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The scrapes on Nam-gyu’s palms and knees from being thrown out of the limousine have faded almost entirely now, but sometimes they sting as if it occurred mere moments ago.
It’s been weeks. He shouldn’t dwell on how cold the nighttime air had felt on his bruised skin. He shouldn’t think back to how the blood crusted under his fingernails. He shouldn’t bother remembering how hopeless he felt, limping his way back to his apartment, cold and alone.
He shouldn’t. But, he does.
Going radio silent didn’t make him look so good in the eyes of his boss. He’d sat on the edge of his bed, phone held limply in hand, and listened to the voicemail that'd been left for him, detailing the loss of his job.
These days, Nam-gyu can’t help but wish for death. He considers taking a knife to his throat, or hanging a noose around his neck, because the prize money he gained didn’t even fully cover his debt, he can’t manage to find any pills as good as the ones Thanos gave him, wouldn’t be able to afford them even if he did, and no matter how hard he scrubs his hands it feels like they’re still covered in the blood of others.
Is he a coward if he kills himself, or is he a coward if he doesn’t? The thought sticks in his brain alongside his stagnancy, and days pass in a blur or monotony. Shivering under covers, shaking hard enough to make his teeth chatter as his body craves for a drug it can no longer obtain.
He’s running low on food. He’s running low on everything. Nam-gyu knows he should be attempting to find employment elsewhere, preferably some other club in need of extra working hands, but the thought of doing so makes his stomach churn.
Nam-gyu doesn’t know what he expects, in the grand scheme of things. Maybe he thinks he’ll starve to death, alone in a shitty apartment, curled up in a stiff, uncomfortable bed, and that his death will be written off as a junkie giving up on life due to not getting his fix. Or maybe, if he’s particularly lucky, he’ll fade away into nothingness, obscure and unknown to the world, something that never really existed at all.
What he doesn’t expect, though, is for Thanos to show up one morning outside his door, smiling down at him as if this isn’t the first time they’ve seen each other since being stuck in a death game together.
Nam-gyu thinks he might throw up. Not because he’s unhappy to see him, not necessarily, but more so because Thanos somehow manages to not look like complete shit. He looks pretty well put-together, actually, and it sort of pisses him off. It’s been weeks (months? Nam-gyu hasn’t been keeping track) since they were stuck in that hellhole, and Thanos is standing in front of him with a stupid, brightly colored graphic tee with the morning sun shining brightly behind him, birds chirping in the background like he just walked out of a fucking cartoon.
Nam-gyu wonders how mean it’d be if he slammed the door shut in his face.
“Nam-su!” Thanos says cheerily. “There you are, my boy! I knew I’d find you if I looked hard enough.”
“Nam-gyu,” he corrects, though it’s clear there’s little point in doing so. With a grimace, he realizes he’s still wearing his sleepwear, which happens to consist of a white t-shirt with a massive stain on the side and a pair of oversized shorts. Ugh. Whatever.
“Right, right.” Thanos waves a dismissive hand. He tilts his head, looking him up and down. “Damn, boy. You look like shit.”
“Give me a fucking break. It’s eight in the goddamn morning,” Nam-gyu grumbles. “How’d you even find my apartment?”
He shrugs, attempting to peer over Nam-gyu’s shoulder to get a better look inside, unapologetically nosy. “Asked some guys at Club Pentagon.”
“And they just…gave it to you? Without question?”
“‘Course!” He gestures at himself with a flourish. “I’m the legend Thanos, after all.”
Nam-gyu heaves a sigh so heavy that he’s almost surprised it doesn’t alert the entire fucking apartment complex. “Yeah, okay. What’s up, man?”
Thanos’ smile drops so quickly that Nam-gyu wonders if he hallucinated his grin to begin with. Wouldn’t be the first hallucination he’s had to deal with in the past few weeks — being cut off from the drugs cold turkey has been far from pleasant. “You don’t seem very happy to see me. You should be tripping over your feet with joy, you know?”
If he could spot his cross necklace, then maybe he would. But, he doesn’t, and Nam-gyu is too tired to exhibit any serious excitement. He’s glad to see Thanos alive and well, truly, he is, but he also knows that Thanos is a self-serving man. If he spent the effort to track him down, he must want something.
“No, no, I’m happy to see you. Really, I am,” Nam-gyu says earnestly, and he hopes it sounds genuine, because this time it actually is. “I just…I mean, you said it yourself.”
“Said what?” Thanos frowns.
“That I look like shit,” Nam-gyu says wryly. “Things have been pretty shitty lately, so you’ll have to forgive me for not jumping for joy.”
“I’m not telling you to jump for joy—“ Thanos scoffs.
“Want me to jump into your arms and twirl you around like a long-lost lover?” Nam-gyu snickers. It feels almost foreign — it’s been a while since he’s found anything funny, and apparently the imagery of spinning Thanos around is enough to get him going.
