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They hadn’t even made it halfway down the hall after the hide-and-seek game, the sharp, fluorescent lighting of the arena still burning at their backs, when Namgyu noticed it — a faint glint of metal peeking out from beneath the collar of Minsu’s jacket.
The cross. The chain. Peeking out of Minsu’s collar.
He crossed the hallway with a sharp stride, eyes fixed, locked on that glint like it was a target in his scope. His hand shot out before Minsu could react, fingers curling around the chain and yanking it hard - so hard Minsu stumbled forward, the breath knocked out of him.
The cross swung free.
Namgyu’s fingers snapped the locket open.
One pill left.
There were two when he lost it.
For a split second, all the breath left his lungs - and then, a short, disbelieving laugh escaped him.
“No fucking way.”
He looks up at Minsu, eyes wide with sick amusement.
“You. You took it?”
Minsu doesn’t respond. His lips are dry, his face pale, his hands slightly shaking.
Namgyu grins — and then snaps.
“You little rat!”
He slams Minsu against the wall, arm across his chest.
“You slimy, silent, sniveling little piece of shit-”
He grabs Minsu’s jaw, forcing him to look up.
“Couldn’t open your mouth for three days straight, and now you’re out here stealing his stuff?”
Minsu tries to pull away - not to fight, just out of instinct - but Namgyu doesn’t let go.
“Took his pill stash like it meant something? Thought that would help you sleep at night?”
His pupils darken. So does his voice.
“Didn’t ever say a fucking word, but had no problem pocketing what he left behind?”
He leans in closer, voice lower, colder.
“You’re not special. You’re not smart. You’re not useful. You’re just a scared little freak who hid on top of the bunks while Semi got her throat ripped open.”
Minsu flinches like he’s been slapped.
Namgyu laughs again.
“Oh, that hit a nerve, huh?”
He leans back, mock sympathy on his face.
“Poor Minsu. Couldn’t even kill someone without a chemical push. You’re not a player, you’re a parasite.”
Minsu’s knees start to give. He grips the wall behind him, fingers shaking.
Namgyu doesn’t stop.
“What were you trying to do, huh? Impress me? Make me give a shit? Newsflash, dumbass: if you’d just asked, maybe I’d have handed it over.”
A pause.
“But no. You stole it. Because you’re too fucking cowardly to say a single word unless you’re hallucinating.”
He pushes Minsu against the wall once again. Hard.
Then he steps back, breathing hard, eyes burning with fury and crash and something else he doesn’t want to name.
“You’re dead weight now.”
A final look.
“The others carried you until now. Now it’s only us left, remember? Don’t expect me to fucking save you.”
And with that, he turns around, leaving Minsu against the wall, shaking, humiliated, and completely alone.
——————
Namgyu’s lying on his back.
One arm over his face, one leg hanging off the bunk. He’s tired. Sweating. Muscles buzzing from withdrawal. But sleep won’t come. Not after that.
His brain won’t shut up. Keeps replaying it.
“You little rat.”
“You’re not useful. You’re a parasite.”
“Couldn’t kill someone without drugs-”
His jaw tightens.
He tells himself it was justified. Minsu stole. Used up the last stash. Got high like a fucking idiot and stumbled through the game like a liability.
But then-
The image flickers back in. Something about the look on Minsu’s face when Namgyu threw the cross at him. How still he was. How pale.
He shifts slightly. Glances sideways toward the bunks across from him.
Sees the outline.
Minsu. Curled into himself. Still in that hoodie. Still hasn’t moved.
Namgyu frowns.
He waits. Watches.
Nothing.
Not a twitch. Not even a roll to the side.
Then… something. A faint, irregular sound. Wet breathing. Not snoring. More like… struggling.
Namgyu sits up, slowly.
Listens.
There. Again. A hitch in the chest. Too fast. Too shallow.
His mouth goes dry.
He pushes off the mattress, steps lightly between the bodies. Makes his way to the side of the bunk.
Gets close enough to see the sweat glistening on Minsu’s face.
His whole body’s trembling. Hands twitching inside the hoodie sleeves. His lips slightly open, dry. His chest rises in uneven jerks.
And his eyes?
Wide. Staring. Unfocused.
Namgyu blinks.
Whispers into the silence of the hall.
“Minsu…?”
Nothing.
“Shit.”
He crouches next to Minsu’s bed.
“Hey. Minsu. Shit-” he slaps his cheek, just once. “Ya, wake up. What the fuck are you doing?”
Still no response. Just ragged, silent panic. His fingers are cold and shaking violently.
Namgyu grabs his shoulder, hard.
“Fucking stop playing games with me, Minsu!Fucking hell...”
He notices Minsu isn’t even reacting to him grabbing his shoulder. Usually he would slap it away or at least look at him signalising him to stop, but… nothing.
Namgyu gulps.
“You’re not even with me, are you-“
After a few seconds of panicking he wants to grab Minsu’s water bottle he always keeps right next to his bed but reaches into air. His hand then hitting the floor.
No water bottle.
His eyes flick toward the end of the bunk - nothing. Minsu didn’t get himself one today. Idiot didn’t even prepare for basic survival.
——————
Namgyu stands up fast.
Looks around.
They’re not allowed to use the sinks at night. The guards won’t accept it.
He gets up, jogging toward his own bunk. Grabs the bottle from under his sheet - half full.
“Fucking hell—”
He stalks back over, uncaps it, forces Minsu to sit up a bit more upright. Grabs his chin with one hand, the other lifting his head.
“You want to die quietly, huh?”
“Could’ve said something. Or dropped dead louder, dumbass—”
He tilts the bottle slowly, lets a few drops fall into Minsu’s mouth.
Minsu coughs, weak, but swallows.
Namgyu lets out a breath.
“You took that shit for the first time and didn’t drink a drop of water for what, twenty hours?”
He puts the lid back on his bottle looking at Minsu with furrowed eyebrows.
“You are the worst junkie I’ve ever seen.”
He pauses.
Realization hitting full force now.
If he hadn’t looked…
If he hadn’t noticed…
If he’d waited just one more hour-
Minsu would’ve died. Three bunks away. No noise. No one would’ve even known why.
Namgyu stares at him. At the burned out shell of the boy who wouldn’t even ask for help. Who stole Thano’s cross after Namgyu’s lost it. Keeping it probably just because he knew it would drive Namgyu mad. He didn’t expect Minsu to fucking swallow one of the pills, though.
He thinks. Even though Minsu barely ever talks and if he does it’s never about himself. Maybe he was scared? Didn’t want to die? Took the pills because he thought that’s how he’s gonna survive the game?
Which..
turned out to be true Namgyu figures.
And something twists in his chest.
He grips Minsu’s jaw, less harsh now — but his voice is still pure venom:
“You’re lucky I fucking looked.”
“You were about to die right here like a cockroach in that fucking numbered Holdie and no one would’ve noticed.”
He wipes Minsu’s forehead roughly with his sleeve.
“You better stay alive, Minsu. Just so I can beat the shit out of you later.”
And still, Minsu clings faintly to consciousness. Eyes unfocused. Breathing shallow.
Namgyu breathes through his teeth.
“You want to kill yourself, fine. Just don’t do it while I’m trying to sleep.”
He doesn’t move.
Doesn’t leave.
Just sits there. Silent. Hand still cupping Minsu’s skull. Jaw clenched.
And he stays there.
Looking around the hall occasionally.
Waits.
Waits.
But Minsu doesn’t settle.
The trembling won’t stop — it gets worse.
His knees twitch. His fingers dig into his own arms like he’s trying to crawl out of his skin. One foot kicks out with a violent jolt, almost knocking Namgyu’s hand away.
“Minsu. Ya- cut it out.”
Namgyu tries to hold his wrists down. It doesn’t work. Minsu isn’t there — he’s trapped somewhere else, chest heaving, air too thin, eyes darting to corners of the room like he’s seeing something no one else can.
His lips move. No sound.
Namgyu leans in, furious whisper.
“What are you saying, huh? Talk.”
Minsu doesn’t.
Can’t.
His throat works like he’s choking on air.
Namgyu swears again. Pushes the bottle aside. Slaps his cheek again, harder.
“You’re not gonna fucking die in your sleep. You hear me?”
Minsu jerks. Gasps. Still doesn’t come back.
Namgyu grabs the side of his hoodie, rips the zipper open halfway to let the heat out.
“You’re burning up—fucking melting from the inside—what the hell were you thinking?!”
He’s breathing fast now too. Kneeling in a cold sweat beside a guy whose body is giving up on him, and he doesn’t even know how to stop it.
“If I hadn’t checked—”
He glares down at him, voice dropping to a hoarse whisper:
“You were gonna die three meters away from me like it was nothing.”
His hand curls into a fist on the mattress.
“I would’ve woken up next to a corpse. And you don’t even care, do you?”
Minsu’s still trembling — not just shaking, trembling, like every muscle is clenching on its own. His eyes are wide open, but he’s barely blinking.
“This isn’t a crash,” Namgyu mutters. “This is a fucking shutdown.”
He scrapes a hand through his hair, stands up halfway, eyes wild.
Then crouches back down.
One hand on Minsu’s cheek.
One on his chest.
Feeling every uneven breath. Every shudder.
He’s whispering now, just to himself.
“Come on. Come on. Come back. Just blink or something—say one fucking word. Anything.”
Minsu doesn’t blink.
Doesn’t speak.
Just stares through him.
Namgyu’s kneeling beside the bunk, hunched, one hand braced on the mattress. His other still rests against Minsu’s damp, burning cheek.
He’s whispering curses. Not even to Minsu anymore — just out loud, just to keep himself anchored.
“If you die like this I’ll fucking drag your soul back and kill you again—”
Minsu twitches.
Barely.
