Archive of Our Own

They book the tickets together on a Thursday evening, buzzed on grapefruit soju and casually snacking on their leftover dinner. 

“Do you want one or two rooms?” In-ho asks once he’s done with the plane tickets and has moved onto booking the hotel.

You never know with Gi-hun. He’s unpredictable. Some days, he’s clinging to In-ho like he’s the lifeguard keeping him afloat. Other days, he flinches when In-ho touches him, or he purposely picks up fights that’ll lead them nowhere, like he’s doing it on autopilot, because he thinks this is what he’s supposed to do. Last week he kicked In-ho out of bed as dawn broke around them and ignored him for the next three days. He finally came back to his apartment just when In-ho was sure he was about to go haywire. Gi-hun was all guilty glances and silent apologies, and he tried to make it up by sucking him off in the shower.

In-ho has accepted that this is what their relationship is like for the time being. Gi-hun loves him, Gi-hun hates him; Gi-hun hates that he loves him, and he hates that he doesn’t hate him. There are days when the guilt threatens to eat him up alive, when the ghosts of Jung-bae, Sang-woo, his mother, and thousands of faceless numbers step out of the periphery and loom over In-ho’s shadow. Days when Gi-hun can’t even look at him without seeing corpses.

Which is ironic, seeing as In-ho has never felt so alive as he does with Gi-hun.

So he’s learnt to give Gi-hun space when spirits follow in their footsteps. He doesn’t presume that Gi-hun will ever forgive him. But that doesn’t mean that he’ll ever stop trying to earn that forgiveness. He’ll take whatever Gi-hun will give him. If that means living on parole for the rest of his life until the day Gi-hun finally breaks and slits his throat in his sleep, hell. He’ll take that, too.

“Two rooms,” Gi-hun replies. His cheeks are pink and his forehead glistens with sweat from the alcohol. In-ho tries not to let his disappointment show, but Gi-hun picks up on it anyway and rubs a comforting hand up and down In-ho’s shoulder. “It’s not about you. If Ga-yeong wants to come up to my room…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, knowing that In-ho will understand where he’s going with this. Gi-hun is definitely not anywhere near the point of having that conversation with Ga-yeong.

The trip has been weeks in the making. When In-ho first suggested that Gi-hun reconnects with Ga-yeong, he outwardly rejected the idea at first, claiming that the damage had been done and his daughter was better off without him. It took many debates, some ending in explosive fights, for Gi-hun to slowly warm up to the idea. He started slow, with a phone call which left Gi-hun weeping through the night and then dodging In-ho for the next day or two. But with each call, every slanted truth and white lie Gi-hun sold to his daughter and then his ex-wife, it became easier. Until Ga-yeong finally invited Gi-hun to visit.

“Do you want me to come with you?” In-ho finally relented and asked, trying to stop his heart from breaking as he watched Gi-hun stew over the idea of facing his daughter in person. 

He didn’t know if his presence would make things easier or harder for Gi-hun. All he knew was, if there was even a miniscule chance that he could help in some way, he had to try.

“Would you, really?” Gi-hun looked at him with his big doe eyes like he couldn’t quite believe him.

As if In-ho hadn’t already thrown away his entire life for him.

“If you want me to,” he replied. And that was that.

They plan the trip the next day in In-ho’s apartment, over soju and homemade bulgogi. Once the hotel has been taken care of, In-ho hesitates. There’s another idea he’s been meaning to bring up to Gi-hun. But now that he’s about to say it aloud, he’s terrified it’ll make him sound selfish. 

He’s been trying so hard to prove to Gi-hun that he can be something more than just selfish. The fact that he wants Gi-hun all to himself certainly doesn’t help.

“Would you like to go on a little trip after?” 

Gi-hun tilts his head, confused. “A trip?”

He nods. “Just the two of us. After you say goodbye to Ga-yeong.”

Gi-hun picks more food off his plate, glancing at him with uncertainty. “I don’t know, In-ho. I don’t want to… to waste time vacationing.”

He picks up on what Gi-hun leaves unsaid. He doesn’t want to waste his blood money; he doesn’t want to waste the time they’re supposed to spend tracking down the VIPs who run the games abroad. He doesn’t want the trip to become about having a good time when it’s supposed to be about redeeming himself in front of his daughter.

In-ho won’t let him drown in his own guilt and the quest for self-flagellation.

“This is for me, not you,” he says, only half-lying. “There’s a place I’ve always wanted to visit. It’s nothing too fancy, and it would take just a day or two.” He reaches out and covers Gi-hun’s hand with his own when the other man continues to hesitate. “For me. Please.”

After a tense beat, Gi-hun nods. 

“Okay, In-ho,” he says, like the fact that In-ho wants it is enough.

Gi-hun doesn’t admit that it’s his first time on a plane until they’re at the airport. 

“Really?” In-ho raises his eyebrows at him.

Gi-hun just shrugs. “Never had any reason to leave the country.”

In-ho’s not sure why he’s so surprised. Before the games turned everything in his life on its head, he’d only been on a plane once, for a quick vacation trip with his wife. He suppresses a light shudder at the memory.

Turns out that Gi-hun isn’t a nervous flier. They switch so Gi-hun can have the window seat, and he spends the first hour of the flight just admiring the view. Once the initial excitement of having the world turn miniscule underneath them has petered out, he watches a movie as In-ho reads his book and plays sudoku. They take turns dozing off, and at one point In-ho wakes up with his head lodged against Gi-hun’s shoulder and Gi-hun’s drool leaving a trail down the slope of his forehead. He doesn’t have it in himself to budge. 

Los Angeles is colder than he expected. Although their flight was 12 hours long, the time difference means that time has frozen in place. They got on their plane at 4 in the afternoon, and they get off at noon the same day. It’s funny how easy it is to forget how little time means in the grand scheme of things.

They unpack in their separate rooms but Gi-hun still leaves his pajamas and toiletries in In-ho’s room, already claiming one of the bedside tables. Whether they’ll sleep in one bed at night was never a question that either of them had to pose.

They eat lunch at a small diner next to their hotel, too hungry and tired to look for alternatives. In-ho can barely keep his eyes open long enough to peer at the menu. He picks the tuna salad, overwhelmed by the long list full of fried, heavy food. Since the place turns out to have an all-day breakfast menu, he watches Gi-hun weigh his options before finally ordering bacon and eggs with toast. 

They eat slowly, still too exhausted to fill the silence with conversation. In-ho suddenly realizes that Gi-hun is picking at his food, barely nudging it with his fork without actually putting it in his mouth. He wants to tease him about choosing the wrong meal, maybe offer a bite of his own salad, before the reason for Gi-hun not eating dawns on him.

“Are you nervous?” He asks, keeping his tone casual so he doesn’t spook Gi-hun.

Gi-hun looks up at him from his meal. He exhales and shifts in his seat, and In-ho can tell that he’s grateful that In-ho asked. 

He looks away again, fixing his stare on the family sitting by the table in the corner of the diner. The moment stretches between them for so long that In-ho is half-expecting Gi-hun to try and change the subject. 

His gaze still fixed on the family he’s watching, Gi-hun finally breaks the silence. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

In-ho curses internally. Of course, it makes sense that Gi-hun is still feeling guilty and self-conscious about his relationship with Ga-yeong; who wouldn’t be? Still, In-ho was hoping that he’s moved past his insecurities since they started keeping in touch again. Ga-yeong is the one who invited him, after all. In-ho’s heard enough recaps of their conversations to know that she never gave up on Gi-hun. And that she’s probably spent the past three years desperately hoping that he would somehow come back into her life.

He feels his features soften. “Gi-hun, come on. You know she loves you.”

Gi-hun turns his head to look at him. There’s a frown line between his brows, and In-ho absent-mindedly finds himself wanting to reach across the table and run his fingers across it, trying to smooth it. “I disappeared from her life for over three years. Wouldn’t you be pissed if you were her?”

