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A woman screams — then another does, and then a man, and then tens of more people are screaming. People start running in the opposite direction, tripping over themselves and the bodies they’ll soon join dead on the ground. The sand they’re running through is stained with red that’s leaking from the foreheads and limbs of dead players.
Blood sprays Myung-gi as he watches the player a little to the left in front of him fall backwards with a shot through his leg, and then forehead. He tries his best not to flinch but can’t stop the slight tremors in his hands. He hadn’t believed the player who had situated himself at the front and began yelling orders about how they’d die if they moved until now, and for a brief moment Myung-gi wonders how he knew all of this, until he hears the ‘green light’ order and sets off in a sprint.
Right before the doll whirs back around, he stops and begins to scan his surroundings without moving an inch.
He’s so focused that he barely hears 456’s voice telling them to line up behind someone bigger than him, and before he knows it everyone has moved into a line formation. Now, in front of him, he sees the back of a tracksuit jacket that has the number ‘388’ emblazoned on it. The person in front of him is taller and blocks any chance of the doll seeing his movements.
At this point, Myung-gi thinks he’s in too much shock to care about the fate of anyone but himself, but feels thankful for the player in front of him nonetheless. If he lives, Myung-gi will be able to thank him.
They move forwards with the player from the start yelling when to move and when to freeze. It goes well, apart from a few players being taken out due to shakiness or tripping. Some psychopath even knocks down a few in front of him on purpose. Myung-gi hopes that no-one behind him gets any ideas from that. ‘388’ holds up well, although covers his ears every time he freezes, flinching in a way that would be imperceptible to anyone not right next to him.
He keeps an eye on the timer above them. It ticks down quicker than Myung-gi feels the time pass. Every second feels like an entire lifetime. They gradually make their way towards the finish line, stopping and starting. Sweat beads at Myung-gi’s temples. They have less than a minute to finish.
The doll announces a ‘green light’ and they’re off again, until the ‘red light’ comes and Myung-gi can see the man in front of him begin to stumble. In a state of panic and adrenaline, he reaches out and grabs him by his jacket and uses all of his strength to keep the player from hitting the ground. He hadn’t been consistent with working out in the months of being on the move, and isn’t fully sure how long he can keep the hold on him. Thankfully, another ‘green light’ comes around and they both sprint their way across the pink finish line. Player ‘388’ collapses to the ground immediately. His face is pale and his hair is drenched in sweat — he looks absolutely petrified. Myung-gi sits down next to him with hesitant curiosity.
His voice is shaky as he begins to speak. “Hey… thanks. I owe you my life.” He pats the player’s shoulder awkwardly but is surprised when he jolts away from his touch. The player snaps his head to look over at him with a fear in his eyes that was utterly haunting. His lips are trembling and tiny sprays of blood mark his face. Myung-gi pulls the hand that was floating, dismissed, in the air back to him.
“I’m sorry.” Is all the player manages to get out before he’s got his head buried into his arms. Myung-gi sighs and shakes his head. He’s not good at dealing with this sort of thing. Emotion was the furthest thing from his forte. He had always been the glacial and analytical one in any relationship, romantic or otherwise, he’d been in. It was something he recognised as a flaw, but he didn’t see any need to make it a priority.
Myung-gi reaches his hand out again but decides against it. Whatever this is, he doesn’t want to add to it. He sighs again. “Hey, man. Can you hear me?” With no response, he continues. “I’m… not gonna hurt you, or anything. You’re… safe.”
The man looks up, only slightly, to look at Myung-gi’s face. He shifts and removes his face fully until he’s sitting upright again. He still looks terrified, as if any moment now Myung-gi is going to launch at him and maul him to death.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers again, soft this time. His eyes shine, with the bright sky reflecting in his tears, and his entire body wracking with shivers and tremors.
Myung-gi reaches his hand back out in offering, making sure the man sees it outstretched before him, before he actually touches him. The man eyes it with the caution a stray cat would regard a stranger with, but ultimately doesn’t protest. Myung-gi pats his shoulder with as much gentleness as he can muster, and the man seems to calm a little. “What are you sorry for?” He asks. “You didn’t do anything.”
Before ‘388’ can respond, the roof above them begins to shut. The man grips onto Myung-gi’s forearm as they both peer up at the sky. They sit there for what feels like an eternity, uneasy, before all of the remaining players are escorted back into the dorm room. At this point they get split up, and Myung-gi does his best not to care too much. He won’t win the games by getting attached.
