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He opened his eyes before the door even opened. The sound of small feet on the marble floor was enough to wake him, even though they sounded distant and the steps were barely perceptible. Maybe it was the silence of the place, or maybe it was that his mind was always alert; he couldn’t afford to do otherwise in a place like that.
He took the gun that was on the nightstand beside him, putting it in the drawer just before the bedroom door opened. A small light from the candelabras filtered into the room. In-ho looked up when the hesitant footsteps stopped at the door, before they now grew louder in his ear, not just because there was no barrier to block the sound but also because the steps were no longer hesitant and unsteady; they had become a small run from the door to the edge of the bed.
“Dad…” A little voice, barely a whisper, followed by hands that pulled the fabric of the blanket covering him. In-ho watched his 3-year-old son standing right next to his bed, still in the darkness of the room, he could see his eyes holding back tears, and that made his heart twist. He would kill anyone who had made his son feel this way. The child tried to climb the bed without success. His father let out a small laugh before helping him up.
Beside him, with no elegance at all, Gi-hun suddenly woke up from the movement on the other side of the bed. He opened his eyes alarmingly; he also had a light sleep, although not as light as his, and In-ho envied him for that, but at the same time, he was grateful that at least one of them could still fall into a deep sleep during the night. His hand automatically moved to the side of the bed where In-ho knew he kept a gun too. Before he could reach it, In-ho placed his hand on his arm, stopping him instantly. All of this happened in a matter of seconds, and the child, who was settling on his father's abdomen, didn't notice any of this movement. Gi-hun dropped his head back against the pillow when he realized it was just his son.
“Min-ho…” Gi-hun whispered in the silence of the room, reaching his hand without getting up, brushing his black hair with his hand and tucking a lock behind his ear. “What happened?”
The child moved over his father's abdomen to settle in between them on the bed. Gi-hun and In-ho had learned to sleep dressed ever since Min-ho learned to walk and could easily find his way to their room, even in the maze of doors.
“I had a bad dream, Appa” he replied, hugging In-ho, who wrapped his arm around him, allowing him to rest there.
In-ho could feel Gi-hun's eyes on him, even in the darkness of the room. He knew Gi-hun was looking at him as he always did when Min-ho was near, when Min-ho showed that love so inherent to children for their parents, how he hugged and clung to him, and In-ho knew Gi-hun felt a slight pain in his chest each time he saw his son clinging to his father with so much love whenever he was afraid of something. If only he knew.
They both knew that arguments were useless. They loved each other; that much was clear. Neither of them could live apart from the other, and not just because of the mark that adorned Gi-hun's neck, beyond their biological needs, it was something that transcended that. Gi-hun had tried to hate him, of course, he had tried, but he couldn't, and somehow, he always ended up returning to him, to his touch, to his company, to his warmth, to his bed, even before the mark, even without heat involved, just dragging himself like a man in the desert seeking the vital liquid of life. For Gi-hun, that vital liquid was In-ho and for In-ho, it was no different. He had to let him go, he knew that. He should have let him live a life far from him, should have tried harder to make him live happy outside that island, should have persuaded him more, but he couldn't, he just couldn't. He should have refused to leave a mark on his neck, should have resisted when Gi-hun, on top of him, moved his hips, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life, begged him to mark him, to make him his forever, and In-ho found himself incapable of denying him that.
And neither of them was strong enough to stay away from each other when they found out about Min-ho.
This wasn't supposed to happen. They had been so careful, always so careful, but nothing was 100% effective, was it? And now that 0.1% rested on his chest, relaxing under the sound of his heartbeat. And when In-ho offered Gi-hun an escape, one he wanted to make clear that he would always have, Gi-hun refused and clung to their baby's life as if his own depended on it, and maybe it did. Maybe Gi-hun was crazy for bringing a baby into not only this world but into that specific reality, into that damn island that still gave him nightmares at night. But Gi-hun had known he was crazy from the moment he fell in love with In-ho.
That's why In-ho didn't argue him for the looks, didn't get upset about them anymore. He knew they had different ideas, and even though every year, when Gi-hun's birthday is near, when the games were near, Gi-hun would ask for the same gift: “Stop the games.” But even before him and Min-ho, In-ho couldn't stop them, and he knew that now it was impossible to do so. He knew this was the only way to protect their son, to protect his family.
“You're okay now, we're here with you. Nothing will happen to you, okay?” The little one nodded quickly, snuggling more into his father's warmth.
They stayed in silence as they watched their son fall asleep in the man's arms. When he felt the infant's breathing becoming more relaxed and deep, he knew he had finally sunk into sleep. Gi-hun ran his hand through his son's hair, which needed a cut, but In-ho refused to allow it, saying it reminded of him when they first met. He ran his delicate touch over his fine nose, tracing the still-round features that babies have, his finger going from his nose to his chin. The chil moved slightly but didn't wake up. Instead, he snuggled closer to his father, wrapping his chubby little hands around the man's shirt. Gi-hun let his hand rest on his son's chest while he shifted in the bed to be closer to both of them, feeling the label under his fingertips.
