Chapter Text
The soft clinking of ceramic and the smell of freshly cooked galbi filled the room.
Namgyu sat at the far end of the table. He shifted awkwardly, back hunched as he attempted to reach for the side dishes in front of him, but his mother’s hand quickly smacked his away.
“Wait your turn, Namgyu.’ She said sharply, picking up the dish. Face red, he pulled his hand back into his lap, watching patiently as his mother filled the other plates. His gaze drifted to his older brother. Jihoon, at the opposite end of the table, was practically glowing, holding up one of his tests for everyone to see.
“Our teacher said I was the only one in the whole class to get a perfect score. All my friends were so impressed!” His mother put down the food to admire the paper, a bright red one hundred circled at the top.
“We’re so proud of you Jihoon.” Their father smiled, resting a hand on his shoulder. Namgyu watched as his brother basked in the praise, barely noticing the food in front of him.
“Mom?” Namgyu spoke up, sliding his still empty plate forward ever so slightly. Her smile faded as she put down Jihoon’s test, turning her attention away just long enough to prepare his portion. “I got a 90 on my math test.” Namgyu mumbled as his plate was returned. She exchanged looks with his father, who chewed slowly, avoiding eye contact.
“Well, 90 isn’t perfect is it? Maybe Jihoon can help you prepare for the next one.” She said, coldness in her voice. Namgyu stared down into his food.
“Yeah, I can help you! It’ll be fun!” His enthusiasm was genuine, but Namgyu wasn’t sure if it made him feel better or worse.
“Okay.” Namgyu quickly swallowed down his food, and even quicker left the table. His parents were far too involved in their conversation with Jihoon to notice. They never really did.
Namgyu hunched over his desk, gripping his pencil tightly as he worked. A perfect graphite replica of his bedroom sprawled out on the notebook page in front of him. He often used drawing as an escape from the world around him. It was a small piece of control in a life where he often felt like he had none. Approaching footsteps went unnoticed until a familiar voice called out.
“Hey Namgyu! Are you busy?” The door creaked open slightly, and before he could react, a head popped into the room. Instinctively, the notebook was snapped shut, his arms crossing over it protectively.
Jihoon, however, didn’t seem to pick up on the behavior. His grin was bright, full of the boundless energy he always carried with him.
“Oh! Are you drawing again? Can I see?” Namgyu sighed but felt the tension in his shoulders loosen at the sight of his older brother. Jihoon had that effect, as if the weight on Namgyu’s chest wasn’t quite as unbearable when he was around.
Without another word, Namgyu opened the notebook again, holding it out to Jihoon. His brother’s eyes widened.
“Wow! That looks just like your bed! And your window! This is so cool! Jihoon leaned in closer to admire the details. His enthusiasm was infectious, and Namgyu felt the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “I wish I could draw like that! You’re so cool, Namgyu!” Jihoon was always saying things like that, and it always sounded genuine, that he truly meant them. Maybe Jihoon really did see him in a way no one else did.
“Thanks.” Namgyu spoke barely above a whisper, glancing down at his drawing.
Jihoon suddenly perked up, the initial excitement he carried in with him now returning full force. He reached behind him and pulled out a small plastic case.
“Mom and Dad bought me this new game for my grade on the test, and I wanted to see if you’d play with me!” Namgyu hesitated for only a second before nodding, pushing down the bitterness that threatened to linger.
“That sounds fun, yeah.”Jihoon beamed. Despite his tone, he knew Namgyu well enough to not be disheartened by it,
“Awesome! I’ll go set it up!” He turned and all but dashed out of the room. Namgyu watched him go, something tight in his throat. Jihoon was always running ahead, always leading the way. He never seemed to notice the way Namgyu lagged behind him, weighed down by things Jihoon would never have to be burdened with.
But it had been better this way.
Namgyu felt that as long as his brother stood by his side, he could endure all the cold indifference his parents sent his way.
As long as he had that warmth. That guiding light.
Things were never the same after Jihoon was gone.
-
Namgyu moved in a practiced manner as he set the table for two. Apart from the occasional sound made by the dishes, or the bubbling of the kimchi jjigae on the stove, the small room was quiet. Every evening was like this. The same routine, the same silence, the same absence weighing down on everything that lived in the house.
His mother moved around the kitchen in that same silence. Her face wore no expression, lips pressed into a thin line. The passing of time had taken all she was and left an everlasting numbness in its stead.