Dae-ho watches as that man, ‘333’, presses the blue circle and receives a patch the same as his own. He wonders to himself whether he’s someone to ally with or to leave to his own devices. He wasn't all too talkative or noticeable before the first game, so Dae-ho wasn’t sure if he’d even spare him a second glance. He also remembers the awkwardness they shared when he was having a panic attack — what a great first impression. They make brief eye contact as ‘333’ walks over to the side of the room illuminated with blue.
He glances up at the board. The votes are close, and remain so throughout the entire voting process. He mutters to himself, wondering who will win, until he hears a voice to his right. He looks over and sees player ‘333’ scrutinising the board himself. “I think we’re going to win,” He says. “Just based off of the way the voting is going.”
Dae-ho tilts his head. “But every time someone votes to stay, someone votes to go. What if it’s a draw?” His eyes follow a younger girl, probably in her twenties, walking up the aisle between the two sides.
The player huffs, amused but unenthusiastic. “There’s three hundred and sixty-five of us. We’re an odd number. One of the sides has to win, regardless of whether we remain as even as we are now. And I think it’ll be us.” He looks over at Dae-ho and Dae-ho sees his face clearly for the first time — not clouded by tears or from a distance. Bathed in blue light, he sees the man’s wide shining eyes, large lips and overall handsome features. He’s shorter, not by a lot, but a noticeable amount, and he’s got a neutral but stern expression glued to his face.
He’s pretty.
‘333’ frowns slightly, and Dae-ho realises he must be staring. He coughs and rubs his palms against his tracksuit bottoms before he speaks again. “Ah, you’re right. I should’ve noticed that. I’m not good with numbers.” He scratches his neck. He feels embarrassed. “You must have been good at maths.”
He doesn’t even know why he’s trying to make conversation with him right now, when he just made a bit of a fool out of himself for the second time. The man’s lips quirk into the smallest smile imaginable, that Dae-ho himself barely notices. “I guess so. Didn’t do me much good, though.”
Dae-ho decides not to pry, and changes the subject. “Ah! By the way, thanks for… y’know. Saving my life. If it weren’t for you, I would’ve fallen. I would’ve… been dead.” He gulps at the thought. “So, thanks. And sorry for freaking out, too.” He tacks that on at the end, muttering out of shame.
The other man pauses before shaking his head. “It’s fine. Ninety-one people died out there. Anyone would’ve freaked out.” He pauses. “Also, you saved my life too. My hands were shaking like crazy, if I wasn’t behind you I would’ve been killed a long while ago. We’re even.”
Dae-ho smiles. It’s a real one with teeth showing and so wide that his eyes are closed. He claps his hand against the player’s shoulder, knocking him off balance a bit. “Sorry.” He chuckles nervously. The man looks up at him with wide eyes.
He’s staring at Dae-ho for a few seconds, and Dae-ho almost apologises. “It’s okay.” ‘333’ affirms. Dae-ho lets out a mental sigh in relief and grins again. He almost gets to ask for the guy’s name until he notices they’re down to the last few votes.
They stay.
—
Myung-gi was trying to eat his dinner. He sits on his bed — alone, as he had been for however long they’d been in the games. He hears the chatter from the other players surrounding him, but doesn’t listen. He doesn’t care about anything except making sure that he manages to get out of this mess. Even if they aren’t exactly in love with each other anymore, his ex-girlfriend, Jun-hee, is expecting, and Myung-gi needs a chance to find a way to make up for what he’s put her through.
The food is okay, and nothing more. The rice is a slight bit over-cooked and the meat bland, but when in a series of death games, he’d take anything he could get. He wasn’t going to die of starvation before anything else — that would be embarrassing, and pointless. What they were given is just enough to keep them going, but not enough to fill their appetites entirely. That was definitely on purpose.
He sits zoned out until he hears the loud yells of a player from across the room. He glances up, annoyed at the disturbance until he saw the number ‘388’ on the back of the player’s t-shirt. Right now, the man is saluting to another player, ‘390’, yelling passionately with each playful smack from his senior. He hears the name ‘Dae-ho’ and files it away in his memory. He’s good at retaining information.
After a while, he tunes it out, and eventually it stops. He goes back to picking at his meal until ‘124’ — Nam-gyu, or something, approaches him. “Enjoying your food?” He starts. Myung-gi tries not to make eye contact. He isn’t in the mood. “I couldn’t eat. After seeing everyone get shot dead, you still have an appetite?”
