Chapter Text
The stench of urine hangs heavy in the air. It's the kind of smell that clings to your nostrils, not even wafting away in the crippling cold wind of late February. As the stars above shine bright, only dimmed slightly by tendrils of frost leaving mirages of clouds above, Min-su huddles for warmth.
It's a hard feat, considering his blanket has more holes than fabric. Still, it's all he managed to grab before his roommate kicked him out - though the term roommate might be misleading. Roommates don't usually have to beg for a place to sleep for the night; only being granted mercy after agreeing to take care of the household, the bills, plus interest. Not that Min-su's promises of payment had much merit, seeing as he had - and still hasn't - had the funds to pay anyone anything. But still, desperation made him lie through his teeth and hope he'd find something by the time that ordeal came around.
And the opportunity came in the form of games.
Games that he still prefers to delete from his memory, save for one person who'd shown him kindness for the first time in a long while. It's pathetic how he's still hung up on Se-mi months after the games ended, but there's one thing that people often don't realize about being homeless.
You become invisible.
There's something almost scientific about the process, or so Min-su guesses. He never made it through college, forced to drop out and get a job when - when things got in the way of his goals. Still, he sees it every day. He thinks that qualifies him to make an educated thesis. A routine has settled over him, wherein he wakes up, folds his meager blanket into his beat-up rucksack, and seeks out one of the few public restrooms that will let him in. People don't always realize he's homeless when he's like this.
Sure, his hair may be slightly grimy from being pressed up against the shelter of a damp bridge all night. Yes, his clothes may carry a lingering scent of sweat from not being washed in a while. But there's a key difference between him and other unfortunate souls.
Min-su doesn't take drugs. He doesn't lose control of himself or his bladder - and this gives him a significant advantage.
So yes, when Min-su does get the chance to wash himself to the best of his ability, fewer people are likely to look right through him. But when he doesn't, when the staff kick him out with harsh words and even harsher eyes, Min-su is very familiar with what it's like to feel invisible.
People don't even glance up from their phones when he tries asking them for spare change. They freeze, pretending to be so engrossed with whatever's on their screen until he passes and moves on to the next person, with equally unsuccessful results. They think he can't see them wrinkling their nose in his peripheral vision.
It's pathetic. He's pathetic. But there's no choice but to be invisible, because the other side of the coin bears an even more cruel reality.
Some ignore the homeless. Other, rare souls try to help, whether by giving up their precious chump change or donating food or water; sustenance that his ever-growling stomach will swallow up into the void, begging for more. A single sandwich isn't enough to feed an adult man for a day. But it has to be enough.
However, there is also the third category - those who like to antagonize the homeless. And as Min-su's ears pick up on the echoing sounds of footsteps slugging through the alley, he tries vehemently to curl himself up as small as he physically can.
Soon, voices come to accompany the brash footsteps. Not at all like the quiet scurrying of women equally as terrified of being out at night as he is, or the uninterested shuffles of passersby who view him as part of the dingy-street ambiance. No, Min-su can tell right off the bat that these particular strangers are used to traversing the world at night. Almost as though it belongs to them.
A resonant laugh only solidifies that thought. It sounds sarcastic, puffed up as though to impress. Min-su briefly debates ducking his head under the blanket, but the flashes of reports of homeless people being set on fire keep his hands shakily clenched around fraying edges.
Still, he doesn't look up when the footsteps finally enter the lip of his hiding spot. The bridge is just tall enough for the average man to walk through; an old construction that Min-su suspects used to be a water run-off once upon a time. There's a runnel in the middle of the cobbled path. Whenever he’s particularly unlucky, its rusty opening spits up nasty smells from the connected sewage system.
Luck must not be on his side today, either, because just as Min-su presses his forehead into his knees, trying to radiate his plea of being left alone out to the universe, both sets of feet stop abruptly. He knows what that means.
His chest thunders in panic as he feels the figures turn. Their conversation has turned silent - not that Min-su would hear it over the sound of blood rushing through his ear canals. He can feel his face start to flush as his body tries, and fails, to ready itself for a physical confrontation. As if he'd ever manage to defend himself against two strangers with only his blanket and a bag. There's a chipped thermos bottle in it, maybe if he's quick enough he could-
“...My boy Min-su?! Is that you, bro?”
Min-su's breath hitches audibly. It's the only sound that fills the space for a good second.
Unfortunately, his heart doesn't stop pounding at the familiar voice. If anything, it only starts kicking into overdrive as his mind painfully remembers the last moments of the games. It's like he can still feel the X patch searing into his right pec as accusatory eyes tried setting him alight from the other side of the room.
How tragic it is that he has no homogeneous group to hide behind now.