Namgyu stops.
Watches.
Then—movement. Minsu’s arm shifts. Weak. Glitching.
And suddenly his whole body lurches toward the edge of the mattress — toward Namgyu.
His hands fumble, then grip Namgyu’s hoodie. Clumsy. Like muscle memory.
And then—
His forehead presses into Namgyu’s chest.
Like he’s hiding there.
Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
Namgyu doesn’t move.
His breath catches.
Just one second.
Then another.
Minsu breathes out — still shallow, still wrong, but there — and clutches tighter to the front of Namgyu’s hoodie like he thinks letting go might kill him.
Namgyu looks down at him.
This shaking, overheated, humiliated mess of a boy who didn’t even say one word — and still crawled straight into him without thinking.
And something in Namgyu short-circuits.
His hands hover.
Not sure where to land.
Not used to being needed.
He glances over his shoulder — the other players are mostly asleep, dead quiet, save for some of them fighting nightmares and some talking in their sleep.
He looks back down.
And then?
He sinks.
Sits down fully beside the bunk.
Leans back against the frame.
And lets Minsu stay there — still gripping his shirt, still breathing like it hurts.
He wraps one arm around his back. Not tight. Just enough.
And mutters:
“You better not remember this.”
No answer.
Namgyu closes his eyes.
“If you ever tell anyone you pulled this shit, I’ll fucking end you.”
Minsu doesn’t move.
But his breathing?
Starts to slow.
Just barely.
Namgyu shifts slightly, trying not to jostle the boy curled into him. Minsu’s forehead is pressed against his chest, hoodie bunched in his fists, breathing still wrong - but quieter now.
Less like he’s dying.
More like he’s about to remember he almost did.
And that’s when it hits.
All at once.
——————
Minsu flinches. Not hard. But real.
Namgyu looks down just as Minsu jerks back slightly - not away, just pulling his face out of Namgyu’s hoodie like he’s gasping for air.
His fingers claw tighter.
And then—
His breath hitches.
His lips part in a silent sob, and his body folds in half before Namgyu can even ask what’s happening.
He starts shaking again — but different this time.
Deeper. Sharper.
His ribs contract like he’s been punched, and then suddenly the air in his chest just won’t come out right.
“hkk—hkkk—hhkkk”
Dry. Hitching. Hyperventilating.
Namgyu grabs his shoulders.
“Minsu—hey—shit.”
Minsu covers his own face with one hand — like it might block the whole world out. Like he’s trying to disappear.
He makes a sound — low, painful — humiliating. A cracked, involuntary sob that escapes through his clenched teeth.
Namgyu’s voice drops. Not soft — but different. Urgent.
“Hey. Look at me. Look at me. You’re fine, do you hear me? You’re—Shibal— you’re breathing, that’s enough.”
Minsu’s hand slips, hits Namgyu’s chest again. Grabs him like a life raft.
His head bows low, and his whole back spasms as a wave of silent sobs rip through him — like a dam breaking. No words. No sound. Just shaking, and teeth clenched, and tears hitting Namgyu’s hoodie without mercy.
Namgyu’s jaw locks.
“Goddamn it,” he mutters, and drags him back in.
“You waited until now to fall apart?”
Minsu sobs harder. Still silent, but shaking so violently that Namgyu has to hold him down to keep him from thrashing.
Namgyu curls around him now. One arm firm around his back, one hand braced behind his neck, pulling his head back into his chest.
“It’s over. You’re not dying. You’re not— fuck, Minsu, breathe.”
Minsu can’t.
His breath is shallow, desperate — and now the tears won’t stop. His chest jerks, fists still tangled in Namgyu’s hoodie, and there’s no hiding this.
Not anymore.
Namgyu presses his cheek to Minsu’s hair.
“Just fucking stay here, okay? Don’t—don’t move.”
His voice is too tight.
He hates how tight it is.
“You scared the shit out of me, you fucking idiot.”
Minsu trembles harder.
Namgyu holds him tighter.
And for a long time, they stay just like that.
One of them falling apart.
The other holding the pieces together with nothing but worn-down rage and a hoodie soaked in someone else’s tears.
Namgyu’s hoodie is damp under Minsu’s cheek — from sweat, tears, and all the air he couldn’t breathe earlier.
The sobs are slowing now.
Still hiccupy, but less violent.
Minsu’s fists loosen just a little in the fabric.
Namgyu hasn’t moved.
Not since he curled his arms around him and told him not to die.
Not since he felt Minsu shatter in real time.
He’s not even thinking. He just keeps holding.
Until—
A faint sound.
Barely a breath.
Minsu shifts his head against Namgyu’s chest and tries to speak.
“…mmmnn…i—…aa…”
A rasp. A warble. Just a mess of syllables.
Namgyu tenses.
Leans back slightly, just enough to look at him.
“What?”
Minsu tries again. Jaw slack, throat bone-dry, eyes glassy.
“…ah…i… i di—…”
Nothing comes out right. It’s not words. Just sounds. Apology? Explanation? It dies on his tongue.
Namgyu stares at him.
One beat.
Then his mouth twists.
And he barks out a laugh — bitter, disgusted.
“Oh, great. Now you decide to talk.”
He pulls back fully, just enough to let Minsu breathe on his own.
“That was supposed to be a sentence? You sound like someone dropped a toaster in a bucket.”
Minsu flinches.
Namgyu doesn’t stop.
“What, you want a fucking medal for finally opening your fucking mouth?”
Minsu looks down, face hot with shame.
Namgyu grits his teeth. Runs a hand through his own hair, furious, exhausted.
“You almost died.”
“Do you get that? Do you even remember what you did to yourself?”
“And now you want to fucking mumble about it like it’s too hard to explain?”
He exhales through his nose. Looks away. Then looks back — more biting, more brittle.
“If you’re gonna risk your life, at least fucking say something about it…”
A short pause.
Then; quieter.
“…please.”
His voice cracks slightly on the last words.
He hates that.
He looks away again. Hands still trembling.
Minsu shifts, just barely — still pressed against him. Still not moving far. Like he knows better now. Like he wants the insults more than silence.
Namgyu sighs.
One hand reaches back — slow. Not gentle. But it lands on Minsu’s shoulder again.
Stays there.
Minsu blinks slowly against Namgyu’s chest.
Eyes red. Face damp. Throat raw.
Namgyu’s still sitting there, spine pressed to the metal bunk post, one arm loosely draped across the back of Minsu’s hoodie. His thumb drags slow lines over the curve of Minsu’s shoulder. Barely noticeable, but constant.
He hasn’t spoken again.
He’s just… there.
Silent. Steady.
And then — Minsu shifts.
His fingers twitch against Namgyu’s shirt. Uncurl.
They hover for a second — like he’s not sure if he’s allowed.
Then trail slowly down, finding the hem of Namgyu’s hoodie. Following it to the hip.
To the water bottle, resting beside his leg.
Namgyu doesn’t stop him.
Doesn’t say anything.
Minsu’s hand fumbles slightly. Grabs it. But his hands are too weak. He almost drops it.
Namgyu catches it without a word, steadies it, then unscrews the cap for him.
Tips the bottle gently toward Minsu’s mouth.
“Small sips.”
It’s not warm. It’s not soft.
But it’s not cruel either.
Minsu obeys. Tiny gulps. Barely enough to wet his throat. But it helps.
Namgyu watches him drink.
Watches how careful he is now.
And when Minsu finishes, breathing shallow but calmer now, Namgyu caps the bottle again and puts it back by his side.
Still says nothing.
Still caresses his shoulder.
He doesn’t ask why Namgyu helped him.
He asks why he stopped him.
Because in his mind, that was already set.
He didn’t scream. He didn’t move. He was quiet. That should’ve been enough.
But Namgyu didn’t let him go.
So now Minsu, curled into the person he expected would look the other way, finally speaks — broken, barely audible, but finally real:
“Why… why aren’t you l– letting me die…?”
“…i… i thought i was quiet enough…”
And Namgyu?
Freezes.
The thumb on his shoulder stops moving.
His whole body goes still.
And for a long second — he just stares at the wall.
Breathing once. Twice. Like the sentence hit somewhere he didn’t know existed.
Then — almost too quiet to hear:
“…Fuck you.”
No venom.
No volume.
Just… shattered.
He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t push him off.
But his fingers curl tighter into the fabric of Minsu’s hoodie — not yanking, just clutching, like Minsu might disappear if he doesn’t hold on.
“That’s not funny.”
“You don’t say shit like that.”
A beat.
“…You’re not allowed.”
His voice wavers. He swallows it down.
Still not looking at him.
Then, quieter:
“I didn’t pull you out just to hear that.”
And then, under his breath — barely audible:
“…You think I’d let you go that easy?”
Silence.
Namgyu blinks hard. Rubs one hand over his face like he can wipe the sentence away.
Then mutters — almost bitterly:
“Next time you want to die, don’t use my drugs.”
But his hand?
Still on Minsu’s back.
Still holding him there.
Because no matter what he says, he’s not letting go.
——————
It comes out as a choked, angry sob, like something he’s never let himself say before:
“Why didn’t you fucking let me die…”
”…I was trying so… so hard to keep silent.”
And that’s when it breaks something in Namgyu.
Namgyu doesn’t react at first.
Just sits there.
One hand still gripping Minsu’s hoodie. The other curled into a fist against the mattress.
He heard it.
He felt it.
And it was worse than anything that happened during the games.
Because Minsu didn’t scream.
Didn’t beg.
Didn’t cry out for help.
He chose silence.
And he was so sure that if he was quiet enough, no one would stop him.
Namgyu swallows.
Hard.
His grip on the fabric tightens. So hard his knuckles go white.
“Don’t say that.”
It’s low. Croaked. A warning.
