. A clip on the side made him pause, and curiosity got the better of him as he flipped it open. A few colorful pills fell out and he picked one up and brought it close. It didn’t look special or anything. Was this what he’d used in the girls drink?

“I hope you don’t plan on taking that.”

“Shit!” Gi-hun jumped and the pill slipped from his hand. “What’s with you and sneaking up on me huh?! Learn some manners! Weren’t you getting the car?!”

IIn-ho gave him a flat, unimpressed look before tilting his head toward the alley entrance. Gi-hun followed his gaze—and sure enough, there was the car, parked silently at the curb. He blinked. How the hell had he not heard it? In-ho crouched down beside him, put the pills back into the necklace, and shut it. “Some sort of drug, he was tested for it when he was brought in, but they hadn’t made a case for it yet. Now help me, grab his other arm.”

Gi-hun doubted In-ho really needed his help. He had already managed to hoist Nam-gyu up on his own, but he still stood there, waiting, the unconscious man slumped against him. Gi-hun hesitated before finally reaching out, grabbing Nam-gyu’s other arm, and helping shuffle him toward the car. He kept his gaze forward, refusing to look at the man’s face, trying to convince himself that he was just asleep.

Instead he glanced around nervously in case anyone saw them - but around this time of night, unless you were at the club, it seemed like the streets were mostly empty. In any case, In-ho looked remarkable unbothered as he unlocked the car and they loaded the body into the back. Gi-hun climbed into the passenger seat, stiff and uneasy, his fingers gripping his knees.

IAs the car rolled forward, silence settled between them. Gi-hun tried to keep his thoughts to himself, but with the weight of an unconscious body just behind him, the question slipped out before he could stop it. “..What did you use? You know. To uh…get rid of him?”

In-ho’s hands remained steady on the wheel. “He isn’t dead. Yet.”

Gi-hun turned and stared at In-ho’s profile. “He isn’t?”

“No.” In-ho glanced at him out the corner of his eye. “It’s best if they’re kept alive, for -”

“Nope. Stop. I don’t need to hear the rest.” Gi-hun held up a hand. “I’ve already been told too much as it is.”

There was a small huff from In-ho, something that almost resembled amusement. “Fine. Then tell me this—how did it feel?”

Gi-hun blinked before groaning, sinking into his seat. “Are you seriously going to ask me that every damn time? You asked me in the hotel too! What do you want me to say, huh?”

“I’m just curious. Is that a crime?”

Gi-hun shot him a look. “Do you really want me to answer that one?”

IIn-ho didn’t reply, and silence filled the car once more. Gi-hun turned his head, resting it against the cool glass of the window, letting out a slow breath. He thought back to the club, to the heat of his anger, to the way no one else had seemed to care. He wasn’t good at picking his words carefully, wasn’t the type to mull things over before speaking. So instead, he just let them fall out.

“Shitty.” Gi-hun exhaled sharply. “The alcohol in there was too strong, and before you give me a look—I only had one. To blend in, obviously. Plus, the second I stepped inside, I had some kind of attack, which was mortifying. Pretty sure I have a headache coming on from Nam-gyu’s little tussle, and I hope his nails don’t give me an infection. They didn’t look clean. And then you—were you trying to scare me on purpose? Your face was covered in shadows and—”

“Not that.”

In-ho sighed, and Gi-hun snapped his mouth shut. The car slowed to a stop at a red light. In-ho turned to face him, his gaze weighing heavy, pinning Gi-hun in place.

“I meant how you felt about Nam-gyu. What he did. How he acted.” His voice was steady, probing. “You said you were angry. Describe it to me.”

Gi-hun didn’t like the way In-ho was looking at him—too direct, too knowing. But he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“...I was angry,” he admitted. His fingers curled against his thighs. “I—he wasn’t even good at it. I mean, I spotted him right away. So I kept wondering, has he always been this obvious? Did no one care? Is that how he got away with it? Even when he refused to drink his own damn drink, no one in that bar reacted the way they should’ve. No one called the cops. They just kicked us out like it was a minor inconvenience. What would’ve happened if I wasn’t there?” He exhaled sharply. “Maybe someone would’ve noticed. But I don’t think so. And that made me angry. At him. At them. At everyone there for letting it happen. He would’ve taken advantage of her. And others. I just…” His voice faltered for a moment. “I wanted to teach him a lesson, I guess.”