“Holy shit, it is you!”, Thanos - because that is undoubtedly his voice that, switching back and forth between Korean and English, smashes through the shocked silence. Out of the corner of his eye, Min-su sees him and the other figure shift in a way that tells him they're looking at each other. He, on the other hand, doesn't dare look up.
“...yeah.”, he confirms quietly, voice rough from coughing up phlegm. Sleeping outside through most of January wasn't kind to his immune system, and even though the sun shows itself more often in the middle of February, it still isn't enough to keep him from freezing every day.
“The hell are you doing here, man? It's like, ice age out here.”, he's cut off by a hardly muffled scoff, at which he tuts loudly. “What? There's literally a patch of ice right there!”
“I'm pretty sure that's mold.”, the other voice replies, nonchalantly, and Min-su would've been inclined to agree - because, indeed, it is a nasty lump of mold that's been growing there for ages - but his recognition of that specific voice has his stomach lurching in fright.
The acid in his stomach gurgles in upset, and before Min-su can stop himself, he tilts forward, nearly planting face-first into the rough edges of the flooring. Micro cuts slice into the meat of his palms as he starts dry heaving, body attempting to eject food that isn't there. All it leaves is a trail of saliva slinging past his lips, and the unpleasant noises of upset almost cancel out the other voices.
“Shit, man. Is he, like, overdosing?”
“How the hell should I know? What does it matter, anyway?”
This is mortifying. Min-su can't help but think Se-mi would be so disappointed after seeing him like this, practically soiling his pants at simply hearing Nam-gyu's voice. But it's inevitable, instinctive. How else is his body supposed to react when suddenly faced with what is sure to come? A painful death, most likely.
It's the only thing that makes sense. Min-su had already been terrified of Thanos' empty gaze staring back at him from across the room, unwavering pupils illuminated by blue lights that might as well have coated him red with blood. Min-su’s blood. There wasn't a bone in Min-su's body that doubted the fact that Thanos, in that very moment, wished to see his guts spilled for betraying their team like that. It was different from Se-mi's betrayal, because she'd never pretended to trust any of them in the first place, except for Min-su-
(A trust which he'd torn apart and thrown right back in her face. His hand had moved before he'd even realized what it was that he was doing, brain stuck on the image of Gyeong-su's terrified cries, his blood pooling somewhere on the floor, amongst everyone else who'd been shot dead. Dead. He just hadn't wanted to die.
And he survived. All at the cost of losing her trust.)
-but Min-su's departure from the alliance had clearly offended Thanos personally. And if Thanos was mad, Nam-gyu was in a different league entirely, because unlike Thanos, he'd always downright hated Min-su. And now, as he shakily wipes away the dribbles of spit on his lips, Min-su fears this will be the moment where Nam-gyu will let his hate have free reign. All without Se-mi there to distract him. All without Thanos there to stop him.
Even worse, what if he joins in?
Min-su doesn't get much time to wallow further before a scrunched-up tissue is held up in his direction. There's a logo on it, clearly stolen from a restaurant, yet Min-su accepts the flimsy paper all the same. Sadly for him, the motion causes him to glance up on reflex. The tissue breaks beneath the weight of his trembling fingers.
It really is them. Months apart haven't changed much of their appearance, save for the clear lack of turquoise jumpsuits. The darkness of night makes it hard to see much of their expressions, but their hair, at the very least, is still the same. A lot less sweaty from stress, maybe.
He bites down a whimper. “Sorry, ‘m not. I'm not overdosing.”
There's another scoff, distinctly coming from Nam-gyu. “Of course not. Like this baby would ever grow the balls to take shit.”, he shakes his head, black, silky strands swiveling in the air and rustling against the fabric of his coat. “C'mon, Thanos. Let's go.”
“Wait, wait, wait, Nam-su.” Thanos interrupts to Min-su's dismay. God, he'd almost been off the hook, hadn't he? He slumps back against the surface of the illegally placed - or, more realistically, forgotten-by-the-city - dumpster and hides his wince. Ouch, he hadn't meant to smash the back of his head against the metal.
Luckily, the other two don't seem to notice as Thanos blinks back and forth between them, irises swinging like the pendulum of a clock. “Shouldn't we do something?”
“I'm not doing shit.”, Nam-gyu spits out, lightning fast as he rummages through his pocket. Min-su's stomach threatens to revolt again before he spies the end of a cigarette balanced between the tips of Nam-gyu's fingers. “Except for slapping that look off his face if he keeps looking at us like that. Are you crapping your damn pants?”
Min-su mumbles an apology again, but it gets drowned out by Thanos’ words. “Nah, I meant like…to help him?”.
