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Chapter Text

Nam Gyu’s world stops spinning when he hears the sickening squelch of the dulled fork enter Thanos’ throat. Suddenly, the chaos around him fades; the men in combat stop, and gasps and whispers fill the room. The sound coming from his friend stirs his stomach like no bad trip ever has; the whimpering, guttural breaths exit him in bursts until he gracelessly flops to the side onto his front. At that moment, Nam Gyu tunnel visions to one goal: keep his friend alive. The weasel once beneath him has scrambled away, and the room once more breaks out in conflict, but he can’t find it in himself to care as he flips over his only friend in the world as gently as he can. The turquoise of his uniform turned an ugly brownish black by the blood lazily dribbling from his wound. He thanks every god he’s never believed in that the wound is shallower than he first thought. Hastily he removes his jacket, and then the shirt beneath, shaking hands tearing it as neatly as he can manage through the glimmer of tears that he had neglected to notice were building. Makeshift bandages in hand, he leans forward, trembling hands steadying as he places all his weight onto the man-below-him’s throat. Quickly, the layer of fabric dampens an ugly, vibrant red spreading, coating his fingers and palms. The tears, now fighting gravity, have begun to flow down his face, dripping down his cheeks and off his nose, but he pays them no mind, solely focused on stemming the red under his hands. Under him, Thanos shifts his shoulder ever so slightly, a sign of life he holds onto, adding to his internal mantra, “Keep pressure, stem the bleeding- and now- he’s alive”. Time passes in a trance as he repeats the mantra, hands still vibrating and tears still pouring until he’s interrupted by a warm hand on his cheek. Again, he pays it no mind, attention trained on the wound until he feels the hand grips his jaw tighter, ever so slightly, and turns his head until he sees a half-grimace-half-smile on a familiar face.

For the first time in this whole ordeal, Nam Gyu takes a deep, albeit gasping, breath. Meeting his eyes directly now is Thanos, eyes-lidded with pain but soft with affection. An affection Nam Gyu knows is reserved for him alone in club alleyways and trap house bathrooms, and more recently in the small period when their high wears off as they lay down to sleep, awaiting the next day of adrenaline. These are not the eyes of the Thanos who calls him Nam-Su in simulated detachment, no, these are the eyes of Su Bong. Su Bong who calls him baby when the lights are low, who holds him through the night and kisses his hair in the privacy of the morning. This is a Su Bong Nam Gyu hasn’t seen in months, maybe even years, his softness worn away by the media’s hatred and shunning until only a cold uncaring mask remained. Staring at the man now, the anger he has held onto washes away with the tide of his emotions, gone is the resentment for losing all their money on crypto, the hurt of meaningful sex turned cold hookups, all that remains is the heart of a high school boy who loved his friend. Now the boy and man share one goal: keep Su Bong alive.

As Thanos wipes his tears away, Nam Gyu’s thoughts race as he tries to find a way that they will make it out of this. A helpless panic builds within him as he quickly realises that he has no idea what to do, with minimal first aid training and even less resources his options are limited to praying as he pushes down on the tatters of his shirt. He looks around the room desperately, but half the men have disappeared, while the rest are in an all-out brawl, the clattering of forks and panting of breaths echo around the room. Eventually, Nam Gyu resolves to his only plan: keep pressure, stem the bleeding, and keep him alive. This time his eyes travel back to Thanos’ face, he’s once again met with a thin smile that he knows is meant to reassure him, and tentatively returns it. He’s rewarded by Thanos’s smile reaching his eyes.  He tucks the mental image away for later, with the handful of other smiles he has received. He makes a game of revisiting them all when he can’t sleep, cataloguing, where they were, why they happened, how they made him feel. It’s one of the few things that has kept him hanging off Thanos’s sleeves so long, that and the fact that he loves him desperately. He starts the game again now; the first day of ninth grade when he punched Su Bong’s bully, the way it warmed his heart and the way Su Bong had iced his fist; their skipped graduation ceremony the way Thanos had laughed as they smoked behind the auditorium hiding from their parents. He gets all the way to Thanos’ first album release, when someone shakes his shoulder. He looks down only to see Thanos’ hands still on his cheek and spins around to see the old man who had thrown them to the floor. The bastard has a look on his face that Nam Gyu can’t decipher, but it sparks a protective flame in his chest.