A car horn blared behind them. The light had turned green. In-ho didn’t move right away, his head tilting slightly as he regarded Gi-hun. “You were angry enough to forget about the plan. But you said ‘teach him a lesson.’ Would you have killed him?”

Gi-hun’s stomach twisted. “No, I—” His tongue felt thick, his own certainty wavering.

“Even if you beat him,” In-ho continued, his voice quiet but insistent, “people like that don’t learn. He would’ve healed. And done it again.”

“I wouldn’t…” Gi-hun swallowed. “I wouldn’t have killed him.”

“You say that.” In-ho’s tone was almost thoughtful. “But you wanted to, didn’t you?”

Because stepping into that alley, he had wanted Nam-gyu to stop. He hadn’t wanted him to walk away. He hadn’t wanted him to have the chance to do it again. Even without a response, In-ho seemed pleased. The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly, the faintest trace of a grin ghosting his lips.

“Good job, Gi-hun.” And just like that, he turned back to the road, pressing the gas as if the conversation had never happened.

He didn’t like that In-ho had pried those words from him. That he seemed satisfied with what he’d heard. But what unsettled him most was that, despite everything, he hadn’t lied. If In-ho hadn’t intervened, he wasn’t sure both of them would’ve left that alley alive.

And the worst part?

He didn’t feel as bad about it as he should have.

The guilt wasn’t over what he had done. It was over not feeling guilty enough.

What did that say about him?

“The money should be there by time you wake up.”

When had they gotten back to his house? Gi-hun stared out the window at his place before looking over at In-ho. He stared out at his building, then over at In-ho. The man didn’t say anything else—just reached over and unlocked the door. Slowly, mechanically, Gi-hun stepped out. But he didn’t shut the door right away, glancing between In-ho and the back seat.

“Get some rest, Gi-hun.” A quiet, almost gentle dismissal. Then In-ho leaned over, nudging the door closed himself. A moment later he was driving away. His car disappeared into the darkness of the night, leaving Gi-hun behind.

Chapter Text

“Would you like to see her?”

The pen froze mid-stroke. Gi-hun stared at the paperwork before him—a document detailing the payment he was making and the remaining balance. As In-ho had promised there was money waiting in his account when he woke up the next day. He’d decided to make a trip to the hospital to pay towards the balance before maybe squeezing in a shift or two of chauffeuring. He hadn’t expected his mom to be awake—or perhaps, he’d secretly hoped she wouldn’t be. Gi-hun grimaced and finished signing his signature before putting the pen down.

“..How’s she doing?” he asked.

The nurse gathered the paperwork and turned to the computer to file it away. It was a rare quiet day at Hanil; only a few people lingered in the waiting room, their voices a soft murmur. Even the staff looked noticeably more relaxed than usual—a welcome change. Gi-hun appreciated it; after all, no one liked to see hospitals overwhelmed by stress and the heavy implications of illness. And the pain.

“She’s holding on,” the nurse replied. “Your mom’s a very strong woman, you know? We’ve got her on some light pain medication because she didn’t want anything too strong.” She glanced up from the computer, a frown briefly crossing her features. “She asked about you.”

“She has?” Gi-hun, admittedly, was more shocked than he should be. It was his mother, of course she would ask about him. But, somehow, Gi-hun figured that she may not want to see him. “..Is she awake now?”

“She is.”

Gi-hun took a deep breath and nodded his head. “Can I see her? Please.”

“Right this way.”

Gi-hun shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat as he followed the nurse. His focus was shattered—eyes darting nervously around the hall. Would his mother be angry? He’d failed to visit her, after all. Even if she wasn’t the most aware, if she’d been asking for him, then surely she’d know he never came. Or would she blame him for her being in this condition in the first place? He had half the mind to turn tail and flee. But it felt too much like abandoning her. With a sharp sigh, he ran a hand through his hair before colliding with the nurse’s back.