“Yeah, yeah, very funny,” Thanos drawls, though it’s clear he’s struggling to stifle a laugh himself. “You know, smartass, I do have a proposition for you, if you’re interested.”
Nam-gyu’s laughter trickles into a small noise of intrigued confusion. “Proposition? You sound like a hooker.”
He gasps in mock offense, “I’m not a hooker! I’m the one paying hookers.”
“Yeah…I wouldn’t brag about that, if I were you.”
“Listen, bro,” Thanos says sagely, a sudden look of seriousness crossing across his features as he clasps his hands onto Nam-gyu’s shoulders, “can I be real with you?”
“Mhm.” Nam-gyu nods slowly. “Of course.”
“That prize money doesn’t even fully cover my debt. It really pissed me off, you know? That we went through all that shit and didn’t even get a full prize? So, I started thinking. I don’t have anything going for me right now, boy. Life is pretty fucking dull. I can’t even afford good drugs anymore.”
Nam-gyu nods along sadly. God, he misses those pills. He misses injections. He misses snorting up drugs with names he can’t even pronounce. He misses everything that makes him feel like anyone but himself.
“So…why not do whatever? Like, who fucking cares, right?”
“Right,” Nam-gyu draws out the word slowly, nodding in agreement. He has no idea what the hell he’s talking about.
“Nam-su,” Thanos says, and the glare Nam-gyu aims at him is so ruthlessly sharp that he clears his throat and tacks on a quick, correctional “Nam-gyu,” before continuing. “I’m starting my rapping career back up. And I want you to be my…uh…”
Nam-gyu stares blankly. “Your what?”
“You know, like…” Thanos purses his lips, trying and failing to muster up whatever word he’s thinking of.
“I don’t know. Are you high?”
“I just said I can’t afford that shit, bro!” Thanos complains. “My manager. Secretary, agent, whatever it’s called. You know, the person in charge of all my business shit.”
Nam-gyu knows it’s a little mean to laugh right in his face, but he really can’t help it. “Dude, what?”
“Don’t laugh!” Thanos clicks his tongue, removing his vice grip on Nam-gyu’s shoulders to cross his arms with an overdramatic pout. “Just say no if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s not that I don’t want to. Trust me, man, I seriously need a job. But, do you really think I’m qualified for that shit?”
Thanos shrugs. “You have a professional vibe to you sometimes. You’ll probably figure it out fine.”
“And what if I don’t figure it out?” Nam-gyu asks. “What if I fuck up your entire resurgence into the music industry and ruin your chances forever?”
“Then…” Thanos mulls it over thoughtfully. “I don’t know. We can commit a double suicide, or something. Romeo and Juliet style.”
“You’re sick in the fucking head, man.” Nam-gyu sticks his hand out, awaiting a handshake and grinning ear to ear for what feels like the first time in forever. “I’m in.”
— — —
“Okay, so, when I agreed to be your manager, I didn’t think that meant also agreeing to let you move into my apartment. Just so we’re clear. Total breach of contract.”
“Shut up, man. I’ll be the best roommate you’ve ever had. You’ll never want to live alone again.”
“Weirdo,” Nam-gyu mutters.
“I heard that!” Thanos sing-songs from the kitchen. “Holy shit, you have the worst food selection I’ve ever seen.”
It’s been precisely four days since they shook hands on Thanos’ half-baked plan, and it was two days ago that Thanos called him up and decided to reveal the fact that he’s been couch surfing ever since they got released from the games. And now, here they are. Roommates. How the hell Nam-gyu got himself into this, he doesn’t even quite know himself.
Maybe he’s being too agreeable, letting Thanos move in so quickly. They went through a lot together, sure, but it’s not like their lifelong friends. They don’t know each other excessively well. Outside of the games, they’ve only shared a few short interactions, most of which being comprised of drug-induced, nonsensical ramblings that Nam-gyu can hardly remember.
Still, they seem to have a pretty good thing going for them, and it’s not like Nam-gyu has anything better to do. Dealing with a roommate like Thanos might even help tear Nam-gyu out of the weird funk he’s gotten himself into.
He’s adapted a very “go with the flow” sort of attitude these days. Whatever happens, happens. He’s too broke to give much of a damn about anything, really, and that’s counting the prize money.
Before Nam-gyu can talk himself even further into misery, Thanos reappears in the kitchen doorway, looking far too accusatory for someone who just officially moved in about five seconds ago. “You’ve only got bread and butter, bro.”
“Oh,” Nam-gyu says, “well. Yeah.”
“‘Oh, well, yeah?’” Thanos repeats, aghast. “No wonder you’re so fucking skinny, dude! What’ve you been doing, eating air?”