“If you came to finish the job, you’re going to have to go through me, asshole.”

It’s weak, he knows, but it’s all he has, with his hands preoccupied and his face covered in tears. Below him, Thanos smirks softly.

Before the bastard can answer, another man enters – the previous winner, player 456, he drops to his knees beside Thanos, and a part of Nam Gyu growls until he sees the bundle of fabric in his hands; it’s from the shirts of at least six players, clearly torn away from the bottom in long thin strips. Looking closely, he can see that both the bastard's and 456’s shirts are torn; he stares, unsure of what to think until 456 speaks.

“Help me sit him up, and we can wrap these around his neck; it should stem the bleeding so his wound can heal.” The man says with an unexpected softness in his voice and kindness in his eyes.

Still shocked, Nam Gyu nods, shifting his weight, while the other two men move towards Thanos, who gives him a panicked look. Once again, he smiles softly, hoping to quell his friend’s anxiety, and from the way his eyes steel, it seems to work. With a nod to the men, Nam Gyu sets to work, slowly shifting Thanos until 456 can shuffle under and push him further. The bastard- player 001 eventually shambles over at 456’s stern look, settling behind Thanos to prop him up while 456 dresses his wounds, wrapping as tightly as he can over Nam Gyu’s hands until he finally tells him to pull them away. Sceptically, he does so, prepared to pounce on the men at any moment should something go wrong. Nothing does. Soon 456 finishes his work and pulls away, and while Thanos still looks suitably pained and uncomfortably, the bandages are no longer red, and he breathes shallowly. Suddenly, the tiles echo with footsteps as another player enters the bathroom; Nam Gyu whips his head around to see that it’s Min Su. Who quickly thanks 456 and 001 as they get up to leave, their good deed for the day completed. The pair cast one look towards him, and Nam Gyu gives them a curt nod, a nod that means truce or peace or whatever the hell they need it to mean for them to leave him be. Whatever it is, they see it, and the pair exit the room.

Teeming with Nervous energy, Min Su inches towards Thanos but not before reaching down to hand Nam Gyu his uniform jacket, his own uniform blood-spattered and noticeably shorter as he kneels down. Shrugging the coat on, he wordlessly gestures for the boy to get on Thanos’ other side as he settles himself under the man’s shoulder, ready to lever him up. Min Su scrambles to his position, and with a nod, they begin to stand, supporting Thanos around the ribs as he breathes heavily through the pain. Once they have him up, they slowly shuffle out of the bathroom and towards Thanos’ bed in the corner of the room. Players around them gasp as they make the short trek, whispering in shock and horror at the state they must be in.

When they make it to the bed, Min Su makes himself scarce, scampering up the scaffold to his bed without so much as a word towards the men who had tormented him. Nam Gyu makes a mental note to cut the boy some slack.

Now that they’re alone, Nam Gyu turns back towards Thanos to see that the steely nerve he used to make his way here has dissolved, leaving him slumped forward in discomfort on the edge of the bed. Gently Nam Gyu shifts, reaching across to cup Thanos’ jaw in some semblance of comfort. The man nuzzles his hand softly, a gesture that melts Nam Gyu to his core as he strokes his thumb up and down the man’s cheekbone. He desperately wants to stay in this moment, cocooned in their bubble of warmth, but as Thanos’ eyelids begin to droop, he knows he has to move. With as little jostling as he can, Nam Gyu shuffles onto the bed, positioning himself as comfortably as he can. Once satisfied, he pulls Thanos down gently, encouraging him to sluggishly swing his legs onto the bed, and lay down. In a movement reminiscent of their life before this place, Thanos pillows his head on Nam Gyu’s bare chest, the only part of him not coated in blood. Shuffling to get comfortable, the man eventually settles, and out of habit, Nam Gyu finds himself wrapping one arm around his shoulder, the other migrating to soft purple locks. Thanos sighs softly at this, snuggling impossibly deeper into the man beneath him. Continuing his gentle ministrations, Nam Gyu’s mind drifts, not for the first time tonight. This time, however, he daydreams of paid debts, a new apartment and a familiar purple-haired man in his bed. It’s nice. A voice interrupts his train of thought, and he quickly registers it as Thanos.

 “Thank you, Baby.” The man croaks softly against his collarbone. Nam Gyu’s only answer is a gentle kiss to his forehead, which is met with one last genuine smile, another for the logbook in his mind. For the first time in a very long time, Nam Gyu closes his eyes and sees a future.

