Chapter Text
The facility was empty now.
No masked soldiers.
No blinking monitors.
No screaming.
Just the echo of quiet footsteps.
Gihun walked beside In-ho through the long hallways of the underground Squid Game compound — but the atmosphere had changed completely. It wasn’t haunted anymore. It was... peaceful.
He glanced sideways.
In-ho, still in his black coat, held a hard drive in one hand and a lighter in the other. His face was calm. Purposeful.
“You’re really doing this,” Gihun whispered.
“I told you,” In-ho said gently. “If I had to burn down everything to protect you… I would.”
Gihun’s throat tightened.
They reached the control room — the heart of the entire system.
In-ho looked at it one last time.
Years of secrets. Of pain. Of blood.
And then—he tossed the lighter.
Flames caught fast. Orange spread across screens, servers, blueprints. A future erased in heat and light.
Gihun didn’t look away.
He stepped closer and took In-ho’s hand, lacing their fingers.
In-ho squeezed back.
Then calmly said, “One more left.”
Gihun raised a brow. “America.”
In-ho nodded. “They’re already planning it. Bigger. Bloodier.”
Gihun’s gaze hardened. “Then we have to stop them. Together.”
“You’re not scared?” In-ho asked.
“I’m with you In ho,” Gihun said, leaning in. “What’s scarier than that?”
In-ho chuckled. Then kissed him — slow, sure, in the warm glow of fire and new beginnings.
Two men. One mission.
No more games.
The American facility was still.
Lights dimmed. Mission done.
No more death. No more masks.
Just silence… and each other.
They were staying one last night before heading home. No soldiers. No surveillance. Just the quiet hum of a safe house, and two mugs left untouched on the windowsill.
Gihun stood by the window, shirt loose, hair messy. The moonlight lit him like something out of a dream.
In-ho watched him from the bed.
He still wasn’t used to being able to look at him — openly. Freely.
“What are you thinking about?” Gihun asked, not turning.
“You,” In-ho said simply.
Gihun smiled, barely. “That’s dangerous.”
In-ho stood, walked up behind him. “Not anymore.”
A pause. Then:
“I love you.”
Gihun slowly turned around. His eyes were wide — not surprised, but like hearing it made it real.
“Say it again,” he whispered.
In-ho stepped closer. “I love you.”
Gihun leaned in. “Then prove it.”
The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was slow, reverent — full of every moment they couldn’t have before. Their hands were careful at first, but that didn’t last.
The moment Gihun tugged In-ho’s shirt off and whispered, “I want all of you,” it broke something open.
Their bodies moved like they knew each other already — years of silent glances now translated into touch. In-ho’s hands were trembling as he traced down Gihun’s chest, as if still unsure he was allowed this.
“You’re not dreaming,” Gihun said gently, kissing his shoulder. “You’re here. With me.”
They made it to the bed in pieces — tangled kisses, soft gasps, whispered names like prayers. Gihun beneath him, warm and open. In-ho above, hesitant until Gihun guided his hands to his hips and said, “Don’t hold back.”.
In-ho shivered.
Gihun whispered, “You’re still afraid.”
In-ho swallowed. “I’ve never… like this. Not like this.”
“Then let me show you.”
Gihun's lips trailing down In-ho’s throat, kissing along his collarbone like a map he already knew. In-ho’s hands gripped the sheets, breath shaky.
When Gihun looked up at him, pupils wide and dark, he said, “You’re allowed to want. To feel. To be loved.”
In-ho let out something between a gasp and a moan — and kissed him harder.
They undressed each other in pieces, mouths never far, hands exploring. Gihun’s body under him, alive, responsive, back arching when In-ho’s lips brushed over his chest.
“You’re beautiful,” In-ho whispered against his skin.
“Not as beautiful as you, your hair like this messy, natural it drive's me crazy” Gihun said breathless from kisses.
Their laughter turned into gasps when In-ho kissed lower, sliding down, kissing his stomach, then hips, then—
Gihun’s hand curled in the sheets as his voice cracked, “Don’t stop.”
In-ho didn’t.
His mouth, his tongue, his hands — he learned Gihun’s body like it was sacred. Every sound Gihun made pushed him further, made him needier. When he came up again, his mouth was red, his eyes wild, and Gihun pulled him down into another kiss, tasting himself, wanting more.
“Are you ready?, please tell me when you're ready” In-ho whispered, voice shaking.
Gihun nodded, pulling him closer with a soft “Yes,” wrapping his legs around his waist.
The moment they joined — it was deep, slow, overwhelming. A low moan broke from both of them.
In-ho moved carefully at first, watching Gihun’s face, adjusting to his rhythm — but Gihun arched into him, gasping, “Faster—don’t hold back—”
He didn’t.
Their bodies moved in sync, building heat between kisses and breathless whispers. Skin against skin, sweat-slicked, desperate, loving. Every thrust deeper, harder, until the tension snapped — both of them unraveling in each other’s arms, mouths open, voices raw.
In-ho collapsed onto him, chest heaving, head buried in Gihun’s neck.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
Gihun wrapped his arms around him, kissing his temple. "I love you soo much In ho"
They lay tangled for a long time, letting the quiet settle in. Bodies sore, souls light.