The lazy shrug of his shoulders is entirely at odds with Min-su's bafflement at the proposal. What's even more shocking is the sight of Nam-gyu sighing around his now-lit cigarette and briefly rummaging through his pockets.
“I only have some molly on me right now, Hyung.” Nam-gyu answers in a voice that implies he doesn't want to share it. Min-su's secretly grateful, because he doesn't want to know how Nam-gyu would react after getting his generosity rejected. But at the same time, a sense of disappointment fills him. Right. Drugs. He'd been hoping for money. Or something to fill his stomach with that doesn't burn his throat on its way up.
Before Min-su can get lost in the comfort imagery of pretend food, Thanos bobs his head like a businessman being presented with an intriguing project. It’d be funny, in literally any other context.
“Sure, sure. But I was thinking more like-”, at that, Thanos points to the ceiling of the bridge. He's tall enough for the top of his hair to graze against the surface, yet he doesn't do much more than vaguely point in the upward direction. “Roof over the head, yeah?”
“Wha-, no.”, Nam-gyu says before Min-su can even process the words. His body nevertheless cowers when an accusing finger gets pointed at his head. “Are you forgetting what that fucking shit did?”
Anger is written all over Nam-gyu's face, clear despite the low light. Min-su, not for the first time, wonders why he's so upset when his debts should've been paid off after the game of mingle.
Then again, maybe he's like Min-su, and the extra interests from the loan sharks just kept adding up, until ultimately, all the game money was gone, and he was back at square one. Just sans debt, sans home, and sans job.
Something tells Min-su that Nam-gyu wouldn't appreciate being compared to him, though.
“No, but - you're homeless now, aren't you?”
Min-su bobs his head hesitantly. Thanos' eyes linger on him before they drop down to the tattered remains of his blanket. Whatever he sees, it must strengthen his resolve, because he swirls back around to face Nam-gyu with his hands gesturing in one of his many wild poses.
“He was part of the Thanos World, once. The Thanos World doesn't have a homelessness problem, you feel me?”, he defends, voice confident in a way that makes Min-su suspicious. The whole thing feels like a set-up, though if they did want to murder him, they would've done so already. Shit, Nam-gyu even has a lighter on him. It'd be too easy to set him alight and wait for the police to do nothing about it. Except sweep up his ashes, maybe.
But whatever it is that's making Thanos offer him shelter - and, truly, Min-su's still waiting for the other shoe to drop - there's nothing in his face to betray his true intentions. Nam-gyu's analysis of his face seems to drag on forever, but just as the ash at the very tip of his cigarette breaks off to flutter to the ground, he groans in blatant annoyance.
“You've already made up your mind on this, haven't you?” He glares at Thanos, though not in the way he glares at Min-su. It's softer, more lenient. Min-su guesses it's whatever's making him look like this (to the point it could pass as teasingly friendly to a disinterested onlooker) that eventually has him shrug his shoulders with a sense of finality. “Ugh, fine. Fine. We'll let the stray stay for one night, but we’re talking about this more tomorrow. I don’t need a fuckin’ parasyte on me.”
The world turns into a blur around Min-su, because - what? The weight of the shock isn't enough to have his hope bloom into something pleasant. Instead, the excitement at the prospect of proper shelter for the night mixes with the apprehension of getting stabbed and murdered in his sleep. And all that does is make him squirm in place. What wonderful choices he has.
“You're so generous, Nam-su. Our modern Mother Theresa. Mother There-su?”
“No.”, Nam-gyu deadpans, steadfastly ignoring Thanos’ breathy chuckles. Instead, he turns to Min-su and cocks his head in an upward motion. “You. Get up.”
Min-su's jump of startlement at being directly addressed by the other is only met with an eyeroll.
“Don’t pretend like you weren't listening to us this whole time. Get up, or I'm leaving both of you here.”
Thanos's eyebrows furrow, bemused, as he snorts unattractively. “I have a key.”
Again, Nam-gyu doesn't do much more than roll his eyes, though now that the matter is settled - and Min-su still hasn't quite processed what the matter really is - he turns to nursing his cigarette like it's the most interesting thing around. “Whatever. Tell him to hurry up, we still have to walk to the metro station.”
Metro? It's been years since he's last been on one. These days, it's much more likely for Min-su to wear holes into the soles of his shoes than to find himself on the clean, slightly-warmer seats of metro trains.
“I don't…I don't have any money for a ticket.”, he admits quietly. He expects the offer to be revoked in response, yet even with his shamefully averted gaze, he sees Thanos and Nam-gyu give each other an exasperated look, before they shake their heads, as though choreographed.
“You think we do, my boy Min-su?”, Thanos says. “Lesson one in public transportation: always hop the gate. The cameras at that station are shit. They're not going to track you down for that. That'd be so 1994-”
“1984.”