Chapter Text

Exiting the games is a blur for Nam Gyu. It starts with another debt to player 456, who sneaks over to his and Thanos’ secluded corner during dinner and tells them to hide when the lights go down. To tell everyone he can to do the same. While sceptical, it only takes one look at the now feverish Thanos to know he needs all the advice he can get. Getting Thanos under the beds is almost as difficult a task as it is to swallow his pride and ask Min Su and Semi for help doing it. To his surprise, they help, burrowing themselves under the scaffolds beside him leaving Thanos safely cocooned between Min Su and Semi while Nam Gyu himself keeps watch. He supposes it’s a fair trade.

When the lights shutter, he feels himself tense, his grip on his only weapon (a dull blood-coated spork) tightening till his knuckles are white and all the lights finally go dark. The fight that breaks out is brutal from what Nam Gyu can gather by the squeaking of sneakers and squelching of flesh, and it lasts so long that the noises become a blur only interrupted by the small gasps and whimpers emitted by Thanos from his place under the bed. He longs to reassure him in some way but holds himself to his post. It will all be over soon.

Eventually the scuffling stops and soon after the tell-tale buzz of the lights return as the entire room is blinded. A scan of the room shows several casualties, but nobody Nam Gyu recognises (He’s not sure if that’s a blessing, or a curse).

The process of extracting Thanos from under the beds is long and arduous, a task completed in a series of shuffles and groans until eventually the three of them manage to haul him up onto the bed once more. The movement makes Thanos yelp, and Nam Gyu finds himself scrambling to his side before he can stop to think of their company. Gently, he brushes sweaty purple bangs from dazed and pain filled eyes, reaching for shaking hands which come together to enclose his own in a desperate plea for comfort. He brings the hands up slowly, studying their callouses and scars and chipped nail polish before pressing a kiss to each of the white knuckles. He hears a small hum behind him and is suddenly brought crashing down to earth as he remembers he has an audience.

Swallowing his shame Nam Gyu steels, turning to face whatever judgement awaits him, but the pair watching him… don’t offer any. Min-Su meets his eyes with apprehension, but he meets them, nonetheless, offering him a small nod before averting his eyes. Se-mi however stares at him like he’s grown a second head. Something bitter and angry stirs in his stomach, is starting to crawl up his throat, acidic and raw until he’s interrupted by Se-mi.

“It’s okay.” Se-mi says with an aura of finality “It’s okay.”

Behind her Min-Su nods again, more earnestly this time, and the beast within Nam Gyu settles some.

From there the morning continues as usual, the guards enter bringing food and announce another round of votes. While Thanos can’t get out of bed himself the guard serving Nam Gyu seems to take pity on him as he hands forth two portions with a small nod. Returning the nod, he scrambles back to beds, tearing Thanos’ bread into portions and doing his best to hand feed the man as much as he can stomach. Somewhat Shockingly, Se-mi and Min-Su join them for the meal. They eat in silence, but the company soothes apart of the all-consuming worry in his chest.

Leading into the vote it is announced that they have 50 players left, leaving a prize pool of 912000 won each. While it’s not much, 456 promises to double everyone’s prize if they vote to leave. With that offer, and the state that Thanos is in, it doesn’t take much to woo Nam Gyu to the X’s side, and with some soft coaxing Thanos agrees (if only to go back to sleep and finish the conversation).

When the vote comes the balance has finally been swayed, and when X wins 27 to 23 Nam Gyu cheers despite himself before the world fades to black.

-0-

Much like the last hundred times, waking up is met with a mixture of confusion, stress and a headache. Peering through his lidded eye Thanos is met with a white-blinding light that forces him to close his eyes with a groan. The groan itself sparks a white hot pain in his throat, which is followed by a smaller groan (and definitely not a whimper) as the cycle repeats. In the midst of his torturous cycle, Thanos takes notice of the sound of shuffling beside him. He is pulled from his suffering as something cold touches the side of neck, right below his ear and travels down his neck to his collarbone, before making its way back up. The pattern continues in mind numbing repetition, pausing only to travel down his jaw and up to his brow. As the cold settles his bones, he realises that it is accompanied by a quiet sound, akin to waves hitting the shore. It’s only when the wave sounds start to morph into gentle words “It’s alright,shhhhh you’re safe, It’s okay” uttered In time with the movement of the cold, that Thanos realises it’s a person. Nam Gyu he realises, it must be Nam Gyu, no one else would be stupid (love him enough) to stay however long it’s been (years and years and years). Comforted by the notion that Nam is watching over him, and the continued stroking by cold hands, Thanos decides that whatever is happening, he can deal with at a later date.