“Sh - Sorry!” Gi-hun apologized, bowing his head.

“Try not to be too loud,” the nurse murmured, raising her fingers to her lips. Paying him little mind, she turned toward a door, knocked gently, and pushed it open. “Mrs. Seong? Can we come in?”

A faint movement answered. “Who is we?”

“…It’s me, Mom,” Gi-hun managed after the nurse’s prompting. When there was no immediate response, the nurse and Gi-hun exchanged a brief look before she stepped aside, letting him in.

The moment he entered, Gi-hun faltered. The hospital sheets nearly swallowed his mother; even propped up, she looked remarkably small. She was no longer the woman who had once cradled him as a child or the one who’d playfully swatted him with a slipper regardless of his age. He was grateful she wasn’t looking directly at him—his eyes filled with tears at the sight of her fragility. Deep inside, a familiar ache bubbled up: a painful reminder of how he’d failed her, an irreversible loss that time could never mend. Someday, when she finally left this world, nothing could bring her back.

“Ma…” he repeated, his voice cracking. The sound must have reached her, because she turned her head. By then, however, Gi-hun was already moving forward. He collapsed to his knees beside her bedside, burying his face in her leg like a frightened child. He trembled as he sobbed, careful not to press too hard against her. “Ma—”

“..How old are you again? Honestly,” she muttered. Despite her words, Gi-hun felt her fingers gently combing through his hair. He sniffled and leaned into the touch, overwhelmed by a flood of emotions. His sobbing gradually subsided, and throughout, his mother’s tender care persisted. Gi-hun remembered vividly the times he’d have nightmares as a kid. He’d stand outside his mothers door, not wanting to wake her and yet too afraid to return to bed. Without fail, as if sensing his distress, she’d open the door. Gi-hun would be led back to bed where she’d pet his head and hum a song until he drifted back to sleep.

When his tears had soaked the sheets, her hand finally stilled. She cupped his face and gently tilted it upward so that he met her gaze. Gi-hun watched the change of emotions as she took in his face. The little cuts. Healing welts. The yellow healing of the bruises. His mother’s expression wavered between deep worry and quiet disappointment, a look that made him desperate to defend himself.

“I haven’t—I haven’t been gambling or anything! Really, I haven’t. This is just—” he stammered.

“You need to take care of yourself, Gi-hun,” she cut him off. Her tone brooked no argument, and Gi-hun fell silent. He knew she wouldn’t believe him, whether he told the truth or offered a feeble excuse. “This is why I didn’t want to get admitted anywhere—the bills—”

“Covered. It’s covered Ma. I’ve been taking care of everything.”

““How, Gi-hun?” Her voice was laced with exhaustion—a weariness that, though understandable, did little to ease the sting of her disappointment.

“I’ve been working - non stop. I got a second job. I’ve been working as much I can. You’re at Hanil, aren’t you? We couldn’t afford it before.” Gi-hun became aware he was rambling, words tripping over themselves. Gi-hun grew desperate to salvage some pride in his mother’s eyes—or maybe even in his own. Determined to prove his efforts, he opened his phone and showed her his bank account, detailing the sources of the money to demonstrate that it wasn’t another loan from a loan shark.

he look on his mother's face was priceless—but it wasn’t enough. Gi-hun barreled on.

“I’m sorry. For everything, Ma. I know - I know-“

He took a sharp breath. "I've been a shitty son. And father. Husband. Everything. You should have been relaxing while watching Gayeong run around. But instead, she's gone, and you've had to take care of me while I freeload. It's not fair to you. It's not all there yet, but if I keep this up, everything will be fine—"

"Gi-hun." His mother's hand suddenly covered his mouth. At some point, his eyes had closed; reluctantly, he opened them again.

"I forgive you." She swept her hands along his face, gently wiping away some of his tears. When had he started crying again? Gi-hun sniffled. "Silly boy. It's okay—stop crying."

