Chapter Text
Homesick.
It is quite shocking to realize that he is homesick. Missing his home to the point his chest aches. It's been so long since he's been in his childhood home, the humble tiny apartment he shared with his mother and, in a time so distant he can barely remember, his father. The cramped building on the street he used to play the honest Squid Game with Sang-woo and a bunch of other barefooted boys.
He gets off the train at the nearest station, which isn't all that near to be fair. He could use some walking, anyway. The irregular stones of the street feel nostalgic under his shoes, and he runs his fingertips across the walls of buildings and businesses just like he used to when he was a bored teen coming back from school.
It's been two years since he opened the doors to that old apartment. He had been living in the Pink Hotel ever since he started his crusade to find the Salesman. Before that, in the brief period of time he thought he would be able to live a normal life, he bought a nice place downtown where he could bring Ga-yeong to spend vacations with him.
When he bought the new house he even considered selling the old apartment but he is, unfortunately, sentimental. He was born in that place, and now the money from the sale wouldn't make any difference to him. He kept it but all he did after his fateful meeting with Il-nam was to lock it and leave it be.
The few times he dared return to Ssangmun-don it was to check on Sang-woo's mother and Sae-byeok's brother. He had given them enough money to move to a better place but Sang-woo's mother refused to leave. She has made some good renovations to her home but she and Cheol still live in the same place where Gi-hun’s and Sang-woo's heights are registered up on the wall in pencil, the dates fading after so many years.
He is slowly making his way up the street when he hears the familiar voice calling his name. Sang-woo's mother looks happy, tending to her little business out of love for it and a desire to serve and repay what the community had done to her and her child. She is waving at him, her cheeks not quite as sunken as they used to be.
She reminds him so much of his own mother. Kind, hardworking, honest. How come these two good women raised such shitty children? It is puzzling. Maybe it was their fathers’ bad genes showing through…
“Gi-hun, it's been so long since you showed up,” she greets, patting his cheek when he comes closer. “I was beginning to get worried.”
“You need not worry about me, auntie,” he replies, a smile coming to his face without him even noticing. She shakes her head, very mother-like.
“Nonsense. Mothers worry all the time,” for a moment a shadow dulls the brightness of her eyes - has she ever found out that Sang-woo's died or is she still waiting for her son to return? Gi-hun forces a smile and she shakes her head lightly.
“Cheol will be home soon, you should have dinner with us.”
Gi-hun hesitates. This isn’t what he planned when he came here but before he notices she is holding his hand and directing him to the hallway that leads to the upstairs apartment. He sits down in the living room and it takes everything in him not to cry. The room is filled with photos of Sang-woo, the scents of their childhood, a small framed picture of Sae-Byeok all wrinkly and with the colors washed out.
He has never felt so much like a failure. Sang-woo’s mother tells him to feel comfortable and that she would be back in a moment, she just needed to close the shop for the night. Gi-hun makes a small affirmative noise and loses himself in that shrine to his idiocy and weakness. If only he had convinced Sang-woo and Sae-Byeok to quit the games…
The door opens and instead of Sang-woo's mother, it is Cheol who enters the apartment. He has grown so much! He isn't that same scrawny kid he rescued from the North two years ago. He is a young man with a serious but kind face. Unsurprisingly, he reminds Gi-hun of Sang-woo when he was that age.
Cheol greets him politely with a big smile on his face and excuses himself to the bedroom to get rid of his uniform and clean up a little before dinner. Gi-hun smiles back at him. Despite having the Cho family demeanor he looks so much like Sae-Byeok…
Dinner is simple but there is something really filling about it. Gi-hun is tempted to say it is love. The love Sang-woo's mother has for her boys - yes, she called him, a fifty-year-old man her boy. The love Cheol has for her in response.
And, shockingly, the love Gi-hun feels for both of them. Sang-woo's been his best friend all their childhood and teenage years, up until Sang-woo left for university. The pride and joy of Ssangmun-dong, a phrase Gi-hun never tired of after all those years.