“You’ve been talking for weeks now. She’s clearly forgiven you. You’re her father.”

“She doesn’t need me,” Gi-hun replies immediately, barely registering In-ho’s words. “She has a stepdad, he’s been great for her.” 

He adds that detail begrudgingly, and In-ho fights back the urge to smile. He’s heard the story about Eun-ji’s husband trying to bribe Gi-hun into cutting ties with Ga-yeong. Gi-hun’s never fully forgiven him for it. In-ho can’t say that he blames him.

Perhaps he really did believe that getting rid of Gi-hun would be the best thing for his family. He might be a good stepfather to Ga-yeong for all In-ho knows. From what he’s heard from Gi-hun, it sounds like Ga-yeong does love him. But, as In-ho’s recently found out, love isn’t something that people carry in limited supply.

He reaches across the table to cover Gi-hun’s hand with his own. He watches as Gi-hun flinches slightly before remembering that this is okay . His fingers are trembling, and In-ho grips them tighter.

“I love my stepmom, too,” he says softly. Gi-hun meets his eyes; he’s hanging onto every word. “She never replaced my mom for me.”

Gi-hun looks at him intently, taking in In-ho’s words. He must know by now how rare it is for In-ho to talk about his parents. He must know what it means that he’s willing to share this with him.

Gi-hun finally returns his touch, turning his hand palm up so he can interlock their fingers. It’s nice, being able to do this in public without worrying too much about how people might react. “I just don’t want to disappoint her.”

In-ho grips his hand tighter. “You won’t,” he says, more certain of it than he is of his own identity. “You know how to do this. Don’t overthink it, just do what feels right.”

Gi-hun smiles weakly. In-ho lets himself drink in the uncertain hope illuminating his face, smoothing the frown lines he so desperately wanted to vanish. “Thank you.”

Gi-hun looks more excited, if a little nervous, when he leaves to pick Ga-yeong up from school. In-ho watches through the window as he leaves and waits for his Uber in front of the diner. He’s flustered and fidgeting, but In-ho knows that he’s just as stressed about meeting his daughter as he is happy to see her again.

Gi-hun’s got this. It’s ridiculous that he doesn’t understand it.

Without Gi-hun no longer by his side, In-ho feels overwhelmed with jetlag and post-flight exhaustion. He was holding it together for Gi-hun, doing his damn best to keep himself upwards like a sturdy tree that Gi-hun could lean against. But now with Gi-hun gone, In-ho can barely find it in himself to keep his eyes open. He’ll probably pass out the second he gets back to his room. 

Instead of resting, he decides to spend the remainder of the day sightseeing. He ends up walking all the way to Little Tokyo, takes his time strolling through the park there, and visits the cathedral that looks more like a courthouse and doesn’t make much of an impression on him. Afterwards, he recharges by having a rose milk tea latte at an upscale coffee shop, an indulgence he normally wouldn’t care about. But, screw it, he’s on vacation. He savors the sweet, slightly herbal taste and even takes some pictures to send to Jun-ho later.

When Gi-hun still hasn’t texted him by late afternoon, In-ho takes that as a good sign. If something was wrong and his time with Ga-yeong was going terribly, he’s sure Gi-hun would text or call him immediately. Radio silence means things are going well, In-ho reminds himself.

He takes an Uber to MacArthur Park, a recommendation he found on Google before the trip, and spends the rest of the afternoon and early evening on a lazy walk around it. There’s palm trees, and geese, and, if he’s being honest, not much else. But it’s peaceful and relatively quiet, and he amuses himself by watching the people around him. It’s something he hasn’t done in a while- at least not like this . He’s used to observing people with the goal of gauging their next move, trying to figure out their intentions, guessing if they’re a potential threat. A woman sitting idly on a bench and staring off into space used to register to him as a spy. Now, In-ho knows that she’s probably just as tired as he feels. 

He stops by a Mediterranean restaurant on his way back. The food they serve is rich and supple, and suddenly he regrets that Gi-hun isn’t there to enjoy it with him. He imagines Gi-hun closing his mouth around their black sea cornbread, eyes fluttering in delight as he takes in the potent taste, and In-ho feels something tugging at his chest. He lets himself float in the quiet admission that he misses Gi-hun. It’s okay, he tells himself. He gets to miss people now.

He’s beat by the time he gets back to the hotel, and tries to occupy himself by texting Jun-ho and putting on the news. Frankly, he’s so tired that he’s pretty sure he’ll pass out the minute he closes his eyes. But he doesn’t want to miss Gi-hun’s return, so he forces himself to continue watching CNN to stay awake.

Gi-hun comes back just after ten. He all but slumps the moment he enters the room, his shoulders sagging against the door as he leans his weight against it as if afraid he’ll fall without its support. In-ho looks him up and down without trying to be coy about it. Gi-hun looks– well, he looks exhausted, basically dead on his feet. But his face is slack, features relaxed into an easy expression. He’s happy, deeply satisfied to his bones. Like he just completed a marathon.

In-ho turns down the volume on the TV and shifts on the tiny hotel sofa to face him. “Hey. How was it?” He asks, feigning a casual tone. 

Not that he doesn’t know; it’s clear by now that everything must have gone well. 

Gi-hun responds with a shy, slightly dazed smile. He falters, like he’s still trying to make sense of everything that happened that day. In-ho doesn’t rush him and waits until Gi-hun’s ready to speak.

“Good. It was…” He hesitates again before letting his still timid smile settle into a wider, carefree grin. The corners of his eyes crinkle, and In-ho feels a honey-like warmth deep in his belly. “It was really good, In-ho. She’s so big now. I barely recognized her.”

He nods, endeared. “I imagine.”

Gi-hun finally gets on with the program, taking off his shoes. He removes his jacket and hangs it on the chair, which In-ho hates, but doesn’t have it in himself to pester him about it now. “But it was good. She’s still Ga-yeong, you know? I just had to… catch up to her.”

In-ho hums. He thinks about Jun-ho, about all the years he missed off his brother’s life, the shock of having to face these regrets. “Has she changed a lot?”

Gi-hun pads to the sofa and settles next to In-ho, their thighs pressed lightly together. “A little. I think she grew up a lot in the last few years. But she’s wonderful.” He pauses again, and In-ho can no longer pretend he doesn’t see the wetness in his big, tired eyes. “I can’t believe that I get to–”

He falters, voice breaking in the middle of the sentence. There are tears in his eyes and he looks exhausted, but his face is illuminated with the kind of joy they could only dream about not so long ago. In-ho feels overwhelmed by a deep urge to hold him, to take some of that joy for himself; not to steal it from Gi-hun, but to let it settle and fester between the two of them until a wild cherry tree grows from Gi-hun’s tears.

Instead, he just fits his hand against Gi-hun’s cheek. His skin is warm and damp with sweat and his eyes flutter closed as he leans into the touch. And after all these months, that’s still a complete shock- that Gi-hun is grateful for In-ho’s touch, and not flinching away from it.

In-ho swallows the lump in his throat and brushes his finger against the tear leisurely rolling down Gi-hun’s cheek. “I know, Gi-hun.”

Gi-hun smiles, solemn and overwhelmed. When he opens his eyes, they’re still half-hooded and glistening like stardust. “She’s on a football team. She played for a little bit in Korea, but she stopped when Eun-ji and I got divorced. She never told us why, she just stopped going. She got back into football when they moved here. She says it reminded her of home.”

He imagines Gi-hun taking Ga-yeong to football practice, the way In-ho did to Jun-ho back when his brother was still a kid. He wonders if Gi-hun used to cheer on her in the stands, too.

What a question. Of course he did. He was probably the loudest person in the stands without even trying.

“Did you use to play with her when she was younger?”

