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“Two,” the cheerful robotic voice announced as the carousal ground to a sudden halt, everyone standing frozen for a precious moment before all chaos broke loose.
Panic was heavy on Gi-hun’s tongue, his head snapping to Jung-bae and ready to grab him before another hand dragged him away. He tried to pull away from the person who took him, eyes on Jung-bae’s disappearing form, but they held on even tighter, fingers leaving bruises on his skin. He finally turned to see who grabbed him, letting out a sigh of relief when it was Young-il and not a random player, but it still didn’t help the curdling fear in his stomach at wondering if his friends were safe.
Young-il pushed him into a room first, causing Gi-hun to stumble and have to grab the black wall. He followed in shortly after, pressing his back against the door as people tried to push in. Gi-hun could only stare past him, through the small slot on the door where he only saw the terrified eyes of people who just wanted to live. What did it matter if they voted to stay or leave? Everyone was a victim of these twisted games, manipulated beyond rational thought, he didn’t blame the circle players even if they impeded him from getting everyone home safely.
Guilt twisted in his chest, squeezing his lungs of their air. He could barely hear the lock click over the sound of blood rushing through his ears, nor saw Young-il step close enough to touch. He flinched at the feeling of a hand pressing against his shoulder, pulling back from the unexpectedness of it. His back hit the wall and he curled in on himself, breathing ragged, unable to get enough oxygen.
He heard his name called as if from thousands of meters underwater, barely able to make out the syllables if he wasn’t so familiar with them. He couldn’t respond, couldn’t pull himself from what he logically knew was a panic attack, couldn’t even use the tips from the therapist he only saw once, he was drowning—
Gi-hun gasped as the hand returned, this time pressed against his own palm, and held him through the worst of it. With a sharp exhale, he felt his head finally breach through the water, breaking free from the current which held him under. He collapsed against the wall, taking deep breaths in order to get himself back under control.
“Gi-hun-ssi?”
With effort, he pulled his head up from where it rested against his chest and caught Young-il’s steady gaze. His eyes still held their characteristic warmth but there was something sharper, an edge that wasn’t there before.
“Are you alright?” He almost missed the other man’s question, too intent on analyzing the slight change in his face.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, “Thank you.”
Young-il glanced over Gi-hun’s head where the timer was placed and frowned, “There’s a thirty-minute clean-up this time.”
Gi-hun tilted his head up and there it was in bright red numbers: 29:18, the longest they’ve made them stay in this room. He sighed and brought his head back down, suddenly realizing how close he was to Young-il, yet he seemed entirely unbothered by it.
“Gi-hun-ssi,” Young-il began, his voice low, “Does that happen often?”
“Yes,” he admitted after a moment, hesitant at sharing such vulnerable details with a practical stranger— but he felt as if he’d known Young-il for years, it made it easy to forget he’s only known this man for two-ish days.
“Do you want to feel something other than that?”
He frowned at the question, searching Young-il’s gaze for a trick. “Okay,” he agreed after a moment, finding nothing suspicious in Young-il’s calm face. He probably should’ve asked what Young-il meant by that before agreeing, as the man moved much faster than he anticipated and kissed him.
He froze at the feeling of Young-il’s lips pressed against his, confusion locking his limbs in place. He pushed the other man away, just barely far enough so that their lips were no longer touching and stared at Young-il in disbelief.
“What are you doing?” He couldn’t help the strangled way the words left his mouth, the phantom touch of Young-il still lingering on his lips, “We can’t— you can’t kiss me.”
27:51.
Young-il looked completely unbothered, a small twitch of his eyebrow a crack in his neutral expression. “Why? Did you not like it?”
He choked, voice caught in his throat and couldn't believe what Young-il was saying to him. Young-il was married and he wanted to kiss Gi-hun, had kissed Gi-hun, and he didn’t want to help him cheat— he thought Young-il was better than that.
“You’re married,” he hissed, anger bubbling to the surface, “It doesn’t matter if I liked it or not, you shouldn’t kiss me in the first place!”
A flash of anger crossed Young-il’s face before he schooled it, a genial smile coming to tug at his lips. “No kissing?”
Gi-hun shook his head, “Young-il-ssi, I’m not helping you cheat on your wife.”
Suddenly, the man was back in his space, crowding him against the wall. A warm hand placed on his hip while the other came to rest millimeters from his head, practically boxing him in. “What counts as cheating?” Gi-hun couldn’t help the shiver that climbed up his spine as Young-il’s warm breath fanned across his face, reluctantly meeting the man’s gaze. He looked amused, a slight uptick of his lips, but his eyes were dark, almost hungry.