The homemade food after two years of frozen convenience store dinners is a godsend and Gi-hun eats more than he had intended. He feels his belly heavy as he dutifully washes the dishes - a task he would have run away from before but he finds oddly pleasant now. The domesticity of it is almost novel to him after all the tragedy and suffering.
He excuses himself right after the meal is done. Seeing them together reminds him too much of himself and his mother and nothing has ever hurt him more than coming back home all battered and bruised and finding her already dead. The knowledge that she died alone and in pain is the worst punishment for his own crimes - hence why he left the old apartment closed and forgotten.
He couldn’t face it anymore.
The door makes a loud, grating sound when he pushes it open. He frowns as the smell of mold and dirt fills his nose. For months he planned on either coming here to clean it up or at least getting a cleaning crew to do it but he always put it aside. Now he can barely stand the stench but he locks the door behind and sits down on the floor.
There is a layer of dust on the low table where he and his mother used to share meals. He runs his finger over it - it is still a little slick with oil. He has always been a messy eater and of course, he never cared to clean up after himself. But he is a changed man. He will fix the messes he’s done.
Starting by In-ho.
He pulls the copies of the pictures from his pocket and spreads them over the dirty table. The lights are dim but it’s good enough to see. He even has a magnifying glass with him, the kind used in police investigations to find the smallest evidence. He picks the one photo of the survivors in the harbor and starts his investigation.
Gi-hun clearly remembers leaving the island without his jacket. It was bitterly cold on the boat ride back to Seoul and Jun-ho gave him a ratty brown blanket that reeked of fish and motor oil just so his teeth would stop chattering. He also remembers the last time he had the jacket on: the Frontman’s room where he and In-ho had their last meeting.
The memory of his jacket piled up with In-ho’s trousers, tossed on the obscenely polished floors, the frontman's mask just a couple of feet away. The memory of In-ho, half naked and covered in bruises and love bites, cum between his legs, asking Gi-hun to kill him… He takes a deep breath.
So, the jacket was left in In-ho’s room, which doesn't necessarily mean the one in the picture is In-ho. Perhaps a guard or even a VIP could have found it and disguised themself as a player to be rescued. Gi-hun brings the picture closer and uses the magnifying glass to check the details.
The first clue is how ill-fitting the jacket is: the sleeves covering the hands, the hem going past his hips. Despite being long it is also quite snug on the shoulders. In-ho is a few inches shorter than Gi-hun, but he has a stronger build. It could be him, but Gi-hun must be sure before he acts.
All the people in the picture have their backs to the camera, it is hard to identify many of them except for their numbers. Gi-hun tries to remember every detail about In-ho’s figure and features, anything that could help him. Did he have any moles? Tattoos? Scars? Well, he had plenty of those but none that would be visible in this picture.
Oh, maybe…
Gi-hun shifts his focus to the neck of the man in his jacket and, even though the picture is grainy, he can see a clear difference in color between the side of the neck and the hands or ears. Plum-colored splotches that could very well match the shape of Gi-hun’s fingertips. His heart races.
He can't get ahead of himself. While searching for the Salesman he learned the value of patience and acting at the right time. If he goes running around without a plan he will use all the money he still has and leave with nothing. He sighs, trying to tame the animal of hope and fear that is rebelling on his chest.
His eyes hurt. He's been looking at it for so long, he might as well take a break. Start with fresh eyes in a moment.
On cue, there is a knock on the door. Quite unusual for the time, but it is such a timid, soft knocking that he can't help going to the door to check who it is.
Through the peephole he sees Cheol standing there, hands clasped on his front, eyes on his own shoes. Gi-hun opens the door, startling Cheol a little.
“Mr. Gi-hun,” he greets with a polite bow. “I apologize for the hour, but I saw the lights on and I wanted to talk to you in private.”