Gi-hun smiles again, clearly lost in the memories. “Yeah, a bunch. I loved it.” In-ho lets his hand trail upwards, idly brushing against Gi-hun’s soft hair, the longer strands getting tangled in his fingers. “I took it pretty hard when she stopped training. She says she thinks about getting into basketball, too. Some of her friends play it and they want her to join.”

In-ho hums again. “She sounds very talented.”

“She is.” Gi-hun shifts in his seat, casually leaning against the backrest and looking like he wants to sink into it. His gaze swipes over In-ho. “Hey, be honest. Did you sleep while I was away?”

He huffs. “No. I almost dozed off in MacArthur Park, though.”

Gi-hun’s eyes flutter closed when In-ho’s nails start tracing patterns against his scalp. “Was it nice?”

He shrugs. He thinks he would have loved the park if Gi-hun had gone with him. “It was okay. I like the geese.”

“Geese?” Gi-hun perks up, opening his eyes with an easy interest. In-ho feels the corners of his mouth twitch.

“I’ll show you pictures once my phone’s fully charging.” He pulls his hand away, ignoring the weak whine of protest that leaves Gi-hun’s mouth the moment his fingers disentangle from his hair. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“We’re going to Griffith Observatory, and then some natural history museum. It was her idea. I wanted to take her to Universal like you said, but she thinks it’s for kids.”

In-ho blinks. “Isn’t she 13?” 

In-ho helped him plan the trip before they left the country; they went over their options together, with Gi-hun terrified that he’d bore Ga-yeong to death if left to his own devices. Universal seemed like the perfect spot for a kid her age.

“Exactly. She thinks she’s grown now.” Gi-hun stretches in his seat, all long limbs and relaxed muscles, and his eyes flutter again as he tries to keep himself from falling asleep on the couch. In-ho wants to gather him in his arms and carry him to bed. “What about you, what are you doing tomorrow?”

He shrugs non-commitently. “I’m not sure yet. There’s an art museum I want to visit. Or I might drive out of town for a hike.”

Gi-hun looks at him fondly. “You’re not the type to line up to take a selfie with the Hollywood sign, huh?”

He smiles. He can’t imagine doing any of that, not even when he was younger; not even before . “No. I don’t really care for that side of this town.”

“I know.” Gi-hun’s hand finds his own, and he fits his fingers between In-ho’s like puzzle pieces slotting together. “I’m sorry that I’m leaving you alone all day.”

In-ho fights back the urge to laugh at that. He’s tried to make Gi-hun understand that he’d walk to the ends of Earth with him. But with the way Gi-hun can barely take what In-ho gives him, it’s clear that he still feels like a burden.

“Don’t apologize. You’re here to spend time with your daughter. And I’m just here for support.”

Gi-hun nods, dropping his gaze to watch their fingers idly dance around one another. He swipes at In-ho’s ring finger with his thumb, and the way he lingers on the space between his second and third knuckle makes In-ho’s skin tingle.

He looks up at In-ho. There are dried tears on his cheeks and his face is still flushed and In-ho’s never seen anything more beautiful. “Thank you for doing this for me.” He says it like he thinks this is a chore for In-ho.

He promises himself that he’ll never stop reminding Gi-hun that he’s not a chore. “Thank you for letting me come.”

They eat breakfast at that shitty diner again. In-ho burns his tongue on the oversalted eggs, and patiently tolerates Gi-hun stealing some of his bacon. Gi-hun finishes his own plate in under a few minutes, cheerful and excited at the idea of seeing Go-yeong again. In-ho doesn’t begrudge him when he legs it out of the diner as soon as In-ho’s done eating, plastering a sloppy kiss to his forehead and grinning like a madman as he leaves. 

In-ho is starving by the time he comes back to the hotel in the evening. He figures Gi-hun will take Ga-yeong out to dinner, so he stops by their diner (he’s not sure at which point the diner became theirs ) and decides to finally give their country-fried steak a try. But he freezes the moment he steps inside, completely flustered by the sight of Gi-hun and Ga-yeong sitting at one of the tables by the window.

He’s seen current pictures of Ga-yeong, of course, but she looks different in person. Less put together and more real . Her hair is messier than in the photos, shorter and swept away from her face, pulled back in a casual ponytail. She’s tan, skin bronzed from the California sun, and her nose and cheeks are adorned with tiny freckles. But what really strikes In-ho is not how she looks, but how she acts . The wide grin that illuminates her face, how she gestures boldly and clumsily, how she shifts in her seat and pulls one leg up to her knees on the chair as she listens to Gi-hun talk, how she brushes her bangs away from her eyes with one hand, absent-minded and unabashed.

Everything about Ga-yeong screams Gi-hun’s daughter.

Even the clothes she’s wearing, In-ho notices with a fond smile. A casual tee and jeans, worn-out sneakers; they’re faded and well-used, but slightly too big on her frame. When she suddenly stands up to make some kind of a point, turning around and showing Gi-hun something on the back of her shirt, In-ho realizes that she’s taller than she looked in the pictures, too. Just like Gi-hun.

He can’t see Gi-hun’s expression since his back is turned to him, and In-ho finds himself wishing oh so very much that he could see how Gi-hun’s eyes twinkle and scrunch up at whatever it is Ga-yeong’s saying. He can imagine the look on his face– the glee that must surely stretch across it, that In-ho always takes such pride in bringing about in Gi-hun.

In-ho blinks, and forces himself to leave the diner before the image in front of him beckons him to stay. He wanders around the block, stumbling into some fast food joint, and gets the first combo on the menu, still in a daze. It’s one thing to know that Gi-hun is a father, and it’s another thing to actually see him being a father. He wishes he’d seen his face, that he’d heard what they were talking about. He loves seeing Gi-hun stripped down to his very core, to what makes him Gi-hun: the kind of man who loves bravely and hazardously. 

It takes almost an hour for Gi-hun to come back to their room. In-ho’s finished eating and has started getting ready for bed by the time he hears the door open, and soon enough Gi-hun joins him in the bathroom. He’s barefoot and his hair is tousled, like he just ran a hand through it and didn’t look in the mirror after.

Without a word, Gi-hun fits himself against In-ho’s back, pressing his arms around his middle. “Hey.”

Endeared by the unexpected gesture, In-ho pats at Gi-hun’s arm a little awkwardly. “Welcome back. How was your day?”

“It was really good.”

When Gi-hun doesn’t show any sign of wanting to move, In-ho lets himself be held. His hand lingers around Gi-hun’s wrist, tracing idle patterns on the bare skin.

“I saw you at the diner.”

That gets his attention. Gi-hun raises his head and locks eyes with him through their reflection in the mirror. His eyes are wide and surprised. “Oh.”

“I went down to pick up food,” In-ho explains, carefully cataloguing the emotions that pass over Gi-hun’s face. “You were sitting in the corner booth.”

“Yeah,” Gi-hun replies awkwardly, suddenly looking oddly shy. 

In-ho smiles and presses his hand tighter around Gi-hun’s wrist, trying to grab his attention. “She seems like a great kid. She looks like you, too.”

Gi-hun’s arms flex and relax around him again. “Does she really?”

“Yeah. Something about her smile and the way she talks. Like she’s bursting with this unadulterated, innocent joy.”

“Is that what you think I look like?” Gi-hun stares at him in the reflection, half-shocked, half-amused.

But In-ho doesn’t have it in himself to tease him. “Yes.”

Gi-hun lets out a huff of surprised laughter. He drops his head against In-ho’s shoulder, and when he kisses the bare part of the skin where his neck meets his shoulder, In-ho feels electricity coursing through his body.

“I’m going to her football game tomorrow,” Gi-hun says softly into his skin. “Do you want to come?”

In-ho hesitates. He wants to go– he wants to see Ga-yeong again, overwhelmed with the sudden urge to get to know Gi-hun’s daughter. But he needs to think about Gi-hun first. What if they do come together, and Gi-hun spends the whole game worrying about Ga-yeong seeing him?