“No it isn’t- you hid your injuries because I canceled everything and -“

"You've done wrong. You see it now, and you're trying to make up for it." Her voice softened as she pinched his cheeks and gave his face a little shake. "I had faith you'd see reason eventually, yah? Otherwise, I would have kicked you out a long time ago!"

Gi-hun grimaced as her playful pinch stung. When she released him, he rubbed his cheek and managed a small smile. "It won't just be while you're in the hospital. You're getting older, Ma. I want you to stay here as long as we can manage. I'm going to start helping take care of you, okay?"

"You take care of yourself, Gi-hun," she chided, shooting him a pointed look at his bruises and cuts. "In the end, I can take care of myself. I just want my only son happy and safe. It seems you forgot about yourself while earning all that money—look how skinny you've gotten—"

"Who's the one still in the hospital?" Gi-hun finally stood, wincing as his knees protested. "You can fuss at me about my weight once we get you home healthy. I still have to get the rest of the money."

“Just take care of yourself. And that house better not be a mess when I come home!”

A smile bloomed on his face at her scolding tone. Who would have thought he'd miss being fussed over? Still, he bowed and shuffled back toward the door. "I will, I will, Ma. Don't worry—I’ll be back to visit, okay?"

She huffed and leaned back against the pillows. Her eyes, bright yet tired, followed him. "You better, Gi-hun."

Gi-hun felt lighter than he had in weeks as he stepped out of the hospital room. The heavy thoughts that had weighed on him were finally aired, and his mom had even forgiven him. He wasn’t entirely convinced he deserved her forgiveness yet, but maybe if he kept working as hard as he was, he would. Perhaps one day he’d wake up to the sound of his mom shuffling about in her own home again. The doubts about his methods quieted, too. His mom didn’t know how he was getting the money—and she didn’t need to. It was enough for her to see that it would help her.

The halls were busier now than when he had first passed through them. Doctors and nurses moved briskly, and a faint murmur of conversation drifted along. Did hospitals have rush hours? The faces blurred together as he hurried past, intent on squeezing in a few extra rides before nightfall. Amid the hustle, he caught a glimpse of In-ho’s face, and his heart skipped a beat.

For a moment, Gi-hun felt as if he were in one of those horror movies—someone being followed, catching a glimpse of a mysterious figure in a crowded place.

Yet In-ho wasn’t looking at him; it was as if he hadn’t noticed him at all. Dressed in his uniform, In-ho usually carried an air of calm detachment. The few times Gi-hun had seen any emotion in him, it had been subtle—a slight smile, a hint of restrained anger. But here in the hospital, even in a police uniform, In-ho seemed softer around the edges. Tangible. Touchable. As if he were aware he was in a place filled with fragile souls and didn’t want to come off the wrong way.

Gi-hun thought the look fit him. He also realized he was staring.

When Gi-hun approached, he finally saw who had captured In-ho’s attention—a little boy in a hospital room, his small form nearly lost beneath an oversized gown. In front of the child, his parents—presumably—clung to him, checking his condition as tears streamed down their cheeks. Gi-hun quickly averted his gaze, feeling that lingering too long would be an intrusion. Instead, he focused on In-ho’s back and cleared his throat. The man glanced over his shoulder, only turning fully once he recognized who it was.

“Gi-hun,” In-ho stated, shifting slightly as a frown tugged uncertainly at his lips. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t follow me here this time?”

In-ho’s brow twitched, face smoothening back into that familiar passiveness. “Not everything is about you.”

“I didn’t say it was,” Gi-hun countered. “But you always seem to know where I am—mentioning I haven’t been visiting my mother and all that.”

“That’s enough.” In-ho shut his eyes and sighed. He turned away from Gi-hun, walking away. There were no complains when Gi-hun fell into step beside him. “..I did not follow you this time.”

Gi-hun figured as much, secretly savoring the small victory of making In-ho confess. Lightly elbowing him, he nodded toward the hospital room. “How do you know them?”

In-ho offered no immediate answer. Instead he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves; together they stepped inside the elevator. No one else got on and the doors slid shut. It was quiet except for the quiet whirring of the elevator. Gi-hun began counting the seconds until he could leave, anxious that he might have misstepped.