“I’ve been eating instant noodles, jackass. Polished off the last of them yesterday.” Nam-gyu upturns his nose. “You of all people shouldn’t be commenting on my eating habits. Don’t think I forgot about back in the games when you told me you routinely eat peanut butter jelly sandwiches with pickles, you little freak—“
“Not routinely!” Thanos exclaims. “Not routinely, my boy, you must’ve misheard.”
“I did not mishear—“
“One time!” Thanos holds up a finger, speaking through poorly stifled laughter. “One. Uno. And I was high as hell, so it doesn’t even count.”
“I don’t think it works like that,” Nam-gyu snickers.
“It totally does, bro, trust me,” Thanos says wisely. “For real, though…I’m starving.”
“Make yourself some bread and butter.”
Thanos sighs dramatically. Nam-gyu wonders if he’s taken theater classes before, because the levels of dramatization this guy portrays is insane. “Can’t we order something?”
“Aren’t we supposed to be conserving our money to jumpstart your precious rapping career?” Nam-gyu taps a finger to his temple. “Lock in, man.”
“I am locked in,” Thanos grumbles. “I’m also hungry.”
“Dude,” Nam-gyu groans, “unpack your shit, okay? I’ll make the food.”
“Thanks, chef. Can’t wait for the five-star meal.”
“Watch it, or I’m giving you moldy bread,” Nam-gyu threatens, sidestepping him as he strides into the kitchen.
“…You don’t actually have moldy bread in there, do you?”
He’s pretty sure he does, shoved down in the bottom cabinets, but Thanos seems so baffled by the prospect that Nam-gyu decides against saying so.
— — —
“Are we gonna sleep together?” Thanos speaks through a mouthful of stale, buttered bread.
Nam-gyu swears his entire brain short-circuits. “…Huh?”
“Like, in the same bed.”
“Oh.” Yeah, he probably should’ve figured that one out himself. “Uh. I figured you’d sleep on the couch.”
Thanos frowns, resembling that of a kicked puppy.
“Come on, man. The bed is small as hell.”
“What, you against cuddling with friends? We cuddled in the games, didn’t we?”
Nam-gyu kicks at him halfheartedly from where he sits beside him on the couch, socked foot colliding with Thanos’ ankle with little force. “It was cold.”
“It’s always cold at night,” Thanos says matter-of-factly, “but I guess if you want to leave poor Thanos out in the cold on the little tiny couch all by his lonesome…”
“Okay, drama king. I’d share if we could both fit, but I really don’t see how it’d work,” Nam-gyu murmurs. “I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch forever, though. I’ll try to figure something out…I don’t really know where we’d fit another bed, though—“
“Don’t stress it, boy.” Thanos wipes his crumb-covered lips with the back of his hand, shaking it off haphazardly. Damn. Nam-gyu’s going to have to ask his neighbor if he can borrow their high-tech vacuum again. “I can sleep anywhere. I’ve been sleeping on floors forever!”
“…Yikes.”
“It’s a talent.”
Nam-gyu nibbles at the edge of his bread. “Right, right.”
“You need to eat faster. And more,” Thanos licks a streak of butter off of his thumb. Nam-gyu watches the way his tongue slides against his finger with an attentiveness that should probably worry him. “We’ve got work to do.”
Nam-gyu tears another small piece of bread off, popping it in his mouth. “What work?”
“My rapping career, bro. I need to start writing and singing, and you need to start looking into venues. And I’ll need a studio to rent out, of course.”
“Of course,” Nam-gyu parrots. He isn’t sure if Thanos expects them to magically generate more money out of thin air to fund this, but regardless, if this whole thing flops, both of them are royally fucked.
“You trust me, yeah?” Thanos asks with a crooked smile.
“Yeah,” Nam-gyu says, and is surprised at the truth behind his own words.
— — —
With a copious amount of smooth talking, and splitting some funds with Thanos, Nam-gyu is able to rent out a studio. He feels like it’s a pretty miraculous feat on his part, and the praise it gets him from Thanos makes him feel like he’s on cloud nine.
“You seriously owe me, man,” Nam-gyu says good-naturedly as they stroll around the small space. “I practically had to suck the guy off to get this at such a low price.”
“You sound a little too eager about that, my boy,” Thanos raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Got something to tell me?”
“Fuck off.”
“Kidding, kidding,” Thanos waves his hands dismissively. “Man, this is legit! We should bring some chicks here. I’m sure they’ll love it.”
The last few words are said in English, and while Nam-gyu isn’t fluent, he’s picked up on a handful of the phrases Thanos uses most frequently. “You’ve already got a few songs ready, yeah?”
“Right to business, huh? Look at you, taking your manager role so seriously,” Thanos jests. “Alright, Nam-su! Let’s go!”