Minsu trembles harder, tears streaking across his flushed face. His mouth opens like he’s going to say something else — but it just collapses into another shaking breath.
“I was trying— I thought—”
Namgyu snaps.
His voice sharp. Too loud for the sleeping dorm. But he doesn’t care.
“You thought no one would notice? That you’d just— just fucking slip away like some coward?”
He shoves the bottle aside, turns to face him fully.
“You think being quiet means it doesn’t matter? That no one gives a shit what happens to you?”
Minsu doesn’t answer. Just shakes.
“You’re such a fucking idiot.”
His voice cracks again — fury and fear tangled together, words shaking on the edge of sounding like grief.
“You don’t get to leave like that.”
“You don’t get to do it where I can see it—hear it—and then just disappear.”
He leans in. His hand finds the back of Minsu’s neck. Firm. Not letting go.
“You breathed funny, and I noticed. That’s how quiet you were.”
“You think I would’ve slept through that?”
Silence. Minsu’s tears keep falling.
Namgyu closes his eyes. Just for a second.
Then, softer - but only just:
“I noticed. And I got to you in time.”
He opens his eyes.
“So you don’t get to ask me why.”
Another beat.
Then, even quieter:
“You’re still here. Because I said so.”
And that’s the only reason he gives.
Because Namgyu doesn’t know how to say “I care”
But he knows how to say “You live. Because I decided it.”
And right now, for Minsu?
That’s enough.
“I– it took you like an hour to notice, you piece of shit.”
“You could’ve waited a bit longer…”
And it hits so hard, because even now — even after collapsing into Namgyu’s chest, even after begging for death with tears down his face — he still masks it in insults.
Namgyu stares at him.
Jaw clenched.
His hand’s still on the back of Minsu’s neck, thumb curling slightly into the damp hair at his nape. Not enough to hurt — but enough to remind him I’m still here.
And after a long second, Namgyu snorts.
“An hour?”
“You were fucking twitching like a cockroach in a microwave and I thought you were just having a breakdown like a normal person.”
He doesn’t mean it.
Minsu knows he doesn’t mean it.
But his breath catches anyway — something between a sob and a laugh.
Namgyu exhales.
“And you could’ve gotten your own damn water, but I forgot you’re an overdramatic baby who skips hydration because he thinks no one fucking cares.”
Minsu closes his eyes.
Lets the insult wash over him.
And whispers again - barely:
“You really should’ve just waited longer.”
Namgyu freezes.
Then mutters, low:
“Yeah, well.”
He presses his hand a little firmer against Minsu’s back.
“Too bad for you.”
And that’s all he says.
Because maybe he did wait too long.
Maybe he’s still punishing himself for that.
But Minsu’s alive.
And he’s staying alive.
Because Namgyu decided that’s how this ends.
The words hang in the air —
“You should’ve waited longer.”
Namgyu doesn’t answer this time.
——————
He hears the strain in Minsu’s voice. How rough it is. Like sandpaper on an open wound.
He feels how the boy’s still trembling against him. Not like before - not full-body panic - but these subtle, broken jolts, like his muscles are firing off the wrong instructions.
Namgyu leans back slightly.
Looks at him properly.
And now that the tears have slowed and the silence is heavier…
He sees it.
The sheen of sweat along Minsu’s hairline.
The way his lips are still pale, like his circulation is wrecked.
The slight shake in his hands that hasn’t stopped.
The rise and fall of his chest that’s still too fast.
“Shit…”
Namgyu curses under his breath.
Again.
“You’re still fucking dying.”
He shifts. Gently lowers Minsu down to lie flat on the bunk — not pushing him away, just adjusting. His hand finds the water bottle again. He unscrews it fast.
“More.”
Minsu doesn’t respond at first.
Just stares, eyes glassy again.
Namgyu brings the bottle up. Presses it to his lips.
“Drink.”
Minsu obeys this time. Barely.
A few drops spill down his chin.
Namgyu wipes it with his sleeve.
“I swear to god,” he mutters, way too quietly, “if you make me watch you die again tonight—”
He stops himself.
Just holds the bottle to his lips again. Lets him drink more. Slow.
“You’re gonna feel worse before you feel better. So don’t start acting like this is the worst part.”
Another slow sip.
Minsu’s fingers twitch, trying to grip the bottle.
Namgyu lets him.
“You don’t get to leave just ‘cause your dumbass threw pills without any experience.”
Beat.
“You don’t have any experience, do you?”
Minsu shakes his head - just barely.
Namgyu sighs, even though he could already imagine his answer.
“You fucking idiot.”
But his voice cracks a little at the end again.
And his hand?
Still holding the back of Minsu’s neck. Still cooling him down. Still staying.
Because he’s not going anywhere until this boy stops shaking.
And even then?
He might still stay.
Minsu’s brain is still crashing, and now the panic has blurred into shame.
His body’s failing. His dignity’s gone. He’s sick, sweaty, and vulnerable — and the one person holding him is the same one who’s spent days mocking him, threatening him, watching him.
So of course his instinct is to flinch emotionally.
And what does he say?
“Don’t you want me dead? What the fuck are you doing.”
It’s a whisper. A rasp. But it burns.
Namgyu stiffens.
The water bottle pauses at Minsu’s lips.
He lowers it slowly. Sets it down beside them.
And he looks at Minsu — eyes sharp, unreadable. Jaw clenched so tight it looks painful.
For a moment, he says nothing.
Then:
“…Say that again.”
No anger.
No volume.
Just a voice so quiet it feels like a warning.
Minsu doesn’t repeat it — not because he’s scared, but because he’s too weak.
His lips part again. Maybe to talk. Maybe to breathe.
Namgyu exhales through his nose - once, sharp. His hand rakes through his hair.
“You think I’d go through all this if I wanted you dead?”
His voice lifts. Not loud - but hot. Like it’s boiling just under the surface.
“I dragged your twitching corpse out of your fucking grave and poured my own water down your throat - what do you think that was for, huh?”
Minsu flinches at the word “corpse.” But Namgyu’s not done.
“You think I’d sit here, sweating my ass off in this hellhole, while you shake like a kicked dog, if I was trying to kill you?”
He leans in again - not touching, but close. Too close.
“If I wanted you dead, Minsu…”
His voice drops lower, bitter.
“You wouldn’t have made it past the first night.”
And that’s true — terrifyingly so.
Namgyu could’ve done it.
Back when it was “just a game.”
Back when Minsu was quiet and harmless and barely noticed.
But he didn’t.
And now?
Now he’s kneeling on the floor, feeding him water, wiping the sweat from his neck, keeping him alive.
He lets the silence stretch.
And then — still looking down at him:
“…So shut the fuck up and keep breathing.”
Minsu closes his eyes.
But this time?
He doesn’t cry.
He just lets the words sit inside him — like maybe, just maybe, some small part of him wants to keep breathing now.
Namgyu’s still crouched there, one knee on the bunk, hand curled around the back of Minsu’s neck like it’s the only thing keeping the world together.
Namgyu’s words echo through the back of his mind:
“Shut the fuck up and keep breathing.”
And then-
Minsu shifts.
Barely.
A tiny inhale, like it hurts. His jaw clenches. And then…
His eyes open.
And find Namgyu’s.
Not by accident. Not in passing.
He looks at him.
And it’s not with hatred.
Not fear.
It’s something else entirely.
Something naked.
Raw, confused, exhausted.
Like he’s been running for hours and finally stopped and realized: you were behind me the whole time.
And Namgyu?
He stops breathing for a second.
Because Minsu’s gaze - red, glassy, sickly - it doesn’t look away.
It holds him. Just long enough to feel dangerous. Too intimate. Too much.
His fingers twitch slightly against Minsu’s neck.
For once… he doesn’t have a comeback.
No insult.
No shove.
Just stillness.
And then, quietly - barely above a whisper:
“There you are.”
It’s not kind.
It’s not sweet.
But it’s not cruel either.
It’s just honest.
And the space between them — already narrow — feels microscopic now.
Because that look?
That look means everything just changed.
The look lingers for a second too long.
——————
Namgyu’s hand still rests on the back of Minsu’s neck, holding him there — warm, steady, unshakable. His eyes still locked onto him.
But then-
Minsu blinks once. Swallows.
And silently… slowly… turns away.
No dramatics. No collapse. Just a quiet twist of his sore body, until his back is to Namgyu and his knees are pulled to his chest.
He curls up like something crumpling in on itself.
Face half-buried in the blanket. One hand tucked under his chin. Shoulders trembling again - not as violently now, but enough to say:
“Don’t look at me like that again.”
And Namgyu?
He doesn’t say a word.
He doesn’t pull him back.
He just sits there, frozen above him — watching the rise and fall of Minsu’s back, still a little too fast.
His hand slowly lowers. Rests on the mattress beside him.
Then, after a long beat — barely audible:
“Tch… fucking coward.”
But there’s no heat behind it.
No venom.
Just a whisper. Like an exhale.
Like he didn’t know what else to say.
He watches him for a few more seconds. The way Minsu’s hands are shaking again, just slightly. The tension in his spine, like he’s trying to disappear into himself.
Then finally — Namgyu shifts.
Sits down properly on the edge of the bed.
Doesn’t lie down. Doesn’t leave.
He just stays there.
Guarding the back Minsu turned to him.
And quietly — not knowing why he says it:
“…Don’t do that again.”
No explanation.
Not even clear what he means.
Just: don’t do that again.
And Minsu, with his face buried and breath catching—
Says nothing.
But he doesn’t move away either.
Namgyu watches his shoulders rise and fall — hears the ragged edge of Minsu’s breath.
It’s slowing, but not stable.
The worst of the panic has passed, but the tremors haven’t stopped.
Namgyu’s eyes narrow slightly.