“The boy was a victim of trafficking,” In-ho explained. He glanced up at Gi-hun before continuing. “A rather large scale operation, it’s a continuing operation. We’ve only caught a few of the people involved and the cases have been a long running thing.”

Gi-hun remained silent as In-ho’s gaze sharpened, though his eyes still held a distant quality.

“His uncle was the one that got him involved in it. There was a case, he was sentenced - the evidence was too damning not to. But, still, it wasn’t enough.”

“Did you…” Gi-hun began, trailing off as the elevator doors dinged and opened onto the ground floor. Without another word, he followed In-ho out into the corridor.

“The law isn’t enough for some people,” In-ho muttered.

hey stepped outside into clear weather—a cloudless sky and a sun beating down, its heat kept at bay only by a gentle, cooling wind. The pleasant, light day stood in stark contrast to the dark, dreary topic of their conversation. Gi-hun sensed that their discussion was drawing to a close. He slowed to a stop outside the front doors while In-ho continued a few paces ahead. Then, as if noticing the lack of a companion, In-ho turned around.

For a moment, he regarded Gi-hun expectantly before asking, “How did the talk with your mother go?”

“Oh, uh, good! Very good, actually!” Gi-hun replied, surprised that In-ho cared to ask. He closed the small gap between them as they stood together outside the hospital—close enough to be companions without being intrusive. “I apologized—admitted I’ve been a shitty son, told her how hard I’ve been working to take care of her. I even dodged questions about the wounds…”

“You should’ve just said a cat got you,” In-ho interjected with a slight smile, leaning closer and peering up at Gi-hun. “You did clean those scratches, didn’t you?”

“I did.” Gi-hun kept the fact to himself that he hadn’t cleaned them until that very morning, rather than on the day of the incident. Clearing his throat, he leaned back a little. “It got me thinking about… everything. I’m not really having doubts—at least, not about the work—but I do have a question.”

In-ho hummed, then straightened up, no longer encroaching on Gi-hun’s personal space.

Gi-hun decided to just bite the bullet. “Why me?”

“Why you?”

“Why me?” Gi-hun repeated, glancing around before shuffling a bit closer and lowering his voice. “I mean, I’m not really anything special, am I? I know I’m not. We had that little talk in the hospital, and then everything happened… I’m just wondering why you’re taking this risk. With me.”

In-ho held Gi-hun’s gaze, and for a long moment, Gi-hun wondered what the man was searching for in his eyes. Finally, after a heavy silence, In-ho looked away, his gaze trailing over the crowd streaming into the hospital. When he spoke, an uncharacteristic softness filled his voice—comforting, yet strangely disconcerting. Gi-hun wasn’t sure how to feel hearing him sound so gentle.

“No particular reason,” he murmured. In-ho looked at him, but Gi-hun didn’t think he was seeing him. “It was the anniversary of my wife’s death and you -”

“Hyung?”

That single word shifted the atmosphere. In-ho’s confession, though heavy, was quickly overshadowed by Gi-hun’s attention being drawn elsewhere. He noticed a darkening look in In-ho’s eyes as he looked past him. Over In-ho’s shoulder, dressed in typical doctor’s attire, was a face Gi-hun hadn’t seen in years—a face he’d recognize under any circumstances. Gi-hun pushed past In-ho, a smile lightening his face as he approached Sang-woo. He more or less felt In-ho trail after him, saw Sang-woo’s eyes staring at the man behind him.

“Sang-woo!” Gi-hun exclaimed, grasping the man’s shoulders and pulling him into a warm hug, ignoring the initial stiffness in Sang-woo’s embrace. After a moment, Sang-woo pulled back and looked at him, puzzled. “You—what’re you doing here?”

“He works here,” In-ho interjected curtly.

GGi-hun blinked, suddenly aware that In-ho was still very much present. He released Sang-woo and offered a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. The smile quickly dropped once he saw how the two were looking at each other. There was an air of authority in the way In-ho stared Sang-woo down. It was rare to see Sang-woo so uncomfortable, and it worried Gi-hun. He nudged Sang-woo lightly with his shoulder, prompting the man to shift his attention back to him.