She placed the pot of stew and another of rice on the table without a word, sitting down across from Namgyu, her posture stiff. He glanced up at his mother, who closed her eyes in a silent prayer. She used to make a big deal of it, not allowing anyone to move until the family showed their gratitude for the food they were served. Now she simply held on for the sake of routine, for the sake of some part of this to be the same.
“Do you have work tonight?” She asked suddenly. Her voice was tired, the exhaustion of grieving making a home in her vocal chords.
Namgyu nodded, swallowing the bite of rice in his mouth. He didn’t need to look up to answer, his gaze fixed on the bowl in front of him.
“Yeah. Same as usual.”
She didn’t respond right away, her spoon hovering above her bowl as if she was deciding what to say next. They never spoke much during meals. It just never felt right.
“You come home so late these days.” She said, grasping at any semblance of a normal conversation.
“It’s just how the job is.” He said, keeping his eyes on his food. It was always the same. He chose to work late to avoid being where he was now. For something to fill the suffocating dullness of this house. To distract him from everything that's changed. From everything they’d lost.
She didn’t press any further, turning her attention back to her food. Namgyu remembered the way she’d protested when he told her about the job at the club. How her voice had raised as she compared him to his father. The way he’d wasted his nights at the bar after Jihoon’s death, how one of those nights, he’d gone out and simply never returned.
“Do you ever think about him?” Her movement slowed almost to nothing, a distant look in her eyes, like she was peering right through him to the dusty family portrait that hung on the wall far behind him.
“Who?” Namgyu’s heart tightened. There were only ever two possibilities. But she wasn’t talking about his father, not with the heavy sadness that had settled upon her shoulders.
“Jihoon.” Ten years had passed, but hearing his brother’s name on her tongue always managed to make something in him ache, like a wound that kept reopening. Namgyu didn't answer, didn't need to. She was never really asking him in the first place.
His mother’s eyes softened, the sheen of unshed tears glistening in them. He could already see the words forming. They’d been through this countless times. Like recounting old memories will somehow will away the pain. It only ever achieved the opposite.
“Kimchi jjigae was his favorite.” She murmured, almost to herself. “I’d make it for him every weekend after his football games. Him and his father would always make the same silly jokes—”
“Mom.” Namgyu cut in, the words slipped out before he could stop them. “I was there too.”
His mother’s lips returned to that thin line, and she closed her eyes briefly, a tear slipping down her cheek. Namgyu could feel the shift in the air. It wasn’t just about Jihoon anymore. It had become about something else, something unspoken, that had clung to him for as long as he could remember.
“Right.” She said quietly, her voice distant now. “Of course.”
Namgyu could feel the bitter taste of her response settle in his mouth. It was the same coldness she’d always given when she didn’t want to acknowledge him. The same indifference she’d always shown when she couldn’t bring herself to admit that she hadn’t wanted him here, that he was nothing more than a reminder of the son she had lost.
Her eyes shifted then, truly focusing on him. But it wasn’t with love. It wasn’t with any hint of appreciation for his ever present existence in her life. It would never be that.
The unspoken words were there, heavy in the air.
Why’d it have to be him? Why couldn’t it have been you? Then my family would be complete again.
Namgyu swallowed hard, the lump in his throat unbearable now. His mother didn’t look at him again. The silence stretched on, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they would be stuck in this miserable dance forever.
-
Club Pentagon was the biggest name in the hat of the city’s nightlife, its neon lights casting an intoxicating glow on the damp pavement outside. The entry line stretched three blocks on a Saturday night, filled with people desperate for a taste of its electric atmosphere. Inside, the air pulsed with bass-heavy beats, bodies moving in tandem with the music, a collective high of sweat, alcohol, and bad decisions.
It was here that Namgyu found his escape.
The club hosted all varieties of people. The young and the old. The blissfully unaware and the ones like him, the ones with ever-present clouds hanging over their heads. The ones who didn’t come here to have fun, but to forget.
“You got any plans after work?” One of the other bartenders leaned against the counter, tossing a rag over his shoulder.
Namgyu didn’t look up as he finished drying a glass.
“Sleep if I’m lucky, a cigarette if I’m not.”
The man laughed, patting Namgyu on the shoulder as he walked past him.
“You should hang with us tonight. Once a week all the staff chill in the VIP room after closing. I’m about to head that way now since I just clocked out. Shit gets fuckin crazy sometimes, but it’s a blast.” Before Namgyu could answer, the bartender pressed something small into his palm. “If you know what I mean.” He smirked before walking away, waving over his shoulder. Namgyu frowned, opening his hand. A small pink tablet sat in the center of his palm.