-0-

The following days since he first awoke are laden with short period of lucidity and much longer periods of fitful rest for Thanos. The fever from his injury (which he would later learn was from infection caused by the dirty fork that had caused it) broke on the fourth day he spent in the nebulous beige room and the time after his awakening was spent being poked and prodded and washed and dried under Nam Gyu’s watchful eyes. The poking and prodding was curtesy of a nurse Thanos is told was hired by 456, and the beige room is just one room of many in a building the man owns. He learns all this from Nam Gyu in between visits from various police and detectives who ask him endless questions about the games and the guards, what he knew about the salesmen and where he was before he woke up in the bunk room. He tells them what he can, and they pay him in stern nods and periods of silence. To his relief Nam Gyu is there the entire time, sat in the same uncomfortable chair by his bedside that he must’ve been in for days trading soft glances for confused ones every time he forgets the answer to a question. Nam Gyu doesn’t seem shocked by any of the questions (he later tells him that he has already been asked them while he waited for Thanos to stabilise). During the difficult questions like “How did you get injured?”, “How many people did you see die?” and most pressingly “What led you to the games in the first place?” something aches in Thanos’ chest and leaves his stomach feeling hollowed out. He looks to Nam Gyu and sees the same ache reflected back at him before he covers it with an all too knowing smile in his only attempt at comfort (he hates that he wishes for more. For the man to reach out and for cold hands to return to his neck. He knows that can’t won’t happen, not with these men here).

When the questions are finally finished Nam Gyu explains everything in more detail over dinner (or breakfast or whatever the hell time it is). Tells him that player 001 was the mastermind behind the game and that his friend (maybe his cousin?) was a detective who had helped 456- he now knows as Gi-Hun track him down. After all that Gi-Hun had brought all the surviving players to his freaky base of operations to distribute their money and allow investigations to happen. It’s a long story, one that he zones out for half of, but he finds his boredom soothed by the look on Nam Gyu’s face as he tells it, so expressive in his rage and striking in his excitement. At some point the man must notice him staring because the story stops, and the pair finally meet eyes for the first time in days. The look Nam Gyu gives him is bashful and shy, but Thanos can see the joy behind it, knows the giddy feeling that comes from being looked at by the man he loves.

The time passes like that for the next few hours, Nam Gyu narrating his past few days and Thanos staring at him like a fool until his eyes start to droop. When his chin hits his chest for the third time in as many minutes Nam Gyu chuckles softly and proclaims it time for bed. Muscle memory dictates that Thanos shuffles over, so he does, tucking himself over to his side of the bed patting for Nam Gyu to join him. He’s met by a grimace and the warm bubble around them pops, turning the room cold and heavy with the weight of reality. Not here. Not now. He closes his eyes and waits for Nam Gyu to leave, but instead he simply curls up on his chair, arm not so subtly rest in reach of Thanos’ (if he feels a familiar tug on his sleeve in the night, then who is he to shrug it off).

-0-

The thing about imminent death is that it makes things easier. When everyone is focused on survival nobody tends to care what you’re hiding, even less so what you choose not to hide. In the bunkroom, nobody cared that he clung to Thanos like a lifeline, everyone had one person they clung too, many even groups. Nobody cared to pay attention to the junkies tripping in the corner, too busy planning their next move and speculating the next game. The anonymity of it all is gone now, the safe haven shattered by run down hotel walls and the scrutiny of dozens of cops and nurses and servers. Now the routine of the bunkroom, games and bathroom are replaced by the dining hall, and Thanos’s bedside. He dreads that dining hall more than any of the games combined. In the initial police search he had panicked and flushed almost all of Thanos’ pills, keeping only a few hidden on his person. Without the all-consuming euphoria of the drugs in his system, the weight of the games and what they did, what he did all come crashing down around him. When he enters the hall the sea of players parts for him like moses (or in this case like judas), too violent for the X’s and too traitor for the O’s, his only choice is to sit alone until his food is finished and not a second longer (sometimes he forgoes the food all together, his empty stomach a mere inconvenience when compared to the eyes on his back).