He really is not in the mood. “That crypto ruined my life too. That’s why I’m here, to make money.” He tries to be as blunt as possible to avoid having any more interaction with this man than he needs to.
He turns back to eat his food until a larger frame takes up his vision. Thanos. Failed rapper and failed investor, with a failed suicide attempt. He leans himself up against his bed frame with his entire body blocking Myung-gi’s immediate line of view. “Right, money. You’d better make a lot of money,” Myung-gi wants to roll his eyes. He doesn’t know why it’s his responsibility that an idiot like Thanos had thrown his own money down the drain. “Because of that coin, I lost over five hundred million. The money I earned by busting my ass rapping.”
He still has the blood from Red light, Green light splattered across his face, from when he had single-handedly caused a domino-like knock down of several players and had them all shot and killed. Myung-gi finds it ironic that Nam-gyu is confronting him about feeling comfortable about watching people die when his best buddy had basically been the one to kill some of them.
Speaking of, Nam-gyu pipes up. “I lost three hundred million.” Myung-gi shoves a spoonful of over-cooked rice into his mouth without so much as glancing at the men.
“You’d better win the games and make a whole lot of money to pay us back.”
Myung-gi himself is surprised that he has maintained such patience with these two idiots. He sighs. “Right, okay. I get it. Can you leave, now? I’m trying to eat—”
Suddenly the tray is yanked from his hands and into Nam-gyu’s. Grains of mushy rice spray over the covers of his bed. “You little shit, eating like a fucking pig.” He mutters, throwing a clump of the rice back into the container it had fallen out of.
“Give it back.” Myung-gi warns, and watches as the man plucks pieces of rice from his bed to throw them in with the rest. He isn’t sure how much he wanted to eat it now that Nam-gyu had played with it. He doesn’t know where that man’s hands had been or what substances, illegal or otherwise, he’s touched.
“No.”
Thanos’ painted fingers reach out and take the tray off of Nam-gyu. Myung-gi looks at him cautiously. “You want to eat this so bad?” The taller man starts. He smirks. “Then, Thanos will feed you.”
He doesn’t have any time to react before Thanos scoops the rice out of the tray and shoves it in his face. Myung-gi lets out a surprised grunt as he flails, trying to get the food, and Thanos’ hand, off of his face.
He glares at Thanos in a mix of upset and shock, grains of rice and speckles of hot sauce still stuck to his face. “Good isn’t it?” Thanos taunts, both him and Nam-gyu laughing in Myung-gi’s face. Myung-gi is really not in the mood.
He lunges forward out of his bed, cursing as he tackles the rapper to the ground. He has him by the collar of his tracksuit jacket until Nam-gyu pulls him away. He holds him back by his arms, allowing Thanos to get some good hits at his face. It’s two against one. The strength of Thanos’ punches knock him to the ground as he clutches at his eye.
By now, the entire room watches as Thanos stomps on and kicks him. He shields his head with his arms, curling into a position to give himself more protection. Even Nam-gyu gets a hit in, kicking his stomach. Myung-gi wonders with eyes closed shut if anyone at all is going to intervene. There’s about four-hundred odd players in the room with them and none of them have stepped forward to stop the fighting.
Nam-gyu attempts to lift him to his feet again to serve as a punching bag when a voice rings out. “Boys. What are you doing in the middle of mealtime? No fights during mealtime.” He is dropped back onto the floor while both of his attackers turn to look at whoever spoke. “And two against one. Aren’t we embarrassed?”
Player 001. Thanos turns to face him and begins to strut over. “You're lecturing me when you ended up in this shithole too? Ahjussi. Stop running your mouth, and take care of your own kids.”
Young-il pauses for a moment, before muttering in a low tone. “What did you just say?”
“I said save the lecture for your own fucking kids.” He barely finishes the sentence before Young-il has him by the neck with one of his hands. He kicks Nam-gyu in his shin, knocking him to the floor, letting go of his grip on Thanos briefly only to punch him in the gut when he comes back at him. “Wait— wait…”
Myung-gi watches with keen interest now as Young-il twists Thanos’ arm and kicks him to the floor. Whatever Thanos said to him, it had sincerely pissed the older man off, because he now has him pinned by his neck to the ground with a fist raised in the air. Myung-gi is still disoriented, but notices that Young-il looks about the furthest thing from forgiving right now.