Finally, In-ho whispered, “I never thought I’d deserve something like this.”
Gihun pressed their foreheads together. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t care what you think you deserve. You’re mine now.”
A long silence.
Something is poking Gihun side.
“Can we go again?” In-ho asked, breathless.
Gihun smirked, eyes dark with mischief. “You’re gonna have to beg.”
Later, tangled in sheets and sweat and soft silence, In-ho laid his head on Gihun’s chest.
“Now what?” he murmured.
Gihun kissed the top of his
head. “Now? We live.”
“And if they come back?”
Gihun smirked. “We’ll stop them. Then make out in their burning servers again.”
In-ho laughed softly.
“Deal.”
__ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___
The room was dim. The city outside buzzed, but inside, everything was still.
Byung-hun stood by the window, bare chest faintly glowing in the moonlight. He was always composed — always sharp, always distant.
Jung-jae leaned against the doorframe, watching him like he owned the night.
“You know what I’ve been thinking about since the kiss?” he asked.
Byung-hun didn’t answer. His fingers twitched slightly. His eyes stayed locked on the glass.
Jung-jae pushed off the frame and approached him, every step slow, controlled.
“You’ve spent years pretending you’re untouchable,” he whispered as he came up behind him. “But you’re not. Not with me.”
He placed a hand on Byung-hun’s hip, fingers firm. “You don’t have to lead here.”
Byung-hun tensed — but he didn’t pull away.
Jung-jae leaned closer, his breath brushing Byung-hun’s ear. “Let me take care of you.”
They reached the bed in silence — but everything after that was a storm.
Jung-jae kissed him like a promise. Strong hands on Byung-hun’s waist. Lips trailing down his chest. A slow, teasing edge that had Byung-hun gripping the sheets, trying so hard not to fall apart.
But Jung-jae made it impossible.
“You’re shaking,” he whispered, pressing kisses to his stomach. “You like this?”
Byung-hun’s voice broke. “Yes.”
“Then relax,” Jung-jae whispered. “I’ve got you.”
He took his time — preparing him, touching him like he already knew what every part of his body wanted. And when Jung-jae finally pressed inside, it was deep and slow and earth-shattering.
Byung-hun gasped, body arching, breath caught in his throat.
“Good?” Jung-jae whispered, brushing sweat-damp hair from his forehead.
“Don’t stop.”
Jung-jae smiled. “Beg for it.”
Byung-hun opened his eyes, voice raw. “Please. Fuck, please.”
That broke something in Jung-jae — he rolled his hips, firm and controlled, hitting deep, deep inside. Every thrust pulled another sound from Byung-hun’s throat, soft and broken and beautiful.
He wasn’t cold anymore. He wasn’t guarded.
He was wide open — vulnerable, trembling, loved.
And Jung-jae adored him like that.
By the end, Byung-hun was clinging to him, whispering his name over and over.
Jung-jae kissed him through it, breathless, fingers laced tight.
“You’re mine,” he whispered.
Byung-hun nodded. “Yours.”
“Say it again.”
“Yours.”
Later, they lay tangled in the sheets. Byung-hun’s voice was hoarse. His eyes half-lidded.
“You ruined me,” he muttered.
Jung-jae kissed his shoulder. “You liked it.”
“…Maybe.”
Jung-jae smirked. “Then next time, on your knees.”
Byung-hun flushed — and pulled the sheet over his face.
“Shut up.”
Jung-jae laughed — low, dangerous, completely in love.
The next morning, sunlight spilled across the bed.
Byung-hun stirred first. Muscles aching slightly, but… in a good way. He blinked at the warmth beside him and smiled softly.
Jung-jae was already awake, hair a mess, shirt somehow half on, grinning down at a cup of instant coffee like it had told him a dirty joke.
“You’re staring,” Jung-jae said without looking.
“You’re ridiculous,” Byung-hun replied, voice rough from sleep.
“And yet you kissed me. Multiple times. With tongue.”
Byung-hun groaned and rolled over. “Do not make this weird.”
“Too late.” Jung-jae leaned over and kissed the back of his neck. “I’m already thinking about round two.”
“…We haven’t even had breakfast.”
“Exactly.”
Byung-hun sat up, muttering, “You’re like a very sexy golden retriever.”
Jung-jae climbed into his lap, legs straddling, wearing nothing but his smirk and one of Byung-hun’s t-shirts.
“Woof.”
Byung-hun stared at him. Grabbed his waist, flipping him gently onto the bed, voice low.
“You keep teasing like that, and you won’t get breakfast until noon.”
Jung-jae grinned, breath catching.
“Then I’m starving already.”
The kitchen was a mess.
Eggs slightly burnt. Toast uneven. Coffee overbrewed.
But they sat on the counter in bare skin and shared clothes, tangled legs, matching grins.
“You know,” Jung-jae said between bites, “if the world ended right now, I’d die pretty happy.”
Byung-hun wiped some jam from his lip and kissed him again, slow and lingering.
“Same,” he whispered.