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The tiled ground quakes under Gihun’s feet as makes his way through the deep purple hallways. He knew it was crazy to get off that boat that held the others, but it’s as if every cell in his body urged him to go back. When he started this quest three years ago, every other thought was occupied by this island, by these games, by that man. He needs to see it through, he can't let that go unfinished.
He reaches for the handgun he has in his pocket and grips it tightly in his hand as he makes his way through the maze. Seeing as the island is set to blow in less than thirty minutes, navigating has become a lot easier as all doors are now open. The synthetic chirpy voice repeatedly announcing a security protocol and all inhabitants must evacuate in an orderly manner. After the tenth time Gihun is tempted to shoot that speaker once again. He makes his way up a set of stairs, and he finds what appears to be a control room, in some or twisted way. He wishes he had more time to look around, he sees all the remaining players' pictures sorted in a pyramid on the ground and dozens of monitors and his stomach turns with how disgustingly well-organized this all is. As if they weren’t playing on human lives.
Swallowing down whatever bile that wants to come up, he continues marching forward into the dark hallway with dim lighting, the loud sirens and robotic voice fading as he continues. The iron grip he has on the gun remains as he aims it up, preparing himself for what he’s about to do. He makes his way into a lush looking room, its lavishness no doubt paid in blood where he spots a figure sitting on a black leather couch. He can only see the back of his head from here, but he has no doubts it’s really him. His arms fall slightly in surprise at how someone can be so calm at such a time like this, but he wills himself not to lose focus.
Before he can steady his aim again the island rumbles once again. He takes a deep breath and attempts it one more time, his blood now boiling.
“Inho!” Gihun shouts and the figure continues to remain frustrating still. Hoping the reveal that he knows his real identity would throw him off. Not letting the lack of reaction deter him, he continues walking forward and once he’s close enough points the gun at the back of Inho’s head. “Get up,” he commands and after a long moment Inho does comply.
He raises his arms in the air and turns to face Gihun, leaving the taller of two torn between two truths. He knows he’s Young-Il, he thinks about his bad jokes and warm eyes, he looks every bit the same, but none of that light is there anymore. He readjusts his grip on the gun and makes his way around the couch. He pushes the head of the gun against Inho’s chest and Inho makes no attempt to stop him.
“You’re coming with me,” Gihun tells him.
“I’m afraid not, Gihun,” Inho replies, his voice even and unaffected.
“It wasn’t a request,” he lets him know, because Inho is leaving with him. He’ll make sure of it. “Now move,” he says, pointing the gun further into the other’s chest.
“I’m not going anywhere, Gihun,” he says, so frustratingly sure.
“Don’t think I won’t pull it.”
“Pull it,” he tells him and for the first time today Gihun witnesses a spark of life in Inho’s eyes.
“I will,” he says, making sure his voice remains steady. He’s not the naive Gihun he used to be.
“Do it,” he says once again and Gihun really wishes he would stop telling him what to do. Inho’s moves are quick and precise when he grabs Gihun by his wrist and moves the gun up to his forehead. It all happens so suddenly Gihun barely has time to react, before he’s telling him, “Shoot me.”
Gihun has had countless dreams and nightmares about this. So why. . . why does he now feel unsure of what to do? Inho is just a cog in their machine and killing him makes no difference, but Gihun knows better, he’s not a cog or a horse, he’s done horrible things, things Gihun will never forgive him for, but—
“It’s what I deserve,” he reminds him.
“I know that you bastard,” he tells him, because he doesn’t need him telling him what to do. Gihun braces himself to tell Inho to move his ass when Inho rests his forehead against the head of Gihun’s again. He stares into the other’s eyes and he doesn’t see Young-Il or the Frontman, he feels like he’s seeing Inho and he seems so tired. Tired in a way Gihun has felt so many times these past few years. Tired of the memories, tired of the guilt, tired of all of it.
“Please, Gihun,” he pleads, begging the other to release him from this hell.
“Just move already,” he says, over this game. Over every fucking game at this point. Inho sighs, disappointed yet unsurprised at the other’s stubbornness.
“I told you already, I’m not going anywhere.”
“And I’m not letting you stay here.”
“Didn’t know you cared so much about me,” he says with a hint of a smile. The words echoing back to their time in that limo.
“I don’t,” he tells him, but it feels like a lie despite knowing it should be true. Inho believes him at least if the way his eyes darken is any proof. “But your brother does,” he says and that brings out Inho in his eyes once more. “And you deserve to be punished for your crimes, for all the—” he starts to say before Inho easily maneuvers the gun out of his hands.
Gihun has always suffered from not being able to shut his big mouth and in some sort of twisted way it’s a fitting end to his pathetic life. He isn’t meant with the sound of a firing gun or bullets in his chest, no, instead Inho empties the clip and tosses it across the room with the gun.
“What are you—”
“If that’s what you want. To drag me to my brother. Make me pay for my crimes. Let’s do it like real men. Force me by hand,” he proposes.
