Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It takes only a single month for Hwang In-ho to insert himself back into Gi-hun’s life, whether the man wanted him to or not. Or, perhaps more accurately, for the man’s dogs to sniff him out.

Gi-hun had taken extreme care to establish a basic level of peace in their - his and Jin-ae’s lives. He moved all his possessions from the Pink Motel in Seoul to a small rural home in the outskirts of Busan. It’s close enough to the city so that when Jin-ae grew up and started school in a few years, it wouldn’t be much of a transit, but further away from the bustle of the busy city.

Most of the stores nearby their home don’t have baby food or diapers, if they did, it was harder to come by. So, every other week, Gi-hun made trips to the grocery store in Busan.

The interaction was so simple, so inconspicuous that Gi-hun wanted to kick himself for not immediately leaving as soon as he was approached. The guilt only began to set in once he had returned to his home, and was already packing up whatever meager belongings he had.

He had been at the store, a relatively small one, for Jin-ae’s baby formula. She’s sensitive to most of them, but Gi-hun has only found one that doesn’t make her stomach upset. An older woman, about Gi-hun’s age, came up to Gi-hun and Jin-ae, the little girl in a baby basket Gi-hun had firmly wedged in his elbow.

It was an innocent enough exchange, to start with, she cooed and wiggled her finger in Jin-ae’s face for the baby to latch onto. She made a few comments about what a cute baby she was, and while Gi-hun was agreeing with her, she pulled out a golden debit card. A very familiar golden debit card. 

“What-” Gi-hun began, breathless, his heart already beating out of his chest.

“To help with the baby.” She had answered.

Gi-hun abandoned his cart and peeled out of the parking lot in record time with his rented car. 

It’s been one month, one month. He had stupidly thought he was safe, well, safer. He wasn’t an idiot, but he thought that when he told Hwang In-ho that he never wanted to see him again, he had foolishly believed that the man would honor that. 

Still, he hadn’t thought it would only take a single month for In-ho to break Gi-hun’s wishes.

One month since the games ended, one month that nearly marked the end of Gi-hun’s life.

A month later, and Gi-hun still knew the blood that stained his hands, his soul, that knife. He took it, the knife, and plunged it into their throats, their chests, their hearts. Not out of survival, not out of necessity, but out of rage, hatred for himself, them, the games, the unfairness.

He wasn’t going to. He knew, there was a moment of hesitation, he was going to start with Player 100, the loudmouth, the leader.

But, there was a point that he didn’t think he could do it. He couldn’t let them die because he wanted to live, because he wanted out of this hell he keeps finding himself in. 

Because Gi-hun wasn’t that kind of person. 

But wasn’t he? Hasn’t he killed people in these games before? For survival. Or indifference. Or hate.

He returned to his bed, disgraced, but content that he wouldn’t break that oath to Sae-byeok, that the person Sang-woo died for was still there, somewhere deep and hidden, but there nonetheless. 

But she started to cry.

It was soft, whimpering at first. Gi-hun was exhausted, and terrified of what the other players would do if she woke them up. He left the knife behind, and picked her up, trying desperately to hum and soothe her, wishing that she would go blissfully back to sleep. 

And Gi-hun remembered that when Ga-yeong was a baby, she used to suck on Gi-hun’s pinky. Only now, rather than having hand sanitizer to clean his hands thoroughly with, his hands were covered in dirt and grim. So, with a deep breath and hopes that he wouldn’t accidentally kill her with an infection, he gently put the tip of his finger into her mouth.

She only cried louder. Not screaming, not yet, thankfully, but enough that Gi-hun made it across the room in long strides to knock softly on the door leading out to the bathrooms. A guard slid the metal covering aside.

“Please,” Gi-hun had said, bouncing the baby in his arms, remembering to keep his pinky in her mouth, “I-I think she’s hungry.”

“No player may receive special treatment.”

“But-”

“No exceptions.” The metal covering slid back over, blocking Gi-hun from seeing them, leaving him alone in the world aside from the crying baby in his arms and the sleeping bodies around him.

And, of course, the knife that was gifted to him.

No exceptions. No exceptions? Gi-hun’s presence here was an exception, the knife was an exception. The baby was an exception.

She had to be fed, she needed more food. If Gi-hun could’ve offered up his own meal in favor of her being given another bottle, he would’ve in a heartbeat. 

She needed more food. She’ll-what if she died? But they won’t give her any, unless he did it.

Unless they won.

And Gi-hun was brutally reminded once more that she would not survive tomorrow. Whatever may come, whatever the game was, all they had to do was separate him from her and she was dead for certain.

So, after he placed her back into her cradle, giving her a sleeve to suck on, he did it.

There were…five, no six, maybe seven. He had gone for the one boy first, the one they called a druggie. Gi-hun remembered him a little bit, he didn’t know the boy’s name, but he was always right on the tail of that purple-haired boy and his friend. Then, he went for the other young man. He saw him talking to Jun-hee before he crossed the platforms at Jump Rope, maybe they knew each other.

He went down the line, one by one. Until he finally reached Player 100, the blood was warm on his hands, covering him, but he took a deep breath, reminding himself he was the only one left, and slid the knife just against his soft skin, about to press down.

The man’s eyes flew open, he grabbed Gi-hun by the arms and shoved him off. He screamed for help, the guards, anyone, but his face paled as his eyes landed on his fallen comrades. 

“Wait, wait, wait, sir, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I-I would never kill a baby, but, but they’re all so much stronger than I am.” 

He stood, backed in between the two beds while Gi-hun closed in. 

“I’ll-I’ll tell you what, if you don’t kill me now, I’ll call the guard back. Huh? Does that sound nice? I’ll call them back and we can vote again! Between the three of us that’s-that’s, well that’s more than enough-”

He let out a choked noise as Gi-hun slid forward, the knife banished and shiny with blood as it glided into his stomach. Gi-hun felt his legs give out underneath him, holding him up, and slid the knife out.

Then back in.

Out, and in. The old man fell to the floor, still gasping for mercy.

But Gi-hun had run out of mercy, and had none left to give.

Out, and in. 

Out, and in.

Until the gleam in his eyes was gone, until the blood was no longer flowing. 

Gi-hun stumbled back to the crib, she’s still crying, and Gi-hun is crying with her. He cried because the familiar, playful voice said:

“Player 456, passed.”

“Player 222, passed.” 

He’s crying because his hands are stained with blood, and as he held her, cradled her, kissed her, he was leaving blood smears all over her. 

He was dirty, a murderer, covered in his victims’ blood. 

But he saved her.

And, because of that, he cannot take her, cannot have her. Jun-hee would never want a murderer to take care of her child. 

So, he carefully placed her down on the floor, raised the knife to his own throat, the steel biting into his skin.

He’s ready. He’s protected her. He’s kept his promise.

BANG!

The knife is out of his hand. The baby is crying even harder now, heavy, sobbing breaths. Gi-hun bent down to pick her up, disregarding the knife that had flown across the room. And there he was. 

God, Gi-hun never wanted to see him ever again.

The man escorted Gi-hun and Jin-ae to a private room. It was stocked with diapers, baby clothes, and formula. Gi-hun made Jin-ae a bottle and fed her while he got changed out of the suffocating suit and into what he had been wearing before the games. It felt like he was just putting on another suit, another mask to hide behind. When Jin-ae finished the entire bottle, and was moderately calm, but awake still, he bathed her and clothed her, but still kept her wrapped up in Jun-hee’s and his own jacket. It’s cold in the compound, always has been. Gi-hun washed his hands of the blood, not willing to get undressed with the other man still watching him. Likely there to make sure Gi-hun didn’t do anything stupid, like drown himself in the tub, although the thought was tempting. 

The man, all the while, stood by. He never said a word, and Gi-hun never asked a question, merely regarding him as another shadow, someone else he would hopefully forget and hate in time. 

Gi-hun was offered some food, something quick and easy to eat, but he refused with a shake of his head. 

They are then quickly packed away onto a small cargo boat, Gi-hun isn’t handcuffed to a pipe, but he is watched under a close eye. A duffle bag is presented to him, filled with formula, diapers, wipes, and more baby clothes. And while Gi-hun wanted to throw it back in the man’s face, he also knew that the motel - and himself - were not ready for a newborn, so he allowed himself to take the gift for now, until he could buy his own supplies.

Exhaustion won its short and difficult battle. Gi-hun closed his eyes, only for a moment, but when he opened them, he’s back in the limousine. 

Jin-ae is still tucked in the crook of his arm in the sling fashioned from Gi-hun’s jacket, the jacket itself was still caked with blood and dirt and sweat. The man sat across from him with a glass of champagne in his hand, no mask, and while Gi-hun was blindfolded the first time he was in this limousine, he had a feeling that these were their positions from that time. 

Gi-hun didn’t give the man so much as one more look, instead, he shuffled in his seat. His head tilted back against the cool window, almost lulled back to sleep.

“Congratulations, a two-time winner is unheard of, you’re the first.”

Gi-hun doesn’t snap to attention, but he does keep his eyes open, just not on the man. He breathed deeply, something warm building in his chest as Jin-ae murmured against him. 

He’s not her mother, or her father. But maybe he can be the closest thing to it. 

“Your bank account has been supplemented-”

“I never want to hear from you again.” The words were out of Gi-hun’s mouth before he knew he was speaking. They surprise him just as much as they surprise the other man. “I don’t want to hear from you or your minions. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to even think about you for the rest of my life.”

The man was silent, the champagne glass clenched just a bit tighter in his hand, he nodded, “The games have ended, at least in Korea. Not long after our departure, the island was found and compromised, it's gone. I thought you would like to know that much.”

Gi-hun does like to know that, he liked to know that it wasn’t all for nothing, that there were future players that will never even sail near the island ever again. Even if it meant that he would have to carry the guilt and weight of all those ghosts. 

But that meant…that meant that rescue was on the way, that he didn’t have to kill them-

“They would’ve arrived after the games concluded, after the last game, you didn’t kill them for nothing,” the man added, it does nothing to help Gi-hun’s overwhelming responsibility.

Still, he did what he set out to do, he supposed, to end the games. 

He did that.

His job is done,

The man is still talking, still saying something that might’ve been personal and meaningful, despite Gi-hun’s clear disregard in favor of the babe still wrapped in his own jacket as well as Jun-hee’s. 

He has a new job now. Protect the baby, love the baby.

She’ll need a name. Gi-hun entertained the idea of naming her Jun-hee, but the thought of living with the girl’s name whom he failed every single day is enough to bring tears to his eyes. Then, he thought about Sae-byeok, but thought that she shouldn’t be named after a stranger to her. 

There should be something good, something positive, something to look forward to, instead of the past weighing down on her shoulders with the weight she should never bear by herself.

So, right then and there, on an empty stretch of highway, in an expensive limousine, Gi-hun decided to name her Jin-ae.

The limo slowed to a stop, Gi-hun glanced out of the window. He knew this street corner, as it wasn’t far from the motel. He shuffled over, not sparing the other man a single glance. At least, not until the door opened and Gi-hun swung his legs out. The duffle bag was thrown over his shoulder as Jin-ae slept peacefully against his chest.