He shifts on the edge of the bed.
Then says, low - voice flat, but not angry:
“It’s gonna get worse again in a few hours.”
Minsu doesn’t respond. Doesn’t turn around.
Namgyu keeps talking anyway. Not really to him. Just out loud.
“Sweating. Shakes. Might puke. Fever. You’ll feel like your ribs are cracking from the inside.”
A pause. The mattress creaks faintly beneath him.
“Could’ve asked me if you fucking wanted to try it out. But no, of course not. You take it like a stupid fucking idiot without thinking about anything.”
Still no reply.
So Namgyu exhales sharply through his nose, leans forward slightly, elbows on knees, and mutters:
“You’re gonna want to claw your skin off before sunrise. Just so you know.”
A few seconds pass.
Still nothing from Minsu.
Namgyu stares at his back — small, tense, curled inward like a closing fist.
Then, colder now:
“Next time you almost choke, I won’t help you again.”
It lands like a punch.
But he doesn’t take it back.
Not yet.
And then—
Minsu shifts.
His voice cracks, raw and trembling, words slurred together through shallow breath:
“Then fucking leave.”
Namgyu freezes.
Minsu doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t look at him.
He just curls tighter, fists clenching in the blanket, every muscle twisted into something defensive and ruined.
“You didn’t want to help me anyway.”
“You only helped because you heard me dying. So just fucking leave.”
His voice shakes again.
“You’re done now, right? So go.”
Silence.
Crushing.
Namgyu swallows once. Doesn’t move.
The insult he’d just tossed out — “next time I won’t help” —
it sounds stupid now. Childish. Brutal.
Because Minsu didn’t fight it.
He believed it.
He let it hit him like truth.
And now he’s just lying there - body trembling, voice cracking - inviting Namgyu to walk away like he’s already halfway gone.
Namgyu stares down at the curve of his back.
Watches his knuckles go white.
And the worst part?
He can’t leave.
He knows it.
And so does Minsu.
Namgyu’s heart drops because he realizes:
Minsu believed him.
Minsu actually thought he was disposable.
And now Namgyu can’t even be angry anymore.
He’s just… wrecked.
Namgyu stares at the boy curled up in front of him, shaking and silent and so heartbreakingly small.
His mouth is open slightly, like he wants to snap back — to say something sharp and cruel and stupid, like he always does.
But nothing comes out.
Not a word.
Because what Minsu said -
“Then fucking leave.”
It wasn’t rebellion.
It was surrender.
And that hurts more than anything else ever could have.
Namgyu exhales, long and sharp, and shoves a hand through his hair.
His voice, when it finally comes, is lower now. Not soft - but cut open.
“You think I helped you because I had to?”
No answer.
So he keeps going, bitter and furious — but only at himself now.
“You think I dragged your ass back from death just so I could feel like a hero?”
He shakes his head once, scoffing under his breath. Not even looking at him anymore.
“Fuck you, Minsu.”
And then quieter - almost whispering:
“Fuck you for saying that like it wouldn’t matter.”
He leans back slightly. Runs both hands over his face like he’s trying to scrub something out of himself.
Then he looks down at the floor.
Voice clipped. Dry.
“You think I didn’t notice you didn’t even get a water bottle today?”
Beat.
“You think I didn’t see you lying there after that game looking like your lungs were about to give out?”
Another pause.
This one heavier.
Namgyu swallows. Jaw tight.
“…I didn’t mean to wait an hour.”
That’s the first honest thing he’s said all night.
And it kills him to say it.
He looks back down at Minsu’s back — the same one that turned away from him — and he says it quieter:
“I didn’t fucking mean to.”
And then -
Because he doesn’t know how to say I was scared
Because he doesn’t know how to say please don’t stop breathing again
Because he doesn’t know how to say I care about you so fucking much it makes me sick —
He says this instead:
“I’m not leaving.”
Just that.
Flat. Simple.
Final.
“So shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”
And he shifts just enough so that their knees touch.
Not a cuddle.
Not an apology.
Just closeness. The real kind. The unbearable kind.
Namgyu doesn’t move.
He just sits there, spine against the cold metal frame of Minsu’s bunk, knees pulled up loosely, hands braced on the floor between his feet.
Every few seconds, his eyes flick toward the figure above him.
And he hears it.
The sounds.
Small at first - but not hidden.
Because Minsu’s too exhausted to be quiet now.
Too empty to hold anything in.
He’s still turned away, arms wrapped tight around himself, but his shoulders are jerking in little hiccups now, broken breaths catching in his throat like he’s choking on his own heartbeat.
Namgyu tilts his head back against the edge of the bunk and just… listens.
To the crying. The pain.
To the sound of someone who’s kept everything in for too long, and now it’s all pouring out in the dark.
No wailing. No sobbing.
Just that quiet, pathetic sound of someone giving up on holding it in.
Namgyu shuts his eyes briefly.
Then - still not looking up:
“…You’re loud as fuck, you know that?”
It’s not meant to hurt.
It’s not meant to soothe either.
It’s just the only thing he can manage without cracking himself.
Above him, the crying doesn’t stop.
If anything, it shakes a little harder.
And Namgyu presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. Mutters under his breath.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
He sits forward again.
Not to stand. Not to climb up.
Just to be closer.
One hand reaches up — slow, steady — and he presses his fingers lightly to the edge of the mattress, just near Minsu’s back.
Not touching. Just there.
A signal.
He’s not leaving.
Not yet.
Namgyu stays on the floor.
His hand still resting near the edge of the mattress - not touching Minsu, just close.
He waits.
Listens.
But the crying isn’t slowing down.
It’s soft - but it’s spiraling.
——————
The breaths are getting tighter. The shoulders jerk harder. And the way Minsu’s curled in on himself now - like he’s trying to fold into nonexistence - makes something twist in Namgyu’s chest.
He cranes his neck to glance up.
And-
Minsu’s inching toward the edge.
Not on purpose.
He’s slipping.
Too weak to notice. Too far gone to care.
His shoulder’s already half off the bunk, fingers clenched in the blanket like it’s the only thing anchoring him.
Face half-buried. Eyes swollen, lips trembling, breath catching like static in a storm.
And Namgyu feels it in his throat - that horrible drop of realization.
He’s falling again. Just slower this time.
Namgyu stands.
Doesn’t even think.
Just gets up in one clean, quiet motion and climbs onto the bunk like it’s instinct - like his body already knew this was going to happen.
No noise. No warning.
He braces a hand beside Minsu’s spine to keep him from sliding off.
The other pulls the blanket higher over his trembling body, muttering under his breath:
“You’re gonna fall off the fucking bed, idiot.”
Still not kind. Still not gentle.
But solid. Present.
Minsu flinches - barely - but doesn’t move away.
He just keeps curling tighter.
Namgyu exhales through his teeth.
Then slowly… slowly… lowers himself to lie behind him.
Not touching at first.
Just existing there.
A body.
A barrier.
A weight between Minsu and the rest of the world.
Then, after a beat - he reaches one arm forward.
Over Minsu.
Not to pull. Not to hold.
Just to close the space.
A crooked, loose, shaking arm slung over a boy who’s crumbling from the inside out.
Namgyu’s face hovers behind his neck. Eyes open. Breathing shallow.
Then, very quietly, he says:
“You’re not hiding. I fucking see you.”
Pause.
“So deal with it.”
Namgyu’s arm slides over his side.
Light, steady, grounding.
But to Minsu?
It’s too much.
Too much pressure.
Too much weight.
Too much body in a body that’s already trying to break itself apart.
And without warning-
Minsu lashes out.
His whole body jerks, arms flying up like a storm -
fists slamming into the air, into the blanket, into Namgyu’s chest.
Elbow to the ribs.
Knuckles to the collarbone.
Flailing. Panicking. Wild.
“Shit-!”
Namgyu hisses and catches one of Minsu’s wrists just in time - not to hurt him.
Just to keep himself from getting clocked in the jaw.
“Minsu-! Shit! Stop it-!”
But Minsu doesn’t hear him.
Doesn’t see him.
His eyes are wide, unfocused.
He’s breathing hard through his teeth, hitting and curling and trying to fight off ghosts that aren’t there.
And Namgyu freezes.
Because this isn’t just panic.
It’s terror.
“Hey- hey! shit, it’s me-!”
Namgyu’s voice cracks a little.
His other hand comes up, bracing Minsu’s shoulder - not pushing, not pulling, just holding.
Minsu keeps struggling for a second longer, until…
…he stops.
Just stops.
The fight leaves his body like a cut power line.
All the strength floods out at once.
His fists drop.
His chest heaves.
And he starts crying again - this time without holding anything back.
Namgyu closes his eyes.
His arms, instinctively now, close in too.
“…It’s just me.”
He says it again, quieter.
Like he’s trying to prove it.
“It’s just me.”
Minsu thrashes again, arms flying up,
and this time -
he turns in the middle of it.
Turns toward the body behind him.
The warmth. The voice. The pressure he couldn’t handle.
His eyes are wild. Barely focused.
His fists start swinging again - harder this time, more desperate.
He hits Namgyu’s chest. His arm. His shoulder.
Maybe even clips his jaw.
Namgyu winces-
“Ow- fuck-!”
But he doesn’t pull away.
He doesn’t yell.
He just…
grabs him.
One arm tight around his back.
The other locking around his shoulders like a vice.
“Okay, okay- fuck, okay- come here- ”
Minsu keeps punching.
He’s crying, shaking, flailing - hitting anything that touches him.
And Namgyu?
Holds him tighter.
Not to stop him.
Not to restrain him.
Just to make sure he doesn’t fall apart completely.
His grip is solid. Arms wrapped around Minsu like steel cable.
“It’s just me. You can hit me, fine, I don’t care, just stay here, alright?”
