𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞

***

Preparations for the grand final dinner were in full swing: the staff, moving with practiced, almost mechanical precision, were setting the table. The hall filled with the soft clinking of glass and dishes, while the air carried the aroma of food soon to be served to the participants. It all stirred both a ravenous hunger and a strange, unshakable unease — the fifth game had left too heavy a mark on everyone’s soul for them to truly relax now. As the meal began, the players fell upon the food greedily. Five days of meager rations had taken their toll: angry, starving, and exhausted, they were ready to devour not only what was so artificially and falsely offered to them at the table, but each other, should the need arise. In-Ho cut his steak with deliberate care, his movements oddly slow against the frenzy around him. Yet his gaze returned again and again to Gi-Hun. The latter ate listlessly, as though each bite was a struggle. Unlike the others, Gi-Hun seemed almost untouched by hunger, and that worried In-Ho most of all. He held his breath, watching as Player 456 lazily speared food with his fork. A memory stirred — of Gi-Hun’s embrace after the bridge, when he had clung tightly, and In-Ho had cautiously rested his palm on his back, feeling the thin shoulder blades through the fabric. Again, In-Ho found himself wondering how fragile Gi-Hun must look without clothes, and his heart clenched painfully. Gi-Hun. Please… eat properly. Don’t disappear before my eyes… not like this. The players ate in silence, focused only on their plates. Slowly, the dinner came to an end, and the soldiers — moving with the same rehearsed precision — cleared the table. Each of the surviving finalists drifted off in their own direction: some to lie down and rest, others to mull over what they had just learned about the finale. In-Ho, lost in thought, suddenly noticed the empty space beside him — Gi-Hun was gone. At first, the Frontman assumed he had simply missed him leaving for his bed. But a tension gripped him as his eyes swept the room, searching for that familiar silhouette. Gi-Hun was nowhere to be found. It was as if he had quietly vanished into thin air, leaving not even a trace of where he might be. Where are you…? In-Ho shot to his feet, scanning the room sharply. The only possible place Gi-Hun could be — since the soldiers never allowed players beyond this area — was the restroom. The Frontman headed there at once. A soldier stood near the restroom door. In-Ho frowned, ready to voice a question, but the soldier instantly stepped aside, allowing him to pass without a word. Inside, the air carried a faint dampness and the subtle scent of soap. His heart hammered faster, pounding in his temples with every breath. His eyes caught on the mirror, where a stall door stood slightly ajar. He held his breath and stepped closer. — Gi-Hun…? — he called softly, almost in a whisper, as if afraid to scare him away. — Are you… in here? Peering into the stall, he found Gi-Hun sitting in the shadows on the toilet lid, arms wrapped around his knees, staring down at the floor. — Gi-Hun… — In-Ho murmured again, barely audible. — I… may I? Player 456 slowly lifted his head, their eyes locking. He only gave a small, weary nod before pushing himself up to his feet. In-Ho slipped inside, closing the stall door behind him with a quiet click. — You left so suddenly, I worried… — the Frontman said gently, stepping closer. — Did something happen? Gi-Hun lowered his gaze, swallowing hard. Words seemed to fight inside him, each one caught somewhere deep, refusing to surface. — Please… don’t stay silent, — In-Ho whispered, leaning nearer. Gi-Hun. I’m here. Their hands found each other, fingers entwining. Gi-Hun trembled, his breath uneven. At last he pressed his forehead against In-Ho’s shoulder, just as he had after the third game — when the world had shrunk to only their fragile little universe. They stood there in silence, as though everything outside that stall had ceased to exist. — Yeong-Il… — Gi-Hun finally breathed, unmoving. — It’s so inhuman… to treat a newborn like a prize, like some kind of toy… The Frontman listened quietly, his arm circling Gi-Hun’s back, holding and soothing him at once. I know, Gi-Hun. I… know… — We’re just toys to them too, — Player 