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He dreamed of nothing but the dazed irises of a man laying in a growing pool of his own blood, sand becoming caked in an endless river of sticky, still-warm red.
It cooled too soon, the final glimmers of life draining from eyes that somehow continued to retain the fire, the pure vitriol of a man sacrificing everything to prove a point.
The message was loud and clear for the overseer of this branch of hell: a man cloaked in shadow and with trembling brows hidden beneath the perfectly emotionless visage of a plastic face.
Cradling the newborn in his arms, wails of fear and confusion permeating the thick, dusty air of the final room to ever hold a game on this wretched, desolate island, he lifted the mask shielding him from the scene before him with a trembling hand.
He yearned for a trace of recognition, a single spark of life still evident in that gaze that had stared him down not even five minutes prior with determination so fierce he had cowered under it.
He didn’t know if it remained - his vision too blurred to clearly make out his face.
He blinked the coalescing wetness away, unable to look his rival in the eye any longer.
No, rival was not the right word.
Opposition, enemy, fellow-sufferer…
Kindred spirit?
There are a million names that could fit him, but none would describe this self-destructively determined, wretchedly stubborn man.
In-ho wants to pose that question to himself, that very simple inquiry.
Why had he jumped?
But only a fool would utter such an oblivious thing aloud.
For the answer was plain as day, and Gihun…
was dead.
He can’t recall the final moment he looked away from the familiar face of the only man who had ever made him question his unwavering stoicism.
He had simply gazed into those faded irises, being drained of all their color and light.
And then, they were gone.
The journey to the dock, the imminent explosion, the intimidating screech of an inevitable countdown; everything passed in a hazy blur.
As did Hwang-In-ho’s life the moment his eyes had left those of the dying man on that island.
With no work, no orders, nothing left to prove, and no one left to prove it to -
The world simply faded away into obscure monotony, never to regain its clarity.
Days, weeks, even months passed by so quickly that he had not even the chance to realize that any time had passed at all since that fateful day.
Life continued, voices and figures littered his peripheral but he was seldom keen to tune in and listen.
He paid no mind to the calendar; time revealed itself to him only through the fleeting seasons, blooming and wilting away over the many months he let slip through his fingers like running sand.
He couldn’t say when it first began.
Ephemeral, hazy glimpses of something glimmering in the corners of his vision.
What it truly was, he couldn’t say.
Only that it started to appear more and more often, lingering a fraction of a second longer with each blink.
Never enough for him to turn his gaze and see, to understand that which followed him like his shadow.
So when, on one foggy, rainy morning, he walked directly into an apparition, he could do naught but stare in bewilderment.
For it was that same ghostly face etched deep within his memory, rising to the surface with every shift of his thoughts.
And those eyes;
Those dark brown eyes filled with a relentless perseverance that endured even in the most impossible of circumstances, shone with light.
It was no embarrassment to him that a sheen immediately overtook his eyes, and his voice became lodged in his throat, tight with emotion.
And when he whispered the name of a man who had perished months ago on an island long since swallowed by the sea: he vanished.
In-ho could not even breathe right following that morning.
Any form of sustenance refused to stay in his stomach, violently rejected at any attempt to keep it down.
Had he not lived alone-completely isolated from any family, friends, or subordinates he had known-they would have likely dragged him to a hospital.
And so he remained holed within his lifeless, frigid apartment, not a trace of life to be found within its walls other than the half-dead carcass of a man existing without purpose.
The apparition did not wait long before it came again.
In-ho was quick to notice the fleeting glimpses of a man observing him from every corner, whether it be in his empty room as he lay with hands intertwined over his chest, or under a swaying tree when he dared to wander outside for a breath of fresh air which he never felt he deserved.
With every day, he felt he took one step closer toward him.
With every glimpse, he found himself almost able to reach out and-
He is suddenly pulled back into a present moment far removed from his distant, jumbled memories; his hand reaches aimlessly into the empty air above a seemingly endless sea of dancing lights below.
When, at last, his mind catches up to him, he distantly remembers climbing the stairs to the roof of a building overlooking the people below-a perfect place to gaze upon the entirety of the city at large.
His breath comes out in light, smoky puffs, frigid air cradling his overgrown hair that twirls playfully in the whistling wind.
It has long since grown past his shoulders.
He idly scratches at the stubble creeping upon his face, an untamed weed he is too tired to tend.
Many voices flow up into the night sky, barely reaching his ears as a quiet hum of noise.
It is oddly comforting to hear the bustle of so many people living their separate, equally important lives.
It is not the first time he is inwardly relieved that all of Korea is free of the games’ filthy claws.
He tries hard not to think about his sins, lest they crawl up his back and suffocate him.