The rest of his time is spent in a dingy medical room watching over Thanos and eavesdropping on the conversations the pregnant girl in the room over has with the nurse. A deeply lonely part of him almost considers her a friend, her occasional words his only comfort as he traces Thanos’ tattoo for the hundredth time. As the days pass other voices join her, an older woman, a young man and Gi Hun himself the most common among them. He listens to their quiet chatter and laughs along with their jokes and tried to pretend it’s not as pathetic as it feels (It is). In all her visits though, Nam Gyu can’t help but notice the glaring absence of Lee Myung-gi, who he knows to be the baby’s father from his hours of eavesdropping. Between stabbing his partner Thanos with a fork and abandoning the girl, Nam Gyu can’t think of a man he hates more right now. Not even player 001.

On the night of the fourth day, the man finally shows his face (or his voice if you were Nam Gyu). He finds himself almost giddy at the prospect of listening in until he hears the girl ask him to leave. He starts to beg, calling for Jun-Hee (which must be her name) to listen to him, that he can be better. Nam Gyu finds himself rolling his eyes FOR her as she asks him once more to leave. The cycle continues over and over, begging and pleading followed by more frantic pleas to leave. When Jun-Hee starts crying, Nam Gyu finds that he’s had enough and is out of his chair before he can even consider what he’s doing.

“She told you to leave.” He says bluntly to the man grovelling by her bedside. The presence of another person must shock him as his stream of nonsense halts. “She asked told to leave.” He repeats.

Nam Gyu swears he can see the moment Lee Myung-gi realises who is talking to him, as fear overtakes his features, and he stumbles on his way past him and out of the door.

Just as swiftly, Nam Gyu turns to take his leave, heading back to his chair until a voice interrupts him.

“Thanks.” The girl- Jun-Hee-says quietly.

Turning, Nam Gyu is almost shocked to be acknowledge by her directly, after days of observing her life from the outside.

“Yeah well.” He replies leaning on the door frame, his voice hoarse from lack of use “He’s an asshole anyway.”

The girl laughs, a high-pitched stuttering thing, until her laughter turns to all out wails, tears streaming down her face as she struggles to catch her breath. Suddenly feeling very out of his depth, and overwhelmed with panic, so he does the only thing he can think of and stumbles to her bedside. Grabbing her hand gently much like he does Thanos, he waits for her the reject him. When she doesn’t, he begins to stroke his thumb up and down in a rhythm he has all but perfected in the last few days. Suddenly Jun Hee springs forward into his chest, and Nam Gyu feels like he’s been plunged in ice water, his nerves alight with a sensation he hasn’t felt since the games: Touch. Fighting the pins and needles in his arms, Nam Gyu slowly brings them down around her, cautious of her belly he squeezes her hoping to bring any comfort he can.

After a while when Jun-Hee seems to have calmed some, Nam Gyu clears his Throat awkwardly.

“Sorry.” He mumbles “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Shocking him once again, Jun-Hee laughs again, though this time is less frantic.

“No don’t apologise.” She gets out through giggles, “He’s the reason we’re both here anyway.”

Nam Gyu pauses, suddenly feeling caught in the realisation that Jun Hee has known he was skulking around the medical wing these last few days. He tries to keep the shame from his expression as the woman continues.

“Honestly it’s refreshing that someone here hates him as much as I do, everyone else seems more concerned about what my hate for him will do to the baby.” She laughs again, “That and the fear that the baby will somehow learn all the swear words through my stomach.”

The statement is so ridiculous that Nam Gyu can’t help himself but burst with laughter, honest to God, rib breaking, breath stealing laughter and it feels Good. Good in a way he hasn’t felt since the drugs wore off.

When they finally stop laughing, he pulls away feeling lighter than he has in a long long time. Jun-Hee invites him to come back anytime, and for once Nam Gyu is honest when he promises that he will.

Chapter Text

For breakfast the next morning, Nam Gyu brings his food to Jun-Hee’s room while Thanos is still sleeping. For the first time in days, eating is paired with light conversation and friendly jabs. An air of calm settles in the room, only to be shattered when one of the nurses enters to tell Nam Gyu that Thanos is awake and asking for him.