“What’s your name?” Gi-hun asked the man, already outside of the limousine, with the door still held open by a guard in pink. He already knew the man’s face, he wondered if it mattered that he would also know his name. 

He knew Young-il had to be a fake name, just another lie on top of all the others that he’s made himself out of.

The man looked at Gi-hun, then down at the bundle in his arms, Gi-hun instinctively curled his hand just a bit tighter around her. He doesn’t get this, Gi-hun decided. He can take Gi-hun’s loyalty, his life, his hope, but he doesn’t get to see the innocence and purity of a baby, so that he could corrupt her in the most awful way possible, not after he decided that she would play in her mother’s part.

The man looked back up at Gi-hun, the champagne glass still full.

“My name is Hwang In-ho,” he answered, before the door shut and he drove off.

Oh, Hwang In-ho. Jun-ho’s lost brother. Jun-ho, who he put his unwavering faith into, lied to him. Perhaps if he hadn’t, Gi-hun would’ve seen through his disguise earlier on. He could’ve put a stop to this before it got out of hand.

The next time Gi-hun saw Jun-ho two weeks later, the man was smiling. Gi-hun doesn’t think that he’s ever seen him smile before now, but he’s smiling now. Because while they are not out of the woods yet, this nightmare has ended. Because he was one step closer to finding his brother. He’s a little confused about the baby at first, but he’s happy.

“Did you know?” Gi-hun asked him, Jin-ae in her cradle, fast asleep. 

Jun-ho’s face fell, he knew exactly what Gi-hun was asking of him. Woo-seok stood behind Jun-ho, confused.

Jun-ho nodded.

Gi-hun punched him across the face, his hand tingling and eyes burning. He shoved Jun-ho against a wall, the man winced as his head banged against the solid wood, Gi-hun pointed an awful finger at him, and told him the same thing he told his brother: don’t find me, don’t come looking for me, I don’t want to see you or think about you ever again.

“Get out.” He spat.

Jun-ho left with words and excuses unsaid, along with a blossoming bruise on his face. Woo-seok followed him out.

Two days later, Woo-seok comes back, alone but with a bottle of soju. Gi-hun doesn’t drink much, not since he had Jin-ae to look after. He doesn’t entertain most of Woo-seok’s questions or Jun-ho’s pitiful way of apologising through a third party.

He does, however, give Woo-seok the following instructions: take a billion won and distribute it evenly to the remaining men including Jun-ho for severance pay, use whatever cash they want to give Mr. Kim a proper memorial, the motel is all theirs now and they may do with it (and its contents) whatever they pleased.

And, most importantly, delete Gi-hun’s contact information. Forget him, forget his actions, his name, his mission.

None of it mattered anymore. With the island gone, Gi-hun had a new mission.

Woo-seok doesn’t ask about the baby, but he can see the question in his eyes. Gi-hun provided only this: “She’s a friend’s daughter. I promised I would take care of her.” 

Woo-seok leaves, but not without a tearful embrace and a heartfelt goodbye, and Gi-hun finishes packing up his meager belongings. Despite the fact that he owned the entire motel, he has very few things he called his own. He took little more than a few clothes, a gun or two, Jun-hee’s jacket that was still wrapped carefully around the baby, the new adoption papers, and the baby’s social security number. He bought new formula, clothes, and diapers for her on the way, having only used about half of a container that was provided to him as a parting gift. 

Regardless, in spite of the fact that it made his skin itch, Gi-hun kept the duffle bag, storing it away in a closet. Just in case, he told himself. Just in case he has to pick up Jin-ae and run, just in case he gets snowed in and doesn’t have spare formula.

Just in case he ever saw him again.

And yet, when he did (or, more accurately, saw people associated with him), Gi-hun ran. He ran because seeing him, his people, was like a nightmare entering his dreams. Something that shouldn’t belong in the paradise that Gi-hun built for himself. 

Gi-hun left his outskirt of Busan, which was a shame, it really was a beautiful city. He paid for the next place in cash, and used a fake name to avoid them finding him by name. 

After being dropped back off at the motel by the Frontman, and before he saw Jun-ho again, Gi-hun had checked Jin-ae for a tracker, finding nothing.

He, however, had two. One in the original spot behind his ear, just underneath the scar that laid there and another in his foot, just below his big toe. 

Fucker.

It hurt, much more than it did cutting it out of his ear, and he had a limp for weeks afterwards. He let one fall into an empty drain, and the other was smashed and discarded. 

This time, Gi-hun moved them half an hour outside of Daegu. 

It took a week for Gi-hun to notice the non-descriptive black SUV that sat on his street. And another week for someone to approach him with the same seductive offer of a golden card. They’re the same person in Gi-hun’s eyes, always dressed in a nice black suit, with a briefcase in one hand. Sure, they look like any other business person, but there was something…different about them, as if working for the games was enough to rearrange their humanity and chemistry. Enough to give them a dead look in their eye, something that made them inhuman. 

There’s a letter this time, it’s tucked into Jin-ae’s hand, wrinkled and warm from her holding onto it like a toy.

It’s addressed to Gi-hun. Gi-hun waited until they’re home to open it. 

My dear Gi-hun,

Please read this letter in its entirety before you burn it.

Life has been cruel to the both of us, however, it seems only one of us is able to leave our past behind and move forward. You have found a new life waiting for you, while I am still wandering the Earth trying to find a new purpose for myself.

However, we both know what has become of ourselves, especially of you. I know that you hate the reminder, but we both know what you had to do to win. No amount of apologizing to the dead and retribution will erase the blood that stains you.

The next time you see me, I advise you to not run as soon as possible.

Sincerely, 

Hwang In-ho

Gi-hun burned the letter with a lighter.

And again, Gi-hun moved them, this time out of the country. He moved to a small Korean community in China. He had thought that being further away from Seoul, it would take longer.

It took a month. The only difference is that now, he saw him. 

He was dressed plainly, not in the expensive suits and designer outfits like Gi-hun had expected him to be, although there was an atmosphere of expensive-ness around the man. He has on a dark sweater and slacks, a little heavy and a little out of place for a beautiful day like today.

When Gi-hun saw him, while he was outside with Jin-ae against his chest, wrapped in a cloth carrier, tears and red-hot anger came to him in a flash. The other man sat beside him on the park bench, as if they were friends catching up.

Hwang In-ho peeked at the little bundle Gi-hun carried with him. Gi-hun dressed her that morning in a nice green jumper and a light pink bow in her hair - or lack thereof. It was the first day without rain in what felt like weeks, but a chill still hung in the air, promising that the sun was only temporary.

It’s the first time he’s left their bungalow since moving. He’s been paranoid lately, checking the curtains, the locks, himself and her for trackers despite the scars he had now from cutting them out.

Gi-hun appreciated the rain because it gave him a reason to stay inside, now, he wished he had never-

“How have you been, Gi-hun?”

Gi-hun pressed his lips together and looked away from him, staring straight ahead into the greenery. It’s a small community, and their arrival brought a plethora of gifts and home-baked goods for himself and Jin-ae. A few of the older ladies doted on Jin-ae, bringing her toys and hounding Gi-hun with questions if he ever needed a babysitter. 

Gi-hun will never take them up on the offer, but he appreciated it nonetheless. 

Gi-hun doesn’t say anything, and neither does In-ho. They watch as the trees wave in the wind, the children around them laugh and play and fall and cry, the parents either diligently no more than two paces behind their child or on a park bench on a phone call. 

Gi-hun had imagined this moment, for some time now. The moment Hwang In-ho would stop being a coward and stop sending his underlings to give Gi-hun the card or the formula or the clothes. There’s been a few packages now, without a return address, at first Gi-hun assumed it was one of the neighbors and hoped to thank them. Until this most recent one, stamped on it were three shapes: circle, triangle, square. 

Gi-hun threw it away, along with the other gifts. 

He didn’t move just yet, despite knowing that In-ho found him. He had hoped that at some point, the man would get bored of him, bored of his non-answers, his fleeting turns and running away. 

It was foolish of him.

Regardless, Gi-hun thought that In-ho would get tired of this constant back and forth, he knew he was. He wasn’t lying when he said that he was done, that he wanted to never see In-ho again. 

Still, Gi-hun had an image about what he would say to him, the screaming, the fighting, the blood.

And yet, now he found himself speechless.

“You gave Jun-ho quite the welt,” he said, there’s no bitterness to his tone, nothing that said he was upset with Gi-hun, almost as if he were making conversation. 

In truth, Gi-hun knew why he punched Jun-ho, he was angry and exhausted and tired of being lied to. But that didn’t mean he didn’t regret it. He’s never been awfully violent, not unless there was self-defense involved. He was so angry, with himself for being so stupid, the guilt, the blame, it was all on him, and he had to take that out on someone.

Jun-ho didn’t really mean any harm to him, at least, he didn’t think so. He’s not entirely thrilled that the man lied about knowing his brother was the Frontman. 

But Gi-hun felt it was too soon to reach out to him, too soon to try and apologize for his mistakes. 

Just as he felt it was too soon to see and hear from the man sitting beside him.

Nothing in his life has ever gone the pace he wanted for himself, Gi-hun knew that. 

But with this baby, with Jin-ae, he had hoped that it was possible his life could slow down some.

How stupid of him.

It takes him too long to realize that In-ho has been talking this whole time, recounting a story or two. 

“-doing well, the police force finally got their heads out of their-”

“Please leave us alone,” Gi-hun said, which rendered In-ho silent. It’s been so long since Gi-hun has been able to speak, able to talk to anyone besides the baby. But he does it now. “I don’t, ever, want to hear from you again. Please stop sending the gifts.” 

“Do they not fit? The formula was for sensitive stomachs, I thought that-”

“I’m tired, and I’m done.” With that, Gi-hun stood, the diaper bag already in his hand. His place is not far from the park, Gi-hun will write a sincere apology note to the landlady and return the goodies she leaves for Gi-hun, but he will take the toys, only because Jin-ae took a liking to them.

In-ho is looking up at Gi-hun, still on the park bench, his arms resting on the back of it, almost inviting Gi-hun to sit back down. Gi-hun should be feeling anger, he thought, but he just didn’t have the strength for it. “Stop sending the gifts, stop sending your people. I don’t want-”

“To hear from me, to see me, to think of me. I know.” In-ho finished for him, he swallowed, his eyes on Jin-ae, his only accepted gift. “But, I wouldn’t do this, all of this,” his eyes finally met Gi-hun’s again, and they’re sad and a little teary and red, “if you kept to places I could find you. You don’t have to let me do anything else, I’ll stop sending the gifts, the people, myself, but please return to Seoul.” 

Gi-hun was quiet, his hands tightened around Jin-ae, feeling tears well up in his eyes. “Well, then I guess you will never find me in Seoul again.” In-ho opened his mouth to say something, pleading Gi-hun with his eyes, but Gi-hun stopped him with two sentences, “Have a good life, Hwang In-ho.” He bowed, his hand protectively cupping Jin-ae’s head, “I hope I never see you again.”

