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It’s all so viciously exhilarating. Life and death melding together into one desperate flurry of movement; friendship and betrayal blurring together into a hurried moment of uncertainty. This is where instinct outmatches emotion, human nature trumps empathy.
Inho’s first thought in designing such a game was practical; dwindle player numbers without risking too many for the next game. In the midst of it all however, in the rush of the adrenaline, the drop of the stomach, Inho had forgotten ever even thinking of such a thing.
Here, as the number is called, In-ho forgets, forgets any name other than the one that falls desperately out of Gihun’s lips, forgets about his looming betrayal and clings to the wrists that pull him forwards, towards an empty room. For a millisecond, he even has the decency to feel shame for not having looked over his shoulder, for making sure everyone had managed a partner, but it’s gone as Gihun shoves him past the door and pushes it firmly shut.
Silence, desperate, thrilled silence hammers against his ears as Gihun turns to stare at him. The sounds of other players clawing at doors muffled away by the weight of Gihun’s eyes against his own. It clears some of Inho’s vision, the lack of anyone but themselves makes him remember why he’s here, why none of this will matter in the end. He straightens his back, and clears his throat.
“Do you think everyone else made it, Gihun-ssi?” He asks, his breath escaping him in shallow, rasped breaths. Gihun doesn’t answer, only stares. “Are you okay, Gihun-ssi?” He probes again, a defensive tick in his fingers making him stand up a little straighter. There is no name for the way Gihun continues to stare, his eyes firm and unmoving, but hazy and unfocused.
It is then that Inho realises the immense risk he has taken in choosing Gihun, in blindly following him as so many foolish others had. Here, alone in this silence, there would be nothing to protect either of them from their lies. “Gihun-ssi?” Inho attempts again, his voice terse.
This time, Gihun blinks, momentarily startled out of his reverie. Inho stares as he inhales, turns to look hastily through the slit in the door as soldiers adorned in pink clear away the bodies of the unlucky. His eyes return to Inho and he swallows, his throat bobbing. Inho hears the lock click open and the door swings slightly ajar, giving a tempting glimpse of escape, of freedom from whatever this was between them. Neither move.
“Young-il ssi.”
Inho needs to blink, his eyes are beginning to water, but he can’t tear his gaze away as Gihun steps closer, as warm breath brushes gently against his upper lip. A warm, damp hand clamps around his jaw. He can’t look away. “Young-il ssi, I’m glad you’re okay.” Inho’s ears feel as though they’re about to burst. “I was worried.” His breath rattles out a slow sigh, and he sees Gihun’s eyes flit momentarily downward. “Let’s make it out together, okay?”
And in a movement too quick to predict, Gihun presses his lips against Inho’s. It’s so fleeting Inho is almost sure he imagines it. One moment his eyes flutter gently shut, the next he’s opening them to see Gihun’s retreating back shoving open the door.
***
There’s an argument that night, long and loud and obnoxious as greed battles fear in the room around him. But he hears nothing, sees nothing, feels nothing. Inho’s fingers feel numb, as though suddenly refusing to feel anything else now that they had felt the gentle oscillation of Gihun’s ribs against them. He had watched these games enough times to predict their nature, their next move. He knew that eventually, greed will fool even the most sound minds into believing cruelty is a survival skill. He knew soon that Gihun will fall victim to his own pride and forget such foolish imaginations like justice. He knew that soon, this beast clawing at his stomach would escape and only he and Gihun would reap the true consequences of its freedom.
But as always around Gihun, he forgets.
He blames instinct as he wraps a hand around Gihun’s wrist. He calls it human nature as he guides the other into the bathroom and tugs him into the nearest cubicle. He forgets to think at all as he presses Gihun against the door and kisses him hard enough to throw away everything he had ever worked for.
Heat pools in his stomach as frenzied hands reach beneath the waistbands of pants. Fire licks at his pelvis as Gihun gasps, his head tipping backwards to rest against the door behind him. Sparks, as bright and alive as the thing roaring in his chest, burst behind his eyes as Gihun grunts and shifts their hips perfectly against one another.
Inho refuses to close his eyes, refuses to miss a single detail even as he licks his lies into the seam of Gihun’s lips. This is the only time he will get to live, the only time the monster in his chest would get to feed.
Gihun’s fingers dig into his shoulders and Inho revels in them like a dog with its bone, like a man with his god.
As Inho’s fingers press harder, travel lower, demand more, Gihun’s eyes squeeze shut, his breath shortening to rough gasps as Inho takes and takes and takes, as he had for the past three years, as he will for all the years that will follow. He cums with Inho’s fake name lodged between his teeth, a prayer sent to a god that will never hear him.
They stand for a moment, panting and reverent, eyes refusing to see anything but each other.
“Together,” Gihun pants. “We’ll live through this together.”
Inho can’t answer. Won’t.
He presses another bitter kiss into Gihun’s lips.