“Isn’t that dangerous?” He asks, carefully avoiding a yes or no answer. He needs Gi-hun to really think this through first.

“We can sit together and pretend we’re just strangers, she’ll be too focused on the game anyway. You can leave once it’s done.”

He tries to imagine it. He hasn’t been to a game in years. He used to go to games with Jun-ho every now and again, not just back when Jun-ho played as a kid. He still remembers the joy of sitting in the stands with his brother, a drink in his hands and overpriced snacks on his tongue as they cheered on their teams like madmen. In-ho liked this side of himself; he enjoyed screaming and yelling along with the crowd, be it with joy or frustration, without second-guessing his instincts. He wonders if he still has it in himself.

He breathes in the smell of rain and Gi-hun’s aftershave, and lets himself relent to his want. “Are you sure?”

Gi-hun’s arms tighten around his middle. “Of course. Unless you don’t want to.”

“Gi-hun,” In-ho pats at Gi-hun’s arms again, trying to get his attention. Gi-hun raises his head and locks eyes with him in the mirror. The expression on his face, tired and hopeful, is bare and unabashed. “I would love to. What time is it?”

“Eleven. I’m taking her to Venice Beach after, and then we’re all having a barbecue at Eun-ji’s place.”

He hums. “That sounds nice.” And then he reconsiders the last part of Gi-hun’s plans. It’s the first time in years that he’ll see his ex-wife and her new husband. Overcome with a protective instinct, he reaches for one of Gi-hun’s arms and disentangles it from his middle so he can bring Gi-hun’s hand to his mouth and leave a light kiss on his palm. “Are you nervous?”

Gi-hun flashes him a smile, worn-out and wistful. “No. Not anymore.”

The game is at Griffith Park, and they stroll through it casually before they get to the field. There’s no proper stands, but parents, relatives, and kids who he assumes are the players’ friends and schoolmates have come prepared with folding chairs that In-ho and Gi-hun help them carry from their cars. Some people have even managed to procure benches from another athletic center nearby, and the two of them end up squished together on one of them. Gi-hun’s leg is warm against his own even through his jeans, and In-ho watches as it bounces with nerves and excitement.

Ga-yeong doesn’t come out to say hi before the game, but she looks for Gi-hun the minute she enters the field, sharp, wide eyes sweeping across the chairs and benches until she locates him. The minute she spots him, she breaks into a wild grin and waves with both hands, and In-ho finds that same smile mirrored on Gi-hun’s face. Ga-yeong nudges one of her friends and points to Gi-hun, and the girl waves at him with shameless excitement. In-ho holds back a chuckle. He’s willing to bet that Ga-yeong spent the past days, maybe even weeks, bustling with joy at the prospect of the visit and telling her friends all about Gi-hun. And to think Gi-hun was terrified that she wouldn’t want to see him anymore.

The game is more spirited than he would have assumed. The girls play well, and some of them play dirty , he soon learns. In the back of his mind, he was kind of assuming that the game would be gentler and slower with just girls. But it’s very clear that this might be a game, but it’s not really a game to any of them. They’re there to win, and they don’t pull their punches, even when one of Ga-yeong’s teammates goes down after an ugly foul, one of her knees rubbed raw from the turf, or when the girl who kicked her in the shin gets her second yellow card and puts up a fight, refusing to be dismissed from the game.

Gi-hun blends in with the crowd without even trying to, screaming with frustration as Ga-yeong’s team’s goalkeeper fails to defend the first goal. When one of her teammates gets a yellow card for tripping another player, he grabs In-ho’s wrist and leans in to yell about how stupid and unfair the referee’s being. 

“What the fuck is wrong with them!” He screams into In-ho’s ear, so loud and abrasive that In-ho doesn’t know if he should laugh at him or try to pull away to save his hearing.

Ga-yeong scores a goal in the second half; not just on sheer luck, but on real skill, In-ho notices, seriously impressed. She closes the defenders down, sprints down the field, passing the ball to one of the midfielders along her way, and pulls one last trick at the goal, freezing the keeper with a fake shot before finally scoring. The crowd erupts into wild noises. Some people are screaming with disappointment, with the other half of their makeshift stands exploding with glee and triumph. Belatedly, In-ho realizes that he’s one of them. Somewhere along the line, he and Gi-hun have both jumped up and raised their fists high in the air, shrieking wordless glee as they watch Ga-yeong’s teammates celebrate and pull her into brief hugs. Gi-hun’s arm comes to rest around his shoulder, and he shakes him with pure delight, like he’s trying to make sure In-ho feels the excitement, too. Ga-yeong looks out into the crowd and locks eyes with Gi-hun, joy and pride evident on her face, glistening with sweat and exhilaration. 

By the time In-ho remembers that Gi-hun’s arm is still around his shoulder and finally detaches himself from his touch, they’re back to sitting on the bench and the game has started again. He prays that in the heat of the game Ga-yeong didn’t notice the stranger embracing her father as if they’ve done this hundreds of times before.

Ga-yeong’s team wins 2–1, with another midfielder on her team delivering the final goal. Gi-hun pulls him in close again when the game ends, his right hand wrapping around In-ho’s wrist.

“Did you see that?” He asks, almost shaking with excitement.

As if he could miss it. In-ho feels the corner of his mouth twitch and lets himself break into a wild smile. “She was amazing.”

“Wasn’t she?” Gi-hun beams at him.

In-ho opens his mouth to answer, to say that they should probably get going because Ga-yeong will definitely hurry and leg it out of the locker room to see him as soon as she can, but he’s stopped by a young girl’s voice screaming “appa.”

They both turn their heads at the same time. Ga-yeong has run all the way to the stands, still in her uniform, dripping with sweat, loose hair falling out of her ponytail. She’s squished between the parents and kids leaving the stands, some already picking up and carrying the folding chairs back to their cars. But she’s looking at Gi-hun with brazen joy, and In-ho feels a shiver run down his spine at how familiar and full of love the look is. 

And how Gi-hun’s staring back at her– like she just walked on the moon.

The odd thing is, In-ho feels himself growing proud of her, too.

“Honey, you were amazing!” Gi-hun pulls her into his arms.

He tries to pick her up like she’s still ten– it’s probably easy to forget that she isn’t. She’s 5’7 and drenched in sweat, but Gi-hun still manages to lift her in the air like she’s a trophy. She half-heartedly tells him to stop it, but she’s giggling all the while, and it’s clear that she’s enjoying it.

“You’re incredible. That goal! Look at you!” Even as he lets her down, Gi-hun still holds onto her hands. 

Ga-yeong flashes a wide grin, not even trying to act modest. “Right? It was really hard, dad, I’m so happy we kicked their asses!”

In-ho can’t help but huff at the minor curse word, especially since Gi-hun lets it slide, like he didn’t even register it.

Unfortunately, that gets Ga-yeong’s attention. Her eyes flicker to him and she looks at him with both curiosity and confusion. In-ho realizes that more likely than not, they were not subtle. She must have caught them talking or embracing during the game.

“Hi,” she says to him, experimentally, in English.

“Hello,” he answers in English, following her lead. “Congratulations on the win.”

“Thank you,” she looks him up and down again, her gaze growing more curious. “Um, are you–”

“You should hydrate!” Gi-hun says, a little too loud, thrusting his unopened bottle of water in Ga-yeong’s hands. She takes it, slightly flustered, but doesn’t open it. “Come on now, go change. I’m sure your teammates are waiting for you.”

“Oh, okay.” She takes another look at In-ho. He tries to keep still under her gaze. It’s unsettling how much it reminds him of Gi-hun’s. “Okay, dad, I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll wait here!” Gi-hun replies, looking a bit panicked. It’s very endearing how bad he is at this.