Trying (and failing) to pretend that his heart isn’t about to beat out of his chest, Nam Gyu rushes to Thanos’ room. As he crosses the threshold, he finds more people than he had expected (One. He had expected one) crammed in the too-small quarters. To his surprise and somewhat delight, Min-su is sat in what has been proclaimed by everyone: Nam Gyu’s chair. To his right stands Se-Mi, trying her hardest to look aloof as she watches over Min-su like a guard dog. He supposes he can relate. Maybe more than he’d like to admit.

Surveying the scene, Nam Gyu notices three things; tears on Thanos cheek, a smile on Min-Su’s face and the pair’s hands linked on the bed. Something ugly and raw stirs in Nam Gyu’s chest, it pangs something sharp in his stomach. His mind races as he tries to put together puzzle pieces that don’t belong, did Min-Su hurt Thanos? Did somebody die? Is Min-Su trying to steal Thanos from him? The hamster wheel in his brain spins and spins, weaving any number of conclusions that lead him deeper into his spiral.

“Nam-Gyu.” Thanos speaks and the spiral halts, his words soft and probing. “Our friends are allowing us to make amends.”

Friends. Our Friends.

The words almost knock him over with their weight. Nam Gyu has never really had a friend outside Thanos before. Sure, there had been a handful of school friends when he was younger, but they had never really included him in anything outside of school ground play. It wasn’t until he met Thanos- Su-Bong that anybody had paid him any mind. But Su-Bong had been drawn to him, inexplicably the loud bombastic boy who drew the spotlight of whatever room he walked into, had found himself infatuated with the quiet and withdrawn and perfectly content to blend into the shadows Nam Gyu. One night as teenagers, Thanos had joked that their connection was cosmic- with Thanos drawn to him like gravity keeping the sun orbiting the Earth (He hadn’t been quite right, but the sentiment still made Nam Gyu swoon.)

Eleven years later and here they were, with friends. Nam Gyu tries to ignore the way the word our in the sentence had made his heart flutter. The second part however makes his stomach sink- amends. In his time since exiting the games, he has made a concerted effort to push aside every cruel action he had undertaken, in fear that the weight of them all would crush him. He’s still not sure that it won’t.

Shaken from his stupor by the clearing of Se-Mi’s throat, Nam Gyu realises that he has been standing here for much too long. All at once, the ball of shame that has been growing in his chest bursts, leaving tears welling in his eyes without his permission. It’s humiliating. Knowing all the wrongs he has done by these people, and still being the one brought to tears.

Taking a deep breath, he clenches his trembling hands into fists and bows his head deeply as apologies spill from his lips. He apologises for the bullying and intimidation, for the crude comments and violence. He apologises for voting to stay, for dragging them into his team and abandoning them in mingle. It goes so long his throat is raw by the end, tender from swallowing sobs and hiccups. He rambles on and on, finding new memories to apologise for with every breath and is only interrupted when a body slams into his. He looks down to see Min-Su, arms wrapped tightly around his ribs as he shakes with silent tears. Overcome with the thought of absolution he wraps his arms just as tightly around the boy’s shoulders.

A glance around the room shows that Se-Mi is teary-eyed too but desperately trying to hide it. When she catches his eyes, she nods, and Nam Gyu takes it as the approval that it is.

From the bed Thanos is watching him with equally teary eyes, but his are accompanied with the softest smile Nam Gyu has ever seen from him. With a shaking breath he smiles back and hopes it’s just as bright.

Forgiveness is a long road, he knows. But this, this is a start.

-0-

As the days pass, both Thanos and Jun-Hee are given clean bills of health and cleared to leave the medical wing. Which leads to the eventuality Nam Gyu has been dreading: Separate rooms. The rooms in the hotel are nice enough, cozy even with their plush surfaces and warms tones, but Nam Gyu has never slept well on his own. Since meeting Thanos, the issue hadn’t been solved per se, but it was always easier to drift off with a warm body by his side, even when he was blaming it on the high, they both knew Thanos was Nam Gyu’s safety blanket. So embarrassing as it may be, Nam Gyu naturally dreads the idea of Thanos leaving his side. From the looks he receives as Thanos is shown to his new room, he can tell Thanos feels the same.

