Work Text:
And keep the pace, to save your face
You'll never make the place
But do you even run the race?
I can't be what you need
I am stuck in a dream
I am stuck in a dream
Don't you know she's been here all along in a dream?
She belongs in a dream
[...]
And every time I wake, I second guess the game I play
Did I make a mistake?
Sarah - Alex G.
-
The receiver was wrong.
That was all it took.
Jun-ho could feel the sweat at the nape of his neck, the heat sealed under the stiff guard uniform, the suffocating grip of the mask over his face. His breath was too loud. His heartbeat was worse. He pressed himself against the wall, forcing his body to stillness, but it was already too late.
"Are you in here right now?"
The voice was deep, distorted through the modulator. Calm. Confident.
Jun-ho didn’t move.
"You're good," the Front Man continued, slow and measured. "But you made one mistake."
A pause.
"I always put the receiver down the other way."
Jun-ho shut his eyes for half a second, cursing himself. A stupid mistake. A detail so small, but enough to end him.
The footsteps were unhurried. No panic. No rush. The Front Man already knew there was nowhere to run.
"The bullet you shot was from a Smith & Wesson M60 revolver," he mused. "Standard issue for Korean police."
Jun-ho felt his stomach twist.
"What’s a cop doing here… without a partner?"
He had no answer. Not one he could give.
The silence stretched, thick as oil. The Front Man let it sit, let the weight of it settle deep into the walls. Then -
"Come out."
Jun-ho stayed still. He still had the mask. The gun. If he moved too quickly, he’d be shot. If he waited too long, he’d be found.
He had seconds.
And then - his body made the choice for him.
He stepped forward, stiff and controlled, the gun still clenched in his hand. The mask hid everything - his breath, his fear, his past. If he didn’t speak, if he didn’t slip - maybe, maybe -
The Front Man tilted his head.
"There you are."
It wasn’t a question.
Jun-ho said nothing.
The Front Man took a step forward.
"Who sent you?"
Jun-ho kept still.
"Are they watching?" Another step. "Does your team know you’re here?"
Jun-ho’s fingers twitched around the gun. He wasn’t used to being hunted . He wasn’t used to being helpless.
"Nothing to say?"
A pause. Then, the Front Man sighed.
And reached for Jun-ho’s mask.
Jun-ho flinched, stepping back on instinct, but it didn’t matter. The Front Man moved with precision, gloved fingers curling beneath the hard plastic. He tore the mask away in one swift motion.
The air felt too real against Jun-ho’s skin. Too raw.
He was exposed.
The Front Man stilled.
Jun-ho saw it - the shift. The way the easy control, the cold confidence, wavered . Only for a second.
But it was there.
The moment stretched, unbearable.
The Front Man's eyes locked onto his face. Searching. Calculating. The flicker of something just beneath the surface.
Then, softly - too softly -
"What’s your name?"
Jun-ho swallowed. His throat felt tight.
The Front Man’s voice was still distorted, still masked, but something about the way he asked the question made Jun-ho’s breath go shallow.
The space between them closed. Not much. Just a step.
"Tell me."
Jun-ho didn't answer. He couldn't. His mind was spinning too fast, his pulse hammering.
The Front Man exhaled. And then -
He reached for his own mask.
Jun-ho felt the moment crack before it even happened.
The gloved fingers curled beneath the edge. Lifted.
And then -
The mask was gone.
Jun-ho’s breath stopped .
The face was older. Sharper. The years had carved lines into it, had turned familiarity into something distant and unfamiliar. But the eyes -
The eyes were his brother’s .
It hit him like a gunshot. A single, clean bullet straight to the chest.
His body locked up. His fingers loosened around the gun.
His mind fractured .
The world - the Games, the bodies, the blood - fell away.
And all that was left was him.
"In-ho?"
It came out weak. Small. Like saying the name might undo everything. Might rewind time.
His brother - the Front Man - stared back.
Jun-ho saw it, felt it - the realization breaking him too.
The cold control was gone. The certainty gone .
His own name - Jun-ho’s name - was still fresh on his brother’s tongue, and in that moment, the space between them collapsed.