Sending one last curious glance In-ho’s way, Ga-yeong finally runs after her teammates. Gi-hun lets out a sigh and visibly relaxes once they see her disappear into the locker rooms. In-ho wonders if they just dodged a bullet, or if it’s still aiming their way.

Once he gets back to the hotel that night, he texts Jun-ho the handful of photos he took on the trip. They’ve exchanged messages, but they were brief and to the point, just to confirm that the trip was going fine. As In-ho presses send, he imagines Jun-ho scrolling through the photos and grinning at the stupid selfie that In-ho took while strolling through Little Tokyo on Friday. Before they left Korea, Jun-ho basically begged him to live a little and take some actual photos during the trip, preferably at least one with his actual face in it. 

He looks over the selfie again. He’s wearing sunglasses that obscure most of his features. His face is barely in the frame, too; off-center and blurry against the lovely backdrop of the cathedral behind him. He smirks. This can barely count as a selfie. And that’s the way he likes it.

Suddenly, his phone lights up with Jun-ho’s name. In-ho frowns. It’s barely 5am in Korea. He wasn’t expecting Jun-ho to reply so soon; he certainly wasn’t expecting his brother to call him . He tenses, praying this isn’t some kind of an emergency.

He picks up. “Jun-ho?”

“Hey, hyung.”

Jun-ho’s voice is languid, if slightly foggy, as if he just recently woke up. In-ho feels himself relaxing. “What are you doing awake?”

“About to hit the gym. How’s LA?”

He shrugs, and then realizes Jun-ho can’t actually see it. “It’s nice. I went to LACMA today. It’s an art museum.” He adds, since he knows Jun-ho’s never been interested in art.

“That sounds like something you’d like,” Jun-ho replies, sounding both teasing and fond. “Did Gi-hun go with you?”

“No, he spent most of the day with his daughter.”

He wonders if Jun-ho, like Gi-hun, worried that the father-daughter reunion might be difficult or awkward. Jun-ho has a unique perspective on reuniting with family members other people assumed to be dead, In-ho suddenly remembers.

“Are they doing okay?” Jun-ho asks after a beat, his voice softer.

In-ho shifts against the couch and rakes his hand through his hair. “Yeah. She was very excited to see him. It sounds like they picked up right where they left off three years ago.”

“Good. I’m happy for them.” In-ho can hear the smile in his brother’s voice, and it makes something tug at his heart.

The warmth spreading across his chest, golden like sunrise, makes him relax and rest his head against the back of the couch. Flashes of memories enter his mind– some from today, and others from 20 years ago.

“Do you remember back when you used to play football?”

“Yeah,” Jun-ho replies after a moment. The shadow of a smile still lingers in his voice. “God, I haven’t thought about that in years.”

In-ho hums. “Remember how we’d go out for tteokbokki after practice?”

“I used to beg you to take me,” Jun-ho chuckles. It’s true. He did. And In-ho relented, every single time. “And you made me promise that I wouldn’t tell dad.”

“He wouldn’t let me take you out if he knew I was feeding you garbage food.”

“He wouldn’t even care, hyung,” Jun-ho replies, impatient. It’s endearing how testy he still is about this after all these years. “You’re the one who was obsessed with keeping healthy. You made me take all those vitamins and supplements once I started training.”

That brings a chuckle out of In-ho. As if Jun-ho had any reason to complain. “And you kept pretending that you were actually taking them.”

Jun-ho joins in, laughing along with him. In-ho relaxes into the couch, propping his legs up against the armrest. He used to hate hotels. He doesn’t like how empty this room feels without Gi-hun. But with Jun-ho in his ear like that, with being able to pick his brain and have him confirm that the memories of the best years in In-ho’s life aren’t just a pigment of imagination, or a product of his broken brain… All of a sudden, even this empty hotel room feels a little bit warmer.

“So what made you think about the good old days of driving your little brother to football practice?” Jun-ho teases once the laughter has petered out.

“Ga-yeong plays football, too. We actually went to her game today.”

Jun-ho perks up at that. “Is she any good?”

In-ho smiles, thinking back to the image of Ga-yeong raising her fists in the air after scoring a goal. He can’t deny that what he’s feeling is pride , even though he knows it’s not his place to be proud of her. “Yeah, she’s great. She’s a striker.”

Jun-ho briefly entertained the idea of being a striker, too, back when he was a kid. He eventually ended up playing as a midfielder. “Go Ga-yeong. What team does she support?”

“Arsenal, I think,” In-ho replies, frowning. He’s pretty sure he’s heard Gi-hun mention it before. “I’ll have to ask Gi-hun to double check.”

He wonders if Jun-ho’s just asking because he wants to convert Ga-yeong into a Manchester United supporter. As a Man City supporter himself, In-ho sets out to make sure that doesn’t happen.

“Are you excited about the trip tomorrow?”

He lets out a sigh. They’ve kept so busy since they got to America that he hasn’t even had a chance to think about tomorrow. He still hasn’t told Gi-hun where they’re going. “Very much so. Although a part of me wonders if this was the right choice.”

“Of course it was, hyung.” In-ho closes his eyes and tries to focus on Jun-ho’s voice, letting it anchor him. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how close he came to letting the tide wash him away. Most days now, staying afloat is second nature. But his body still remembers what it felt like to sink. “Don’t let guilt stop you from doing something you want. She wouldn’t want you to.”

In-ho opens his eyes. He blinks the tears away. “I know.”

They sleep in the next morning, against In-ho’s better judgement. They hurry up when they realize they’d better get the fuck out of that hotel unless they want to miss their flight. They get dressed and pack hastily, In-ho checking them out while Gi-hun orders them an Uber. After finally leaving the lobby and stepping outside, Gi-hun suddenly stops on the curb outside the hotel. Unbothered, In-ho gently takes the phone from his hand and peeks at the car description on the app. It matches the car that just pulled up in front of them.

“Look, there it is,” In-ho nudges Gi-hun, pointing to the car.

But Gi-hun isn’t looking. He’s staring at something in In-ho’s periphery, so he turns, trying to follow his gaze. 

It’s Ga-yeong. 

She’s sitting on a bench in front of them, dressed in her school uniform, a backpack basically bustling at the seams laid down next to her. She’s holding a phone in her hands, but her eyes are locked on Gi-hun.

Shit.

“Hey, honey,” Gi-hun says, voice small. He sounds like he just got caught red-handed. 

“Hi, dad.” Ga-yeong stands up, gathering her backpack and throwing it over her shoulder hurriedly. Her gaze shifts to In-ho, and she stares at him with the same mix of confusion and curiosity she directed at him yesterday. He looks away. 

“What are you doing here?” Gi-hun asks, all timid.

He shouldn’t be here, In-ho realizes. He’s here to support Gi-hun, but his presence right now will only make things worse. So without looking at either Gi-hun or Ga-yeong, In-ho turns on his heels and heads for the Uber. He can basically feel Ga-yeong’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head.

He greets the driver and helps him load his suitcase into the trunk. He sits in the back of the car, waiting for Gi-hun, trying not to panic. Maybe Gi-hun came up with some excuse. And what are the chances that Ga-yeong recognized him from the football game, anyway?

Quite high, actually. They were the only Koreans in that crowd, after all. And Gi-hun is really fucking bad at lying to the people he cares about.

Gi-hun approaches the car after a few tense minutes. After leaving his luggage in the trunk, he climbs into the seat next to In-ho’s. He’s tense and there’s a slight tremble to his hands as he buckles his seatbelt.

“It’s fine,” Gi-hun says as In-ho opens his mouth to ask about what just happened. It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself along with In-ho. “She asked who you were but I said we’re just splitting a cab to the airport.”

In-ho raises his eyebrows. It’s a half-assed lie, and he doubts Ga-yeong is stupid enough to fall for it. “And she bought it?”