“Yeah, yeah.”, he almost knocks Nam-gyu's cigarette from his grasp as he vaguely waves his hand in dismissal. “C'mon, Min-su. Follow us. Unless you wanna cuddle with the ice, bro.”
Min-su glances at the mold spewing from a soggy heap of old newspapers. Something's dead in there, he's pretty sure. Under the reeking stench of strangers’ urine, there's a distinctly decomposing smell clinging to the paper, like a small rodent decided to house there and never made it back out.
Min-su doesn't want to end up like the rodent.
But he also would rather not end up murdered. Or tortured.
He can't feel his toes. His throat is scratchy, a combination of the freezing cold and his earlier impromptu heaving session. There's a pounding headache reverberating through his skull, and he's sure that if he spends more time resting near such putrid smells, they'll start clinging to him too. More than they already do to his clothes, if he's not careful.
Thanos is being deceitful. Min-su knows as much. There's no way his generosity and Nam-gyu's reluctant acceptance stem from a place of genuine sympathy for his situation. There's a catch, a hook, a red line - one that he'll sign only to have the rug pulled from right under him.
But, despite all of that, Min-su doesn't have much to lose. This time, there'll be no Se-mi to help him traverse the insanity that is Team Thanos. But maybe that's a good thing. It means he's already lost everything there is to lose. All that's left is his life.
“Okay.”, he sighs, and reaches out to quickly fold his blanket into a lump. He gives a stuttered bow. “Thank you.”
When Thanos smiles next, it comes out crooked.
“Sit down.”
That's the sound of the other shoe dropping.
“Don't. He smells like crap. Stand over there.”
The metro ride had been as awkward as expected. Min-su had done his best to trail behind them and get lost in the crowd, away from the semi-watchful eyes of underpaid security whose job is to kick people like him out. Luckily, nothing happened, and they had made it onto the train relatively safe and sound.
It was then that Min-su finally got the opportunity to see the pair in better lighting. As was the case the other way around, because if the way Nam-gyu had scrutinized the stain on his pants was any indication, the man was quickly regretting his decision of allowing Min-su to tag along. It came as no surprise then, when, as soon as they stepped aboard the train and found inconspicuous seats to plop themselves down in, Thanos and Nam-gyu had inched close and began to whisper among themselves.
It had the hairs on Min-su’s neck rising. So he'd tried to focus on surveying the uninteresting interior of the train, and when that didn’t work, he hesitantly began studying the other two instead.
Their whispers had turned more energetic in a short amount of time. Now, their faces being mere inches apart was the only thing that kept their conversation qualifying as whispered. Min-su felt a sudden bout of embarrassment at watching them like this, like a voyeur. But all things considered, the feeling wasn't all that different from what he'd felt during the games.
It's their casual touchiness that trips him up. Perhaps, more so, because it's nearly always initiated by Nam-gyu. Even then, in that train car, Min-su had subtly observed the way they gradually seemed to crawl into each other's laps the further they went, caught in a world - or an argument - of their own. He wondered how high they were, or if that casual closeness was something they just did now.
He also wondered how they had even become a they in the first place - when, as far as Min-su's knowledge went (which wasn't particularly far), all players had been dumped and scattered all across South Korea, packed in neat little coffins with cute pink bows. He didn't need Se-mi there to remind him how bad an idea it'd be to ask the two. So he didn't.
Instead, as they passed station after station, Min-su focused not on their words but on their appearances. Such as the tired eye bags marring both of their faces, this time less from the terror of participating in a killing game, but from bone-deep exhaustion. Min-su recognized them well, even beneath the added layers of blinding jewelry and Thanos' neon orange jacket. The extravagance - no doubt remnants of their lives before the debt - wasn't enough to distract from purplish tissue indented from a lack of sleep.
He continued to watch silently as they discussed amongst themselves, before Nam-gyu happened to glance in his direction and mutter a loud ‘oh shit’. The arm that grabbed his elbow next belonged to Thanos, and before Min-su could even consider recoiling, they were bursting out of the train just before the doors closed on them. The hushed bickering from the two almost lulled Min-su to sleep on his feet as he trudged behind them like a lost puppy.
-Which brings him back to the present moment, standing awkwardly on the tiled floor of the apartment's entrance area.
“So, here's the proposal.”. A painted nail is pointed inches from his nose, and Min-su barely resists the urge to flinch away. “You see, we both work nights most of the time. When we don't, we're still busy as hell during the day. It's just a never-ending cycle, you know? It doesn't exactly leave us with a whole lot of time for our other ambitions. Right, Nam-su?”