Gi-hun can easily imagine what the boy wants to talk about. He steps aside and lets Cheol in, and takes him to the living room, away from the table where the pictures are still waiting for him.
“What may I help you with, Cheol?”
“You are friends with my sister, aren't you?”
Is he even Sae-byeok's friend? He doesn't know her birthday or her favorite color or what allergies he has. He was her ally and he failed her. But Cheol doesn't need to know it now. Probably never.
“Yes,” he answers as genuinely as he can.
“Is she dead?” Cheol's voice is firm but Gi-hun sees how he's twisting his fingers together, his eyes tightening to avoid tears.
“Yes,” Gi-hun replies softly. “She urged me to bring you over just before she passed. She loved you very much.”
Cheol nods somberly. He doesn't seem surprised but there is an insurmountable sadness on his face when he continues.
“How did she die?”
“Attacked by a mad man,” Gi-hun says automatically, his vision blurring at the edges, his own fingers trembling just like they were when he was trying to stave off the blood from Sae-byeok's stab wounds. “I couldn't save her, I am deeply sorry.”
Cheol assents, quickly wiping a silent tear from his eyes.
“May I ask something else, sir?”
“Don't call me that,” Gi-hun shakes his head. He doesn't deserve Cheol's respect or admiration. “ Uncle is fine.”
“May I ask something else, uncle ?”
“Of course,” Gi-hun gives him a feeble smile.
“Granny’s son, Sang-woo, has passed away as well, hasn't he?”
Sae-Byeok did tell him Cheol was quite smart.
“He has,” Gi-hun confirms quietly. “Did auntie ask you to come here and ask me those things?”
Cheol shakes his head vehemently.
“No, uncle. I… I thought about these things myself. Granny rarely talks about Sang-woo nowadays, I think she already knows her son is dead.”
“If she never talks, how do you know it?”
“The flowers,” Cheol explains. “She used to have happy flowers in the house, around his photos. Now she rarely buys flowers and when she does it is always mourning flowers. Sometimes, when people can't talk about something they have to use something other than their words.”
Gi-hun is stunned into silence, he lowers his gaze to avoid Cheol's eyes. What an impressive kid. Gi-hun feels like he is the child right now, receiving some grand life lessons from a wise scholar.
“How did he die?”
“That same man attacked him,” Gi-hun whispers, his chest tight to the point each beat of his heart makes the scar Sang-woo gave him throb. He gives a wet laugh. “Sang-woo asked me to look after auntie. I guess I'm doing a poor job of keeping the promise I made him.”
“Granny’s been the happiest I've seen in a while after your visit, uncle,” Cheol tells him. “She told me your mother passed away a few years ago. I don't know if you still need a mother, but granny does need a son sometimes.”
“She has you.”
Cheol shakes his head and makes a dismissive gesture with his hand.
“She sees me as a grandkid, it is different. She feels like it is her duty to take care of me, and I know she needs someone to take care of her. I can't do it now. A son would do it.”
It is an innocent remark, it's just a child trying to care for his beloved caretaker but it cuts deeply. Cheol doesn't know he is sitting a mere meter away from the place Gi-hun found his dead mother with her fingers already black and dry. He doesn't know that all this conversation has been a torturing reminder of Gi-hun’s most unforgivable sins.
“What I mean is: come visit more often,” Cheol continues, his tone much lighter and brighter than Gi-hun’s humor. “I would like it too. You've saved me, given me a new life and a new family and still I know nothing about you.”
Gi-hun sits in stunned silence. When you are constantly tormented by your failures, it is easy to forget your virtues. He isn't a monster, just a man who went through monstrous challenges and was forced to do monstrous things to survive.
There is forgiveness for him.
He smiles at Cheol.
“I will,” he promises and Cheol smiles back at him.
“I must go now,” Cheol stands up and bows lightly. “Granny thinks I'm just taking the trash out, I can't take too long.”