For a few seconds his grip doesn’t let up as Thanos pleads for his mercy. When he does let go, Thanos’ face had turned a few shades redder than usual as he gasps for the air he had been kept from. The silent room erupts into clapping and cheering as Young-il seems to come back into the real world. Myung-gi, for the second time that day, feels grateful towards someone.
Sitting up, he watches as Young-il makes his way back over to his clique. He sees Dae-ho clapping with a stunned smile on his face, whispering with player 390. He then pulls his shirt sleeve down a tad, covering up his Marine Corps tattoo.
Dae-ho snaps out of his shocked state and looks right over to where Myung-gi sits on the floor. A flash of something akin to pity shows on his face and Myung-gi hates that. He stands up, sparing just a brief glance at Dae-ho, and clambers back into his bed.
—
A few moments later, he hears footsteps approaching his bed again. He expects to look up and see Thanos or Nam-gyu back to harass him a second time, and sighs deeply. He glances up in frustration, opening his mouth to tell them to ‘Fuck off.’ but is surprised to see the face of Kang Dae-ho. He closes his mouth and glances away.
“What?” He asks, blunt and straightforward. He doesn’t want any of anyone’s pity for him, so it’s best to try to drive Dae-ho away through dismissal rather than try to sit through whatever worthless encouragement he might try to offer.
He’s surprised when Dae-ho takes the now empty container (that had been flung onto his bed in the midst of the fight) and opens his own to scoop about half of his food onto Myung-gi’s. He looks back up at him in doubtful surprise. ‘What the fuck was he doing?’
Dae-ho hands his container back to him and grins. “I’m not going to eat much of it anyways.” He sits on the edge of Myung-gi’s bed. “Your face looks pretty bad.”
Myung-gi huffs, bemused. “Thanks, man.” He digs his spoon into the new rice, stirring it around a bit before eating a spoonful. Somehow, it tastes better.
“I didn’t mean—” Dae-ho looks a bit panicked. “You’ve got a nice face. I meant that you’ve already got bruises forming ‘round your eye.” He reaches a hand out towards Myung-gi before immediately retracting it.
Myung-gi cocks an eyebrow and laughs. “I’ve got a nice face?” It’s his second time talking directly to this man and he has already caught his interest. “Thanks, I guess.”
Dae-ho turns a few shades pinker, and Myung-gi watches intently while scooping more rice into his mouth. “You’re… welcome?” Dae-ho tries, averting his gaze for a while. “Lee Myung-gi, right?”
Myung-gi nods. Dae-ho doesn’t seem like the type of guy to care about cryptocurrencies at all, so he had probably heard it from another player. He finds himself surprised that he feels happy about the fact that this man had remembered his name correctly. “Dae-ho, right?” He responds.
“How do you know my name?” Dae-ho asks. A valid question, considering they hadn’t exchanged names before.
Myung-gi places his spoon down and shuffles where he is sitting. “I heard you and that other marines guy shouting earlier. Heard him say the name ‘Dae-ho’, so I assumed it was yours.” He mumbles.
He isn’t sure why Dae-ho seems to be trying to make efforts to get to know him. Everybody in the games knows that he’s an asshole, including himself. But Dae-ho still sits so close to him, on his bed, shares his food with him and calls his face pretty? He doesn’t understand.
Dae-ho nods, his lips forming an O-shape. “Was I that loud?” He asks, and Myung-gi huffs out laughter. He nods and Dae-ho hangs his head in slight embarrassment and laughs to himself.
Myung-gi needs Dae-ho to leave as soon as possible. He’s finding himself growing endeared to him even if they’ve only spoken for a total of five minutes. At the same time, he wants to get to know him more. He seems interesting.
“Ah, Dae-ho-ssi, by the way, how old are you?” He asks, watching him shovel the rice into his mouth as fast as possible. He doesn’t look any older than his own age.
With a mouth stuffed with food, Dae-ho attempts to answer him. All that comes out is a string of muffled, garbled sounds. He holds his hand up while he swallows the food and then bumps his chest with his fist. Myung-gi watches as he swallows and only snaps out of whatever that was once he hears his answer. “I’m thirty-seven. What about you?”
What he had been expecting was for the ex-marine to be around, if not a year or two older than, the age he himself is. A whole sevenyears older is not something he could have predicted. He clears his throat before answering, his voice a bit strained.