“You two know each other?” Gi-hun asked, glancing between them with mounting confusion. There was clearly some history he wasn’t aware of.

“He-”

“An acquaintance,” Sang-woo finished, pushing up his glasses and tightening his grip on his suitcase. “It’s not uncommon for a detective and a doctor to have some sort of relation. However, for you to know him—”

Which, first of all, Gi-hun didn’t say it was uncommon whatsoever. But Sang-woo’s unsolicited remark still raised his suspicions. He wanted to pry—he really did—but he could sense that if he pushed too hard, Sang-woo would start prying too, and soon everything would unravel into chaos. Gi-hun just wanted to enjoy reconnecting with his childhood friend after so many years without the conversation turning sour. With a warm smile, he took the initiative, clapping In-ho on the shoulder.

“In-ho and I are friends.”

In-ho glanced at the hand on his shoulder before looking over at Sang-woo. “Yes, we’re friends. But what about you two? I’m afraid Sang-woo has never mentioned you before.”

Gi-hun’s smile faltered. His grip on In-ho’s shoulder tightened minutely. Still, as much as he hurt, he wasn’t particularly surprised. Sang-woo was a doctor. In-ho a detective. Both relatively high-paying positions with good reputations; what use was it mentioning someone like Gi-hun? Too busy looking at Sang-woo, he missed the look of satisfaction on In-ho’s face at the reaction his words caused.

“We’ve been friends since we were little,” Gi-hun said, trying to salvage some of the joy in his tone. He shifted his smile toward In-ho and nodded in the direction of Sang-woo. “He was the pride of SSangmun-dong—graduated at the top of his class and all that.”

“Hyung.”

Gi-hun immediately clammed up, offering In-ho an apologetic look before turning back to Sang-woo. “Ah—anyway, I didn’t know you worked here, Sang-woo. When did you start?”

“He’s worked here for about two years,” In-ho replied, cutting in once more. “I’m surprised you didn’t know. Do you two not keep in touch?”

Ouch. Gi-hun winced. Okay, that was -

“In-ho, I’d like to speak to him alone, if you don’t mind,” Sang-woo said suddenly, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his suitcase. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Gi-hun’s wrist and pulled him close. Caught off guard, Gi-hun stumbled, looking warily between the two men.

"Go ahead, I should be returning to work myself," In-ho said smoothly, dipping his head slightly toward the two of them. "Gi-hun, I’ll contact you later. Sang-woo, get some rest—you had a long night, didn’t you?"

"Thank you for your concern," Sang-woo replied stiffly. His grip on Gi-hun’s wrist didn’t loosen until In-ho stepped into his car and drove away. Only then did he turn to properly look at Gi-hun for the first time since he'd arrived—his gaze had been fixed on In-ho until now. Gi-hun shifted under the weight of Sang-woo’s scrutiny. His sharp eyes traced over him with a clinical precision, lingering on the scrapes marring his face.

He didn’t comment on them. "Why are you here?"

Gi-hun frowned. He searched Sang-woo’s face, but aside from a slight tension in his features, he remained as unreadable as ever. It was beginning to feel like he was the only one happy to see the other. A bitter feeling welled up inside him. Always business. No asking how he was, where he’d been—hell, Gi-hun would’ve even welcomed a question about his injuries, if only because it would have shown some concern. Instead, Sang-woo’s tone made it sound like he was wondering why Gi-hun had to show up and ruin everything.

Gi-hun yanked his wrist free from Sang-woo’s grasp. "I came to visit my mom. She’s scheduled for an operation in a week, but until then..."

“I see.” That, at least, seemed to earn a reaction. The rigid lines of Sang-woo’s face softened slightly, and the tension in his shoulders eased. "I’m sorry. My mother hadn’t mentioned it to me."

So he kept in contact with his mother at least, that was good. It was just Gi-hun who didn’t seem to make the cut. “Yes. I’ve been busy trying to pay for everything so..”