He goes to walk away, and makes it about half a step before a hand grips onto his wrist, not allowing him another step further. Gi-hun yanks himself away and manages two more steps before he is once again grabbed onto. He opened his mouth to scream, only for In-ho to silently show him another letter. He gently held Jin-ae’s head and slid it down in between her and Gi-hun’s chest.

Only then did he let go, and only then did Gi-hun practically run back to the apartment. 

The letter has a few things In-ho didn’t get to say, as well as a small toy - a teething ring - in the envelope. He gave the toy to Jin-ae to chew on and read the letter himself. 

Gi-hun,

I hope this finds you well, but if it does, it means I found you first.

I don’t expect to get to say all the things I wanted to, so I will write them down.

It isn’t your fault that they are dead. 

My last letter was rude and uncivil, I apologize for it. I had been frustrated you had been ignoring my staff and attempts at contact for so long. Please forgive me although I do not deserve it. 

I don’t think you are seeing yourself through unfiltered eyes, so allow me to provide you my perspective on what I see. 

You are exhausted, Gi-hun, even if you don’t want to admit it. I think that you truly are trying your best, but I do not know if that will be enough for Jin-ae’s level of care. 

You do not want my help, I know that, but please reach out to someone if you need help. Even if it is me. I will come.

You don’t need to torture yourself to prove that you are a good person, you know you are, I know you are, and one day, Jin-ae will also know. The ghosts know.

With love,

Hwang In-ho

Gi-hun also burns this letter.

The same day, Gi-hun booked a flight and bought an apartment in America. He’s…been talking with Ga-yeong, apologizing tearfully over the phone, realizing just how close he had been to her losing her father forever. She doesn’t forgive him, which is within her rights, but she is willing to give him a chance.

His ex-wife is willing to also give him a chance, a chance to see Ga-yeong. He doesn’t give them the full truth, but he does explain that he has a baby again, that Ga-yeong has a sister. That he missed his daughter. That he wanted to see her again, to make up for the lost years.

“When?” 

“Soon,” he had promised.

Gi-hun moved them once more to an apartment near Los Angeles. He didn’t know exactly why, but the thought of being in the city gives him goosebumps. The thought of being somewhere easy to find made a shudder run down his spine. 

So did seeing Ga-yeong again. He facetimed her frequently, at least three times a week. When school gets out for spring break, he’ll come visit her. He promised. This time, though, he’ll fight to stay here. He can’t keep moving, not when he’s so close to seeing his first daughter again. 

Gi-hun still noticed the people in dapper suits, with briefcases that let their gazes linger on him and Jin-ae for too long to be just a passing glance. But as long as they don’t approach him, he tells himself it’s fine. 

It’s difficult, becoming a father after so long. But the struggle is normal, he tells himself. His struggle is nothing, because if he appeared weak, like he needed help, they’ll take her. In-ho will come and swoop Jin-ae out of Gi-hun’s arms. Jun-ho will tell the Korean government that Gi-hun didn’t try hard enough to save Jin-ae’s mother, that he’s the reason Jin-ae is an orphan.

Eun-ji will never let him see Ga-yeong again, “I knew you could never change. Still a deadbeat gambler.”

So, Gi-hun struggled, and struggled. The nightmares returned with new faces, new fears to combat in the early mornings. He cuts back on smoking inside, and smokes a cigarette - only when Jin-ae is down for her naps - out on the balcony. 

The letters and gifts come, and Gi-hun allowed them to pile up just inside his door.

Still, he struggled. He struggled to sleep at first and went to the general doctor and was prescribed sleeping medicine, but stopped taking it once he slept through Jin-ae’s breakfast at one point, the way she was screaming and crying was enough to make Gi-hun weep and apologize to her.

He’s struggling, but life is nothing without struggles, right? 

He’s struggling now as punishment because the first time he raised a daughter, he couldn’t be bothered to be in her life. He went out gambling, smoking, and drinking. He missed birthdays and gave terrible gifts. He was an awful parent the first time around, this is his repayment. 

Gi-hun sees Sae-byeok’s dead face at breakfast.

Sang-woo is always insulting him while he dresses Jin-ae for the day.

Jung-bae’s limp form has lunch with him. 

Dae-ho’s purple face always begged him for mercy when he did tummy time with Jin-ae.

Geum-ja’s body is always hanging from the shower rod. 

Jun-hee’s broken body is always with him in the nursery as he gave Jin-ae a bottle and rocked her to sleep.

And In-ho is always there beside him when he finally goes to bed. 

They will accompany him to his dreams, good or bad. 

He still struggled. But he tells himself it’s okay.

Then, Jin-ae started to cry, every day, every night, for hours and hours. He’s lucky that his apartment building is mostly empty aside from a single neighbor two floors down. He took her to the pediatrician, and got a shrug, as well as a ‘maybe she just needed mommy’s special time.’ 

He left with tears in his eyes and a baby crying on his hip. 

Gi-hun goes to another pediatrician, and they give him a few suggestions.

So, he feeds her later in the day, then earlier in the day, stays up with her, burps her, massages her back and stomach, tries a new formula, but she just keeps crying.

Then, he noticed the black SUV parked out front.

Chapter Text

In the last two weeks, Gi-hun has taken Jin-ae to the pediatrician twice. And In-ho cannot figure out why.

Gi-hun is diligent about keeping Jin-ae up to date with her vaccinations, so it can’t be a typical doctor’s appointment. There are no prescriptions at the pharmacy for Jin-ae or Gi-hun, so it’s likely not an infection or an illness. Gi-hun doesn’t go to the grocery store as much anymore, but has stocked up on different types of formula. 

Maybe it’s Gi-hun that’s sick?

In-ho does know that this isn’t his place, but that doesn’t stop him from sitting inside a black SUV for many hours while trying to catch a glimpse of Gi-hun caring for Jin-ae through the windows of his newer apartment building. It’s a quaint place, small for even just the two of them, and definitely not the most Gi-hun can afford with two full winnings. The apartment building only has three tenets and a half-deaf landlady that gave Gi-hun a plate-full of chocolate chip cookies the first day he moved in and passive aggressively reminded him that the rent was due on the fifth of each month. 

In-ho has thought about stationing one of his men in the building, perhaps as a neighbor. This apartment is only a half hour drive from where Seong Ga-yeong’s family resided in Los Angeles, therefore, Gi-hun is less likely to let go of this place so quickly.

Still, In-ho doesn’t leave the car, doesn’t roll down the windows. He simply watched, waiting for a glance of Gi-hun’s shadow. It’s dark now, but not awfully late, and yet, Gi-hun is still active inside.

“Sir, the doctor’s notes are through now,” the driver says.

With a heavy sigh, In-ho tears his gaze away from the windows and unlocked the tablet he had sitting beside him. The notes do not describe any medication given, nor anything prescribed. There is a suggestion for an over-the-counter ointment. Perhaps a rash?

But that wouldn’t really warrant two visits in just as many weeks? Would it? 

Rap-tap-tap

In-ho doesn’t manage to stop himself from jumping. His eyes flicker to the car window and he purses his lips as he finds Gi-hun standing there. He’s dressed casually, in worn jeans, a plain t-shirt, and a light jacket. He’s holding something, but In-ho can’t tell what it is.

With a wave of his hand, In-ho instructed his driver to stand down, as the man undoubtedly already had a gun in his hand and ready to shoot if given the signal.

In-ho rolled down the window, but before anything could be said, Gi-hun was already shoving a duffle bag into the car through the window. It’s not very heavy, but In-ho does grunt as it lands on his lap. 

“Been wanting to return that to you,” Gi-hun muttered, a bit smug.

In-ho doesn’t have to look in the bag to know that it contains containers of formula, baby clothes, and diapers that Jin-ae has unquestionably grown out of now, “Gi-hun-”

“I thought I told you to leave us alone. I told you I never wanted-”

“What does the doctor say?”

Gi-hun’s mouth hung open for a moment, as if he was ready to curse In-ho again, but he didn’t. “Why would I-”

“Gi-hun, please.”

When In-ho first heard that Jin-ae had been taken to the non-emergency doctor’s office without an appointment, he glanced at the report, assuring himself that it was likely nothing.

When he heard it happened a second time, he wasn’t so sure. He was quick to travel to Gi-hun’s newest residency. 

Gi-hun does pause, for a moment, looking down at his feet, then up to the apartment window, and finally to In-ho, looking him in the eyes. “If I tell you, will you leave us alone?”

“For some time, yes.”

Gi-hun sighed, his eyes finding the heavens, then back down to In-ho, “She’s colicky. I’ve tried a different formula,” he rubbed his eyes with his fingers, “put a pause on giving her solids for now. I’ve been…doing what the doctor told me.” 

“The notes say that there was an ointment considered.”

Gi-hun opened his mouth, his eyes furrowed, but he softened in a moment, “She…had a mild reaction to a fabric softener. It’s cleared up now, just a little rash.”

In-ho nodded, he’s not satisfied, not yet. There’s always something more that he wanted, something else that Gi-hun can offer to him, but he won’t. Not because In-ho doesn’t deserve it, not because of who In-ho was, but because Gi-hun is too stubborn to accept the hand that’s been offered to him. 

Because he wanted to do it right this time, not with late shifts that go into the early mornings, or with forgotten diaper changes, or with missed recitals. Gi-hun wanted to do it right this time, and that meant, in his mind at least, without In-ho.

Even if it meant by himself.

“You said that she’s colicky,” In-ho confirmed, Gi-hun nodded, the reaction a little delayed, “have you-”

“Yes, yes, I’ve done everything,” Gi-hun interrupted, exasperated as his hands gesture wildly to the air around him, “Home remedies, medicines, doctors. I’ve Googled it, asked other parents, I’ve-I’ve done everything that I can.” Gi-hun hunched in on himself, perhaps slightly embarrassed at his outburst, and perhaps trying not to cry at the same time. 

“Maybe I could help,” In-ho offered. 

He doesn’t expect Gi-hun to accept it. If anything, he thought he was about to be cursed out again, laughed at, and told to go to hell. However, perhaps Jin-ae’s recent development had finally been the catalyst that brought down those stubborn walls Gi-hun had built around this little bubble of his, because Gi-hun opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and said in a voice so quiet In-ho nearly missed it, “Fine.”

In-ho is quick to get out of the car, not wanting to give Gi-hun the chance to take this opportunity away from him. Although he does shut the car door quietly after seeing the way Gi-hun jumped the slightest bit and followed Gi-hun up to the apartment.

The very first thing In-ho thought to himself was that Jin-ae was crying, the second was that Gi-hun’s apartment was more for someone living in squalor.

Gi-hun’s apartment is not impressive just from the layout, even less so from being inside. At the very least, it’s unbecoming for a man of his wealth. It’s large enough for Jin-ae and Gi-hun, In-ho supposed, but granted that Jin-ae was just a baby that was still mostly confined to wherever Gi-hun went and her bassinet, it was perfect for a single man. The entryway broke off into a hallway on the left side and a living room on the right. The living room is connected to a small kitchen, while the hallway had two doors, one that must lead to a nursery, and the other to the master bedroom.