This wasn’t just an intruder.
This was his brother .
The brother he had saved .
The brother who had saved him.
In-ho sucked in a slow breath. Jun-ho could see it in his face, the mask gone, the weight of it all pressing down.
For the first time since he had entered this place -
The Front Man looked afraid.
Jun-ho couldn't breathe.
The weight of the mask was gone, but somehow, the air felt heavier. Like it was pressing down on him, squeezing his lungs, choking him in ways that had nothing to do with the suffocating heat of the uniform.
In-ho.
His brother.
The Front Man.
It didn't make sense. It didn't fit. Jun-ho's mind reeled, grasping for something - anything - to explain this away. Maybe it was a trick. Maybe it was someone else . Maybe -
But the moment he thought it, he knew it was a lie.
The years had aged him, had carved something hollow into his expression. But those were his eyes . The same eyes that used to watch over him when he was sick, when he was weak, when the world had felt too sharp. The same eyes that had laughed with him, fought with him, saved him.
The same eyes that should have been dead.
A thousand questions crashed through him at once, colliding, breaking apart, leaving only one that clawed its way out of his throat:
"What the hell is this?"
His voice was hoarse, barely more than a breath.
In-ho didn’t answer. He just stared .
Jun-ho forced a step forward, his grip still loose on the gun, but his hands felt useless .
"Say something," he demanded, voice sharper this time, shaking with something he didn’t know how to control. "Say something, damn it - "
In-ho inhaled - slow and deep, like he was steadying himself.
Then, finally -
"You shouldn’t be here."
Jun-ho laughed. A sharp, humorless sound.
"I shouldn’t be here?" His pulse was pounding against his skull. "I came here looking for you. I thought you were dead, In-ho - what the hell happened to you?"
In-ho’s face didn’t change. The cold, distant mask he wore - the one that wasn’t made of plastic - didn’t break. But there was something in his eyes. Something that flickered, too quick to hold onto.
"You need to leave ."
Jun-ho shook his head, his whole body tense, his breath coming too fast.
"No."
A beat.
A slow exhale.
"Jun-ho - "
"NO."
His voice cracked, too loud in the small space. His free hand curled into a fist.
"I spent years thinking you were dead. I thought - " He swallowed, his throat tight, words tumbling over themselves. "I thought you were lying in some ditch, that I’d find your body in a morgue, that you - "
His voice caught.
His mind wouldn't stop racing . The past and the present were colliding, slamming into each other, trying to reconcile the brother who had saved his life with the man who had run this hellhole for years .
"You were gone ," he whispered. "You were - "
His breath hitched, and suddenly, the thought slammed into him with the force of a bullet.
The kidney transplant.
The scar on his own body, the one that had healed over years ago, the one he had barely thought about in so long -
The one that shouldn't be there .
Because In-ho had given it to him.
Because In-ho had saved him .
And now… now Jun-ho was standing here, looking his brother in the eyes, and realizing that the man who had once given him life had spent the past few years taking it from others.
His stomach twisted.
"You saved me."
His voice was barely audible.
"And then you - "
He gestured around them, to the room, to the files, to the bloodstained foundation of this nightmare.
"How could you do this?"
In-ho's jaw tightened. His expression barely flickered.
"You don’t understand."
"Then help me." Jun-ho took another step forward. "Make me understand."
In-ho’s lips parted slightly, like he might say something - like for a moment, just a second, the wall between them might crack.
But then -
His face hardened again.
"You have to leave."
"Stop saying that!" Jun-ho's voice snapped, his control breaking, his body thrumming with something he didn’t know how to contain.
"You think I'm just going to walk away after this? After everything? Do you have any idea what I - what I went through to find you?"
"You shouldn't have been looking."
"You vanished, In-ho! You left me with nothing!"
The silence was deafening.
For the first time, Jun-ho saw something shift in his brother’s expression. It was small - barely noticeable. But it was there .
Guilt.
It was gone in an instant.
"Go home, Jun-ho."
Jun-ho’s breath was ragged. He could feel himself shaking, feel the anger, the hurt, the confusion clawing at his ribs, demanding an answer.
"I can't."