Minsu’s fists slow down.
One last shove. One last smack against Namgyu’s shoulder.
And then.
Collapse.
His hands go limp.
They stay curled against Namgyu’s chest,
but they stop fighting.
He sags into him - like his bones gave up.
Chest heaving. Eyes swollen shut. Whole body shaking.
And Namgyu just holds him like that.
Sitting there in the dark, arms tight, jaw clenched.
His voice comes again, low in Minsu’s hair:
“…You’re such a little shit.”
But his hands don’t move.
They don’t let go.
For a moment, there’s just stillness.
Namgyu’s arms are locked around him like a cage made of breath and heat and too many things unspoken.
Minsu doesn’t move.
His body is loose now - not relaxed, but emptied.
He’s not fighting anymore.
But then.
He notices it.
Where he is.
What he’s doing.
Who’s holding him.
And a new kind of tremor starts.
Smaller.
Deeper.
His fingers twitch against Namgyu’s chest.
His shoulders tighten.
A shallow breath stutters in his throat, and his face; still pressed into Namgyu’s collarbone - flinches.
He’s not panicking now.
He’s just processing.
And it wrecks him all over again.
His voice, when it finally comes, is barely a whisper. Not really words.
Just a broken, shaking sound:
“…nnn…”
Like something caught in the back of his throat that won’t come out.
Namgyu doesn’t speak.
Doesn’t ask.
He just tightens his grip, infinitesimally -
not enough to suffocate, just enough to say:
“Yeah. I know.”
Minsu swallows hard.
One of his hands fists in Namgyu’s shirt again.
And even though he’s not crying anymore,
he can’t stop shaking.
Minsu’s fists are still knotted in his shirt.
His forehead pressed against Namgyu’s collarbone.
His whole body trembling - not violently now, just constantly. Quietly.
Namgyu swallows.
He doesn’t look down.
Doesn’t move.
Just breathes in through his nose.
Out through his mouth.
And then1
without thinking too hard about it-
he mutters:
“You’re not dead.”
A pause.
“So stop acting like it’s the end of the fucking world.”
His voice is steady. Dry. A little too flat to be called kind.
But there’s something in it.
Something almost… broken.
“You made it through that fucking game. You’re alive. So just-”
He exhales.
“Just stop shaking like you’re not.”
But Minsu doesn’t stop.
He flinches again instead - not from the words, but from the truth in them.
Because he is alive, and that’s what’s hurting the most right now.
Namgyu feels it. Hears the little catch in Minsu’s throat.
So, quieter this time:
“You scared the shit out of me.”
Still not soft.
But real.
Brutally real.
The whisper barely makes it out.
“Why… are you still here…”
It hits Namgyu like a brick to the chest.
Because he hears what’s underneath it:
Why didn’t you leave?
Why didn’t you let me die?
Why the fuck do you care?
He doesn’t answer right away.
He just… sits there, holding this trembling idiot, breathing in the scent of cold sweat and fear and whatever’s left of his own heartbeat.
Then finally.
Namgyu’s voice comes low. Rough.
“I don’t fucking know.”
He presses his nose into Minsu’s hair for just a second, like he’s hiding from the words.
“I should’ve walked. After you took it. After you lied.”
He pauses.
“But I didn’t.”
His hand curls slightly at Minsu’s back — gripping the fabric there.
“So you’re stuck with me.”
A beat.
Then softer, like he hates saying it:
“So just shut up and let me stay, alright?”
Because the only thing scarier than holding Minsu like this…
is the thought of not holding him at all.
doesn’t understand why he’s still alive.
why namgyu’s still here.
why namgyu is holding him instead of hurting him.
so of course the next words he whispers, barely breathing, barely audible, are:
“A-… are you gonna kill me…?”
The question is so small it barely makes it into the space between them.
But Namgyu hears it.
He hears all of it.
His whole body goes still.
His jaw tightens against Minsu’s hair.
His hand freezes in the middle of his back.
He doesn’t answer right away.
Doesn’t know how.
Because Minsu wasn’t even trying to be dramatic.
He just meant it.
He believes it.
He really thinks Namgyu might still kill him.
And Namgyu’s mouth goes dry.
His voice, when it comes, is sharp and quiet and raw.
“…No.”
Then again — firmer, like he needs it to sink in:
“No, Minsu.”
And then — after a beat — something bitter, something barely a breath:
“If I was gonna kill you, you’d be dead already.”
Pause. A flicker of guilt.
“So stop asking fucking stupid questions.”
But he doesn’t loosen his arms.
Doesn’t pull away.
He just holds Minsu tighter.
Because maybe the only thing keeping him alive right now — is this.
Namgyu’s answer sits in the silence like a dropped knife:
“So stop asking fucking stupid questions.”
But his arms never move.
They stay right there — locked around Minsu like proof.
And slowly… slowly…
Minsu’s body gives up again.
Not like before — not collapsing.
Not panicking.
Sinking.
His fingers uncurl from Namgyu’s shirt.
His forehead tips forward — into Namgyu’s neck, into the warmth, into whatever this is.
And his whole body… just melts.
Like some small, instinctive part of him believes it.
Just enough to stop fighting.
Just enough to exist.
But—
At the exact same time,
his breath catches.
Just once.
And his chest tightens again — this time not from fear of dying, but from something worse:
Fear of being safe.
Of needing this.
Of being held by someone who could still destroy him with a word.
His fingers twitch.
His throat closes.
And all he can do is press his face closer,
even as his whole body tenses again.
Namgyu feels it.
Of course he does.
So he exhales, low — almost annoyed — but doesn’t pull away.
“…You’re so goddamn dramatic.”
But his hand curls just a little more into Minsu’s back.
A subtle reminder.
Still here.
——————
“Namgyu…”
A beat.
“…W-… water…”
The word breaks halfway out of his throat.
Raspy. Dry. Almost childlike in how raw it sounds.
Namgyu swears under his breath.
“…Shit.”
And he shifts — carefully, like he’s afraid Minsu might fall apart again if he moves too fast.
One arm stays hooked around Minsu’s waist.
The other reaches blindly for the water bottle on the floor beside the bed — his bottle, the one Minsu doesn’t even know he went and got.
He unscrews the cap, shifts slightly to brace Minsu up against him, and holds it to his mouth.
“Slow,” he mutters. “Or you’ll throw up all over me.”
Minsu nods weakly — just a flicker of movement.
And then drinks.
Only a sip at first. Then another.
His hands, shaky as hell, clutch Namgyu’s wrist to steady it.
And when he’s done, he lets go.
Namgyu puts the bottle down again.
Neither of them say anything for a moment.
Then Namgyu mutters — low, tired, but not cruel:
“…Better?”
And he doesn’t expect an answer.
Because the fact Minsu asked at all?
That was the answer.
Minsu’s lips are still wet.
His chest still trembling.
Namgyu has just let go of the bottle, hand drifting back down beside him.
And Minsu goes completely still.
Frozen. Rigid.
Eyes wide — even though they burn.
Breath caught in the back of his throat.
“Is—”
A croak.
His voice gives out halfway, so he swallows, tries again:
“Is that…”
He doesn’t finish.
Can’t.
Namgyu doesn’t answer at first.
Just watches him.
Then—
He sighs through his nose, leans back against the frame of the bed, and says flatly:
“You didn’t get one today.”
It’s not a question.
Minsu doesn’t reply.
Just stares at him.
And Namgyu tilts his head — not cruel, not soft. Just… done.
“Yeah. It’s mine.”
He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal.
But it is.
To Minsu?
It feels like everything.
He can’t accept it.
Not this. Not that.
Not after everything he did — not after stealing the drugs, almost dying, breaking down in front of him, hitting him —
And now Namgyu gave him his water.
That’s… that’s not allowed.
That’s not fair.
That’s not something Minsu knows how to receive.
So of course he stammers — still shaking, face flushed all the way to his ears, voice cracking:
“You—… you shouldn’t—
you don’t have much yourself—”
Because even now, even like this,
he’s scared Namgyu will die because of him.
Namgyu just looks at him.
Expression unreadable.
A long pause.
Then he snorts — barely audible — like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
“What the fuck are you gonna do about it?”
His voice low, flat. “Give it back?”
Minsu blinks.
Doesn’t answer.
Namgyu’s hand is already reaching up — brushing sweat-slick hair off his forehead again, gentle than it should be.
“It’s done. You drank it.”
A pause.
“That’s the point.”
Minsu swallows, his throat moving visibly.
His cheeks still burn.
But Namgyu’s voice softens, just a fraction:
“I don’t need it.”
Then, quieter — more honest:
“Not like you did.”
Namgyu doesn’t even hesitate.
The second Minsu starts coughing — weak, raspy, barely holding himself upright — Namgyu’s already reaching for the water bottle again. Unscrewing the cap fast. Handing it over.
“Here. Drink.”
But Minsu just…
He shakes his head.
Brow furrowed. Lips pressed together.
Eyes wide and wet and pleading — just like in the photo.
Like he wants to drink, like he knows he should, but he can’t.
And Namgyu freezes.
For once, he doesn’t insult him.
He just stares at that face — that trembling, red-eyed, pained little grimace —
and he blinks once, sharply. Then says:
“What’s that look for, huh? You trying to guilt trip me now?”
Still no answer.
“You gonna cry again or what.”
Still nothing.
So Namgyu leans in slightly.
Quieter this time — almost reluctant.
“It’s water, Minsu. Not a favor.”
But the boy still doesn’t move.
And that face — that goddamn face — is starting to dig under Namgyu’s skin like glass.
So he exhales, long and shaky, then growls under his breath:
“Don’t make me force it down your throat.”
(He won’t.)
(But he could.)
Namgyu just stares at him.