“I guess,” Gi-hun replies, clearly frustrated with himself. “Fuck, I don’t know, In-ho. I think so. She didn’t ask about you after that. She just came by because she wanted to surprise me before my flight.”

That sounds like a very Gi-hun thing to do. In-ho feels oddly grateful that someone else wants to do something for Gi-hun, too. “That’s thoughtful of her.”

“She’s the best.” Gi-hun sounds calmer now, if slightly dazed. Like he doesn’t understand what he did to deserve this.

How In-ho wishes he could make him understand.

He still doesn’t tell him where they’re going until they’re at the airport and In-ho can no longer hide their boarding passes or pretend he’s not looking for their flight on the departures board.

“New Orleans?” Gi-hun asks when In-ho hands him his boarding pass. There’s an easy curiosity in his voice, and it reminds In-ho of the way Ga-yeong said hello to him in the stands after the game.

“New Orleans,” he repeats. He takes a closer look at Gi-hun. “Are you disappointed?”

He knows Gi-hun isn’t picky, but maybe he was secretly hoping that In-ho would take him to Hawaii or Paris. All of a sudden, In-ho feels self-conscious about his choice. This was a purely selfish pick, and he knows it.

But Gi-hun puts him out of his misery, stopping him in his tracks and grabbing In-ho by the shoulders. “Hey, come on. Of course not. I’m just surprised.” His thumb swipes one the bare skin above In-ho’s neckline. “Why New Orleans?”

He hesitates. This is a long story– and he knows chances are he won’t be able to hold it together as he recounts it. And he really doesn’t want to break down in the middle of LAX. 

He grabs Gi-hun’s hand, the one still resting on his shoulder, and softly brushes his fingers against his knuckles. “I’ll tell you about it later today, okay?”

Gi-hun just peers at him for a minute, and In-ho feels his gaze slicing through the neutral expression of his face and cutting right down to the bone.

Finally, Gi-hun relents. “Okay,” he says, and lets go of In-ho’s shoulder.

As they walk up to their gate together, In-ho takes his hand, interlacing their fingers again.

New Orleans is bustling, that’s the only way to put it. Despite April not usually attracting tourists, the city is bursting at the seams, crowds pulsating around them in vibrant gradients of harmony and motion. Oddly enough, the masses move idly and casually, as if there’s nowhere else they’d rather be. The city smells of saltwater and bell peppers, of tree bark and sunrise, of strings and rain.

They don’t even bother unpacking at the hotel; their flight back to Seoul is in less than twenty four hours, anyway. They take a long walk downtown, admiring the colorful bungalows, narrow facades of the houses they pass on Bourbon Street, their arched windows, the large oak trees adoring the architecture. The sun already covers their faces with a slight flush, and the humidity makes Gi-hun’s hair curl and stick out. They stroll through the streets without speaking, taking in the world that feels completely foreign not just because they’re on the other side of the world, but because all of a sudden it’s easy to believe they are safe and fine .

They stop at a coffee shop to buy beignets and eat them by the riverfront, staining their clothes with powdered sugar and getting their fingers sticky from the snack. They stroll through the French Quarter casually, taking a photo together in front of Jackson Square to get Jun-ho off their backs, stopping to watch the street musicians by St. Louis Cathedral, and idly pursuing the stalls at the French market. In-ho buys some local spices and a coaster for Jun-ho, and Gi-hun gets beads and a poster for Ga-yeong. The poster is of a bow tie-wearing cat playing the guitar, and it makes In-ho honest to god giggle.

“She keeps asking Eun-ji to let them adopt a cat,” Gi-hun explains, clearly pleased, if a little taken aback by In-ho’s reaction. 

They get po-boys for lunch, and the intensity of spice takes In-ho by surprise. Gi-hun offers him a shit-eating smirk as he watches In-ho cough and reach for his water when it turns out that taking such a big first bite of his sandwich was a mistake. Gi-hun takes it better, almost unbothered by the spice, and In-ho remembers that he used to run a chicken shop. He forgot about that. It’s funny how it takes being on the other side of the world to relearn who they are.

When the sun sets and they’ve seen everything they wanted downtown, In-ho guides them on their walk to Frenchman Street: the main reason he wanted to visit New Orleans in the first place. Even though it’s still early, street musicians already adorn the alleys, and crowds are beginning to form around them, stopping to listen to the performances. The street is narrow and packed, but for the first time in years In-ho doesn’t find himself irritated or overwhelmed by the mob of people. Instead, with the trumpet and the sax potent in his ears, stronger than any shot of alcohol, he finds himself leaning into the crowd. 

It reminds him of the way they cheered on Ga-yeong in the stands, and In-ho submits to the memory, allowing it to guide him. He lets the crowd envelop him and follows its lead, swaying in tune to the music, his shoulder brushing against Gi-hun in the process. Gi-hun turns to him at the touch; even in the dark, his face is illuminated by a languid smile, his features relaxed as he takes in the music, the vibrations, the wind cooling their sweaty skin. He does a double take when he realizes that In-ho is dancing, even if just barely. His eyes soften, and In-ho feels a sudden urge to hold him, to tip him over and kiss him right here, in the middle of the crowd, in tandem with the rhythm of the cello.

Instead, he just leans into Gi-hun’s space until his mouth brushes his ear. “Do you like this?”

He’s desperate to assert that it wasn’t just his own selfishness that brought them here. That Gi-hun isn’t just there for him, but with him.

Gi-hun fumbles, struggling to stick out his arm in the narrow space between them, his hand finding In-ho’s blindly. 

“I love it,” he replies, and his lips stain In-ho’s cheek with the words.

The crowd trembles around them.

Later, they stroll along the street, resolved to see as much of it as the limited amount of time they have will allow them. They watch another group of street artists performing and tip them generously, grab a beer each at a convenience store and drink them as they wander down the street, and walk through the little art bazaar, Gi-hun leisurely smoking a cigarette all the while. The air around them smells of alcohol and smoke and weed, and of something more obscure that makes In-ho think of damp grass after a storm.

They walk past a scaled-down stand on the street corner. It’s run by a young woman, still a kid, who advertises her services as both a fortune teller and a poet. She can read your future or improvise a haiku just for you, the piece of paper hastily plastered onto her tiny coffee table says. In-ho barely registers it, but it gets Gi-hun’s attention and he stops as they pass the kid.

“Is she a fortune teller?” He asks In-ho, making sure he correctly understood the words in English.

“Yeah. It says she can write you a custom haiku, too,” In-ho explains.

Gi-hun smiles at him conspiratorially. Without explaining, he turns to the kid.

“Hello,” he says, flashing her a grin. 

She’s wearing a loose tunic and faded jeans. She looks him up and down, like she’s trying to figure out what she’s getting herself into. “Hi.”

“Can you write him a haiku?” Gi-hun asks, stuttering a little. He’s been practising his English for the past few weeks, getting ready for the trip, but he’s still not confident in his skills.

“Sure,” the kid answers, amusement evident on her face. Her gaze flashes to In-ho, taking him in, probably trying to figure out who they are to each other, before addressing Gi-hun again. “What would you like it to be about?”

Gi-hun shrugs. He hesitates, like he’s not sure how to articulate it. He turns to In-ho. “How do you say forgiveness in English?”

In-ho feels a shiver run down his spine. He tells Gi-hun, and listens as he repeats it to the kid who nods solemnly at him, as if pleased with his request. They watch her work, staring idly into space and humming quietly for a moment before she grabs her typewriter and starts typing.

She’s done after another minute. Gi-hun takes out his wallet and places a stack of bills in the little piggy bank on her coffee table. In-ho’s pretty sure it’s enough money to cover her rent.

They say their goodbyes, the kid looking at them curiously when she realizes they’re not going to read the haiku in front of her. Gi-hun folds the piece of paper and puts it in the back pocket of his jeans. In-ho wonders if he’s saving it for the privacy of their hotel room.