Nam-gyu can’t help but envy him. He can’t fathom being so vibrant and excitable after everything that’s happened. He wonders if there’s something fundamentally wrong with himself, to be stuck in such a state of disarray. He’s left confused by his own emotions — he’s never had much care for anyone but himself, so why does he continue to dwell on the deaths of strangers?
They’re all nothing but roaches, and they’re all going to be crushed under someone’s shoe eventually. But Nam-gyu feels like he’s already been crushed, and he’s left staggering with a body that should no longer work.
When Thanos finishes fiddling with soundboards and recording some lines, they leave side by side.
“What’s up with you?” Thanos asks, eyebrows furrowed. “You look freaked.”
Nam-gyu wants to tell him that the smell of blood burns in his nose. He wants to tell him that without drugs to calm his nerves, he’s left having to combat thoughts that make him want to tear his own skin off. “I can’t live like this,” he wants to say, “I can’t do this anymore.”
“It’s nothing,” he says, “don’t worry about it.”
— — —
Trying to get Thanos an actual gig is a difficult task.
It’s frustrating the hell out Nam-gyu, although Thanos seems convinced they’ll stumble across something lucky sooner than later. His songs are catchy. He’s got a good voice and he clearly knows it, if his constant bragging is anything to go by. It’s no wonder he’s confident that restarting his career will end up working out eventually.
“If it weren’t for that damn crypto coin,” Thanos will start indignantly, and Nam-gyu will listen along, nodding intently, although they both know his drug-use played a part in the downfall as well. But he’ll never say so openly, as Thanos is never one to take the blame for anything. In this vein, him and Nam-gyu are strikingly similar.
Still, all the phone calls and paperwork and piling bills is giving Nam-gyu a fucking ulcer. He should’ve figured being some sort of stand-in manager for someone as fickle as Thanos would be difficult, but damn.
Despite the stress, living with Thanos has been pretty nice. His diet has improved, that’s for sure. He’s able to get out of bed and do things that the average person is able to do. That’s something to be proud of, isn’t it?
Pathetic, a voice in his head seethes. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.
Insomnia grips onto him with unforgiving relentlessness. Nam-gyu has spent so many nights laying in bed, staring upward aimlessly, that he has the number of cracks in the ceiling memorized. He counts them without purpose nor reason. He doesn’t pray for sleep like he used to. There’s no point — he places no faith in a God or higher power. If there’s any sort of greater force looking over him, they must truly hate him, to have put him through something so awful.
He thinks back to the way his body had seized during the first game, frozen in terror. How the spinning top had tumbled out of his hands on the first try. How it’d felt to throw people aside in Mingle, putting himself before any other. At the time, the drugs in his system had made Mingle feel like an exhilarating game, something fun and exciting.
It doesn’t seem very fun looking back on it. He exhales slowly through his nose, screwing his eyes shut. He wishes Thanos still had some of those pills. He’d give anything to taste that bitter, disgusting little tablet on his tongue again.
Anything to not feel like this. The stuttering pitter-patter of his own heart makes him sick.
Nam-gyu forces himself out of bed with shaky legs. His body feels like it’s made of jelly, but he manages to make his way out into the living room nonetheless, hand trailing along the wall to keep his balance. Despite it being the middle of winter, he feels clammy and uncomfortably warm.
The living room is dark. Thanos isn’t on the couch.
And, realistically, Nam-gyu knows that he’s probably just using the bathroom or grabbing a snack from the kitchen. Realistically, this isn’t something that should cause him alarm.
Realistically, he shouldn’t have gotten trapped in a death game. That’s not the sort of thing that’s supposed to happen in real life. Realistically, he shouldn’t have had to watch people be shot to death. Realistically, he shouldn’t have let himself get so caught up in the death and the killing, and he shouldn’t have thought about wrapping his hands around Se-mi’s neck and choking her to death. Or Min-su. Or MG Coin. There’s so many people he wanted to kill. If the games would’ve continued, he probably would have.
Nam-gyu takes a shaky, unstable breath. He hates being able to hear his own breathing. He hates making any sound at all. He hates the realness of his body.
“Thanos?” Nam-gyu calls out, and his voice sounds so meek and fearful that it makes him gag. He covers his mouth with the back of his hand to quell his rising nausea, heaving himself towards the kitchen. If he’s going to throw up, he’d rather do it in a sink. The bathroom sink would probably be more suited for him puking his guts out, but he’s hoping if he gets a glass of water it’ll curb him from throwing up at all.
When he stumbles his way into the kitchen, he’s met with Thanos already leaning over the sink, breathing raggedly. His face is pale, and he must’ve just splashed his face with water if his soaking wet face is anything to go by. There’s an uncanny sort of fear lacing his features, and an unnerving part of Nam-gyu almost wants to laugh. Figures that they’d both start losing their fucking minds at the same damn time.