It’s not until after In-ho has toed off his shoes that he got a good look at Gi-hun aside from the dim streetlight on a dark corner. His eyes drooped and were bloodshot, unable to focus on more than one thing at a time. He could see Gi-hun fighting a yawn as he scrubbed at his face with his palm. His clothes were haphazardly pulled on and wrinkled.

Gi-hun flinched as the grating noise of a baby crying in the background quickly rose in volume. In-ho followed the sound, finding himself into the master bedroom. While Gi-hun did have a nursery set up for Jin-ae, the bassinet is propped up next to the bed, on the side that has rumpled sheets and an assortment of things clustered together on the nightstand. 

In-ho leaned down to look at Jin-ae. She appeared fine, a little pink from crying, with dark hair already coming in. She has a blue binky in her mouth and is dressed in a simple white onesie with flowers printed around the wrists and ankles. His hands kindly reached down to pick her up, and it’s as if she recognized that he is a stranger to her, even if he knew her pediatrician’s name, the brand of formula Gi-hun bought, how old she is, and who her mother was.

She screamed even louder, piercing through the walls. Gi-hun stood close by, nearly hovering over In-ho and the baby. It’s awkward at first, but In-ho managed to get her into a more comfortable hold, with her laying on top of his forearm horizontally as he held it close to his chest. His other hand was rubbing circles on her back. She does quiet down a bit at the warmth of his through his clothes, but she still whimpered. 

Gi-hun watched him from the corner of the room, by the door, but his sharp eyes never wandered away from In-ho. Always ready to spring into action, ready to swoop in and take the baby if In-ho so much as breathed wrong.

When Jin-ae does quiet down some more, there’s a shuddering breath from him. Jin-ae isn’t sleeping, not quite yet. In-ho looked towards Gi-hun, expecting reverence, instead he found something akin to horror, maybe embarrassment. In-ho found his way to the chair that was collecting dust in the corner, sitting down and shushing the baby as she fussed. 

Gi-hun took a shaking and stumbling step forward, his hand already reaching out to smooth out Jin-ae’s bedhead. He leaned forward, kneeling before In-ho and Jin-ae, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. In-ho has never seen this side of Gi-hun before. When he’s out in public with her, the easiest time to watch the two of them from a safe distance without Gi-hun’s frantic retreat, there’s always an air of paranoia to the man, always ready to run and hide at the first sign of danger. 

In-ho, however, is star-struck by how close Gi-hun is to him, his hair tickling In-ho’s nose, his body is warm enough that In-ho feels a fraction of the heat coming from him. 

Gi-hun stayed close, a breath away from Jin-ae’s hair, a few tears slipping out of his eyes without his permission. He sniffed loudly, “I’ve…forgotten,” his fingers played with the baby’s thin hair, “how sweet she is.”

The words are on the tip of In-ho’s tongue, ‘it’s not your fault’, ‘you didn’t want help’, ‘you needed help’. Something to absolve Gi-hun of the guilt he felt.

Instead, he stared. An awful habit of his. He stared at the way Gi-hun’s lips quirked up into almost a smile, he stared at his unruly hair that’s grown out some in a few months, he stared into Gi-hun’s dark eyes that have regained some - but not all - the spark he once had. 

Gi-hun pulled away, only an inch, from Jin-ae, and met In-ho’s gaze.

He blushed and turned away, briskly walking out of the room, leaving the two alone.

In-ho found himself looking around the bedroom. There wasn’t much, in fact, the only ‘decoration’ was Jin-ae’s crib, everything else might’ve come with the apartment. There’s a master bed, with two nightstands on either side, a dresser in the corner of the room, one door that led to the hallway, and another that likely led to a bathroom. 

There are three framed pictures on one of the nightstands, the one closest to the bassinet. In-ho stood, noting that Jin-ae seemed to prefer when he stood up and walked around. 

Three photos, one is of Jin-ae, she’s small and smiling wide at the camera, her hands were just out of frame but she’s reaching out to whoever is behind the camera. 

The next one is a young man who In-ho vaguely recognized. He’s in a graduation cap and gown, a diploma in his hand. The banister for SNU behind him. 

The third and final one is of Gi-hun, but barely, he’s been cropped out of the picture to make the center of the photo the older woman. She’s looking up at Gi-hun with such fondness it made In-ho’s heart clench. Gi-hun, while still cropped out, has about half of his face still in, because the older woman is leaning into her son, and to completely get rid of Gi-hun, would be to get rid of her. He can see that Gi-hun is clearly younger in the picture, his smile is brighter, his hair longer, and his face not so hallowed and haunted.

In-ho wondered if there would ever be a day where Gi-hun would open up about his mother, perhaps not today, but one day.

Jin-ae is finally asleep, her breathing evened out. In-ho carefully placed her back into the bassinet, freezing when she made a soft gurgling noise, but calming once she settled back to sleep.

A sob tears through the still air, and In-ho exited the bedroom, turning the light off but leaving the door open a crack. He walked through the apartment, noting the way it felt lived-in but still like Gi-hun has always been ready to pack and leave the moment something happens.

Something like this.

He found Gi-hun bowed over the kitchen sink, a glass of water beside him. He looked up as In-ho entered, tears running down his face.

“I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have promised her that I would-”

In-ho is across the room in seconds, pulling Gi-hun to the living room and sitting him down on the couch, the water in his hand. They sat in silence for a moment, when Gi-hun finally spoke to him, not the other way around, “I-I was never good at this the first time. I don’t know why I thought I could be who she needs.”

“You’re doing your best, that’s what she needs.”

“My best isn’t good enough.” 

“How long has she been like this?”

Gi-hun sighed, a hand rubbing his face, “Two weeks since I first noticed she was fussier than usual, but the worst has been in the last week. She’ll sleep for a few minutes after she quieted down, but then…she’s back up again, and I-”

“Gi-hun, how often have you been sleeping?”

Gi-hun scoffed, “You heard her. Do you think anyone can sleep through that?”

“No, but how long have you been sleeping?”

“...an hour, sometimes two if I sleep through her crying.”

“She’s only sleeping for two hours a day?”

“No, she’ll sleep for longer, sometimes. The day isn’t so bad, but during the night it’s impossible to get her down. And then, during her day-naps…well, there’s dishes, and laundry, and cleaning, and-”

“Gi-hun, you need more help.” Gi-hun’s fingers rubbed his eyes, In-ho can see that fortress cracking, and aimed to break it down even more, “Take a nap, Gi-hun. I’ll take care of it. Just rest for now.”

Gi-hun didn't say anything for a long time, only stared blankly into the room until eventually he stood, swaying a bit. In-ho stopped himself from helping him stand. Instead, Gi-hun led him to the nursery and opened a dresser drawer. The nursery is cute. There’s a changing table with its own trash in the corner, a little armchair with a small table next to it, a few shelves with baby books on them, a rug, a toy box, and a dresser in the other corner.

“This is where her diapers are,” Gi-hun opened a drawer on the changing table, showing a sizable amount of diapers, as well as creams, wipes, and changing pads. “These are her outfits, I…I don’t think she has pajamas on right now.” He admitted, sheepishly, In-ho offered a soft smile. 

They left the nursery and Gi-hun showed In-ho where the formula was in the kitchen, how much to feed her, and how to clean and burp her afterwards. 

When the makeshift ‘tour’ is done, there’s a pause in the air. Gi-hun’s mouth opened, his brow furrowed, like he’s about to take it all back. Take Jin-ae and run away again, run to a corner of the world where he hoped In-ho wouldn’t find him.

But he always will, maybe this was Gi-hun’s way of accepting that fate. He can either keep moving, keep wasting money on houses and mortgages and rent and new furniture, or he can simply deal with an occasional checkup from In-ho. 

Gi-hun doesn’t trust In-ho, not yet, perhaps not ever, but he did trust Young-il. And maybe just a bit of that persona, that lie, can seep into what Gi-hun knew was true. 

“I’m just closing my eyes for a moment,” Gi-hun stated, In-ho nodded. “No more than an hour, maybe two.” Gi-hun settles onto the couch, and In-ho has to stop himself from telling him to take the bed. Instead, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Gi-hun’s eyes drooped, then closed, then opened to glare at In-ho, then closed again, before soft snoring filled the apartment. 

In-ho turned around, taking in the apartment for the first time, and wow, Gi-hun really overdid himself. There’s hardly any decorations, aside from the toys skewed about the floor, and In-ho noted that a few of his own gifts were amongst them.

But he decided to start there first, picking up Jin-ae’s toys and dragging armfuls at a time back to the toybox. He knew that a few of these were from himself, perhaps a couple from the older ladies in the last neighborhood Gi-hun placed them in, however, the ones from Gi-hun were older, almost from a thrift store. In-ho smiled as he recognized a few from his own childhood. 

So Gi-hun preferred to raise Jin-ae old-school? In-ho can get behind that.

He tiptoed his way out of the nursery, aware of two insomniacs sleeping uneasily in the apartment. 

He quietly picked up the strewn about clothes, placing them in the hamper in the master bedroom. He didn’t know where the laundry room was in the apartment, so he’ll ask Gi-hun when he wakes up. In-ho noted with a smile that Jin-ae seemed to be reason enough for Gi-hun to put some more color into his wardrobe, mostly lighter shades of gray and sometimes blue, but color nonetheless. 

Jin-ae’s clothes, however, were explosions of color, with cartoon animals, flowers, with stripes and polka dots and hats and bows of all sorts. 

He picked those up, as well as sorted the mess that was Jin-ae’s dresser drawers, and took a peek into Gi-hun’s, noting with a wrinkled nose that the man seemed to simply throw all his clothes into one drawer rather than sorting through them. 

Gi-hun slept for almost four hours, In-ho had done the dishes - noting with a frown that most of them were of Jin-ae’s baby bottles, spoons, forks, and bowls, almost nothing for a grown adult man aside from a half-empty mug of coffee. The cabinets were also mostly bare of anything aside from one adult sized bowl, an adult sized plate, and an adult sized glass. 

In-ho made the bed, looking over Jin-ae while he did so. Afterwards, he made a more whole attempt to actually sort Jin-ae’s clothes into somewhat understandable categories, again, leaving Gi-hun’s things mostly untouched. 

His driver texted him twice, asking if his boss was okay. In-ho always replied with a positive, then got back to work making Gi-hun’s home decent. 

In-ho, just as he had started wiping off the cement-like food debris off of the kitchen table, froze as he heard fussing from the bedroom. His eyes snapped to Gi-hun, realizing with dread that the man was already starting to rouse from his sleep. In-ho, as quickly and quietly as he could manage, pushed down lightly on the man’s shoulder and stroked his hair until Gi-hun fell back into uneasy slumber.