His thoughts drifted to his mother, the look on her face the night she came to the hospital after he’d taken too many. He remembered the exhaustion in her eyes, the way she stared at him like she wasn’t looking at her son but at some stranger who had become an inconvenience. How she’d called him selfish for trying to leave her with nothing.
She never made an effort to check in on him after that, like nothing had changed at all. I guess it really hadn’t. He was still here, and he had high doubts her grief would ever be about him if he wasn’t.
Nearly twenty minutes go by before Namgyu puts the last glass away. He ran a hand through his hair, the weight of his shift crashing down on him. Fishing the tablet from his shirt pocket, he looked between the VIP entrance and the exit.
Then, without hesitation, he pressed the pill to his tongue and swallowed it dry.
Social gatherings were high on Namgyu’s list of fuck no’s, but he’d rather be anywhere in the world than home right now, so he wasn’t about to turn down an excuse. The familiar buzz had already begun to settle under his skin. He could breathe easier, think a little less.
“Namgyu! Over here!”
A voice beckoned him to the far corner of the VIP room, smoke curling from the booths where people lounged with half-empty drinks and lazy grins. Every step closer threatened to change his mind, but having already noticed him, it was too late to back out.
Sliding into the leather booth, Namgyu scanned the crowd. At least a dozen staff members, along with a few unfamiliar faces, filled the dimly lit space. Not thirty seconds later, someone he recognized as one of the daytime bartenders, was carrying an armful of beer bottles to the table, one being shoved into his hand before he could object.
Not that he would have.
“So glad you decided to join us this time!” Namgyu could tell from his breath and the slight blending of his words that he’d already had a few prior to this one.
“Yeah, was just interested in seeing what all the hype was about.” He smiled, twisting the silver ring on his finger with his free hand. His eyes settled on anything but the other man’s.
Introductions were made, but Namgyu barely engaged, offering nods or quick sips of his drink to avoid unnecessary conversation. Even with the warmth of alcohol burning in his throat, he was still as stiff as ever, his fingers fidgeting with the fabric of his sleeves, pulled over slightly shaking hands.
“Club Pentagon VIPs! Are you ready for a show?”
A loud voice cut through the buzz of conversation, tugging Namgyu’s attention toward the center of the room. The stage, smaller than the one in the main room, was normally reserved for whoever the actual VIP’s paid for, usually women in skimpy outfits, in Namgyu’s experience. Tonight, it was occupied by a man with wild purple hair and flashy colorful clothes.
“Shit, dude! You didn’t tell me Thanos would be here tonight!” Someone at the table nudged the bartender beside them.
“Pretty sick, right? I actually bumped into the guy yesterday and somehow convinced him to perform! It may have cost the club a couple of free drinks, but what the boss doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“Thanos?” Namgyu spoke up, raising an eyebrow at the bizarre name.
You’d think he had just admitted he shot someone.
“You don’t know Thanos? Dude, you’ve been living under a rock!” An arm was thrown around his shoulder, and the whole table erupted with chatter.
“He's a legendary rapper, hasn't quite made it into the spotlight yet but we've all been huge fans of his since one of his songs went viral!” Namgyu just nodded, downing the rest of his drink. The beat kicked in moments later, a deep, thrumming sound that reverberated in his chest. The crowd responded with cheers as Thanos grabbed the mic.
Namgyu barely heard any of it.
“I’m gonna go grab another.” He announced, slipping out of the booth.
“Aw, you’re gonna miss the show!”
“Rap’s not really my thing.” He assured them, maneuvering his way along the back of the room toward the bar.
The feeling crept up on him slowly—the undeniable sense that someone was watching him. He cast a glance over his shoulder, but at the booth, everyone had already returned to their own conversations, completely absorbed in the performance.
Like he’d never been there at all.
Namgyu tossed back his second drink alone, the coolness of the bottle keeping him grounded. A few beers would never be enough to get him drunk, but they helped take the edge off. The bar was strangely quiet, a rare sanctuary from the chaos that always engulfed Club Pentagon. The usual chatter, the clinking of glasses, the wild laughter—it had all died down to a distant hum, leaving him in rare solitude.
He exhaled, tilting his head back slightly as he let the warmth of the liquor settle in his chest. The club was actually quite nice when it wasn’t full of people. He could still hear the music from the other room, but it had dulled after a while, the bass no longer rattling through his ribcage. Thanos must have finished his show.
“That was so fucking sick!” The excited, slurred voices of his tablemates grew louder as they spilled out of the VIP room, their footsteps uneven, laughter tumbling over itself.