Thanos tilts his head to look at him fully, eyes wide and startled like a deer caught in the blinding headlights of an oncoming car. Water drips down his face, droplets hitting tiled floor in slow, languid movements. For a long, drawn out moment, neither of them say anything at all. They stare, mirror images of each other, frightened and afraid, but unaware of what. Is it the aspect of living that scares them so heavily? Or is it the thought of death?
It’s both. And that’s exactly what makes it so inherently sickening.
The standstill is broken by another dry gag wrenching its way out of Nam-gyu’s throat, body lurching as it tries to dispel contents it can’t find. The jarring action seems to break both of them out of whatever trance they were in, and Thanos quickly shuffles to the side to let Nam-gyu brace himself over the sink.
“Fuck, man. Are you sick?” Thanos asks, voice more shaky than Nam-gyu’s ever heard it before.
Nam-gyu shudders as Thanos lays a hand against his back, his touch featherlight and soothing. The action is so inherently caring that it almost makes Nam-gyu wretch again.
“No,” Nam-gyu murmurs, breathing deeply. He really doesn’t want to vomit in front of Thanos, and tries to fight it down with pure willpower alone. Shockingly enough, it sort of seems to be working. “I mean, yes. I— I don’t know.”
He’s babbling. He always babbles when he’s nervous. He clamps his jaw shut so hard that he can hear the clink of his teeth clanging against each other, grating and unnaturally loud. Thanos keeps his hand pressed flat against Nam-gyu’s back, watching wordlessly as his fingers dig into the edge of the countertop, knuckles white and arms shaking. He must look like a complete wreck.
“I’m fine,” he mutters after an indistinguishable amount of time. A second, a minute, an hour — he can hardly tell. The nausea ebbs. “Sorry. I don’t know…I don’t know what my fucking problem is.”
Thanos removes his hand from Nam-gyu’s back to grab a napkin and wipe haphazardly at the water still dripping down his face. The loss of contact leaves Nam-gyu cold and empty again, and he fights the urge to reach out and regain some form of contact. A form of warmth, a form of life.
Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic—
“You feeling better?” Thanos asks. “You’re sure you’re not gonna hurl?”
Nam-gyu laughs dryly, but the sound is void of humor. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s fine.”
“What happened?”
Nam-gyu shakes his head slightly, unwilling to muster up an explanation. How is he supposed to admit that Thanos’ absence from his usual spot sprawled on the couch made his brain go numb, tumbling and shattering into something unrecognizable?
Thanos doesn’t press it. Nam-gyu wishes he could say thank you, but the words stay stuck in his throat.
Instead, he asks, “what about you?”
Thanos stares at him blankly. In the dim, yellowed lamplight, strands of hair still wet with water, Nam-gyu comes to the abrupt realization that Thanos is strikingly beautiful.
“What’re you awake for?” Nam-gyu rephrases, fighting through the haze of his own thoughts.
“Bad dream,” Thanos answers after a brief moment of hesitation. His eyes flicker, shifting back to discomfort.
“About the games?”
He nods slowly. “…Yeah.”
“I was thinking about them too. That’s why I couldn’t sleep,” Nam-gyu admits. “You know, sometimes it’s like…”
“Sometimes it’s like I can still hear the screaming. Sometimes it feels like there’s a phantom gun pressed against my temple. Sometimes my heart beats in a manner that makes me feel like it doesn’t belong to me at all, like it’s someone else’s organ entirely,” he thinks.
“I don’t know. Nevermind,” he says instead, removing his vice grip on the edge of the sink with a sigh. “Do you think about it often? The games?”
Thanos looks at him like he’s trying to solve a puzzle or discern the meaning of a painting. Nam-gyu half expects him to say that, no, he doesn’t think of it very often, and that the dreams are infrequent, and that he isn’t some sort of coward who replays situations in his mind over and over until his brain feels like it’s turned into mush.
Instead, Thanos nods curtly. “Yeah. I do.”
And somehow, the admission is harrowingly reassuring. “Me too,” Nam-gyu breathes out, as if revealing some sort of major secret. “Me too.”
“Hey, can we—?” Thanos starts, looking uncharacteristically tentative. “Can we share the bed tonight?”
He starts coming up with a rushed excuse, saying it’s for Nam-gyu’s sake, to make sure he doesn’t throw up everywhere. But they both know it’s not Thanos’ responsibility to be Nam-gyu’s personal caretaker, and they both know that this is a mutually beneficial arrangement.
As moonlight flickers through slivers of downturned blinds, they fit their limbs together in a small, rickety bed like they were made to be fit together. Warm, comforting, real, alive.
The little voice in Nam-gyu’s head that screams of cowardice and patheticness goes quiet at the feeling of warm breath fanning across his neck, and a heart of another beating against his skin.
For once, Nam-gyu feels at peace.
— — —
A wordless agreement is formed, and Thanos never spends another night laid across the couch. His new sleeping spot is Nam-gyu’s bed — more often than not, Nam-gyu wakes up with Thanos’ arm tossed across his rib cage and his face tucked under the curve of his neck, legs intertwined.