Gi-hun scoffed, pulling his own gaze away, “Kissing, that’s cheating.”
“Not sex?”
Gi-hun’s head whipped so fast he was sure something popped, “That’s implied, Young-il-ssi. Having sex with someone who isn’t your partner is the basis of cheating.”
Young-il leaned even closer, close enough that Gi-hun could feel his lips brush against his skin. “And what counts as sex?”
Heat bloomed across his face and he stubbornly refused to keep Young-il’s gaze, “I’m not going to explain what sex is.”
He gasped as Young-il’s hand slid from his hip to his waistband, fingers ghosting over his crotch. “What are you—” he cut off as Young-il’s fingers applied more pressure but he refused to give into it, “Young-il-ssi, what—”
“Sex can be defined many different ways,” Young-il cut him off, voice calm and collected and completely juxtaposed to what he was currently doing to Gi-hun, “Some define it as the act of reproduction, others say when it is two parties both reach an orgasm, or some more simply say it’s when a penis enters a vagina.”
If possible, he felt his face heat even more, embarrassment heavy in his chest. Young-il was explaining sex when currently touching Gi-hun’s dick through his pants, sounding so completely unbothered despite knowing what he was doing to him.
“Which definition would you agree with most?” Young-il continued, his voice steady despite the quickening way his fingers moved across Gi-hun’s growing arousal.
“All—” he choked as Young-il’s thumb pressed against the head, “All of them.”
With a smirk, Young-il’s hand slipped beneath his sweatpants and boxers and grabbed Gi-hun’s half-hard cock. He moaned, unable to control himself at the feeling of someone touching him for the first time in years. Young-il’s hand was warm, calloused, and practiced, fingers tracing along his slit.
“According to your definition,” his voice was low, heavy with something undefinable, “This isn’t sex, so it isn’t cheating.”
24:34.
He lost himself in another moan as Young-il ran a finger along his veins, pleasure clouding any rational thought. It had been so, so long since anyone touched him with something other than violence, so long since he had anything but his own hand and a cheap bottle of lube. It shouldn’t feel so good, being jerked off by a married man, but Gi-hun felt his protests die away with each move of Young-il’s hand.
He felt a hand on his chin, causing his eyes— he hadn't even realized he closed— to open. Young-il stared at him with open hunger, desire etched into every line on his skin. “Is this cheating, Gi-hun-ssi?” If it wasn’t for the hand wrapped around his cock, Gi-hun would’ve said Young-il sounded innocent.
Gi-hun held eye-contact, barely suppressing the urge to grind into Young-il’s palm. “Ye— yes,” he managed, trying to sound sure of himself, only to gasp as Young-il squeezed the base of his cock. He bit his lip to stop any more sounds of pain from leaving his lips, trying to hold back a response to Young-il’s movements.
“How so?” His voice was hard, its softness gone in as instant as his hand never released pressure on Gi-hun’s cock, “We aren’t reproducing and neither of us have a vagina, so how is it sex? How is it cheating?”
He tried to fight against the stinging in his eyes, the pain that barely bordered on pleasurable lighting up every nerve in his body. “Young-il-ssi, please.”
20:31.
“Please what?” Gi-hun couldn’t help the cry that left his mouth as Young-il tightened his hold, the tears he wanted to desperately hold back now falling free. “Use your words, Gi-hun-ssi,” he crooned, voice light, “What do you want?”
“St— stop.” He choked out, voice tight with barely held back pain, “Please.”
As quickly as he started, Young-il let go and Gi-hun breathed a sigh of relief. It didn’t last for long as Young-il sank to his knees and took Gi-hun’s pants with him. He tried to cover his nakedness, his cock that was still shamefully hard after everything, but Young-il merely batted them aside. He pressed two warm hands against Gi-hun’s hips, holding him in place as his face crept closer to Gi-hun’s erection.
He couldn’t help how his hips jerked when Young-il’s breath danced across him, instead shamefully covering his bright red face. He choked a moan from behind his hands as Young-il’s tongue pressed against his underside, licking a small stripe from the base to the head.
“Look at me,” Young-il demanded, “I want you to watch me make you cum.”
He moaned low in his throat, hands slipping from his face as he finally caught Young-il’s eyes. He was controlled, precise, completely juxtaposed to his position on the floor and fuck, the thought of Young-il’s mouth wrapped around him went straight to his cock.