Namgyu could already picture their flushed faces, the way they’d be gesturing wildly, reenacting moments from the performance with exaggerated enthusiasm. Someone would probably try to loop him into the conversation, slinging an arm around his shoulders, expecting him to match their energy.
He had no interest in any of that.
Namgyu quickly scanned the room, eyes landing on the restroom sign. He glanced back at the others before hurrying off in the opposite direction.
“Fuck. I should have just gone home.” Namgyu splashed water over his face, the chill shocking him out of the slightly tipsy state he’d been in. Jihoon used to urge him to go out more, to attend some of the high school parties with him. But he always refused, this was always the result. An inevitable outcome.
Staring into the mirror, he saw the reflection of the bathroom door opening. He quickly squeezed his eyes shut, as if not being able to see anything himself would somehow make him invisible to whoever walked in.
After a few seconds of painful silence, he opened his eyes, risking a glance in the mirror. His back was turned to Namgyu, but he instantly recognized the bright purple hair and the strange tattoos, this was the same man he saw on stage earlier. Thanos. Not nearly quick enough in turning away, Thanos’s eyes met his for a moment in the mirror’s reflection.
Shit.
“So you’re still here huh?” Thanos broke the silence, flipping the faucet on. He wasn't looking directly at Namgyu, but he could feel the amusement in his voice.
“What?” Namgyu glanced to his right. A beat of silence passed before Thanos turned off the tap, tearing off a sheet of paper towel and turning to face Namgyu.
“You.” He said simply. “The one who left the room before my show started.” He smirked. Namgyu couldn’t help the burn in his cheeks. But he wasn’t about to let this asshole think he had any influence on him.
“All those people there who're fans of yours, yet you zeroed in on the one person in the room not praising the ground you stand on?” Namgyu crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. “That’s pretty pathetic.”
Thanos hadn’t been expecting that kind of response. His usual interactions were predictable: admiration, flirtation, the occasional attempt to humble him that he could brush off with a smirk and a clever retort. But this?
He nearly missed the trash can when he tossed his paper towel away, the balled-up mess bouncing off the rim before landing inside. He pretended not to notice.
“I wasn’t searching the crowd for non-fans.” He said, leaning against the edge of the sink. “You just so happened to catch my attention.” Namgyu scoffed, shifting his weight.
“Lucky me.” There was something guarded in his posture, the way he was twisting one of the rings he wore around his finger, the way his eyes briefly flickered to the exit. Thanos took a step closer, just enough to see if Namgyu would retreat. He didn’t, but his jaw tensed, and that was just as telling.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Thanos smirked. “Should I have ignored you instead?” Irritation was etched into the corners of Namgyu’s features, overtaking his earlier embarrassment of being noticed.
“Would’ve been preferable.” Thanos chuckled. He retreated to the sink again, attempting to air out the tension.
"I'm Thanos." He continued, extending a tattooed hand. The bathroom lights reflected off his colorful nail polish. Namgyu didn’t take it.
"So I've heard." Thanos withdrew his hand, undeterred. Instead, he leaned in ever so slightly, a smirk playing at his lips as his eyes scanned the man in front of him.
"Namgyu, right? Nice to meet you." He stiffened. "Your nametag." Thanos added. Namgyu resisted the urge to groan. He could suddenly feel the cool weight of the metal pressing against his chest.
“Right. Well, now that introductions are out of the way, I’ll be going.” Thanos, still leaning lazily against the sink, hummed in amusement.
“Leaving so soon? You just got here.” Namgyu stopped, fingers curling into fists at his sides. He knew better than to let someone like Thanos get under his skin, but damn if the guy didn’t make it difficult.
“I didn’t come here to make friends.” Namgyu said, glancing over his shoulder.
“Clearly.” Thanos’s grin widened. “You came here to hide.”
“Well takes one to know one doesn’t it?” Namgyu raised his eyebrows pointedly.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Came his smooth drawn out response. Each of his attempts to get a step up were instantly brought down by Thano’s unshakeable confidence. It was infuriating, a reminder of everything Namgyu lacked.
Drunken voices could be heard outside the bathroom, and despite it being the reason he ended up in this situation to begin with, Namgyu was glad to have an excuse. He tilted his head toward the noise outside, his body already angling toward the door.
He didn’t give Thanos another glance, didn’t wait for a parting remark. He took the leap, pushing through the door, out into the dimly lit hallway, and kept walking, keeping his head down as the crowd of blurry faces piled into the bathroom.
Namgyu gritted his teeth. He really should’ve just gone home.