Thanos also has the tendency to drool, which is something that, under pretty much any other circumstance, would sort of gross Nam-gyu out. Each time he wakes up, there’s a 50/50 chance his neck will be damp with saliva, which is objectively pretty gross.
Still, Nam-gyu never mentions it. He shuffles his way out of bed, wipes himself off, and continues his morning routine without complaint. Sometimes, Nam-gyu will stir awake to the feeling of Thanos hastily wiping his own saliva off with barely audible murmured apologies. A softly spoken, “sorry, bro,” or, “sorry, my boy,”.
Nam-gyu finds it sort of cute. Not that he’d ever admit so aloud.
Months pass, routines are formed. It’s nice. Domestic. Almost ridiculously domestic, really, though Nam-gyu tries not to overthink it. Thanos releases an album, then performs a concert, and it all seems to be going pretty well. The most mind-boggling part of it all, Nam-gyu thinks, is that they’ve both managed not to blow all their cash on drugs.
Which, to be fair, is mostly because they simply don’t have the means to do so. Kickstarting Thanos’ career is getting off to a good start, sure, but it’s not like he gained worldwide fame and recognition overnight, or anything equally as astonishing. They still have a very limited cash supply, most of which goes towards groceries and an embarrassing amount of takeout.
It’s weird…it’s almost like the two of them are sort of managing to be productive adults. Huh…who would’ve thought? Certainly not Nam-gyu, that’s for damn sure.
Though, they haven’t spent their time together entirely sober. Far from it, actually. They’ve gotten drunk together more times than Nam-gyu can count, most of which have been at clubs and afterparties, and when they come across a particularly good offer from a dealer, they snag some weed to smoke and get high out of their minds. It’s nothing compared to the shit Nam-gyu’s taken in the past, but it’s something.
It’s enough to stop him from thinking of those brightly colored pills, for the most part.
Not entirely. But, a little bit. And, a little bit of distraction is likely all he’ll ever get, so he figures he might as well get used to it.
When Nam-gyu was a teenager stealing booze from his parents liquor cabinet, he’d get tipsy after just a few drinks. Now, he’s grown more resilient, and it takes a few glasses until the effects really hit him. Currently, as Nam-gyu squints under the flashing lights of a seedy nightclub, nursing another glass of booze, it’s starting to hit him just how much he’s overdone it tonight.
Poor decision making on his part. Not that that’s any surprise.
He likes partying with Thanos. Really, he does. But there’s only so many nights he can watch girls fawn over Thanos, clinging to him and whispering foul words in his ears, until the sickening, swirling feeling in his stomach becomes nearly unbearable.
Nam-gyu knows what jealousy feels like. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Who wouldn’t be jealous, watching girls trip over their feet just to get a second of Thanos’ attention?
Although, he supposes that’s the main issue, isn’t it? He’s not jealous of the fact that Thanos is receiving attention, but instead of the fact that he’s not the one receiving Thanos’ attention in the first place.
Nam-gyu watches from across the room as a girl drapes herself across Thanos’ shoulder, face flushed and eyes lidded. Thanos murmurs something in her ear, and she erupts into giggles.
Nam-gyu sets his glass down so harshly that he’s surprised it doesn’t crack. The woman next to him flinches, and the bartender shoots him a seething glare.
He heads back to the apartment alone.
— — —
“Why’d you leave so early last night, Nam-su?” Thanos asks the next morning, sleepy-eyed and still reeking of booze. Nam-gyu works diligently in the kitchen, making a small batch of scrambled eggs over the stove.
“Tired,” Nam-gyu says curtly. Not only is he hungover, but he’s still in a pretty foul mood. Nam-gyu’s insults become too sharp for his own good when he gets like this. He needs to hold his tongue as much as he can.
“What's with the attitude, boy?” Thanos asks brusquely. “You practically shoved me out of bed last night. I was banished to the couch again.”
“Banished,” Nam-gyu mouths with a scoff and roll of his eyes, keeping his attention focused on the sizzling eggs.
“You were so grouchy about it, too…it was like a scene from one of those old ass films about unhappy married couples—“
“Well we aren’t a married couple, so it really doesn’t fucking matter,” Nam-gyu snaps, and he knows he shouldn’t be taking his personal frustrations out on Thanos, and that when he drunkenly shoved Thanos out of bed last night, he was acting like an asshole as he did so. He’s fully aware of all of this, but his awareness means nothing when his mouth moves quicker than his head. “You could’ve easily stayed at someone else’s house, for once. Could’ve gone home with one of the girls you’re fucking and crashed out on their bed instead of mine.”