Once that was successfully avoided, he strolled to the bedroom, Jin-ae was irritated at something that In-ho would figure out, hopefully soon. He checked her diaper: clean. Alright, she’s probably hungry then, right? He debated taking her to the kitchen, but didn’t want to risk her waking Gi-hun up, he made a silent prayer that she would be calm enough for the next few minutes before quietly pacing back to the kitchen to make a bottle for her. 

As he waited for the formula to heat up, he spared yet another glance at Gi-hun. He really did look so much younger in his sleep. In-ho noted that while there was hardly any cutlery or dishes for Gi-hun, there were plenty of frozen meals in the freezer. He didn’t even want to think about how long Gi-hun had been living off of those. 

Maybe for breakfast tomorrow they’ll have a real meal, In-ho thought he saw some eggs in the refrigerator, likely a part of Gi-hun’s plan to get Jin-ae onto solid foods. 

The bottle was heated up enough that In-ho deemed it acceptable and he walked back to the bedroom to give it to Jin-ae. She calmed down easily enough as In-ho held up the bottle for her.

She reached up with her tiny hand and grasped In-ho’s finger. Just the pinky from where it hung off of the bottle. In-ho paused, looking into her dark eyes. Is this what fatherhood should be like? Loving a tiny and helpless creature along their life, rather than forever soiled by decades of trying and just one singular, awful day in which everything In-ho thought he had worked for was gone? 

Is he supposed to feel so warm and content when it comes to a baby’s gaze, instead of a bitter and ugly feeling in his chest?

She finished her bottle, In-ho leaned over the crib, his finger still in her tight grip. She’s smiling at him, and he’s smiling back at her.

Then, he hears screaming.

Gi-hun wakes up screaming. He hasn’t done so in a long time that the feeling is foreign, but familiar, to him. 

He woke up choking on spit and air, gasping desperately for breaths that don’t fill his lungs. There’s a ringing in his ears. He shot up, sitting up on the - now, sweat slicked - couch, his legs swing over the edge, but he’s too unsteady to try and stand now.

He doesn’t remember the nightmare, they flee from his mind the moment he wakes up. They usually involve a brightly colored room, with dead bodies hanging from the ceiling, dressed up in lights and suits. Sometimes people are dancing, laughing, talking, other times they’re solemn and crestfallen. Either way, it’s always Gi-hun in the center, Gi-hun always holds everyone’s attention, their eyes always on him, and him alone.

Never on the man in black, never on the corpses, always on him, their failed savior. 

He doesn’t know what caused him to wake up, but a crib flashed through his memory, Jin-ae’s crib.

His baby. Well, maybe not his baby, the baby that he’s taking care of, the baby he’s protecting.

And yet, Gi-hun had let the monster from his nightmares, the man that killed Jun-hee-

No, no it’s wrong to place that blame onto him. Onto In-ho, it still felt strange knowing his name, like it was some kind of uncharted intimate territory that should be left unexplored.

This was Gi-hun’s fault. If he had, or if he hadn’t, or if he-

Hwang In-ho comes racing out of the hallway, his neat clothes are disheveled and his typically neat hair is ruffled with strands falling into his face. His eyes lock onto Gi-hun in an instant. They’re gentle, warm, like, like-

Like Young-il’s eyes had been.

Before now, and perhaps for a while, Gi-hun never felt any kind of warmth coming from In-ho, only a cold shell that he’s made for himself after years and years of building up hard barriers. 

And Gi-hun can’t remember the last time he’s been looked at so gently, with such care and kindness. He can’t remember the last time he’s worked himself to the bone, begging for someone to throw him scraps of affection and concern, to ask him what he needed. 

Those eyes, they scream ‘are you okay?’ ‘do you need anything?’ ‘can I do anything?’ 

Gi-hun wanted to throw him out, he wanted to shove him away from him, his life, their life. But at the same time, his apartment felt newer, cleaner, with fresher air and the kind of comfort that his mom used to be able to put into the atmosphere with just a flick of her wrist.

Gi-hun needed help, but when was the last time he accepted that help without giving something in return?

Does he even know how to accept help without giving something else? To just be selfish for once in his life and ask for something? 

Will In-ho be willing to give it to him?

But, and perhaps more importantly than anything else, would Gi-hun forgive him?

He doesn’t think so, but he never thought he would get out of the games alive, or have another child, or see his daughter again. 

Gi-hun looked down the hallway, towards the open nursery door, then back to In-ho, who’s awfully petrified expression never faded. 

Gi-hun felt a few tears slip from his eyes, he wiped them away, sniffed, and more tears fell. Then, he clasped a hand over his mouth, and laughed. It’s wet and awful and broken, but he laughed. 

Then he’s crying again, big and ugly sobs that he can see make In-ho flinch.

Laughing again.

Crying more.

Until, finally, somewhere in between hiccupped weeping and hysterical cackling, In-ho tenderly knelt before Gi-hun on the couch. His hands splay onto Gi-hun’s knees, so close together that they’re breathing the same air, that Gi-hun can smell that musky shampoo he used. His eyes are still filled with that gentle affection that Gi-hun wanted to push away and pull closer to him so that only he can have it all for himself. 

His voice was soft, unguarded, “What do you need, Gi-hun?”

Gi-hun found his own voice moments later, he attempted half-heartedly to salvage his appearance in front of the man, and, in a wobbly tone, responded:  

“I’m scared.”

In-ho spared a glance to the nursery door, and Gi-hun remembered that he had screamed, oh, God, after In-ho spent all that time getting Jin-ae down? After weeks of her not sleeping properly? Fuck, Gi-hun’s going to ruin it all.

“She’s fine, I promise. She’s still fast asleep.” 

The words are out of Gi-hun’s mouth before he can stop himself, “I regret her,” he said before clamming up, a furious blush on his face.

Shock covered In-ho’s face, his eyebrows raised and his eyes widened. Fuck, he probably thought Gi-hun was some sort of monster. Ironic, coming from him.

He…Gi-hun didn’t think that he meant it that way, he loved Jin-ae, and would love to spend every single day with her, caring for her as she grows, and trying to catch a glimpse of who her mother was outside of those awful five days, the five days where they knew each other. The five days that she decided to damn him forever as he tried to repay his debt of surviving by raising her child.

And yet, Gi-hun cannot give her up. He cannot allow one more promise to go broken because he cannot handle it. 

What if that last game wasn’t so awful? What if he had managed to survive, with Jin-ae beside him? 

What if he allowed his promise to Sae-byeok to break into a million fragmented shards for nothing?

In-ho stood, gathering his long coat and draping it over the couch’s arm. Then, he sat down beside Gi-hun, and with slow hands, reached out to pull Gi-hun into a warm embrace. 

Gi-hun lets him. 

Gi-hun allowed himself a chance at having someone give him something that wasn’t immediately met with a favor.

His head rested on In-ho’s chest, one hand on his back, the other on his nape. He doesn’t want to lean in, doesn’t want to find comfort in hands that he knew were stained with blood, but weren’t they both? Weren’t they both victims? Both murderers? Why is it that Gi-hun found ways to absolve himself of this guilt, but when In-ho did it, it was wrong? Why is it that when Gi-hun assumed custody of Jin-ae, that was his act of forgiveness, his beg for retribution, but when In-ho attempted to give gifts, it was wrong?

Why are they so different, and yet so alike? 

Gi-hun all but slumped into In-ho’s embrace, tears still prickling his eyes as he allowed himself this singular moment of grief to overcome him.

It’s just not fair. It’s not fair that Gi-hun survived yet again, that he’s the one that has to remember all of them. Those are lives that he took, that he played around with like pieces on a board. 

Somehow, someway, In-ho tugged and pulled on Gi-hun’s shirt to lay down on the couch. His face was still in In-ho’s chest, the man’s arms still around him. Their legs tangled together, Gi-hun’s feet dangling off the edge just a tad bit. 

Gi-hun desperately tried to let the embarrassment wash over him. His confessions come out in waves, in short bursts of whatever he hasn’t been able to say until now. “I shouldn’t be in charge of her, I’m…I did a shit job at this the first time, I don’t know why I promised…why I promised her…I killed Jin-ae’s mother.”

“No, no, you didn’t.”

“But I did, if I had been faster, I would’ve had time to go back.” 

“Gi-hun, Jun-hee was never going to cross. Not with you or without you. She told you to stay there and cross without her because…because she knew that you would do her right. And…you did what you could the first time around-”

“It wasn’t enough-”

“But Ga-yeong knows that, and she still loves you.” 

“I could’ve stopped it, the gambling, drinking, smoking. I could’ve-could’ve been there for her, but I wasn’t.”

Gi-hun was crying again, but he’s less embarrassed this time around. He’s exhausted, drained of every ounce of energy he had inside of him. He had once faced this challenge of starting fatherhood all over again with drying blood on his hands, but was hopeful that he could make this work.

And yet here he was, with no one beside him, no one to help him aside from the man that practically gave him this child on a silver platter. 

Gi-hun isn’t repulsed by Hwang In-ho, not anymore. He’s able to separate the Frontman and In-ho in his mind, and perhaps Young-il as well. But he cannot simply look past what the man has done to him, to those that he loved, to his friends and family. 

He just can’t do it.

But he wanted that warmth that In-ho was offering him, that chance that this could be their lives forever. 

Gi-hun isn’t ready to be a father, but he’s not so sure about accepted the outreached hand offering to pull him to his feet. 

“I would like for you to leave,” Gi-hun stated, “tomorrow.”

In-ho isn’t surprised, or if he is, he doesn’t show it. “So I can stay tonight?”

“Just for tonight.” 

He felt In-ho nod, as Gi-hun was already drifting back into sleep, he heard In-ho say one last thing, “Alright, tomorrow, we’ll both get up, and have breakfast together, and then I’ll go.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” Gi-hun muttered, shoving his face into In-ho’s chest.

And, tomorrow morning, they both woke up bleary-eyed with sore backs from sleeping on the couch and a fussing baby. In-ho pushed Gi-hun towards the bedroom, to change Jin-ae while he started on breakfast. And by the time that Gi-hun returned, there was rice, a meaty stew, and kimchi. 

“Thought you would appreciate something closer to home.” 

Gi-hun did, even allowing Jin-ae a taste of rice, but not the kimchi or the stew. Jin-ae finished her first bottle quickly, In-ho burped her as Gi-hun got started on the dishes. 

In-ho placed Jin-ae onto a mat, gathered his coat from the couch, pressed a light kiss to Jin-ae’s head, and left a letter on the counter as Gi-hun did the dishes and left the apartment behind.

It took Gi-hun three days to read the letter.

There are numbers scribbled on the top of the paper, a phone number, and only a few words.

Take care of yourself, please call,

In-ho

Chapter Text

In-ho finally got that phone call from Gi-hun two weeks after he left the apartment, having immediately thrown himself into whatever he could to keep busy, if only to stop himself from making that phone call first. He was stopped in Chicago, both trying to tie up loose ends on the Korean games as well as trying to forget about who was on the other side of the country for those two weeks. 