“How are you paying for everything, Hyung? Hanil isn’t particularly inexpensive.“

"You never answer my calls," Gi-hun bit out, his voice sharper than he intended. The anger was brief, fleeting. The second he saw the flicker of surprise in Sang-woo’s expression, it melted into guilt. "...You don’t even know what my job is, I mean."

"I suppose I don’t," Sang-woo admitted, looking away. He shifted uncomfortably, eyes drifting toward the steady flow of patients and hospital staff filtering through the entrance. "Listen, Hyung, In-ho—"

“Doctor Sang-woo!”

There was a nurse standing near the front doors. A younger woman, pretty, with long hair and a bright smile on her face. New to the industry, probably. She waved for Sang-woo, beckoning him over. Sang-woo stared at her for a moment before looking at him. It was probably Gi-hun’s wishful thinking, but he seemed reluctant to leave.

“..Just stay away from him, Hyung. You haven’t changed your number, have you?”

“Of course not.”

“I’ll text you, then.” With one final nod, Sang-woo turned and walked away.

Gi-hun remained standing outside, staring after him like an idiot. It was nice, seeing Sang-woo. He can’t deny the happiness bubbling in his chest at finally seeing his face. But, he also couldn’t deny everything else. Sang-woo working at Hanil for years and never once stopping by. Calling his mom but never once contacting him. How unhappy he seemed to see Gi-hun there, only caring about his relation to In-ho. Was it something he’d done? He wasn’t stupid, okay. Maybe not particularly smart, maybe a mess, maybe naïve—but he didn’t think he was unbearable to be around.

Lost in thought, he found himself home without realizing it. He was supposed to be working, but somewhere along the way, he'd lost the motivation. It would be fine, right? In-ho had promised to take care of everything—he just had to do what was asked of him. Needing a distraction, he busied himself around the house. His mother’s room had remained untouched since she’d been whisked away. The idea of tackling the rest of the house, or even his own room, felt overwhelming, so he focused on hers. It didn’t take long—she kept things neat, always fussing at him to do the same.

Somewhere in the middle of cleaning, he found an old scrapbook.

The younger, smiling face of Sang-woo stared up at him.

Mocking.

HGi-hun’s throat tightened. He remembered exactly where the photo was taken—some dirt patch near the park where the kids used to play. Gi-hun’s own baby face was staring back at him, smile the brightest it would ever be. Gi-hun paused and took a glance around his mothers room. His gaze drifted around the room. Everything was mostly clean now, save for a few clothes he'd have to take care of. That was good enough. He sat down and flipped through the scrapbook instead, though he wasn’t sure why he was torturing himself. Seeing and being reminded of how close Sang-woo had been and remained until some time in high school.

You could see when Sang-woo began smiling less as academic struggled began weighing on them. And, at some point, you could see somewhere in high-school when the photos began to just be Gi-hun himself. Sang-woo began to have less time to spend with him. Became more difficult to convince to have some fun. Gi-hun was pulled by his musings by a phone number calling him, but it was unknown so he didn’t bother with it. Just as he’d returned to looking through the book, his phone dinged from a message.

’Hyung. It’s Sang-woo, call me when you can.’

The scrapbook was tossed aside; Gi-hun scrambled for his phone. But, just before he went to call he hesitated - finger hovering over the button. He wanted to call back, talk to him. But then, he remembered the way Sang-woo had looked at him. The way he had memorized his number but never once used it. The way he cared more about warning him away from In-ho than about seeing him.

In-ho was taking a risk, helping him. While Sang-woo hadn’t bothered to check on him or his mother a single time. As he stared and thought another message came through, from In-ho this time.

‘How did your talk with Sang-woo go?’

Gi-hun clicked on his contact, formulating a text before he thought better of it. ‘In-ho, am i unpleasant to be around?’

‘No. I don’t bother with unpleasant people. Why do you ask?’

‘No reason.’

For a few minutes there’s no response. Gi-hun put the scrapbook away, somewhere he wouldn’t be tempted to look at it again. Finished cleaning his mother’s room. Stared at his own and decided against it. Heated up some instant noodles. Settled in front of the TV, soju in hand.He waited for a message.

It never came.

In-ho wouldn’t end up contacting him for another two days.