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The lights were out.
Tomorrow would probably be their last day.
He didn’t know why, but after being replaced in the lookout point, his body gravitated naturally towards the place where that man was.
Young-il had sat down against a further back wall, his eyes closed under his messy hair, as if he were asleep, but Gi-hun knew better than that. He squatted until his face was levelled with the apparently sleeping man.
Gi-hun tilted his head, curiously studying him. He found himself once again enjoying the delusion of knowing Young-il better than the other team-members, but also aware of it being an assumption he liked to secretly entertain.
Did he, however?
Did anyone?
He kept on looking at Young-il’s features, maybe analysing them a bit too intently. He could perceive the secrecy and the mystery, the riddle and the contradiction. Probably no one really knew Young-il, and that just made him even more… alluring.
He could be oblivious about the dept of the ocean, but he was certain that Young-il was awake and that the only reason why he hadn't opened his eyes yet was because he knew it was Gi-hun who was there, that had it been anyone else, his eyes would dart open in a second, ice-cautious.
In front of him was a man he barely knew but could also unexpectedly recognize in a heartbeat. In such a short amount of time, Gi-hun had the opportunity to witness the violence, but also the goofy innocence. The childish cheering and the selfless sacrifice in prole of the team, sheepishly coming back saying he was a “likeable guy”, as if it had been nothing, as if his life hadn’t been a step closer to the abyss in comparison to theirs.
Gi-hun smirked when Young-il finally, slowly opened his eyes and looked deeply into Gi-hun’s. he was sure of it. A likeable guy… indeed, he was. Despite proving to be a cold, rational, apparently diplomatic individual who would in reality be able to do anything to protect and materialize his interests, within who there was certainly an impenetrable, looming darkness, he was also able to smile as bright as the sun.
And, against his better judgement, Gi-hun wanted more.
The intricacy.
The affinity.
He knew he shouldn’t, but if he didn’t take a leap of faith, how was he supposed to gather the vital help to achieve his goal? Everything was so fragile and frivolous… alliances were forged and broken at every minute in that pit of Hell. Young-il seemed to stoically stay-put at the epicentre, brave enough to remain faithful to his own beliefs. Gi-hun knew that, and he knew he was extremely lucky that, somehow, Young-il’s interests aligned with his own, because having him as an enemy would have been… “a challenge”?
No, not that. At that moment, looking at the ghost of a smile that played in that lethal man’s lips, “unbearable” proved to be a better word choice. And he hoped, God, he hoped that their paths would never deviate from one another. He hoped Young-il would always fight by his side during the games.
That he would survive.
That, somewhere, somehow, they could-…
No, no, he knew better than entertain useless, hopeful peaks of… anything, but he felt so, so close to the edge. So close to him, despite the distance.
He could never, ever forget what they went through together, what they lived together. How could he? Young-il silently, discreetly but surely had joined the select group of people who walked with Gi-hun, side by side – the people who contributed to and had kept him alive, the people he carried in his heart, until the moment of his death.
Did Young-il know?
Did he know how much he meant to…?
How… precious he was?
Probably not.
And probably would never know.
Gi-hun placed a knee on the floor to better balance himself, still studying the other man’s gaze. Fierce. Intense. Consuming. Guarded yet vulnerable. Full of secrets yet bare to his eyes. He would never know… Gi-hun raised his left hand and slowly approached that man’s forehead. He came closed enough to feel the human heat and the electricity between their skin, but not close enough to touch.
Young-il didn’t move, offering quiet, curious consent.
Gi-hun’s hand traced his features as if he were a painter studying his muse, engraving every detail once again in his memory. His forehead. The captivating eye-wrinkles. His perfect nose. The sly corners of his mouth. His jaw. They could die tomorrow, but he wanted to remember. He wanted to remember what made Young-il so uniquely charismatic in an odd, hauntingly beautiful way, either be it due to the danger he carried or due to the generosity he was also able to display.
Young-il would never know, but could he feel it?
Feel that, despite everything and anything that had happened and would happen, he was cherished?
So, so cherished.
If he were honest, Gi-hun had to admit that he feared it – the conscience of cherishing that man to the point that, to some secret extent, and despite considering himself a righteous man, as they were nearing the end he didn’t know what he would end up being capable of to save that one man.
It scared him.
Young-il was his strength, but also his weakness.
A weakness he prayed the Front Man would never find out about.
What would he do, if he found out?
Which sick play would he come up with, if he ever found out that Gi-hun was so devotedly infatuated with Young-il? Would he use him? Would he defile him? Gi-hun felt nauseous just from the mere thought of it. Whichever game it turned out to be, it would certainly be destructive, would definitely lead to doom, and it would all be exponentially worse if his suspicion that Young-il would never accept being used to hurt Gi-hun, to force him into a position where he would have to choose between Young-il and his values and what he stood up for turned out to be correct. If not, then why?...
Young-il was looking at him, pliant and trusting. He searched for the answer in his eyes which were shinning in a dark, enchanting way with something that could easily be mistaken for a mix of adoration and determination. Gi-hun’s heart resonated.
If that man, who could look at him with those eyes, by some poisonous twist of fate (or the Front Man's actions) was forcefully placed on the polar opposite side of Gi-hun’s mission… when Gi-hun was forced to choose, what would he forsake?
He shuddered with pure dread.
As his hand hovered over the other’s left eye and traced down to his lip, raising again to rest over yet away from his cheek, Gi-hun concluded that, despite their situation, the truth was he longed for that human being regardless of his Past, be it righteous or not. That was a point of no-return. And yes, to some extent which limits were unknown and Gi-hun hoped to never have to find out, Young-il would prevail over… whatever.
He would be willing to sacrifice, for Young-il.
To do it, against him, or for him.
Young-il’s eyes slightly squinted, perceiving Gi-hun’s unspoken resolve. Its strength (or fragility), albeit yet a mystery, held an unstable power of its own. At the centre, the magnitude of their connection savagely revolved, getting ready to implode if their balance was broken.
Their Yin, and their Yang.
He mimicked Gi-hun’s gesture and raised his left hand, bringing it too close to Gi-hun’s collarbone, halting there for a second before tracing its way to stand over Gi-hun’s heart, reverently, and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
He understood.
There was an infinite tread of possibilities darker than black. From then onwards, their actions could contradict their choices which could go against their feelings and beliefs.
Anything and everything could happen.
But nothing between them would ever change.
Never.
Fault him further on
All his flaws were gone
Covered in everything, coveted all at once
Everything covering, Everything all at once