It’s a cruel card to play, and Nam-gyu knows it. They’ve been living together for nearly five months now — this is obviously just as much Thanos’ home as it is Nam-gyu’s. His mouth clinks shut the second the words leave his mouth, eyes screwing shut with a wince.
“What the hell is your problem?” Thanos asks, irritation and confusion mixing into one. “If you’re gonna keep acting like a dick every time we go clubbing together, stay the fuck home.”
Nam-gyu keeps his mouth glued shut, staring down at the yellowed glob of eggs in the pan. If he opens his mouth again, he knows he’ll say something mean. He knows he’ll say something with the intention to hurt.
A frustrated sigh sounds from behind him. “I can’t read your mind, you know. If you have an issue with something, you have to actually tell me.”
Nam-gyu doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look in Thanos’ direction. He plates the eggs, pushes it across the counter.
No more words are exchanged for the rest of the morning. Thanos sleeps on the couch again, and Nam-gyu doesn’t attempt to convince him otherwise.
— — —
Something shifts.
Of course it does, because good things never last when it comes to Nam-gyu’s life, do they? It feels that way, at least. It’s been a week since the argument, and they’ve both managed to exchange the most limited dialogue possible. Thanos has spent most of his time at the studio, and while Nam-gyu usually tags along, the invites haven’t been extended this time around. So instead, Nam-gyu buries himself in his own workload, writing out emails and handling Thanos’ media presence, as he always does.
They’ve reverted back to how it was in the beginning, with Thanos taking the couch and Nam-gyu sleeping alone in bed. Trying to sleep. He’s barely gotten any at all.
On a night that Thanos gets home particularly late, Nam-gyu lays curled in bed, waiting for sleep that refuses to come to him. In the dim light of his room, he listens attentively to the sound of the front door opening and closing, the keys rattling, the sound of footsteps approaching his door.
Nam-gyu closes his eyes and hopes he appears natural enough. If Thanos is planning to take the first step and bring up the way they’ve been dancing around each other, Nam-gyu doesn’t have it in him to comply. Not tonight. He’s so exhausted he can barely form a coherent thought.
The door creaks open. Footsteps softly make their way across the room.
“Nam-gyu?” Thanos whispers.
Nam-gyu doesn’t answer, despite the way his chest seizes. He wishes he wasn’t such a coward. He wishes he could put his thoughts into words without each syllable becoming sharp and prickly on its way out of his mouth.
A quiet inhale followed by a shaky exhale. Ringed fingers tuck a piece of hair behind his ear. There’s a brief pause, followed by a slow retreat. When the door clicks back shut, Nam-gyu lets his eyes flutter back open, his eyelashes wet with unshed tears.
Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.
— — —
When it reaches 2:00 AM and Nam-gyu still hasn’t gotten any sleep, he admits defeat and stumbles his way out of bed.
He feels childish, creeping out into the living room and tugging Thanos awake. Still, exhaustion impedes on any sensibility he has left, and Nam-gyu shakes Thanos’ shoulder clumsily, watching as his eyes blink open blearily.
“What…?” Thanos murmurs with sleepy confusion. “Nam-gyu…?”
“Can you come to bed?” Nam-gyu whispers, as if they aren’t the only ones in the room, as if he’s asking something outrageous.
“Me?” Thanos asks after a particularly loud yawn, blinking rapidly.
“No, I’m talking to the pillow you’re sleeping on,” Nam-gyu drawls sarcastically. “Yes, you.”
There’s a brief pause as Thanos stares up at him, still dazed with sleep, mouth ajar in bafflement.
“Sorry,” Nam-gyu murmurs, “please?”
Thanos stands up, stretches, and grabs onto Nam-gyu’s hand, fingers slotting together as if their palms were meant to be fit together.
“Okay,” Thanos says, and lets Nam-gyu lead him to bed.
— — —
When Nam-gyu wakes up, Thanos has already gotten out of bed. He can’t believe he’s saying this, but he actually misses the feeling of being slobbered on by his roommate. Jesus…talk about hitting an all time low.
Nam-gyu makes his way to the living room without much delay — after his little stunt last night, it’s obvious they’ll have to buck up and have a legitimate conversation about the shift in their dynamic. He can’t avoid it forever, and he’s already put it off for too long as is.
Thanos is making breakfast in the kitchen. Nothing elaborate, because his cooking skills are legitimately awful; just a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich. When he sees Nam-gyu approach, he fastens his pace before cutting it in half, handing over a piece with a tilted head.
It sort of feels like a peace offering. Nam-gyu accepts it with a softly-spoken, barely audible “thank you.”
Silence rings out as they both take small bites of their sandwiches. Communication really isn’t their strong suit, it seems.
“Good morning,” Nam-gyu says eventually, because apparently that’s the only thing he can manage to muster up.
Thanos glances at him with a raised eyebrow. The unspoken “we’ve barely talked in the last week, and that’s the only thing you're gonna say?”, gets across well enough through mere facial expression alone.