“Oh, for the love of- just tell him what we need from him. My nostrils are about to clamp themselves shut.”, Nam-gyu hisses in response, not at all unlike the warning growl of an angry cat. He even goes so far as to wrinkle his nose, as though Min-su really does stink like a heaping pile of garbage. Not that Min-su would go so far as to show it on his face, but-
Well. He doesn't smell good. But as far as sleeping outside for weeks on end goes, he could smell worse. He thinks he has a tiny bit of room to feel offended. Maybe.
He sniffles into the collar of his jacket. Stupid cold.
Thanos does little more than reach for Nam-gyu's ear and give it a little flick. “You have so little appreciation for oral arts, my boy. Not good, not good.”, he shakes his head in faux disappointment, cackling when Nam-gyu wacks him in the bicep. “But as I was saying, whenever we have free time, we end up sleeping off the late shifts instead. We need someone on our team who doesn't have that problem.”
Min-su can't help but gulp audibly. “Me?”
“Yup’”, Thanos confirms, popping the ‘P’ loudly in the otherwise quiet space. “We talked about the idea of reaching out to other poor fuckers who'd fallen for MGcoin's scam, but then life handed you over to us on a silver platter. Neat-o, huh?”
There's no draft, yet Min-su shivers. That's…both worse and better than what he'd been expecting. Better, because there's no knife sticking out of his chest, no bat being taken to the back of his head, and whatever else kind of sadistic urges people generally tend to take out on those that get in their way of getting a boatload of money.
Yet at the same time, it's a whole lot worse. Every last player had seen how deeply intense the duo's hatred for player 333 ran. Lee Myung-gi, the internet celebrity. The man who'd caused them to need to resort to the games in the first place.
Or, not exactly. It'd be unfair to blame the man when he'd clearly also fallen victim to his own preachings. But Min-su's the last person to say any of this out loud. Their business involves those three and those three alone.
Or it had. Shit, Min-su should've run away while their backs had been turned. Getting tangled up in their vendetta could - and likely would - spiral out of control very fast.
“So what would you like me to do?”, he tested the waters, ignoring Nam-gyu's unimpressed stare boring into the side of his head.
Thanos grins, teeth shining pearly white like a shark's. His hand carves vague shapes in the air as he speaks, like he's sketching blueprints. “Stalk MGcoin. Find where he lives, where he works, that kind of shit. It's not like you're spending your time on anything else, so you'll have plenty of time to follow him around.”
Yes, Min-su should definitely have run. There's no point in crying about it now, but a part of him regrets not having looked for escape routes upon entering the apartment. Not that Thanos had given him much time to do so. The same second the door had clacked shut, the pair had whirled on him like a hungry pack of dogs.
He fumbles for words. “What will you do once you find him? Will you-, I mean-”
“-Will we kill him?”, Thanos’ mean grin only slits wider, his slightly too-large pupils telling Min-su that he's on something, though definitely nothing as strong as what he'd been taking during the games. “We'll see. We'll also see what we'll do with you once this is over. You owe us after that shit you pulled during the games.”
This time, he cannot contain his flinch. His back collides painfully with the closet behind him, a resounding thump covering up the splintered noise of his gasp. His arms reach out to cover his head, hovering awkwardly in the air as his brain debates between protecting his face or his stomach.
When he unclenches his eyes that he doesn't remember closing, two stern faces glare back at him - which is a vast improvement from what he'd been expecting. Namely, a ring-covered fist.
“Tch. He thought we'd forgotten. Dumbass.”
His eyes swivel from one to the other, waiting patiently for something, anything to happen. Briefly, he thinks about ducking, but he'd have to crawl through the others’ legs to get to the front door, which is out of the question. Thanos' glare sears particularly intensely, and Min-su knows that, unlike Nam-gyu, the other had shown him kindness prior to his betrayal. That's what made it count as a betrayal in the first place.
He prides himself on not recoiling when, like before, Thanos points a finger in his face, right between his brows like he's wielding a dagger.
“I'm still fucking angry, man. It's because of you that I'm still in debt. But-” the finger-dagger slides down, jabbing Min-su's collarbone once, hard enough to bruise. “-I can be reasonable. If you manage to track down MGcoin, I'll give you shelter.”
From behind him, Nam-gyu huffs. “This is my apartment, Hyung, but whatever.”
His words fall on deaf ears. There's no room for them when Thanos’ enlarged pupils stake claim on Min-su's attention, keeping him chained in place and trembling like a spooked gazelle. There's a warning there. Perhaps, even, a reminder that there are no guards around to break them apart, no Se-mi to steal Nam-gyu's ire, no Gyeong-su to defuse the tension. Min-su gets the message loud and clear.
At last, Thanos breaks their staring contest and spreads his arms wide as though making a grand announcement. “So, do we have a deal?”