For a second, he thinks he misheard. Thinks it’s the cough messing with Minsu’s voice —
but then he sees his lips move again.
“I-It’s… a-almost half empty already…”
So small. So breathless.
And his voice cracks halfway through like he knows how stupid it sounds — but still can’t not say it.
Namgyu’s eye twitches.
“…Are you kidding me right now.”
No response. Minsu just blinks slowly, all flushed cheeks and glassy eyes, one hand clutching the blanket like it might protect him from Namgyu’s wrath.
“You’re telling me you’re dying,” Namgyu says — tone flat, sharp, quiet like a blade,
“—but you won’t drink because my water bottle isn’t full?”
Minsu flinches, nods faintly. Then shakes his head. Then kind of shrinks into himself, unsure which was the “right” answer.
Namgyu exhales a laugh. Cold and humorless.
“Fucking unbelievable.”
Then — he shoves the bottle lightly into Minsu’s chest. Doesn’t let go. Just presses it there.
“Guess what, genius. It was full this morning.”
A pause.
“You think I’ve been drinking it all day? No. I saved it. Like a sane person. For emergencies.”
His eyes narrow.
“And now look. Emergency.”
Minsu opens his mouth. Maybe to argue. Maybe to apologize.
Namgyu cuts him off immediately.
“So drink it. Or I’ll pour it over your head instead.”
Minsu doesn’t move.
He wants to — he really does — but his fingers won’t listen. And his throat burns, but he keeps his lips shut. It’s not pride. It’s shame. Maybe even guilt.
Namgyu’s hand twitches.
“Fucking seriously?”
He sighs. Deep. Sharp.
Then-
His free hand shoots out. Grabs Minsu’s chin - not hard, but firm. Fingers curling under his jaw, thumb against his cheek.
Minsu’s eyes go wide.
“Open,” Namgyu says flatly.
Minsu blinks, shaking his head faintly, like please don’t do this—
But Namgyu doesn’t flinch.
“You’re gonna act like a child, I’ll treat you like one.”
And before Minsu can fully process it —
Namgyu’s
thumb presses his chin down, just enough to part his lips.
Minsu lets out a strangled sound — more surprise than protest — and Namgyu immediately tilts the bottle. Lets the water touch his mouth.
Just a few drops. Cold. Clean.
Minsu swallows on instinct. And again.
Minsu swallows again — tiny gulps, just enough to wet his throat — still frozen under Namgyu’s grip. His eyes flicker shut for half a second, and Namgyu sees it. Sees the way his lashes twitch. How red his cheeks are.
He clicks his tongue.
“Tch… Good boy.”
It sounds wrong.
Mocking. Sharp.
He even laughs a little - a breathy huff through his nose - like the words taste bitter in his mouth.
“What, you want a pat on the head now?”
Then, slowly, he lets go of Minsu’s chin.
But not just like that.
No — his thumb drags once across the corner of Minsu’s mouth.
Slow. Almost absentminded.
Like he’s brushing away a drop of water.
Like it’s practical. Nothing more.
“Tch. Can’t even drink right without supervision.”
His voice is low. Half-laughing.
Almost fond — if it weren’t so laced with mockery.
Minsu flinches like he’s been caught doing something wrong.
Doesn’t dare look up.
Namgyu exhales, rubs his palm against his own thigh, and mutters:
“You’re pathetic.”
But his thumb had lingered.
Just a second too long.
And neither of them say a word about it.
his throat works silently.
his fingers twitch around the plastic.
and Namgyu?
he doesn’t say anything either.
he just leans back again.
elbows on his knees.
shoulders tense.
but he doesn’t move away.
not an inch.
he stays right there next to the bed, like he’s standing guard.
pretending he’s not watching every tiny movement Minsu makes out the corner of his eye.
And Minsu?
Minsu just keeps still.
lets the silence swallow them.
lets that thumbprint linger on his chin like a burn.
——————
Namgyu shifts at the sound of Minsu’s voice after a few minutes of silence.
It’s small. Barely there. Cracked down the middle like dried glass.
“You… you can go sleep,”
“I’ll be fine.”
A lie so obvious it’s almost funny.
His hands are still trembling around the water bottle.
His legs won’t stop twitching under the blanket.
He hasn’t unclenched his jaw once.
And Namgyu just…
…laughs.
Soft. Short. Bitter.
“Yeah?”
“You’ll be fine?”
He leans forward again, resting his forearms on his knees.
“That why you were choking on your own breath half an hour ago?”
Minsu flinches. Says nothing.
Namgyu shakes his head.
“If you were ‘fine,’ you wouldn’t be whispering like a kicked dog right now.”
A pause.
Then quieter:
“Just shut up and let me sit here.”
And that’s it.
He doesn’t say it like a comfort.
He doesn’t even look at him.
But he stays.
And Minsu?
He doesn’t say anything else.
Just pulls the blanket tighter.
And lets him.
‘You… you’ve done enough, you don’t have to stay’
Namgyu doesn’t answer at first.
Doesn’t move.
Doesn’t even blink.
Minsu’s voice was barely audible —
just a rasp through clenched teeth, through exhaustion, through that same old self-erasure he’s been taught his whole life.
“You… you’ve done enough,”
“You don’t have to stay.”
It’s not meant to be cold.
It’s not meant to push him away.
It’s meant to make it easier.
For Namgyu.
Because Minsu thinks that’s what people want.
To be let off the hook.
But Namgyu hears it.
And his jaw clenches like he’s biting through iron.
He lets out a slow breath through his nose. Leans in - not far - just close enough to let his voice drop into something sharper, heavier.
“You think I’m doing this for you?”
Minsu goes still.
Namgyu keeps going — quieter, lower, not yelling but not kind either:
“You think I dragged my ass out of bed at midnight, wasted the last of my water, got punched in the face by a drugged-out idiot, for your sake?”
He huffs. Bitter. Cold.
“Get over yourself.”
A beat.
Then, lower:
“I’m staying because I want to.”
Pause.
“So shut the fuck up and let me.”
Namgyu says that like it’s just words. Like it’s his version of honesty.
But for Minsu — for someone who never feels like he’s worth anything to begin with —
that sentence shatters something quietly inside him.
“Ah…”
That’s all he says.
Just that one soft syllable, barely audible, like something tiny snapping underfoot.
Namgyu doesn’t react at first. Doesn’t notice.
But Minsu…
Minsu’s eyes shift down. His mouth tightens. His whole body turns slightly inward again, like he’s trying to disappear into himself.
Because of course.
Of course it wasn’t really about him.
Of course Namgyu’s only here because he wants to feel better.
Fix something. Fix himself.
Minsu had almost — almost — felt like maybe, for a second,
someone stayed just because he was there.
He presses the bottle cap back on with shaky fingers.
Doesn’t say anything else.
But the heat behind his eyes starts to sting again.
And this time, he tries harder not to show it.
at first, Namgyu just sits there.
arms crossed. back hunched slightly.
staring off into the dark like he’s won something - like his words shut Minsu up, so that’s that.
but then…
…the sound of the bottle cap twisting back on.
…Minsu shifting an inch away from him, just a little too quietly.
…no answer. no insult. not even a breath in return.
and then—
Namgyu’s eyes flick over.
just a glance.
and he sees it.
the way Minsu’s head is tilted down.
the way his hands have gone still in his lap.
the way his whole body looks like it’s shrinking — not out of exhaustion now, but something smaller, tighter, sadder.
and Namgyu realises-
fuck.
because Minsu’s silence isn’t stubborn.
it’s not bratty or passive-aggressive or scared.
it’s hurt.
deep. small. quiet.
and Namgyu’s words echo back in his own head, twisted:
“You think I’m doing this for you? Get over yourself.”
and he sees how that must’ve landed.
and he realises
oh. shit. i made him feel worthless again.
his mouth opens for a second.
but nothing comes out.
so he just shifts. leans forward. rests his elbows on his knees again.
and after a moment, almost like he’s chewing the words first, he says — low, flat, but not sharp:
“…hey.”
no reply.
“Don’t twist it.”
still no reply.
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t you.”
that’s all he gives him.
that’s all he can say.
but it’s the first time he’s said something like that at all.
He doesn’t answer right away.
Just goes still.
Because Namgyu’s voice — even quiet — landed somewhere.
Somewhere raw. Somewhere already bleeding.
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t you.”
Minsu’s breath catches a little.
His shoulders twitch.
And for a second, Namgyu thinks maybe he’ll turn around.
Say something. Let it mean something.
But instead-
Minsu shifts again.
Turns his back to him.
Wraps his arms around himself, voice faint:
“It’s fine. I know.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“Good night.”
And that’s it.
Flat. Quiet. Resigned.
And it crushes something in Namgyu’s chest.
Because he was trying.
In his own messed up way -
he was trying to say you matter.
You. Not what you did. Not what you’re on. Not who you remind me of. Just you.
But Minsu doesn’t believe him.
Not really.
And Namgyu can’t blame him.
He stares at Minsu’s back for a long time.
Then he sighs.
Sits there in silence.
And doesn’t move.
Because he’s not leaving.
No matter what Minsu thinks.
——————
“You can leave now.”
“I’ll pretend it didn’t happen tomorrow. I promise.”
His jaw ticks.
He looks down at the floor between his feet like it personally insulted him.
And in his head?
chaos.
what the fuck does that even mean
what the fuck do you mean pretend it didn’t happen
why the fuck would i want that
you think this was— what?? a fucking favor? charity? guilt??
He wants to yell.
Wants to shake him.
Wants to say: “You think I don’t remember every second you looked at me like I was the last fucking person alive?!”
But he doesn’t.
Because he can’t get a single word out.
Because this mattered more than he knew until right now.
And now it’s slipping — again — just like everything else he ever cared about.