“I’m only thirty. You’re older than I thought you’d be. I thought you were my age.”
Dae-ho laughs. It’s a loud, joyful one that makes the corners of Myung-gi’s mouth rise for just a second before he is able to restrain himself again. What the hell. “No, I’m closer to forty than I am thirty. I’m glad you thought I looked younger than my age, though.”
Myung-gi stares at him for a moment. “You’ve got a nice face.”
He looks at him still, trying to gauge his reaction. He doesn’t have to do a lot of guesswork, with how pink Dae-ho turns at the compliment. He mutters a thanks and clears his throat.
Myung-gi hums. They sit in silence for the next couple of minutes until Dae-ho scoots closer to him and reaches out for his face. This time, he actually touches it. His fingers trace lightly around the yellowing and purpling blotches of skin, trying his hardest not to cause any pain.
He leans into it until he remembers that they’re surrounded by hundreds of people and bats his hand away. His own cheeks flush and he feels his face heating up at the brief seconds of touch. Dae-ho frowns slightly, disappointed, and Myung-gi regrets it. “Sorry.”
Dae-ho tilts his head. Myung-gi notes that he does that whenever he’s confused and files it in the back of his mind. He then smiles, his usual blindingly positive and dazzling one, and pats Myung-gi’s shoulders. “No, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“I don’t—” Myung-gi begins, but stops himself before he can reveal himself as too pathetic. He inhales and shakes his head. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind. My instincts, or whatever.”
Dae-ho nods. Myung-gi wants the warmth of his palm against his face again to an embarrassing degree. He had only felt it for a second, but craves its return. He supposes that in these sorts of games intimacy and affection were both things few and far between. He should be grateful he’s even receiving any.
Lights out in thirty minutes.
He inhales and reaches his own hand out to Dae-ho’s, settling it on top in hopes of conveying an invitation to stay. Hell, he could die tomorrow. Anyone could. He was going to take anything he could get from him. He looks up in surprise and Myung-gi nods, met with another joyful smile. He wonders just how he can stay so cheerful with the circumstances they’re under.
Dae-ho climbs next to him in the bed until he notices the rice and sauce on the sheets. “Hey, we should go over to my bed,” He suggests. Myung-gi hesitates before nodding his head. It’s not like it’d make much of a difference, he didn’t care that much whose bed he lay on. “We’ll be safer there too, we have a little group, kind of.”
Myung-gi gets up to follow Dae-ho across to the players he’d allied with. He trails behind him anxiously, hoping that nobody there had been scammed as a result of him. He hasn’t had a good day, he wants a bit of peace. Dae-ho speaks to Gi-hun, telling him that Myung-gi would be joining them.
Gi-hun nods. Myung-gi notices the fatigue in his eyes that has built up over the years since he apparently first played the games. He seems kind, but worn. He remembers seeing that look before in his mother’s eyes when he was a kid, when she had no money or way to support him. He remembers seeing it when he found her on the ground at age fourteen, dead. He remembers how the only photo they could use for her funeral proceedings was one that he could see that same misery reflected in.
He looks away quickly. He doesn’t want to think too hard about that. Dae-ho appears to notice the subtle changes in expression on Myung-gi’s face and frowns, but doesn’t say anything. He was good at recognising emotions and picking up on whether or not to speak on them.
They climb into Dae-ho’s bed together and stare up at the metal bunk frame. They’re silent for a while until Myung-gi begins to speak. It’s five minutes until lights out. “You know what I did, right?” He taps his thumbs against his legs and presses his hands against his tracksuit pants. “The whole… crypto scam thing. Yeah?”
Dae-ho hesitates. “Yeah. Hard not to, with Thanos yelling about it all day.” He lets out an airy chuckle. Myung-gi shifts to look at him, and Dae-ho is already looking back.
The lights go out before Myung-gi speaks again, this time at a whisper. Dae-ho moves his hand to gently touch Myung-gi’s arm, in a gesture that seems more comforting for himself than anyone else. He moves his arm away, and snakes his hand up to Dae-ho’s to hold it in his. “You know I didn’t… like, do it on purpose. Right?”
Dae-ho keeps his eyes on the younger’s face. His eyes are wide and pleading and hoping that Dae-ho will believe him so he squeezes his hand and smiles reassuringly. “I know. No need to explain yourself. At least not here, to me. We’re all on the same footing here. You should worry about getting out alive.”