Min-su quietly considers his options. A parallel world exists where his refusal is met by fury, emotions culminating in his bloody insides seeing the light of day. Stalking Lee Myung-gi doesn't sound nice, and Min-su would rather eat dirt than be anywhere near what'll happen once the pair gets their hands on the information he might provide, but-
Unfortunately, eating dirt is far too close to a reality that he's already facing. So he sighs under his breath and prays he can just get the job done and scurry off. If he's lucky, maybe having a roof over his head - however temporarily - will give him the chance to land a job, too, as long as it doesn't interfere with finding Myung-gi. He doesn't know much about the man, nor what routine he could've possibly slipped into after the games. Only time will tell how, or rather if, Min-su will land a job so he doesn’t land back on the streets once all of this is over.
Still, there’s one thing he needs to know first before he agrees. “Do you...have a bike?”
His feet throb beneath the beat-up faux leather of his shoes, toes shrieking in the pain of slowly being unthawed.
“...A motorbike?”
He averts his eyes in the bemused silence, trying to disappear into the floor. “A bicycle. I just - I don't have any money for the metro, and I don't have a license-”
He's cut off by waves of laughter, inappropriately loud for the time of night. Although Min-su isn't sure what time it is exactly, considering he has no clock to check, and his phone only gets a charge if the opportunity of public charging stations strikes. Thanos and Nam-gyu curl into one another as they try to catch their breath; the former even goes so far as to theatrically wipe an imaginary tear from his eye.
“Jesus Christ, this can't be real.”, Nam-gyu huffs through laughter, before abruptly cutting himself off. The way he so quickly transitions into his usual biting tone is unnerving. “No, we don't have a fucking bicycle. We're not twelve years old. Just hop the damn gate like you did before.”
Min-su's throat makes a garbled little noise halfway between objection and embarrassment, which he disguises as a cough.
Though he still appears to be inwardly chuckling at Min-su's honest statement, Thanos squints in consideration. His face contorts in a way that means he's thinking really hard, which equates to a normal amount for ordinary people, Min-su's come to learn. He's the kind of person to focus so much on his own goals that everything else, even logic at times, gets pushed aside.
“Haa, I guess it'd suck to have our tracker get arrested for petty shit like this.”, Thanos turns to Nam-gyu, voice lazy. “Look at this guy, Nam-su. Does he look like the kind of guy who can keep hopping gates and get away with it?”
Nam-gyu, too, gives Min-su a long, critical once-over. “No, he looks like the kind of guy to fall on his face while doing it. You know, like he literally did.” Min-su's cheeks burn red. He thought they hadn't seen that. Across from him, Nam-gyu shakes his head, sighing like the weight of the world lies on his shoulders. “So what do you propose?”
“An allowance.”
The silence that follows that idea is almost sharp enough to cut all of them down. Even though Nam-gyu's face hardly moves from its deadpan position, it's pretty damn clear that he's questioning reality right about now. So is Min-su. Though he suspects that, unlike the long-term drug abuser, his version of reality-questioning involves a lot fewer ‘Did I fucking take too much?’ queries.
Before Nam-gyu can crack his head open thinking back to the day's - or night's - events, Thanos defends himself with twin raised arms. “Listen! You're out of your debt, I'm still in mine. With the money you're not putting aside, we could invest in a MetroCard for him. Yeah?”
At that, Nam-gyu barks a humorless laugh, the kind that scrapes the back of his throat. “Sure, it's our apartment when it's convenient, but now my money becomes a collective fund. No fucking way.”
Thanos tilts his head back, a smirk playing on his lips as he trudges on undeterred. His left arm swings to drape itself across Nam-gyu's shoulders, pulling the other closer with conviction.
“Think about how much quicker we'll track down MGcoin if Min-su doesn't have to walk everywhere. C'mon, Nam-su. Please?”
Nam-gyu looks at Thanos like he's making him choose between two equally unpleasant meals. Just like under the bridge, his refusal lies palpable in the air, yet this time, Thanos’ intense gaze isn't enough to make him waver. No, instead it's Thanos’ quiet “Nam-gyu?” that has the other groaning in defeat.
“Fuck-, fine. But that's it. I'm not paying for any more shit.”, he bites out, though he does nothing to shrug off the arm still on his shoulders. Again, Min-su feels like a voyeur witnessing something he shouldn't.
It's Thanos who snakes his arm away to clap enthusiastically. He doesn't thank Nam-gyu, and the latter doesn't even look like he's expecting to hear it, so Min-su feels sort of prepared when both men turn to peer at him expectantly. “So, do we have a deal?”
A deal.