A pause.
Then - In-ho’s eyes darkened.
"Then you leave me no choice."
Jun-ho barely had a second to react before he heard movement - before he saw the slightest shift in his brother’s posture -
Before he knew he was about to be shot.
His instincts screamed.
Gunfire exploded.
The lights shattered.
And then -
Jun-ho was running.
The first shot shattered the light.
Glass rained down, glittering shards catching the dim glow before vanishing into darkness. Jun-ho’s body reacted before his mind could - move, move, move - his feet pounding against the floor as he launched himself through the door.
A second shot. Too close.
He felt the heat of it near his arm, the crack of the bullet splintering the frame as he tore through the hall, legs burning, vision tunneling.
"JUN-HO!"
The sound of his own name - his real name, his brother’s voice - ripped through him like an open wound.
He couldn’t stop.
He couldn’t afford to.
He bolted down the corridor, gripping the gun in his hands, though he knew - he knew - that he wouldn't use it. Not against him.
Another shot rang out. This one hit metal, ricocheting into the walls, sharp and unforgiving.
"STOP!"
Jun-ho ran faster.
His breath was a ragged mess in his chest, but his mind was worse. The past and the present crashed together like a train derailment - years of grief, of searching, of wondering if his brother was buried in an unmarked grave somewhere - only to find him here. Alive.
Hunting him.
His legs ached. His pulse slammed against his ribs. But the only thought screaming through his skull was I have to get out.
The halls twisted ahead of him - endless turns, sterile walls, red lights casting long shadows. He had studied the layout. He knew where he was going.
The docks.
If he could just -
A sharp, metallic sound behind him.
A bullet chambered.
Jun-ho threw himself around the next corner.
A gunshot exploded against the wall where his head had been half a second before.
"Damn it, Jun-ho!"
The voice was strained now. Frustrated. Furious.
But beneath that -
Beneath that, it was something else.
Jun-ho gritted his teeth. His own breath was coming too fast, too uneven, but his mind pushed forward, calculating his next turn, his next movement, his next -
He hit something.
No - someone.
The impact nearly sent him crashing to the ground, but he twisted, feet skidding, heart slamming against his ribs.
A guard.
For half a second, they both froze.
Then the guard reached for his weapon.
Jun-ho reacted before he could think.
His elbow snapped into the man’s throat - hard, precise. The guard choked, stumbling backward, and Jun-ho lunged forward, shoving him into the wall.
A struggle. A wild grip on his wrist. A desperate shove.
Then a gunshot.
The guard slumped.
Jun-ho barely had time to process before he was moving again.
Footsteps pounded behind him.
He didn’t need to look back.
He knew who it was.
"JUN-HO - STOP!"
The command slammed into his spine, into his lungs , but he couldn’t listen. He wouldn’t .
He barreled through another door, his shoulder colliding with metal, the weight of it nearly sending him sprawling.
The outside air hit him all at once - cold and sharp, thick with salt and rain.
The wind roared against the cliffs. The sea churned below.
The dock.
The motorboat was there. Waiting.
He ran for it.
Behind him, the door crashed open.
"DON’T DO THIS!"
Jun-ho leapt . His hands slammed against the boat’s edge, his foot catching on the side as he pulled himself over. His fingers scrambled against the throttle, his breath wild and uneven as he reached for the ignition -
Click.
The gun cocked.
He froze.
The wind screamed around them, the sea restless beneath the boat. Rain slicked the surface, running in thin rivers over the edge, over Jun-ho’s hands gripping the controls.
Slowly - slowly - he turned his head.
In-ho stood at the dock’s edge.
His face was shadowed, rain-soaked, unreadable beneath the dim lights. His gun was raised, locked onto Jun-ho’s chest. His breath was steady, his stance unwavering.
But his eyes -
His eyes .
Jun-ho had seen them angry before. He had seen them cold, distant, unreadable.
But he had never seen them like this.
Torn.
The weight of it slammed into him.
This wasn’t just a choice for him.
It was a choice for In-ho, too.
"Step off the boat."
Jun-ho didn’t move.
The silence between them stretched, thin as glass.
