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Seong Gi-hun's eyes shot open up to the darkness surrounding his too small, one bedroom house. Now residing in an isolated corner of Ssangmun-dong, the only sounds that could be heard in the midst of night beside his ragged breath were the occasional stray cat rummaging through trash cans, or the unfortunate drunk staggering through the streets outside.
He blinked away the tears, willing his heart to stop it's raced beating, sweat clinging to his forehead and nape. Looking to the bedside alarm clock, the familiar hour gives him anything but comfort, just a confirmation. 4:57 am, it reads. It doesn't matter how long its been, with the date getting closer he knew it would be a matter of time for the nightmares to come back– and now the day was here.
Gi-hun has already given up the hope to ever have a peaceful night of sleep again. He knows he'll have to relieve that damned day for the rest of his days, worse so each year. The world will never stop punishing him for his choices.
He knows he deserves it.
"Mmh, Gi-hun."
He freezes for a second. He doesn't want to deal with the conversation, specially today day out of every other. He doesn't answer, hoping the subject gets dropped. But it never does, so why would he this time?
Gi-hun feels the mattress creak under the sitting up movement, but he doesn't look, instead keeping his focus on anything but. He doesn't want to see him, he can't stand the look in his eyes whenever the day gets brought up. But he doesn't get up, he doesn't run, he just stays put.
"Gi-hun."
He takes a deep breath, finally allowing himself to look at the man beside him. It sends a shiver down his spine, those dark, piercing eyes that appear to see right through him like no one else ever has. And really, no one ever will again.
It's too much. The strong hand that goes to his shoulder in a tender motion, the furrow in his brows, the slight worry in his eyes as he searches for his gaze– a worry that's so imperceptible, it'd be inexistent to anyone who doesn't know Hwang In-ho.
He tries to hold his stare for as long as possible, eyes tracing Inho's cheekbones down to his jaw, then his nose and to the bags under his eyes. He lingers when he gets to his lips, but he finds his way back to his eyes. It doesn't matter that it's dark, In-ho's face is already engraved deep in Gi-hun's mind.
In-ho seems to hesitate, but eventually the hand in his shoulder moves to hold Gi-hun's face, his thumb stroking his cheek gently. For a moment, neither of them says anything– In-ho doesn't have to ask, Gi-hun doesn't have to explain. The weight of what day it is settles heavily on them.
Gi-hun is the one to close the distance, his lips finding In-ho's in a ridiculously soft kiss– as if putting too much force on it would make the man disappear. When In-ho deepens the kiss, Gi-hun allows his hands to find In-ho's shoulders, holding onto him for dear life. The kiss becomes desperate, and he shuts down every thought, every memory that insists to slip into his mind, determined to forget the ghosts that weight on his back. He focuses on In-ho, on his soft hair, his broad shoulders, his beautiful face– he wants to soak in everything that In-ho is.
Unsurprisingly, In-ho is the one to move away first, drawing a discontented whine out of Gi-hun. Their foreheads are pressed together, neither of them willing to break further away just yet. Gi-hun's grip on In-ho's shoulders hasn't relaxed, and his eyes only open once In-ho puts more distance between them. In-ho frowns when he focuses on his face, his hand still on Gi-hun's face.
"You're crying." It's not a question nor an accusation, just a mere statement, but Gi-hun is taken aback nonetheless. His grip on In-ho softens for him to bring his hand up to his face and– he feels them, the tears, hot and non stopping. He could distract his body all he wanted, but his mind would never let him forget.
He can't help it, he laughs. But there's no humour behind it, and in a matter of seconds, the laughter turns into sobs. His shoulders shake, his head drops as the memories come back all at once, crashing into him painfully. He doesn't scream the way he did when he watched the life in Sangwoo's eyes vanish, or when Jungbae dropped dead beside him and he was restrained. No, he just cried almost silently, letting himself be held by the very man who caused him the grief he couldn't let go of.
"It's okay, Gi-hun, it's all over now. You saved everyone." In-ho's voice was steady but soft, just the way he spoke when he had been Young-il. He stroked his hair with one hand, the other rubbing circles on his back. "You put an end to the whole thing, now the Frontman is gone. You did everything you said you'd do."
He wants to say sorry, he wants to scream at him. He wants to puch In-ho until he's bloody, he wants In-ho to hold him like this forever and never let go. He wants In-ho in every sense, and it scares and pains him not knowing how to make it stop.
It wasn't enough. It would never be, no matter how many comforting words In-ho could say. Because he wasn't crying for Sangwoo, or Jungbae– he wasn't crying for all he saw, or for himself. He was crying for In-ho, and the guilt of it could never be washed away. In-ho had forcefully taken a piece of his heart, and it would never be returned.
As Gi-hun's sobs slowed down, In-ho guided them to lay back down, his arms tightly around Gi-hun, grounding. The last thing Gi-hun saw before falling to his exhaustion was In-ho's face, and he didn't dream the rest of the night.
The next morning, the sun rays manage to make their way through the closed blinds into Gi-hun's room. His eyes flutter open, surprisingly calmly as the morning greets him in an infrequent, peaceful way.
He sits up, rubbing his eyes to shoo away the lingering sleep. His single bed is empty and cold, unoccupied. There's no warm, no sinking on the mattress, nothing to indicate that anyone other than Gi-hun has touched the bed in a long time.
Two hours later, Gi-hun is now sitting inside his car, a bottle of freshly bought soju in the passenger seat, beside a bouquet of flowers. His mind is wandering, and he knows how dangerous that is. So before he can start spiraling, he takes his things and gets out of the car.
He walks the now familiar path, one he's memorized since the very first fime he took it. Gi-hun has never been to prison, but if he were to compare, what he feels every time he takes this route is like being walked to a cell for life imprisonment.
Even as he stops, his movements automatic having done it more than one, five, or even ten times, what goes inside his mind always feels like the first time. Placing the flowers in the right way, bringing down a single glass and filling it with soju, sitting down on his knees and staring ahead–
The words engraved in stone feel like a punch to the stomach every time.
'Hwang In-ho
1976–2024'
He takes a long sip from the bottle.
"Hello. I brought you soju."