Min-su nods before he can overthink it more than he already has. His resolve is as steeled as it'll ever be.
“Great! I'd shake your hand, bro, but you are kinda grimy. Let me show you where the shower is.”
Thanos quickly shuffles off his luminous jacket. His equally bright sneakers get dumped in the middle of the room, at which Nam-gyu clicks his tongue and reaches down to push them neatly into the corner. Thanos doesn't seem to see as he hangs up his jacket on a hanger, which Min-su copies hesitantly. Nam-gyu doesn't hiss at him when he lays down his own shoes next to Thanos’, but he does wrinkle his nose at the sight of his flimsy socks.
But luckily, he doesn't comment, so Min-su quickly hurries after Thanos. The light from the entrance only reaches halfway into the hallway, yet there is a languid familiarity in Thanos’ wide strides that speaks of a lot of nights spent traversing the apartment through darkness. He doesn't even need to look to find the switch when they slip through an open doorway; the return of tiled floors an unwelcome surprise to Min-su's feet.
The bathroom itself is moderate. Again, he assumes that this is a remainder of Nam-gyu's life before debt. In order for him to have had so much debt in the first place, he needed to have been at least comfortable before. Not that Min-su's planning on asking him, or anything.
The gray walls are no shocker. From the bits that Min-su spied while walking earlier, the whole flat had a general theme of grayish tones. The bathroom's interior itself is nice. Nothing otherworldly, only what one would expect. A toilet, a sink, an overhanging cabinet with a mirror. Towels lay draped over a radiator at the wall, one clearly tinged purple, and when Min-su inches closer to the square bathtub-shower, the porcelain also carries a slight purple sheen.
“Don’t tell him you see that, my boy.”, Thanos’ voice suddenly startles him. “It took me sooo long to convince him it's unnoticeable.”
Min-su nods, for lack of anything else to do. Thanos reaches into the cabinet under the sink and plucks out a folded-up black towel. He plops it down next to the sink before opening up the mirror-cabinet, making Min-su's eyes widen comically at the rows upon rows of pill bottles, half-cracked-open sachets, and crumpled baggies.
His stupefied gaping must carry enough weight to garner Thanos' attention. He smirks proudly. “Quite the collection, huh? Most of this shit's ancient, man. Seriously, who even does Quaaludes anymore? Shit belongs in a museum.” Then he shrugs, as casually as ever. “Gotta keep it for the dark hour, though. Anyway, no toothbrush for you, sorry.”
“That's okay.”, Min-su's quick to reassure, grasping the conversation where he can. “I have one in my bag.”
It'd been one of the items he'd thought to keep on him. Oral hygiene is no joke. He's actually a little relieved to see that Thanos seems to share this sentiment, even if it falls a little flat with all of the substances he must be regularly abusing.
“Why not say it sooner, bro?”, he rolls his eyes with no heat, passing Min-su to reach into the shower. “Water’s hot if you give it a sec. Don’t take too long. Nam-su gets cranky when he’s sobering up, and he prefers to shower after the club.”
After briefly demonstrating the handles’ very complicated directions - red for hot and blue for cold - Thanos slinks away with little more than a brief bid goodbye. Min-su's murmured thanks get drowned out along the way, but it doesn't diminish the adrenaline crash he experiences once the lock clicks beneath his hands.
Holy shit. He actually gets to shower for free.
Not entirely free, sure, but the prospect of hot water is enough to have Min-su grinning like a madman for the first time since the games. Lightning fast, he chucks off his clothes, pees into a surprisingly pristine toilet, and launches himself into the shower.
When he turns the handle, actual steam begins to bloom, curling against the glass like a whisper of mercy. A squeal nestles in his chest when the temperature grows scalding, making his skin light up red instantly. The temperature change hurts, but feels so good at the same time that he could cry.
Oh. He already is.
He ignores the sting of his flesh and reaches blindly for the products that Thanos had pointed out. Min-su fails to see the difference between them and the other bottle resting on the tub's ledge; they all look equally bougie. Of course, Thanos and Nam-gyu would be the kind of people to be meticulous about their hair.
After bouncing between public bathrooms and cheap motels when he still could afford them, Min-su is pretty impartial after what goes in his hair. Nevertheless, he can't deny how good it feels to finally be able to properly clean himself without (complete) fear of being suddenly kicked out.
That's how the rest of his shower goes, too. With him trying to swallow down his tears and focus on washing and eventually drying himself. Nimble fingers dig out his last set of clean clothes. The laundromat is a luxury he could only afford in certain intervals, but at least the ration had paid off this time.
A sweater, a shirt, a pair of underwear, socks, and jeans. He folds the sweater back up before pausing at the jeans. The idea of strutting out of the bathroom without pants is unpleasant, but sleeping in them - when he has an honest to God roof over his head, shit - also isn't appealing.