But deep down, Hwang In-ho knows he deserves far worse than that.
It takes a few blinks for him to register the now familiar outline of a translucent figure, leaned over the railing beside him.
He need not see the face to recognize him.
But tonight, on a seemingly random evening spent hovering over millions of good-hearted, better people far more deserving of happiness than him, he feels words begin to bubble up his throat.
“I think you were right.”
This bare truth slips from his lips in a quiet whisper, lost to the wind that coils around them.
But despite this, he can see that figure shift in place, a head turning ever so subtly in his direction.
“Your final message to me,” In-ho continues in a somber tone, voice wavering with emotions long since buried by resignation to the cruelty of their world.
“What you did…”
“It was an answer to my question, wasn’t it?”
He feels rather afraid when he glances away from the city lights and looks to the side, meeting the eyes of an apparition-tangible enough to see, yet too ephemeral to touch.
Those brown eyes are shimmering with unsaid thoughts, an answer brewing but left unsaid in the cooling air of early night.
So In-ho decides to speak in his stead.
To bring to life that final, tacit exclamation as he fell from that pillar.
“You’ve always believed in humans,” he breathes out delicately, the fragile truth laid out like a thread between them.
“You never stopped. Even after I chose your most vulnerable moment to ask.”
Gihun’s ghostly features don’t shift, continuing to observe him with a silent curiosity, something In-ho truly believes is far too kind for a man like him.
“You couldn’t answer me with words, but deep down you’d already made the decision, hadn’t you?”
In-ho can’t help the wistful smile that embraces his lips, a helpless chuckle escaping him.
“Because that’s just who you are.”
The thread snaps taut between them, so strained that any moment, it could snap.
In-ho doesn’t want to forget that face. To lose it for good.
But it was everything he deserved-and more.
“A part of me really hated you for it. For being able to forgive even those who had wronged you the most.”
In-ho lifts a hand to his brow, shaking his head as tears threaten to run down his cheeks once more.
“How could you? What kind of person are you to open your heart to monsters like that?”
Having lost the battle, In-ho lets his trembling hand fall as the first of his tears spill from his shimmering eyes, reflecting the flickering lights of the city below.
“Even now, even in death, you hover around the likes of me.”
He’s lifting an accusatory finger before he can think twice, the thread between them slackening as he takes a few unsteady strides toward the man watching with narrowed eyes.
“Why? You’re not here to taunt me, haunt me, torture me, that’s not who you are!”
“How can you-”
His voice catches in his throat, ragged and icy breaths pumping out of his lungs.
He feels lightheaded and nauseous, his body barely able to keep itself together after days of starvation and sleepless nights.
The sob that tears itself from him can’t be stopped, and his next words spill out in a helpless, sorrowful plea.
“How can you even look at me?”
His hands have fallen to his sides, his face downturned and eyes squeezed shut.
The rational part of his brain screams at how disturbed he must look, how utterly nonsensical to any rational, sane human being.
But he isn’t thinking clearly.
The apparition of the only man who could ever truly understand his grief, his pain, his rage, his sins-
He blinks his eyes open suddenly.
An empty space greets him, the rooftop empty and silent.
His thudding heart aches painfully in his chest, his lungs too constricted to breathe in or out.
Gihun is gone.
It feels as if the last remaining shard of his sanity has vanished with him.
He takes one shaky step back, his legs guiding him to the edge of the railing.
He doesn’t bother lifting his arms to catch himself, not when the numbness in his chest has completely consumed him, leaving no room for any thought of waking up the next morning and continuing to live this aimless, wandering existence.
“A whole year.”
The sudden, familiar voice freezes him in place.
For a moment, he stands in perfect stillness, wondering if he had hallucinated it.
“Can you believe it?”
Eyes wide with disbelief, In-ho looks over his shoulder at the ghostly apparition now facing the city, assuming the exact posture he’d held for hours prior.
Had he just…?
When Gihun suddenly turns to look at him, the barest hint of a smile gracing his lips and brown, lit-up eyes softening at the edges, In-ho’s shattered heart thrums with a faint pulse of warmth.
An achingly familiar voice, paired with an agonizingly familiar face.
A miracle he couldn’t believe-his eyes afraid to trust, his ears hesitant to listen.
An olive branch he did not deserve.
An open palm extended in his direction.
One final chance to strive for something greater than eternal longing and unbreaking misery.
A translucent, shimmering light at the end of what should have been an endless tunnel.
Seong Gihun, in spirit, thought, or some other form, is here before his eyes.
And In-ho cannot remember the last time his shattered soul burned and was reforged with such blazing fire.
“What’s the matter?” the apparition teases.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”