If Inho was thinking he could catch Gihun in a bluff, he is sorely mistaken as a right hook lands on his cheek. It appears he wasn’t much to Gihun’s annoyance as he doesn’t flinch at all, but simply rubs his now red cheek. He’s in control, even now, and it makes Gihun feel like he’s gone mad. He throws another punch only for it to be caught by Inho and tis pushed back. Gihun takes a couple of steps back as he catches himself. Even now in the midst of a fight, Gihun has to admit the guy does a good job at making someone want to punch him even more. He’s probably expecting that, so Gihun goes in for a tackle and is surprised when it actually works. They land hard on the carpeted ground and Gihun clumsily straddles the other only for his punch to get caught once again and Inho quickly tosses him off of himself.
“You shouldn’t telegraph your moves so easily,” Inho tells him as he gets on top of him.
“Shut up!” Gihun tells him, before rolling them over.
They go on like that turn for turn, like kids fighting in the grass on a summer day, fighting to remain on top and win. Knocking over a nightstand in the process. When Gihun winds himself on top, limbs tangled in limbs, Inho grabs a tight hold on his forearms, his trimmed nails digging into his skin. Gihun braces himself to be turned over but is instead met with his arms being pulled down and aiming his hands for the other’s neck. Inho lets go of him and lays his hands out in surrender once again.
The shock of what he’s seeing lets the anger in Gihun fade enough to let himself see that he knew Inho could have easily won this fight at any point. He hates this man, he truly does.
“It would be so easy,” Inho tells him.
When Gihun doesn’t move, he holds Gihun’s wrists with a delicacy that almost shatters the other and pushes the other’s hands further into his own neck. Gihun feels the warmth of the other’s skin under his palm and sees a broken man on display under him. It makes his heart race, in anger, in pain, in understanding.
“There’s nothing out there for me anymore, Gihun,” he confesses, his eyes wet with moisture. Gihun freezes at the display of emotion. “You don’t need to feel guilty about it,” he tells him matter of factly, as if he wasn’t even talking about his own life. “I’ve already been dead for nine years.”
Gihun tightens his grip and feels Inho’s pulse underneath his fingertips. He thinks back to his thoughts earlier, how Inho is a cog in the much larger machine. How Inho is telling him he’s been dead for a long time. It should be so easy. He’s a murderer. He’s Young-Il. He’s the Frontman. He’s Inho. He’s a victim of the games. He’s one of the monsters behind them. He’s all of those things. Looking down at him like this, he even sees himself. The undeniable truth of it all is that there’s a human in there. One that’s capable of regret and so much guilt, he sees weighing down on top of him. No matter how much Inho denies its existence. There’s no way in this lifetime he can ever make up for the harm he caused, but it’s never too late to start.
Fuck, he thinks to himself as he realizes that he can’t do it. He’s trained so much, he’s lost so much, but it seems he hasn’t really changed at all. He loosens his grip on the other’s neck and Inho’s eyes widen in shock.
“Enough of this. Let’s go,” Gihun tells him as he stands up, his motions stiff and rough from their romp on the ground.
“What are you—” he begins to say, but it’s his turn to be the one left in surprise when he sees a hand stretched out his way. None of this makes any sense to him. He spent three years keeping tabs on this man and he still can’t quite figure him out.
“Come on,” Gihun says tiredly, having had truly enough.
“I told you I’m staying. I deserve to no longer exist like this island, if you can’t kill me yourself then let me go along with it.”
“Then you're going to have to accept me dying with you,” Gihun says, because sure he managed to stop the games at least in South Korea, but he has blood on his hands too. “I’m not leaving unless you are.”
Call Gihun stupidly cocky, but he knows Inho won’t let that happen. He’s had so many opportunities to kill him, but he can’t, just like Gihun can’t bring himself to kill him either.
They’re horrifyingly alike in that way.
There’s a million thoughts and feelings that run through Inho’s mind and as Gihun looks down on him he can’t help but think of Sangwoo. For the first time this evening, he felt true fear, worried Inho will pull the same move as his old friend and end his life with one of the broken shards of glass on the floor. He doesn’t think he can bear to see that again.
“Please,” Gihun begs, his heart aching for the other to live for some god forsaken reason.
Inho looks at his hand and the way he looks at it makes an image of Young-Il come to the forefront of his mind. A few more moments pass where no movement has been had, but Gihun refuses to give up. Inho closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath, Gihun becomes anxious about the other’s next move before he feels a strong hand grasps his own. A wave of relief washes over him as he pulls the other man up.
“Let’s go,” Gihun tells him once again.
Both of them being a bit battered and bruised walk with a slight limp as they make their way out of the facility side by side. The rumbling of the island knocking the two of them together from time to time.
“Gihun,” Inho calls out.
“What?”
“Do you hate me?” he asks and for some reason Gihun wasn’t expecting that question.
“Yes,” he answers honestly.
“Really?” he says, having the nerve to sound surprised.
“Yes really. I fucking hate you.” he says elbowing the other. Inho laughs at that, knowing he more than deserves it. Such a warm sound for someone so twisted, Gihun has to force himself to remember the last aspect.
“If you want my opinion. I don’t hate you,” he decides to share and the look of sincerity on his face lets Gihun know this isn’t some weird manipulation tactic. “I quite respect you actually.”
Gihun lets out a scoff that borders awfully close to a laugh. “Hurry up,” he grumbles, because how can Inho expect Gihun not to hate him when he says something so annoying. Which he does, but well. . . as previously established the naive part of his old self hasn’t completely died off just yet it seems.