They manage to find a table inside one of the nightspots, a snug bar with a small band playing in the corner. They order whiskey and shrimps and pick at them without any particular hurry. The music booms through the room, so loud that they have to lean in until their foreheads are almost touching to hear what they’re saying. Not that they mind. Feeling oddly relaxed in the intimacy of their booth, In-ho lets his hand linger on Gi-hun’s thigh.

They order another drink each, and then another one. In-ho sticks to whiskey, but Gi-hun is in the mood to experiment, and he lets In-ho try each of his cocktails. As In-ho takes a sip of his Spaghetti Western, which he finds himself enjoying more than he was expecting, Gi-hun levels with him a curious look. He takes a deep breath, like he’s steeling himself for something, and In-ho knows what he’s going to ask him before he even opens his mouth.

“So why New Orleans?”

In-ho carefully puts down the drink, pushing it back towards Gi-hun. He takes another sip of his own whiskey and starts to fidget. He realizes he’s fiddling with his ring finger. Whiskey is another thing that reminds him of her. She would have liked Gi-hun’s Spaghetti Western, too, In-ho thinks to himself.

“My wife always wanted to visit.” He doesn’t look up as he says it, allowing the words to spill out of him, letting the feelings purge . “The jazz is what attracted her about it. She was a cello player. She played in a string quartet, they mostly did weddings and small gigs, but her real passion was always jazz. She said… She said she loved how unfettered it was.”

In-ho learnt to play the piano when he was younger, but he always stuck to classical. He loved the discipline and rigor that came with it– the strive for control, the search for the perfect symphony. It wasn’t until his wife introduced him to jazz, playing records late at night in their little kitchen, that he learnt to let go. To let the music guide him, not the other way around.

“Her brother played the sax, but not professionally. Just for fun.” He traces the rim of his glass with a finger. It’s been years since he talked to his brother-in-law, too. He wonders if he still keeps in touch with Jun-ho. “She used to do these jam sessions with friends. I loved sitting back and watching them. Just letting it wash over me. It felt like something out of another world, you know? How unrestrained it was.”

He thinks back to the smile on her face when she caught his eye in the middle of a song. Her nimble fingers, smart and alert, moving across the strings as if she was weaving a quilt. The way she threw her head back and laughed when she made a mistake. 

“Did you ever plan to come here together?” Gi-hun asks. He’s looking at In-ho with easy curiosity, and there’s no traces of pity or guilt on his face; just the candid desire to understand.

“We talked about it vaguely, but we never made any plans.” He hesitates. He’s terrified that Gi-hun will take his admission the wrong way, that he’s made it sound like Gi-hun is sloppy seconds. He needs to fix it. “Gi-hun. I didn’t take you here because I’m trying to live that fantasy through you, or because I’m trying to replace her. You understand that, don’t you?”

Gi-hun looks at him like he’s taking his confession. His cheeks are flushed from the alcohol, but his gaze is firm and unwavering. It pulls In-ho into the present, grounds him. “I get it. You don’t have to explain yourself, alright? It’s okay.”

The world around them stops in a mosaic of vibrant colors, pinks and reds and blues. Shades of paint twirl in his periphery. The band continues to play, but the people are silent and unmoving, a backdrop to their little moment of absolution. Maybe this confession will be enough to bury some of his ghosts, In-ho thinks to himself.

Suddenly, Gi-hun jumps in his seat. “Oh, I almost forgot!”

He shifts like he’s going to stand, and takes out the sheet of paper they got from the fortune teller-slash-poet. He unfolds it and hands it to In-ho without looking at it first.

In-ho raises his eyebrows. “You want me to read it?” He’s not sure why the idea of Gi-hun trusting him with it moves him the way it does.

Gi-hun takes another sip of his drink, shrugging casually. “It was written for you.”

He nods at Gi-hun solemnly, and turns to the page in front of him. He stares at the words for a moment, letting them sink in, before reading them out loud.

“As the skies trembled, I followed the neons home, made it out in time.”

He repeats in, translating it into Korean clumsily. A comfortable silence stretches between the two of them, despite the music bustling throughout the room. Gi-hun fits his hand around In-ho’s and squeezes, like he knows the warmth of his fingers is the only thing stopping the tears that threaten to fall down In-ho’s cheeks. Out of the corner of his eyes, he notices Gi-hun swaying lightly to the rhythm of the music.

Sometimes he wonders what he would choose if someone offered him the chance at the life where his wife and child lived, and he never met Gi-hun. He knows the comparison isn’t fair and there’s no point in stewing over hypotheticals. The love he has for Gi-hun isn’t the same love he had for his wife. With her, the love was expected- it felt like he waited his entire life to meet her, that he aged into that love. His heart had to grow until it was ready to love her. But with Gi-hun, his frozen heart had to melt and learn how to pump blood into clogged veins all over again. It wasn’t better, or stronger, or weaker. It was just different.

They stay in the bar, drinking lazily and letting the music wrap around them like a blanket, until it’s midnight and In-ho can tell that they’ll be wrecked the next day if they don’t leave. They take a cab back to the hotel and stumble back inside their room. Gi-hun crowds him against the wall before they even take off their shoes, leaving wet kisses along his jaw, exploring how In-ho’ll respond.

But he’s not twenty anymore and the whiskey definitely took a toll on him. That, along with the turmoil of emotions he’s felt throughout the day. He paws at Gi-hun’s shoulders and gently pushes him away. Gi-hun looks down at him, eyes hooded and wide, but undemanding.

“I’m actually beat,” he says, softly stroking Gi-hun’s arm. 

“Alright,” Gi-hun replies easily. He hesitates. “Um, do you mind if I still–” He makes a brash gesture with his hand, mimicking jerking off.

In-ho bites back a laugh. “Sure. Go nuts.”

After removing his shoes and grabbing his pajamas, Gi-hun disappears into the bathroom, locking the door behind him as if he wanted to give In-ho privacy. It’s endearing; In-ho has memorized and could probably categorize every single noise of pleasure that Gi-hun’s ever made. It’s not like he needs to shield In-ho from this.

But as In-ho lies in bed, he realizes that the broken sounds of pleasure Gi-hun makes are more distracting than he imagined. The groans and whimper penetrate the bathroom walls and reverberate across their room, and all of a sudden In-ho can’t focus on the article he was supposed to read on his phone. He can tell that Gi-hun is holding back- Is he biting his lip, trying to stifle his moans? Has he covered his mouth with his left hand to keep quiet? Is he thinking about In-ho while he’s fucking his own fist?

In-ho can feel himself growing hard and frustrated underneath the covers.

Gi-hun comes with a low groan, loud and unabashed, like he momentarily forgot that he was supposed to keep it quiet for In-ho’s sake. No matter. In-ho certainly doesn’t mind.

When Gi-hun reemerges from the bathroom, the bedsheets are on the floor and In-ho’s got one hand wrapped around himself, stroking himself lazily with his eyes half-open. Gi-hun freezes at the sight, and blood rushes to In-ho’s cheeks.

He flashes Gi-hun a grin, spreading his legs obscenely. “I’m good to go now.”

It takes Gi-hun another second to catch up with reality. When he finally does, he laughs with amazement, shaking his head in disbelief. “You fucking asshole. You just made me jerk off all by myself.”

“I know, that’s what got me going.” Reluctantly, In-ho removes his hand and shifts to pull Gi-hun into the bed with him. He smells like soap and peppermint, and his hair is pleasantly damp. “You’re rather loud, you know.”

He pushes Gi-hun flat on his back, enjoying the way he squirms underneath him, still flushed and warm from his shower. “What if maybe I’m the one who’s too tired now, huh?” Gi-hun asks teasingly, but his right hand is already curling around In-ho’s hip and his gaze flickers down to his lips.