“I just feel like I needed to. I didn’t want you to think I was some… asshole. An idiot, sure, fine. But I didn’t want you to see me as, I don’t know, a guy who’s willing to be that much of a piece of shit to get money.” He sighs and looks around the room. He surveys the players. Some elderly, some young girls and boys, some with disabilities. “I wonder what voting to stay in the games makes me, though.”
The lights have dimmed and most of the chatter has died out, and the only thing that Dae-ho can make out in the dark is Myung-gi to his side. “I voted to stay too. Do you think I’m a bad person for it?” He watches Myung-gi’s eyes widen slightly before he shakes his head. Dae-ho hums. “We’re just trying to get money, the same way everyone else here is. It’s worse out there than in here.”
Myung-gi wonders where this soft-spoken, eloquent side of Dae-ho came from. His first three impressions of him had been Dae-ho having a panic attack, Dae-ho wondering if there could be a draw with an odd amount of players, and Dae-ho yelling “sir” repeatedly at player ‘390’.
He begins to relax into himself as Dae-ho continues to stroke his thumb along the back of his hand, and nods to himself. He has a point. He doesn’t consider Dae-ho a bad person at all — furthest thing from it, really. He smiles softly and uses his other hand to prop himself up again.
They stare at each other for a few moments. Dae-ho looks to where Myung-gi inspects him and his every movement. He reaches a hand out to place it on his cheek and strokes along his bruised cheekbone. It’s too dark for them to see anyone but each other, and this sparks a braveness in Dae-ho. With his eyes flickering to and from Myung-gi’s lips, he begins to gravitate towards the other’s face. Myung-gi seems slightly hesitant, but comes closer nonetheless.
He sets a small peck onto the other’s lips to test out his willingness before pulling back. There’s a new sort of emotion shining in the dark vastness of Myung-gi’s eyes as he focuses his gaze down at Dae-ho’s mouth. Pretty soon, Myung-gi proves his readiness by diving down and crashing his lips into Dae-ho’s.
Dae-ho lets out a small sound from the surprise of the impact, and Myung-gi smiles against him. He wonders how often Dae-ho had kissed or even fucked before the games began when Dae-ho struggles to find something to do with his hands. He settles on reaching one around Myung-gi’s neck, and pulls him in further.
After a few seconds, Myung-gi breaks away and watches with heaving breaths as Dae-ho chases after his lips. He grins and then moves so that he can swing one of his legs over the man’s lap, straddling him. Dae-ho looks up in surprise for a brief moment until they’re kissing again, closer now, with both of his strong arms wrapped around Myung-gi’s waist.
Myung-gi takes the lead and deepens the kiss with an intensity that makes Dae-ho’s body feel weak, and Dae-ho thanks any deity that may exist for the fact that he’s sitting in a bed. If he had been standing, he thinks he would’ve buckled and fallen into a heap.
Myung-gi has his hands travelling up his chest from underneath his t-shirt, mindlessly trailing up and down as they make out. Any time Dae-ho lets out a moan or a whine, Myung-gi presses his mouth harder against him. Pretty soon he begins to trail his mouth down to his jaw, then his neck, then his collarbones. Every few inches of skin, he latches onto one specific area and begins to suck and lick the skin under his mouth. Dae-ho knows this will leave visible marks across his skin, but can’t find enough willpower in him to care. After every mark is made, Myung-gi kisses the skin gently, sending a shiver down Dae-ho’s spine.
Dae-ho’s whimpers are only muffled by his own hand, now, as the younger man licks along his neck. “Fuck,” is all he can get out. Myung-gi smiles and thinks that if this is how affected he is by making out, he really needs to know what he’s like during sex.
The heaves of Dae-ho’s chest against Myung-gi’s palms make him smile wider as he removes his mouth from the man’s neck. He sits up to place one last kiss on Dae-ho’s lips and watches him come back to a sane and clear state of mind. “I think that we should stop before we get caught, hm?”
Dae-ho nods, out of it. His eyes are still clouded, and his lips are swollen and red. Myung-gi wishes he could take a picture. Myung-gi lies back down beside him, watching his face return to normal. Dae-ho grins over at him. “We should get some sleep, I think.”
Myung-gi smiles back. “We should.” He agrees, and lets Dae-ho wrap an arm around his waist, tucking his own face into the man’s chest.
He’d worry about everything in the morning.