His phone buzzed on his desk, he glanced at the screen, and his heart sank. He knew why Gi-hun was calling, as there would only ever be one possible reason as to why Gi-hun would call him.

Something was terribly wrong.

Gi-hun was sobbing over the phone, his breathing wasn’t coming in right, and crying so hard he couldn’t get any words out, just mindless stuttering. It was only after a few seconds and a few more shaky attempts at an introduction, an explanation, that someone else finally took a hold of the phone.

“Mr. Hwang. I’m Nurse Amy from the Los Angeles General Children’s Hospital. There’s a recent issue regarding Seong Jin-ae.”

In-ho is back in Los Angeles in less than five hours. Four hours and thirty minutes, to be precise. The whole time Gi-hun is unable to give anything more than two worded answers. Mostly to the questions ‘are you hurt?’ ‘are you okay?’

But still, the whole time, for almost five hours, In-ho stayed on the phone with him.

When he reached the hospital, he ran to the front desk, asking for Seong Jin-ae. Another woman came around the corner, shook his hand and introduced herself as the nurse he had talked to over the phone. A doctor was behind her.

She explained that Jin-ae had developed pyloric stenosis, a rare gestational issue that is uncommon in babies older than three months. It occurred when the valve leading from the stomach to the small intestines thickened to the point that food cannot pass through.

“I-we weren’t able to get much out of Mr. Seong, but we were wondering if there was any medical history on the birth mother.”

“Yes, yes, I have her history. Sorry, it was a closed adoption.” They gather all medical information of the players beforehand. Jun-hee was an orphan, but her parents are known, deceased. She has no siblings or living relatives. The father was another player in the games, not that In-ho knew if Gi-hun knew that. 

He already swore to himself that he would never tell Gi-hun that one of the men he murdered that night was Jin-ae’s father.

They explain that they have an operation scheduled for tomorrow, that it would be wise for Gi-hun to leave the hospital and go home, but they are both free to spend however much time they need with Jin-ae.

“It’s a common procedure, even if it is a rare condition. I…is Jin-ae the first?” 

“She’s…it’s complicated, his oldest is a teen now.”

The nurse and doctor nodded sympathetically “We understand, but it’s been a few days. We were wondering if maybe Mr. Seong would be okay getting a change of clothes at least from home?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

They nodded their thanks, and finally showed In-ho the room they were in. 

Oh.

In-ho was never in a pediatric ward before, not before now. They had moved Jin-ae from the PICU to the pediatric floor once they were able to diagnose the problem. There are bright colors, and it reminded In-ho of a few times in the games, except now, he wasn’t in charge, not in the slightest.

The walls of the room were pink, with a little bassinet in the center of the room. There’s a nurse nearby, adjusting the IV drip - they had explained that with Jin-ae’s condition, she had a hard time keeping down anything and would need the drip to prevent dehydration. 

She looked even smaller from here, with tubes coming out of her and the pure white onesie they changed her into. 

The nurse politely nodded her head, wrote something down in her charts before leaving, nudging In-ho to a corner of the room.

Despite the fact that it was Jin-ae that needed treatment, Gi-hun somehow looked worse than she did. He’s sitting on a bright blue couch, with a circular purple stand on the side of him, and a green coffee table in front of him. He obviously hasn’t slept in a while, perhaps even longer than the few days he’s been here. 

The crib is beside him, pulled to him, along with the IV bag and pole and the other machines that monitor her. She has stickers all over her chest, connected to a heart monitor.

She’s awake now, giggling and smiling against all odds. She played with her feet and waved her hands and arms up and down when she saw In-ho. Or maybe that’s the look she does when she sees anyone. 

The procedure is a simple one, and all things considered, the diagnosis was relatively good. But it’s clear that the worrying got to Gi-hun, and with no one to ease his fears, he spiraled. 

In-ho would like to say that Gi-hun still had that fire in his eyes, that ferocity that made him so desirable.

But it only took a full minute to convince Gi-hun to get into the car.

In-ho guided Gi-hun into the apartment with a hand on his back, gently pushing him in and shutting the door behind him. The last time In-ho was here, there was a screeching baby in the background as well as an exhausted Gi-hun in front of him.

Now, it’s just Gi-hun and him. 

The apartment looked marginally better than the last time, at least there were nearly as many toys scattered around and the clothes were picked up. The dishes were still piled high and the attempts at feedings were evident by splatters on the floor and highchair. 

He’ll clean those up, he thought to himself as he managed to set Gi-hun down onto the couch. He knelt down in front of him, tugging his shoes off and throwing them aside. 

In-ho stayed in front of Gi-hun for a moment, the man’s eyes never meeting his own. He looked like he did when In-ho put him in the games for the second time, run down, with a grown out beard, and sweat-stained shirts. 

The man glanced to the side, the boxes from In-ho were still here, hand delivered to Gi-hun’s doorstep, the letters piled on top. 

All of them addressed to only one person. 

Gi-hun.

In-ho marched over to the gifts, there are five letters total and four gifts. In-ho did know of another one on the way, imported from Japan.

In-ho gathered them in his arms, letters and boxes, and disposed of them in front of Gi-hun. That distant and cold look quickly dissipated into a confused one. His eyes never met In-ho’s, instead onto the mess in front of him. 

In-ho attempted to sort them, the boxes first into smallest to biggest. Then the letters, he knew which ones were more emotionally charged because he always scribbled Gi-hun’s name a little harder with a pen than if it wasn’t as desperate. “You don’t have to read them, or even look at them, but do something. I’ll make some food, then we can do nothing,” he tapped the space next to the letters, “but please do something.”

In-ho turned to the kitchen, already debating if he should do the dishes or cook first. He decided to cook first, just so that Gi-hun could have some real food as soon as possible. 

When the rice was covered and the meat was relatively cooked, In-ho looked back at Gi-hun for the first time - wanting to assure himself that these letters weren’t for In-ho’s benefit, but for Gi-hun’s. He would like to lie to himself and say that he didn’t remember being hunched over a beaten and old notebook, furiously writing down his thoughts so that they couldn’t escape him before he said his piece. 

Gi-hun had already opened two boxes, the gifts beside him on the couch, and three letters opened in front of him.

In-ho turned back to the meat, stirring it around but his mind wandered elsewhere. However, his eyes always found Gi-hun's slouched form as he devoured the letters. In-ho took a deep breath, already feeling his own heart becoming increasingly more vulnerable.

My dear Gi-hun, 

You’ve yet to call, it’s been a long week already. I’m resisting the urge to pick up the phone first, but this time is for you, not for me.

I know I have done things that are inexcusable and unforgivable, and I know that it is more than likely I will die wishing that I had done more, or less, just because it hurt you so much.

I am not a religious man, my father used to drag me to church when my mother was still alive. My wife, Yeon-hee, was Catholic, and as such I used to spend my Sundays going to Mass with her. 

Regardless, I am not religious, and I know that you have not visited a church in many years as well, but, either way, I write my sins down here, so that they are out there and not in my mind continuously driving me mad…

Gi-hun and Jin-ae,

I wish you were both here with me. I have moved to Chicago for the moment, hoping that one day we may see each other. I thought it would be best to give the both of you some space. 

There is a festival going on downtown, and another one in a more rural part of Illinois. I may attend.

I do not wish to be so far from you, but I don’t want to scare you two. I don’t want to be inconsistent. I will be there, only if you wish for me to be. 

Gi-hun, please call me. I still have many things I want to say that would be inappropriate to write down, things that must be said in person, so that you may ask questions and I may answer them.

However, I know you, Gi-hun. And I know that the only reason why you would ever call me would be due to the fact that there is an emergency. It frightens me terribly so to be so far away from the two of you, knowing the dangers out in the real world, outside of that castle you guard with your life in that tiny apartment you deemed your home.

Still, I will only come when you call for me. 

I just wish it was sooner…

Dear Gi-hun,

You never tried to pry into me, and I do appreciate that. But I feel as though that is unequal. I know everything there is to know about you, right down to the hospital you were born in.

But you never asked, always on a mission, with a singular goal in mind. 

I wish that one day we could sit down and talk with each other, like friends. 

I wasn’t lying when I told you that you remind me of my wife. She was as stubborn as a mule, much like you. Once she had her mind set on something, it was impossible to change her mind. Even though it cost her life. 

We had trouble conceiving, for so long. And when we finally did, she grew ill. But, without our child still growing inside of her, she refused termination, saying that she couldn’t go through the fertility treatments again, the heartbroken nights, and the negative test again and again.

I competed in those games, I was handed the dagger, and told that I could win it all, if I just killed them in their sleep. 

And so I did, and for years, that darkness haunted me, because it all meant nothing in the end. She had been dead for four days at that point. And yet, for those four days, I was on top of the world, believing that what I was doing was for her, that I could make our future right.

For years, I told myself that I would never show someone the same favor I was shown, because winning only caused me grief, but knowing I won because I was given an advantage, was worse. 

I have convinced myself of an ugly future, a future that I spend alone and cold. 

Until you, that is.

You were not the first to compete in the games and still keep your humanity, but you were the first to do so without killing yourself less than two years in. I hate to say it, but Il-nam ordered me to send you those flowers. I didn’t want to, at the time, I had thought that if you weren’t strong enough to keep yourself alive, then you were not worth the reward money.

But you proved to be stronger than me. 

I will stay away, if you want me to, but it greatly pains me to do so. I see myself in you, I see my wife in you. I envy that you have the life I have always wanted, and yet, I wish to be a part of it. 

Please call, in case you have thrown away the number, it’s…

Gi-hun-ssi,

Do you remember that night? The night with the blood on your hands and a knife slipping from your grasp? Perhaps there have been too many nights like that, but I believe you know which one I am talking about.

You have two scars underneath your chin, one of which is angled a little more to your left ear than straight underneath your head. 

You frightened me that night, please, don’t do it again. I apologize for what I made you do, what you had to do to survive that night, but I assure you it was not in vain. She would have died the next day, that is for certain. 

If for nothing else, know that you saved her life…

Gi-hun,

Please call me. I have something to say.

There are four gifts. A pack of Gi-huns favorite cigarettes, a walker and a bouncer for Jinae, and a small crocheted stuffed animal - a frog. It has beady eyes and is about the size of Gi-hun’s hand, so it can't be for Jin-ae. 

It is not cute, in fact, it's a little ugly. But Gi-hun found himself loving this weird alien-frog thing.

The letters range from pages upon pages to a simple slip of paper crammed into an envelope. Gi-hun’s eyes rake over those words, again and again. He returned to them, piecing together the little truths In-ho left for him.

“Gi-hun?” In-ho called for him, standing just on the edge of the threshold between the kitchen and living room, “I-are you okay?”

Gi-hun stared up at him stupidly for a moment before returning his gaze to the paper still clenched in his hand, then the frog in his other. Only then did he realize that he was crying, wetness trailed down his face. He sniffed, wiped the tears with the back of his hand, put the letter down on the coffee table, but held onto the frog, “This thing is ugly.” 