“Put your hands on my head,” he blinked at the command but complied anyway, letting his hands rest on Young-il’s soft hair. He moved a strand back with surprising gentleness, brushing it back behind Young-il’s ear. The other man looked shocked for a moment, confused with the sudden kindness Gi-hun provided, but as quickly as it came, it disappeared.
17:28.
Gi-hun held his gaze, half covered underneath his lashes, as he slowly brought the head to his parted lips. He had to grip Young-il’s hair as his cock was placed against his lips, his tongue brushing over his slit, and held back a shiver. Slowly, Young-il opened his mouth wider, swallowing Gi-hun whole.
He moaned at the feeling of being wrapped in Young-il’s warm mouth, pleasure making his back arch and press even closer. Young-il didn’t move nor make a sound, instead staring up at Gi-hun, lips wrapped around the base of his cock and drool slowly leaking from his mouth, it was too much— it wasn’t enough. He whined, jerking against the tight hold Young-il had on his hips.
“Please,” he tugged at Young-il’s hair, “Please.”
Young-il moved his tongue, tracing along Gi-hun’s underside and made his stomach clench with pleasure. He had barely done anything, and Gi-hun was already close, a taught string ready to snap. As if knowing that Gi-hun was reaching his climax, Young-il began to bob his head, the wet sound of his tongue dragging across Gi-hun’s cock the only sound filling the small room.
He pulled at Young-il’s hair, feeling the pleasure build to a crescendo, “Young-il—”
The other man only responded with a low moan which vibrated throughout Gi-hun’s body, causing his hips to twitch against his hold, wanting to push closer to Young-il. He let out a cry when Young-il’s teeth grazed his cock, eyes he hadn’t realized he shut flying open. Gi-hun looked down and caught Young-il already staring at him, eyes hooded with desire and face flushed red. He glanced lower and noticed the bulge in his sweatpants, yet Young-il never touched himself, it was Gi-hun that made him hard. The thought of causing someone as handsome as Young-il to be hard finally pushed him over the edge.
He let out a ragged moan, hips stuttering into Young-il’s face. The man held his softening cock in his mouth for a few moments more and Gi-hun watched, transfixed, as his throat bobbed with each swallow of Gi-hun’s cum. Young-il let go with a pop, saliva and cum dripping down his chin and onto the player's uniform but he didn’t move to wipe it, instead continuing to stare at Gi-hun.
13:10.
He covered his face with a shaking hand, shame and guilt curdling in his gut. Fuck. Young-il had just given him a blowjob in the middle of the games, while people’s dead bodies were being dropped into coffins and their blood cleaned. It made him sick.
Gi-hun collapsed to his knees, dry heaving onto the pristine black floor. He felt a comforting hand on his back, rubbing small circles as his stomach spasmed with nothing to expel. After an uncomfortable few minutes, he was able to take a breath without the need to vomit. He pushed himself against the wall without grace, sagging in on himself and barely caring how his pants still sat around his ankles. Young-il sat beside him, face relatively clean but still flushed and his normally controlled hair askew. Gently, the other man pulled Gi-hun’s pants up, saving him from the embarrassment of sitting ass-naked in case a guard looked in.
His eyes fell to the bulge still in Young-il’s pants, yet he didn’t touch it nor expected anything from Gi-hun. Guilt filled his chest, Young-il had given him a blowjob yet Gi-hun never offered to help him.
“Young-il-ssi,” he began, voice rough, “Do you want me to…?” He gestured vaguely to the other man’s crotch, face heating.
Young-il grabbed his wrist, causing him to look up and meet his gaze. It was steady, kind, and held no anger. “I did it for you, Gi-hun-ssi,” he said softly, “I wanted to make you feel good.”
He averted his gaze at the gentleness Young-il freely gave him, the guilt at having sex with a married man weighing on him. “But is there anything you’d like me to do?”
He could feel Young-il’s searching gaze but he refused to watch his face, rather staring at their still conjoined hands.
“Tell me about yourself,” his voice was so quiet Gi-hun was sure he imagined it.
“What?” He frowned, “You just want to hear about… me?”
Young-il nodded and Gi-hun glanced at the blinking red clock above their heads, 07:23. Only seven minutes were left, it couldn’t hurt to share a few things about himself.
“I used to be a mechanic,” he started simply, “Fix cars and stuff. I was decent at it, would’ve been promoted but the company went bankrupt and we went on strike, so…” He shrugged, gaze resting on their interlaced fingers.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Young-il said softly, “But is that why you first joined the games?”