The dread in his stomach makes dinner near inedible, picking at his plate of plain rice and chicken (an attempt on behalf of the cooks to get him to eat, having clearly noticed the skipped meals and mostly full plates he leaves behind) he nods idly along to the conversation Se-Mi and Min-Su are having, chuckling falsely when cued and smiling whenever anyone looks his way for too long. Nam Gyu only manages to eat at all when Thanos nudges his shoulder, eyeing him, and then his plate in a silent question. He stomachs a few forkfuls of rice to appease his worries, but he knows the effort hasn’t fooled Thanos at all.

 After dinner he lingers as long as he can get away with until the rest of the groups announce that they’re heading to bed. He looks to Thanos and can see his own grimace reflected as they both stand-up to join the others.

Nam-Gyu’s feet are lead as he shuffles his way to the room he’s barely entered since they all arrived. The walls are a putrid green and the bedspread is bright orange, but despite it’s gaudiness, its cozy. Preparing for bed, he shimmies out of his clothes, the bright green uniform now replaced with standard issue clothes gifted by the police department. He folds them up neatly, intent on putting them back on after his shower. Taking a deep breath, he steps into the bathroom and tries to ignore the stark redness of the tiles, the way it reminds him of blood he’s sure will never wash from his soul. It’s funny to think now that on his first night here, he’d been grateful for the way the tiles masked that very same blood as it washed down the drain. Now in the shower, Nam Gyu runs the water as hot as it will go, letting the steam cloud his vision, and the water burn his scalp as he scrubs and scrubs and scrubs.

When he exits the shower and redresses, his skin is lobster red in a way that taunts him.

-0-

Thanos can’t sleep. Try as me might (and he really has tried), no position is comfortable enough to quiet the racing thoughts in his head. He can’t stop thinking about Nam Gyu and while this isn’t unusual, the nature of his thoughts certainly is. Nam Gyu looks ill. At dinner his skin was ashen and almost grey in pallor and his eyes were sunken, red and puffy in a way that made his chest ache. His boy was unwell. In a way he hasn’t seen before in all their various withdrawals and hangovers, and it hurts him almost physically to know that he can’t snap his fingers like his namesake and fix it. So here he lies at one in the morning. Tossing and turning and worrying.

By the time it hits two, Thanos decides he can’t take it anymore.

Slipping out of bed, he pulls a hood over his head, careful to hide his hair as much as possible, before heading to the door. Avoiding the loud creak of the aged hinges is a task that he manages with debateable success, but after a minute of quiet cussing he’s finally made it into the hallway. He shuffles along as quietly as he can, scanning the door numbers as he goes, searching for one in specific that he had made an effort to memorise. He’s so focused on his task that he doesn’t even notice another hooded figure right Infront of him until they crash into each other.

Thanos stiffens, the millions of excuses he had prepared suddenly falling out of his ears as he realises, he doesn’t need them. It’s Nam Gyu. Clearly, Thanos isn’t the only one in need of his safety blanket tonight. In a rare display of vulnerability, his boy beams up at him, a smile that warms Thanos from the inside out as he reaches down for Nam Gyu’s hand. Together they stumble to the room at the other end of the hall, trying their best to stifle their giggles as they go.

Reaching the room, Nam Gyu quickly pulls the door open and ushers him inside. The door thuds loudly as it closes, neither of them having the forethought to prevent it, and it’s the final straw that tips them into hysterics. They both laugh so hard that Thanos begins to question if he’s still high from all the painkillers in his system (the burning in his throat answers that question eventually but by then he’s too bone-tired to care).

After what feels like an eternity the laughter peters out and the pair make their way to the bed. Thanos (as he often is) is the first to clamber into the bed, pulling back ruffled sheets and shuffling until he’s settled comfortable on his back, his eyes finally slipping closed. He feels the bed dip beside him, and hears Nam Gyu shuffling, his warmth getting closer and closer until Thanos feels something settle on his chest. Cracking his eyes open, Thanos is met with a sight that melts him. Nam Gyu is snuggled up to his side, his arms tucked back close to his body in an unnecessarily sweet attempt to give Thanos space.

Sighing Fondly, Thanos reaches for Nam Gyu’s arms, taking advantage of his sleepiness and pliancy to arrange him until his arm is over Thanos’s chest, and his head is properly tucked under his chin. When the man Nam Gyu sighs in content, he wraps an arm up around his shoulder and in a moment of softness that he will certainly deny later, uses the other to stroke through his hair.

Drifting off to sleep Thanos finds that he wouldn’t mind doing this for the rest of his life.