So instead—
he leans forward.
hands laced between his knees.
eyes on the floor.
and he says nothing.
But he doesn’t leave.
Not after ten seconds.
Not after a full minute.
Not even when Minsu turns fully away, curls tighter, breath shaky.
Namgyu just stays there.
Breathing.
Burning.
Trying to figure out how to make any of this not fucking tragic.
Namgyu’s never had to talk someone back from this kind of edge.
he knows how to threaten, how to tease, how to provoke.
but not this. not stay. not be gentle. not mean something and say it right.
so when Minsu says:
“You can leave now. I’ll pretend it didn’t happen tomorrow. I promise.”
it hits him like a slap and a test in one.
he’s not even sure if it’s true.
if Minsu would really forget.
if he even wants him to leave.
or if it’s just what he thinks he should say.
what he thinks people want from him.
and Namgyu just sits there.
fuming.
panicking.
freezing.
because anything he says might break it more.
he doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t leave either.
he lowers his head to rest against the metal frame of Minsu’s bed.
eyes half-closed.
face unreadable in the dark.
and he stays right there.
until Minsu’s breath finally slows.
until the tremors still —
not gone, but quiet.
and he stays even then.
stays until morning.
because maybe silence is all he’s got right now.
but staying is louder than anything he could’ve said.
he doesn’t sleep.
not really.
Namgyu rests his head against the edge of the bedframe, arms crossed on his knees, eyes half-shut.
but his body never fully relaxes.
he tries. tells himself he’s just resting. just watching over him for a second.
but every time Minsu shifts —
every hitch of breath —
every twitch of muscle —
Namgyu’s head lifts again like it’s wired to the sound.
and then—
an hour later. maybe two.
it starts again.
soft at first.
a tremor in the mattress.
a sharp, choked breath through clenched teeth.
a tiny sound, like someone gasping through water.
Namgyu jolts up.
eyes lock on the curled shape in the bed, back turned, whole body rigid —
and then shuddering.
again.
and again.
Minsu’s knees are drawn up now.
shoulders rising fast.
his hands fisting in the blanket, knuckles white.
he’s shaking — more violently this time — and his breathing is wrong.
shallow. scared.
and Namgyu’s already halfway up on his knees beside the bed.
“Minsu.”
no answer.
“Minsu.”
still nothing.
just the sound of teeth clenched so tight they might crack.
then—
a soft whimper.
and that’s enough.
Namgyu throws the blanket off him, climbs fully up onto the bed this time — no hesitation —
pulls Minsu back before he can curl in tighter.
“Shit— it’s okay. You’re okay—”
but he’s not.
his skin’s clammy.
his pulse is racing.
he’s breathing like he’s being buried alive.
Namgyu grabs the water bottle again — half-full now — unscrews it, tries to press it into his hands, but they won’t unclench.
and that’s when it hits him, fully:
if I hadn’t stayed—
if I’d actually left—
he might’ve gone through this alone.
Minsu doesn’t react to the water bottle at all.
Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t drink. Doesn’t see it.
His eyes are open now but unfocused — glassy, rimmed red — like he’s looking through Namgyu.
like he’s not even really there anymore.
His mouth moves —
no sound comes out at first.
Then a breath.
Then two.
Then a noise that’s not a word — just panic straining at his vocal cords.
Namgyu tightens his grip on the bottle.
“Minsu. Hey. Look at me.”
No reaction.
Minsu’s body jerks—
his hand lashes out like he’s trying to hit something that isn’t there—
and Namgyu barely dodges it, grabbing his wrist fast, not rough, but firm.
“Fucking— Minsu. It’s me. There’s no one there, it’s just me.”
But Minsu’s eyes dart wildly across the dark.
He starts muttering under his breath.
Words that don’t make sense — or maybe they would if his voice didn’t keep breaking off.
His fingernails dig into his palms.
His whole body shudders like he’s trying to shake something off his skin.
And Namgyu finally says it again, louder:
“It’s just me, you idiot—!”
Then lowers his voice fast — panicked by his own volume.
“Shit— fuck, okay, okay— it’s fine, it’s fine.”
Minsu’s breathing is spiraling now.
Sharp. Fast. Wet.
Namgyu lets go of his wrist and cups the back of his neck — fingers sliding into damp hair.
He forces Minsu to look at him — not rough, not tender either, just desperate.
“You’re not dying, okay? You’re not dying.”
Minsu’s mouth opens —
he tries to say something—
a choked sound escapes—
then he folds forward, crashing into Namgyu’s chest like the air got punched out of him.
His whole frame shakes.
He starts sobbing.
Not quiet, not held-back — full-body sobs he can’t even control.
like something snapped inside and now it’s just coming out.
Namgyu freezes.
Then wraps both arms around him, pulling him tight.
He doesn’t say anything right away.
Because what the fuck can you even say to this.
So he just holds him.
Until the shaking slows again.
Until the breath stops breaking.
Until the bottle rolls off the bed and onto the floor and neither of them even notice.
minsu whispers over and over again:
just…
“Semi…”
“…Semi…”
“…Semi…”
like a prayer.
like a ghost.
like he’s still trying to call her back —
as if saying it might undo what happened
or bring her here instead of him
or protect him
or absolve him.
Namgyu freezes.
his breath catches at the first whisper —
the second one hurts —
by the third, he’s gripping Minsu’s shirt like he might fall apart himself.
because
it’s not her he’s crying for.
not just her.
it’s everything.
what he saw.
what he did.
what he couldn’t do.
it’s the sound of grief from someone who never thought he deserved to grieve.
Namgyu’s jaw locks.
His arms don’t loosen.
and he leans his head down —
just barely —
against the side of Minsu’s.
and through gritted teeth, he whispers, low:
“She’s gone.”
“And you’re not.”
“So stop saying her fucking name.”
No venom in it.
Just rawness.
Just the truth, like gravel in his mouth.
Because he doesn’t want to lose him too.
Not like that.
Not tonight.
Not alone.
Not saying someone else’s name while breaking apart in his arms.
Namgyu’s never done this.
never wanted to.
never had to.
he’s used to keeping people out.
keeping control.
keeping it sharp. clean. dangerous.
but Minsu’s falling apart in his arms —
shaking, sobbing, mumbling Semi’s name like he’s the one who killed her —
and Namgyu can’t watch it.
can’t let it keep going.
so he forces himself to think.
to try.
to reach for something — anything — that might ground him.
His hand is on the back of Minsu’s head, still.
Thumb in his hair.
Heart pounding so hard it hurts.
And Namgyu just says—
very low, very rough:
“Hey.”
“Look at me. Come on.”
Minsu doesn’t move.
Still buried in his chest. Still trembling.
So Namgyu tilts his head down further.
His cheek brushes Minsu’s temple.
And he starts talking — not softly, not tenderly — but like he’s gritting it out:
“You wanna talk about Semi?”
“Fine. Then listen.”
“She would’ve smacked you if she saw you like this.”
He feels Minsu jolt — just slightly.
Namgyu keeps going.
“Would’ve told you you’re being a dramatic little freak.”
“Would’ve said ‘pull it together, Minsu, I didn’t like you this much for you to give up like a little bitch.’”
His voice breaks a little on the last part.
But he doesn’t stop.
“You think she’s proud of you like this?”
“You think she died for you to fall apart?”
“No. You wanna cry? Fine. But breathe. Fucking breathe.”
And he does something he never does:
He starts to match Minsu’s breath — slow and forced, like:
“In.”
“Out.”
“Copy me.”
“In.”
“Out.”
“Minsu, I swear to god—”
And somehow
somehow
it starts to work.
they’re both breathing now —
or trying to.
Namgyu’s voice is low and steady, rhythm forced, words clipped between exhales:
“In.”
“Out.”
“In—”
Minsu trembles against him.
His fists still curled in Namgyu’s shirt.
But his chest starts to rise and fall with the rhythm — not perfectly, but trying.
Until finally, through cracked lips, barely audible:
“I’m gonna fucking die tomorrow, Namgyu.”
Namgyu goes still.
completely, terrifyingly still.
He doesn’t say anything at first.
His hand’s still in Minsu’s hair.
His breath still moving.
But that sentence just sits there.
in the air between them.
like a curse.
like a confession.
like something that’s already true.
And for a second, Namgyu wants to scream.
To shove him.
To say “then why the fuck did I just give you my water, you fucking idiot?”
To say “you better not.”
but instead—
he grits his teeth.
presses his mouth near Minsu’s ear.
and mutters:
“Not if I die first.”
minsu:
“Either go now or not at all…”
namgyu just stares at him.
his chest rises once.
then again.
his mouth opens slightly — closes.
he doesn’t say anything.
but he shifts.
just barely.
leans in.
and wraps his arm around minsu again.
settles against the wall.
eyes wide open in the dark.
voice quiet like smoke:
“…Then I guess I’m not going.”
and he stays.
even when minsu’s breath finally slows.
even when sleep tries to crawl back in.
he stays.
because he’s not going to leave “tomorrow” be the last thing Minsu fears again.
his voice is small — wrecked.
he’s still trembling, but quieter now.
his fingers bunch into Namgyu’s shirt, pulling him in like he can’t help it,
but his words come out like broken glass:
“Maybe you should… go…”
“…This is probably weird for you.”
Namgyu blinks.
Like the sentence doesn’t register at first.
Then he looks down — sees Minsu curled into him, flushed, tear-streaked, holding on so tightly like letting go might kill him —
and hears that voice, that apology, after everything—
and something in him flares.
not soft. not tender.
annoyed.
he leans down again.
voice low, mocking, familiar:
“Yeah. It’s fucking weird.”
“You crying all over me, shaking like a chihuahua, using up all my water— real romantic shit, Minsu.”
But his arm tightens around him.