"If you leave, I will shoot ."
The words were sharp. Unrelenting.
Jun-ho’s grip on the throttle didn’t loosen. His pulse hammered, his brain screaming through a thousand different ways this could end - none of them good.
The motor coughed to life beneath him.
In-ho’s jaw tightened.
"Don’t make me do this."
Jun-ho felt something crack inside his ribs.
Because he knew - he knew - what that meant.
He knew In-ho.
He knew the way he spoke, the way he carried himself, the way he lied and the way he didn’t.
He knew that this wasn’t a bluff.
That if he left -
If he tried to run -
In-ho would shoot him.
Jun-ho sucked in a slow, sharp breath.
His hand hovered over the throttle.
The wind howled. The boat rocked beneath him.
Their eyes locked.
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them blinked.
For one long, horrible second -
Neither of them knew what would happen next.
The boat rocked beneath Jun-ho’s feet.
The engine coughed, low and uneven, barely masking the sound of the waves crashing below. The gun was still raised. The barrel was steady.
But In-ho’s hands -
His hands were shaking.
Jun-ho didn’t move. He barely breathed. His heart was an iron fist hammering against his ribs, his fingers hovering over the throttle.
One move. That’s all it would take.
One move and In-ho would -
But he didn’t.
He didn’t pull the trigger.
He just stared .
And then Jun-ho saw it.
The break.
The flicker of something deep, buried beneath years of distance and control, something raw and terrified .
His brother - the one who had saved his life, the one who had been his whole world before he disappeared - was looking at him like he had already lost him.
And Jun-ho hated that it still mattered.
He should have hated him. He wanted to.
But all he could feel was the cold grip of fear still lodged in his chest, the memory of that gun pointed at him, the weight of everything he thought he knew crumbling like sand.
His body betrayed him first.
A violent, visible tremor ran through his arms, through his shoulders. His breath hitched, his throat locking up, his grip slipping from the throttle. His vision blurred.
He was shaking .
Like a cornered animal.
And In-ho saw it.
Something shattered in his expression. The front he had held so carefully, the unreadable mask he had worn even after removing the real one - it cracked .
The gun lowered.
The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating.
And then -
In-ho moved .
Jun-ho flinched back on instinct, but before he could stop it - before his brain could even process - his brother wrapped his arms around him.
It was desperate. Sudden. Real.
Jun-ho stiffened. Every muscle in his body locked, rejected the warmth, the weight, the familiarity that had no place here - not anymore .
But In-ho didn’t let go.
"I’m sorry."
The words barely reached him, lost in the wind and the crash of waves, but they hit harder than any bullet could.
Jun-ho squeezed his eyes shut.
"Don’t," he rasped.
His arms were locked at his sides, his hands fisted, trembling.
"I’m sorry," In-ho whispered again. His grip tightened like he was afraid that if he let go, Jun-ho would disappear.
Maybe he would.
Jun-ho's body wanted to push him away, to shove him back onto the dock where he belonged, to scream at him, to fight him .
But his heart -
His heart was breaking.
The weight of it all - years of searching, of grieving - collapsed at once.
The tears came before he could stop them.
A sharp inhale.
A choked breath.
And then - Jun-ho’s body gave up .
His fingers curled into In-ho’s uniform, gripping tightly , like he was angry , like he was desperate . He didn’t know which . Maybe both.
His chest heaved. He hated how hard he was crying, how broken he sounded. But he couldn’t stop .
In-ho held onto him.
“I’m sorry, Jun-ho," he whispered, voice rough and uneven. "I’m so sorry."
Jun-ho shook .
"You left me," he forced out between ragged breaths. His voice cracked, broke . "You - you fucking left me."
A slow, shuddering exhale.
"I know."
It wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t anywhere near enough.
But it was the only thing that mattered right now.
In-ho didn’t try to justify it. Didn’t try to excuse it.
He just held him .
Jun-ho’s body curled inward, forehead pressing against his brother’s shoulder, his breath uneven and painful . His fingers refused to let go, couldn’t let go, even as the boat rocked, even as the storm raged around them.
For the first time since stepping onto this island -
He wasn’t alone.