It startled a laugh out of In-ho as he placed the dishes onto the coffee table: a heaping serving of rice and two bowls of kimchi-jjigae. “Well, it reminded me of you.” Gi-hun is only vaguely offended that such a horrid creature could possibly remind someone of him before In-ho was immediately forgiven as he placed one of the bowls in front of Gi-hun as he took his seat beside him, his eyes never leaving the letters still sprawled out on the table. 

Gi-hun knew that In-ho wrote them, and yet, a small part of him wanted to keep them close to him, that they were only for his eyes, not anyone else’s. 

They eat in silence for a moment, Gi-hun completely failed to realize just how hungry he was until that familiar sour and spiced soup hit his stomach. Table manners completely forgotten by that point, he piled rice onto the soup, scooping up mouthful after mouthful. 

In-ho is quick to serve Gi-hun seconds, then thirds, until about halfway through the third bowl did he finally speak, “So, you read them?”

With his appetite sated for now, Gi-hun put the bowl down, and leaned back into the couch, “Yes, I did.” 

That was all that was said. 

Gi-hun hadn’t…really had a chance to talk to In-ho before now. His anger still kept a firm grasp on him and he lashed out without cause, much like how he did to Jun-ho. 

Needless to say, he hasn’t had the chance to get to know In-ho as more than just the Frontman, as Young-il - the traitor, his tormentor. And maybe, for a very, very long time, that is all he will ever know In-ho as. 

But, for tonight, he is tired. He has been up for days as the doctors ran test after test, poking Jin-ae with needles and tubes and all the things that they said would help her, but he didn’t believe them. He swore he would do better this time - that was his promise, wasn’t it? And yet, it can’t help but feel as though he’s failing Jin-ae at every turn.

Gi-hun glanced over at the letters again. He can see the thought put into them, the care. It doesn’t sound like something In-ho would do. If just a few short months ago, someone had told him that the Frontman would be sending him little letters that hid the humane side of him, he would have called them crazy.

But now, he’s not so sure.

There’s a message in each and every one.

His greetings are always polite, but he never began with the same one, each one had a weight to them.

My dear Gi-hun - forgiveness

Gi-hun and Jin-ae - hope

Dear Gi-hun - regret

Gi-hun-ssi - fear

Gi-hun - desperation

It was all so clear, the puzzle pieces in front of him leading to a bigger picture. But, whether that was something that Gi-hun didn’t want to accept, or that it was something In-ho didn’t want him to see, he didn’t know.

The man doesn’t make him uncomfortable, but he can’t say that he made him happy either. It was strange, after so many years of hating In-ho without even knowing his face, or his hair, or his smile, Gi-hun simply didn’t have the energy for it anymore. 

In-ho does the dishes as Gi-hun packed a bag for the hospital tomorrow, a change of clothes for Jin-ae, some formula, and snacks for himself. 

Eventually, the day bled into the nighttime, and Gi-hun once again found himself sleeping with a monster underneath his roof. He only managed a few hours of sleep before he was abruptly woken up by a nightmare. 

Gi-hun hasn’t had a nightmare since In-ho left, and he almost laughed at the irony. However, it was In-ho that shook him awake, wiped the tears from his cheeks, and got him a glass of water. Gi-hun’s voice cracked from his parched throat. 

He still didn’t like In-ho, not in the slightest. But, he did appreciate the mask that fell around him, he was finally seeing someone that wasn’t a persona. He was seeing a real person, who did real things, and spoke real words to him.

And maybe, Gi-hun wanted to know Hwang In-ho a little bit better than he already did, more than the sprinkled information that was handed to him in those letters.

“Do you love me?” 

The question makes In-ho freeze, scared. He’s just setting down the diaper bag as Gi-hun gently puts Jin-ae into her crib, and hovering his hands over the little incision on her abdomen. 

The procedure went well, and Jin-ae was cleared to leave the hospital within an hour after the already short surgery. 

In-ho didn’t answer for a while, his words stuck in his throat. Gi-hun had turned his head around, but his eyes were downcast, however, searching for answers nonetheless.

Gi-hun doesn’t deserve to go on without a long overdue answer, In-ho decided, but he just didn’t know what it was yet. 

It’s too complicated, too much of everything to put one singular word to it. He wanted Gi-hun - wanted his body, his feelings, his life, everything that the man was willing to offer over to In-ho. He wanted to be a part of something he hasn’t been a part of in so long, a family. 

But to do that, would be to fix the problems In-ho has shoved deep into the darker areas of his memories, those parts that he can’t tell anyone else about. Jun-ho had been the closest, perhaps, to seeing who In-ho was beneath the exterior he built around himself.

But Jun-ho couldn’t understand, he couldn’t understand what In-ho had to do to survive, and just what it meant when he realized that all that money, that blood, those bodies, meant absolutely nothing.

In-ho wasn’t meant to go to the players’ dorm after Gi-hun won. He had watched from his room as Gi-hun did it. In-ho was supposed to stay upstairs until Gi-hun was ready to go and the baby was properly fed. He would then escort the two home.

But there was something in his chest, in his mind that wouldn’t let go of it. He decided to accompany the soldiers to retrieve Gi-hun, assuring himself that it was too cruel to have Gi-hun surrounded by those strangers when In-ho was just upstairs. 

In-ho entered first, expecting to see Gi-hun in the dim, golden light, bloodstained while holding the baby, perhaps weeping. 

Instead, Gi-hun had found himself a dim spot along the wall, the baby on the floor, still softly crying. 

Gi-hun was kneeling just a few feet away from her, the knife in his hand, raised up as he was about to dig it into his neck. In a split second, In-ho pulled out his own gun, pointed it, and shot the knife out of Gi-hun’s hand.

Gi-hun wasn’t mad at him, not like the other times. But he was tired, god, how long has it been since he’s slept, since he’s eaten anything?

In-ho had been terrified of losing Gi-hun, of losing someone else his brain and heart went to war on. A terrible combination of want and need and responsibility. 

“Yes,” In-ho says, but the word itself didn't feel like an affirmative, it was a plea, an ask to please give In-ho one last chance to make this right between them.

Because despite the blood on his hands, even after years of desperate cleansing, despite the hard exterior he had built so carefully around himself that no one could ever break them down, In-ho wanted this, he wanted Gi-hun, he wanted Jin-ae. He wanted to be able to feel human again, to have feelings and not punish himself for them. 

And yet, despite the fact that In-ho has learned, has grown, it’s Gi-hun that’s fallen back onto those defenses, those walls that he kept up for so many years that came crashing down are back again.

And it’s In-ho’s fault. He should’ve left Gi-hun alone, shouldn’t have tried to teach him a lesson. He was just…so angry with him, with himself. Despite countless attempts to send Gi-hun away, he always came back. 

However, In-ho can’t say that he regrets not sending Gi-hun away. He knew that he had his work cut out for him, especially if he wanted Gi-hun’s forgiveness. 

In-ho met Gi-hun’s eyes, hoping that there was something in there, something salvageable. But there wasn’t, not that he expected there to be. 

In-ho wetted his lips, looking away from Gi-hun’s sharp gaze, “I can leave in the morning, if you want me to.” 

Gi-hun doesn’t say anything, only a slight nod to say that he heard In-ho. In-ho pushed down his own disappointment, leaving the bedroom to go to the kitchen. 

Night comes in waves, In-ho doesn’t sleep. He wanted to barge into the bedroom from where he was on the couch, shake Gi-hun awake, and order him to tell In-ho exactly how he felt, that what In-ho knew was right was real and true, not a desperate attempt at love once again just to be shot down.

It’s almost two in the morning when he heard the crying. It’s not Jin-ae, too soft to be hers. Before he could stop himself, In-ho found himself halfway down the hall, pushing open the bedroom door with a creak.

Gi-hun is writhing in the bed, the blanket already on the floor. His lips in a thin line, pulled over his teeth, eyebrows close together. 

In-ho considered leaving, until he saw the tears on Gi-hun’s face, and a single word coming from his mouth, again and again. 

“Omma, omma, omma.”

Gi-hun woke up gasping, with In-ho’s hand on his shoulder, which he shrugged off, slipped on his slippers, and left the apartment with a silent click of the door.

In-ho counted to one hundred before checking Jin-ae, slipping on a jacket, grabbing another one for Gi-hun, and followed him out. He didn’t go very far, only to the sidewalk in front of the building. A lit cigarette was already hanging from his mouth. In-ho draped the jacket over Gi-hun’s shoulder, sat beside him on the curb, and fished out his own cigarette to smoke. 

They sit in silence, as they have been for many hours now. In-ho has said all he could now, it was up to Gi-hun. He can’t force himself into his life, into this already made family. 

What if he ruined it? What if Gi-hun saw just how broken he was? What if Gi-hun was only entertaining him because he knew that if he turned In-ho away once more, In-ho might as well drop off from the face of the Earth-

“You don’t have to leave in the morning, if you don’t want to,” Gi-hun said, blowing smoke from his mouth in a thin stream. 

In-ho tried not to seem too eager as he plucked the cigarette from his own mouth, “Do you want me to stay?”

Gi-hun flicked his cigarette onto the street, crushing it below his heel. “I’m willing to give you a chance, just as I gave myself a chance. If you want to leave, you can,” he added, standing up with a grunt, and pulling In-ho up with him, “but don’t leave a note this time,” he finished, his dark eyes swimming with something else that In-ho knew he wanted to say, but now wasn’t the right time for it.

Maybe in a few weeks, they’ll part ways with few words spoken between them, but with more that should’ve been said. Maybe in a few hours, Gi-hun will change his mind and tell In-ho to leave this little life he’s painstakingly made for them. 

And yet, In-ho is just glad to be given a chance, just as long as he doesn’t leave a lingering presence when he does leave.

However, In-ho never leaves. And Gi-hun never asked him to.

It took three weeks for them to share a bed, and only one more to share a kiss.

Two more weeks after that first kiss, the both of them finally say "I love you." 

And they never wanted to take those words back.

Chapter Text

“I’m scared.” Gi-hun confessed in a small voice as In-ho settled into the seat beside him. The highchair was set up next to In-ho so that the chair on the other side of Gi-hun was free. They had gotten to the restaurant early and were waiting for their guest.

In-ho sneakily slid his hand over top of Gi-hun’s, prying it away from where it was clenched in the pants’ fabric. They’re a bit overdressed for the restaurant they chose, but Ga-yeong had gushed about how much she loved Italian cuisine, giggling over facetime as Gi-hun’s face morphed into complete horror. 

The two of them picked a nice Italian spot, perhaps one single slot above Olive Garden in terms of fanciness. Of course, they can afford to eat internationally if they chose to (which Gi-hun did suggest more than once), but they didn’t want to intimidate Ga-yeong. However, Gi-hun wanted to make a good impression on his daughter. He had meticulously chosen a nice pair of pants and a dark gray long sleeved button down shirt. His hair was styled into messy, but neat, curls that In-ho usually found himself twirling. 

In-ho had dressed in a suit jacket without the button down and instead opted for a nice shirt and some slacks. While Jin-ae’s had a little bow in her hair, at only five months old she had a full head of it, as well as a playful jumper. 