“Okay, so…” Nam-gyu bites the inside of his cheek, wracking his brain for a viable explanation. “I’m not very good at this.”
“No shit,” Thanos scoffs, though he throws a hand up in mock defense at the glare it earns him in response. “Hey, I never said I’m particularly good at it either!”
“I just don’t get it,” Nam-gyu starts, setting down his half-eaten sandwich and heaving a breath, “you could’ve easily never seen or talked to me ever again after the games. It’s not like I’m a necessity when it comes to you getting back in the rap business. What made you track me down again? Why me?”
Thanos raises his eyebrows — whatever line of questioning he was expecting, it clearly wasn’t this. “Because you’re you. We’re, like…connected, bro.”
Thanos shoves the last piece of sandwich in his mouth, crossing his fingers and holding them up in an attempt to get his point across. “I like you, boy. I like the way your nose scrunches up every time I call you the wrong name. I like the way you don’t take shit from anyone. I like the way you always cover your hands with the sleeves of your sweatshirt. And, when we were stuck in those games and high off pills together, you’re the only person out of that whole sea of people that seemed to get it.”
“Get what?” Nam-gyu asks slowly, still dazed from the nose-scrunching comment. Does he really do that? How’d Thanos even pick up on it?
“Get what I was going through. Get what I was saying. You were by my side through all that bloody, gory bullshit, and when I got dumped out of that limousine, stranded in a street I’d never even fucking seen before, you know what my first thought was?”
“‘Where are my clothes?’” Nam-gyu guesses. That was his first thought, personally. It was cold as hell out there. It’s a miracle he didn’t get frostbite.
“No, dumbass,” Thanos scoffs, “I thought, ‘Where’s my boy at? Where’s Nam-gyu?’”
It’s almost embarrassing, how much the words make his face heat up. Nam-gyu stifles a laugh, hoping his face isn’t noticeably red. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not,” Thanos says seriously. He takes a step forward, taking Nam-gyu’s hands into his own. “I’m serious, man.”
Nam-gyu presses his fingers into the meat of Thanos’ palm, staring down at their interlocked hands. “Thanos…when those girls throw themselves all over you at the club, it really pisses me off. I don’t like the way they touch you.”
Nam-gyu keeps his neck craned downward, staring as Thanos shifts his hands from Nam-gyu’s palms to his wrists, his elbows, then down to his hips, settling at the hem of his sweatpants. The grip is gentle, tentative — two words that outsiders would scarcely ever use to describe Thanos. Most would describe him as brash, crass, arrogant, rough; and at times, he is all of those things. But right now, in the middle of a small kitchen in the early morning with his hands on Nam-gyu’s hips, the only word that Nam-gyu can think of to describe him is loving.
“I didn’t know,” Thanos murmurs, pulling him closer, chest-to-chest. “I wouldn’t have entertained it, if I did.”
“It’s not my place to say who you can and can’t flirt with,” Nam-gyu mutters, his hands resting on Thanos’ shoulders. “It’s…it’s not like we’re dating?”
There’s a questioning lilt to his tone that makes him cringe with embarrassment, biting his tongue in chagrin. Thanos chuckles, and Nam-gyu’s breath catches as their noses brush against each other.
“Nam-gyu,” Thanos says, “every time I was with one of those girls, all I was thinking about was how badly I wished they were you.”
And then, without giving Nam-gyu a chance to form a coherent response, Thanos leans forward and kisses him, warm and soft. It’s a slow, close-mouthed kiss, and when Thanos pulls back, Nam-gyu has to fight the urge to chase after him.
“Can we?” Nam-gyu asks, their eyes locked. It’s a loaded question, and they both know it. After everything they’ve done, everything they’ve seen, are they allowed to seek solace in each other? Are they allowed to feel the comforting warmth of another, even after their skin has been subjected to the searing, heated blood of strangers?
Thanos answers by pressing another kiss to his lips, and Nam-gyu decides that allowance is an unnecessary concept to ponder. He wants Thanos, and Thanos wants him. That in itself is enough.
Nam-gyu parts his lips, and Thanos licks into his mouth as if trying to savor the taste, slow and languid. He sort of tastes like peanut butter, which is no surprise considering what they just ate, but there’s something oddly endearing about the observation. It makes Nam-gyu want to memorize every curve of Thanos’ mouth, every shift of his tongue, just so he can pinpoint how he’ll taste differently in the future.
And when they pull back for air, faces flushed and breaths heavy, Nam-gyu thinks that they deserve this moment of sanctity, after the way life has treated them.
“I love you,” Nam-gyu murmurs against kiss-swollen lips, and when the words are repeated to him like a reverently spoken prayer, he thinks that maybe everything isn’t so bad after all.
Nam-gyu thinks that, for him, this is what it feels like to truly live.