“Do you want me to walk you home?”
“No, it's fine. Thank you for trusting me, uncle.”
“Don't tell auntie about Sang-woo.”
“I won't,” Cheol nods firmly. “Even though I think she already knows the truth, sometimes fake hope is better than no hope at all.”
Gi-hun lets this final piece of knowledge dissolve into his mind. His heart is tattered after this conversation but as he locks the door after Cheol he feels a fragile hope blooming in his chest.
He makes some coffee in silence. A bitter and strong concoction that reminds him of the night shift at the factory with Jung-bae. It tastes terrible but it is the best cure against sleepiness. He pours a cup for Jung-bae and wonders what he will do about it when he confronts In-ho again.
Back at the table he looks at the picture as if for the first time.
Sometimes, when people can't talk about something they have to use something other than their words.
What is In-ho trying to tell him? Gi-hun is sure he's just showing up in the picture because he chose to. This must be a message and Gi-hun needs to decipher it.
It hits him suddenly.
Context. Position. Intention. All the surviving players in the picture are sticking together like a flock of scared sheep. They are all turning to the same direction: the city, Jun-ho's police team guiding them out of that nightmare, faces turned down. Except for In-ho.
In-ho is looking in the opposite direction, face hidden but held high. One of his arms is relaxed at the side of his body but the other is held at a slightly awkward angle. Almost as if he was pointing at something. Or someone.
Gi-hun squeezes his eyes. He recognizes the man at the very edge of the picture. Almost out of sight, standing at the helm of the boat, unassuming and discrete. Captain Park.
He picks his phone and dials the first number there. It is late but he knows Jun-ho would be up as well, a night owl in his own right just like Gi-hun himself.
“Gi-hun? What is it? Are you alright?”
“Yes, yes, I'm alright,” he says, trying to sound as casual as he can. “Say, Jun-ho, where is Captain Park?”
“Captain Park?” Jun-ho repeats, confused. “What do you want with him?”
He is your brother's henchman and was tasked with both saving you and then derailing your investigations but since In-ho had a change of heart he ultimately helped raid the island and free the players and now he is the only clue I have as to where In-ho is.
Well, he can't say that now, can he?
“He helped you reach the island and we all came back to the mainland on his boat,” Gi-hun explains. “I think it would be fair to offer him some compensation. You told me he spent three years carrying you around that area on his boat for free…”
“Oh, yes. I can't overstate the importance of his help,” Jun-ho says and Gi-hun wants to cry but he clamps his mouth shut and waits. “I've sent him a gift basket but it wasn't anything impressive. It would mean a lot to me if you could repay him properly, Gi-hun.”
“That's exactly what I had in mind. Can you give me his contact or his address? So I can arrange to reward him for his help.”
“Of course, I'll text it. Did you make any progress with the pictures and documents I left with you?”
“No,” he lies between his teeth. “I am sorry.”
“It is fine. You are not a trained policeman and investigation is a hard skill to learn,” Jun-ho says, sympathetically.
“Yes, it is. You are really impressive, Jun-ho.”
A stilted silence stretches over the line.
“Would you like to get fried chicken and beer someday?” Jun-ho asks suddenly.
“Sure! I will catch up with you later, is it good?”
“Yes. I'm looking forward to it.”
“Good. Thank you, Jun-ho. I'll wait for Captain Park’s details. Good night.”
“Goodnight, Gi-hun.”
He takes a long sip of cold coffee. His phone rings with an incoming message. Captain Park, true name still unknown, lives all the way across the city. At least according to the info Jun-ho has on him.
No one knows of Park's true allegiance, except for Gi-hun, so it makes sense that he walked out of all this mess free, safe and sound. He had no reason to give Jun-ho false information and Jun-ho said he'd given him a gift basket so it is fair to assume the address is correct.
Well, this is something that will have to wait until the morning.
Now, he needs to sleep.
Tomorrow, he needs answers.