And under his breath, after a beat—
“…Don’t let go, then.”
Minsu’s breath hitches —
just barely, but Namgyu feels it.
right against his chest.
like a soft stutter under his ribs.
and it’s so stupid
because Namgyu didn’t even mean it.
or maybe he did, but not like that.
or maybe he doesn’t know what he means anymore,
because this is Minsu, and he’s in his arms, and everything is just too fucking much.
Namgyu exhales — sharp through his nose.
Then mutters, flat:
“…Don’t get any ideas. You’re disgusting.”
A beat.
Then he barely tilts his head, mouth right next to Minsu’s hair:
“…Fucking cuddling me like a parasite.”
And his thumb, completely unthinking, drags once —
gently —
across the back of Minsu’s neck.
like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.
and then?
silence.
but not the cold kind.
the kind that breathes.
the kind that stays.
Minsu’s voice is barely there —
thin, hoarse, tucked so deep into Namgyu’s chest it almost disappears.
“Yeah right… sorry, I… I didn’t mean to…”
and it’s not sarcastic.
not defensive.
not annoyed like Namgyu always is.
It’s just…
soft.
and tired.
and real.
And Namgyu suddenly feels like he just kicked a dog for no reason.
Because he always talks like that.
That’s how he is.
Insults first, softness second (if ever).
He didn’t think Minsu would care —
didn’t think he’d hear it like that.
Not when he was this fucked up.
This raw.
But now Minsu’s grip loosens like he’s trying to back off —
trying to pull away without actually moving —
like he thinks he crossed some line
by needing someone.
And Namgyu just freezes.
Staring at the ceiling.
Hand still at the nape of Minsu’s neck.
His voice, when it finally comes, is quieter than usual —
still dry, still him, but something underneath it:
“…Then maybe fucking mean to next time.”
He doesn’t look down.
Doesn’t change his tone.
But his arm curls tighter around Minsu again.
Just slightly.
Like an apology that doesn’t know how to name itself.
he’s still half-buried in Namgyu’s chest —
still flushed, still shaky,
still gripping onto what little calm he’s scraped together from the chaos inside him.
but he hears that.
he hears it.
and it’s confusing.
and quiet.
and it hits somewhere deep.
“Then maybe fucking mean to next time.”
and after a second, almost not breathing:
“W–what… what do you mean…”
Namgyu winces.
physically winces.
because he did not mean to say it like that.
or maybe he did.
but now it’s out there, and Minsu heard it, and now he has to fucking deal with it.
His hand freezes mid-motion.
Then he sucks in a breath and mutters:
“Forget it.”
“You’re sleep-deprived, hallucinating, and off your shit. You probably think I’m Semi.”
…
“Or Thanos.”
a beat.
then lower, a little rougher, almost bitter:
“Or someone who doesn’t treat you like garbage.”
but even as he says it
his hand moves again
and so gently rubs the back of Minsu’s neck once more
like he’s trying to say something he won’t put into words.
he says it so quiet it almost doesn’t make it past Namgyu’s hoodie.
his breath warm against his chest.
his fingers still twitching slightly against the fabric.
but the words land like a drop of water on hot iron.
“I… I’m well aware who you are…”
Namgyu goes very still.
no insults.
no comebacks.
no scoffs or smirks or snide little “good for you.”
just… still.
because that —
that wasn’t about his name.
that wasn’t about the games, or Thanos, or anyone else.
That was:
“I know what you’re like. I know you’re mean. I know you’re cruel. I know you keep everyone away.”
“And I still came here.”
“And I’m still not letting go.”
Namgyu swallows once.
lets the silence hang too long.
and then — barely:
“…Idiot.”
But his voice breaks just slightly.
And this time,
he doesn’t touch the back of Minsu’s neck.
he just tucks his chin down —
presses his jaw gently against Minsu’s hair —
and breathes.
he shifts —
just barely.
the warmth, the pressure, the grip he had on Namgyu’s shirt loosens.
then he lets go
and slowly turns his back again, pulling his knees in like he always does when he wants to disappear.
“You’re probably almost falling off the bed… go on… go back to yours…”
it’s not rejection.
it’s guilt.
it’s minsu, thinking he’s a burden, thinking he took up too much space, thinking he made it weird,
thinking he already got more than anyone’s ever given him so he shouldn’t ask for more.
and Namgyu’s heart fucking sinks.
because yeah, he is falling off the bed.
his arm’s asleep.
his lower back hurts.
he could be snoring in his own space right now.
but he doesn’t move.
he watches Minsu’s hunched back for a second.
the tremble in his shoulders.
the way he tries to make himself smaller even after everything.
And then he mutters:
“…Shut up.”
Shifts once —
then climbs all the way up onto Minsu’s bed.
lets his arm drop heavy over his side.
pulls him in from behind.
“You fucking made space for me. I’m using it.”
And that’s that.
his breath catches the second Namgyu pulls him in —
an arm slung over his side like it’s nothing,
like this is just how things are now,
like he belongs here.
and Minsu’s whole body stiffens at first —
heart racing again for a completely different reason.
“I– I… I wasn’t— I– I was just—”
his voice cracks halfway through.
he doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say.
he wasn’t trying to ask him to stay,
he wasn’t trying to manipulate him into this —
he just didn’t want to be a burden, he just—
he just—
Namgyu exhales against the back of his neck.
And with absolutely no patience, mumbled:
“Shut up, Minsu.”
Pulls him in tighter.
“Don’t make me regret this.”
His voice is low. Annoyed. Familiar.
But his fingers graze the side of Minsu’s hand like an accident he let happen.
Minsu says it soft.
facing away again.
his voice is steady at first, but then it falters, like his throat won’t let the words out right.
“Your chances of surviving tomorrow are less if you stay here…”
“What if I get another… episode…”
a pause.
“I… I don’t… I don’t want to wake you again. It’s unnecessary. You have to sleep.”
And Namgyu just stares at the back of his head.
No breath.
No words.
No movement.
Because there it is.
There it fucking is.
The boy he’s been insulting, screaming at, threatening,
the boy who’s barely gotten water today and nearly died less than an hour ago,
the one he forced into killing just to survive -
the one who should hate him more than anyone alive -
And he’s still trying to protect him.
He’s still trying to make sure Namgyu lives.
Even now.
Even like this.
And Namgyu’s jaw clenches.
Because suddenly the weight of what he did -
what he said, what he caused -
crushes him in the dark.
He doesn’t speak for a while.
Just lies there.
Holding him.
Watching his shoulder rise and fall.
Then, low — flat — almost like a warning:
“If you apologize again, I’m gonna throw you off this bed.”
And his fingers slide gently over Minsu’s hand again —
this time not an accident.
Just there.
Not letting go.
His voice is thinner now.
Like it’s unraveling by the second.
Like he’s trying to rebuild the wall he just let fall -
trying to protect Namgyu again.
From him.
From this.
From whatever the fuck this is turning into.
“The bed is way too small for two people anyway…”
“Just… just get back to yours.”
And Namgyu just stares.
Not annoyed.
Not smirking.
Just… watching him.
Because even now…
After all this…
Minsu still doesn’t get it.
Still thinks this is about space.
Like Namgyu gives a shit about space.
So Namgyu lowers his head a little, close to Minsu’s ear -
Tone flat as ever, but low enough to make his words sink:
“…Then stop taking up the whole thing.”
And he shifts closer.
Lets his knee brush Minsu’s thigh.
Pulls the blanket higher over both of them.
Then — barely audible, almost to himself:
“You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”
And lets the silence settle around them again -
Not tense.
Not forced.
Just there.
It starts slow —
Minsu’s still stiff, still curled up, still trying to stay as far on the edge of the bed as physically possible.
But the bed is tiny,
And Namgyu’s right there, arm draped over him, legs tangled, heat pressed to his back -
So every little shift ends up in a full-body collision.
And Minsu is just.
Fidgeting.
Trying to make space that isn’t there.
Elbows pulling in, knees scooting down, breath catching every time Namgyu’s fingers so much as graze his skin.
After the third time he accidentally bumps into Namgyu’s chest, trying to slide lower—
“You’re gonna fucking knock us both off,”
Namgyu mutters, low and deadpan.
And then?
He grabs him.
One arm wraps under Minsu’s chest, the other under his knees, and without warning he pulls -
Shifts him up and halfway on top of himself
like it’s the most logical solution in the world.
“There. Perfect. Now stay.”
Minsu freezes.
Absolutely loses all motor function.
He’s lying there, half on Namgyu’s chest,
Cheek pressed against his hoodie,
His knees between Namgyu’s legs,
Arms awkward and stunned at his sides like he’s been dropped here by god.
And Namgyu?
Namgyu just exhales like this is fine. Like he’s used to this.
“I swear to god, if you start twitching again I’m taping you to the mattress.”
A pause.
Then — muttered, quieter:
“…you weigh fucking nothing.”
His voice muffled where his cheek is pressed against Namgyu’s chest,
Heart pounding against his ear.
“You should leave before the others wake up later…”
Not cold.
Not annoyed.
Just… resigned.
Because even now -even now, like this, held in Namgyu’s arms like something real -
He still thinks it can’t last.
That someone like Namgyu wouldn’t want to be seen like this.
That none of it means anything once the lights come back on.
But Namgyu doesn’t move.
Doesn’t say shit for a long moment.
Then - low, flat, with that exact brand of annoyed tenderness only he can manage:
“…Say that again and I’m breaking your fucking kneecaps.”
His thumb brushes once against the back of Minsu’s neck.
Pretending he didn’t do it.
His jaw rests against Minsu’s hair again.
The cross is still there.
Heavy. Cold. Pressed between them.
Neither of them mention it.
“Let them wake up.”
A pause.
“Let them fucking see.”
And he holds him tighter.