Another shrug, “When I lost my job at the factory, there wasn’t really any other place that would hire someone who never went to college and whose only experience was fixing cars, so indirectly I guess it led me to originally join.”
“And this time?”
He pulled his gaze up, “I want to end the games, permanently.”
4:57.
“And how would you do that?” Young-il sounded genuinely curious, yet there was a light undercurrent of amusement, like Gi-hun wanting to end the games was something ridiculous.
He glanced around the room, looking for hidden cameras or small microphones only to realize a little too late that if there were some, they definitely heard everything they did. “I’m not sure,” he admitted, “Every plan I’ve tried, they’ve known it and stopped it. I can only hope that tonight’s vote will be in our favor, otherwise…”
“What?”
He shook his head, “It’s a bit ridiculous, but if the worst comes to worst, an uprising may be the best chance.”
“An uprising?” Young-il questioned, “Wouldn’t that be dangerous?”
“It’s a risk,” he agreed, “But one that may need to be made.”
“Even if people could die?”
03:90.
He swallowed the down the instinctual guilt, “Yes, but I’m sure tonight’s vote will end the games.”
Gi-hun wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, but he had to believe that after everything, humanity was still good. He still had faith in people.
02:22.
“So if we did get out, what then?”
Gi-hun chose to ignore the emphasis on if, instead focusing more on the get out part, “Well, I still have most of my previous winnings so I’d help everyone I can with their own debts. Then get back to searching for next year’s game.”
“You would come back, again?” Young-il’s voice was tight, anger scraping at the edge of every syllable, “After everything you lived through and saw, you would come back?”
He finally met Young-il’s gaze. “Would you?” His voice was hard, “Could you? The games never leave you Young-il-ssi, they continue to fester and rot in your memories until all you crave is to come back, to try again, to fix your mistakes.”
He held his gaze, forcing him to understand the seriousness of Gi-hun’s words. “You can leave the island,” he paused, searching Young-il’s face for any sign of comprehension, “But the island never leaves you.”
01:32.
They spent their last minute in silence, the weight of Gi-hun’s words casting a thick blanket of tension over the room. He looked away from Young-il, instead choosing to watch the small red numbers count down.
01:00.
He wanted to get everyone home safely. For Young-il to go back to his sick wife, to help Jung-bae get his kid back, for Geum-ja to finally rest and not worry about her son, to help Yong-sik made his mom proud, Hyun-ju to get her surgery and Gyeong-seok to see his daughter.
00:45.
To maybe get a chance to help Jun-hee with her baby. Help her with getting enough baby supplies, and teaching her all the tricks he learned with Ga-yeong.
00:39.
He wanted to be the father Ga-yeong deserved. To be able to look her in the eye without shame or guilt. To be able to move on from the games, to not have them consume his every waking— and unconscious— moment.
00:22.
He glanced at their intertwined hands, then up at Young-il’s face, finding the man already staring at him. He felt a small smile tug at his lips, maybe they really would win this vote, maybe Gi-hun could finally go home, maybe everything would be alright.
00:11.
“Thank you,” he murmured, face red, “I appreciated your company.”
Young-il smiled, “Of course,” he laughed, “But now you owe me a drink.”
A genuine laugh left his lips, “Alright, it’ll be your pick, but not too expensive.”
Gi-hun didn’t notice the clock tick down— 00:09, 00:08, 00:07 — too caught up in laughter with Young-il. Didn’t notice the timer hit 00:01, or the way Young-il’s smile never reached his eyes. Didn’t notice the click of the locks opening until Young-il was pulling him up by his hand.
Gi-hun had hope. Hope that tonight the games end, hope that everyone will go home, hope that everything works out. He carried it with him, a small bundle of warmth in his chest that pushed him forward, kept him moving.
Pushed him to rebel.
Pushed him to take Jun-hee’s baby.
Pushed him to believe that Young-il really wanted to help them.
Pushed him to think that no one wanted to kill an innocent baby.
Pushed him to believe that despite everything— the bloodshed, the lies, the betrayals— that Young-il would keep his word and protect the baby, even if he wasn’t there to see it.
Pushed him to take that final step off the platform.
His last thought was of the baby, of Young-il, of hope that after all the sacrifices, they would be okay.
I know you’ll take care of her, he thought, the wind whipping past him, I know there’s still humanity in you, Young-il, you just have to hope.
00:00.