He shrugs. He'll just take them off again before bed and put them back on in the morning; Thanos and Nam-gyu none the wiser. Plan formed, he stuffs the sweater back in the bag and gets to brushing his teeth - now with his sinuses finally somewhat cleared!
Minutes go by before he exits the bathroom at last, a small cloud of steam wafting after him. He pauses, faced with two closed doors. One is directly opposite his own, and the other leads to the room next to the bathroom. He pauses, nervously, fleetingly recalling Thanos’ words to see if the other had given him any sort of directions, when his ears pick up on shuffling from way down the hall.
It's kind of spooky, making his way past the walls painted gray, sans picture frames or any sort of personal details. Or, perhaps, it's simply too dark to make anything out. But Min-su doubts it. Nam-gyu doesn't strike him as the kitchy-family-portraits kind of guy.
Then again, he doesn't strike him as the kind of guy to own a library either. Sometimes hunches can be wrong.
The gigantic - truly, gigantic - bookshelf lies illuminated by moonlight. Judging by the equally monochrome L-shaped couch propped in front of it, he's wandered his way into the living room. His sight doesn't take in much else except for the bookshelf, though, because despite how elegantly tall it is, well…
It's kind of a giant mess, too. Books rest in disorganized heaps, pockets of dust outlining random shapes as loose papers stick out in between gaps. Even in the weak shine of the moon glancing in through the balcony, the shelf tells a story of someone hazardously shoving books in without any concern for weight displacement and load capacity. Seriously, that's a lot of books.
Min-su's heart climbs into his throat when he sees movement in the darkness, a figure stalking out of the interconnected horseshoe kitchen he hadn't noticed before. He thought his eyes had properly adjusted to the dark after so many nights spent in the cold outside. But these guys are practically shrews with the way they so silently traverse through the pitch-black.
It's kind of impressive, really.
He blinks dumbly back at Nam-gyu when an object is suddenly thrust into his chest. The other doesn't give him a second to grasp it, leaving him to rush to catch it before it hits the floor.
“Here's a blanket. If you put that ratty shit on my couch, I'll put a pillow over your head. I-”
Min-su's stomach interrupts him. Loudly. There’s no time for embarrassment with Nam-su quickly stomping into the kitchen and back, as he violently propels a yellow object atop the blanket in Min-su’s arms
Nam-gyu must interpret his confusion at the object’s nature as dissatisfaction, because he sneers nastily. “Tch. It's four-fifty in the morning, I'm not bringing out the pots and pans for you. The trashcan's there.”
Following the direction of Nam-gyu's thumb, Min-su grips what he now recognizes as a spotty banana closer to his chest. His stomach rejoices at the thought of food, any food, and he hastily peels it with shaky fingers before it can grow legs and run away.
“Thank you, Nam-gyu.”, he mumbles, before taking a horrifyingly large bite. Never in his life has a brownish banana ever tasted sweeter. Either it is delicious, or his hunger makes it taste like the best snack on earth, because it's gone before Nam-gyu's gotten the chance to open his mouth in reply.
“Whatever. We'll all talk more about this tomorrow, so don't scurry off.”, he says, ripping the peel from Min-su’s hands to dump it in the trash himself. As if he doesn't trust Min-su to manage it. Something tells him that that's the kind of thing Thanos would pull.
He turns, ready to survey the couch, when a hand takes hold of his shoulder, forcibly spinning him around faster than he can blink. If not for the unyielding hold digging into the bony cave of his shoulder socket, he would've crashed right into the couch table.
“And Min-su?” Nam-gyu's face stops inches from his, close enough for Min-su to count each individual eyelash, eyes wide in intimidation. “If you fucking try to steal my shit, or pull any kind of crap, I will personally gut you with a blunt screwdriver. Got it?”
Min-su's breath catches; the world narrows to the smell of cigarette smoke and the danger of Nam-gyu's stare. He swallows, muscles tight, then forces his chin down in a short, automatic nod. A small, wordless second passes that seems to go on forever, before Nam-gyu breaks his stare in satisfaction.
“Good. Don't forget it.”, Nam-gyu says sternly, before he turns around, likely ready to take his own shower, as Thanos had teased, before he pauses. When he turns his head over his shoulder, his grin is pure saccharine. “Sweet dreams.”
The sarcastic quip is met with silence. As Nam-gyu retreats, Min-su scrambles underneath the fluffy fabric of the blanket, situating himself on the just-broad-enough expanse of the couch. He doesn't get to enjoy the comfort of proper bedding much before exhaustion catches up to him.
Min-su's passed-out before his head even touches the pillow.