456 muttered, sniffling softly. — No one knows what our fate will be after tomorrow’s game. He faltered then, his voice trembling. — We’ve… lost everyone who stood by us from the start. And if tomorrow… we have to play against each other… Gi-Hun clutched him tighter, pressing closer. This embrace was no longer the desperate grasp from the fifth game — it was gentle now, warm and reassuring, wordlessly declaring trust and closeness. — Yeong-Il… I can’t… I can’t kill you. At those words, the Frontman’s heart clenched painfully, his breath stilled. He held Gi-Hun tighter, as though he could shield him from the future, terrified he might vanish even now and leave him alone. — I can’t either, — he exhaled. Gi-Hun lifted his head, meeting his eyes. Their foreheads touched, and time seemed to freeze. They simply looked at each other, forgetting everything else. Hot breath ghosted against his lips, and In-Ho felt lightheaded. — We’ll leave this place… together, right? — Player 456 asked, lips trembling. In-Ho closed his eyes, intoxicated by the moment. Everything else faded away, leaving only the warmth of another body, the pounding of two hearts, their ragged breaths. — We sure will, — he whispered, nodding softly as Gi-Hun pressed closer against his forehead. — I promise. It felt as though one slight movement forward would close the space between their lips, giving in to the kiss they both longed for. But neither dared to take that step, afraid of shattering the fragile magic. — Yeong-Il… — Gi-Hun whispered. — Between us… it feels so strange now… The words lingered in the air. In-Ho didn’t answer, only held him tighter, breathing in the scent of his skin. His whole being trembled with emotions too vast to contain — and for the first time in years, he didn’t want to explain, or decide, or play the role he had always borne. With Gi-Hun, he wanted to be soft, attentive. To treat him like something precious, rare, and heartbreakingly fragile. He only wanted to be happy. And he wanted Gi-Hun to be happy too. Here and now. In this cramped little stall where no one could see them. His thoughts narrowed to one thing alone — that Player 456 was here, with him. That their foreheads touched, their fingers interlaced, and their hearts raced like teenagers discovering something new and beautiful, something called gentle, untainted love. Gi-Hun… With you, the world doesn’t feel so vile anymore. With you… I loose my mind. In-Ho’s fingers traced down Gi-Hun’s back, feeling every line of his body through the fabric. Player 456 closed his eyes, shivering as he let out a soft, shaky breath that sent shivers running down the Frontman’s skin. — Yeeong… Il… Gi-Hun’s thoughts tangled, caught in a heavy, clinging fog. Each breath grew harder, and he clung to In-Ho’s jacket as if it were the last shred of control he had left. A vision surfaced in his mind: a dream of a quiet green forest, long-awaited freedom, and just the two of them, lying in the grass, dreaming of happiness. Almost without realizing, his hand slid into In-Ho’s hair, fingers threading through it, as though reliving that dream — but now awake. — Yeong-Il… And in that small restroom stall, where only the two of them existed, hearing Player 456 whisper his name over and over, In-Ho swallowed hard, savoring every second. His eyes fell to Gi-Hun’s lips, lingering there. Oh God… how I long for your lips to whisper my true name. How I long for you to call me yours. I’d give anything to hear it… if only this moment could last forever. Gi-Hun… His eyes stung with tears. He wanted to pour out everything locked inside, to take the first step. But the words caught in his throat, tightening his chest. I beg you… — I beg you, Gi-Hun… — In-Ho’s lips trembled, each word baring his soul. — Love me. ...love me. They were so wrapped up in each other, so consumed by this quiet, intimate moment, that they didn’t notice when a few participants entered the restroom, chatting loudly. Gi-Hun tensed, jolted back into reality. Yet he didn’t pull away — their eyes met once more. In the hush between them, beneath the pounding of their hearts, they simply stayed close, as if this moment had been created for them alone — secret, tender, and infinitely precious. A moment that finally let them relax, to forget, just for an instant, about what awaited them. •••TO BE CONTINUED•••