457 could be read on the label that adorned his son's green pajamas. Gi-hun should have been furious, in fact, he had been for several weeks, he had argued with In-ho, no, they had fought, their only real fight since they had united their lives. How could he put a number on their own son as if he were just another racehorse? In-ho had just shrugged, denying that it had been his intention.
“Are you also planning to involve your own son in your deadly games?”
“They’re not mine, and you know it well, I just work for them. Just like you.”
“Don’t involve me in your ‘work,’ you know I hate it. And I hate that Min-ho is wearing that damn uniform.”
“But it makes sense to me. 001+456… Min-ho is the beautiful result of that: 457.”
Gi-hun couldn't help but smile when his husband said that, with his almost innocent voice, as if he were just stating the obvious about the situation, as if it were just a green tracksuit without importance, as if it were just a romantic and stupidly cheesy act. Gi-hun felt guilty for finding it charming, and even though he still hated it, he let it go, at least for now.
“Will you be busy tomorrow?” In-ho nodded in the darkness.
“The engineers are coming to install the new lighting system in the guard's rooms. I need to be there.”
“But it will be quick, right? Can’t you ask guard 008 to oversee the installation?” In-ho shook his head, glancing at his son to make sure he was asleep before finally looking at his husband in the dark.
“No, I also have a meeting with the department heads to plan the last two games, I need to be there.”
“I was thinking of going for a walk with Min-ho on the beach, you know that IHe is cooped all day and I hate that. I'd like you to come with us, maybe even make a picnic.”
“I can't skip out, you know that.” He sighed. “And you know I don't like talking about work around him.”
“Okay. Your 'work'” Gi-hun removed his hand from his son's chest to lie on his back and look at the ceiling. In-ho followed him with his eyes.
He watched his husband in the dark. They had been through so much together, and somehow they had found peace and happiness in that hell they found themselves in. In-ho never enjoyed being the Frontman, he never did, but the moment he held Min-ho in his arms, when he was still a small mass of 43 cm and 2.560 kg, he hated it even more. He hated Oh Il-nam more, he hated the damn VIPs, he hated the damn player 132 from the 2015 games, he hated himself. If it hadn't been for Gi-hun's constant presence by his side that night Min-ho entered the world, when Gi-hun stroked his arm and whispered in his ear, “Here's our baby, finally with us,” he didn't know if his arms would have withstood the shock. He wanted to run out of that room, wanted to grab a gun and end it all.
But what exactly would he do? Oh Il-nam was already dead, thank God. Kill the VIPs? Kill the guards still on the island? Blow the whole island up? Kill himself? And that last thought had been the one that haunted his mind in recent years. But not now. Not now that there was a constant warmth near his legs, not when he looked at the floor of what had become his home on that island and watched his son play, or the way he ran toward him as if he were happy to see him, as if he could love him despite everything he had done.
So he had to keep playing his role. He had to wear that mask for another week, stand in front of the monitors, and make sure everything kept going, make sure the damn VIPs had their fun, stayed satisfied for a week, and then leave, repeating the same process every year. But it was the only way to protect Min-ho.
During the week of the games, In-ho made sure to send Gi-hun and Min-ho far away. He wanted to ensure their well-being during those six days. Especially because he didn't want Min-ho on the island when 455 people died, he didn't want him on the island when more than 150 armed guards walked around him, and most importantly, he didn't want him on the island while the VIPs were there. And deep down, he still worried that another rebellion might happen like the one Gi-hun had led years ago. If that happened again, he wanted to be sure Gi-hun and Min-ho were far away, protected.
“Tae-yong is getting more ready to be the Frontman. Once I'm sure he can handle the whole place without me, that'll be enough. It'll be over, it'll be the end. We'll be free, and we would leave.”
Tae-yong was his second in command, reliable but not too much, less so after he couldn't handle the games while he infiltrated as a player. He should have killed him then, should have punished him for his incompetence, should have pierced his skull with a bullet as punishment for what one of the triangle guards almost did to Gi-hun during the battle in the room. An action that should have been strictly forbidden. He had been clear with him, only to find out that if it hadn't been for him being there at that moment, Gi-hun wouldn't be in the bed next to him. Min-ho wouldn't be in the bed with them.
His husband hummed beside him in understanding.
“You always say that, and at this point, I don't know if it's true.” He turned in the bed to face the other man, resting on his hands. “I’m not sure if you really can let this go. If you want to let it go.”
“You’re being unfair to me, Hyung. You know I do, you know there’s nothing I want more than to leave this behind and make a life with you. With our son. But I can’t, not yet.”
“Yeah… You’ve told me that a lot.”
The room fell into silence again, no words left to say. In-ho stayed awake, staring at the ceiling until Gi-hun’s breathing changed, letting him know he had fallen asleep again. He lowered his gaze to him before shifting it to the infant in his arms, to those childish features that were a perfect combination of him and Gi-hun, the nose, the hair, the shape of the face, and the eyebrows were his, but the rest was an identical copy of Gi-hun, the signature smile with those fine lips, the big dark eyes that In-ho had found himself unable to deny anything.
He smiled, looking at what he had created with Gi-hun, and with that thought, the soft snores of his husband beside him and his son’s little hand on his chest, he allowed himself to sleep.