In-ho smirks. He leans down, mouthing at Gi-hun’s neck and using one hand to push his thighs further apart so he can fit between them. “I’ll do all the work, you just lie there and look pretty.”

“So this is it?”

“Yep.”

“Where’s the end?”

“I don’t think there is one.” In-ho turns around, lets his gaze sweep over the marshes and bodies of water that all morph into one. “There’s a bunch of different spots, but there’s no one fixed point that’s the end.” 

They packed first thing in the morning, rented a car, and drove to the Louisiana Southernmost Point. It’s a curious little place, the opposite of a tourist trap, that In-ho heard about from one of his wife’s friends a lifetime ago. There’s nothing interesting down there, the friend told him. Just marshes and fishermen and some remnants of Katrina. Nothing but locals, birds, and ghosts as far as the eye can see. Some people called it “the end of the world,” he added. Sold, In-ho thought.

He considered renting a boat or even a canoe and making a proper trip out of it. But in the end, he decided against it. He didn’t want to come here for vacation. He just wanted to see the end of the world.

Turns out that the end of the world is not as scary as it sounds. They leave the car when the road comes to an end and take off walking through the marshes and swampy pathways. The earth around them looks like lungs– rugged ponds plummeting into swamps, soil abundant and overflowing, erasing the boundary between earth and water. The world here breathes, green ferns stubbornly growing out of outcast concrete.

In-ho watches a flock of birds gather by an empty boat. His friend said that this is the furthest down south you can go in Louisiana, and the closest you can get to the Gulf of Mexico. That idea probably entices a lot of visitors. But the marshes don’t give a shit about expectations, and they don’t provide any easy way out. There's no shore. There’s no end. 

In-ho smiles, genuinely enthralled by his own naivety. “Kind of anticlimactic, isn’t it?”

He turns to peak at Gi-hun absent-mindedly, but stops in his tracks when he notices the dreamy look on his face. Gi-hun’s not let down or upset by the lack of an easy shore or a concrete boundary between earth and water. He’s flushed from their walk, rough winds beating vicious lashes against his cheeks, and he’s looking at the marshes stretching around them like he’s seeing the world for the very first time.

And as In-ho studies the amazed expression on his beautiful, worn out face, he thinks he knows the feeling. 

“I like it,” Gi-hun answers, oblivious to In-ho’s intense gaze. “It’s so… all-encompassing. You forget that there’s a sea out there. Cause it’s all around, right?”

All In-ho can do is just nod at him, trying to hide how heavy with love and fear his heart suddenly feels. He wants to grab Gi-hun by the neck and pull him into a kiss. He stops himself. They have a hike to finish first.

It’s almost nine by the time they come back to the car. It’s so quiet that all In-ho can hear is the chirping of Louisiana birds, ferns brushing against leaves lazily, and his own heartbeat. He kept himself in check all morning, he was so good . So when they finally enter the car, Gi-hun taking the driver’s seat this time, In-ho decides that he can’t hold it in anymore. He crawls over into Gi-hun’s lap and settles across his hips, hands already flying up to tangle in Gi-hun’s messy hair, pulling him into a kiss that threatens to steal both their breaths away.

“Here?” Gi-hun asks, incredulous, when In-ho reluctantly lets go of him and immediately starts on his pants.

“Here,” In-ho replies. He’s waited for this all morning. He’s gonna make sure it was worth it.

The road, the marshes, the water– the world around them is empty. They’re at the end of the world. Even if this end is more complicated than they had assumed.

In-ho rides him fast and hard, a little meaner than he usually favors. He rocks himself on Gi-hun’s cock like he’s trying to communicate everything he hasn’t been able to put into words since they got on that flight. He sinks his teeth into Gi-hun’s throat and rolls his hips so fast it’s like he’s standing still, impaled on Gi-hun, completely entrenched in his marshes. And as he comes, abrupt and untouched, he feels like the wet, rich soil throbbing with wild waters until it becomes one with the sea.

The aftermath is a slow affair. They let each touch linger, exchanging slow kisses and putting their clothes back on without a rush, like they’ve nowhere else to be. Like this is exactly where they belong: at the end of the world. 

The clean up proves a bit difficult seeing as they don’t have wet wipes. They make do with tissues, wiping the come and sweat off their bodies idly. In-ho inspects the car; belatedly, he realizes it was probably a stupid idea to do this inside a rental. Not that he regrets it. He’d fuck Gi-hun again in this stupid rented car if he knew either of them could get it up so soon.

The drive back to New Orleans is slow and lazy, even though in the back of his mind In-ho realizes that they should probably hurry if they want to make it in time for their flight. So what, In-ho thinks to himself, stupid and careless in the afterglow, reaching across the car to grab Gi-hun’s hand. They’ll just wait for the next flight if they miss it. Or they could say fuck it and fly back to LA, surprise Ga-yeong again. They could fly to Rome, or to Tokyo, or to Edinburgh, or anywhere the fuck they want.

When Gi-hun catches him staring, he does a double take and sends him a shy smile, like he’s flattered but surprised by the attention. In-ho swipes his thumb across the scar that stains his palm, and refuses to stop watching him. 

Gi-hun chews at his bottom lip like he wants to say something. In-ho patiently waits for him to make up his mind. “I’ve been thinking about selling the motel.” 

He tries to hide his surprise. Gi-hun’s been spending almost all of his time in In-ho’s apartment for weeks now. Still, they haven’t actually talked about it– about how most of Gi-hun’s things are at In-ho’s place, how the motel is left virtually empty now, how it’s become nothing more than a graveyard where both of them have buried their ghosts.

Gi-hun looks stiff and worried about his reaction, so In-ho opts for a joke to break the tension. “You think anyone will want it?”

Gi-hun breaks into a laugh, surprised and unabashed. He looks away from the road, and In-ho feels proud that he’s the one who put that expression of joy and amazement on his face. “Asshole.” He says, without any real venom.

There’s a beat. In-ho debates whether he should reveal all his cards, too. They haven’t talked about what any of this means- what the two of them have become in the last few months. But he can tell that this trip broke something in both of them, that the dam is loose now and there’s no way to stop the water from overflowing. Might as well let it wash over them.

“I’ve actually been thinking about selling my apartment too,” he says, feigning a casual tone.

He watches Gi-hun’s reaction closely. He frowns, clearly taken aback. “Why?”

In-ho shrugs. “I don’t like it.”

Gi-hun hums. “It is a little cramped. Why didn’t you buy a bigger place?”

“I didn’t think I’d need more space.”

And that’s quite telling, isn’t it?

Gi-hun smiles at him fondly. “My motel is all space. Maybe you want to take it off my hands?”

He imagines trying to renovate the motel, and almost gags at the image. He’d burn it to the ground if he could. Along with all the memories and ghosts they left there. “Cleaning that place up would be more work than building a new house from scratch.” He hesitates. Time to reveal his cards. All in , he thinks to himself. “Where do you want to move?”

“I don’t know.” Gi-hun’s fingers tremble slightly against In-ho’s knuckles. He holds his hand tighter, trying to ground him in reality. “I don’t want a huge mansion, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

In-ho chuckles. “A mansion is the last thing I want, Gi-hun.”

Gi-hun steals another glance his way. There’s no traffic around them, so In-ho doesn’t call him out on it. It’s just the two of them and the empty road. In-ho hesitates. “And what do you want, Gi-hun?”

He watches Gi-hun hesitate. He wonders if he’ll fold and pull away at the last moment. But even as Gi-hun’s eyes turn back to the road ahead of them, left hand relaxed where it’s resting against the steering wheel, his voice is firm and knowing. “Just a home.”

In-ho smiles. “I can work with that.”

Gi-hun continues to drive. The road is narrow, and there’s not another car in sight. This is where they belong, In-ho thinks to himself, watching Gi-hun behind the steering wheel. Not on the road; but on their way.