Not the best money had to offer, but they agreed to keep their finances private, as it would raise too many questions.

The main goal for tonight’s dinner was to get a foot in the door with Ga-yeong’s trust. After years of breaking it, it was time to rebuilt it - misshapen, perhaps, but trust nonetheless.

And the first step was showing up.

Gi-hun’s eyes searched the restaurant, anxiously glancing at his wristwatch, before going ramrod stiff in his chair. In-ho followed his gaze and immediately landed on a teenager. Gi-hun swallowed, took a deep breath, squeezed In-ho’s hand, and the two of them stood. Ga-yeong’s tense face melted upon seeing her father. She’s also dressed nicely, a darker-colored sundress with her hair in a thick braid. She smiled big as soon as she laid her eyes on her father.

She’s with another woman, who In-ho hasn’t met yet, but he assumed this was Ga-yeong’s mother - Gi-hun’s ex-wife.  Gi-hun takes a few steps to greet them, thanking Ga-yeong’s mother for bringing her, and giving his eldest daughter a hug. 

Eun-ji gave Gi-hun a few instructions, but her face isn’t mean. She said goodbye to Ga-yeong and left the restaurant. 

Ga-yeong looks just like her father. She has his round face and his round eyes, and his smile. In-ho continued standing until she was seated and Gi-hun introduced the two of them. She smiled politely at In-ho, having known him briefly over Gi-hun’s many topics. She’s smart, in many ways. She possesses the social butterfly trait her father has, while also maintaining good grades and two clubs. 

The father and daughter catch up, spending nearly two hours just talking. Dinner goes by too fast, the first of many long-overdue visits. It’s clear Gi-hun is trying to drag it out for as long as he can, but Jin-ae quickly becomes fussy, it’s both getting to her bedtime and she’s been outside for a few hours now. 

In-ho paid for dinner and they all stood to leave. Gi-hun stole Jin-ae away to the bathroom, leaving In-ho and Ga-yeong waiting for him. Ga-yeong knew of In-ho, but he could tell she was a little weary of the man before her. In-ho leaned against the faux-brick wall while she stood ramrod straight, her hands together in front of her. 

The silence doesn’t last long between them, she has Gi-hun’s curiosity, as well as his innate sense of justice. The very first thing out of her mouth, the very first words she said to the strange man she just had dinner with were, “If you hurt appa, I’ll kill you.” 

In-ho smiled, she’s fiery and smart, just like her father. “I don’t intend to.” He said, his voice low just for her, like it was a secret between them.

“I’m serious, he’s…he’s different now. And I don’t know how I feel about it. But I know that when he loves…he loves a lot, if that makes sense. And I’m worried.” 

Okay, maybe she’s a little too smart for her age. Gi-hun said she’s fourteen and is class president and on track. She volunteered on the weekend at the local animal shelter. 

In-ho doesn’t say anything, but he does tilt his head, encouraging her to continue. 

“I mean…with the baby, and you, and the things that he’s never been able to afford before now…it’s just weird.”

“Your father loves you, that’s never changed.” 

“It’s not that…but…”

“Like you’re stepping into someone else’s life?”

“...yeah.”

In-ho sighed, afraid of saying the wrong thing to the wrong girl, but, “I understand,” he knew that fear, the thought of never belonging in a family that was supposed to be your own and only yours. “Your father loves you, more than anything. It’s just that…that love has been shifted many times now. But it doesn’t change the fact that he still loves you.”

Gi-hun came out of the bathroom a few seconds later, pausing at the teary-eyed pair, before brushing it off to drive Ga-yeong home as well as the three of them. 

He doesn’t ask In-ho about his conversation with Ga-yeong. Despite having been together for some months now, there were some things that they just decided were best unsaid.

One day, many months later, Gi-hun asked In-ho if there were other games around the world. “We have a life now, In-ho. Something good and steady. I don’t want our girls knowing that side of the world.”

“You want to keep their innocence?”

“As much as I can before the world takes it away.”

In-ho lied, saying there were none. The games ended with the Korean games, he said. He doesn’t tell him this for Gi-hun’s own good, he doesn’t even tell him this for the sake of their daughter. He tells Gi-hun this simply because if there was one single trait that Hwang In-ho has never been able to shake, it has been that deep down, he is selfish, through and through.

Because he wanted Gi-hun to stay, with him, with Jin-ae. He loved the little world they’ve carved out for themselves, and only themselves.

He knew that it was likely that Gi-hun would figure it out, and waited and waited for the day to come that Gi-hun had tears in his eyes and ugly words to say. That he would pick up Jin-ae and leave In-ho behind, but In-ho wouldn’t care, because the likelihood that Gi-hun found a recruiter again was minimal.

And Gi-hun, whether he liked it or not, would be safe.

But Gi-hun never figured it out, not after two months, not after two years, not even decades later. 

Gi-hun never figured out the one deep secret that In-ho kept close to him.

Gi-hun figured out about the other games only two months after he and In-ho were officially unofficial, somewhere after Gi-hun added In-ho’s name to the lease but before they officially began to date.

He found out because one day after going to the store, decided to take a backroad rather than the main road.

A harsh, but familiar noise drew his attention to an alleyway. 

A blonde woman with a red square, playing ddjaki with someone else, slapping them when they fail to flip the tile. 

The scene drew up those memories that Gi-hun took care to shove deep into his subconscious. His feet were hitting the pavement as the groceries fell to the ground before he could stop himself.

He doesn’t get there in time to catch her, but he does rip up the card she handed to the man. 

Gi-hun walked back to the apartment in a furious rage. How dare he? How dare In-ho lie to him like that? They-they had promised each other that if they were going to raise Jin-ae together, live together, there could be no more secrets, no more lies.

When Gi-hun entered the apartment, ready to blow up on In-ho, Jin-ae was already screaming and an apologetic looking In-ho called for him from the bathroom, “Gi-hun! Help! Please!”

So bath time is not In-ho’s strong suit, as was made obvious by the water on the floor, the baby soap bottle half empty, bath toys all over the floor, a soaking wet In-ho, and a somehow perfectly dry Jin-ae.

It startled a laugh out of Gi-hun, and for a moment, he forgot what he was mad about. 

That night, Gi-hun decided he would confront In-ho. They were watching a movie, a kinda shitty one that In-ho swore was his favorite, but the only thing Gi-hun managed to laugh at was the awful CGI, not that he would tell In-ho that. Still they had been curled up on the couch, not quite touching just yet when Jin-ae came into the room. Gi-hun spared her a glance before realizing that she was balancing on two wobbly legs by herself, taking cautious steps forward.

“She’s walking! She’s walking!” Gi-hun excitedly said while In-ho jerked around and fumbled with his pockets to find his phone and record it.

It will be a year later that In-ho will ask Gi-hun to marry him, where Gi-hun will say yes. 

It’ll be a month after that when they will find themselves holding a now-toddler-age Jin-ae with In-ho in front of an apartment door and Gi-hun hovering close by with Jin-ae and a diaper bag slung over his shoulder.

“Maybe you should talk to him first.” 

“Last time I saw him, I hit him square in the jaw, In-ho. I don’t think he’ll want to see me.”

“I think he likes you better-”

They’re outside for all of ten minutes before the door opens to a ruffled Jun-ho. His eyes met In-ho’s first, then Gi-hun, then finally, the little girl in his arms. 

He’s quiet for a moment, In-ho is as well. The silence is so fragile that it might just shatter if they whisper.

Until, Jun-ho embraced In-ho in a tight hug. He’s shaking, afraid that In-ho is a ghost. The brothers hold and cry together, painfully reminding Gi-hun of his late mother.

Jun-ho apologized to Gi-hun first, explaining himself in a sobbing fit. Gi-hun apologized to Jun-ho. In-ho apologized to Jun-ho, and Jun-ho apologized to In-ho. Woo-seok practically cried over Gi-hun’s resurfacing, as well as the little girl he had attached to her - even if he did mistake her for Ga-yeong a few times.

Jun-ho met his niece, who he did cry over. Jun-ho will stay in Korea, but they do visit at least once every month. They always stay close to Ga-yeong’s home. 

Gi-hun doesn’t miss a recital, a debate, a meeting, a drop off, or a single pick-up for years. 

In-ho made up with his stepmother and his brother, more accepting of help after learning a few things from Gi-hun.

Even though the two of them are the only ones to tell the tales of what really happened on an abandoned island in the middle of nowhere, they never speak of it again. Even when upset with each other, they allow that part of history to continue to be buried.

They both have nightmares, Gi-hun more than In-ho. But with time that heals many open wounds, they become lesser. They become more dependent on each other, but their love now extended beyond themselves and a small two-bedroom apartment. It involved Ga-yeong, Jun-ho, In-ho’s stepmother, Gi-hun’s late mother, In-ho’s late wife, the living, and the dead. 

Love does not save, but it can heal.

It was impossible to think that a few years ago, Gi-hun had been running away from the one person that could truly understand him. They both feared the same thing - even if they never admitted it - that what they did, how they survived, was not necessary. 

But it was. In-ho never tells Gi-hun what the last game was, but he did know that if the baby was eliminated, Gi-hun would follow her soon after. And if Gi-hun went…then so would she.

But, for now, they were alive.

And yet, they will die, as everyone does, but not after living to see Jin-ae’s graduation and Jun-ho’s wedding many years later. After they both travel all around the world to most of Asia, parts of Europe, as well as the Americas. 

Gi-hun will go first, into the only part of life where In-ho cannot follow him. Years of smoking and stress that could not be undone. He will pass with his two daughters by his side, Ga-yeong’s partner and Jin-ae’s fiance, and a hospice nurse that stepped out of the living room that was converted for Gi-hun’s bed. In-ho will have stepped out of the house to go to a coffee shop that was a three minute walk down from their house, his brother beside him, only because Gi-hun had asked for the too-sweet coffee from down the road. By the time he returns, Gi-hun will have been dead for four minutes. And, had he been in his forties again, he might’ve not been very far behind Gi-hun.

But he had to be strong, for his daughter, for himself. 

In-ho will live to walk Jin-ae down the aisle at her wedding three months later, and he will pass away a week afterwards from a heart attack. He will die the way he always thought he would: alone. As Jin-ae was on her honeymoon, Ga-yeong would be teaching, and Jun-ho would find his brother’s body an hour later. 

In-ho never thought too favorably about death, he knew that it must happen, and the thought of death chased him around like a bad dog nipping at his heels. He had once kept a loaded gun underneath his pillow for intruders, and sometimes for himself, but he now kept one unloaded in a lockbox.

He stopped fearing death a long time ago, but having a life that was full of laughter and sunshine was just worth it. 

In-ho survived for as long as he did not because of his craftiness, or his deception, but because he always wanted to live. And yet, once Gi-hun was gone, and Jin-ae moved out, it felt as though he knew his own life was coming to an end. 

But he will die, again, as everyone does, but he will die in a way that he never thought possible: old and satisfied.

And sometimes, that’s all anyone could wish for.